by Danice Allen
She’d even grown rather fond of bathing and liked the fresh scent of her clean sheets when she tumbled into bed at night. All in all, she was getting accustomed to her new life but had a sinking sensation that the hard stuff was yet to come.
At Darlington Hall, she’d managed to frighten away the fuddy-duddy instructors Amanda had hired to help her become “an educated lady” by being as coarse and stupid in their company as she dared. She didn’t want them to teach her. She wanted Julian and only Julian telling her what to do.
Sam smiled, her cheeks cradled in her hands and her bottom sticking up in the back as she continued to linger at the window. The very best thing about coming to London, the one thing that made it bearable to leave her precious dogs behind at the Hall for a few weeks, was the fact that she saw Julian almost every day!
Sam pushed away from the window and walked to the full-length cheval mirror Amanda had used to check her appearance. She stared at her reflection, and decided that in a voluminous nightgown that didn’t show her figure to the least advantage she looked like a rather tall child. She frowned. Certainly that was the way Julian treated her … like a child.
But was Julian really so much older than she? When she’d asked Aunt Prissy about Julian’s age one day, she’d told her she supposed he was somewhere around five-and-thirty. In this modem day and age, Sam suspected that five-and-thirty was rather old. It certainly sounded old to her. But in the days of Methuselah, Julian would have just begun to live. And he’d have had several wives and a bevy of pretty concubines to keep him spry and happy.
Sam smoothed her hands down the front of her nightdress and cupped her breasts. Was she pretty? Was she enough of a woman to attract a man like Julian? Her arms dropped to her sides as she pondered these conundrums.
In the days of the Old Testament, she’d have been happy to be a concubine among tens of dozens of concubines, just to belong to Julian. But she’d much rather be his one and only. Nowadays men were permitted only one wife, and Sam was determined to be that one wife. She smiled demurely. Or his mistress.
But then she frowned. Where had such a thought come from? Of course she would never be anyone’s mistress! Her mother had been a mistress, and she’d been a sinner. And Sam had paid for her mother’s sin by being disowned and deserted, hidden away on an island for seventeen years.
Sam shook her head, attempting to dislodge the bad thoughts and feelings old Grimshaw had instilled in her every single day till the old witch took off and deserted her, too. Forcing herself to embrace lighter reflections, she took a handful of nightdress on each side and curtsied at the mirror.
“Yes, your lordship,” she simpered, touching her index finger to the point of her chin. “I’d be ever so delighted to dance with you. But shouldn’t you dance with the princess first?”
She batted her lashes and fluttered an imaginary fan. “Oh, la, Julian, don’t flatter me so! It fair turns me head!”
Then she extended her arms in a graceful arc and began to make circles on the cabbage-rose carpet surrounding Amanda’s bed, humming a discordant tune. But in Sam’s imagination, it was the sweetest melody in the world.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time Jack showed up at the Cowper soiree, the elegant chambers of the town house were filled with the crème de la crème of English society … at least those who had not deserted town for more pastoral settings and activities. He stood at the door and adjusted his shirt cuffs as he searched the glittering crowd, looking for Amanda.
“I say, Jack, I don’t know why you were in such a devilish hurry to get here tonight,” Rob complained as he came up behind Jack, still out of breath from climbing the stairs. “I was hoping we could stop at Boodles and get a drink first. Bound to be a dreadful bore.”
“You’ve already had plenty to drink, Rob,” Jack said, eyeing his companion with disfavor. “You’re starting to look as dissipated as the Prince Regent.”
Rob ran a hand through his disheveled blond hair and peered through his bleary, bloodshot eyes. “You’ve done your share of drinking lately. I only look bad to you tonight because you happen to be sober. Besides, I can’t help it. I’m worried about the money.” He looked about the room, blinking against the glare of dozens of candles and the thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry that decorated the distinguished guests. “If I could only get my hands on that diamond choker Dorothea Lieven’s got round her skinny neck, all my troubles’d be gone in a trice.”
“Don’t resort to thievery, Rob,” Jack advised drily. “You know I’ve arranged to pay all your domestic expenses, so things aren’t desperate, but I won’t put out the ready to settle any more gaming vowels. You’re going to have to wait for your quarterly allowance from your uncle in Yorkshire and work out a payment schedule with your debtors. In the meantime—”
“Yes, yes, I know!” Rob retorted testily. “I must quit gambling. It ain’t that easy, Jack.”
“I know. But right now, Rob, I don’t want to argue with you about it.” Jack had just spied a pale blond head in the middle of a knot of town bucks, and he had a sinking suspicion that the female getting all that attention was his sweet, shy Amanda.
“This does not bode well,” Jack mumbled.
“What?” asked Rob, straining to see what Jack was staring at so gloomily. “Say, who’s the new chit?” he inquired, immediately interested … like a wolf who’d caught the scent of a lamb who’d strayed from the herd.
“That’s Amanda, Rob.”
Rob’s eyes bulged. “Your Amanda?”
“Miss Darlington to you.”
“Fine-looking filly, Jack. Rich, too, I suppose?”
“So I’ve gathered.”
“Thought you said she wouldn’t have anything to do with you?”
“So she said.” Jack advanced, his eyes never wavering from his intended objective. “But I’m going to give it another go.”
“And you’ll probably bloody well succeed,” Rob grumbled, snatching a glass of champagne off a tray as a liveried porter walked past. Then he watched morosely as Jack politely shouldered his way through the crowd toward his Amanda.
Jack was glad Rob had stayed behind … even if he did resort to downing champagne by the glassful. Lately Rob spent his entire waking hours either gaming or drinking. He was ruining his health and his appearance and making himself unacceptable as a guest to most of the noble hostesses. He’d not have been welcome tonight if he hadn’t come with Jack. And Jack wasn’t sure how long he could support Rob, financially and socially, if he didn’t change his ways. But he was honor-bound to do as much as he could because Rob had saved his life. It was that simple.
Right now, however, Jack didn’t want to think about Rob and Rob’s problems. He had a big problem of his own. He had to extricate Amanda from a crush of admirers and somehow get her alone. He’d made a decision. In fact, he’d made a monumental decision. No matter what her feelings for him were or what she’d say in return, he was going to tell Amanda that he loved her. It was a big gamble, but there would be a huge payoff if things went his way.
Luckily, Jack had been able so far to work his way through the crowd without having to stop for more than a polite “how do y’ do.” Most people were flabbergasted to see him again after his self-induced exile from society. But word was getting round that Jackson Montgomery was showing his handsome face—with a new scar!—for the first time since his broken engagement and that absurd fairy tale about losing his memory, and a buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd.
Ten feet from his objective, Jack was suddenly besieged and surrounded. There were two men in the group, but the rest of those in the imprisoning circle were women. Trying to be polite, but wishing they’d all go to the devil, Jack looked frantically over the head of one petite and gushing redhead to see if Amanda was still within reasonable reach.
She was in reach, all right. In fact, her circle seemed to have inched closer and had parted in the middle so that she had a clear view of Jack and his effus
ive companions. Their gazes met and held. Jack’s heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth went dry as the Sahara.
God, but she looked beautiful! He’d been right to expect her to look like an angel because that’s exactly the sort of celestial being she resembled. Only trouble was, all those damned pinks of the ton were just as enamored of her beauty as he was. The difference, he thought fiercely, was that he knew her and loved her for more than her beauty. She belonged to him body and soul. Like a savage, he wanted to pounce into the middle of Amanda’s circle of admirers, scatter them like so many lesser beasts of the jungle, throw Amanda over his shoulder, and haul her to a cave to have his way with her.
Jack was very much afraid that the brutal possessiveness and wild need he felt were reflected in his expression. Amanda’s eyelids fluttered. She shivered and he could almost see the gooseflesh rise on her arms. For a dreaded instant, he thought she was going to swoon. He’d either aroused her or frightened her senseless. He had to get to her. He had to get free…. But people persisted in pressing him with questions, and he was forced to tamp down his ferocious impulses and pretend to be civil.
Jack dragged his eyes away from Amanda and made conversation for several minutes … precious minutes he wanted to spend with Amanda. When he was finally able to make his excuses, he looked up eagerly, but she was gone.
Luckily Jack was tall. Evading more hangers-on, he skimmed through the crowd looking over heads for Amanda. Just when he was about to despair—and strangle the nearest unsuspecting person just to vent his frustration—he saw a wisp of midnight blue disappear behind a potted palm, headed for the French doors leading to a first-floor balcony. He quickly followed, darting and dodging and trying to ensure that no one followed him.
The door Amanda had gone through stood slightly ajar. He silently opened it just enough to squeeze through, then just as silently closed it securely behind him. She was standing with her back to him, staring out over Lady Cowper’s gardens and mews at the back of the house. The moon was nearly full and shone on her pale hair, making it gleam like silver, silken threads. He advanced.
Just as he reached her, she turned. Her mouth had formed a small circle of surprise. It was too damned inviting. He couldn’t help himself. Gone was any pretext of subtlety. He took her by the arms, crushed her to his chest, and kissed her.
At first she struggled. Her hands curled into fists, and she beat them against his waistcoat. Then she melted. He felt her muscles relax under his fingertips, her skin turn warm and pliant. She pressed closer, and he wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders.
Her hands slipped up his jacket lapels, around the nape of his neck, and into his hair. Her hands were eagerly, tenderly grasping. His own hands moved with the same desperate passion. He needed to touch her, hold her, possess her.
And the kiss deepened. Oh, so deep … so warm and wet and wanton. He delved and dipped into the velvet sleekness of her mouth, their tongues mating wildly. Jack was immediately aroused, as hard and hot as he’d ever been in his life.
Their lips parted, and they gasped for breath. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and dazed, her breasts heaving against his chest, her arms trembling. “Oh,” she said faintly, sudden moisture welling in her eyes. “Oh, how I hate you, Jackson Montgomery!” Then she buried her face in his neck cloth and burst into tears.
Jack was stunned. He didn’t know what to do, except hold her. She clung to him which was a good sign he supposed, but did she really hate him? He forced himself to be patient while she cried herself out, tenderly patting her shoulders and trying to ignore the enormous ache in his groin. Eventually her crying subsided to sniffles, and she began to grope for a handkerchief. Jack pulled his own out of his waistcoat pocket and gave it to her.
Amanda stepped back as she dried her tears and gave a ladylike little noiseless blow into the handkerchief and wiped her nose. When she finally looked up at him, she said haltingly, “I suppose I … I look a fright. Has my nose swelled up like a strawberry?”
Jack cupped her face and smiled down at her. “You look adorable.” And the strange thing was, he was telling the truth. There was a slight pinkness at the tip of her nose, but it was barely noticeable and not unattractive. Her eyes glistened and her lashes were dark and heavy with the residue of tears, but that only made them lovelier. “You’re more beautiful than ever, Amanda, darling.”
“You’re just saying that. You can’t mean it,” she demurred, glancing down at the handkerchief she’d crumpled into a ball.
He slid his hands down her neck and rested them lightly on her shoulders. She shivered again, and he began to hope that such a response was a positive one.
“Did you mean what you just said?” he inquired gently. “That you hate me?”
She sighed and laid her cheek against his chest. “No, but I wish—”
He bent his head to catch the muffled words. “What, Amanda? I can’t hear you, darling.”
She lifted her head and sniffed. “I said, no, I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.”
He chuckled. “Why?”
“Because you’re a lady’s man. Seeing you tonight with all those women flocked around you just made that fact even clearer to me.”
“But you, my dear, were just as guilty tonight of attracting suitors. When I arrived, the crowd around you could have rivaled the Regent’s royal entourage in Brighton when he takes his daily saunter down the pier. You’re the belle of the ball, Amanda.”
Amanda blushed prettily but did not argue with him. That made him smile. He squeezed her and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Dear, sweet Amanda. I do wish you weren’t so enamored with the idea of hating me.”
She lifted questioning eyes to his, the wet, spiky lashes gleaming in the moonlight. “Why, Jack?”
“Because it makes it rather harder for me to tell you how I feel about you,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.
She bit her lip. “About … me?” she quavered.
Jack’s grin fell away. Deadly serious, deeply stirred by the depth of his feelings, Jack reached up to cup Amanda’s face. He lovingly, thoroughly examined every feature. By the time he met her dewy, wondering gaze again, she was trembling.
“For weeks now—possibly since the moment I first clapped eyes on you, Amanda Jane Darlington—I’ve loved you more than life itself.”
“Oh, Jack …” Amanda’s eyes welled with tears. He’d said them. He’d said the words she’d longed to hear. And the knowledge that he loved her made everything right … and anything possible. She was ready to forgive and forget. To trust. To even marry the man … if he’d only ask her again.
“I love you, too, Jack,” she breathed, trembling harder than ever.
Jack’s eyes shone like golden stars. “Does that mean you forgive me for lying to you, Amanda? Can you trust me again? I’ve missed you dreadfully and haven’t been able to think of anyone or anything but you. Tell me we can start fresh, give me another chance to earn your trust, and you’ll make me delirious with joy.”
“Jack, I forgive you and I trust you with my life,” she answered, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. “Let’s not spend any more time worrying about past misunderstandings. I think I understand why you did what you did, anyway. We’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”
He smiled tenderly. “How wise you are, Miss Darlington,” he teased. “After all, what’s more precious than the present? I propose we spend every moment doing what makes us happiest.” Then he bent and kissed her … reverently, lingeringly, and she clung to him, her heart bursting with happiness.
“Jack?” Startled, Jack and Amanda turned toward the sound of a mature female voice. There, sticking her head just around the corner of one of the French doors, was Lady Cowper herself. Amanda and Jack jumped apart like guilty children.
Lady Cowper laughed. She was a lovely woman, and though Amanda didn’t know her beyond their brief introduction and conversation earlier in the evening, she knew she was rumored to be one of the
most warmhearted and tolerant of the patronesses at Almacks. She waggled her finger at them.
“I don’t know what your chaperons are about, Miss Darlington, to allow you to stray outside on this private balcony with a rake like Jack … or any man, for that matter. But if the tattle-tongues start wagging, Sally Jersey might decide to request a return of that voucher she sent you. I suggest you two come in at once, or Miss Darlington’s reputation will be in tatters.”
“Thank you, my lady, for the gentle reminder,” Jack said with a charming grin that Amanda was sure no woman could resist. “I certainly don’t want Miss Darlington’s reputation to be tarnished … and for more reasons than you can guess.”
“Indeed, Jack?” said Lady Cowper, raising her finely arched brows. “How very interesting.”
Amanda wondered if she dared hope that Jack was hinting that he meant to make her his wife. If only Lady Cowper hadn’t disturbed them at just that moment, perhaps Jack would have proposed to her again! Amanda sent a hopeful prayer winging toward heaven. He loved her … and that fact alone made her mad with happiness. Was she destined to be even happier? Was there a chance her dearest dreams would come true?
“There, you see, Nan. They’re coming back into the room now. I’m sure Lady Cowper wasn’t angry but was only cautioning them to be careful of Amanda’s reputation.”
Rob was standing in a deep window embrasure, behind a dropped red velvet curtain, when he heard the conversation between the two elderly females. He was completely hidden from view, which is just what he’d intended. As soon as he’d seen Jack follow his darling Amanda outside onto the balcony, he’d retired to this secluded spot to feel sorry for himself and finish off the flask of Irish whiskey he kept in the deep inside pocket of his jacket for just such emergencies.
