Firelight danced in the grate, dispelling the slight chill of the spring night, adding to the cozy atmosphere of the room, and her thoughts drifted lazily from their sleeping accommodations to babies. Jordan had promised to show her how babies were made tonight. She couldn't imagine why married people persisted in keeping the method cloaked in so much mystery. However it was done, it couldn't be a dreadful thing, because English couples obviously did it often enough to keep the country's population growing.
Perhaps it was kept secret because Society didn't want girls like herself, who would have liked a baby with or without a husband, to go around getting babies on their own.
That, evidently, was it, she deduced logically. Since the beginning of time, men had made the rules and men had obviously been the ones to decree that a girl was "ruined" if she had a baby without marrying one of them first. That made sense. Still… the theory had certain holes…
A baby, she thought wistfully. A baby.
As an only child, the thought of having a dark-haired baby boy to cuddle and nurse and play with filled her with delight. Moreover, she'd read enough history to know how important a male heir was to men with titles—particularly titles as illustrious as Jordan's. The sudden realization that she would be the one to give Jordan his heir filled her with a poignant pride and joy that was almost past bearing.
She stole a glance at him through her lashes, and her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging back against the cushions, his white shirt open partway down his muscled chest, his tanned skin a golden bronze in the firelight With his dark, slightly curly hair, ruggedly chiseled features, and wonderful physique, Alexandra thought he looked like a god.
She wondered a little if she was behaving with a shocking lack of propriety, cuddling up to him like this, welcoming his kisses, but in truth she thought he was irresistibly wonderful. Besides, he was her husband before God and man, so she saw no reason to pretend she found his attentions unpleasant. Her grandfather, obviously worried about the impression of married life she was receiving from her parents' marriage, had lectured her gently but often on what marriage was supposed to be like. "There are two mistakes people make when it comes to marriage," he had repeatedly said. "The first mistake is marrying the wrong person. Once you are married to the right person, the second mistake is denying any part of yourself or your love to him. When you give your husband your unconditional love, he then has it to return to you."
Jordan's thoughts were less aimless and far more practical. He was, at that moment, trying to think of the easiest way to get her out of her clothes without scaring the hell out of her.
Above her, Alexandra felt Jordan's lips brush across the top of her head and she smiled with inner pleasure, but she was not surprised, because her husband had been kissing her like that rather frequently tonight. She was a little shocked a moment later, however, when he took her wineglass from her hand and abruptly pulled her onto his lap to kiss her long and passionately. And she was thoroughly flabbergasted when he lifted his lips from hers many minutes later and quietly but firmly suggested she use the screen in the corner of the room to change into her dressing gown.
Mentally searching through her trunks for the least indecent of the dressing gowns the French seamstress had made for her wedding trip, she stood up and inquired uneasily, "Where are you going to sleep?"
"With you," he blandly replied.
Alexandra's eyes narrowed suspiciously. For some reason, she sensed instinctively that this unprecedented decision to sleep beside her had something to do with the mystery of making a baby, and, without knowing exactly why, she suddenly wasn't completely certain she wanted to learn the secret after all. Not yet. "Wouldn't you rather have a nice, comfortable bed of your very own?" she suggested hopefully.
"Making a baby involves using one bed," he explained with calm patience, "not two."
Alexandra's eyes narrowed apprehensively. "Why?"
"I'll show you why in a few minutes."
"Couldn't you just tell me?" she implored persistently.
An odd, muffled sound escaped him, but he kept his face straight. "I'm afraid not."
Jordan watched her walk reluctantly toward the screen, and the grin he'd been fighting to hide flashed across his face as he admired her straight shoulders and gently swaying hips. She was already beginning to panic, he realized sympathetically, and he hadn't even touched her yet. Evidently a female was born with some sixth sense that warned her a male was dangerous and untrustworthy the moment she was without the protective barrier of her cumbersome clothing. Alexandra was full of surprises, he mused, as he gazed thoughtfully at the dressing screen. She had the mind of a scholar, the heart of an innocent, and the wit of a sage. One minute she was bold and daring enough to aim a rifle and kill a man who was trying to kill him—the next minute she was unconscious from shock because she had done it. She had broached the topic of sex with the impartial curiosity of a scientist; now that the time was at hand to experience it, she was shaking with trepidation and stalling for time.
Her fear bothered Jordan, but not enough to dissuade him from satisfying his body's unexplainable, but undeniable, craving for her. Although Alexandra was extremely young in comparison to the sophisticated, worldly women he had taken to bed in the past, she was certainly old enough to be wed and even to bear his child. Moreover, he had paid dearly for the privilege of enjoying her body—paid for it by giving her his name and his hand.
Regardless of that, as each moment ticked past, his enthusiasm for making love to her tonight was severely diminished by two things: First, Alexandra was completely unaware of what he was about to do to her, and when she figured it out, Jordan expected her to be not only fearful but very likely resistant. Second, even if she weren't frightened and resistant, he did not especially relish the prospect of bedding an inexperienced girl who was completely untutored in the fine art of lovemaking.
Unlike other men who turned their eye toward innocent maidens, Jordan had always preferred the women he bedded to be knowledgeable in the ways of love—sensual, willing partners who knew how to please him and who accepted the pleasure he gave them without shyness or reserve.
The fact that the women who sought his attention frequently did so because they wanted something—either his title or the reflected glow of his fame and popularity—didn't particularly bother Jordan. After all, he wanted something from them, too, and self-gratification was the very axis on which their entire glamorous world revolved. But whatever their reasons for inviting his attentions, when his ardor was spent, Jordan always preferred to sleep alone.