ORDAN CALLED TO his coachman to pull up at the next clearing beside the road, and Alexandra sighed with relief. They'd been traveling at a fast pace since lunch, and she longed to walk about and work the kinks from her body. Her husband, however, seemed perfectly comfortable and relaxed in the confines of the coach—probably, she decided, because his clothing was far more sensible than hers.

Clad in buff-colored breeches, shiny brown boots, and a wide-sleeved, peasant-style shirt that was open at the throat, Jordan was more suitably attired for a long coach journey than she was. She, on the other hand, was wearing three petticoats beneath the wide skirt of her bright yellow traveling costume and a white silk shirt beneath the tight-fitting yellow pelisse that was trimmed in dark-blue braid. A scarf of yellow, white, and blue stripes was tied at her throat, her hands were encased in yellow gloves, and a pert straw bonnet trimmed with yellow ribbons and silk roses was perched upon her mahogany curls and tied beneath her ear. She felt hot, confined, and rather resentful that fashionable young ladies were evidently required to dress so foolishly, while fashionable gentlemen, like her husband, could apparently dress as they wished.

As soon as the coach came to a complete stop at a wide place in the road and the steps were let down, Alexandra scooped up Henry and bumped into Jordan in her haste to escape. Instead of preceding her, as he would normally have done, Jordan shot her an understanding look and relaxed against the squabs. Allowing her a decent interval in which to take care of personal needs, which he assumed was the reason for her haste, he then climbed down and strolled through the bushes at the side of the road into the pretty little clearing.

"Doesn't this feel marvelous, Henry?" She was standing in the center of the clearing, stretching, her hands linked high over her head, her puppy sitting at her feet For the second time, Jordan wished an artist could capture her on canvas. In her bright yellow finery, surrounded by sloping hills covered with yellow and white wildflowers, she was youth and grace and suppressed energy—a gay wood nymph dressed in the latest fashion.

He grinned at the poetic bent of his thoughts and stepped into the clearing.

"Oh, it's you!" she said, dropping her arms hastily to her sides, but looking relieved.

"Who else were you expecting?"

Stalling for time before she had to return to the coach, Alexandra bent down and snapped off a long, slender branch from a dead sapling. "No one, but when one is traveling with two coachmen, two postilions, and six outriders, it's hard to guess who will appear. What an army!" she laughed, and then, lightning-quick, she excuted a saber salute with the branch and thrust it at Jordan's chest. "En garde!" she said teasingly, then pointed the wooden saber at the ground, put her palm atop it, and jauntily crossed one ankle in front of the opposite leg, looking like a remarkably pretty, youthful swordsman.

The thrusting motion with the wooden "saber" had been executed with such flawless technique that Jordan couldn't believe she was merely mimicking something she'd seen. On the other hand, he couldn't believe she possessed any real knowledge or skill, either. "Do you fence?" he asked, his dark brows furrowed in disbelief.

She nodded slowly, her smile widening. "Care to try me?"

Jordan hesitated, aware that daylight was slipping past, but his fascination rapidly won out over his common sense. Besides, he too was tired of being confined in the coach. "I might consider it," he replied, deliberately baiting her. "Are you good enough?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Accepting her challenge with a gleam of amusement, he turned and looked around for a suitable branch. By the time he'd found one the right length and width, Alexandra had already removed her bonnet and pelisse. Arrested, he watched her unknot the scarf from around her neck, pull it off, then unbutton the top buttons of her silk shirt. At the sound of his approach, she whirled around in a swirl of yellow skirts, her color gloriously high, her aquamarine eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I wish I could remove my petticoats and slippers," she announced. As she spoke, she lifted her skirts, exposing slim, surprisingly shapely calves to Jordan's view, while she wriggled her dainty foot and ruefully considered the offending yellow slippers on her small feet. "I suppose I'd ruin my stockings if I took my slippers off. Wouldn't I?"

She glanced at him for advice, but Jordan's mind was momentarily preoccupied with how adorable she looked in that particular pose, and another, less welcome awareness: Desire. Without warning, he felt hot desire pulsing to life within him—unexpected, unwelcome, but undeniable.

"My lord?"

His gaze shot to hers.

"Why are you glowering at me in that ferocious fashion?"

With an effort, Jordan shifted his thoughts to her predicament, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was going to have her before their journey ended. "If you're worried about your stockings, take them off," he said, then he mentally shook his head at her naiveté when she ingenuously turned her back to him and peeled them off, allowing him glimpses of smooth, bare calves and ankles.

Finished, she picked up her makeshift saber and touched it to her forehead in a jaunty formal salute. Jordan returned the salute, though his mind was occupied with the bewitching sparkle in her mesmerizing blue-green eyes and the exquisite rosy color at her smoothly carved cheeks.

She had scored two points on him before he finally managed to concentrate on the swordplay, and even then she proved to be a worthy opponent. What she lacked in strength, she made up in lightning-quick moves and flashy footwork. But in the end it was her footwork that finally cost her the match. She had stalked him halfway around the clearing, advancing quickly, holding her ground, never retreating unless he physically overpowered her. With only one point left to decide the outcome, Alexandra suddenly saw an opening and lunged at him. Unfortunately, as she lunged forward, she stepped on the hem of her gown, which sent her sprawling off balance, straight into Jordan.

"You lost," he chuckled as he caught her in his arms.

"Yes, but it was my long skirt, and not your swordsmanship, which gave you the match," she retorted, laughing. Pulling out of his arms, she stepped back, her chest rising and falling as she strove to catch her breath. But the heightened color on her cheeks owed far more to his touch than her exertion. "You should have spotted me some points at the outset," she reminded him. "After all, you're twice as strong as I am."

"True," he admitted, smiling impenitently, "but I didn't take advantage of my strength. Moreover, I'm a great deal more advanced in years than you."

Laughing, she plunked her hands on her slim hips. "You're a veritable antique, your grace. Next year or the year after, you'll be at your last prayers, with a shawl round your shoulders and Henry dozing at your feet."

"And where will you be?" he demanded with mock solemnity, his hands itching to pull her into his arms.

She stepped back with an arch smile. "In the nursery, playing with my dolls—as befits my tender years."

Jordan gave a shout of laughter, wondering what the ton would say if they could see him being treated with such total lack of respect by a country-bred chit of eighteen.

"Where else should I be," she teased, "if not in the nursery?"

On my lap, he thought. Or in my bed.

The laughter vanished from her face and she pressed her hands to her cheeks, staring over his shoulder. "Good heavens!"

Jordan turned sharply to see the cause of her chagrin and saw six outriders, two coachmen, and two postilions standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their abashed expressions testifying to the fact that they had witnessed the earlier swordplay and now the wordplay between the duke and his duchess.

His jaw tightened, his steady, icy gaze slicing across them, dispersing them as effectively as any words could have done.

"That's very impressive," Alexandra teased, reaching down and plucking up her discarded garments. "That thing you do with your eyes," she clarified, looking around for Sir Henry. "You slay with a glance. You don't need a sword. Is that a natural talent that the nobility is born with, or is it a skill you acquire later, as befits your station?" She found Henry sniffing about beneath a bush and scooped him up. "Your grandmother can do it too. She quite terrifies me. Would you hold these for me?" Before Jordan realized what she was about, she dumped bonnet, pelisse, and hairy puppy into his arms. "Would you turn your back, please, while I put my stockings on?"

Obediently, Jordan did as bidden, but in his mind, he visualized the ton staring in collective, comical shock at Jordan Townsende—12th Duke of Hawthorne, holder of the most magnificent lands and fortune in Europe—who was now standing in a clearing with an armload of discarded clothing and one unwanted puppy who was determined to lick his face.

"Who taught you to fence?" he asked as they strolled back to the coach.

"My father. We used to practice together for hours at a time whenever he came home. When he left, I'd practice with Mary Ellen's brothers—with anyone else who was willing—so that when my father came home again, he'd admire my skill. I suppose, since I didn't show much promise of feminine beauty, he thought it was amusing to turn me into a son. On the other hand, it's possible he simply liked to fence, and he used our matches as a way of passing time." She had no idea that the pain and scorn she felt for her sire was obvious in her voice.

"Alexandra?"

Alexandra pulled her gaze from the countryside that was sliding past the coach windows. Ever since their mock duel two hours before, the duke had been watching her in an odd, speculative way that was making her increasingly uncomfortable. "Yes?"

"You said your father didn't come home very often. Where did he spend his time?"

A dark shadow dimmed the brilliance of her eyes, then it vanished behind a deliberately offhand smile. "He came two or three times a year and stayed a fortnight or so. He spent the rest of his time in London. He was rather like a visitor."

"I'm sorry," Jordan replied, apologizing because he had made her talk about someone he could see had caused her some sort of hurt.

"You needn't be sorry, but if you could find it in your heart to think more kindly of my mother, I would appreciate that very much. My mother used to be charming and gay, but after my father died, she just sort of—went all to pieces."

"And left the burden of the household and the servants on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old child," Jordan finished dampingly. "I saw that place, and I've met your mother and uncle. I can imagine exactly what it was like for you."

She heard the angry compassion in his voice and her love for him grew because he cared about her, but she shook her head, refusing his pity. "It wasn't as bad as you seem to think."

It felt so good, so safe and secure to have someone worry about her, that Alexandra scarcely knew how to contain the tenderness and gratitude she felt for him. Unable to tell him how she felt, she did the next best thing: Reaching into the bright yellow reticule that matched her skirt and pelisse, she lovingly extracted a heavy watch and chain. To Alexandra it was sacred—the most valuable possession of the man she had adored. She held it out to Jordan and when he took it with a quizzical expression, she explained, "It belonged to my grandfather. It was given him by a Scottish earl who admired his knowledge of the philosophers." Just looking at it in Jordan's wide palm made her eyes mist. Her voice aching with poignant memories, she said, "He would have wanted you to have it. He'd have approved of you."

"I doubt that," Jordan said with certainty.

"Oh, but he would! He said I should love a noble man."

"He told you to love a nobleman?" Jordan repeated in disbelief.

"No, no. A noble man. Which you are."

Unaware that he already owned several, far more beautiful gold watches, Alexandra said, "I sent one of your footmen to my house and Penrose fetched the watch for him. Your grandmother said it was all right."

Jordan's hand closed over the watch. "Thank you" was all he said.

She had given him the two most precious things she had, Alexandra realized, her love and the gold watch. And all he had said each time was an uncomfortable "Thank you." Obviously, her gifts made him feel uneasy.

The awkward silence that occurs whenever someone realizes they've revealed too much about themselves fell over the coach.

Eventually the gentle rocking motion of the chaise, combined with the large hot meal she'd eaten earlier, made Alexandra drowsy. Despite the luxurious interior of the vehicle, however, she could find no comfortable way to sleep. She tried leaning her head against the side, but every time the coach gave a small lurch, her head banged against it and woke her up. Sitting up straight, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried leaning her head back against the squabs. The wheels hit a rut and her entire upper body slid sharply to the right. Bracing her hand on the seat, Alexandra levered herself upright.

Across from her, Jordan chuckled and patted the seat beside him. "I will be happy to offer my shoulder as a pillow, my lady."

Alexandra accepted the invitation with sleepy gratitude and shifted onto the seat beside him, but instead of merely offering his shoulder, Jordan lifted his arm and put it around her so that her head was cradled snugly in the curve of his arm and chest. My lady, Alex thought sleepily. How lovely that sounded when he said it. She was asleep almost instantly.

Twilight had fallen when she awoke to the horrifying realization that she was lying almost completely atop him. Sometime during her nap, Jordan had shifted their positions so that his back was against the side of the coach with his legs stretched diagonally across the seat Alexandra was lying on her side, wrapped in his arms, her legs tangled with his, her own arm curved around his waist.

Horrified that he might awaken and find her sprawled across him in this undignified fashion, Alexandra carefully lifted her cheek from his hard chest. Trying to think of some way to extricate herself without awakening him, she peered at him beneath her lashes. Sleep smoothed the harsh planes of his tanned face and softened the contours of his square jaw, she thought fondly. Seen like this, he looked much less forbidding, almost boyish, and… awake!

His eyes opened and he tipped his chin down, looking at her. Puzzlement registered on his features for a split second, as if he didn't quite recognize her, then he smiled—a deliciously warm, languid smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Alexandra, who had been too stricken to move, nodded and tried to lever herself up. His arms tightened, holding her. "Don't go," he whispered, and his heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her soft lips, lingering on her mouth for a long moment before he slowly lifted his eyes to her widened blue ones. "Stay here with me."

He wanted her to kiss him, Alexandra realized with mingled joy and apprehension—the invitation was there in those warm, compelling grey eyes. Shyly, Alexandra put her lips on his and felt his hand settle on the small of her back, stroking slowly upward, comforting her and encouraging her. His lips moved against hers, lightly exploring, inviting her to do the same, and when she began to follow his lead, his free hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding tantalizingly against her nape while the other hand continued sensually stroking her back.

He kissed her endlessly, long drugging kisses that shook her to the core of her being and made her want more and more. His tongue traced the line between her lips, coaxing them to part for him, then it slipped between them, lightly exploring her mouth, then gently plunging and retreating, teasing and tormenting her, until Alexandra, feverish with the need to make him feel as she felt, touched her own tongue to his lips. The instant she did, the kiss exploded. He crushed her to him, drawing her tongue into his mouth and caressing it with his own. His other hand suddenly shifted, curving round her bottom, pulling her tightly to his hardened body, while his tongue began thrusting into her mouth and retreating again and again in some wildly exciting, forbidden rhythm that sent jolts of fierce pleasure rocketing through Alexandra's body.

Not until she felt his hand cupping her breast, then sliding inside her silk shirt, did she jerk free of the whirlpool of mindless pleasure where she was willingly drowning. And then it was surprise and guilt, rather than revulsion, that made her rear back.

Bracing her forearms against his chest, she tried to catch her breath, and then she raised her head, dragging her embarrassed gaze to his smoldering grey eyes.

"I've shocked you," he murmured huskily.

It was true, but Alexandra saw the amusement in his sultry eyes and stubbornly refused to admit it Accepting his unspoken challenge, she put her lips against his again, and this time when his tongue slid between them, her body automatically fitted itself closer to his. A muffled sound that was part groan, part laugh, escaped him, but when she would have pulled away, his arms tightened around her and his mouth became more insistent Alexandra surrendered to the heated demands of his mouth and hands, kissing him back with all the awakening desire flooding through her.

When he finally let her go, his breathing was almost as labored as hers. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his knuckles along her heated cheek. "So soft," he whispered. "So incredibly innocent."

Alexandra interpreted "innocent" to mean "naive" and jerked away from him in angry hurt. "I must be a dreadful bore for a man of your obvious sophistication."

His hands clamped her arms and hauled her right back. "That was a compliment," he retorted, his face only inches from hers, and the taut sound of his voice made her wonder a little wildly what he must be like when truly angry. Giving her a little shake, he clarified shortly. " 'Unspoiled—unsullied—without artifice or pretense,' do you understand?"

"Perfectly!" Alexandra flung back, reacting to his tone and not his words, and then the absurdity of it all made her burst out laughing. "Are we having a quarrel over how nice I am?"

Her irresistible smile doused his momentary exasperation and brought a reluctant answering smile to his eyes. "So it would seem," he softly replied and, with inner resignation, Jordan finally faced the fact that he could no longer pretend the insistent, throbbing desire he felt for her didn't exist. She laid her cheek back on his chest and he stared fixedly over her head, mentally reminding himself of all the logical reasons why he would be making a mistake if he took her to bed tonight:

She was young and naive and idealistic.

He was none of those things.

She wanted to give him her love.

All he wanted was her body.

She wanted to be loved by him.

The only "love" he believed in was

the kind made in bed.

She was infatuated with him.

He did not want to be burdened with an

infatuated child.

On the other hand,

She wanted him.

He wanted her.

His decision made, he tipped his chin down. "Alexandra?" When she lifted her face inquiringly, he said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice, "Do you know how babies are made?"

The unexpected question jolted a stunned, embarrassed laugh from her at the same time hot color washed over her cheeks. "Do—do we have to discuss this?"

His lips quirked with self-mockery. "Yesterday, I would have said there was no need. An hour ago, I would have said it. Now, I'm afraid we do."

"What made you change your mind?"

It was Jordan's turn to Took blank. "Our kissing," he said bluntly, after a pause.

"What has that to do with babies?"

Jordan leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed with exasperated amusement. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that."

After studying his odd expression, Alexandra sat up and self-consciously straightened her clothing. Mary Ellen had tried to convince her two years ago that babies were made the same way puppies were made, but Alexandra's intelligent mind had rejected that piece of appalling nonsense. Human beings would never behave in such a way, she knew, and only someone as corkbrained as Mary Ellen would believe such an absurd thing. But then Mary Ellen also believed that if you turned your back on a rainbow, you'd have bad luck, and that fairies cavorted under mushrooms in the forest. Which was why Mary Ellen walked backward whenever it rained and refused to eat mushrooms.

Alexandra stole a sidewise look at her husband and decided to ask him a simple question about something which young girls were kept in ignorance of, but which she felt she was entitled to know. Her grandfather had oft said that ignorance was a disease for which questions were the only cure, and so, with bright, candid interest, she inquired, "How are babies made?" Visibly startled, Jordan turned and opened his mouth, as if he intended to speak, but for some reason no words came out. At first Alexandra was puzzled by his involuntary silence, but then understanding dawned. She shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. "You don't know either, do you?"

Jordan's sharp crack of laughter exploded like a pistol shot, and he threw his head back, laughing with uncontrollable mirth until he finally managed to drag enough air into his lungs to choke, "Yes, Alexandra… I do know." He had laughed more in the week he'd known her, Jordan realized, than he had laughed in an entire year.

A little wounded by his reaction, Alexandra said, "Well then, how is it done?"

The remnants of mirth gleaming in his eyes slowly dissolved as he laid his hand against her cheek, running it back to tenderly smooth her hair. Finally he said in an odd, husky voice, "I'll show you how it's done tonight."

He had scarcely spoken the words when their coach turned off the road and pulled into the yard of an inn with lamps burning brightly in all the windows.