The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  As she revived, Sam regaled her with a glowing account of Ninian’s incredible skill and bravery during the fight, and how the villain had scrambled away like a dog with a tail between his legs. Lady Wentworth listened and marveled and glanced frequently toward her son with a look of astonished pride.

  Julian had only been waiting a couple of minutes in Charlotte’s parlor when the door opened and she entered the room. Although Charlotte was not exactly a green girl anymore—she was going on five-and-twenty—her lady’s companion usually attended her whenever Julian came calling. Today she was alone, and Julian couldn’t help but wonder if Charlotte was giving him the privacy he might require in order to propose to her.

  Julian felt a trifle guilty about it, but proposing marriage was the last thing on his mind. He wasn’t ready for Charlotte’s hand; he rather needed her advice. He needed her calm, clear headed, rational conversation. Even as she approached him, her appearance soothed his mind and heart. Charlotte was like a tranquil island in a stormy sea. She would speak sense to him and soon he’d be able to dismiss all the nagging doubts that had besieged him since Sam and her mother had both accused him of being in love with his eighteen-year-old ward.

  By noting that Charlotte was without a chaperon, Julian was reminded that he had left Sam alone all day without supplying her with a substitute for Clara … not that Clara had been much of a check on Sam’s behavior! But Julian couldn’t help wondering, with grave misgiving, what his unchaperoned charge had been up to all day!

  “By that beleaguered look on your face,” Charlotte began, smiling faintly as she held out her hand to Julian, “I can guess that your ward is giving you trouble again.”

  Julian gave a grimacing smile in return and kissed her fingers in a perfunctory and distracted fashion. Charlotte raised her brow a notch and took a seat, motioning for Julian to do the same. Julian sat down on a settee opposite her, resting an elbow on the overstuffed arm, and rubbed his forehead.

  “Tell me what’s happened, Julian,” Charlotte prompted him.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” Julian admitted ruefully. He paused, then hurriedly added, “But it’s very bad manners of me to launch directly into a list of my grievances without first inquiring after you, Charlotte. How are you?”

  Charlotte gave a gentle laugh. “I’m very well, thank you. Now you may proceed without feeling a qualm of conscience.”

  “You’re very kind,” Julian murmured.

  Charlotte reached across the short distance that separated them and laid her hand over his. Her usually smooth brow was furrowed with concern. “I can tell you’re very much disturbed. Much more so than I’ve ever observed in you before. Please, Julian, feel free to confide in me.”

  Julian did confide in her. Beginning with Clara’s elopement and ending with his discovery that Genevieve DuBois was Sam’s mother, Julian told Charlotte everything. Everything, that is, but about the passionate kissing between him and Sam at the King’s Arms and Sam’s removal of her blanket later that same evening. He didn’t think Charlotte would … er … understand. He only hoped she did not wonder about “holes” in the story where he’d left things out.

  After this censored recital of events was concluded, Julian leaned back in his chair and observed Charlotte’s face. The furrow in her brow remained, and there was a puzzled expression in her eyes.

  “Julian,” she began musingly, “I don’t precisely understand why you and Sam quarreled at the King’s Arms, and why she ran out into the rain. I know you better than to believe you’d ring a peal over her head simply for assisting in Clara’s elopement, no matter how much you—”

  “She lied to me,” Julian interposed.

  Charlotte leveled him a keen gaze. “But there’s more to this story, isn’t there?”

  Julian stood up and agitatedly paced the rug. “Yes. There’s more, all right! But it’s utter nonsense! Sam, and her newly discovered mother—who, by the bye, has a natural and most inconvenient turn for the dramatic—have somehow got it in their heads that I’m … I’m … in love with…” He gave a strangled laugh. “… with Sam, of all people! Can you believe it, Charlotte? And to prove it, Sam dared me to kiss her at the King’s Arms!”

  “Did you?” she quietly asked.

  “Yes, I kissed her. But it meant nothing! It was like kissing my little sister. It certainly didn’t prove I was heel over ears in love with the chit.”

  Suddenly Charlotte stood up and stood in front of Julian, forcing him to stop pacing. He stared down at her, a harried question in his eyes.

  “I dare you to kiss me, Julian Montgomery,” Charlotte said in a perfectly grave voice, tilting her head and lifting her lovely face invitingly close to his.

  Julian automatically grasped Charlotte’s arms. He frowned. “What are you doing, Charlotte?”

  She linked her hands behind his neck and snuggled close till Julian could feel her soft, full breasts against his chest. “I’m conducting an experiment,” she answered, a tentative smile curving her lips.

  Julian was completely bewildered. And finding himself in such an intimate embrace with Charlotte seemed somehow … wrong. “So now you have something to prove, too, eh? We’ve kissed before, Charlotte.”

  “But not ardently, Julian,” Charlotte pointed out. “We’ve never been alone much, and you’ve always been polite and respectful. This time I want you to be … passionate.”

  “What are you trying to prove?” Julian asked nervously.

  “Just kiss me,” she ordered softly, closing her eyes and offering her lips in a tantalizing pucker.

  Julian stared at those luscious lips, feeling like a man with his neck in a noose. He had a sinking notion that he knew exactly what Charlotte needed proof of … his desire for her. But why should that worry him? he reasoned desperately. Of course, he desired her! He would give her the proof she required, and then some!

  Julian bent his head and captured Charlotte’s eager mouth in a long, deep, slow kiss that definitely eclipsed any kiss they’d shared before and was definitely beyond the bounds of propriety … even the more liberal bounds of an “almost engaged” couple. He didn’t end the kiss till he was absolutely in need of air. Then he lifted his head and surveyed her face to gauge her reaction.

  Her face was flushed. Her eyes were glazed. Her breath was quick. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that?” he challenged gruffly.

  Charlotte swallowed and licked her lips. “I enjoyed it very much, Julian,” she said faintly.

  “Do you have your ‘proof’ now?” he demanded.

  “Not yet,” she answered, gently easing out of his arms and putting several inches distance between them.

  He frowned. “What the deuce do you mean, Charlotte?”

  “I have a single question for you, Julian.”

  “Yes?”

  She took a deep breath, as if mustering her courage. “How did kissing me compare to kissing Samantha?”

  Julian had been so intent in practicing his amorous expertise on Charlotte and eliciting a satisfactory response from her, he had paid no attention to his own response to the kiss. But then, perhaps that was because there was no response.

  Kissing Sam had been extraordinary. Time had passed without his knowing or caring. All his senses had been inflamed. He had been utterly out of control. With Charlotte, he’d been fully anchored in reality, completely … in … control.

  Julian stared at Charlotte, his glib tongue tied. He cudgeled his brain for something to say that would please her, appease her. But an alarming idea continued to swirl through his brain like the rhythmic rotations of a taffy-maker’s stick…

  Perhaps losing control was part of “falling in love.” Perhaps there was no avoiding a few cracks in his composure if he wanted what his brother, Jack, had with Sam’s sister, Amanda. Perhaps he was in love with Sam…

  Pushing aside these shocking, revelatory thoughts, Julian forced himself to foc
us on Charlotte’s face. She appeared sober, resigned, sad. Apparently she already knew the answer to her question. The way he felt about Sam when he kissed her … and the way he didn’t feel about Charlotte when he kissed her … told the tale.

  “You are in love with her, Julian, aren’t you?” she whispered.

  “Bloody Hell,” Julian muttered under his breath.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Julian returned to Montgomery House in a daze. There was no longer any use in denying it … he was in love with Sam. He’d probably been a little in love with her from the moment he’d first clapped eyes on her, dressed as a ragamuffin boy on Thorney Island. But self-deception and pride had kept him from admitting to himself that he could have fallen hard for such a … well, such a brat!

  If this was love, he grumbled to himself as he climbed the stairs to his front door, he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had always thought it would be a soothing experience to fall in love … a serene, orderly state of bliss. But perhaps that was why he hadn’t recognized his recent miserable condition as the combined symptoms of what the French called amour. He had not supposed that being irritable, edgy, confused, and out of control meant he had been hit by Cupid’s arrow! But then perhaps he was experiencing those unpleasant sensations because he had been suppressing his feelings.

  Julian paused at the top of the steps and frowned. Now did not seem the appropriate time to give vent to those feelings, or even to explore them a little. After all, he still had to tell Sam who her mother was and deal with the repercussions of such a revelation.

  In fact, he mused, opening the door and stepping out of the gloomy dusk and into a bright, candlelit entryway, it would take a great deal of time and thought to decide whether or not he should ever give vent to his feelings. After all, he understood his feelings at last. But did Sam really understand her feelings? What she felt for him could still be nothing but gratitude and infatuation. Then, once he began to wear flannel waistcoats to fend off rheumatism, she might wish she’d married someone considerably younger!

  “Good evening, my lord,” said Hedley, magically appearing to take his hat, gloves, and cane. “Did you have a pleasant day?”

  Julian gave Hedley a pained look and said, “It was about as good as yours, I’ll wager.”

  Hedley nodded understanding. Then, after a slight hesitation, he said, “My day improved somewhat after I read a letter from Clara.”

  Julian raised an interested brow. “She left you a letter? Where did you find it?”

  “Er … Miss Darlington gave it to me,” Hedley admitted sheepishly.

  “I see. Well, I hope you found the contents to your liking.”

  “I don’t blame her anymore, sir.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t blame Miss Darlington for what happened, either. I just hope she … my daughter, Clara … will be happy with that”—he sniffed—“colonial.”

  Julian chuckled. “I hope so, too. One never knows, Hedley, how, where, and with whom one will fall fatally in love. Nor does one, I suppose, have the least control over the process,” he added with a sigh.

  Hedley sighed, too, and both men stood in silent, companionable contemplation of the tricks of fate. Presently, Hedley roused himself and said, “Miss Priscilla and Miss Nancy are back from Darlington Hall.”

  “Excellent,” Julian replied, sifting distractedly through the cards that had been left for him in his absence. He was glad the aunts would be around to lend support when he told Sam about Genevieve DuBois. “Are they fatigued?”

  “They seem anything but, my lord,” Hedley observed with the merest semblance of a smirk. “They have been in the little parlor with Miss Darlington for the last few minutes, talking and laughing quite gaily.”

  Julian looked down the hall toward the closed door of the parlor. “Indeed?” he said, ashamed to admit he felt a bit piqued at Sam for recovering, so quickly from her despondency over his rejection. And was it just a couple of days ago that she had recognized his step in the hall and sent Priss to fetch him? Today no one popped her head out and invited him in. No one at all.

  “One thing more, my lord,” Hedley said, interrupting Julian’s jealous thoughts. “Do you wish for dinner at the usual time?”

  Julian considered the question. Should he tell Sam about her mother before or after dinner? There was that damned ball at the Wilmots’ tonight, too…

  Suddenly he heard a peal of laughter filter through the thick-paneled door of the parlor and drift down the hall. It was Sam’s laugh. Julian decided then and there that since Sam was in such a good mood, he had better tell her immediately what he’d found out.

  “Put dinner back a half hour, Hedley,” Julian ordered.

  “As you wish, my lord,” Hedley said, then bowed and retreated, no doubt headed for the kitchen to inform Cook of the change.

  Again Julian debated what to do. Should he go upstairs, freshen up, and dress for dinner before talking to Sam, or should he simply enter the parlor now? Then he chided himself for deliberating over such a trivial point. Could it be that he was suddenly concerned that Sam saw him at his best?

  Impatient with such nonsense, Julian threw down the calling cards he hadn’t been able to read with any understanding anyway, and strode purposely toward the parlor door. However, he could not resist stopping at a mirror en route to ascertain if his hair had been mussed by the breeze, and to give his cuffs and waistcoat a straightening tug. Put to rights, he opened the parlor door and entered the room, feeling as silly and nervous as an unlicked cub paying his first courting call.

  All three pairs of eyes turned in his direction … but he saw only Sam. Sitting on a footstool near the fire, she was dressed in a simple silvery blue gown he’d chosen for her himself because the fabric complemented her eyes. The skirts of the gown swirled at her feet in a pool of shimmering silk. But as he gazed at her, the laughing expression on her face changed to one of forced composure. And in the depths of her eyes there was the look of a wounded animal. Suddenly, he wanted to go to her then and there and, right in front of her aunts, take her in his arms and make the hurt go away.

  But since that would hardly be seemly or wise, he forced himself to resist such an urge. Yes, he thought grimly to himself, I will still exercise some control in my life!

  “Julian!” cried Priss. “How are you, dear boy?”

  Julian wrenched his gaze away from Sam and stepped to the sofa where Nan and Priss were seated and, smiling, bowed over both of their outstretched hands. “Dear ladies,” he said warmly. “I’m glad you are home.”

  “ ‘Home’ he calls it,” Nan exclaimed delightedly. “I declare, sister, we have more homes than we know what to do with! I thought we just left home behind at Darlington Hall!”

  “You will always be welcome in any of my residences,” Julian assured them.

  “I dare swear, Nan,” Priss began with a sly look, “that Julian is happy to see us because Sam has been such a naughty puss in our absence. She’s a hard one to keep down, isn’t she, Julian? But no harm done, I say. I’m glad Clara’s gone off to America with Nathan. And I’m sure no mischief was done at the Wentworths today that wasn’t done for the good of that young man.” Priss’s brow furrowed. “Although I must admit to sympathizing with Lady Wentworth a little. If a pistol had been pointed at me, I’d have done more than faint. I probably would have turned up my toes for good!”

  Julian was filled with dread. Recalling that Sam had been unchaperoned all day, he supposed he ought not to be surprised that she’d made mischief. But a pistol?

  Julian’s consternation must have shown on his face because Sam immediately began to defend herself with a detailed and hastily spoken explanation. As he listened to her unfold the events of the day, Julian couldn’t help but admire her resourcefulness, her spirit, her … cheek! And while he wanted to smile and was tempted to laugh out loud a time or two at the humorous scenes Sam described, Julian forced himself to appear grave and disapproving. But the idea of Ninian grandly playing the foolh
ardy hero, Jean-Luc masquerading as a horseless highwayman, and all those pups barking their heads off…! He’d have given a pretty penny to see the entire farce firsthand!

  “I can’t help it, Julian,” Sam finally concluded, pouting a little, her blue eyes flashing rebelliously. “I just want my friends to be happy.”

  “It’s the way you go about it, Sam, that has me worried,” Julian said with a half smile and only half-teasing.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes it takes drastic measures to bring about the desired objectives. If I had been circumspect and cautious and stuck to the rules in Ninian’s case—and in Nathan and Clara’s, too—I daresay I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything to promote their happiness!” She thrust out her small chin in that pugnacious way she had. “There’s usually a certain amount of risk in obtaining anything worthwhile, you know.”

  Julian could not doubt that the lecture was meant for him. Ever since he’d withstood her advances, even going so far as to turn away when she stood naked before him, she had probably concluded that he was a milquetoast. While the idea irritated him considerably, he wasn’t prepared at this point in time to reverse her limp opinion of him. And, anyway, it was time to tell her about her mother … the actress.

  “I’m glad Lady Wentworth decided that Ninian has enough gumption for the army and plans to purchase him a commission,” Julian conceded, sitting down in a wing chair near Sam. “And I’m equally happy for Nathan and Clara. I wish them very happy. But now that you’ve managed the affairs of your friends so admirably, it’s time to apply yourself to your own concerns.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I have discovered who your mother is, Samantha.”

  She heard the aunts gasp and exclaim with surprise, but Sam found herself unable to react at all. For weeks she’d forced thoughts of her mother quite out of her head. She found it much too painful to think about the woman who had abandoned her to a life of cruelty and neglect and then returned to her own life of pleasure and plenty. A titled lady of the ton, Clorinda’s diary had described her. But Sam wanted nothing do with her.