by Danice Allen
Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stood at Amanda’s door in his finest togs, with a forget-me-not boutonniere in his lapel, a foolish smile spread from ear to ear on his fresh-shaven face, and a heart full of hope. Now the smile wavered and the hope faded.
“Are you sure, Henchpenny?” Jack urged.
“Quite sure, my lord.”
A possible explanation came to him that offered a bit or hope mixed with alarm. “Miss Darlington’s not ill, is she?”
“As far as I can presume to say, my lord, Miss Darlington seems healthy as usual.”
Jack lowered his voice. “Has Samantha done something to throw the household into mayhem?”
“Not … er … this morning, my lord.”
“Then why is Miss Darlington refusing visitors?”
“She hasn’t refused … er … everyone, my lord.”
Jack couldn’t ignore the obvious any longer. Amanda was shutting him out. Did that mean she was shutting him out her life … her heart … for good? What had changed since last night? Had she finally succeeded in convincing herself that she hated him instead of loved him? Jack refused to accept that possibility.
“Very well,” said Jack at last, lifting his chin in a determined pose. “You may warn Miss Darlington that I fully intend to return on the morrow.”
“I will relay the message, my lord,” said the expressionless butler. Then, just as Jack was about to turn to go, Henchpenny extended a sealed envelope toward him in an immaculate gloved hand.
“What’s this?” asked Jack, his brows knitting worriedly. Sealed envelopes from females who refused to be visited were a bad sign. A very bad sign, indeed.
“Miss Darlington instructed me to give this to you, my lord,” said the butler. Reluctantly, Jack took the envelope, and Henchpenny immediately withdrew and shut the door.
Jack stood for a minute at Amanda’s threshold, eyeing the envelope with grave misgiving. Then he turned and slowly descended the steps to the walkway. He crossed the street and entered a small park through a wrought-iron gate. His boots crunched through a smattering of tinder-dry leaves as he walked to a marble bench under an oak tree that was rapidly losing its foliage to the advancing season. Mechanically, he broke the seal, unfolded the missive, and began to read.
Dear Jack,
Too late last night I realized that I may have misled you into believing that something more intimate than friendship is possible between us. While I treasure our times together and will always be grateful to you for the kind services you rendered me and my family, I hope you understand there can be nothing more between us. As well, coming to London has opened my imagination to many possibilities as to what my future might hold. If I have presumed too much, and you had no intention of declaring yourself this morning, forgive me. However, if I am correct in believing you meant to declare yourself to me this morning, again I say … forgive me. Please don’t try to see me. It will be better if we avoid one another for a while. If we chance to meet in public, pray treat me as a friend … which is how I will always think of you. Dear friend, God bless you.
Amanda
Jack sat in a state of shock. Then, as he reread the letter twice over, he got angry.
“Her imagination has been opened to new possibilities, has it?” he snarled, glaring at the letter. “In other words, her pretty head was turned by all that attention last night, and she means to buckle herself to someone who can offer her more than I can!”
But Jack’s heart and sense of fairness rebelled against the idea that Amanda could have mercenary ambitions. He knew her better than that. But maybe she was looking for someone she could trust and love without reservations. Jack had made a good many mistakes in his life and had given Amanda reason to doubt and distrust him more than once. His anger turned inward.
Jack stood up, crumpled the paper in his fist till it was no larger than a walnut, and threw it on the ground. “If I don’t deserve Amanda, I may as well go to the devil,” he muttered fiercely. He turned and looked at Amanda’s town house. He saw a white face staring out of an upper window. It was her.
He stood stone-still for a moment, then pulled the forget-me-not boutonniere from his buttonhole, kissed it, extended it in the air in a tragic last toast and tribute to Amanda, then dropped it at his feet and crushed it with the heel of his boot. He turned away, headed for the darkest tavern and the foulest bottle of Blue Ruin he could find.
Tears streamed down Amanda’s face as she watched Jack stride away, leaving the small park through an opposite gate without looking back. She had hurt him terribly, and her own heart was breaking in two. But she’d had no choice. Until she could think of a way to foil Robert’s plan, she must keep Jack as far away from her as possible.
Every fiber of her being rebelled against giving in to Rob’s demands, but she had no intention of confiding her troubles to Jack. He’d charge to her rescue like the gallant knight he was … and possibly get himself killed. As she’d endured Robert Hamilton’s loathsome company for the brief time he stayed, Amanda was easily able to see that Robert was insanely jealous of Jack. He wanted money, yes. But he wanted revenge, too. And he was desperate … which made him extremely unpredictable and dangerous.
If Jack knew the truth, he’d challenge Robert to a duel. She could not bear the thought that Jack’s life might be jeopardized in any way. She’d rather hurt him now by sending him away disappointed and heartbroken, and hope she could patch things up once she’d figured out what to do about Robert.
Besides, the rat had threatened to spread the rumor about Sam even if Jack or Julian came after him intent on killing him. Amanda couldn’t stand the thought that Sam’s chances for a respectable marriage and a shameless life could be ruined by Robert’s cruel tongue. There had to be some way to stop the detestable man … but how?
Amanda dashed away her tears, trying to block out the image of Jack in the park, grinding that forget-me-not boutonniere into the ground. It seemed so unfair! She and Jack had just come to an understanding! But she refused to collapse under the strain of it all and instead paced the floor continuously and cudgeled her brain to come up with a solution to her dilemma.
Dusk was nigh when Amanda finally realized that she’d been shut up in her bedchamber for hours. The room was cold and dark. She had instructed Henchpenny to refuse any visitors and told the servants not to disturb her until she summoned them. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry.
She moved to the mirror over the mantel. She grimaced at her wan appearance. Despite her determination to bear her troubles with fortitude and to fight back as best she could, she felt overpowered by an unshakable gloom. She had to pull herself together for the sake of Sam and Prissy and Nan.
Then she suddenly realized that it was far past the hour she’d expected Sam and the aunts to return from Spitalfields. She knitted her brows and glanced at the clock, concern replacing the numbness paralyzing her since morning. She hurriedly lit candles, piled the fire with wood, and gave the bellpull a yank.
When her chambermaid arrived, she ordered tea and toast, fortifying herself for the vigil of waiting. Amanda refused to entertain thoughts of a dire nature. Fate could not be so cruel as to deliver two devastating blows in one day.
A half hour later, it was with weak-kneed relief that Amanda heard her carriage clatter to a halt out front. She left her room and hurried down the stairs, arriving in the entrance hall as the door swung open and Aunt Prissy scrambled through with a look of excited agitation.
“What is it, Aunt Prissy?” exclaimed Amanda, rushing toward her aunt and clutching her cold hands. “Has something happened?”
“Yes, indeed!” Pris gasped out, breathless. Then in a great rush, she gabbled, “We were driving home—going rather slow, you know, as the streets are narrow there and cluttered with debris and poor, dirty children running free like stray dogs—when he stumbled into the path of our carriage! We didn’t hit him, mind you, but he fell to the ground! At first we tho
ught he was only drunk, but I fear, Amanda Jane, he’s lost his memory again! He’s in a daze and doesn’t seem to have a notion who he—!”
Amanda grasped her aunt’s thin arms and gave her a shake. “You aren’t telling me, Aunt Prissy—you’re not saying—”
“Pardon, miss,” came Theo’s aggrieved voice from the porch just outside the door. “What do ye want us to do with ’is lordship? He’s as heavy as ever, he is!”
Amanda turned and her greatest fear was realized. Theo had hold of an unconscious Jack at the shoulders, Harley had his feet, and Joe was supporting his middle parts. Nan and Sam stood behind them, their eyes wide and expectant.
“Hurry up and decide which room you want him in, dear,” Nan prompted anxiously as Amanda stood with her mourn agape. “The dear boy needs to be put to bed!”
Collecting her scattered wits, Amanda darted a quick look outside to make sure no nosy busybody was observing the scene, then motioned them all inside. “Take him to my room,” she ordered.
Four hours later, Amanda stood over her bed and stared down at the prone figure of Jackson Montgomery. After what had occurred that morning, she’d never in a million years have expected to see him in her bed, snuggled under her sheets, with his tousled head resting on her pillows. It was a stroke of cruel fate, that was certain, because he looked far too tempting for Amanda’s already devastated peace of mind. But at least this time she hadn’t been required to disrobe him; Henchpenny and a couple of footmen managed that particular task.
Sam had been ordered to retire an hour ago, but the aunts stood at the foot of the bed like two grandmotherly sentinels and shook their heads dolefully.
“I don’t understand, Amanda Jane, why you wouldn’t let us notify Julian,” said Nan.
“And it certainly wouldn’t have hurt to get a doctor’s opinion on Jack’s condition,” Prissy added accusingly.
“He’s not injured,” said Amanda, “he’s only drunk. He’ll sleep it off. There’s no need to alarm his brother or get a doctor in here poking about unnecessarily.”
Amanda wasn’t entirely sure Jack was only drunk, but she’d had a great deal of experience nursing him, and he did not appear to have any of the alarming symptoms he’d had during his initial head injury. His heart rate was slow and steady, his color was good, and his eyes weren’t dilated.
As she glanced at her still doubtful aunts, she reached down and brushed a pitch-black lock of hair off Jack’s forehead. “Anyway, he hates doctors,” she said. She remembered the first time she’d touched him like this, so full of virginal awe. She was no longer a virgin, but Jack still affected her the same way. She adored him.
Under other circumstances, she’d have had a doctor in to be absolutely positive Jack was all right, but she didn’t want to take the chance of Rob finding out Jack was in her house … in her bed.
“He’s not just drunk. He’s lost his memory again, Amanda Jane,” Nan insisted.
“If that’s true—which I doubt—it’s probably just a temporary relapse. Once the liquor’s out of his system, he’ll remember everything … except, perhaps, how he got so drunk.”
“But don’t you think Julian should be told?”
Amanda straightened and looked sternly at her aunts. “I don’t want anyone to know Jack’s here. Tomorrow, after he’s gone, I don’t want anyone to know he’s been here, either. It has to be kept a secret.” If Robert Hamilton heard about this, he might consider it a breach of their agreement. She was supposed to avoid Jack and here he was … in her bed! Despite the danger of the situation, she felt a thrill go through her. In her bed!
“I don’t understand, Amanda Jane,” Nan persisted.
“I can’t explain. You must trust me on this one, Aunt Nan, and … please … just do as I ask.”
“Why was he drinking, do you think?” Pris ventured. “Was he … er … celebrating, Amanda Jane?”
Amanda sighed. “I know what you’re trying to find out, and you might as well know now as later …. I refused to see Jack this morning.”
The aunts exchanged horrified glances, then exclaimed in unison, “But he was going to propose!”
“Yes, I think so, too,” Amanda admitted sadly. “That’s why I couldn’t see him.”
Pris moved closer and laid her hand on Amanda’s arm. “What’s wrong with you, Amanda Jane? You’re not acting yourself. If you’d only let me send for Julian—”
“Don’t keep at me like this, Aunt Prissy!” Amanda snapped, closing her eyes in frustration. “I won’t allow you to send for anyone, do you hear?”
Prissy jumped back and took up her former station by Nan. They both stared at Amanda as if she’d grown cloven hoofs and a forked tail. Ashamed, Amanda moved to the end of the bed and put her arms around them in a warm embrace. They hugged her back, and when she pulled free they looked at her with tender concern.
“I’m sorry, aunts,” she said contritely. “I’m a bit on edge. Can we talk more in the morning?”
“Henchpenny said you had a visitor after breakfast, Amanda Jane,” said Pris, her brows furrowed. “A man named Robert Hamilton. Nan and I were talking, and it occurred to us that we’ve heard that name before … but we just can’t remember where.”
“Henchpenny said that after this man left you stayed locked in your room for hours, right up till we came home,” said Nan, joining the interrogation. “Who is Robert Hamilton? What did he want? And why does his name sound so familiar to us?”
“He’s Jack’s friend, aunts,” Amanda replied lightly. “I’m sure that’s where you’ve heard his name.”
“But why did you stay in your room all afternoon?”
“I had a headache, that’s all,” Amanda lied. “And I think it’s coming back. I need to rest.”
“Dear, dear,” tsked Nan. “But where will you sleep, Amanda Jane?”
“I doubt I’ll sleep at all tonight. I’ll lie down on the chaise longue if I get tired. But I want to be near Jack in case he wakes and needs me.”
The aunts seemed to readily understand these sentiments and were finally coaxed to go to their own bedchambers. Sound sleepers, once abed they’d not make another peep till morning.
As the door closed behind them, Amanda moved to stand at the end of the bed, just as she used to do at the Inn of the Three Nuns at Horsham when Jack was first laid up with a head injury and amnesia. She shook her head and smiled disbelievingly. It was dejà vu all over again, Amanda thought to herself, repeating Aunt Prissy’s favorite redundancy.
The whole thing was uncanny. What were the odds of Jack stumbling in front of her carriage again? Thank goodness, this time he wasn’t injured, he wasn’t in a coma, and … despite what the aunts thought … she didn’t think his memory had been affected. But once again here he was in need of watching over, and once again she was the reluctant nurse. Only this time, she was in love with him.
After another uneventful hour passed, Amanda observed that Jack still slept soundly, so she lay down on the chaise and closed her eyes. She dozed off but was soon stirred from sleep by someone calling her name. She sat up and blinked in the direction of the bed. The room was softly lit by a brace of candles on the mantel and a single slender taper on a bedside table. Jack was sitting up in bed and looking at her.
“Jack, you’re awake,” she said, swinging her legs to the floor and standing up. She moved toward the bed. He had pushed up against the plump pillows and, with his elbows locked, was leaning back on his hands. His hair was a sexy tumble, and his white shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing a delicious peek of brown skin and a light matting of dark hair. She remembered how it felt touching him there. Sheer heaven. She swallowed hard. “How … how do you feel?”
“Thirsty,” he admitted in a raspy voice and with a lopsided grin. “Got a slight headache, too. Have I been drinking?”
Amanda handed him a glass of water. “Don’t you remember?”
He frowned. “Details a bit fuzzy.” He chuckled. “Daresay, if you�
��d not called me by name, I wouldn’t even know I was a Jack!”
Amanda watched warily as Jack took a long drink of water, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then returned the glass with a rakish smile. “Thank you, darling. Coming to bed? I promise not to snore. Was that why you were sleeping on the chaise?”
“Jack, are you playing another farce with me?” she demanded suspiciously.
“Playing a farce?” he repeated, looking genuinely perplexed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart. Too sleepy, though, to get into it tonight. Are you coming to bed or not?”
Amanda nervously licked her lips. “Shall I send for Julian?”
Jack grimaced and shifted in the bed till he was on his side, facing Amanda, with his jaw propped in his hand. “Who the devil is Julian? And why would I want you to send for whoever the fellow is at this hour?”
“Jack!” Amanda exclaimed, backing up a step. “Don’t you know who Julian is?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” he replied glibly, grabbing her skirt with his free hand and tugging her closer. “The butcher? The baker? The candlestick maker?” he teased. “You can tell me in the morning, Amanda. Right now all I want is my wife to come to bed.”
“Your wife?” Amanda nearly dropped the glass she was still holding.
Jack laughed and took the glass, placing it safely on the bedside table. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten you’re my wife, ‘Manda, darling? My thinking’s a bit fuzzy tonight, but if there’s one thing I could never forget, it’s my better half.”
He paused and eyed her appreciatively, his gleaming gaze lingering on the swell of her bodice. “You look luscious in that color, my dear. Makes your skin glow like sweet cream.” He smiled wickedly. “Come to bed and I’ll play cat and do a little lapping.”
Amanda broke out in gooseflesh all over. “I thought you were sleepy, Jack,” she said weakly.
“Not anymore. Randy as a goat, sweetheart. Now, are you coming to bed, or am I going to have to wrestle you to the floor in order to have my wicked way with you?”
