JMcNaught - Something Wonderful (51 page)

On the pretext of needing a door hinge oiled, she summoned Gibbons, the footman who was as devoted to Jordan as Smarth, and who had also been her confidante while she stayed at Hawthorne. Like Smarth, the old footman was delighted to see her, and more than eager to launch into tales of Jordan as a boy, but the moment she asked about his parents, Gibbons hemmed and hedged and suddenly recalled he had urgent work to do belowstairs.

Dressed in a peach silk gown, with her hair falling loose over her shoulders, Alexandra left her room at nine, the appointed hour for supper, and walked slowly downstairs. Now that she was about to face Jordan for the first time since their angry confrontation at the stable, her curiosity over him gave way to a return of her earlier indignation and not a small amount of dread.

Higgins stepped forward as she turned toward the dining room and swiftly opened the doors to the drawing room instead. Confused, Alexandra glanced at him and hesitated. "His grace," the butler informed her, "always partakes of a glass of sherry in the drawing room before supper."

Jordan glanced up when Alexandra walked into the drawing room, and he went over to the sideboard where he poured sherry into a glass for her. Alexandra watched his deft movements as he filled her glass, her gaze running over his tall, lithe frame while she tried to ignore how incredibly handsome he looked in a wine-colored coat that clung to his broad shoulders and grey trousers that emphasized his long, muscular legs. A single red ruby winked in the folds of the snowy neckcloth that contrasted sharply with his sun-bronzed face. Wordlessly he held the glass of sherry toward her.

Uncertain of his mood, Alexandra walked forward and took the glass from his outstretched hand. His first words made her long to pour the sherry over his head. "It is my custom," he informed her, like a teacher reprimanding a tardy student, "to have sherry in the drawing room at eight-thirty and supper at nine. In future, please join me here promptly at eight-thirty, Alexandra."

Fire ignited in Alexandra's eyes, but she managed to keep her voice level. "You've already told me where I may sleep, where I may go, who must accompany me, and when I must eat. Would you care to instruct me as to when I may breathe?"

Jordan's brows snapped together, then he leaned his head back and sighed heavily. Reaching up in a gesture of frustration and uncertainty, he massaged the muscles at the back of his neck as if they were tense, then he dropped his hand. "Alexandra," he said, sounding both rueful and exasperated, "I meant to begin by apologizing for the way I treated you at the stable today. You were an hour late returning, and I was worried about you. I didn't intend to start our evening off now by reprimanding you or suffocating you with more rules. I'm not an ogre—" He broke off as Higgins tapped discreetly at the door, before carrying in a note on a silver tray.

Very slightly mollified by his apology, Alexandra sat on a velvet upholstered chair and idly glanced around the immense drawing room, noting the heavy baroque furniture upholstered in wine velvet that actually conveyed an almost oppressive splendor.
Oppressive splendor
, she thought, mentally chiding herself. Jordan's moody attitude about his home must be rubbing off on her.

Taking the note from the tray, Jordan sat down across from her and broke the seal, his eyes scanning the brief missive, his expression going from curiosity to disbelief to fury. "This is from Tony," he informed her, his grey eyes suddenly flinty, his jaw clenched so tight the bones of his face stood out. "It seems that he has decided to leave London in the midst of the Season and is even now in residence at his house not three miles from here."

The realization that her friend was now so close filled Alexandra with delight. Her face glowing with pleasure, Alexandra said, "I meant to call upon his mama and brother tomorrow—"

"I forbid you to go there," Jordan interrupted coolly. "Ill send Tony a note and explain that we wish to have the next few weeks entirely to ourselves." When she looked thoroughly mutinous, Jordan's voice became clipped: "Do you understand me, Alexandra? I
forbid
you to go there."

Slowly, Alexandra arose and Jordan stood too, towering over her. "Do you know," she breathed, staring up at him in dazed, quiet anger, as if he belonged in Bedlam, "I think you are quite mad."

Unexplainably, he smiled a little at that. "I don't doubt it," he said, unable to tell her Tony's return to the district now practically confirmed Fawkes' suspicions, and that her life was also likely to be in danger from him since she could, at this moment, be carrying the next Hawthorne heir. With quiet firmness, he added, "But I expect you to obey me, nonetheless."

Alexandra opened her mouth to tell him she didn't care a snap for his silly rules, but he pressed his finger to her lips, his smile widening. "The wager, Alexandra—you promised to be my
obedient
wife. You wouldn't want to forfeit this early in the game, would you?"

Alexandra gave him a look of well-bred disdain. "I'm in no danger of losing the bet, my lord. You've already lost it." Holding her glass, she walked over to the fireplace and pretended to inspect a fragile fourteenth-century vase.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jordan asked, coming up silently behind her.

Alexandra ran a finger over the base of the priceless treasure. "Your part of the wager was to try to make yourself so agreeable to me that I would want to stay with you."

"And?"

"And," she replied with an arch glance at him over her shoulder, "you're failing."

She expected him to dismiss that with arrogant unconcern. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. "In that case," he said, gazing down at her with a solemn smile, "I shall have to try harder, shan't I?"

Caught unawares by the combination of gravity and tenderness in his expression, Alexandra let him kiss her, clinging to her sanity while his strong arms encircled her, drawing her against him, as he bent his head and his mouth captured hers. He kissed her long and lingeringly, tasting her lips as if truly savoring each moment.

When he finally dropped his arms many minutes later, Alexandra stared at him in speechless amazement. How could he be so impossibly tender one moment and so cold, withdrawn, and arbitrary the next, she wondered, staring up into his heavy-lidded, mesmerizing grey eyes. Her voice was quiet as she voiced the thought running through her mind. "I truly wish I understood you."

"What is it you don't understand?" Jordan asked, but he already knew.

"I'd like to know the real reason you ripped up at me at the stables today."

She expected him to dismiss the matter with a teasing remark or try to shrug it off, but he surprised her by doing neither. With quiet honesty he said, "Actually I gave you the real reason, but I left it for last."

"What?"

"My pride was hurt that you left me in the middle of the night," he admitted.

"
Your
pride was hurt," Alexandra repeated, gaping at him, "so you called
me
a dox—a bad name?"

Alexandra missed the glint of amusement in his eyes, and so it took a moment before she realized he was ridiculing himself, not her. "Naturally I did that," he admitted gravely. "Surely, you don't expect an intelligent grown man, who has fought bloody battles in two countries, to have the courage to look a woman in the eye and simply
ask
her in a calm, reasonable voice why she didn't want to spend the night with him?"

"Why not?" she uttered, perplexed, and then she laughed aloud as she realized what he was saying

"Male ego," he admitted with a lopsided grin. "We'll go to any lengths to protect our egos, I fear."

"Thank you," Alexandra said gently, "for telling me the truth."

"That's the main reason why I tore into you. But I must admit there is something about this house that always puts me in a grim mood."

"But you grew up here!"

"And that," he said lightly as he took her arm and guided her into the drawing room, "is probably why I don't like it."

"What do you mean?" she blurted.

Jordan smiled down at her, but he shook his head. "A long time ago, in my grandmother's garden, you asked me to say what I feel and think, and I'm trying to do that. However, I'm not accustomed to baring my soul yet. We'll have to ease into it," he teased. "I'll answer your question someday."

Jordan had set out to "try harder to make himself agreeable" and during their meal he accomplished that goal with a resounding success that was devastating to Alexandra's peace of mind.

When they first married, she thought that he had tried to be pleasing to her, but his efforts were nothing compared to this. For two hours as they dined, he turned the full force of his devastating charm on her, teasing her with his flashing white smile and amusing her with scandalous, hilarious
on dits
about people she knew in London.

And afterward, he took her to his bed and made love to her with a passionate intensity so hot it should have forged them into one body and one soul. Then he held her in his arms against his heart throughout the night.

Accepting the basket of sweets she'd asked cook to prepare, Alexandra climbed into her carriage the next morning, determined to call upon Tony in blatant defiance of Jordan's orders. She tried to convince herself she wasn't falling in love with Jordan, that she was simply
curious
about Jordan's parents, but in her heart she knew that wasn't entirely true. She was dangerously close to losing her heart to him and desperately anxious to understand the enigmatic, compelling man she'd married. Tony was the only one she could turn to now who might be able to give her the answers she sought.

After informing Olsen, her appointed "personal groom," that she would not require his attendance to call upon the Wilkinsons, Alexandra set out on her way to the Wilkinsons' little cottage. When she finished her brief visit, she left and turned her horse toward Tony's house. Blissfully unaware of Olsen, who followed alertly behind her, keeping to the cover of the woods whenever possible, she sent her horse trotting down the country lane.

"Alexandra!" Tony exclaimed, grinning and holding out his hands to her as he strode from the house and down the short flight of steps to the narrow, tree-lined drive. "I gathered, from the note Jordan sent me this morning, that he meant to keep you exclusively to himself for the next few weeks."

"He. doesn't know I've come," Alexandra said, hugging him warmly. "Will you swear to keep it a secret?"

"Of course. I give you my word," Tony promised with a solemn smile. "Come in and see my mother and Bertie— they'll be delighted to see you. They won't breathe a word of your visit," he reiterated when Alexandra hesitated.

"After we visit with them," Alexandra said quickly, "could we walk outside? I have something to ask you."

"Of course we can," Tony readily agreed.

Tucking her hand in the crook of his proffered arm, Alexandra walked to the open front door of the house. "I assume you left London because of the gossip about all of us," she said in a tone of apology.

"Partly, and also because I was dying to know how you're getting on. There's one more reason," he admitted with an odd grin. "Sally Farnsworth sent a note asking to see me yesterday in London."

The name of the girl he had admitted loving registered instantly on Alexandra. "And did she come to see you?" Alexandra asked eagerly, studying his handsome face.

"Yes."

"What did you say?—What did she do?" she burst out.

"She proposed," Tony admitted wryly.

Alexandra laughed with amazed delight. "And?"

"And I'm considering it," he teased. "No, really, she's coming for a visit next week. I want her to see firsthand what I have to offer her by way of a home and family. I'm no longer a duke, you know. When I was, I couldn't believe she wanted me for any other reason. Now I know she does, and I haven't much to offer. Don't mention it to my mother, though. I want to break the news of Sally's visit to her gently. My mother doesn't hold her in high regard because of what happened—before."

Alexandra agreed instantly and they went inside.

"My dear, it is so very good to see you!" Lady Townsende exclaimed in her soft, smiling voice as Tony escorted Alexandra into the cheerful little salon where Lady Townsende was sitting with Bertie, Tony's younger brother. "What a jolt we've received from our dear Jordan— returning from the dead as it were."

Alexandra acknowledged her greeting, worriedly noting how pale and thin Tony's white-haired mother looked. The shock of Jordan's return had obviously affected her fragile health.

Peering around Alex, Lady Townsende glanced hopefully toward the doorway. "Jordan didn't come with you?" she asked, her disappointment obvious.

"No, I—I'm sorry, he didn't. He—"

"He's working like a demon as usual, I've no doubt," Bertie said with a grin as he came awkwardly to his feet, leaning on the cane which he used to take the weight off his crippled left leg. "And determined to keep you all to himself so that you can renew your acquaintance after his long absence."

"He is working very hard," Alexandra said, grateful that Bertie had provided her with an excuse. At one inch over six feet, Bertie was slightly taller than Tony, with sandy hair and hazel eyes. Although he possessed the Townsende charm in full measure, the constant pain from the twisted leg he'd been born with had taken its toll on Bertie's face. Lines of strain were permanently etched beside his mouth, creating a permanent grimness in his features, a grimness that was not reflected in his cheerful personality.