Andrea Kane (30 page)

Drake struggled with his own urge to beat Sebastian senseless. He took a possessive step closer to Alex. “Your taste is superb, Sebastian. I hope you won’t be too disappointed to learn that Alexandria happens to be my wife.”

This time Sebastian could not disguise his astonishment, or his displeasure, at the news. “Your
wife?”

Alex gave him a cool nod. “Hello, Sebastian.”

“Your wife,” he repeated again, shaking his head.

“Well, I think that it is wonderful,” Samantha interrupted, giving Alex a small smile. “Perhaps the joy of having Drake returned to us and of welcoming Alexandria into the family will help to ease the pain of losing Papa.” She swallowed, then lifted her chin. “You look exhausted, Alexandria. Let us leave my brothers to … do what they must.” She shuddered at the reality of her father’s death, but hung on to the fact that Drake was home. “Alexandria, I will show you to your room, if you like.”

Alex looked gratefully at her. “Thank you, Samantha. I would like that very much.” Without meeting Drake’s eyes she raised her skirts and followed Samantha up the winding staircase. She was uncertain how much longer she could function without breaking down. Her entire life had blown up in her face. She desperately needed time alone to think.

“Your grace?”

Alex didn’t turn.

“Your grace?” Humphreys’s voice was tentative. “I shall arrange for a lady’s maid to assist you at once.”

Alex froze where she stood, realizing that Humphreys was addressing her. As of one hour past she was the Duchess of Allonshire.

She pivoted slowly on the stairway and looked down, her strained gaze locking with Drake’s tortured stare. The words seemed to echo between them, within them, pulling taut the thin filament of their relationship, tighter and tighter, until it snapped.

Alex turned away first, walking gracefully up the curved staircase until she was gone.

D
RY-EYED, ALEX STARED
up at the plush velvet canopy of the intricately carved mahogany bed. Her head ached painfully; her mind still raced with all it needed to absorb. Odd, she had been in her room for hours, yet she could not cry. Deep within her lay a core of grief so profound that it was not yet ready to be touched. She supposed that she was still in shock, would remain so for some time.

Shivering, Alex arose from the bed and moved toward the fire, drawing her wrapper more tightly around her. Shortly after she had taken dinner in her room, Molly, her lady’s maid, had come to announce the arrival of some clothing for her grace. There had followed a procession of gowns, all the dark-colored crepes and bombazines that were necessary for mourning, and all of them fit Alex perfectly. As if to atone for the drabness of her initial wardrobe there were countless exquisite night rails and wrappers in soft colors and delicate silks. Alex had no idea how the
modiste
had managed all this without her measurements, but she assumed that Drake had something to do with it. It mattered not. Whatever was between her and her husband, she was his wife and he had just lost his father. Therefore, she would wear the gowns and show her respect to Grayson and to the
ton.

The
ton.
The pompous, self-righteous group of aristocrats that Drake had mocked time and again, had bitterly resented for all they were. He had scorned her for being born into their world, had professed his loathing for the nobility and their values.

Lies. All of it, lies.

Alex turned, pressed her hands to her mouth and stared about the room with burning eyes.

Three of her rooms in Sudsbury could have easily fit into this elaborate bedchamber. The heavy furniture was hand-carved, and the upholstery was a rich pink velvet that matched the flocked wall covering and plush bedcover. The settee at the foot of the bed could easily have slept two, the ruffled dressing table contained every cosmetic a woman could desire, and the broad French windows led onto a large balcony that overlooked the grounds of the estate, giving her a breathtaking view of the endless gardens below.

Yet it all meant nothing.

Alex crossed the room to gaze out the window, searching the moonlit sky for answers. She had married a sea captain, a brave and dedicated man who led a simple life filled with purpose and commitment. A man she could respect … with whom she had fallen in love.

She had married a duke. A man who had lied to her time and again, whose very existence was a sham, who had accepted her love and her trust and then betrayed them.

And if Drake himself was a lie, then what of the feelings they had shared? She closed her eyes, unwanted images appearing before her. The heroic way he had rescued her from death, the tender way he had nursed her back to health on the island, the laughter they had shared, the words he had whispered, the look in his burning eyes when he’d made love to her—a look that had everything and nothing to do with passion.

Or so she had thought. She had deluded herself into thinking—no, hoping—that he was falling in love with her, that all that was missing were the words he could not yet say. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. To admit the truth was to negate all that had passed between them these last months. And that truth her heart was not yet ready to accept. So the tears remained unshed.

She had to sleep. The next few days would be the most trying of her life. Her own grief and despair had no place in the day-to-day world of Allonshire. Alex’s upbringing had prepared her to do her duty, regardless of her inner turmoil. But the overwhelming burden of being a duchess? For that, she was totally unprepared. Indeed, her mother had tried to teach her the skills required of a noblewoman, to ready her for the day when she would be the mistress of her own home. Alex had foolishly dismissed the attempts as inane. How she regretted that now! For now she faced the awesome responsibility of being the Duchess of Allonshire.

Then there was Drake’s family.

Samantha was a softhearted girl with warmth and spirit. It was obvious that she adored Drake and that the feeling was mutual. Never having had a sister of her own, Alex wanted very badly to reach out and earn Samantha’s friendship.

After showing Alex to her room Samantha had lingered, shy and eager all at once. And Alex’s heart had ached for the younger girl’s pain and loneliness. Yet her own emotional strength had been depleted by the events of the day. She had therefore asked Samantha if they might spend the next morning together, getting to know each other. Samantha’s eyes had lit up, joy and anticipation making them glow. She had looked so much like Drake at that instant that Alex had almost wept.

Alex’s tenderness vanished as her mind moved to Sebastian. There was a coldness about him that frightened her, and the hungry, lustful way he looked at her was unnerving and damned insulting. After all, she was wed to his brother.

Drake. Her mind returned to the complex man she had married. His father’s death had obviously been a terrible blow to him and the weeks to come would mean a drastic change in his way of life. The adjustment would be tremendously difficult for Drake, she knew, for whatever else he had lied about, he had not lied about his love for the sea. And now that life would be over, lost beneath his staggering responsibility to Allonshire. The thought saddened her, but there was little she could do. She felt cold inside, cold and dead. She had little internal strength left for herself; she had none to offer Drake.

Alex slid into the bed, willing herself to go to sleep. Tomorrow would reveal itself in but a few short hours.

The door to her bedchamber opened. Alex started, sitting up in surprise. Silhouetted in the doorway was Drake, his powerful form revealed by the glow of the firelight, his face concealed by shadows. He walked slowly into the room, closing the door behind him and approaching the bed. He stopped just before he reached Alex’s side, staring down at her, his expression enigmatic.

Alex returned his gaze without moving, noting that her sea captain was gone. Drake was clean-shaven, his hair cut shorter at the nape of his neck. His robe, made of dark green silk, was belted, but open enough for her to see the soft dark hair that covered his massive chest.

The man who gazed down at her was very much the Duke of Allonshire.

“What do you want, Drake?” Her voice was drained and devoid of emotion.

“I don’t know what I want,” he answered her quietly, searching for some softness in her eyes and finding none. “Nor can I answer any of the other questions you must have, for I myself don’t know who I am anymore.” He swallowed. “My father is dead. I feel so damned empty inside.”

“So do I, Drake,” Alex whispered truthfully. “And I need to be alone to think things through.”

“I need you.” He begged her with his eyes. “I’ll go if you ask me to … but please don’t ask me to.” His jaw tightened, a muscle working furiously in his cheek. “I’ve never asked … begged … a woman in my life. Please, Alex, I need you to stop the pain. Just tonight. Please.”

It wasn’t fair of him to ask this of her. Alex knew it, and Drake knew it as well. She had yet to recover from shock and move on to acceptance. She could not begin to consider forgiveness. Not now; maybe never.

He needed her. She stared up at the green fire in his eyes, a fire born of pain and loss and desire. Yet he waited, and she knew he would leave her if she asked him to. She didn’t ask. Perhaps this was all they could offer each other to fill the void inside them. Perhaps it was all they had left, possibly all they’d ever had. At that moment it didn’t matter.

He saw his answer in her eyes, and she saw the flame of hope in his. He unbelted his robe, dropped it to the floor, and got into bed beside her.

“Alex, come to me,” he whispered in a shaken voice. “I’ve never needed anything like I need you tonight.”

They both moved at once, coming together in a desperate explosion of feeling, driven by the elemental need of one human being for another, the reaffirmation of life. Drake peeled the night rail from Alex’s body, casting it to the floor beside his robe. A harsh cry was torn from his lips as he pressed her naked body against his, whether from desire or anguish, Alex wasn’t sure. He held her for a long time, just feeling her heart pound against his, burying his face in her fragrant cloud of hair. His breathing was harsh, erratic, his body hot against hers.

Slowly Alex slid her arms around his back, pressed her face against the solid strength of his chest. She could feel the chill leave her as he enveloped her in the power of his embrace, molded each soft contour of her body to his hardened ones. Their legs intertwined, roughness and silk as one, their arms tightened about each other. For long moments neither of them spoke or moved, the only sound being the soft crackling of the fire. She could feel his arousal, hard and throbbing against her stomach, but he made no move to join their bodies. With a will of its own Alex could feel her body begin to respond to his nearness, pulsing slowly to life until her own breathing was irregular and her skin was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.

Drake felt it, too, and a wave of relief swept through him. He could still make her feel something, be it only desire. He had been so afraid. And although he knew it was only a shell of what it had been before, he took what she offered him greedily and with a hunger that made him weak.

He lifted his head and, unwilling to see the bleakness in her eyes, lowered his mouth to hers, seeking another truth. She tasted so sweet, so right. He parted her lips and drank more deeply of her intoxicating flavor, inhaled the wonderful floral scent that was Alex. His heart soared as she opened to him, meeting his tongue with her own, gliding her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. All realities dissolved but this one, the reality that was in his arms.

Alex. His heart called out to her again and again, a silent message conveyed by his body. His lips left hers to brush butterfly kisses along her cheeks, nose, and chin, down the slender column of her neck, up to the delicate shell of her ear. His breath was hot and raspy as his tongue traced the soft lobe tenderly, with infinite gentleness. He felt her shudder in his arms.

“Ah, Alex,” he murmured into her ear, “respond to me, love; just let your body take over. Give me your beauty, your passion. … God, Alex, breathe life back into my soul.” He bit down lightly and she moaned.

“Drake …”

“I know, princess, I know.”

She shook her head frantically at the painfully familiar endearment and tugged his head down to her breast. She didn’t want to think, only to feel.

Drake responded to her gesture by running his tongue along the soft mounds of her breasts, drawing each nipple into his mouth, first lightly, then with such force that she cried out, arching her back.

He lifted his head, his face flushed with emotion and need. Her eyes were closed, her skin suffused with a rosy glow. She was so beautiful lying there bathed in firelight, her body telling him how much it wanted him.

Drake braced himself on one arm and slid his other arm beneath her, lifting her from the bed, burying his lips in hers for another shattering kiss. She clung to him, both arms around his neck, and he slid his hand down the smooth skin of her back, over the gently rounded curve of her hip and onto the silkiness of her inner thighs. She opened to him at once, parting her legs to his stroking fingers.

At his first touch she whimpered, and he groaned. She was hot and soft and satiny wet with her desire for him. The feel of her was enough to push him over the edge; he wanted to savor her and devour her all at once. His emotions were dangerously close to the surface, his body burning alive. But he wanted these moments to last; he needed to hold at bay what lay beyond tonight.

Softly, gently, he stroked his hand up and down her delicate flesh, until she was digging her nails into his back and begging him to end the torture. He worsened it instead. Gradually, maddeningly, he slid his fingers inside her, giving her a teasing penetration that brought her closer to the edge.

“Drake, don’t do this,” she pleaded, squirming helplessly against him.

“Let it last,” he breathed back. “Let it go on forever.”