The Bartered Bride (29 page)

She'd been most free when she was an intrepid little girl in Spain, but growing to young ladyhood in more conventional circumstances had made her more cautious. She hadn't wanted to disgrace her mother or the colonel.

When she first emerged from the schoolroom, there had been embarrassing moments when she was too impetuous or too outspoken. Even though her parents were tolerant of her shortcomings, over time she clipped her own wings. She learned how far she could go to be con-sidered spirited rather than wild. Usually she got the balance right, but not always.

One reason she'd chosen Edmund and Australia was to be free of the constant worry of setting a foot wrong. Instead she found a straight-laced society where she was constantly aware that she must not disgrace her husband. Even after she learned about his mistress, she'd done her best to be a worthy wife. Yet despite all her attempts to be above reproach, on the voyage home she'd been ruined in social terms, through no fault of her own. It was time to stop wasting worry on matters outside her control.

"You've given me some interesting thoughts to chew on. I shall try to care less about the opinion of the world."

"As a student of tai chi and wing chun, you are already well on your way to independent eccentricity," Troth said with a smile. "And the stronger one feels, the easier it is to ignore what others say." Refusing to worry about the world's opinion should eliminate some of her fears, and eliminating fears lowered the barriers between her and her husband. She scanned the ballroom, finding him easily because of his height. He was talking with two older women who watched him, enraptured. He was so handsome that he took her breath away-and he was hers. She felt a surge of pure lust, followed by shock that she could react so strongly. Desire was definitely becoming separated from fear....

"Alexandra? "

She turned to see another former suitor from her season in London, and a splendid sight he was in scarlet regimentals. "Mark! I see you're a major now. Well done! Do you know my friend, Lady Wrexham? Troth, Major Colwell is an old friend of mine."

Troth and Mark exchanged greetings, but all his attention was for Alex. "Will you dance with me, Alexandra? I've waited a dozen years for another waltz."

"Of course." With a smile, she gave him her hand and they stepped onto the floor. Mark had matured well. Only a year older than she, he'd been a lanky, adoring ensign in that long-ago social season. Now he'd filled out and had the commanding presence of a seasoned officer. She'd been a little tempted when he offered marriage-it was flattering to be adored-but he'd been a mere boy compared to Edmund, and besides, his regiment was based in England. "It's so lovely to see you again. What have you been doing for all these years besides climbing the ranks? Have you married? Become a hero?"

"Neither of those. Your life has been far more adventurous. I was sorry to hear of your husband's death-and even sorrier to learn that you had remarried. I wish you'd waited until you returned to England so I would have had a chance." His voice roughened. "What wretched luck to lose you twice!" Uncomfortable with his intensity, she said, "You can't lose what you never had. It's been many years, and we've both changed."

"The years have only made you more beautiful. You have always been my ideal of feminine grace and charm. You still are." His voice became almost inaudible. "And I still love you." He'd obviously spent years constructing a pedestal for a female who existed only in his romantic mind. "I'm honored by your regard, but I think you'll soon find that I don't match that ideal, Mark. I never did."

He smiled at her fondly. "And modest as well as beautiful."

Had he always been this moony? Yes, she decided, he had, but it had seemed more natural on a nineteen-year-old. "Have you met my husband yet? If not, let me introduce you." His expression changed. "If you'd sent for me, I would have come to Sydney to escort you and your daughter home. I would have protected you from the horror of what happened in the Indies." She felt a chill-Frederica Pierce was spreading her lies swiftly if Mark had already heard that calamity had befallen her in the East. Reminding herself that she didn't care, she said lightly, "Don't believe whatever odd stories you've heard. They're quite untrue."

"Weren't you forced to marry a merchant to save your name? If only you'd waited, Alexandra! I would have gladly given you my name, no matter how badly you've been defiled." Caught between shock and irritation, she said coolly, "I wasn't 'forced' to marry a merchant-I had the incredible good fortune to find the best and bravest husband any woman could want. As to 'defilement'

"-she made herself laugh-"you really shouldn't listen to rumors."

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Of course you are too honorable not to be loyal to your husband. But if only things could have been different!"

" 'If only' are the most useless words in the English language, Major Colwell." The music ended, so she summoned a smile. "It's good that you could come. I hope you're having a pleasant time. Now, if you'll excuse me ..."

He held on to her hand. "Forgive me, Alexandra! I've offended you, and that's the last thing on earth I want."

Wondering if she would need a tugging match to escape, she was relieved when Gavin materialized beside her. "I believe the supper dance is ours, my dear?" He turned his gaze to the major. "I don't believe we've met, Major. I'm Seabourne. Are you another of my wife's old friends?" For an instant Alex wondered if Mark would do something melodramatic, but he was too well bred for that. Accepting Gavin's hand, he said, "I'm Mark Colwell. As you surmised, Alexandra and I were ... well acquainted before she went East." He looked as if he wanted to be disdainful, but it was hard not to be impressed by Gavin's calm presence. "London is the richer for her return."

"Indeed." Gavin took Alex's arm with a light, possessive gesture. "My dear, the most amazing rumors are circulating the ballroom. My favorite is that you were declared goddess of a primitive tribe in New Guinea."

She managed a laugh. "Is that what you heard, Mark? If only it were true! I've always longed to be a queen, but a goddess is even better." Far better than being a slave. Mark flushed a little. "I'm sure you would make a splendid queen. Good to meet you, Seabourne." He raised Alex's free hand and kissed it. "I trust we'll be seeing each other again soon, Alexandra." After the major moved out of earshot, she said, "Thank you for rescuing me, Gavin. Mark has spent a dozen years turning me into a romantic ideal. Very tedious."

"Actually, I came over to rescue him." He steered her toward the supper room. "You looked ready to practice your wing chun on him."

"I wasn't there yet, but five more minutes and I might have been," she admitted. But she was still tense as they sat down to supper. It was one thing to say she didn't care what people thought of her, and quite another to make it reality.

"That went very well, I think." The Duchess of Ashburton gave a happy sigh as the last guests were packed off, rather earlier than at most balls, but the duchess was an expert at getting people out of the house when she was ready to retire.

"Indeed it did. Thank you so much, Aunt Rosalind." Alex hugged her aunt and uncle, then took Gavin's arm and climbed the steps to their rooms. As guests of honor, they had to stay till the end. Her parents had quietly slipped away an hour earlier.

She was very aware of the strength of his arm, of the quiet protection he'd given her all night even though he'd been as wary of this ball as she. Gavin hesitated when they reached her door, but she drew him inside with her. With the door closed, she went into his arms, wanting the warm comfort of a hug.

"I'm glad that's over. We both survived. You were a great success, my lord."

"Allowances were made for me because of all the fine families I'm related to by marriage." He stroked her back, his touch both relaxing and reviving her. "You must be exhausted after so much dancing."

"I'm ready to sleep the clock around." She sighed, her pleasure fading. "I think Frederica Pierce spent the evening spreading her rumors. I'm trying not to care."

"Soon there will be so many contradictory stories they'll all seem false. In a week people will be saying you were chosen as the admiral of a Chinese pirate fleet."

"Better than the ugly truth." She buried her face in his shoulder, wondering if she dared suggest what she was thinking.

Gently he massaged her nape, loosening tight muscles. "Is something wrong? " She thought of what her mother had said. Risk your pride. Risk your heart. Risk your dreams. "I'm trying to decide how to invite you to stay the night without making it seem as if ... as if I'm inviting you for more than that."

"I think you just managed it." There was a smile in his voice. "There's an American pioneer custom called 'bundling'. Since travel was difficult, courting couples would spend the night in the same bed, but separated by a board or blankets."

"And these young couples behaved?" she asked, amazed.

"Usually. Not always. But we're adults. We can be as good as we want to be."

"How well you put that. Very well, let us bundle. Close, but not too close." Turning her back, she asked, "Can you undo the ties of this gown? I'm too tired to manage alone." He did as she asked, his fingers deftly finding hidden tapes and hooks. How intimate and sensual to have a man help her disrobe at the end of a long day. And a little alarming, too. "I'll get ready for bed. By the time you join me, I'll probably be asleep."

He kissed the back of her neck. "And I'll be asleep five minutes later." After he withdrew into his room, she hastily undressed and donned a nightgown of soft embroidered muslin, then brushed out her hair so she could braid it. She wanted to be in bed and giving a good imitation of slumber before he returned, since her desire to sleep with him was only slightly greater than her nervousness about doing so.

She'd barely slid under the covers and closed her eyes when he quietly returned. After turning out the lamp, he climbed into the bed, the mattress sagging under his weight. She tensed, then relaxed when she recognized that he was separated from her by a sheet and a blanket.

Rolling onto his side, he draped an arm over her waist. "Playing possum?" So much for pretending she was asleep. " What does that mean?"

"Opossums live in the American South. Think of a rat the size of a cat." She shuddered. "Must I? I loathe rats."

"Very well, think of a slow gray critter with a long tail that can hang from tree branches. When an opossum feels threatened, he'll curl up and pretend he's dead, hoping the other beast will go away and look for a livelier meal."

She laughed out loud. "So I'm a pretend rat and you're a threat?"

"Apparently."

Hearing regret in his voice, she said, "You know it's not you, don't you? "

"Yes, I know." But there was still a trace of wistfulness in his voice. She cuddled closer, enjoying his warmth and companionship. Muscles tired from dancing ached less in his presence, and the weight of his arm wasn't enough to cause distress. Because it was easier to talk in the dark, she said, "Half the fear is of being trapped. The other is of ... of having my body invaded."

"That leaves quite a bit of sea room actually." His hand drifted up to her breast, cupping its fullness. Slowly he moved his palm in a circle, rubbing her nipple deliciously through the finely woven fabric.

"That feels nice," she murmured. "But I warn you, I'm too tired to respond."

"So am I." Lazily he continued to stroke her breasts, as if he was petting a cat. She realized that she was less tired than she thought. His caresses were causing other body parts to feel surprisingly awake. She inched closer yet.

His hand moved lower, unerringly finding the place where heat was burning away all traces of fatigue. Her breathing changed as he brushed aside her nightgown so that his strong, knowing fingers could touch slick, heated flesh. A little lower ... yes, there.

This time she recognized the building tension, the way sensations flooded her body. This time she didn't resist the furious urgency that dissolved thought and sent her thrusting against his hand as she gasped for breath. "Oh, my," she said weakly when she could speak. "And I thought I was tired before. Now I can't even move."

He chuckled, his hand becoming still as it came to rest on her most private parts. "Sleep well, my dear wife."

Much as she would have liked to roll over and fall asleep, she realized that he might not sleep so well. She slid her hand between the blankets, and found proof that he was far from restful. Her guess confirmed, she tugged up his nightshirt.

He said tensely, "You don't have to do this."

"I know." The garment out of the way, she wrapped her hand around that warm, silky length. "But I want to." She squeezed experimentally.

He gasped. "At this rate, little of your time will be required." Propping herself up on one elbow, she concentrated on pleasing him as much as he'd pleased her. Interesting how that hard male organ didn't seem like a weapon when he was lying on his back, vulnerable to whatever she chose to do. This took trust on his part, just as she had to trust him when he touched her.

Her mother was right-trust was the bedrock of a good marriage. For her, the ability to trust a man had been shattered when she became a victim. An object, not a partner. Now trust was being rebuilt one small piece at a time. At least, thank God, she'd married a man worthy of it. He climaxed with a long, harsh groan, one hand clenching her arm as he bucked against her hand. She loved that she could give him such intense satisfaction. This was more rewarding than lying on her back had ever been.

Deeply content, she relaxed back onto her pillow, one arm around him. "Is this being as good as we want to be?"

"Yes," he said huskily. "And you're very good indeed."

Alex gazed absently from the window of the breakfast room. The Berkeley Square house's garden was misty this morning, the summer blossoms having the hazy loveliness of a Chinese painting. She hardly noticed Gavin's arrival until he kissed her cheek. "Thinking deep thoughts?" he asked.