Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

N ormally working on a ship in a bottle meant distraction from the real world, and in a room where he was in control, it made everything about his life seem that much more manageable.

But not today.

Alex found himself unable to focus, he kept fumbling with his tools, the ship parts were not piecing together like they usually did, and he even dropped the bottle once, though luckily it did not shatter. Setting it down gently, he sat back in his seat with a frustrated sigh and ran a hand over his tired face.

Everything seemed impossibly out of control, like a real ship lost at sea, with no sail, no rudder. The reality was not something that could be fixed by him alone in this room. His life would not improve until he found some common ground with his wife. But how?

He spent the early morning in his study, thinking on the dinner the night before. His mother's surprise arrival came with the pleasant news of his sister's birthing a healthy baby boy, accompanied by a plethora of questions about how Alex had found himself in a situation to get married in the first place. He explained as little as he could get away with while saving both his and his wife's dignity, but none of that would satisfy his mother. She wanted to meet the woman and had been more than delighted with what she'd found in the new Mrs. Westcott.

There was also no denying Alex had been pleasantly surprised with his wife's behavior. There was not a hint of outward animosity, but Alex could still read between the lines of her pointed words and hidden meanings. Aside from that, Mrs. Westcott had been civil, well-spoken, graceful, and talented. No doubt a result of her schooling and being trained by the duke and duchess. And yet, when his mother returned home, his wife would have no reason to shine any of that civility on him.

Their dinner had been pleasant and their evening enjoyable, which left Alex wondering if any of those moments could possibly be replicated under different circumstances. Would their conversations with his mother perhaps enlighten his wife's perspective of him, or make him seem even the slightest bit more tolerable? His curiosity and interest in his wife had increased, but he knew better than to expect anything different if she still hated him.

For the few days since their marriage, Mrs. Westcott took all her meals alone, she did not seek him out, and any requests were handled through the house staff. It was beginning to seem ridiculous. He didn't specifically want to seek out his wife's company, but they could not find any resolution or compromise if all they did was avoid each other. If they were to spend the rest of their lives together, then they needed to rectify the situation as best they could.

Alex found himself thinking on Frances, to his own detriment. Any longing in his heart had to be stamped down, but he couldn't help comparing the two women, and how differently his life would have been if everything had gone according to plan. In every way that Frances was gentle and calm and good, Emily Westcott had proved to be stubborn and prickly and outspoken. He hadn't necessarily tried to be difficult, but it seemed they could barely be more than civil when in the same room together, so they would have to think of something in order to make this marriage work. Or they were destined to be miserable forever.

Just like his parents.

Leaning forward again with a sigh, Alex rolled up his sleeves and returned to work. The pursuit of fitting tiny ships into bottles did not seem as difficult as being a newlywed.

A knock sounded at the door and Alex bade them in. Radcliff appeared in the doorway, looking out of sorts, which was abnormal for the man.

"What is it, Radcliff?"

He swallowed hard. "There is a gentleman at the door."

Alex frowned. So early? But then, perhaps the morning had gotten away from him. "Who is it?"

"A Mr. Richard Evans."

The name struck a chord within him, but Alex couldn't quite place it.

"I asked if he wanted to be shown to the drawing room, but he said no, he only wanted a moment with Mrs. Westcott."

Fiery recognition filled Alex's chest as he shot to his feet. The coward from the balcony.

"She did not see him in, but he is still on the steps."

Alex blindly pushed past the butler, made his way down the corridor and into the front foyer. His wife stood in the doorway in a pale green day dress, and a man's voice spoke quietly beyond her. How dare she put on such a display for all of London to see? Of course their marriage was not a happy one, but could she at least spare him being the center of more gossip? Hadn't they married for that purpose alone?

He stormed forward until he caught a glimpse of the man over her shoulder, and immediately Mr. Evans' face paled as he stepped back.

"Mr. Westcott, good day. I only…" but the man's voice trailed off.

Despite the fury beating behind his eyes, Alex managed to simply curl one hand into a tight fist. "You are not welcome here, sir, and I suggest you see yourself off," Alex growled.

"Yes, yes, of course. My apologies. It won't happen again." Mr. Evans bowed quickly, then cast a lingering glance at Mrs. Westcott before turning down the sidewalk and disappearing.

Alex closed the door and let out a deep breath. "How dare he." Then his eyes met with his wife. "How dare your lover show his face here."

"He's not my lover!" Mrs. Westcott shouted, her blue eyes looking crystal behind the sheen of tears. "He only came to bid me goodbye. Did you not have a tearful farewell with your beloved?"

Alex narrowed his eyes at his wife. "She was gone before the day of the wedding. However, this man," he paused, pointing to the closed door, "decides to show up well over a week later, standing in my doorway for all of heaven and earth to see, no doubt begging you with those cow eyes of his."

She shook her head. "He just—"

"He somehow manages the gumption to stand on my doorstep and plant your name back in the gossip that we sacrificed our lives to avoid, yet he knew with such certainty on the balcony, that he never would have kissed you as I did."

Any anguish in her features burned up immediately into a fiery rage, and Alex felt the full force of her blue gaze. She was a beauty, but by heaven, her fierceness overtook him when she was angry .

"It is your kiss that night that ruined everything," she whispered.

Clenching his jaw, Alex took a step closer, but she did not cower, even lifted her chin in defiance.

"Let us be clear about some facts, shall we? I am not solely responsible for that night, because you reacted to that kiss as much as I did." Alex did not want to recall that night, did not want to remember the feel of her lips against his in the dark, but the moment he mentioned it, he had to fight to keep his eyes from her mouth. Especially when her lips parted to fight for uneven breath. Even now, she still bore the same jasmine scent about her, which frustrated him to no end. "You thought I was someone else, I understand, but I thought you were someone else as well, therefore we are equally victims or we are equally at fault. Take your pick."

Her narrowed gaze deepened. "You needn't worry yourself over Mr. Evans, for I will never see him again."

"Good. For if he dares to return to my house, he will see me or no one. He will eventually learn that you are my wife. You belong to me."

She somehow managed to step even closer to him, her face mere inches from his own. "I belong to no one." She may have intended her words as harsh defiance, her lips pursed and chin high, but she was unable to hide the break in her voice on the final word, or the sheen of tears that betrayed her guarded heart, and Alex understood her full meaning. She wanted to belong somewhere, but she had not found the place yet. Which meant even married to him in his fancy townhome, she still felt alone. A prisoner, as she'd said before.

"I may have taken your name and legally become your wife," she whispered fiercely, taking a step back from him. "But you have done nothing to earn the right to claim me as your own. You know nothing about me, and I nothing of you, therefore we are mere strangers living together in this house. Do not attempt to ease your foolish male pride by trying to pretend otherwise."

Alex seethed, unable to speak as she stormed up the stairs to her room and slammed the door behind her. Just as she had the first night of their marriage.

When he was finally alone in the front foyer, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, groaning with regret.

She had been right on every count. He had done nothing to earn her trust or loyalty, and it was her life that had been uprooted to live in his house when they had married.

But did she always have to approach him as the enemy? Must their every conversation be a conflict? In all his thirty years, he had never met someone who was so continuously at odds against him. And the last thing he would have expected was that he would marry into a constant battle with such a person. It seemed her heart was well guarded, as if protected with armed soldiers, a border of shields and swords.

And why did she draw such anger out of him? Her barbed words seemed to strike him to the very core, and somehow it was his wife that had the ability to reach into the bottom of his soul and pull out the worst of him, the part that he was ashamed of, the part he tried to hide.

The part of him that was just like his damned father.

The thought made bile rise in his throat, the regret sickening him further. Would he never be rid of the blood in his very veins?

"Alex," came a small voice from the top of the stairwell, and he whirled around. Half of him hoped it would be his wife, but he should have known better. It was his mother who stood there, looking down on him with a love that only a mother possessed.

"Forgive my shouting, mother. I know it was unseemly of a gentleman." He waited as she made her way down the staircase and sighed. She knew the truth about his relationship with his wife now, so there was no use in hiding it. "It seems I am still working on finding common ground with Mrs. Westcott."

When she reached his side, she linked her hand in the crook of his arm, and they walked into the front parlor. "What seems to be the problem?"

Alex collapsed into an armchair with a sigh. "She just seems to bring out the worst in me."

To his great surprise, his mother laughed. "Marriage brings out the worst in all of us, but that does not mean we are destined to stay that way. My marriage to Mr. Martin is vastly different from my marriage to your father, but it still requires effort on both our parts. We work together to make ourselves better and make each other happy."

"What if I'm not capable of either of those things?" Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. "I feel as though I will never be more than the kind of man my father was."

"Look at me, son." The sternness in her voice brought his eyes up to hers. "I never want to hear you say such a thing ever again, for you are entirely different from your father. He chose every day the sort of man he was going to be, and you have proved countless times that you are not the same. Where he was a heartless father and a selfish philanderer, you are honorable and selfless, and though you might have weaknesses as we all do, you are nothing like him. His blood might flow in your veins, but you are so much more than that. You can choose to be more than a fiery temper."

The smooth voice of his mother did ease his heated emotions, but the problem still simmered below the surface. "Even when I must face hers?" Everything about his wife unsettled him. She was young, but others had married younger, to be sure. And after yesterday's dinner, he'd witnessed his wife's enhanced understanding of the world in both her mannerisms and attitude. He caught a glimpse of who she truly was, but she still kept him at bay, on her guard. Emily Clay—Emily Westcott now—did nothing but battle him on every front.

"I think both of you are in an uncomfortable situation, and it is natural to be defensive. It seems you are both passionate people, so it may take some time to find calm waters, but I believe they can be found in time. Not all arranged marriages need end loveless and in shambles."

Alex shook his head. Love was the last thing on his mind, but calm waters, that could be his goal. A marriage without fiery disputes and shouting matches, but simply civil companionship. He could find peace in that. Now if only he could convince his wife of the same.