HE AWOKE LATE in the morning and chafed under the ministrations of Marie, who insisted on brushing her hair until it gleamed before she was ready to discuss whether Alexandra ought to wear her lavender sprigged muslin or the flounced rose frock.

Alexandra, who could not completely suppress her eager curiosity to see how Jordan might treat her this morning, had to force herself to walk slowly and decorously down the steps. With feigned casualness, she walked by Jordan's study. Through the open door, she saw him at his desk talking to one of his bailiffs. He glanced up as she passed and their eyes met; he nodded a brief greeting at her, but there was something in his expression that hinted of displeasure.

Confused by this unexpected attitude, Alexandra politely returned his nod and continued past his study to the morning room, where she ate in thoughtful, somewhat dismal silence, while Penrose and Filbert hovered about, casting anxious, worried looks back and forth between them.

Wisely deciding that the next three months would pass much more quickly if she kept herself busy, she decided to begin paying duty calls on the cottagers, as well as resuming the reading and writing lessons she'd started before the family had gone to London.

She stopped at the stable to play with Henry, whose sociable nature made him prefer the atmosphere of the busy stable to the hushed emptiness of the house. It was late in the afternoon when she finally returned. Exhilarated from the blissful freedom of driving her own carriage through the picturesque winding lanes that meandered through Jordan's vast estate, Alexandra drove her horse at a smart trot past the house and straight to the stables.

Smarth came rushing forward to take the reins from her, his face wreathed in an overbright smile. Apparently eager to foster matrimonial harmony between Alexandra and her husband, he said, while beaming at her, "His grace has been here more'n an hour awaitin' for you—prowling back and forth, fair champin' at the bit with impatience to see you—"

Surprised and shamefully pleased, Alexandra smiled at Jordan as he strode out of the stables, but her smile abruptly faded when she saw that his face was as dark as a thundercloud.

"Don't ever leave the house without telling someone exactly where you're going, and exactly when you expect to return," he snapped, catching her none too gently at the waist and hauling her down from the carriage. "Furthermore, you are not to leave the grounds of this estate without a groom accompanying you. Olsen there"—he nodded toward a huge, muscular bear of a man who was standing in the doorway of the stable—"is your personal groom."

His anger seemed so unjustified, his orders so seemingly unreasonable, and his attitude so different from his compelling tenderness last night, that for a moment Alexandra just stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, then she felt her temper begin to boil as Smarth hastily and wisely removed himself from earshot

"Are you quite finished?" Alexandra snapped, intending to leave him there and start for the house.

"No," Jordan bit out, looking angrier than ever. "There's one more thing—don't ever crawl out of my bed in the middle of the night when I'm asleep again, like a doxy returning to the wharves!"

"How dare you!" Alexandra exploded, so enraged she swung her hand to strike him before she realized what she was doing.

Jordan caught her wrist in midswing, his hand clamping around the slender bones like a vise, his eyes like shards of ice… and for one moment Alexandra actually thought he was going to strike her. Then without warning he dropped her arm, turned on his heel, and strode off toward the house.

"Now, my lady," Smarth soothed, coming to her side, "the master must be havin' a bad day, for I've not seen him in a temper like that in all his life." Despite his reassuring tone, Smarth's kindly old face was twisted with bewildered concern as he stared at Jordan's broad, retreating back.

In silence, Alexandra turned her head and stared at her old confidant, her eyes alive with anger and painful confusion as he continued. "Why, afore today, I never knew he had a temper—not one like that. I put him on his first pony, and I've known him since he was a boy, and there be no braver, finer—"

"Please!" Alexandra burst out, unable to endure another of the glowing stories she used to enjoy so much. "No more lies! You cannot make him gallant and fine to me, when he's alive and I can see perfectly well he's—he's an evil-tempered, heartless monster!"

"No, my lady, he's not. I knowed him since he was a boy, just as I knowed his father before him—"

"I'm sure his father was a monster, too!" Alexandra said, too hurt and angry to heed what she was saying. "I've no doubt they're exactly alike!"

"No, my lady! No. You're wrong. Wronger than anybody's ever been if you think a thing like that! Why would you say such a thing?"

Stunned by the intensity of that denial, Alexandra brought her temper under control and managed a weak smile and a shrug, "My grandfather always said that if you want to know what a man will become, look to his father."

"Your grandsire was wrong when it comes to Master Jordan and his father," Smarth said vehemently.

It occurred to Alexandra that Smarth could be a veritable treasure trove of information about Jordan, if she could only get him to tell her the unembellished truth. Stoically, she told herself she didn't care to know anything about her temporary husband, but even while she thought it, she was already saying, albeit a little irritably, "Since I'm not allowed to go anywhere without a guard, would you cafe to walk over to the fence with me so I may watch the colts frolic?"

Smarth nodded, and when they were standing at the fence, he said abruptly: "You shouldn'ta placed that wager against him, my lady, if you'll forgive me for sayin' it."

"How did you know about the wager?"

"Everybody knows 'bout it. John Coachman had it from Lord Hackson's groom the same afternoon it was writ in the book at White's."

"I see."

"It was a bad mistake, announcin' to everyone you don't care nothin' for his grace, and don't never intend to do it. It's a sign o' how much he cares for you that he didn't let it bother him much. Why, even the master's mama wouldn'ta dared do such a—" Smarth stopped abruptly, flushed, and stared miserably at his feet.

"I never meant for it to be a public wager," Alexandra said, then with an appearance of mild interest she casually inquired, "Speaking of my husband's mother, what was she like?"

Smarth shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Beautiful, o' course. Liked parties—had all sorts of 'em here, all the time."

"She sounds quite gay and lovely."

"She weren't nothin' like you!" Smarth exploded, and Alexandra gaped at him, taken aback both by his vehemence and the realization that he regarded her in such flattering terms. "She never noticed nobody beneath her rank, nor cared for nobody but herself."

"What an odd thing to say! What do you mean?"

"I got to get to work, my lady," Smarth said miserably. "Anytime you want to hear good things 'bout his grace, you come back and I'll think o' some."

Seeing that it would be futile to press him further, Alexandra let him go. Yet she couldn't banish the feeling, nor her curiosity over its source.

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.

"He wanted Alexandra to wait before calling on us, so that he could accompany her here," Tony improvised helpfully, addressing his mother and brother. "I've promised her we won't spoil Jordan's future visit by telling him that she's already come here to see us, and to tell us how he's faring."

"How is he faring?" Lady Townsende implored.

Uneasy with the fabrications she was being forced to participate in, Alexandra gladly spent the next ten minutes reciting every detail of Jordan's capture and imprisonment. When she had finally finished answering all of Lady Townsende's worried questions about his health, Tony stood up and invited Alexandra to accompany him for a stroll about the lawns.

"I can see from those tiny lines on your pretty forehead that something's amiss with you. What is it?" he asked as they walked across the small, neatly kept front lawn toward the gardens off to the right.

"I'm not certain," Alexandra admitted ruefully. "From the moment Hawthorne came into view, Jordan has been different somehow. Last night he told me he grew up at Hawthorne and because of that, the place always makes him feel 'grim.' But when I asked him why, he wouldn't tell me. And then yesterday, Smarth said the oddest things about Jordan's parents…" she continued, using her husband's given name for the first time since he returned. Turning to Tony, she said abruptly, "What were his parents like? His boyhood?"

Tony's smile remained but he looked uneasy. "What difference does all that make?"

"It wouldn't make a difference," Alexandra burst out desperately, "if everyone didn't become so edgy when I asked those questions."

"Who have you been asking?"

"Well, Gibbons and Smarth."

"Good God!" Tony said, stopping short and staring at her in laughing dismay. "Don't let Jordan catch you. He disapproves of familiarity with servants. It's a family taboo," he added, "—although not in my branch of the family. We only have six servants, and it's impossible not to regard them rather as dependents."

Tony paused to bend down and pluck a rose growing in the small garden. "You should ask Jordan these questions."

"He won't tell me. A long time ago I told him I preferred truth to platitudes. Last night when I asked why he didn't like Hawthorne, he told me he's trying to learn to say what he thinks and feels, but that he isn't accustomed to baring his soul yet. He said we'd have to ease into that," she added with a faint smile as she remembered his teasing tone. "He promised to answer my question someday."

"My God," Tony uttered in amazement, staring at her. "Jordan said all that? He said he was willing to 'bare' his soul to you someday? He must care more for you than I ever imagined." Tucking the rose behind her ear, he chucked her under the chin.

"It's become a mystery I have to solve," Alexandra prodded, when Tony seemed disinclined to say more.

"Because you're falling in love with him?"

"Because I'm frightfully, inexcusably curious," Alexandra prevaricated, and when Tony appeared to refuse her request, she sighed miserably. "Very well. I'm afraid to fall in love with a stranger and he's in no hurry to let me know him."

Tony hesitated and then took pity on her. "Very well, since it isn't idle curiosity, I'll try to answer your questions. What do you want to know?"

Pulling the rose from behind her ear, Alexandra twirled the stem absently between her fingers. "First of all, was there something wrong at Hawthorne when he was growing up? What was his boyhood like?"

"Amongst noble families," Tony began slowly," 'the heir' is generally singled out for special attention from his parents. In Jordan's case it was more pronounced because he also happened to be an only child. While I was allowed to climb trees and roll in the dirt, Jordan was required to remember his station at all times; to be clean, neat, punctual, solemn, and aware of his importance at every moment.

"His father and mother were in complete agreement on one thing, and that was the superiority of their rank. Unlike the sons of other nobles, who are allowed the company of children their own age who live on the estate—even if the children happen to be sons of the grooms—my aunt and uncle found it entirely unseemly for Jordan to associate with any but his own rank. Since fledgling dukes and earls are rather scarce, particularly in this part of the country, he grew up here in complete isolation."

Pausing for a moment, Tony gazed up at the treetops and sighed. "I used to wonder how he could bear the loneliness."

"But surely Jordan's parents didn't consider your company unacceptable?"

"No, they didn't, but I rarely visited him at Hawthorne unless my aunt and uncle were away. When they were in residence, I couldn't stand the stifling atmosphere of the place—it gave me the creeps. Besides, my uncle made it clear to me and to my parents that my presence at Hawthorne was not desired. They said I disrupted Jordan's studies and took his mind from serious matters. On those occasions when he was allowed time off, he preferred to come here, rather than have me come to Hawthorne because he adored my mother and he liked being with us." With a sad, whimsical smile, Tony finished, "When he was eight years old, he tried to trade me his inheritance for my family. He volunteered to let me be the marquess, if I'd live at Hawthorne."

"That's not at all as I imagined his life," Alexandra remarked when Tony fell silent. "When I was young, I thought it must be heavenly to be rich." She recalled her own childhood; the games she'd played with her friends, the lighthearted, carefree times, the warmth of her friendship with Mary Ellen and her family. She felt incredibly sad to know Jordan had evidently missed out on his own childhood.

"Not all children of noble families are raised with such rigidity."

"What about his parents—what were they like exactly?"

She was watching him with such earnest concern that Tony put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort and capitulation. "To sum it up as succinctly as possible, Jordan's mother was a notorious flirt whose amatory exploits were famous. My uncle didn't appear to care. He seemed to regard women as weak, amoral creatures who couldn't control their passions—or so he said. On the other hand, he was as promiscuous as she was. When it came to Jordan, however, he was positively rigid. He never let Jordan forget he was a Townsende and the next Duke of Hawthorne. He never let up on him. He insisted Jordan be smarter, braver, more dignified, and more worthy of the Townsende name than any Townsende before him, and the harder Jordan tried to please him, the more demanding his father became.

"If Jordan did poorly in a lesson, his tutor was instructed to cane him; if he didn't appear for supper on the dot of nine—not a minute before or a minute after—he was not allowed to eat until the following night. When he was eight or nine, he was already a better horseman than most men are, but on one particular hunt Jordan's horse refused a jump, either because Jordan was too little to force him to take it—or because Jordan was a little scared to try it. I'll never forget that day. Not one of the riders had dared that hedge with the creek on the other side of it, but my uncle rode up and called the entire hunt to a halt. With all of us looking on, he taunted Jordan with cowardice. Then he made him take the hedge."

"To think," Alexandra said in a suffocated voice, "I used to believe all children whose fathers lived with them were luckier than I. Did he… did he clear the hedge?"

"Three times," Tony said dryly. "On the fourth, his horse stumbled and when it fell, it rolled on Jordan and broke his arm."

Alexandra paled, but Tony was lost in his story now and didn't notice. "Jordan didn't cry of course. Jordan wasn't permitted to cry, not even as a little boy. According to my uncle, tears were unmanly. He had very rigid ideas about things like that."

Alexandra turned her face up to the sun, blinking back the tears at the back of her eyes. "What sort of ideas?"

"He believed a man had to be hard and completely self-sufficient to truly be a man, and that was the way he raised Jordan to think. Any emotion that was 'soft' was unmanly, and therefore abhorrent. Sentimentality was soft—unmanly; so was love and genuine affection. Anything at all that showed a male to be 'vulnerable' was unmanly. My uncle disapproved of all forms of frivolity, too, with the exception of dalliances with the opposite sex, which my uncle viewed as the epitome of manliness. I don't think I ever saw the man laugh—not a real, genuine laugh that sprang from mirth, rather than sarcasm. For that matter, I've rarely seen Jordan laugh. To work and to excel at whatever one did was all that mattered to my uncle—a very peculiar attitude for a nobleman as you've undoubtedly gathered."

"I make him laugh," Alexandra said with a mixture of pride and sadness.

Tony grinned. "That smile of yours would lighten any man's heart."

"No wonder he didn't want to talk about his boyhood."

"Some good things came of my uncle's determination to make Jordan excel at whatever he did."

"What sort of things?" Alexandra asked with disbelief.

"Well, for example, Jordan was forced to excel at his studies, and by the time we went to university, he was so far ahead of everyone that he was given private courses in subjects the rest of us couldn't fathom. Moreover, he obviously found ways to put all his learning to excellent use, because when Jordan's father died, Jordan was only twenty. He inherited eleven estates along with his title, but the Townsende coffers had never been very full, and Hawthorne was the only one of his estates that was well kept-up. Within three years, every one of Jordan's estates were prospering, and he was well on his way to becoming one of the richest men in Europe. Not a mean accomplishment for a young man of twenty-three. Beyond that, there's little else I could tell you about him."

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Alexandra reached up and hugged Tony tightly. Leaning back in his arms, she smiled a little shakily. "Thank you," she said simply, her eyes glowing with fondness, then she glanced apprehensively at the sun. "I can't stay any longer. I said I'd only be gone an hour and it's more than that already."

"What will happen if you're gone longer?" Tony teased, but he looked puzzled.

"I'll be found out."

"So?"

"So I'll lose the wager I made with Jordan."

"What wager?"

Alexandra started to explain, but tenderness and loyalty to her proud, dominating husband were already stirring to vibrant life within her, and she couldn't bear to shame Jordan by telling his cousin that the only reason she had agreed to come to Hawthorne was because Jordan had virtually bribed her to do it. "Just a… a foolish bet we have between us," she hedged as Tony handed her up into her carriage.

Lost in thought, Alexandra drove right past the footman who ran out of the great house to take the reins, and continued down to the stables which were situated behind and off to the side of the mansion. Tony's disclosures about Jordan's boyhood at Hawthorne whirled through her mind, stabbing at her heart and filling her with compassion. Now she understood so many things about Jordan that had puzzled and angered and hurt her, including the subtle change in him since their arrival at Hawthorne. To think she had actually believed, when she was a girl, that happiness was simply a matter of having both parents at home with one. Her grandfather had been right again, she realized, for he had repeatedly said that no one is ever quite what they seem.

So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she said nothing to Smarth when she drew up at the stables and he rushed out to assist her down from the carriage. Instead, she simply looked at him as if he didn't exist, then she turned and started toward the house.

Smarth incorrectly assumed his mistress was looking right through him because he had forfeited her trust and affection by refusing to discuss his master with her. "My lady!" Smarth said, looking both wounded by her unintentional snub, and extremely apprehensive as well.

Alexandra turned and glanced at him, but in her mind she was seeing a little boy who had never been permitted to be one.

"Please, my lady," Smarth said wretchedly, "don't look at me like I hurt ye beyond fixin'." Dropping his voice, he nodded toward the fence where two colts were frisking about, kicking up their heels. "If ye'd walk over t' the fence wit me, I've somethin' to tell ye that ye'll want to know."

With an effort, Alexandra made herself concentrate on the unhappy footman, and she did as he asked.

Staring fixedly at the horses, Smarth lowered his voice and said, "Me 'n' Gibbons talked it over, and we decided that ye've a right to know why the master is the way he is. He's not a harsh man, my lady, but from what I hear is a-goin' on atween the two o' you since the master came back, yer bound to get the idea he's hard as a rock."

Alexandra opened her mouth to tell the apprehensive servant that he need not betray his knowledge, but his next words floored her. "Th' other reason we decided to tell you is 'cause the way we heerd it, you ain't here at Hawthorne to stay and be his wife—except fer three months, that is."

"How on earth—?" Alexandra burst out

"Servants' grapevine, my lady," Smarth averred with a touch of pride. "Hawthorne has the best in England, I'll vow. Why, the staff knows what's happenin' within twenty minutes of it takin' place—unless o' course Mr. Higgins or Mrs. Brimley the housekeeper are the only ones to hear of it. Their mouths are tight as virg—They don't tell nobody nothin'," he amended, turning scarlet.

"That must be extremely vexatious for you," Alexandra said dryly, when Smarth flushed deeper.

He shifted from one foot to the other, shoved his hands in his pockets, took them out again and looked at her in helpless dismay, his weathered face creased with unhappiness. "You wanted me ter tell you 'bout his grace's parents, and me 'n' Gibbons agreed we cain't deny yer command. Besides, ye've a right t' know." And in a voice low and uneasy, Smarth related very nearly the same general history that Tony had told her.

"And now you know what it's been like around here fer all these years," Smarth finished, "me 'n' Gibbons is hopin' you'll stay here and bring laughter to th' place, th' way you did when you was here afore."

"Real laughter," Smarth clarified. "Not the kind what comes from the mouth—the kind what comes from the heart like you gived us afore. The master ain't never heard the sound o' it at Hawthorne, and it would do him a world a good, specially if you could git him ter join in wit it."

Everything Alexandra had learned today revolved in her head like a dizzying kaleidoscope, turning and changing shape, taking on new dimensions throughout the rest of the day and long after Jordan had pulled her to him and fallen asleep.

The sky was already lightening, and still she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, hesitating to take a course of action that could—and undoubtedly would—make her vulnerable to Jordan once again. Until now, she'd made leaving here her goal; and, in line with that, she'd kept her every emotion and every action in careful check.

She turned onto her side and Jordan's arm encircled her, drawing her back against his chest and the backs of her legs against his own while he buried his face in her hair. His hand lifted, cupping her breast in a sleepy caress and sending a tremor of delight through her entire body.

She wanted him, Alexandra realized with a despondent inner sigh. Despite everything he had been—a libertine, a heartless flirt, and an unwilling husband—she wanted him. In the safe silence of her heart, she was finally willing to admit that to herself now… because now she realized that he was more than just a spoiled, shallow aristocrat.

She wanted his love, his trust, and his children. She wanted to make this house ring with laughter for him, and to make Hawthorne seem beautiful to him. She wanted to make the entire world beautiful for him.

Tony, the dowager duchess, and even Melanie had all believed she could make Jordan fall in love with her. She couldn't give up without trying, she knew that now.

But she didn't know how she was going to endure it if she failed.