Douglas tried to be blasé. He was an experienced man, a man who’d enjoyed many women, a man who was selective, a cold fish, Ryder had called him, because he could always control his passion. But, truth be told, he was stunned. Aside from the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life, breasts nearly too big for her slender torso, her waist was narrow, her belly flat, the curls covering her woman’s mound, a soft dark red. Her legs were long and nicely curved. There was a mole on her belly, just below her navel. She looked very nice. She didn’t look at all like a little girl. She stood straight and tall even though she was small. That damned broom handle against her backbone. He wanted to tell her to turn around so he could see her back and her buttocks.

Good lord. What was he to do?

“Come here,” he said before his brain could countermand the order, and parted his legs.

She came to stand between his legs, still and silent, her arms still at her sides. Still he didn’t touch her, merely looked and looked some more, now at her belly, and she knew it. It was almost beyond what she could bear, this intense study of her body by this man. Even she herself had never looked at her body as he was looking now.

Finally, after an eternity of minutes, Douglas raised his head and looked her in the face. “You do not displease me. Your female endowments are adequate. Should you like to part your legs so I may see the rest of you? No? That isn’t part of your seduction plan? How far do you plan to go if I do nothing?” He looked away from her then, into the fire. “You say nothing. I have already brought you to stand between my legs. Cannot you think of anything to do yourself?”

Alex brought her hand up to cover her breasts, the other hand to cover her woman’s mound. It was an absurd gesture, but she simply couldn’t bear standing there any longer, exposed and open to him. His disinterest was obvious and it was so painful she couldn’t bear it.

“You know, Alex,” he said, looking back at her now, “not only can I take you again and again, I can prevent you conceiving a child. I can easily withdraw my sex from you before spilling my seed inside your body. I am not a boy; I am a man with a man’s control. Don’t look so damnably blank! You cannot conceive a child if my seed doesn’t reach your womb. Thus I can freely take what is offered and still annul this farce of a marriage.” He waved a hand at her. “However, tonight, this very minute with you standing here before me with only your white hide covering you, I find I have no interest. You are not Melissande. You are not the wife I wanted. Go away.”

Alexandra felt beyond humiliation. She could scarce think for the pain roiling through her, the pain, the failure, the emptiness his words had carved out inside her. She stood there in front of him, not twelve inches away from him, because she was incapable of moving. She wasn’t as embarrassed as she was devastated. He had rejected her, completely. He’d not been particularly

cruel about it, just utterly matter-of-fact. He had made his feelings quite plain. Even though he had seemed to find her acceptable, he still didn’t want her enough to take her and then discard her. He didn’t want her for anything. Ryder hadn’t judged his brother’s feelings correctly this time. Ryder had been wrong. There was nothing more she could do.

She stepped away from him then, her blood pounding wildly through her, then ran from his bedchamber.

Douglas saw the flash of white skin. He heard the adjoining door close very quietly. He didn’t move for a very long time. Then he rose and picked up her discarded nightgown. He looked toward her chamber. Then, very deliberately, he tossed the nightgown into his chair.

He knew what he’d done. He knew he’d kicked her and then kicked her again. But, damn her, he refused to be cornered, to be bribed and blackmailed with sex. He would never allow a woman to dictate to him, to try to make him lose his logic and his brain by flaunting her body. But the look on her face as he’d spoken. He cursed as he flung off his dressing gown. It landed beside her nightgown on the chair. He cursed as he climbed into his big empty bed and burrowed under the blanket. He felt disgusted with himself, but he wouldn’t back down. He would do what he wished to do, and he wouldn’t be coerced, certainly not by an eighteen-year-old chit with the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen in his life.

In the dead of night Douglas awoke with sweat thick and clammy on his forehead. He held himself perfectly still. He’d heard a sound. He waited, completely awake and alert. He heard the strange noise again. It sounded like a woman. She was crying, low and soft, yet he heard her distinctly. No, it wasn’t crying, rather deep moaning, hurt and raw. He knew that she was moaning because of a great pain. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did. He frowned into the darkness toward the adjoining room. This was absurd.

It was Alexandra, crying because he’d put her properly in her place. She was sulking; she had failed to get her way, and she was trying to draw pity from him. Crocodile tears, nothing more. That was it. He was a man, but he wouldn’t be swayed by a girl’s tears, sham tears because she hadn’t managed to make him lose his head. But it wasn’t crying . . . it was moaning, it was a deep, deep pain. He cursed and flung back the bed covers.

He walked naked to the adjoining door and quietly opened it. He knew it had to be Alexandra. It had to be, but still he was quiet, and the door made no noise as it opened.

He walked into the bedchamber. There was a narrow beam of moonlight coming through the window, slicing over the center of the bed. The bed was empty. No, wait, there she was, standing on the other side of the bed, staring down at it, and she was moaning softly, very softly, only he would swear that her mouth didn’t move, that she was making no sound at all. But he heard the crying, the moaning, he heard it clearly in his head. It was so quiet he couldn’t imagine how he had heard her in his bedchamber. She was hugging her arms around her, and then she looked up and saw him.

She was still now. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In the next instant, she was gone, fading slowly like a soft white shadow into that thin beam of moonlight.

“No,” Douglas said, loudly and firmly. “No, dammit! I will not accept this!”

He ran to the other side of the bed. Alexandra wasn’t there. Damnation, he’d dreamed it, all of it. He felt guilty and he was having strange visions because of his guilt.

Where was Alexandra? She was fast in hiding herself, he’d give her that, the damned twit. There weren’t many places to search. He looked in her armoire. He even got on his knees and looked under the bed.

She wasn’t here. She wasn’t anywhere. It was the middle of the night.

Where the hell was she?

He saw her face then, clear in his mind. He saw her pallor, the humiliation in her eyes as his words had struck her, hard and remorseless, words that wounded deeply. And he’d even thrown her sister at her while she’d stood there standing still and solitary between his parted legs, naked and vulnerable and terribly, terribly alone. And she’d run from him, stripped of every shred of dignity, deeply wounded, but still he’d let her go.

Well, hell.

It wasn’t, thank God, as late as he’d first thought. It was just past midnight. Not many minutes after he’d fallen asleep then awakened so abruptly. He dressed quickly and made his way quietly downstairs. He didn’t light a lamp, he didn’t need one. He knew every foot of Northcliffe. She didn’t. There were a million places to hide but she didn’t know of them. No, she wouldn’t want to remain here.

He didn’t question how he knew this. He unlocked the massive front doors and slipped into the cold dark night. The sliver of moonlight was gone, covered now with dense gray clouds. It would rain soon, a thick cold rain. The air was damp and heavy.

He hadn’t thought of the cold and now he shivered from his thoughtlessness. He was wearing only a shirt, tight buckskin breeches, and boots. The wind was rising, the storm was coming closer.

“Alexandra!”

The wind rustled through the leaves. A shutter banged against an upper-story window. He felt sudden urgency. He ran toward the stables. They appeared deserted, naturally, all the stable lads in bed. He walked more quietly as he neared Fanny’s stall. Then he stopped completely. Quietly, efficiently, he lit a lamp near the stable door. He lifted it and just looked.

Alex dropped the saddle, whirling around when the light struck her. She couldn’t see anything because the light was in her eyes, blinding her.

Tags: Catherine Coulter Sherbrooke Brides Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net