Chapter 43
ALEX PAUSED IN the center of the withdrawing room in the hotel suite Xavier had rented for her, barely noticing the rich brocades, silks, and velvets adorning the furniture, the stately, gleaming European antiques, or the portraits and landscapes on the walls.
Through the open door leading to the bedroom, she saw a magnificent four-poster bed, draped with royal blue silk and crimson velvet, set against a red and gold upholstered wall.
She turned.
Xavier stood on the suite’s threshold, staring at her. His eyes were amazingly soft, yet so very intense. “Alexandra,” he said.
They moved toward one another simultaneously as the door closed with a click. They embraced in the center of the room. “I can’t believe this is really happening,” Alex cried huskily.
“I am beyond words, beyond dreams,” he agreed tenderly.
They looked at one another for the barest of instants, and then his mouth was on hers, hard and hungry.
Alex accepted his tongue, explosive feelings building inside of her heart, her chest, inside of her body.
She slid her hands under his jacket, vest, and shirt in order to explore his hard, sinewed back.
He moaned, ripping her denim shirt out of her jeans.
Alex heard the worn fabric tear. As he slid it off of her shoulders, she did not care. It flashed through her mind that she did not want any mementos of the twentieth century—maybe without them, she would never be able to time-travel again.
“Good God!” he exclaimed.
Alex smiled against his cheek. She was wearing a black lace push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret—and a matching thong. “There’s more,” she whispered, untying his queue and threading her fingers through his thick hair. “I promise you.”
His gaze lifted, seeking hers—his eyes were blazing.
Alex quickly found herself in his arms, being carried across the salon and into the bedroom.
Xavier began kissing her eyes, her nose, and her mouth before he even laid her down in the center of the bed.
He began kissing her cleavage, then her breasts, while he undressed the upper half of his body with one hand.
His other palm found its way unerringly between her legs.
Alex gasped, reaching out, quickly finding the fly of his pants. She stroked the extremely hard bulge there.
“Damnation,” he gasped, but instead of removing her hand, he pressed it hard against the muscular ridge of his arousal, their gazes locking.
“I can’t wait.” Alex said.
“Nor can I.”
A moment later Alex was kicking off her jeans and thong, Xavier was shoving down his trousers. He came down on her, impaling her. Alex cried out.
She held him hard, and for one moment, he remained unmoving, buried deep within her, throbbing. Alex stared into his eyes. There was a union taking place, all right, and it was far more than physical. “I can feel your soul,” she whispered.
He smiled at her, as if he understood, and then he began to move with determination. “Hold tight,” he ordered.
Alex obeyed. Closing her eyes, she gripped his broad shoulders. Had it really been like this before? So overwhelming? So incredible? So emotional? The pressure was already cresting inside of her, tight and hot, fed by separation, reunion, and love.
“Ohmygod,” she cried, her eyes flying open.
He was watching her as he moved, very rhythmically, his own face rigid, his gaze hot and intent.
His eyes brightened as Alex cried out again.
She heard him gasp as she gripped his shoulders more tightly, riding a whirlwind orgasm to its peak.
The universe seemed to explode into a thousand bright flaming lights before her very eyes. Alex shattered with it, out of control.
And vaguely she heard him gasping her name and arching over her, within her.
They lay in one another’s arms, unmoving.
Xavier kissed her forehead. “May I spend the night?”
Alex’s eyes opened. “What about Sarah?”
“We have separate bedrooms. I’ll leave at dawn.” His smile was gentle. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Alex said, her heart close to bursting.
Their gazes continued to hold. Alex thought about the upcoming annulment—and what that signified for them.
She was dying to ask him about marriage—about when they would tie the knot.
Surely there was no question about that!
But she wanted an old-fashioned proposal from him.
And why not? He was an old-fashioned man—by her standards. “Xavier?”
“Hmmm?”
“How long do you think it will take to get an annulment?”
“Not very long, I would think.” His gaze was direct. “I will speak to Reverend Ascot first thing tomorrow.”
Alex’s heart and hopes soared; she hesitated. When he did not speak, she said, “I was wondering.”
He began to smile. “Yes?”
She punched his shoulder. “Are you going to say it or am I?”
“Should I get down on one knee?” His eyes were dancing.
Tears filled her own gaze, again. “You don’t have to get down on your knees,” she said softly.
He shifted and cradled her even closer. “Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”
Alex nodded, incapable of speech.
He kissed her nose. A moment later, his eyes gleaming, he reached over her and retrieved something from the floor. “What the hell is this?” he asked, holding up the black lace scrap of her thong.
Alex grinned. “I’ll show you how it works,” she said.
“Hello, my boy!”
Xavier smiled politely at his uncle, now in his second term. “Hello, Markham. I hope you had a pleasant journey?”
“The trip from Washington was terrible, as always. Late spring rains have ruined the roads,” Markham said, but he was Still smiling. “Hello, William.”
“Good to see you, Markham,” William said, smiling. The brothers shook hands.
They were in the library and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling books.
Xavier watched them, his mind drifting to Alexandra.
He was dining with her in her suite tonight.
He could not stop thinking about her. Her return from the dead—or the missing—was a dream come true, and he was a pragmatist who did not believe in the realization of dreams.
“How is everything on the home front?” Markham asked.
“Everything is wonderful,” William replied. Before Xavier could stop him, he told his brother about the annulment Sarah had requested. “And this might seem premature, but Xavier is marrying immediately afterwards.”
Markham stared, his smile gone. “This is sudden, is it not?”
“Sarah asked for the annulment, not I,” Xavier said.
“But you are already remarrying?”
“Yes. I shall marry as soon as possible. Alexandra and I have agreed, we do not want a big wedding, just a private ceremony here at home with Father and a very few guests. We hope to be wed within several months.” He added, “You are invited, of course, as are my cousins.”
“Alexandra? Does that name ring a bell?” Markham asked.
William smiled sheepishly at Xavier. “I was so worried about you when you returned from Barbary that I told Markham about her.”
Xavier said nothing. But he was not pleased.
Markham was more than astute. “Not Alexandra Thornton—the American woman who was also a captive in Tripoli? The woman who drowned?”
Calmly Xavier repeated the story he had already made up about Alexandra falling overboard and having lost her memory for three years. Markham was dismayed. “And are you sure this woman had had such mental illness? Did you not tell your father that she was a spy?” he demanded.
“She was not a spy,” Xavier said firmly.
“There were other circumstances which misled me to make that erroneous conclusion.” He kept his tone and gaze steady.
To this day, although he wished it were otherwise, he was quite certain that Alexandra had been spying, although he did not know for whom.
And he still could not understand why she claimed to be a “time traveler.” In any case, the past was irrelevant.
The present was all that mattered—and the future they would share.
“I don’t like this.” Markham faced William. “Let us say that this woman was not a spy. Nevertheless, she disappeared for three years. She is, at the very least, a clever fortune hunter.”
“I don’t think so,” William began.
Xavier stepped in front of Markham, furious. “Do not ever speak ill about Alexandra Thornton again. Not ever again.”
Markham paled. “I apologize.”
Xavier nodded curtly.
Markham, grim now, withdrew a sealed envelope from his breast pocket. Xavier froze, for the envelope was remarkably familiar.
“Yes,” Markham said, “it is for you and I am hand-delivering it.” He extended his arm, turning the envelope over so Xavier could see the presidential seal.
He was overwhelmed. With both dismay and curiosity. He knew he should refuse to accept the sealed missive. No good could come from it.
Yet how could one refuse a letter from the president? And he could guess the nature of the appeal that the missive contained.
But he was marrying Alexandra within the span of several months. Reverend Ascot had said that permission to annul their marriage was a matter of course.
“You cannot refuse the president,” Markham said.
Xavier recalled being embraced by Jefferson two years ago when he had gone to Washington to receive both a Medal of Honor and a special commendation for his efforts on behalf of his country.
Jefferson had been charming and gracious and profusely grateful, as well.
Xavier found himself reaching for the letter, his pulse racing.
He promised himself that he would not do anything to jeopardize his upcoming marriage even while knowing that he was forever a patriot.
“What does he wish for me to do this time?” Xavier asked.
“He wants you to masquerade as a blockade runner.” Markham smiled benignly. “Run Napoleon’s blockade of Britain, to begin with.”
And Xavier began to understand. “And once I—or someone—reaches Britain?”
“You shall have contacts. Entrées. And the freedom to do what must be done.”