The decision made and reinforced by his experience in the woods, his mood lightened tremendously. "Have you thought of a name for it?" he asked when the coach was again moving smoothly ahead.
He was eyeing the puppy, who was busily sniffing about the floor, happily exploring its new surroundings.
Alexandra looked fondly at the soft white ball of fur. "What do you think of Buttercup?"
He rolled his eyes in masculine disgust.
"Daisy?"
"You must be joking."
"Petunia?"
His eyes gleamed with laughter. "He won't be able to hold up his head among the other dogs."
Alexandra stared blankly at him. "The boy told me it's a 'she.' "
"He most definitely is not."
Unwilling to believe she'd been so completely duped by a mere child, Alexandra longed to lift the puppy up and see for herself, but she was not bold enough to do it "You're quite certain?"
"Positive."
"No!" she said sharply when the puppy clamped small teeth on the hem of her skirt and began to tug. Its only response was to tug more violently.
"Cease!" commanded the duke in a low, booming voice. Instantly sensing The Voice of Authority, the puppy let go, wagged his tail, and promptly curled up at Jordan's feet, laying his head on one brightly polished brown boot. This unwelcome show of affection earned from Jordan a glare of such excruciating distaste that Alexandra gave in to a helpless fit of laughter. "Don't you like animals, my lord?" she asked, swallowing a fresh onslaught of giggles.
"Not untrained, undisciplined ones," he said, but even he was not proof against the infectious gaiety of her musical laughter.
"I shall call him Henry," Alexandra decreed suddenly.
"Why?"
"Because if he's going to be a great hairy beast, he'll resemble Henry VIII."
"True," Jordan said, chuckling, his mood improving with each moment in her cheerful company.
They spent the rest of the journey talking about anything and everything. Alexandra discovered to her pleasure that her new husband was extremely well-read, intelligent, and deeply involved in the management of his vast estates, as well as a myriad of business interests which were completely beyond her ken. From that, she gathered that he was a man who shouldered responsibility quite effortlessly, and well. She was, in fact, well on her way to developing an extreme case of hero worship.
For his part, Jordan confirmed what he had already guessed about Alexandra—she was sensitive, intelligent, and witty. He also discovered that she was even more hopelessly naive about lovemaking than he would have imagined possible. The proof of this came later, when they had finished a highly satisfying meal in the inn where they were to spend the night. The longer Jordan lingered over his port, the more nervous and preoccupied Alexandra seemed to become. Finally, she leapt up and began carefully smoothing the wrinkles from her gown, then she made a great show of turning around and examining a perfectly common little oak table. "Excellent workmanship, is it not?"
"Not particularly."
Almost desperately, Alexandra continued. "When I look at a piece of furniture, I always wonder about the man who labored to make it—you know, whether he was short or tall, grim or pleasant… things like that."
"Do you?" he asked blandly.
"Yes, of course. Don't you?"
"No."
With her back still turned to him, Alexandra said with great care, "I think I'll go get Henry and take him for a walk."
"Alexandra." The word, spoken in a calm, no-nonsense tone, stopped her in her tracks, and she turned.
"Yes?"
"You needn't work yourself into a fever of anguished terror. I've no intention of sleeping with you tonight."
Alexandra, whose only concern had been a need to use the inn's facilities, looked at him in surprise and unconcern. "I never imagined you would. Why ever should you want to sleep in my room when this inn is so very large, and you can afford a room of your own?"
This time it was Jordan's turn to look blank. "I beg your pardon?" he uttered, unable to believe his ears.
"It isn't that you aren't welcome to share my room," she amended cordially, "but why you would wish to do so, I can't imagine. Sarah—our old housekeeper—always said I flail about like a fish out of water at night, and I'm sure I'd make you very uncomfortable. Would you mind terribly if I went upstairs now?"
For a moment Jordan simply stared at her, his wineglass arrested partway to his mouth, then he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Of course not," he said in an odd, choked voice. "Go ahead."
Chapter Nine
Jordan called to his coachman to pull up at the next clearing beside the road, and Alexandra sighed with relief. They'd been traveling at a fast pace since lunch, and she longed to walk about and work the kinks from her body. Her husband, however, seemed perfectly comfortable and relaxed in the confines of the coach—probably, she decided, because his clothing was far more sensible than hers.
Clad in buff-colored breeches, shiny brown boots, and a wide-sleeved, peasant-style shirt that was open at the throat, Jordan was more suitably attired for a long coach journey than she was. She, on the other hand, was wearing three petticoats beneath the wide skirt of her bright yellow traveling costume and a white silk shirt beneath the tight-fitting yellow pelisse that was trimmed in dark-blue braid. A scarf of yellow, white, and blue stripes was tied at her throat, her hands were encased in yellow gloves, and a pert straw bonnet trimmed with yellow ribbons and silk roses was perched upon her mahogany curls and tied beneath her ear. She felt hot, confined, and rather resentful that fashionable young ladies were evidently required to dress so foolishly, while fashionable gentlemen, like her husband, could apparently dress as they wished.
As soon as the coach came to a complete stop at a wide place in the road and the steps were let down, Alexandra scooped up Henry and bumped into Jordan in her haste to escape. Instead of preceding her, as he would normally have done, Jordan shot her an understanding look and relaxed against the squabs. Allowing her a decent interval in which to take care of personal needs, which he assumed was the reason for her haste, he then climbed down and strolled through the bushes at the side of the road into the pretty little clearing.
"Doesn't this feel marvelous, Henry?" She was standing in the center of the clearing, stretching, her hands linked high over her head, her puppy sitting at her feet For the second time, Jordan wished an artist could capture her on canvas. In her bright yellow finery, surrounded by sloping hills covered with yellow and white wildflowers, she was youth and grace and suppressed energy—a gay wood nymph dressed in the latest fashion.