An Impossible Attraction by Brenda Joyce Page A

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.
     

    A LEXANDRA 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 take care of her sisters and father had been the morally correct one. She had sworn to Elizabeth as she lay dying that she would take care of the family. That vow meant more to her than her own happiness.
    “Why are you standing on the stairs like a statue?” Olivia’s soft voice cut into her thoughts.
    Alexandra jerked back to reality, and she smiled, then moved