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  "Don't mean to scare you, miss, but I thought you might need some help bringing the buckets back to the big house. It's almost dinnertime."

  "Is it that late already?"

  "Half past five," Janine said, running a finger over the spanking-clean tabletops and nodding appreciatively, "and with your dinner being served at seven, I thought you might need time to freshen up."

  "Had I any sense at all, Janine, I would race down to the beach and toss myself into the ocean with a bar of lye soap. I am covered with grit from head to foot."

  Janine grabbed one of the buckets and a handful of wet rags as Alexandra gathered up the rest. "You'll find a bath drawn for you in your room."

  Alexandra stared at the girl in surprise. "You shouldn't have done that, Janine. Surely you have enough work without this added burden."

  "'Tisn't an extra burden for me." An odd little smile played at the corners of the girl's mouth. "'Tis a burden to the one who did it."

  Tingling ripples of sensation fluttered through her belly and she clutched the handle of the bucket to keep her hands from shaking. "Another maid?" she ventured.

  Janine stopped on the staircase. "I oughtn't to tell you," she whispered. "He didn't want you to know."

  "It is Stephen, isn't it? He's such a kind man—"

  Janine muttered something beneath her breath. "I shouldn't be talkin' out of turn, miss, but I can't be standin' here listenin' to the wrong man gettin' your thanks."

  "Who then?" Alexandra managed. "I can't imagine—"

  "Mr. Matthew," Janine said, looking up at Alexandra. "He did it."

  Fire began in Alexandra's feet and burned its way swiftly to the very top of her head. "That's absurd!" she sputtered. "He despises me."

  "Mr. Matthew?" Janine sounded incredulous. "Oh, sure and he likes his whiskey but he's a good man."

  "Hah! He told me to take my suitcases and go back to the depot," Alexandra said, reckless in her surprise. "He said terrible things to me. He was unspeakably rude and unpleasant."

  "Excuse me for sayin' so, miss, but you must be mistaken. Mr. Matthew drinks but he isn't ever hateful. I'm speaking out of turn but the only one he don't like is Mr. Stephen and, God forgive me, I wouldn't blame him for that."

  Alexandra sank down onto the top step. "I don't understand, Janine. Why would he... I mean, we argued not five hours ago." My God! I threatened to plunge a butcher knife into his heart! "He must have been drunk to do such a thing."

  "Not yet," Janine said bluntly. "He will be but he weren't yet. He came to me in the kitchen and told me to fetch you."

  The full magnitude of McKenna's gesture didn't reveal itself to Alexandra until she returned to her room on the second floor of the main house.

  A small fire crackled in the hearth providing just enough warmth to counterbalance the cool early evening breeze that ruffled the curtains at the window; a stack of Turkish towels rested on the foot of her bed. Unlike her mother, Alexandra had spent her entire life seeing to her own needs. The luxury of being cared for astonished her.

  But the most astonishing thing of all was the tub. It was a huge copper affair, making up in depth what it lacked in length. Faint wisps of steam rose from the smooth surface of the water and she thought she caught the faint scent of flowers in the air.

  "Don't dawdle," Janine had warned for the water wouldn't stay warm indefinitely and the dinner hour approached.

  Alexandra unlaced her boots then placed them at the side of the bed. Quickly she stripped off her white cotton stockings and skimmed off her worn petticoats. She was wearing her favorite everyday dress, a flower-sprigged pink faded from the sun, whose front hooks and buttons made it easy to slip out of and she folded it and placed it on the dresser to be taken down to the laundry later on.

  Her hands fumbled with the hooks on her corset and she became aware of a deep flush washing over her breasts and moving upward. A cheval mirror rested in the corner of the room and her eyes were drawn to the sight of her semi-clad body as she struggled with the remainder of her clothes.

  She had seen her own body thousands upon thousands of times and it had never held any magic or shame for her. Why now was she fascinated by the inward curve of her waist? Why did the flare of her hips and the slender line of her thighs draw her gaze back to the mirror again and again? Why had she never noticed the ripe fullness of her breasts or the way the nipples tilted upward, dark apricot against the pale peach of her skin?

  The answer was as plain as the look of wonder on her face as she unpinned her hair and watched it fall across her shoulders like a mantle of black silk.

  For the first time in her life she was seeing herself as a woman.

  She was seeing herself through the eyes of Matthew McKenna.

  Laying a hand atop the dresser for balance, she climbed carefully into the deep copper tub, sighing with pleasure as the water wrapped itself around her calves and knees and thighs like a warm caress. She hadn't imagined the scent of flowers for the water was pleasantly slippery from the wildflower-scented bath oil that rested on the lip of the tub. The thought of Matthew McKenna with his powerful body and his rough hands taking the tiny vial from her dressing table and pouring the contents into her bath was shockingly intimate. She was certain that Gabrielle's Luc had never performed such a task for his wife.

  Slowly she lowered herself into the tub. A sigh caught deep in her throat as the gentle bath water rose up her legs then flooded the secret spot at the top of her thighs. Pinpoints of exquisite sensation sprang to violent life along her spine and she barely suppressed a long and voluptuous shiver. Lying back, arms braced along the top edges of the tub, she let the water slide over her belly and breasts, until she was submerged up to her chin.

  For a long while she lay there, her mind fuzzy, her will weak. How was it she had never known what hedonistic pleasure there was to be found in a simple copper tub?

  But there was nothing simple at all about that bath, for it was Matthew McKenna who had carried it into her bedroom and McKenna who had filled it with warm water and McKenna who had opened the vial of jasmine that made the very air throb with scent.

  He vibrated with anger, McKenna did. Rage emanated from his pores and flashed from his eyes. She had little experience with men like him. Her English father died before her birth and Paul Charbonne had been a soft-spoken kindly farmer who quietly accepted whatever obstacle life chose to place in his path. No bellowing at the moon or cursing his fate or decrying the perfidy of women, all of which Matthew McKenna seemed quite capable of doing. Gabrielle's Luc was sharper of temper but Gabrielle had tamed him by keeping his appetites well-satisfied.

  In the carriage house attic this morning, he had let his guard drop. Her heart had constricted strangely when a smile drifted lazily across his face and for a moment she would have done anything to keep that smile last just a little longer.

  But that odd tenderness had passed as quickly as it had come and the next second he was saying vile, horrible things to her and she found herself threatening to push him backward down the attic stairs.

  The sweetness of her temperament, something even the critical Marisa had complimented her upon, had vanished like a forgotten dream as a darker force took hold within her and her entire being had sprung wildly, blazingly, to life.

  "Miss?" Janine tapped at the door to her room. "Do you need help dressing? Dinner is in one half hour."

  Alexandra started as if awakened from a deep slumber. "Thank you, Janine," she called, surprised she could find her voice. "I can manage."

  Janine's footsteps retreated down the hall and, sighing, Alexandra reached for the washcloth and a bar of castile soap.

  #

  Matthew stared out at the ocean and wondered what in hell had gotten into him.

  Taking that copper bath tub up to Alexandra's room was the most goddamned idiotic thing he'd ever done. Janine was probably telling all and sundry about the way he'd carried pot after pot of hot water up the stairs to the girl's room, looking lik
e the worst kind of heartsick fool in the bargain. The last time he'd behaved like that was when he was in the throes of love for Madolyn and look where in hell that had gotten him.

  How he wished he could storm back up those stairs, lift up that damned tub and dump the water out the second story window before Alexandra returned. But it was too late for that. She was probably in her room right this moment, taking off that faded cotton dress, unpinning that thick mass of black curls—

  He groaned and buried his head in his hands.

  Filling the tub was bad enough. Why in hell had he ever taken that vial of bath oil from her dressing table and poured it into the water? His mind still reeled from the violent pleasure he'd experienced as the fragrance—her fragrance—rose up from the bath.

  His fingers still held a trace of wildflowers; the scent made him ache with desire for her.

  What a pathetic excuse for a man he was, sitting on a deserted beach, thinking about a woman whose reasons for coming to Sea View were probably tied in with Stephen and his greed. Alexandra Glenn had surprised the hell out of him this afternoon. He'd been expecting a petulant display of temper over the work she was required to do and when he climbed the stairs to the attic in the late afternoon it was to inform whichever maid had been pressed into service that her duties did not extend beyond the main house.

  He hadn't expected to see that magnificent dark-haired girl on her hands and knees scrubbing the attic floor as if her life depended upon it. The graceful curve of her back as she worked awoke a feeling of tenderness that forced him back into the shadows on the staircase where he stood and watched for a long while.

  Quietly he slipped away and, before he could change his mind, he carried the copper tub to her room. At another time, in another place, he might have made certain he climbed the stairs to her room after her, pushed open the door, then taken her damp and warm from her bath. There was room enough for two in her huge featherbed, room enough for all he wanted to do.

  He wanted to see her face flushed with desire. He wanted to draw his tongue across her breasts and belly, taste her skin, breathe in her musk, feel her body grow hot beneath his hands.

  He needed a woman and if he had any brains at all, he would go out and find one and drive himself into her until he pushed Alexandra Glenn from his mind.

  #

  Alexandra dressed with extra care, taking pains to make certain her long black hair was combed into an elegant upsweep and that the short train on her apricot-colored gown fell into the most graceful line possible. She tried to tell herself the purpose of this was to make a good impression upon Andrew Lowell should he choose to join them at dinner, but in her heart she knew that was but a partial truth. It wasn't Andrew Lowell she sought to enchant with her profile or amuse with her conversation.

  It was Matthew McKenna.

  But she had to be cautious. She was simply an employee in this very odd household; she had no right whatsoever to let the foolish whisperings of her untried heart lead her astray. No. She would be gracious; she would be polite; she would be as subservient as her independent nature would allow.

  And Matthew McKenna would never know that he had the power to make her tremble. She found her way downstairs with little trouble and once again she the first one down for dinner.

  The gas globes in the first floor hallway had been lighted although it was not yet dark outside, and the yellow glow was oddly reassuring to Alexandra. She had expected to find all of America powered by electricity and the old-fashioned familiarity of the flickering gas lamps reminded her of Provence and home. The table was beautifully set, just as the night before, with a delicate ivory lace cloth, fragile china and sparkling silver. Wine glasses, empty and waiting, rested proudly beside each plate.

  She sat down in her chair and gazed at the two empty plates to either side of her. Matthew had been given the place at the head of the table last night, which had puzzled her for Stephen was blood relative to the master of the house.

  Hearing rapid footsteps she turned around in her seat only to see Janine hurry into the room.

  "Am I first this time, Janine, or have I missed the dinner hour entirely?"

  "You are first, miss," the red-haired girl said with a laugh. "You may also be the last."

  Swiftly Janine stacked the dinner plates and silver from the place setting across from Alexandra.

  "Mr.—Mr. Lowell won't be joining us?"

  "No, miss. He sent a message through Cook's brother who works for the attorney in Riverhead that he would not be back for dinner."

  Alexandra's hands started to tremble and she thrust them quickly under the lace tablecloth. "Perhaps he shall return in time for dessert," she ventured.

  Janine's red curls bobbed vigorously as she lowered her voice to the conspiratorial whisper Alexandra was beginning to know all too well. "You see, miss, he's seeing a married lady up in Southold and if her husband is away for the night..." Janine's words trailed off meaningfully and Alexandra looked down at her plate, hating the blush that always betrayed her feelings.

  It was difficult to imagine the buoyant friendly Stephen cuckolding another man behind his back but Janine seemed certain of her facts.

  During her semesters at the Aynsley School she'd heard the whispers about her mother; she'd heard the famous names of very married men linked with Marisa's, the word "whore" that sent her running to her room in a rush of confusion and shame. "Liars!" she had cried into her pillow. "Liars!" Her mother wasn't a whore. Just because she posed for famous artists didn't mean she was a bad woman. Her mother was young and beautiful and more filled with the joy of life than anyone Alexandra had ever known. The other girls were simply jealous because their mothers were old and shriveled and unhappy with their husbands while Marisa had been married to a handsome and dashing English soldier whose tragic death had broken her heart. Janine put the last of the silverware atop the stack of plates then made to return the stack to the kitchen.

  Alexandra's eyes were drawn suddenly to the place setting at the head of the table. "Janine," she said, her heart thudding violently. "Is he—is Mr. McKenna... will he be dining in tonight?"

  "'Tis anybody's guess, miss."

  "Is he at home?"

  Janine nodded, looking supremely uncomfortable.

  "But he dined already?" Alexandra prompted.

  Janine started to say something when her eyes suddenly darted toward the doorway to the dining room and, ducking her head, the young maid slipped away.

  Before Alexandra could react, Matthew McKenna, carrying a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey, strode into the room and took his place at the head of the table.

  "Good evening," he drawled, fixing her with his magnificent blue-green eyes. "It looks like we're alone tonight."

  "Yes," she said softly. "It does."

  His mouth—hard and strong with its sensuous lower lip—lifted in a half-smile.

  And in the space of a heartbeat, Alexandra was back in that copper tub with the warm water lapping gently against her bare breasts and the fragrant oils kissing her thighs and the potent and terrifying knowledge that Matthew McKenna with his gruff voice and his violent angers was the man she had to thank for it.

  Chapter Seven

  "I'm not drunk," Matthew said, reaching for his glass. "I will be later, but I'm not now."

  Alexandra forced air into her lungs in an attempt to calm herself. "I didn't think you were drunk, Mr. McKenna."

  "Then why do you look at me like that?"

  "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

  He took a drink of whiskey. "I think you do."

  Dear God, how was she going to get through this evening without Stephen to divert McKenna's attention?

  "Mr. McKenna, I've been here but twenty-four hours. I barely know my own name, much less what your riddles mean."

  He put the glass back down and leaned across the table. "Your hands are shaking."

  "My hands are on my lap. Whether or not they are shaking is my business alone." How
on earth could a man seem to drink so much yet remain clear-headed and persistent?

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Alexandra."

  She swallowed. "That is a tremendous relief."

  "I don't know what your friend Lowell has told you, but I'm not a bastard."

  "Is your opinion of yourself so inflated that you believe you are the topic of every conversation in this house?"

  "He hasn't told you my darkest secrets?"

  "I am sorry to disappoint you, but no."

  Arthur came into the room and deposited a bowl of clear consommé before both of them, then withdrew. More than anything Alexandra wanted to leave with the elderly servant. McKenna wasn't drunk—far from it. Instead, it seemed that with each sip of whiskey, his wits grew sharper, his tongue more barbed.

  McKenna waited until the maid was out of earshot before he struck again. "He's not what you think."

  She looked up from her consommé. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Don't be fooled by that charm. He's a snake."

  "How interesting," she replied sweetly. "He has only the kindest of things to say about you."

  McKenna loosed a sharp bark of laughter. "Now I know you are a liar, Miss Glenn. The best thing Lowell has ever called me was a bastard. In deference to your sensibilities, I'll spare you the worst."

  She dabbed at her mouth with the corner of her linen napkin. "I am forever in your debt."

  Janine spirited away their empty soup bowls and seconds later Arthur the butler served up a beautiful green salad. She turned her attention to the crisp leaf lettuce; McKenna kept his attentions on her.

  "The salad is delicious," she said pleasantly. "You must try it."

  He raised his whiskey glass toward her. "I believe in liquid nourishment."

  Her mouth opened but she firmly closed her lips before the words escaped. She wasn't about to give him another lecture on temperance—not after what happened last night.

  "You were going to say something," he observed. "Go ahead."