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DRY-EYED, ALEX STARED up at the plush velvet canopy of the intricately carved mahogany bed. Her head ached painfully; her mind still raced with all it needed to absorb. Odd, she had been in her room for hours, yet she could not cry. Deep within her lay a core of grief so profound that it was not yet ready to be touched. She supposed that she was still in shock, would remain so for some time.
Shivering, Alex arose from the bed and moved toward the fire, drawing her wrapper more tightly around her. Shortly after she had taken dinner in her room, Molly, her lady’s maid, had come to announce the arrival of some clothing for her grace. There had followed a procession of gowns, all the dark-colored crepes and bombazines that were necessary for mourning, and all of them fit Alex perfectly. As if to atone for the drabness of her initial wardrobe there were countless exquisite night rails and wrappers in soft colors and delicate silks. Alex had no idea how the modiste had managed all this without her measurements, but she assumed that Drake had something to do with it. It mattered not. Whatever was between her and her husband, she was his wife and he had just lost his father. Therefore, she would wear the gowns and show her respect to Grayson and to the ton.
The ton. The pompous, self-righteous group of aristocrats that Drake had mocked time and again, had bitterly resented for all they were. He had scorned her for being born into their world, had professed his loathing for the nobility and their values.
Lies. All of it, lies.
Alex turned, pressed her hands to her mouth and stared about the room with burning eyes.
Three of her rooms in Sudsbury could have easily fit into this elaborate bedchamber. The heavy furniture was hand-carved, and the upholstery was a rich pink velvet that matched the flocked wall covering and plush bedcover. The settee at the foot of the bed could easily have slept two, the ruffled dressing table contained every cosmetic a woman could desire, and the broad French windows led onto a large balcony that overlooked the grounds of the estate, giving her a breathtaking view of the endless gardens below.
Yet it all meant nothing.
Alex crossed the room to gaze out the window, searching the moonlit sky for answers. She had married a sea captain, a brave and dedicated man who led a simple life filled with purpose and commitment. A man she could respect … with whom she had fallen in love.
She had married a duke. A man who had lied to her time and again, whose very existence was a sham, who had accepted her love and her trust and then betrayed them.
And if Drake himself was a lie, then what of the feelings they had shared? She closed her eyes, unwanted images appearing before her. The heroic way he had rescued her from death, the tender way he had nursed her back to health on the island, the laughter they had shared, the words he had whispered, the look in his burning eyes when he’d made love to her—a look that had everything and nothing to do with passion.
Or so she had thought. She had deluded herself into thinking—no, hoping—that he was falling in love with her, that all that was missing were the words he could not yet say. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. To admit the truth was to negate all that had passed between them these last months. And that truth her heart was not yet ready to accept. So the tears remained unshed.
She had to sleep. The next few days would be the most trying of her life. Her own grief and despair had no place in the day-to-day world of Allonshire. Alex’s upbringing had prepared her to do her duty, regardless of her inner turmoil. But the overwhelming burden of being a duchess? For that, she was totally unprepared. Indeed, her mother had tried to teach her the skills required of a noblewoman, to ready her for the day when she would be the mistress of her own home. Alex had foolishly dismissed the attempts as inane. How she regretted that now! For now she faced the awesome responsibility of being the Duchess of Allonshire.
Then there was Drake’s family.
Samantha was a softhearted girl with warmth and spirit. It was obvious that she adored Drake and that the feeling was mutual. Never having had a sister of her own, Alex wanted very badly to reach out and earn Samantha’s friendship.
After showing Alex to her room Samantha had lingered, shy and eager all at once. And Alex’s heart had ached for the younger girl’s pain and loneliness. Yet her own emotional strength had been depleted by the events of the day. She had therefore asked Samantha if they might spend the next morning together, getting to know each other. Samantha’s eyes had lit up, joy and anticipation making them glow. She had looked so much like Drake at that instant that Alex had almost wept.
Alex’s tenderness vanished as her mind moved to Sebastian. There was a coldness about him that frightened her, and the hungry, lustful way he looked at her was unnerving and damned insulting. After all, she was wed to his brother.
Drake. Her mind returned to the complex man she had married. His father’s death had obviously been a terrible blow to him and the weeks to come would mean a drastic change in his way of life. The adjustment would be tremendously difficult for Drake, she knew, for whatever else he had lied about, he had not lied about his love for the sea. And now that life would be over, lost beneath his staggering responsibility to Allonshire. The thought saddened her, but there was little she could do. She felt cold inside, cold and dead. She had little internal strength left for herself; she had none to offer Drake.
Alex slid into the bed, willing herself to go to sleep. Tomorrow would reveal itself in but a few short hours.
The door to her bedchamber opened. Alex started, sitting up in surprise. Silhouetted in the doorway was Drake, his powerful form revealed by the glow of the firelight, his face concealed by shadows. He walked slowly into the room, closing the door behind him and approaching the bed. He stopped just before he reached Alex’s side, staring down at her, his expression enigmatic.
Alex returned his gaze without moving, noting that her sea captain was gone. Drake was clean-shaven, his hair cut shorter at the nape of his neck. His robe, made of dark green silk, was belted, but open enough for her to see the soft dark hair that covered his massive chest.
The man who gazed down at her was very much the Duke of Allonshire.
“What do you want, Drake?” Her voice was drained and devoid of emotion.
“I don’t know what I want,” he answered her quietly, searching for some softness in her eyes and finding none. “Nor can I answer any of the other questions you must have, for I myself don’t know who I am anymore.” He swallowed. “My father is dead. I feel so damned empty inside.”
“So do I, Drake,” Alex whispered truthfully. “And I need to be alone to think things through.”
“I need you.” He begged her with his eyes. “I’ll go if you ask me to … but please don’t ask me to.” His jaw tightened, a muscle working furiously in his cheek. “I’ve never asked … begged … a woman in my life. Please, Alex, I need you to stop the pain. Just tonight. Please.”
It wasn’t fair of him to ask this of her. Alex knew it, and Drake knew it as well. She had yet to recover from shock and move on to acceptance. She could not begin to consider forgiveness. Not now; maybe never.
He needed her. She stared up at the green fire in his eyes, a fire born of pain and loss and desire. Yet he waited, and she knew he would leave her if she asked him to. She didn’t ask. Perhaps this was all they could offer each other to fill the void inside them. Perhaps it was all they had left, possibly all they’d ever had. At that moment it didn’t matter.
He saw his answer in her eyes, and she saw the flame of hope in his. He unbelted his robe, dropped it to the floor, and got into bed beside her.
“Alex, come to me,” he whispered in a shaken voice. “I’ve never needed anything like I need you tonight.”
They both moved at once, coming together in a desperate explosion of feeling, driven by the elemental need of one human being for another, the reaffirmation of life. Drake peeled the night rail from Alex’s body, casting it to the floor beside his robe. A harsh cry was torn from his lips as he pressed her naked body against his, whether from desire or anguish, Alex wasn’t sure. He held her for a long time, just feeling her heart pound against his, burying his face in her fragrant cloud of hair. His breathing was harsh, erratic, his body hot against hers.
