Admit it, McKenna. The girl terrifies you.
Matthew retreated deeper into the shadow of the poplars and feasted his eyes upon the sight of Alexandra sketching near the gazebo. Late afternoon sun spilled over her slender shoulders like a benediction and he couldn't remember a time when he'd seen beauty and goodness so perfectly united in the form of a woman.
Leaving her that morning had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done for he'd wanted nothing more than to have her awaken in his arms, to take her again while she was still soft with sleep, a vulnerable and sweet bundle of woman. But, there was her reputation to consider, her position in the house to protect, and so he had climbed from her bed with the coming of dawn and slipped out of her room. A volatile combination of emotions battled within him—desire and fear, tenderness and rage—and he had saddled his horse and ridden out to the easternmost tip of Long Island where he stood in the shadow of the Montauk lighthouse and watched the waves crashing against the rocky shore while he tried to make sense of his wayward soul.
He felt as if he'd been captured by Alex, as if she had reached inside his heart and taken it as her own. He felt young again in a way he hadn't in the four years since his son's death. Hope, an emotion foreign to him, blossomed inside his chest, pushing out despair and anger and all the dark emotions that had been keeping him company for so long.
Not even the letter from Edward Strawbridge, resting in the bottom of the huge pile of mail he'd picked up from the post office in town, was enough to dim the joy he felt.
He didn't need to open it to know what it said. "... your money, Matthew... your good name... come back to San Francisco... you must return soon or it will all be..."
Didn't Strawbridge understand? It simply didn't matter. He had Alexandra and for now he needed nothing else.
#
Alexandra knew he was there long before he stepped out of the shadows. Growing up as she had in the open countryside of Provence under Esme's tutelage, she had mastered the secrets of nature: a faint rustling of leaves, the delicate rush of footsteps on dew-laden grass, all the minute, but telltale signs that told a person she was not alone.
But not even her beloved Esme had taught her the most important secret of them all: the unmistakable way a woman felt when her lover was watching her.
What a delicious form of torture it was to know Matthew's blue-green gaze was upon her as she worked on her sketch of the lilacs blooming near the back door of the house. As her hand inscribed the curve of the lilac bush, she grew painfully aware of the corresponding curve of her arm, the tilt of her head, the way the sun splashed across her shoulders and made her dark hair sparkle with highlights of midnight blue.
All day she had been dizzy with longing for him, to see his face, to touch his hand, to discover if what they'd shared last night had been as wondrous for him as it had been for her.
To know that he stood but ten feet from her, hidden in the shadows of the poplar trees was more than she could bear.
"Matthew," she blurted when she could wait no longer, "please say something for you are distracting me so I cannot draw a straight line."
His low, rumbling chuckle sent shivers of anticipation up her spine.
"Want me to tell you how the sight of your breasts distracts me, Alex?"
"Matthew!" she whispered his name, her face flaming with embarrassment and delight. "Someone might hear you."
He stepped out of the shadows and came toward her, his chestnut hair gleaming gold in the sunshine. He wore what he always wore, black trousers and white shirt, but now that she intimately knew the powerful body hidden by the clothing she wondered why every man on earth didn't understand the devastating effect of simplicity.
"I missed you," he said, drawing her into his arms.
She rested her cheek against his warm, hard chest. "I was afraid you had sought a way to kindly spare my feelings."
His hold on her grew tighter. "I regret only the time wasted before last night."
Her breath caught in her throat and she could say nothing.
"Alex?"
She looked up at him, her heart thundering madly. "Yes, Matthew?"
"Last night was only the beginning."
He would declare himself any time; she could feel it in her very bones.
#
The May heat wave soon broke but gentle warmth lingered on. It seemed to Alexandra that she had never seen so beautiful a springtime. Each day a lemon sun rode high in skies bluer than even the skies over Provence. The elms and oaks and poplars were in full leaf and from their branches robins and cardinals and chickadees thrilled her with their songs.
Matthew occupied her thoughts during the day as she counted the hours until they would come together again in the benevolent darkness of her room on the second floor. She lived for his touch, for the sound of his voice, for the sheer wonder of love, and if he had yet to declare himself as she'd thought he would—well, it would happen in time. A love such as theirs could only end in marriage and she knew that one day Matthew would understand.
Was it only a month since she'd first stepped through the front door of Sea View and met Matthew McKenna? She could scarcely remember a time when he hadn't been part of her thoughts and dreams, a time when he hadn't held her heart in the palm of his hand.
As she worked on a portrait of Matthew in the moments stolen from her busy days, she felt a closeness that transcended the wonders of the flesh. Matthew had told her precious little about his past and she wondered what had happened to make him the solitary and often angry man he was.
But these were the only clouds on Alexandra's horizon. Instead of being an uncertain guest in Gabrielle's home, she was now an important part of Sea View. By nature of her ties to Andrew Lowell, she belonged there. She had never belonged anywhere and she liked the feeling.
Her mornings were spent in Andrew's sunny studio as he continued to work on a portrait study of her. Every other day she prepared his palette: on the lower side next to the thumb hole was a bean size lump of Naples yellow, then yellow ochre, sienna earth, and red ochre, followed by madder red, green earth, Veronese green, cobalt, and the "queen of colors," ivory black. They had achieved an uncertain peace and she found herself eagerly anticipating the hours they spent together.
Amazingly, Andrew's health was much improved. Matthew had called in a new doctor from East Hampton who had unceremoniously thrown all of the pills and powders procured through Stephen into the Atlantic. The fever Andrew had suffered during his days in the South Seas still recurred with alarming frequency, but without the mind-deadening drugs, he was alert and able to work, despite the aching of his limbs and joints.
Now and again Andrew would do or say something and she would suddenly see herself in his movements or hear herself in his voice and the sensation was most disturbing. Her notion of "father" was still tied up with the English colonel and it would take some doing for her to fully commit her energies toward building a familial relationship with him. She still struggled to come to grips with his treatment of the young Mary Margaret Kilbride.
Marisa Glenn, however, was another story. There were nights when she lay in Matthew's arms and wept that her own mother could send her blindly into such a volatile and destructive situation.
She wrote Marisa a letter addressed to her Bois du Boulogne apartment, trusting her mother's maid, Liane, would forward it to Marisa's mysterious Swiss destination. The silence from Marisa was deafening and Alexandra chose to believe her letter had not yet arrived in Switzerland.
Mostly her days were filled with joy. She and Matthew shared their lunch on the back veranda, watching the ocean crash against the shore below and glorying in the simple pleasure of being in one another's company. After lunch he would sometimes accompany her back to the attic over the carriage house and watch as she painstakingly attempted to clean some of the older, more damaged paintings.
Andrew had given her permission to try her hand at it and, so far, she was having remarkable results using a mixture of beeswax, rubbing alcohol and water and the afternoon hours flew by as she learned first-hand the secrets of brilliance.
Her nights, however, belonged only to Matthew, to secrets of a far more brilliant nature.
May became June and with the coming of summer Alexandra blossomed like the roses that grew wild beneath the front windows at Sea View and up and down Main Street.
She made it a point to pop into the post office with Matthew at least once a week, for she and Evangeline Ames had taken a liking to one another. Alexandra thoroughly enjoyed listening to the latest East Hampton doings, as filtered through the formidable eyes and ears of the lively widow.
"Mr. Grimshaw is putting up a windmill for Dr. Monroe," Evangeline confided during the first week of the month. "Seems right foolish to me when he's only going to be out here for the summer, but who am I to say what's right?"
Alexandra patted the woman's hand. "I am quite certain you have made your opinion known, Mrs. Ames."
Evangeline's eyes twinkled with amusement. "A body has a right to speak her mind." She glanced over at Matthew who was standing in the doorway, scanning the post for Sea View. "I saw you two at Mrs. Lawrence's Ice Cream Parlor last Saturday night. Lookin' mighty sweet you both were, if I do say so."
Alexandra blushed to the soles of her feet. "You're incorrigible," she said, unable to hold back her laughter. "Can we not have a simple repast without being the target of idle gossip?"
"Not in East Hampton," said Evangeline Ames. "Mrs. Huntting carried the news to the Island Inklings column in the Star."
Alexandra, whose name had never appeared in a newspaper, could not wait to tell Matthew. She turned, expecting to see him in the doorway but to her surprise he wasn't there.
She turned back to Evangeline Ames. "Did you see where Matthew went to?"
"My Lord!" Evangeline's eyes went comically wide with surprise. "He was there just a moment ago. You best be looking for him, Miss Glenn. I know I wouldn't be letting such a handsome young man get away from me."
Alexandra did not have to look far. Matthew was but a few yards up the block, leaning against the side of the trap, reading a letter.
"I thought I had lost you, Matthew."
He looked up, expression blank as if he were somewhere far away.
"Matthew?" She touched his arm as a frisson of apprehension raced up her spine. "Is everything all right?"
He crumpled the sheet of heavy ivory paper and tossed it into the trap and it took every ounce of self-control at her command not to reach down and read it. His expression had closed in upon itself, extinguishing the sparkle that had danced in his blue-green eyes since they awoke that morning.
"Mrs. Ames informed me that we are the object of town gossip," she said, hoping to bring a smile to his face. "A Mrs. Huntting saw us having ice cream at Mrs. Lawrence's emporium and brought the news in to the Star. We shall be famous."
He didn't say anything. He simply helped her into the trap then leaped into the driver's seat and they were off.
The toe of her boot rested provocatively atop the letter and she could make out a San Francisco postmark.
"Matthew," she said, her voice a trifle snappish. "Have you not heard a word I've said?"
"I'm sorry," he said as they turned right onto Ocean Avenue. "Tell me again, Alex."
"If something is amiss you must tell me. Your expression gives you away."
Abruptly he pulled back on the reins and came to a stop beneath a thicket of overgrown hydrangea bushes, their snowball-shaped pink flowers gracefully swooping over the dirt road.
Before she could say anything more, he pulled her into his arms and her questions disintegrated before the force of his desire. His lips were demanding, insistent, and so persuasive that her mouth opened for him even though another carriage could rumble past at any moment, thoroughly scandalizing them both.
It was only when his hands strayed to the buttons of her bodice that reality struggled to the surface and she pulled away, shaking with an unnerving mix of both passion and bewilderment.
"What is it, Matthew? What on earth is it?"
"A business problem," he said, rebuttoning her bodice for her. "Nothing for you to be concerned about."
"I—I didn't know you had a business." Truth to tell, she knew precious little about his life before he came to Sea View.
A strange blend of emotions flickered across his handsome face. "I may not have one for much longer."
Her eyes were drawn again to the letter with the San Francisco postmark. "You won't—I mean, will it be necessary for you to leave here?" Please, God, if you are in your heaven, keep him here with me forever.
His face softened and the knot of apprehension in her stomach began to unravel.
"No," he said, touching her cheek gently with his fingertips. "I'm not going anywhere, Alex."
#
His odd mood vanished as quickly as it had arrived and by nightfall, Matthew was once again the ardent lover she had come to know. When he suggested a walk along the shore she was eager to comply.
An opalescent mantle of moonlight cloaked the beach with silver and danced off the blackness of the water, taking her breath away. Matthew held her hand tightly as they went down the rickety wooden staircase to the beach. At the bottom of the stairs, Alexandra slipped off her delicate slippers and left them on the last step. The sand still held the day's warmth within it and she sighed with pleasure as her toes sank into its velvet softness.
Matthew's arm settled across her shoulders and, putting her own arm about his waist, they walked along the shoreline. In the far distance a gypsy campfire glowed orangey-red and a wave of nostalgia drifted over her then receded. The gypsies had returned to the area a fortnight earlier and once again Alexandra had tried to befriend them to no avail.
Finally it struck her that what had once been, could no longer be. This was a new country and here she was a stranger to be shunned. She had left gypsy lore and friendship behind in Provence with her old life and it was time she put it aside for good. Old entanglements had no place in this wonderful new life she was living.
She thought of the crumpled letter with the San Francisco postmark.
Were there old entanglements somewhere in Matthew's life, entanglements he was unable to put aside?
Stopping, she took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Talk to me, Matthew," she implored. "I know something upset you this afternoon. If it is something I have done, you must tell me and I'll—"
He drew his hand lightly across her cheekbones, then cupped her chin with his strong fingers. "Sweet Alex," he murmured, drawing closer. "Everything you do brings me joy."
"I thought you were angry," she whispered, close to tears. "You were so distant... I feared you were growing tired of me..."
He silenced her words with his kisses—ardent, deep kisses that seemed to draw her very soul from her body. Her fingers entwined themselves in his thick, sunkissed hair as her senses heightened to the point of pleasure/pain.
"We should go back to the house," she said, tearing her mouth from his. "We should—"
"We should love." He inched her skirts up higher.
A laugh escaped her. "I have no argument with that, but must we love here?"
"Yes." His hands slid under her petticoats. "Yes, we must."
Desire was a hot flame and it blazed between them. Her knees trembled with it and Matthew swept her into his arms only to take her behind a dune heavily covered with tall grasses.
"This is madness," she said as he swiftly divested her of her gown. "I cannot—"
"But you can," he said, stripping off his coat and spreading it upon the sand for her to lie upon. "Between us, anything is possible." In moments they both were naked, the gentle night breezes drifting across their bodies like a lover's kiss.
She lay back upon his coat in the ebony darkness as he bent before her, drawing his tongue along the arch of her foot, her calf, nipping the back of her knee, gliding dreamily over the smoothness of her inner thigh and then—
"Oh, God, Matthew..." Her words died as he found her with his mouth and tongue.
Her back arched and his hands slid beneath her until he cupped her buttocks in his palms, fingers digging possessively into her flesh. He grazed her gently with his teeth, then sucked at the sensitive nub of flesh until she bit her lip in an attempt to keep from crying out.
"Scream," he said, kissing her belly and the curve of her hip. "There's no one here but us." He urged her on, urged her to give in to the sheer primitive power building inside her body, urged her to put aside the strictures of convention and live only for that moment.
He moved again to that throbbing spot at the top of her thighs and the scream she'd been withholding was torn from her throat. Her blood rushed through her veins, hot and violent; she could hear it pounding in her ears, more powerful than the ocean crashing on the shore just yards from where they lay.
And just when she was approaching the crest of the wave, he slid up her body, positioned himself between her thighs and thrust into her willing body again and again until they were both transported to paradise and back.
"I love you so," she whispered against his cheek. "More than I ever dreamed."
He pulled her close but for one swift moment Alexandra saw the crumpled letter on the floor of the trap and she wondered when he would say those words to her.