by Danice Allen
So that was where the money went, Jack thought. The situation had been just as dreadful as Amanda feared. And the present situation was getting pretty bad, too. Jack could see tears collecting in the boy’s eyes. He was getting more and more agitated. Living here alone for so long—and lately, without even Grimshaw for company—he probably didn’t know how to deal with other people under ordinary situations, much less in emotion-charged situations like this one.
Jack’s gaze flicked down to the lad’s unsteady finger on the trigger. He might have to make a move if things didn’t improve soon.
“If I got a sister,” the boy demanded to know, “where’s she been fer the last seventeen years?”
Jack was still trying to fathom the idea that the boy was actually seventeen years old when he heard Amanda’s voice.
“I didn’t know about you,” she said.
The boy jerked around so fast, Jack was afraid his finger would involuntarily press the trigger. At such close range, Amanda would have a hole through her chest the size of a fist! Jack abruptly sat up, his hands clenched and propped behind him on the couch, ready to push to a standing position and only held back by the dogs who snarled and snapped and seemed ready for a full-fledged attack.
Amanda staggered back two steps as the gun swung in her direction, and the boy leaped backward several feet, too, his gun sweeping back and forth … first at Jack, then at Amanda, then back to Jack.
“I don’t like bein’ snuck up on,” the boy said in a trembling voice.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Amanda said softly, her hands pressed against her skirts.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the boy again demanded.
“Jack was right. I’m your sister,” Amanda told him in the same calm, careful voice. “And I want to take you home with me.”
The boy got an odd smile on his face and continued to shake his head disbelievingly. “You’re lyin’.”
“No, I’m not. Truly, you must believe me! My father and mother died six months ago and my father … who is also your father … left a letter explaining that he’d a child living on Thorney Island.”
“Six months ago?” he repeated suspiciously.
“The letter was misfiled and I didn’t get it till last Thursday,” Amanda hastily explained. “The very instant I knew of your existence I decided to end this wretched arrangement and bring you home with me where you belong.”
The boy’s eyes raked Amanda’s trim, immaculate form, then glanced down at his own grimy, shapeless garments. “I don’t belong with you,” he said belligerently. “You’re a fine lady, and I’m nothin’ but… but someone’s bastard child, sent away so’s the family wouldn’t be shamed.”
Amanda took a step forward and lifted her hands beseechingly. Jack got ready to lunge for the gun as the boy tensed up. “You are not to blame for your illegitimacy. And you shouldn’t have to suffer for it.” Amanda bit her lip and continued in a low, choked voice, “Dear God, you’ve already suffered enough, haven’t you? I want to give you a home and a family. And an education.” She gestured toward the bedchamber. “I saw some books in there. I saw your name printed inside. It’s Sam, isn’t it? I think it’s wonderful that you know how to read, Sam. I have a huge library at my house in Surrey that I know you’ll love.”
Jack thought he saw the boy’s eyes brighten for an instant, then grow dull with a hopeless longing. “I’m happy for you, miss, that you got such a grand library with so many fine books, but I got no use fer you nor your books.”
“But I could hire a tutor for you,” Amanda continued to implore, talking quickly, urgently. “You could study whatever you wanted and someday distinguish yourself in the army or learn a trade and go into business. Whatever you wanted to do, I could help you accomplish. I want to help you … can’t you see that?”
The boy shook his head again. “This ain’t nothin’ but a trick,” he said bitterly. “Or pity. I don’t want your tricks nor your pity. I don’t even believe you’re my kin.”
Amanda threw up her hands in exasperation. “Look at me. How can you say that? Except for the fact that you’re a man and I’m a woman, we’re like two peas in a pod. There’s no denying it, Sam. You’re my brother.”
The boy looked. He must have seen the dead-on similarity between them the minute Amanda came into the room, but now, staring at her, it seemed to be sinking in. There was no denying it. They were definitely related.
Seeming to sense a slight relenting in the boy’s anger, Amanda pressed her advantage. “He wasn’t a bad man, our father. In fact he was generally very well respected and admired. But he made one terrible mistake … a mistake that I can never forgive him for.”
Sam stiffened. His jaw locked at a belligerent angle. “He had a bastard child and shamed you, right?”
“No. That’s not the reason I can’t forgive him. It’s because he deserted you, Sam.” Her words were nearly strangled by emotion. “But now you can come home.” Amanda extended one hand toward Sam and smiled tenderly. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Won’t you come home, Sam?”
Jack didn’t know how anybody could not be deeply touched by Amanda’s warm concern, as well as completely convinced of her sincerity. But Sam’s isolated and impoverished upbringing had made him distrustful and bitter. Even when a rainbow showed up on his otherwise gloomy, stormy horizon, he was afraid to believe it was actually shining for him. He had gone too long without anyone caring about him. He couldn’t fathom the fact that Amanda truly did care and was offering him everything he’d ever dreamed of having. A family. Hope for the future. Security and love.
In a blinding, intuitive moment, Jack saw himself in that shirking, frightened boy. Wasn’t Jack afraid of the same things? Didn’t he want a family, a future … love and security? But maybe, like Sam, he didn’t have enough faith in his own lovability, so he shunned love when it was freely … and unconditionally … offered.
Jack had always felt he could never know if a woman wanted him for himself or for his title and fortune. Except in Amanda’s case. With her, he’d been a nobody without a title, a fortune, or even a name.
But then she’d only wanted him for one night … hadn’t she?
Suddenly there was a sound outside. The creak of a carriage and the dull thud of horses’ hooves on the sand. Julian was back.
Sam heard the carriage, too … and panicked. Jack saw the boy’s head rear up and heard the rasp of his frightened breath. Then Sam’s finger convulsed on the trigger.
Jack lunged. He caught the muzzle of the gun just as the shot went off. He could feel the vibration of the ball as it traveled through the barrel and exploded into the air not six inches above Amanda’s stunned face. He fell hard against the bare floor, every bone in his body jarred by the impact. Pain seared through his weak knee and his still tender head.
Then, before he could even turn over, the dogs were on him. Jack felt the hot breath of one dog at his neck as it ripped the collar of his jacket… working down to the flesh, he thought rather desperately … as he kicked off the other dog who was after his leg.
“Zeus! Neptune! Down, boys. Down!”
Miraculously, the dogs obeyed. Jack pushed up with his elbows and rolled over. Amanda had picked up a reed-backed chair and looked prepared to do battle with the dogs for Jack’s hide but had been forestalled by Sam unexpectantly calling them to order. The panting beasts sat obediently at their master’s feet, and Sam stood by the door looking horrified and frightened by what had happened … and what had almost happened.
“I didn’t mean to shoot!” cried Sam, wild-eyed with distress. “Truly, I didn’t! I just twitched when I heard the carriage comin’ and next thing I knew—!”
“I know you didn’t mean to shoot,” Amanda said soothingly, setting down the chair and advancing carefully. “And we do appreciate your calling off the dogs.”
“Yes … thank you, Sam,” Jack said between ragged breaths.
But Sam, at the end of his emotional tether
, apparently couldn’t bear to be thanked. He burst into tears, threw the door open, and ran out into the darkness with the dogs in close pursuit.
“Oh, no! No!” cried Amanda. “Go after him, Jack. I’ll never see him again if he gets away!”
Jack heaved quickly to his feet and, disregarding the shooting pain in his knee and the dizziness that came over him, raced through the door after Sam, nearly running down Julian in the process.
“Good Gawd!” Julian said succinctly as he clasped Jack’s shoulders and steadied him. “I heard a shot. Is anyone hurt?”
Jack ripped out of his grasp. “No, no one’s hurt. But there’s no time to explain, Julian. Amanda’s brother, Sam, he—”
“He went that way, Jack.” He pointed with one finger and twirled a dirty riding cap on another. “Lost his hat, too. When he saw me coming, he went round the house and up the hill … due north, little brother. Go! I’ll follow you.”
Jack registered the irony of the fact that had Julian not headed him in the right direction, he’d have run himself ragged on a wild goose chase. As usual, Julian was more precise and knew exactly which way to go, but Jack—and Julian was fair enough to concede this point—was the quicker and the more enduring runner despite his weak knee.
The day’s persistent rainfall made climbing the hill a rather slippery affair. And it was difficult to see. The half-moon was one moment shining full on the landscape below and the next moment dodging behind a cloud. When Jack could see, he strained his eyes and more than once caught the gleam of moonshine on golden curls. He was gaining on Sam.
At the crest of the hill, Sam stopped to turn back and see how closely Jack followed. He must have been alarmed to see Jack so hot on his trail because he cursed colorfully, then ran like an eligible bachelor being chased by a pack of debutantes. The dogs ran with Sam, seeming to enjoy the excitement and the exercise, their snouts raised to the sky as they barked and bayed at the moon.
Having reached the top of the hill, Jack could see that they were on a plateau of sorts that dropped off steeply on one side, making it a rather sheer fall to the rocky seashore below. The terrain was gorse and scrub and bracken, interspersed with patches of slippery mud and lichened stone that shimmered in the moonlight. In other words, it was damned difficult navigating his way through the natural booby traps of undergrowth and keeping up with Sam, who knew his way in these parts as well as Jack might know his way about his own darkened bedchamber.
He tripped several times and once came down with a shouted “damnation” on his bad knee, sinking inches deep in the mud. But somehow he still managed to keep up with Sam and actually gain on him. Sam, stopping more and more frequently to turn and observe Jack’s progress, seemed to be tiring. This came as no surprise to Jack, since it had been obvious to him that the poor little whelp was half-starved to death! He didn’t expect the chase to go on much longer.
But neither had he expected it to end the way it did. No more than ten feet ahead of him, sucking in huge gulps of air, Sam was peering over his shoulder at Jack when he stumbled and fell. As he went down, he slipped and rolled several feet in the mud as the land veered downward to the cliff’s edge, stopping just short of actually sliding over the dark brink and out of his sister’s life forever. He was holding on for dear life to a scraggly, half-drowned thatch of gorse, the weak roots of which could be easily pulled up from the saturated earth.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Jack went down on his stomach, dug his boots into the mud and tufts of grass, and reached over the edge of the cliff to grasp Sam’s wrists. With a gasp and an unintelligible exclamation, Sam let go of the small gorse bush and caught hold of Jack’s forearms.
“Hold on, Sam!” Jack rasped, pulling with all his might. But Jack wasn’t exactly sure what he thought Sam was gaining by holding on to him. He might have done better by keeping hold of the gorse bush. Gravity was definitely not on their side. Although Sam was light compared to Jack, with the lad’s entire weight pulling them over the edge, Jack’s foothold in the mud was virtually worthless. It appeared as though, unless a miracle occurred, they were both going to end up on the rocky shore, their bruised bodies washed out to sea with the tide.
Not for the first time since he’d wandered away from The Spotted Dog three days ago, it became apparent to Jack that he might ultimately avoid the dreaded marriage trap but by distinctly unpleasant means. It occurred to him again that death was rather too painful and permanent a solution to his problem.
It also occurred to Jack, as he slid ever closer to the edge, that he was going to miss Amanda quite desperately … and with no hopes of ever seeing her again in the hereafter. Upon his untimely death, he knew he’d be going south to a much warmer and arid climate than he was used to in misty, verdant England, and she’d be going north, to the pearly gates and into St. Peter’s open arms. Damned if he didn’t wish in that moment that he’d been a better man!
Then the miracle occurred. And a miracle it could be called even in earthly terms. The elegant, the fastidious, the immaculate Julian Fitzwilliam Montgomery, Marquess of Serling, had grabbed hold of Jack’s filthy boots and was dragging him—and Sam—back across the brink to safety and another shot at repentance and mortality.
It was a slow and gruesome … not to say extremely dirty … process. But eventually Julian was on his rump in the mud, with Jack pulled half on top of him and Sam pulled half on top of Jack. It was in this interesting position, while they each caught their breath and allowed themselves to savor the realization that no one was going to be compelled to meet their maker today and receive their eternal comeuppance, that Jack made a most interesting discovery.
Sam’s head and chest were resting against Jack’s chest. And beneath the layers of Sam’s clothes he could feel the boy’s heart hammering with relief. He could also feel the boy’s … breasts.
There was no mistaking it. Two distinct outlines of soft, rounded femininity were pressed against Jack’s own flat masculine chest. Hiding beneath those ragtag clothes were curves decidedly female.
Sam was a girl.
Amanda had a sister.
Jack shook his head at the implications and couldn’t help a wry smile. Lord, was Amanda ever going to have her hands full with this little hoyden!
Amanda was pacing the floor in front of the fire, doing her Aunt Prissy impersonation by distractedly wringing her hands. She felt absolutely helpless waiting behind like some delicate flower while Jack was out in the cold, wet night chasing down Sam. But in her long skirts, Amanda felt she’d have been more of a risk than a help in running after Sam. She’d have probably fallen and broken her neck or some such freakish thing and simply made matters worse.
Lord Serling was putting himself to a great deal of trouble, too. Amanda was wondering what she’d have done without the two Montgomery men today and was already anticipating and depending on their usefulness and comforting assistance during the journey home.
Theo and Harley and Joe had joined her in the cottage, and they were all keeping a sober and silent vigil. Waiting was sheer misery.
Amanda was still trying to absorb the fact that she had a seventeen-year-old brother. She had been expecting a child of perhaps three years old and now had to hurriedly rearrange her thinking and reconsider strategies.
It would be much harder undoing the damage of seventeen years of neglect than three. Sam was almost a grown man, and although he had somehow scrambled into a little education—he apparently was able to read and at least write his name—his manners and speech were extremely vulgar and crude. He’d definitely have to be taught to comport himself differently. Amanda could only thank the stars above that Sam wasn’t a girl. A female raised so negligently would be impossible to redeem.
Amanda heard the dogs barking, the din growing ever closer. She hoped this meant Jack and Julian were returning with Sam in tow. She hurried to the door and flung it open. Coming up the steps were the three of them, arm in arm, Jack and Lord Serling on the outside holding up Sam.
Immediately after they stepped over the threshold, Amanda quickly shut the door to exclude the dogs.
“Oh, Sam’s not hurt, is he?” Amanda exclaimed, rushing forward.
“Just exhausted,” Jack assured her. “As we all are,” he added ruefully.
“Nothing a hot bath and a clean bed won’t mend,” Lord Serling remarked as he helped Jack deposit Sam’s rag-doll form in a chair by the fire. He looked down at his soiled clothes and made a face of revulsion.
“Ye gods,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so filthy in my life: Sorry, Theo, old man, but there’s nothing for it but to return to Prinstead for the third time tonight and rent rooms. There’s no longer any need to stay here … thank God … and that way we can all have baths and clean beds. You’ll be happy to know, Jack, I brought some of your clothes along so you can change.” He threw Jack a look that was both affectionate and disparaging. “Those togs look a trifle’ worse for wear.”
Jack leaned against the mantle and raked his hands through his damp hair. “You think of everything, don’t you, big brother?”
“I try,” Julian said dryly, then turned to Amanda and whispered, “I think Sam should have a bath before we go. A good way to warm up the undernourished little whelp, and, besides, I don’t think Sam’s had a bath in a fortnight … at least. Those clothes should be burned. In the meantime, Theo can set out the food and have it ready to feed the ragamuffin once all that grime’s been scrubbed off.”
“Look ’ere! Who’s callin’ who a ragamuffin?” Sam demanded to know. Till this outburst, Sam had been huddled miserably by the fire, his small hands extended toward the warm flames. Now he had turned and was glaring resentfully up at Julian, his belligerence apparently revived along with his body temperature.
“I’m calling you a ragamuffin,” said Julian, staring down his aquiline nose at the boy. “And a dirty one at that.”
“My lord! Don’t scold him,” said Amanda, rising to the defense of her pathetic charge. “He’s not been raised properly. He doesn’t know any better—”
