Chapter 7 #2
“What is it?” he asked impatiently through his teeth, his wife’s behavior perplexing him yet again, not to mention how rattled he already was by his reaction—and attraction—to her.
“I don’t know where Callesandra’s room is.”
Bloody Christ, how much of this could he take?
Another admission that cut him to the quick.
He could see tears in her eyes, too, but she refused to shed them.
This woman was brave. And he knew to his very marrow that somehow, she was honest as well.
Still, he had too many questions he wasn’t ready to seek answers to just yet so instead he lashed out again.
“Why would you?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You’ve never had time for her.”
“If I had a daughter,” she said evenly, “I would always find the time for her, Alexander.” If she had a daughter? What did Rebecca mean by that? Before he could respond, she held out her hand, Callesandra’s necklace and ribbon upon her gauze-covered palm. “Please return them to her.”
Not knowing what else to do, Alexander took them from her. Then she whispered good night, and turned to go back to her room. He watched from the hallway as she felt her way. She’d not taken the lamp that he held in his hand.
Amanda awoke to sounds in her chamber. She opened her eyes slowly before sitting up and looking around.
She was actually relieved to find herself still in the eighteenth century, if that’s really where she was.
Her dreams last night had been like none she’d ever had before, filled with images of Alexander and Callesandra.
They were the best dreams she’d ever had.
Alice was in the room, too, opening the drapes, sunshine blazing through the windows as each was pulled aside. It was a beautiful room, but it wasn’t hers. And none of the things inside of it were hers either, which was somehow creepier than anything else.
Alice helped her into a burgundy dress with delicate gold braiding and ties.
This one was much more comfortable than the one she’d worn the night before.
No bell hoops in the skirt and it fit loosely, as did the shoes.
Each just a little too big, though Alice said nothing of her ill-fitting clothing.
And, when the other woman turned around, Amanda removed the shoes, hoping that no one would notice since the hem of the dress covered her feet.
When Alice started making the bed, Amanda stood before the mirror staring at her reflection, which was apparently identical to Rebecca’s. Were they so similar? As she pulled back her hair, she turned toward Alice and asked to see Callesandra, her voice muffled from the hairpin in her mouth.
When Alice made no indication that she’d heard, Amanda repeated her question a little louder, ending with, “Would you bring her to me, please?” She finished securing her hair and was playing with the strands when she saw Alice still hadn’t moved.
“My daughter, Alice,” Amanda reminded her as if she’d been doing it all her life. Seriously, this part of the charade was easier than she might have thought.
Alice nodded, rather curtly, Amanda noted, and returned minutes later holding Callesandra’s hand.
Just seeing the little girl, imagining she was actually hers, boosted her spirits immensely.
Amanda smiled and motioned for Callesandra to come closer.
Callesandra was only a little hesitant as she moved forward to the bench where Amanda sat before an ornately crafted vanity.
As soon as she was close enough, Amanda picked her up and hugged her tightly.
“Good morning, sweet baby girl. I missed you,” she said, even more surprised to find she really had. She felt safe with Callesandra, as safe as she’d felt with Alexander, regardless of his moods.
“Your hair looks pretty, Mama,” Callesandra said tentatively.
Amanda closed her eyes as she hugged Callesandra closer.
When she opened them, Alexander was staring at her from the doorway.
She looked him over from head to toe, unable to stop herself.
His features seemed softer today, his hair still damp from a bath, water probably dragged in from a well somewhere.
Gone was the running water, the plumbing her family had installed. There were only basins filled with fresh, warm water—and a commode she’d grimaced through using in the middle of the night when she could hold it no longer.
This morning, Alexander wore a white long-sleeved linen shirt, the neck slightly opened from ties that hadn’t been fastened, and black trousers tucked into tall, polished boots. Over it all was a devilish knee-length black cloak, which only enhanced his dark looks.
Finished with her inspection, Amanda dragged her gaze back to his face, blushing as he raised a brow. Was that amusement she saw in his eyes? Then she watched as he gave her the same once-over. And just as closely.
Alexander stood in the doorway of his wife’s bedroom, though the woman he stared at appreciatively was not his wife. It couldn’t be. Whatever sorcery had transpired the night before, he was glad for it.
Bloody hell, his entire body had responded to her inspection.
He’d never responded to Rebecca like that before.
And not that she wasn’t beautiful—she was—but Rebecca’s beauty was only skin deep.
But this woman. This woman shone from beauty so deep, it blinded him.
And as similar as they had appeared the night before, today their differences were startling clear.
Her hair was a shade or two lighter than Rebecca’s.
Thicker, too, and shorter, falling between her shoulder blades.
Her skin was paler, exquisitely flawless.
Her nose was straight, devoid of the small bump that had marred his wife’s.
Her lips were fuller, softer, and sweetly innocent.
And then there were her eyes. Her eyes were such a startling shade of blue they took his breath away.
This woman’s neck was long and graceful, and her body slim.
Her breasts smaller yet so full, he could still feel them crushed against his chest as he’d held her in the tunnels.
Though he couldn’t see her legs, he knew they were longer, for she was taller than Rebecca.
He’d noticed it when she’d stood barefoot before him last night.
And she stood barefoot again, her toes peeking from beneath the dress she wore, toes painted with the color red.
He’d never seen that on a woman before, and he found he liked it.
He could make no sense of the reality before him—where had the real Rebecca gone?
But he found he didn’t care. He kept his face expressionless as he brought his gaze back to hers.
She hugged Callesandra as though her life depended on it.
She hid behind her, just as he did. But the warmth in her eyes held no manipulation, no malice.
“Papa, doesn’t Mama’s hair look pretty?”
He looked at Callesandra’s “mama” as he answered, “Yes, angel. Your mama’s hair looks very pretty. Callesandra, go with Alice now. I’ll come see you before I leave.” Callesandra hugged the woman holding her more tightly, rewarded for her efforts with tickles that sent her into a fit of laughter.
“Listen to your papa, silly goose,” the woman said as she laughed with Callesandra. “I’ll spend the day with you after we’ve talked, alright?”
Callesandra nodded and then took Alice’s hand, following her out the door.
And then there were two.
“We must speak,” Alexander said, at almost the exact same time as Rebecca spoke.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about—” she began, before quieting.
Alexander was stunned to find they’d virtually spoken the same words.
Somehow, he’d not expected her to do so.
It was a foolish thought, for if he knew anything about this new woman it was that she was both forthright and honest. Before he could say anything, she stood and walked toward him, stopping just before she reached him, laying her hand upon his arm.
“Listen, Alexander, I’m not sure where—”
But he couldn’t wait any longer. They could talk anytime. Kiss now, talk later. He had to have her. With those thoughts in mind and little else, he started moving forward, backing her toward the wall, watching as she braced herself against it and into him.
They moved in perfect symmetry, mouths fused, hands finding purchase.
His behind her back and cupping her head, hers on his chest and tangled in his hair.
Just as he was about to press his entire body to hers, she reached out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him in.
So. Bloody. Sweet. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all, but when she’d come to him and placed her hand on his arm, when she began speaking and his eyes fixed on her mouth, he’d thought of nothing else.
The act was completely brash, but seemingly predestined.
From the moment they’d touched it’d been like dry tinder igniting.
Her clever mouth nearly had him out of his mind.
In the minute they’d been lip-locked she’d kissed him practically a hundred different ways.
Each one deliberate in its delivery. He’d never met a woman who kissed like that, who took charge the way she did.
Suddenly he wanted to kill every man she’d ever practiced on. Jealousy gripped him as she sucked his bottom lip, taking a bite before plunging back in to swipe the roof of his mouth. She grabbed his shirt, fisting it in her hands, and pulled away.
“If you ever kiss anyone but me again, I swear I’ll kill you,” she warned breathlessly.
Alexander was so stunned by her words and the fierceness of her expression he threw his head back and laughed. Bloody hell, he laughed! She was obviously feeling the same as he. Looking back down at her, he saw that she wasn’t quite so charmed.
“I don’t know what you find so amusing,” she said, her mouth pulled in a scowl as she glared at him.