Chapter 7 #3
“Presently,” Alexander returned, “you.” This woman was infuriating, but he found that he liked it.
Seeing a devilish determination in her eyes—for what, he didn’t know—he brought her flush against him once more. He pulled her top lip between his, biting and then brushing his tongue beneath it. He felt her knees buckle, and the knowledge that she was responding to him this way thrilled him.
Alexander chuckled again, pulling her closer.
This time she didn’t seem to mind his laugh so much.
In fact, her reaction was empowering. Her hands fisted his shirt again; her short breaths warm upon his neck.
Then she burrowed in deeper and sighed in pure contentment. He palmed her head and pulled her away.
“Tell me who you are,” he demanded in a whisper.
“Oh, now you want to talk,” she said mischievously.
“Truthfully,” he said with a grin, “no.”
She smiled, then frowned. He could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Just how many women have you kissed?”
“Jealous?” he teased.
“Insanely.”
He smiled. “Good.” Then he bent to kiss her again, his question forgotten.
A loud knock sounded on the door. “Alex!”
Alexander swore under his breath. Leaning his forehead against the wall, he snapped impatiently, “What?”
The door opened and Alexander turned, fixing Gregor with a look of supreme irritation. Then he noticed his man’s mouth agape in shock. Alexander couldn’t blame him. He’d never stood in his wife’s room before, let alone embracing her as he did so.
“I must speak with you,” Gregor demanded after a moment. “Privately.”
Alexander bent his head and whispered to the mystery woman, “Don’t move from this very spot.”
She nodded against Alexander’s neck then braced the wall with her hands as he stepped away. Alexander tore himself from her gaze and followed Gregor into the hall, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for him to speak. Gregor’s words were hushed.
“We found her body, Alex. Below the cliffs. She had marks around her neck and was dressed in riding clothes.”
“Whose body?” Alexander asked, momentarily stunned.
“Rebecca’s!”
Bloody Christ, how could he have forgotten? He’d been so mesmerized with this new woman that he’d barely given thought to just what in the hell was happening. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to assimilate this disturbing news. “Are you sure it’s Rebecca?”
Gregor narrowed his eyes. “Aye.”
Alexander stormed back into the room; his look murderous as he turned to the woman who robbed him of his wits.
He blamed her now for his foolishness as well as his weakness.
“Have you anything to do with this?” he demanded when he stood before her again.
She cowed under his gaze, looking confused, shocked, and hurt.
He had to admit to feeling the very same swirl of emotions.
“With what?” she finally asked, her voice small, meeker than he’d ever heard it.
“Are we back to games?” Alexander asked, almost sneering now, feeling his eyes narrow. “Wh-what happened?” she stammered, her fear appearing genuine.
“It seems my wife’s body has been found,” he ground out. “And as you,” he said, jabbing his finger at her, “are not she, I ask you again—have you anything to do with this?”
The woman just stared at him, shaking her head mutely.
Furious that he’d been duped, Alexander grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the room.
He led her down the hallway where he all but threw her into his chamber.
Let her be scared, he thought as he turned his key in the lock, closing her in.
Alexander brought his mount to a halt besides the outcropping of rocks along the shore’s edge. Stephen waited some distance away atop one of the shoals.
As he neared the site, his fury escalated.
Rebecca’s body lay in a gruesome display—broken upon the rocks, already distorted from the waning tide.
He reached out, albeit futilely, and pressed his fingers to her neck.
Her skin was bruised, swollen from the strangulation that had obviously caused her death before she’d been cast from the cliffs.
“She’s an imposter, Alexander,” Gregor accused of the woman he’d left locked in his chamber.
Alexander pivoted on his heels, eyes narrowed. “For what purpose?” he questioned, surprised that he felt the instant need to defend her. On the ride out to the cliffs he’d tormented himself with wanting to believe her but seeing no way that he could. “What would be her gain?”
“Her gain?” Gregor repeated. “The same as your wife’s!” he shouted. “The life of a queen. The trappings of wealth. A title she couldn’t live without!”
Alexander stood, turning toward Gregor, gesturing for him to continue.
“What more proof do you need, Alex?” Gregor went on. “She was found just after we followed Rebecca into the tunnels. What if she killed Rebecca herself? Or worse, what if she had an accomplice who’s still out there?”
“When we came upon her, Gregor, a man was overpowering her,” Alexander reminded him, wondering if he was also trying to convince himself of her innocence.
“Have all these years left you so desperate that you can’t see what’s before you? It was a trick, Alex!”
Alexander grabbed him by the shoulders. “Cease!” he bellowed. “She ran last night. From you and from me. If she’s an imposter, she’s not a very good one. She’s. Nothing. Like. Rebecca,” he said, each word carefully enunciated through clenched teeth.
“And if she is?” Gregor returned.
“Then I ask you again—what is her gain?”
“And I ask you again—who is she?”
“Enough!” Alexander threw his friend to the ground roughly. Bloody hell, he could only take so much! He had enough problems without this current dissension among his men.
“Alex, I’ve watched you suffer for years at her cruelty. If you’re finally free of her, then for God’s sake just be free!” Gregor pleaded once again, picking himself up from the ground.
“What am I to do with her, Gregor? Send her off? Where?”
“We’ll find her family—give her back. Alex, please don’t make the same mistake again.”
“I saw hope in my daughter’s eyes for the first time last night, Gregor. Hope that her mother might love her. I’ll not take that away from her!” It was but half the truth.
“Your love has always been enough, Alex,” Gregor said, his voice softening. “Callesandra’s loved by all of us. You know that.” He paused. “Will you listen to reason?”
Alexander pivoted on his heels. “You listen to reason!” he shouted, knowing how menacing he sounded and not caring.
“You saw her last night, she has not one of the same mannerisms as Rebecca did—she played the God damned piano! An imposter wouldn’t do such things.
And if whoever did this to Rebecca,” he cautioned as he motioned toward her body, “realizes a woman who looks so very much like her is alive and living within the walls of my holding, then she is in danger too!”
That at least brought the quiet he so desperately needed.
“Think—all of you,” he said, emphatically looking to his men.
“If she wished to assume the sorry life of my wife, she could have done so easily, at least for a time. Though I appeared by her side, I never looked at her, not really. None of us have, and you know it to be true. But she sought my help last night—on more than one occasion. She looked to me—right in the eyes—for guidance. I tell you—she’s no imposter. ”
They seemed to come to a silent agreement as they all looked down at the body of the woman for whom they felt only contempt. None of them had wished her dead, but they’d not miss her spite, her cruelty.
They waited until dark before moving her from the shore and burying her behind the chapel. Stephen said a prayer as they covered her grave. They left the area looking completely undisturbed. No one must ever know what had happened.
Amanda spent the day trapped in Alexander’s room.
It wouldn’t have been so terrible if he hadn’t looked at her with that expression of betrayal nearing on hate.
Somehow, she just wanted to make him happy.
Something she knew he wasn’t. At least he hadn’t been.
But she knew the few times, the very few times, they’d been together, she had made him happy.
She paced for hours with nothing to do but admire his décor. It was completely masculine, completely him.
His bed was covered in dark linens and filled with pillows; the posts wrapped with black silk.
The floors sported rugs rich in design, their colors the same that ran throughout the room—black, burgundy, and gold.
The drapes over the windows hung from at least twenty feet above the floor, cascading from rods with ornate finials.
The chairs in front of the fireplace were a dark shade of red; so dark, they almost appeared black.
The leather was soft, decorated with gold nail heads.
Another sitting area was arranged in front of the bathing chamber—a table, chairs, and large chaise covered with a throw.
There were even baskets filled with toys he must have kept for Callesandra.
She’d tried to keep the fire going throughout the day, but her attempts were futile. By evening, she had a pounding headache and was so hungry she had that sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away. What had she done?
You assumed the role of his wife, that’s what!
Nothing made sense about how she had gotten here, but she was here.
And oddly, that had made sense. Until now.
Cold and hungry, she curled up by the fireplace and covered herself with a throw from one of the couches.
She fell asleep wondering where she would be when she woke up.
In the back of her mind, she wanted it to be here, but Alexander seemed to hate her again, just as he had before.
Her dreams weren’t pleasant like they’d been the night before. They were nightmares of the man who despised her. Again.