JMcNaught - Something Wonderful (48 page)

"No!" Alexandra burst out before she could stop herself. The thought of Jordan deliberately trying to charm and entice her was more than she could bear to contemplate, and the intimate implications of being his "loving" wife made her face burn.

"Afraid you'll fall under my 'spell'?"

"Certainly not," she lied primly.

"Then why should you not agree to the wager? I'm betting a fortune that I can make you wish to stay. Evidently, you're afraid you'll lose, or you wouldn't hesitate."

He slid the challenge in so smoothly that Alexandra scarcely saw it coming before he'd hit home.

"I—there are other things to consider—" She stalled lamely, too shaken to think of any.

"Ah, yes—there's the possibility that in the ardent performance of my husbandly duties, I might get you with child, is that it?"

Speechless with dismay and horror at that heretofore unthought-of possibility, Alexandra simply stared at him, pink-cheeked, as he idly picked up a paperweight from his desk. "I intend to do my utmost to bring that about, my sweet," he baldly promised. "Moreover," he continued, balancing the weight in his palm, exactly as he was balancing her future, "our wager is contingent upon your granting me your favors in bed without resentment. In other words," he finished with smiling bluntness, "if you shirk or protest or fail to cooperate—you lose."

"You're mad!" Alexandra burst out, leaping from her chair, but her frantic mind could come up with no better means of ending this unwanted marriage.

"I must be," he agreed without rancor. "Three months doesn't give me much time. Six months would be more fair, now that I think on it."

"Three is more than fair!" Alexandra exclaimed.

"Agreed," he smoothly said. "Three months it is. Three months of wedded bliss for me, in return for—shall we say—a half million pounds?"

Alexandra clenched her trembling hands and hid them behind her back, her mind whirling with a dizzying combination of jubilation and resentment. A half million pounds… A half
million
pounds… A fortune!

In payment for services to be rendered in his bed.

By offering her the money, he was reducing her to the status of one of his mistresses; offering to "pay her off" when they were finished.

"Don't think of it in that way," Jordan quietly suggested, watching the reactions play across her expressive face and correctly interpreting them. "If I lose the wager, then consider the money as a belated 'reward' for saving my life."

With her pride somewhat soothed by that, Alexandra hesitated and then nodded slightly, noncommittally. "It's a highly irregular proposition in most regards—"

"Our marriage has been 'highly irregular' in
every
regard," Jordan said dryly. "Now then, do I need to put our wager in writing, or shall we trust one another to keep to the terms?"

"Trust!" Alexandra repeated scornfully. "You told me yourself you don't trust anyone." He had told her that in bed, and she had asked him to trust her. She had told him that love could not survive without trust. Watching him, she knew he was recalling the conversation.

He hesitated as if coming to an important decision. Then he said with gentle solemnity, "I trust
you
."

The three quietly spoken words carried a wealth of underlying meaning that Alexandra adamantly refused to believe he intended. She tried to ignore the warmth in his steady gaze, but she could not sustain her animosity when he was behaving in this odd, almost tender fashion. Deciding that the best way to deal with her enigmatic spouse was to remain calm and reserved at all times, she politely said, "I'll consider your wager."

"You do that," he urged, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as more footmen came trooping downstairs with their trunks. "Will two minutes give you enough time?" He nodded toward the crowded hallway outside his study.

"What!"

"We're leaving for Hawthorne within the hour."

"But—"

"Alexandra," he said quietly, "you have no choice." Reaching out, Jordan ran his hands up her arms while he silently fought the urge to pull her to him and seal the victory he already knew was his.

Inwardly, Alexandra bridled, but she knew he was right. Roddy's words came back to reassure her.
We are not a very prolific family
… "Very well," she agreed ungraciously. And the rest of Roddy's sentence hit her.
Although it is not for want of trying
…

"You're blushing," Jordan remarked, his eyes smiling into hers.

"Any female would blush when baldly presented with the prospect of spending three months of… of…"

"Naked splendor in my arms?" Jordan provided helpfully.

She gave him a look that could have pulverized rock.

Chuckling, he said, "Consider the risk
I
am taking. Suppose I lose my head entirely and become enslaved by your bod—beauty?" he corrected belatedly, positively oozing good humor. "And then you go off, taking my money and all hope of a legal heir with you."

"You don't for a moment believe I
could
do that, do you?" Alexandra snapped irritably.

"No."

It was his insufferable grin, as much as his arrogant confidence, that made her turn on her heel. Jordan caught her arm and pulled her firmly back around, his voice calm but authoritative. "Not until we reach an agreement. Do we have a bet, or do I take you to Hawthorne—under guard if necessary—and without promise of remuneration if you decide to leave me in three months?"

Put in that context, Alexandra had absolutely no choice. Lifting her head, she looked him in the eye and declared with unconcealed dislike, "We have a wager."

"You agree to all the terms?"

"With great reluctance, your grace," she said stonily and, jerking her arm free, started to leave.

"Jordan," he said to her back.

Alexandra turned. "Pardon?"

"My name is Jordan. In future, please call me that."

"I prefer not to."

Raising his hand in an exaggerated, mock warning, he said, "Sweetheart, be cautious lest you lose your bet in less than five minutes. You agreed to be my most 'obedient, loving, and
biddable
wife.' And I
bid
you call me by my given name."

Her eyes shot daggers into his, but she inclined her pretty head. "As you wish."

She had already walked out of the study before Jordan realized she had simply managed not to call him anything at all. A smile swept across his features as he absently rolled the paperweight between his palms, contemplating the impending, highly satisfactory sojourn in the country with his enticingly pretty—albeit reluctant—wife.

«
^
»

E
ight uniformed outriders
, mounted upon prancing steeds and carrying maroon pennants bearing the Duke of Hawthorne's insignia, rode ahead of a procession that included Jordan's splendid coach and three others containing luggage and various personal servants, and eight additional armed outriders followed behind it. All day, as they traveled regally through villages and lush countryside, peasants flocked to the roads to enjoy the spectacle of fluttering pennants, jangling silver harnesses, outriders in maroon and gold livery, and the shiny, black-lacquered coach with the gold crest of the Duke of Hawthorne emblazoned upon its doors.

They passed the drive leading up to Tony's house, and Alexandra began to look forward to seeing Tony's mother and younger brother again. They were such a kind family, and their house so cozy and inviting in comparison to the daunting magnificence of Hawthorne.

A tiny, whimsical smile played at the corners of Alexandra's lips as they neared the village of Winslow, near Hawthorne. Whenever their procession passed through a village, they created a sensation, but nothing like the one they were about to cause, she realized, as she saw the entire population of Winslow lined up in the streets and roads, already waving colorful scarves and kerchiefs to welcome their Duke home. Obviously, servants had been sent ahead to alert the staff at Hawthorne that the duke was coming home, and word had spread swiftly to the village.

How different this festive, excited greeting was from the half-hearted greeting Anthony received a year ago, when these same villagers stood along the roads to salute him dutifully as their new duke.

"You're pleased about something?" Jordan remarked, watching her.

Alexandra unconsciously turned the full force of her dazzling smile on him. "I love parades," she admitted, laughing a little ruefully. "It's the child in me, I suppose."

Jordan, who only moments ago had been dwelling on the stirring prospect of putting his own child inside her, perhaps this very night, tried to ignore the surge of hot lust her words ignited in him.

After her ungracious acceptance of his wager this morning, he had fully expected her to sulk throughout their journey, but to his increasing confusion, from the moment they left London, Alexandra had treated him with polite cordiality, albeit with a trace of shyness. After trying to find a reason for her pleasant but unexplainable mood change, he decided to take a more direct approach and bluntly remarked upon it.

Startled, Alexandra tore her attention from the coach window and self-consciously looked at her hands before slowly raising her magnificent aqua eyes to his. "After taking time to reflect upon the matter, my lord," she said candidly, "I decided your wager was more than fair. It is no more your fault that we had to marry than it was mine, and neither you nor I can be blamed because we cannot possibly suit. You have offered me a way out of an impossible situation, which is more than most men in your position would probably do. Therefore, I decided it would be altogether churlish in me to behave badly to you during the next three months."

Before Jordan could recover from the shock that she honestly and truly believed she would
win
the wager, she had stretched her graceful, gloved hand out toward his. "Friends?" she offered.

Jordan took her hand, his thumb lightly caressing her sensitive palm. "Friends," he agreed, and not by a flicker of an eye did he betray either his pique or his admiration for her spirit of fair play.

"We're home," Alexandra said, smiling when their procession drew up before the ornate black-iron gates with the Hawthorne crest upon them.

"So we are," he said indifferently, as the gatekeeper saluted his coach, then rushed forward to open wide the gates.

His cavalcade swept down the smooth road and he glanced at the magnificence of his "home," feeling no pride in its palatial splendor, nor any warm sensation of homecoming. Hawthorne represented the bleakness of his parents' marriage and his own boyhood.

"After all I've seen in the last year, I still think this is the most splendid estate in England." Alexandra sighed happily, her gaze roving lovingly over the immense, elegant house, then lifting to the flag already flying high above the hall, indicating the duke was now in residence.

"My ancestors would be pleased to hear it," Jordan remarked dryly as he glanced at his estate in the waning light of dusk. "They intended Hawthorne to rival the king's residence. It was designed to impress and intimidate."

"You—you don't like it?" Alexandra gasped.

"Not particularly. I find it oppressive. I have other houses which I think are infinitely more pleasing, although not so convenient to town."

She gaped at him in amazement. "They're more beautiful than Hawthorne?"

"Cozier."

"Hawthorne does rather overawe one," Alex admitted. "The house is so—so silent."

The entire staff of two hundred servants, including maids, gamekeepers, grooms, and footmen, were lined up on the terraced steps in formal uniforms, their faces wreathed in smiles as the coach drew to a stop before the house.

Footmen rushed forward to let down the steps, but Jordan insisted on lifting Alexandra down from the coach himself, his hands lingering at her waist after he set her down. "Welcome home," he said, his smile intimate. "Our rooms have been prepared, and an excellent supper awaits us."

"I'm much too exhausted to eat," Alexandra said hastily, in hopes of deterring him from trying to make love to her until tomorrow night. "I'd like to bathe and retire immediately."

The ploy was both obvious and futile. "In that case, we'll both skip supper and go straight to bed," Jordan countered patiently, but implacably.

"I assumed you would at least grant me a night's rest after our journey!"

"No welshing on your bet, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that, my lord," she warned.

"Jordan," he corrected.

"Here they come," Gibbons chortled to Smarth, peering excitedly around the shoulder of the gamekeeper who was blocking their view. "I can't wait to see Miss Alexandra's face, now the master is back," he said, echoing the thoughts of most of Hawthorne's staff, who were aware of her heartwrenching devotion to Jordan when she believed him dead.