More than a Mistress

Enough, she'd thought firmly, was enough and, since it was so early, she'd come down the ornate staircase of Thorpe House still in her nightgown, then padded barefoot across the cold stone floor of the huge entry hall, to the kitchen.

The big room was silent. Not even Luisa was stirring so early. Alex had taken a container of orange juice out of the refrigerator but when her gaze fell on a can of coffee, she knew that was what she really wanted. Still, she'd hesitated. The kitchen was the servants' domain. Well, Luisa's, now that her father was gone and Carl was, too, and she'd gotten rid of the maid and butler and chauffeur who'd made Thorpe House run. That the kitchen was off limits to Thorpes—and to Stuarts—wasn't a rule, it was simply an understanding.

Alex stood there, looking at the coffee can. Suddenly she reached for it.

"It's only coffee, Alex," she muttered impatiently.

She read the instructions with great concentration, then spent a few minutes searching for the filters. Minutes later, the coffee was gurgling merrily into its glass carafe in the pot on the granite counter.

"Understanding" number one broken, she'd thought, almost giddily. Why not number two? There really wasn't any reason to go back upstairs and dress. Luisa was still in her rooms. She was alone here. And surely somewhere on the West Coast of the United States, another woman was about to violate the laws of civilized behavior and have her breakfast in her nightgown.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the silly thought. Still smiling, she padded into the dining room, to set a place for herself at the enormous black walnut table. Just then, a finger of buttery-yellow sunlight had streamed through one of the arched windows.

"To hell with it," Alex had said to the dining room, and she'd marched back into the kitchen, made herself toast, poured juice, put a cup and the pot of freshly brewed coffee on a tray and carried it out to the tiled patio, to one of the glass tables that had never held anything but cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Her father had thought eating out of doors was a lower-class convention. Her husband had thought it uncomfortable, and she didn't even want to think what either would have said about her sitting here, in her nightgown at six something in the morning, eating a breakfast she'd prepared with her own hands.

Orange juice had never tasted sweeter, or toast more crunchy. And the coffee, when she took a first, tentative sip, was rich and delicious on her tongue.

She held the cup in two hands, letting its warmth seep into her blood, and smiled. It was foolish to feel so good about such a little series of events, but she felt good about them, anyway, as if she were taking the first steps toward reclaiming her own life.

Alex's smile slipped.

She had to stop thinking about last night, that was all. What she'd done, what she might have done, with a stranger, in a doorway—a doorway—if she hadn't come to her senses, didn't matter. She had come to her senses; that was what mattered. Wasn't it?

"Good morning, senora."

Coffee sloshed over the rim of Alex's cup. "Luisa," she said, and forced a smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I invaded your kitchen."

Luisa minded. Alex could see it in the look that flashed over her face just before she covered it with a polite smile.

"Certainly not, Senora Stuart. But if the senora was hungry, she should have awakened me."

"There was no need. And, Luisa? I know I've mentioned this before... Would you please stop addressing me that way?"

"Senora? "

"I am Ms. Thorpe, Luisa. Or Ms. Alex. Or just Alex, if you like. But I am not `Senora Stuart."'

"Oh, of course." Luisa flushed. "It's just that it was your father's preference. And your—and Mr. Carl's."

"Yes, well it's not mine," Alex said, struggling to sound pleasant.

"I'll make it a point to remember. May I bring you anything else?"

"Nothing, thank you. I'll call if I need you, Luisa."

So much for "understanding" number four, Alex thought, as the patio door swung shut. Never surprise the servants. Well, she hadn't surprised Luisa, she'd shocked her. The truth was, she'd shocked herself, too. What was wrong with her this morning? She was feeling contrary. Restless. As if what she needed to do was turn the world upside down.

Alex lifted her cup to her lips.

She'd come close enough to doing just that, last night. But that craziness, whatever it had been, was over. And she wasn't going to waste time thinking about it. It was just that she'd behaved so foolishly, setting herself up for one embarrassment after another from the moment she'd over heard those two harpies talking in the ladies' lounge at L'Orangerie.

Whatever had possessed her, to hurry to Saks and buy the clothing she'd already dumped in the corner of her closet? The lace that masqueraded as underwear. The garnet dress. And... Alex blushed. And those—those come-and-get-me shoes? She groaned and put her hand to her forehead. All of that, and for what? To prove that she could turn a man on?