“I’m not certain.”
“Have I ever done anything to make you think I’m devious?”
“Your sex is not noted for being either forthright or frank,” he replied dryly.
“The fault for that must be laid at the door of men,” she teased, flopping down on her back and resting her head on her arm as she stared up at the fluffy white clouds drifting across the powder-blue sky. Men couldn’t endure it if we were forthright and frank.”
“Is that right?” he retorted, stretching out beside her, propped up on his elbow.
Nodding, she turned her head and looked at him. “If women were forthright and blunt, we wouldn’t have been able to convince men that they are smarter, wiser, and braver than we are, when in truth you are superior to us only in the brute strength occasionally required to lift extremely heavy objects.”
“Alexandra,” he whispered, as his lips slowly descended to hers, “beware of shattering a man’s ego. It forces him to show his supremacy in the time-honored way.”
The huskiness of his voice, combined with the seductive languor in his grey eyes, was already making Alexandra’s heart hammer. Longing to put her arms around his broad shoulders and bring him down to her, she asked shakily, “Have I shattered your ego?”
“Yes.”
“Be-because I said women are smarter, wiser, and braver than men?”
“No,” he whispered, his smiling lips almost touching hers now, “because you caught a bigger fish than I did.”
Her startled giggle was abruptly smothered by his lips.
Feeling utterly languid and thoroughly content, Jordan decided to forestall their lovemaking for a few minutes, and after allowing himself a long, hungry kiss, he lay back beside her.
She looked a little surprised and a little disappointed that he hadn’t continued.
“Later,” he promised with a lazy grin that made her blush and smile and then hastily avert her gaze. After a minute she seemed to become fascinated with something in the sky.
“What are you looking at?” Jordan demanded finally, watching her.
“A dragon.” When he looked bewildered she lifted her arm and pointed to the sky in the southeast. “Right there— that cloud—what do you see when you look at it?”
“A fat cloud.”
Alexandra rolled her eyes at him. “What else do you see?”
He was quiet for a moment studying the sky. “Five more fat clouds and three thin ones.” To Jordan’s surprised pleasure, she burst out laughing, rolled onto her side, and kissed him full on the mouth, but when he tried to hold her tighter and begin to make love to her, Alexandra drew back and insisted on resuming her study of the sky.
“Have you no imagination at all?” she chided softly. “Look at those clouds—surely you must see one that reminds you of something. It can be something whimsical or real.”
Goaded by her insinuation that he possessed no imagination, Jordan narrowed his eyes and stared hard—and then he finally discerned a shape he recognized. Off in the sky, on the right, there was a cloud that looked remarkably like, exactly like—breasts! No sooner did he recognize the shape than Alexandra excitedly asked, “What do you see?” and Jordan’s whole body shook with silent laughter.
“I’m thinking,” he said quickly. In his haste to come up with some acceptable shape to tell her, he suddenly found one. “A swan,” he said, and then almost in awe, “I see a swan.”
The study of cloud formations, Jordan soon realized, was an unexpectedly pleasurable pastime—particularly with Alexandra’s hand clasped in his, and her body pressed against his side. A few minutes later, however, the combined distraction of her nearness and the scent of her delicate perfume became too potent to ignore. Leaning upon his forearm, Jordan braced his other arm on the opposite side of her, then he slowly lowered his mouth to hers. Her response to his first kiss was so warm and eager that Jordan felt as if his heart was melting. Pulling his lips from hers, he gazed down at her lovely face, feeling humbled by her gentleness and warmth. “Have I ever told you,” he whispered solemnly, “how sweet I think you are?”
Before she could answer, he kissed her with all the hungry urgency he felt.
* * *
It was midaftemoon when they rode back to the stables. Unaware of the surreptitious glances of Smarth and the two dozen stablekeeps and grooms, who were all avidly curious about the outcome of the morning’s jaunt, Alexandra put her hands on Jordan’s broad shoulders, smiling into his eyes as he reached up to lift her down from her sidesaddle.
“Thank you for a lovely day,” she said as he slowly lowered her to the ground.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, his hands lingering unnecessarily at her waist, keeping her body only inches from his.
“Would you like to do it again?” she offered, thinking of their fishing.
Jordan’s chuckle was rich and deep. “Again,” he promised huskily, thinking of their lovemaking. “And again . . . and again . . .”
Alexandra’s smooth cheeks turned as pink as roses, but an answering sparkle lit her eyes. “I meant would you like to go fishing again?”
“Will you let me catch the biggest fish next time?”
“Certainly not,” she said, her face glowing with merriment, “but I suppose I’d be willing to vouch for you if you want to tell everyone about the whale you caught that got away.”
Jordan threw back his head and shouted with laughter.
The sound of his mirth echoed through the stables where Smarth was standing at a window beside one of the grooms, watching the duke and his young duchess. “Told ye she could do it!” Smarth said, nudging the groom and winking. “Told ye she’d make him happier ’n he’s ever been afore!” Humming cheerfully, he picked up a brush and began to groom a chestnut stallion.
John Coachman paused in the act of polishing the silver-trimmed harness to study the pair of lovers, then he bent his head to his task again, but now he began to whistle a happy little melody between his teeth.
A stablekeep laid down his pitchfork and watched the duke and duchess, then he, too, began to whistle as he reached for another bundle of hay.
Putting his hand beneath Alexandra’s elbow, Jordan started to escort her back to the house, then he stopped abruptly and turned as the stableyard seemed to fill with tuneless, discordant melodies being hummed and whistled by servants going about their tasks with jaunty vigor.
“Is something wrong?” Alexandra asked, following his glance.
A slight, puzzled frown creased his forehead, then he shrugged, unable to discern exactly what had caught his attention. “No,” he said, guiding her back to the house. “But I’ve lazed away most of the day, and I’ll have to work twice as hard today and tomorrow to make up for it.” ’
Disappointed, but still determined, Alexandra said brightly, “In that case, I won’t try to corrupt you with amusing distractions—until the day after that.”
“What sort of distraction do you have in mind?” Jordan asked, grinning.
“A picnic.”
“I suppose I could find time for that.”
* * *
“Sit down, Fawkes, I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” Jordan said later that afternoon without bothering to look up from the letter he was reading from his London business agent.
Undaunted by his client’s discourtesy—which he correctly attributed to the duke’s understandable annoyance at needing his services—the investigator, who was masquerading as an assistant bailiff while at Hawthorne, sat down across from Jordan’s massive desk.
Several minutes later, the duke tossed down his quill, leaned back in his chair, and abruptly demanded, “Well, what is it?”
“Your grace,” Fawkes began briskly, “when you gave me Lord Anthony’s note last evening, did you not tell me that you’d instructed your wife not to visit him?”
“I did.”
“And you’re certain she heard and understood your wishes?”
“Perfectly certain.”
/> “You made them very clear?”
Expelling his breath in an irritated rush, Jordan clipped, “Impeccably clear.”
The first sign of uneasiness and concern tightened Fawkes’ face into a mild frown, then he quickly recovered and said in a brisk, impersonal voice, “Late yesterday afternoon, your wife went down to the stables and asked for a carriage. She told my man, Olsen, that she was merely going to visit a cottage on the estate, and would therefore not require his services. As we agreed last night, after learning Lord Anthony had mysteriously decided to return to Winslow, Olsen followed your wife, staying well out of sight, so as to be able to protect her without alarming her.”
Fawkes paused and then said meaningfully, “After paying a brief visit to one of your cottagers, your wife went directly to Lord Anthony’s house. In light of what transpired while she was there, I find this incident disturbing and possibly even suspect.”
Jordan’s dark brows snapped together over frigid grey eyes. “I fail to see why you should be ‘disturbed’ by it,” Jordan said in a cutting voice. “She ignored my orders, which is my problem, not yours. It is not, however, cause to suspect her of any . . .” He trailed off, unable to voice the word.
“Complicity?” Fawkes provided quietly. “Perhaps not—at least not yet. My men, who have been watching Lord Anthony’s house to spot any suspicious strangers who might call there, tell me that Lord Anthony’s brother and mother were both inside the house. However, I must inform you that your wife spent little time in the house visiting with them. After approximately a quarter of an hour, Lord Anthony and your wife left the house together and went into the garden at the side of the house, out of sight of the occupants of the house. They then carried on a private conversation which Olsen could not hear, but which appeared to him to be of an extremely intense nature—judging from their expressions and mannerisms.”
The investigator’s gaze shifted from Jordan’s unreadable face to a point upon the far wall. “While they were in the garden they embraced and kissed one another. Twice.”
Pain, suspicion, and doubt blazed through Jordan’s brain like hot axes as he envisioned Alexandra wrapped in Tony’s arms . . . his mouth on hers . . . his hands . . .
“But not for a prolonged period of time,” Fawkes said in the taut silence.
Drawing a long, steadying breath, Jordan briefly closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was calm, cold, and hardened with implacable conviction. “My wife and my cousin are related by marriage. They are, moreover, friends. Since she does not know my cousin is suspected of trying to assassinate me—or that her life may also be in danger from the same assassin—she undoubtedly felt my restriction against her visiting my cousin was unjust and unreasonable and she chose to disregard my orders.”
“Your wife flagrantly ignores your wishes, yet you don’t find that, er . . . suspicious? Or at least odd, your grace?”
“I find it infuriating, not ‘suspicious,’ ” he replied with biting sarcasm, “and it is anything but ‘odd.’ My wife has been doing as she damned well pleases since she was a child. It’s an unpleasant habit of which I intend to break her, but it does not make her a willing accomplice to an assassin.”
Realizing that it was pointless to argue the issue any further, Fawkes nodded politely and reluctantly stood up. He turned to leave, but his employer’s icy voice made him halt and turn back.
“In the future, Fawkes,” Jordan ordered tightly, “instruct your men to keep their backs to my wife and me when we are out of the house. They’re supposed to be looking for a possible assassin, not spying on us.”
“S-spying on you,” Fawkes stuttered in dismay.
Jordan nodded curtly. “On the way back today, I saw two of your men in the woods. They were watching my wife, not watching for an assassin among the trees. Get rid of them.”
“There must be some mistake, your grace. My men are highly trained, professional—”
“Get rid of them!”
“As you wish,” he agreed, bowing.
“Also, when I am with my wife, you can tell your people to keep their distance. If they’re doing their jobs, we should be able to wander about the grounds without fear of danger. I will not sacrifice our privacy, nor will I be forced to hide inside my house day and night. When I’m with my wife, I’ll look out for her myself.”
“Your grace,” Fawkes said, holding out his hands in a gesture of conciliation, “I know from years of experience that situations like this are trying, to put it mildly, particularly to men of your station. But I would be remiss in my duty if I didn’t tell you that Lord Townsende’s unprecedented decision to return to his home at this time of the year makes him a prime suspect. Furthermore, my men and I are only trying to protect your wife—”
“For which I am paying you a fortune!” Jordan interrupted acidly. “Therefore, you can damn well do it my way.”
Fawkes, who was no stranger to the unfair demands the nobility were accustomed to making upon all those around them, nodded resignedly. “We shall try, your grace.”
“And I’ll countenance no more of your groundless suspicions about my wife.”
Fawkes bowed again and left. But when the study doors closed behind him, the resolve, the absolute certainty slowly drained from Jordan’s hard face. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes, trying to block out the words Fawkes had spoken, but they pounded in his brain like a thousand vicious hammers. Lord Townsende’s unprecedented return makes him a prime suspect. . . . Your wife and Lord Townsende went for a stroll and carried on an intense conversation. . . . They embraced and kissed one another. . . . I find their actions suspect . . .
A silent shout of denial in Jordan’s brain drowned out the investigator’s words, and he lurched forward in his chair, shaking his head as if to clear it. This was madness! It was hard enough to face the fact that Tony, whom he loved like a brother, was probably trying to kill him. But he would not allow himself to think for another moment that Alexandra was also betraying him. The artless, enchanting young beauty who had teased and laughed with him today and then clasped him to her while he made love to her, was not secretly lusting after Tony, he told himself furiously. Such an idea was insane! Obscene!
He refused to believe it.
Because he couldn’t bear to believe it.
A ragged sigh escaped Jordan as he faced the truth. From the moment she had hurtled into his life, Alexandra had stolen his heart. As a girl, she had enchanted and amused him. As a woman, she delighted, infuriated, enticed, and intrigued him. But no matter what she did, her smile warmed him, her touch heated his blood, and her musical laughter made his spirits soar.
Even now, beset by jealousy and plagued by doubt, he smiled when he thought of the way she had looked this morning, seated upon a tree limb with the sunlight glinting in her hair and her long, bare legs exposed to his view.
In a ball gown, she was elegant and serene as a goddess; in his bed, she was as unconsciously provocative as the most exotic temptress; and seated on a blanket with her bare legs curled beneath her and her gorgeous hair blowing in the wind, she was still every inch a duchess.
A barefoot duchess. His barefoot duchess, Jordan thought possessively. She was his by the law of God and man.
Picking up his quill, Jordan determinedly threw himself into his work, blocking out everything else on his mind. But for the first time in his life, he could not completely lose himself in it.
Nor could he entirely forget that Alexandra had lied to him about her whereabouts yesterday.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the single high window of the austere room where Jordan had once learned his lessons under the harsh threat of a cane. Smoothing a wisp of hair back into her neat chignon, Alexandra studied the titles of the books which filled the low bookcases that ran the full length of one long wall, searching for primers she could use to teach elementary reading skills to the children who would soon b
e assembling in the gamekeeper’s cottage.
Awe and admiration filled her as she gazed at the titles and began fully to realize the scope and depth of the knowledge Jordan must possess. There were thick leather-bound volumes containing the words of Plato, Socrates, Plutarch, as well as dozens of lesser-known philosophers, whose names Alexandra scarcely recognized. There were entire sections on architecture, on every period of European history and the lives and accomplishments of every European ruler. Some were written in English; others in Latin, Greek, and French. Mathematics must have been a special interest of Jordan’s, for there was a mind-boggling array of books on that specific subject, many of them with titles so complicated that Alexandra could only guess what they referred to. Geography books, books by explorers, books on ancient cultures; every subject her grandfather had ever mentioned seemed to be represented here and in great depth.
Smiling slightly, Alexandra came to the end of the last case, and there on the bottom shelf were the reading primers she sought. Bending down, she selected two that would do for a start. With the books and a slate cradled in one arm, she walked slowly across the wooden floor, sensing the same peculiar combination of sentimentality and depression she’d felt the first time she entered this unwelcoming room more than a year ago.
How could he have spent years up here in this lonely place, she wondered. Her own lessons had been learned in a sunny room, or outdoors in the sunshine, she remembered fondly—taught by her grandfather who found peace and delight in knowledge—and who had instilled in her that same joy while he taught her.
Pausing at the desk that faced the tutor’s larger one, Alexandra gazed down at the initials carved on the top and lovingly traced each one with a fingertip: J.A.M.T.