Captain Of Her Heart (17 page)

Jason’s blood ran cold.  “Alex, I had no idea—”

“Have I not tried to tell you?”  She inhaled a shaky breath and dried her face.  “I offered you everything, and you left me nothing.  Shall I describe my shame and humiliation, when I informed Admiral Douglas of my pregnancy?  Damian was at sea, I needed help, and the usual channels were barred to me, as an unmarried woman with child, lest I scandalize my family name.”

“I am so sorry, sweetheart.”  Without thought, he drew her into his arms, albeit from the side, in order to accommodate her belly.  “And you need never be afraid, as I will let no harm befall you.”

“Oh, Jason,
you
scare me.  And I worry we may never recover.”  As the magnitude of her heartbreak dawned on him, he held her tighter.  “And now I have this wreck of a home to salvage, which I shudder to consider, as everything needs either remodeling or replacing.  There is so much work, and I near the end of my pregnancy.”

“Perhaps I should hire someone to oversee the estate, in your stead.”  Cupping her cheek, he kissed her forehead.  “Would that ease your mind?”

“No.”  She sniffed and then burrowed in his chest.  “I was bred for just this situation, and I will not fail you, but I should warn you that the restoration will be very expensive.”

“Spend whatever you wish, darling.”  Now that was a phrase he had never before uttered.  “Make Stratfield a loving environment in which to raise our children.”

“I shall remember you said that.”  And then she inched from his grasp.  “Now, if you will excuse me, I should instruct Miss Phipps on the proper method for unpacking and airing clothes.”

“Just a minute.”  Jason was not sure why he had done it, but he caught his lady, framed her face, and pressed on her a gentle kiss of which he had not thought himself capable.  “Never fear me, Alex, as I would sooner take my life than hurt you again.  And I know it is difficult for you to believe me, so I accept your challenge, with no promises on your part.”

“You do?”  The surprise in her tone cut him to the core, as she had so little faith in him, yet he could blame no one but himself.

“Aye.”  An unfamiliar pain weighed heavy in his chest.  “And you should discuss dinner plans with Gertie, as we have no cook, and her kitchen skills are, well, horrible.”

“Do we have any rabbit traps?”  She tapped a finger to her chin.  “As I could make your favorite stew, the partiality of which your babes share, as I crave it constantly.”

“Sounds delicious.”  If it were the last thing he could achieve, he would restore the spark to her eyes.  “And I will have Arnold put out the traps, at once.”

“Thank you.”  Alex opened the door and then peered over her shoulder.  “Can you give me directions to my chambers?”

“Of course.”  Wait until she discovered Stratfield Manor had only one master suite.  It was that feature, alone, which had persuaded him to buy the rundown estate, along with its decrepit furnishings.  “At the landing of the grand staircase, turn right.  The master suite is at the end of the hall.”

“Then I will see you at dinner.”  She mustered a half-hearted smile that had not fooled him for a second.

As soon as Alex closed the door, Jason rounded his desk and sat in the large chair.  When his posterior connected with the cushion, a cloud of dust overtook him, and he suffered a vicious coughing fit.  After a couple of violent sneezes, he opened the top drawer and located serviceable stationary, because he had letters to write.

#

Four days later, a courier delivered two much-anticipated responses to Jason’s correspondence.  Hugging the envelopes to his chest, he checked the foyer for any signs of his bride before adjourning to his study.  Ensconced in the sanctity of his private domain, he locked the door and strode to his desk.  Just as he plopped to his seat, he cursed, as the now familiar cloud of dust incited a wicked coughing fit.

Given Trevor’s tenure as a father, and his bawdy proclamation that the production of his third offspring ranked as chief among his concerns, Jason opened Lockwood’s letter first.  The dramatic script, typical of Caroline’s husband, contrasted with the elementary information and counsel the missive contained.

“I am to rub her feet?”  Jason grimaced.  “That is the great secret to wedded bliss?”

Without thought, he slumped in his seat, and another nasty fog engulfed him.  Using the parchment as a fan, of sorts, he choked, sputtered, and pondered Trevor’s advice.

So he was to express a sudden affinity for her ankles, heels, and toes—and pretend to enjoy the experience?  Why could he not just caress her breasts, as they looked quite swollen?  Perhaps Alex would prefer he soothe her hips, her succulent thighs, the luscious undersides of her knees...

Of course, that line of thinking was exactly how he ended up in his current predicament.  And he could not fault his friend’s logic, as feet presented safe territory, compared to other more delectable parts.

Then he gave his attention to the second letter, swiped it from the blotter, and ripped open the envelope.  To his absolute befuddlement, Everett dispensed identical sage advice.  Yet Woverton also expounded on the virtues of back massages, with particular care paid to the lower region, near the base of Alex’s spine, and her shoulders.  According to Everett, Sabrina often rewarded his efforts with most passionate appreciation.

“
Passionate
appreciation?”  Jason snorted, propped an elbow on the armrest, and cupped his chin in his palm.  “What on earth could Everett mean, as Alex has permitted nothing more than a few pleasurable kisses?  I may have destroyed her confidence, but pregnancy killed her licentious appetite, and I would restore both.”

And then he digested the remaining contents of the dispatch.  The last recommendation involved hiring a nanny.  While Sabrina had suffered the worst symptoms of her condition, Everett had conducted interviews, had arranged for the prospective candidate to meet with his wife, and had settled the contract and wages.  In turn, Sabrina had declared Everett the most thoughtful husband and had been generous in her thanks.

“What in bloody hell do I know of nannies?”  Then again, he hired sailors to staff the
Intrepid
, so he considered himself highly qualified to employ household personnel.  “All right, I will do it.”

With the best of intentions swirling in his brain, he tugged open the top right drawer, and the bottom fell to the floor.  Muttering a slew of invective, he knelt and retrieved the spilt contents.  After stacking his stationary atop the desk, Jason dropped into his chair, and the maddening dust cloud provoked another blistering string of expletives.

“My lady, you should rest before the next applicant arrives.”  Gertie’s shrill tone sounded in the hall.  “You have been on your feet all morning.”

“Could you make a pot of tea, Miss Phipps?”  Alex moaned.  “And I shall take a short nap in the back parlor.”

“I will see to it, at once, your ladyship,” the housekeeper replied.

In less than twenty-four hours, Alex had earned Gertie and Arnold’s everlasting devotion via their stomachs.  And in true Alex fashion, she had charmed a group of local dandies to transport four wagonloads of new furnishings to the house, after a painfully slow coach ride into town, on their first full day in residence.

Yet with Jason she remained blanketed in uncharacteristic reticence and melancholia.  No matter how hard he tried to make amends, she kept him at arm’s length, and an underlying hesitance marked her every move.  And his heart bled for her.

With a smile, he pushed from his desk and all but ran into the hall.  It was time to test the solicited advice, as his bride had taken a break from her busy schedule.  Unsure of his welcome, he second-guessed his tack.  But he had vowed to win her back, by any means necessary, so he turned the knob and opened the door.

The freshly hung drapes had been drawn, and Alex reclined, dozing on a new
chaise
, with her feet propped on a pillow.  Trevor and Everett, god bless them, had been correct.  Moving slow and steady, Jason tiptoed—yes, he deuced tiptoed, on the pristine carpet, but a floorboard creaked and betrayed his presence.

In a flash, Alex jumped.  “
Oh
, Jason.  You startled me.”

“Relax, love.”  He halted, until she closed her eyes.  Just then, Gertie, carrying a tray laden with a teapot, cups, and a plate of biscuits, entered the parlor.  “Shh.  My wife sleeps.”

“Poor dear.”  The housekeeper dipped her chin, as she set the tray on the table.  “She will wear herself out, sir.  And that is not good for the babes.”

“I will caution her,” Jason replied, in
sotto voce
. “You may come for her when the next applicant arrives.”

“Yes, Captain.”  The housekeeper smiled.  “If I may say so, Lady Alex is a very fine woman.”

“Yes, she is quite simply magnificent.”  And in a moment of temporary insanity, he had refused to marry her and, in so doing, had destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him.  “But I thank you, just the same.”

Alone, at last, he lifted his bride’s feet, tossed the pillow to the floor, and shuffled to the end of the
chaise
.  After a gentle shift to his left, he positioned Alex’s heels in his lap and removed her slippers.  When she sniffed and rolled her head to one side, he froze, lest he disturb her.  As her breaths returned to a steady rhythm, he commenced his task.

According to Trevor, the arches required the most attention, so Jason used the pads of his thumbs, tracing small circles in the subtle indentations, and Alex lauded his efforts with a lusty moan that harked back to those sumptuous days in Plymouth.  Then he massaged the outer edges of her soles, and she let forth a robust cry of pleasure that summoned the trusty old Jolly Roger, too long neglected, into action.

Soon, a heady chorus of
oohs
and
ahs
brought Jason to the brink of ecstasy, and as he kneaded his magic on her provocative little toes, he lowered her feet and thrust his hips in time with his handiwork, engaging in a naughty caress of his stubborn erection.  How he savored her touch, however unintended.

“What are you doing?” Alex inquired in a high-pitched voice.

With a violent flinch, he opened his eyes, gazed at his wife, and cleared his throat.  “I am massaging your feet, sweetheart.”

“Indeed?”  She arched a brow and frowned.  “Because it appears you use my feet to rub your—are you aroused?”

“Do you really have to ask?”  He chuckled.

“But—why?”  Sporting a charming blush, she licked her lips.  “I mean...that is to say, given my condition, what could have stimulated you?”

“You think yourself unattractive, my dear?”  Stunned by her question, because it presented another confusing character deviation he had not foreseen, she could have knocked him over with a feather.  “Alex, you are pregnant, not dead, and you have never been lovelier.”

“But you think me fat.”  And now she pouted, which he could never resist.

“Now I know very well I never said that.”  Jason rolled his eyes.  “I may be many things, but I am neither daft nor forgetful.”

“Then it appears you suffer selective memory syndrome.”  She lifted her chin, and for the briefest second, he glimpsed his Alex, but she retreated beneath her shroud of sadness.  “Does
rotund
ring a bell?”

“You have a mind like a steel trap.”  Resuming his massage, he teased her soles with a feathery caress and rubbed his finger between her toes in a repetitive, illicit rhythm.  Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek and winked.  “Remind you of anything?”

“Jason Collingwood.”  Her mouth fell agape.  “You are incorrigible.”

“I am your husband, and I want you.”  He walked his fingers to her calves.  “What is incorrigible about that?”

Their eyes met, held, and the promise of passion ignited, just as it had all those months ago.  And so he rode that much prayed for but absent of late tide and inched his palms to her knees.  She inhaled a shaky breath and bit her lip, and he damn near spilt his seed in his breeches.

And then a knock at the door interrupted what had been a pleasant interlude.

“Oh.”  The disappointment in Alex’s expression gave him fledgling hope, until she drew her feet from his lap, dropped her legs over the edge of the
chaise
, and smoothed her skirts.  “Come.”

“Your ladyship, I beg your pardon for the intrusion.”  Miss Phipps peered inside and smiled.  “The next potential candidate for employment awaits you in the drawing room.”

“A gardener, I believe.”  Alex glanced left and then right.  “Is it Mr. Hardy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  The housekeeper nodded once.  “And I have provided tea and fresh biscuits, my lady.”

“You are a fast learner and a treasure, Miss Phipps.”  Alex giggled, and pride swelled in his chest, as his wife performed her duties with flawless perfection and her customary enthusiasm.  In fact, when dealing with the staff, her generosity of spirit, which had attracted him from the first, had resurfaced—with everyone but Jason.  “I shall have to take excellent care that you never leave me, as you are quite indispensible.”

“Humph.  That will never happen.”  And then Gertie glanced at him.  “Captain Collingwood, a Mr. Henson is here to discuss repairs to the roof, and he is in the foyer.”  With that, Gertrude half-curtseyed and exited the parlor.

“Alex, I must applaud your efforts, as never has Gertie addressed me with such refined manners.”  He chuckled.  “How did you manage it?”

“It is simple, really.”  She shrugged.  “I merely explained that our guests bring certain expectations to the employer and servant relationship.  Should she or Mr. Phipps deviate from that course, prospective visitors might take it upon themselves to upbraid our staff, and then I would embarrass myself with a vast deal more than vigorous defense of my personnel.  Never would I allow anyone, regardless of affiliation, to mistreat our domestics, as they are, in a sense, our extended family.”

“Well said, sweetheart.”  Had he once thought Alex a snob?  Jason could not have been more wrong.  Just then, she leaned forward and almost fell to the floor.  “Weigh your anchor, love.  What are you about?”