The Saxon Brides: Mistaken Mistress

She sighed. How tricky this had all become. Clearly Roland hadn’t wanted his brothers to know that he wasn’t a Saxon by birth. Now, because of her promise to Kay Saxon and out of her respect to her brother, she couldn’t tell Joshua the truth—even though she desperately wanted to. They’d connected on some primal level, she and Joshua. She didn’t like lying to him. Finally she settled for, “We hadn’t known each other very long.”

One brief meeting last night … she’d shaken Roland’s hand. And this morning she’d touched his unconscious body.

From the old cuttings in the town’s archives she knew he’d played rugby as a boy and captained his team to a regional win. She’d shuddered in fear as she’d watched television footage of Roland as a late teen riding his horse over solid fences with a determination that had won him numerous eventing titles. An article in a wine magazine had said Roland joked that he’d liked fast women and good wine. Alyssa had wondered what Amy had thought about that! A recent appearance on a lifestyle television programme hosted by a pretty blonde had revealed that he wore jeans with panache. Every last fact she could glean about him, she had uncovered.

Yet Roland didn’t know her at all.

“Maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew you wouldn’t be pleased with his friendship with Alyssa Blake, despised journalist.” Now, through desperation, she’d cornered herself into an outright lie. Before last night’s meeting, Roland had only known her from the letters and e-mails … written in the name of Alice McKay.

“Friends?”

Joshua looked her up and down in a way that made her regret donning the ancient sweats. A disturbing prickle of awareness followed in the wake of his gaze. She shut it out ruthlessly. “Yes, friends. Why not?”

“I can accept that Roland didn’t want us to know he was sleeping with you.” Joshua’s lip curled. “First, because he knows I think you’re a hack writer and have no respect for you after that hatchet job you did. And sec—”

“Hack?” She glared at him in outrage. “I only did—”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish. Second, I’m sure Roland didn’t mention you because you’re of little importance—certainly not worth losing Amy over.” Joshua gave her a long, hard stare. “Roland was always a bit of a ladies’ man. But I’m not going to let Amy be hurt.”

Alyssa drew a deep, steadying breath and counted silently to three before saying slowly and distinctly, “I have absolutely no intention of hurting Amy.”

“Good. Then we understand each other.” Joshua stabbed the button to summon the elevator. “You’re trouble. As long as you keep far away from Saxon’s Folly, my family—and Amy—everything will be fine!”

“You should go and see Roland,” she said with urgency.

He gave her a snooty look. “My brother has the luck of the devil—he’s a survivor.”

Alyssa prayed to God that he was right. But his words caused a flare of hope. Joshua knew his brother. If he thought Roland might live …

“And when he’s out of here, you stay far away from him.”

No chance.

Joshua blamed her for the argument between Amy and Roland last night. She thought about the pretty TV-show hostess who’d interviewed Roland only a month ago. Alyssa had gone to see her. The woman had giggled that Roland was a great lover—and lamented the fact that he was already taken. Not that it had stopped him, she’d added, giving Alyssa a lascivious smile.

Maybe Amy had quarrelled with him over the hostess, but it wasn’t up to Alyssa to reveal that scandal to Joshua. It might turn her stomach having Joshua accuse her of being Roland’s lover … but no one except she and his parents knew how vile that accusation really was.

She wasn’t the troublemaker Joshua had branded her.

Alyssa started as the elevator pinged beside her and the doors slid open. “Think what you want about me—I don’t care,” she said at last, suppressing the sting of his words.

Joshua strode into the waiting elevator. His gaze swept over her, cool and dismissive. “I’m sure you don’t care about anything except yourself.”

Alyssa decided that it was just as well she could seethe over Joshua’s departing comments while she sat in the hospital café drinking stale coffee. But under her fuming she still fretted about how Roland was faring upstairs in that sterile ward.

Drained of all emotion, Joshua paused in the entrance of the coffee-cum-flower shop in the hospital lobby. His eyes burned. After almost twenty-four hours awake, he needed a shower, a change of clothing and sleep.

But right now there were other things—important things—to which he needed to attend.

His chest expanded as he hauled in a deep breath.

And the first that needed sorting was sitting at a table beside a rack of magazines, staring into a coffee cup, a napkin crumpled in her fist. Some sixth sense must have alerted Alyssa to his presence because her hand tightened around the mangled, once-white napkin and she looked up.

The vulnerability in her eyes vanished the instant she spotted him, replaced by wariness. Okay, so this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. But it couldn’t be delayed. He started forward.

“Alice—” No, not Alice. “Alyssa,” he corrected himself. He’d kissed Alice. He’d never willingly touch Alyssa. “My mother sent me to tell you …” He broke off and swallowed the burning bile at the back of his throat.

She was on her feet, her hand against her mouth. “Roland … is he conscious? Can I see him?”

He shook his head. An appalling sorrow splintered inside his chest. There was frustration and bewilderment, too.

“Why? Just for a few minutes? Please?”

Her eyes were wide, beseeching. As much as he disliked her, it was clear that she loved his brother, that she’d do anything, even beg, to be with him. Damnation! This was more difficult than he’d expected.

His legs carried him to her without his realising it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Alyssa—”

Her hand touched his sleeve. He flinched, and she jerked it away.

“I won’t make waves. I won’t do anything to cause Amy anxiety. I just want to see my—Roland.” She was frantically shredding what was left of the paper towel.

He caught her flailing hands and tossed the napkin on the table, hating what he had to do. “Alyssa, you don’t understand. Roland is dead.”

“What?” She rocked on her feet, looking as if she was about to faint.

“Steady.” He moved closer, shifting his hold to her shoulders, propping her up with his body.

Her eyes were wide, staring. Shocked. Little flecks of black floated in the unseeing smoky purple irises.

“Alyssa?”

“Is it true?” She pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, looking shaken to the soul.

Joshua nodded, swept by a wave of terrible pity. She’d said she loved his brother. Had Roland known the depth of her love? Had he even appreciated it? Joshua doubted it. But he couldn’t afford to relent. Family came first.

Alyssa Blake was more than capable of looking out for herself.

Besides, she was too much of a forbidden temptation. “So you’ll be leaving in the morning?”

Her head came up. The magnificent eyes flashed. “I’ll go after the funeral. Please, leave me alone until then.”

And as he watched the tears pool, the foolish and chivalrous part of him wished he had the right to hold her, comfort her and wipe those tears of hopelessness from her eyes.

Alyssa crept in and stood in the back of the church, keeping her head bowed, and stared blankly at the order of service booklet that had been given to her by the usher at the door.

Yesterday she had called David Townsend, her editor at Wine Watch magazine, requesting a few days’ leave, without giving him any explanations. If she mentioned the word bereavement, she suspected that the tears that dammed up the back of her throat might overflow. Once she started, she feared she might never stop.

David had given her two days.