An Impossible Attraction. Brenda Joyce

Alexi. “Life is filled with tragedies.”

      “And life is filled with beautiful, young, spoiled debutantes.” Alexi saluted him with his glass.

      “What is your point?” Stephen asked crossly. But he recalled the parade of young ladies he’d been offered over the course of the past decade—every single one of them a mirror image of Anne. “Because I seem to recall another terribly spoiled and pampered young woman…before, of course, you jilted her at the altar and took off for parts unknown.” Stephen saluted Alexi with his glass, which he realized was almost empty.

      Alexi’s smile remained, but it no longer reached his eyes. “I made a terrible mistake, leaving her after our vows. I cannot imagine Lady Anne becoming the spectacular woman that my wife has become—a woman of opinions, ideas, of will, of substance. Miss Bolton reminds me of Elysse—not in appearance, but in courage.” He drained his drink and said, “I believe you have just insulted my wife.”

      He knew he should apologize, but Alexi’s latest reference to Alexandra Bolton was even more jarring than the previous ones—though Alexandra had been courageous tonight. No one could dispute that. “I personally have no use for a woman with opinions,” he muttered.

      “My God, you’ve insulted me, then Elysse, and now you’ve just insulted every woman in the family,” Alexi said, standing abruptly.

      “That is not what I meant,” Stephen said, standing, as well.

      “I think you should marry Anne or someone just like her,” Alexi said. “You can be such a jackass. Marrying a woman who will bore you to tears just so you can please that bastard who raised you—so you can be just like that bastard—is exactly what you deserve. Apologize.”

      Jack started laughing.

      Stephen finally lost his temper. “I am a jackass? Because you meddle like a woman.”

      Alexi’s eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “Oh ho,” he said.

      Stephen tensed for the blow.

      But just as Alexi clenched his fist, Ned stood and interposed himself between the two men. “You can’t possibly strike His Grace.”

      “His Grace, my arse. Why not? I’ve done so a hundred times.” Alexi glared.

      “Stephen deserves it,” Jack said, grinning with relish. “He did insult Elysse—who happens to be my only sister. And if he called me a woman, I’d take a piece of his scalp.” He winked at the two younger men, clearly relishing the prospect of a fistfight.

      “Go ahead, hit me,” Stephen said softly. “I won’t hit you back.”

      But Alexi knew him too well. “You won’t hit me back because you know that in a roundhouse, I will win.”

      Stephen rolled his eyes.

      “I’ll place a wager,” Jack said. “Do you want in?” He looked at Chaz and Randolph.

      “No one is coming to blows,” Ned said. “Not at this table.” Then, “Are you considering Anne Sinclair for a wife? Is that what this is about?”

      “No, I am not,” Stephen said firmly. “And I truly don’t know what set Alexi off tonight. Obviously I will have to marry one day—and yes, I will choose a debutante. I am sorry I insulted Elysse. I am very fond of her. I consider her a sister, in some ways.”

      Alexi smiled, instantly in a good humor. “I know you do. But you are still an ass. You’ve considered a hundred different debutantes. However, it isn’t your fault, it is Tom’s. You will imitate him after all, living with a wife you despise, in splendid isolation.”

      Ned seized Alexi’s shoulder. “He apologized. Let’s end this subject.”

      Stephen folded his arms, staring. He truly hoped that Alexi was wrong. But as a boy, he’d found Clarewood a cold and lonely place, something he recalled vividly now. “Splendid isolation? Now you are a poet,” he said, holding back his rising temper.

      “The truth can hurt.” Alexi shrugged. “I have changed my mind. You should cease your pursuit of Alexandra, and you should most definitely marry Anne.”

      “Your point is made. It took you long enough.”

      “What point has he made?” Jack asked.

      “That someone as young and inexperienced as Anne is the wrong choice, which is why he keeps comparing her to Miss Bolton. Next, he will espouse the delights of matrimony with a woman of independence, of ideas, a strong will and opinions.”

      “Unlike the rest of this family,” Jack said, “I am against marriage in theory and in practice.” He smiled.

      “Those will be infamous last words,” Alexi promised.

      “Alexi is too besotted to know that smugness is not becoming,” Stephen added.

      “More infamous last words.” Alexi patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, there is hope. You are a de Warenne, after all, and one day we will laugh about how stubborn and stupid you were.”

      “I am so pleased you care so much, but can we sit down and enjoy our drinks now? Or will you continue to egg me on?”

      Alexi shook his head. “I’ve done enough for tonight—I am going home. To my independent, outspoken, opinionated wife.” He grinned. “Enjoy your drinks.”

      When he left, they looked at each other, all of them bachelors, for even Ned was inclined to carouse. “He has lost his manhood,” Jack said.

      Stephen tended to agree—almost. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

      “I think we should toast our freedom—and count our blessings,” Jack said. “I, for one, will never become like that.”

      Stephen accepted a glass, thinking about Alexandra. “At least he is genuinely happy,” he said.

      ALEXANDRA WENT ABOUT her morning routine in a daze. She could not stop thinking about the previous night. And while it was impossible to forget the vile gossip that had targeted her, it was the Duke of Clarewood who loomed largest in her mind.

      Having washed and dressed, she was on her way downstairs for a terribly late breakfast—at eleven, it was already nearly lunchtime—when she paused, her hand on the worn wood banister. Her body tensed, and her heart seemed to clench before hammering hard. His devastating features were crystal clear in her mind. Their paths having crossed as they had, he was a man no woman could possibly forget.

      She still couldn’t fathom why he’d rescued her and her father. But most of all, she couldn’t understand why she had been, and remained, so terribly attracted to him.

      She could justify the passion she’d felt for Owen—she had loved him, and she had meant to marry him. But Clarewood was an absolute stranger.

      And last night he’d indicated that he had an interest in her, as well—one that could only be scandalous. As if she needed more scandal! But it didn’t matter, not at all. Today he would surely come to his senses. He would forget about her. And that was as it should be; she wasn’t the kind of woman he seemed to think she was. Whatever he had intended, she was simply not interested.

      Her heart continued to race, but she had awakened saddened, and she remained so. She’d made a mistake by accepting the squire’s invitation, that was obvious, and her sisters had suffered because of it, as well. But going out last night, and winding up briefly in Clarewood’s arms, had opened up all of her old wounds. She hadn’t been able to sleep. She kept thinking about how she’d felt being in his embrace. Her body had become somewhat feverish just recalling it. And she was constantly thinking about Owen now, too, and what they’d almost had. The pain of the past had somehow returned, and it hurt worse than ever.

      She almost wished she had chosen differently. And that was just as terrible. She’d never before doubted the choice she’d made. Her decision to