The Hope Chest

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

Warmth spread through Amanda, and she scolded herself for entertaining the notion that there was more behind his words than a simple agreement with her. They rounded a curve and Lord Dorsey said, “This is where we leave the gardens. It’s only about a ten-minute walk and no need to fear a turned ankle as there’s a dirt path.”

  Amanda saw the observatory in the distance, atop a gentle rise, and anticipation filled her. But Aunt Lydia made a “tsking” noise. “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize it was quite so far, and after all the trekking about I did today, I fear I’m not up to such a lengthy walk.”

  “My apologies, Lady Lydia,” Lord Dorsey said, his voice contrite. “We shall return to the house at once.”

  “Nonsense,” said Aunt Lydia. “I wouldn’t dream of depriving Amanda the opportunity of viewing the stars or seeing your shells. There’s a lovely seat right here.” She walked to the stone bench and sat, then folded her hands in her lap. “I shall await you here and enjoy the lovely garden and this delightful night air. I truly need a rest before venturing back to the house anyway.”

  “If you’re certain—” Lord Dorsey began.

  “I’m positive. Of course, as my niece will be without her chaperone, I am entrusting her to your care, Lord Dorsey.”

  “You have my word that no harm will come to her.”

  “Excellent.” Aunt Lydia made shooing motions with her hands. “Now off with you. I’ll be right here when you return.”

  Lord Dorsey extended his elbow. “Lady Amanda?”

  Firmly telling herself that the rapid pounding of her heart was due to the exertion of their walk thus far, Amanda settled her hand on his sleeve and they moved down the narrow, moonlit pathway. She was painfully aware of his solid, muscular arm, and she fought the urge to flex her fingers to test its strength, just as she fought the urge to breathe in sharply every time their shoulders bumped.

  “I regret I’ve been unable to decipher the markings on the box,” he said as they walked along. “But I’m not ready to admit defeat.”

  “You don’t give up easily.”

  “No. A trait I imagine we have in common.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You do not strike me as a woman who would quit if you truly wanted something.”

  Hoping some levity might relieve the tension gripping her, she cast him a sidelong glance. “Hmm. Are you calling me stubborn, Lord Dorsey?”

  His lips twitched. “I think determined is a better word.”

  “Which is simply another way of saying stubborn.”

  “Perhaps.” He looked at her and smiled. “But as I consider determination an admirable trait, I meant it in the nicest way.”

  “Thank you.” A short laugh huffed between her lips. “I believe that is the most unusual compliment I’ve ever received.”

  “I fear I’m woefully inept with words.”

  Amanda considered his statement, then slowly shook her head. “I disagree. You speak simply, with a sincerity most gentlemen of my acquaintance do not possess. Just because you do not spout flowery sonnets does not mean you are inept.”

  There was no mistaking his surprise or pleasure at her words. “Thank you. Although I take it that your suitors would have immortalized you with something called Ode to Lady Amanda.”

  His assessment was so accurate, Amanda laughed. “No doubt. A poetic waxing about my hair or the cut of my gown. Certainly not about my determination.” She cut him a quick glance. “Do you really think I’m determined?”

  “Yes. You entered Gibson’s shop determined to purchase the wooden box.”

  “For all the good it did me. Nothing to show for my determination, even though I offered you a hideous amount of money for it.”

  “That was merely a case of me being more stubborn—and quicker—than you. Some might call it fate.” She felt the weight of his regard. “Do you not see yourself as determined?”

  “I…don’t know. Sometimes I feel very…adrift, like a boat bobbing on the waves at the mercy of the currents. As if I’m constantly being told what to do, what to think, how to feel.”

  “Told by whom?”

  “Mostly my mother. I know she has my best interests at heart, but we do not always agree on what is best for me. And she likes very much to be in charge.”

  “Do you listen to her?”

  Amanda considered, then frowned. “Mostly, yes, I suppose I do. But not always.”

  “When don’t you?”

  “When something is especially important to me.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, most recently, coming to Cardiff. Mother was very much against me making the trip. She wanted me to decide right away which of my suitors to marry. But I simply couldn’t. I insisted upon coming, and my father supported me.”

  “How fortunate you are that your father would stand behind you. I confess it is something I never experienced with my father.”

  Her fingers involuntarily squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I. How did you convince your father?”

  “I told him that choosing whom I married was the single most important decision I would make in my entire life and I wanted time to myself to examine my heart to insure I made the right decision. He agreed, and here I am.”

  “Yes…here you are.”

  Something in those softly spoken words had her swiftly turning her head to look at him. But he was looking at the ground. “Watch your step here, Lady Amanda. There’s a bit of an upward slope.”

  Amanda fell silent and concentrated on the path, and they arrived at the observatory several minutes later. At his instruction, she waited just inside the doorway while he lit several oil lamps. As a soft, hazy glow illuminated the room, she noticed the neat arrangement of shelves lined with books, glass beakers and what she surmised was other scientific paraphernalia. When he returned to her, he held a lantern in one hand and extended his other hand to her.

  “Come. Allow me to show you the wonders of the night sky.”

  Amanda slipped her hand into his. His fingers instantly clasped hers in a warm, firm grip that shot pleasurable tingles up her arm. With his palm pressed against hers, she discerned the roughness of calluses, and she instantly wondered how a gentleman had come by them.

  They passed under an archway into a second room, and Amanda gasped. The upper half of the left and back walls as well as a portion of the high ceiling were constructed entirely of glass panels. The full moon was visible, a brilliant white orb against black velvet, casting the room with a shimmer of pale, silvery light. In the corner, on a circular platform, stood a tremendous telescope.

  Lord Dorsey led her to the platform, then helped her to climb up. “This is the largest telescope I’ve ever seen,” Amanda said, utterly amazed.

  “Have you seen many?”

  She laughed. “Actually no. Only one other, and it was quite small. How does it work?”

  He touched the eyepiece then a small knob beneath it. “Just look through here, fine-tune the focus there, and enjoy the magic.”

  Amanda leaned forward to look through the eye-piece then gasped in delight. “The stars look close enough to touch! As if someone tossed handfuls of diamonds against a swatch of black satin.”

  “You’re looking at a grouping called the Big Dipper. Do you see it?”

  Amanda studied the brilliant twinkles, then said, “Yes! It looks like a ladle.” Her imagination took flight, and after gazing at the twinkling wonders a bit longer, she asked, “When you’re looking through your telescope, have you ever wondered if perhaps there are people living on those distant stars looking back at you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “Do you think they would be like us? Look like us?”

  “I don’t know. But I like to think that they would possess all of our good qualities and none of the unkindness and evil found in our world.”

  Any reply Amanda might have made died in her throat when he stepped close behind her. Heat suddenly surrounded her. Senses
prickling with awareness, she drew in a quick breath. Her head instantly filled with the clean, masculine scent of sandalwood.

  “Wait until you see this.” He settled one hand on her shoulder, then reached around her with his other hand to slowly pivot the telescope. Her breath caught when his body brushed against hers, shooting tingles down her spine, and it required all her strength not to press back against him to experience the delightful sensation again.

  The jewel-encrusted heavens shifted before her eyes, and when the telescope stopped moving, she found herself staring at a magnificent, fiery red ball. “Oh, my. What is that?”

  “Mars.” The word brushed softly against her ear, eliciting a barrage of quivers. “Commonly referred to as the red planet.”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “Given its hue, I certainly cannot see anyone calling it the green planet.”

  His deep chuckle whispered warmly across her skin. “The distinct red color has been observed by stargazers throughout history. Mars was named by the Romans in honor of their god of war.”

  Amanda studied the distant planet for nearly a minute. During that time she desperately tried to convince herself it was this astronomical wonder that caused her heart to flutter, but she was spectacularly unsuccessful. No, it was entirely the fault of the man standing behind her. Which meant she needed to put some distance between them. Now.

  And that was her intention, truly, when she turned around. But suddenly she stood facing him. And his large hand, which had slid across her back when she turned, now lightly grasped her upper arm. And he was close…so very close. And he smelled so good. And he was looking at her in a way that cut off her breath and dissolved her knees.

  She stood in an agony of still silence, her mind demanding that she retreat, while her heart commanded her to remain. To see what, if anything, he would say. What, if anything, he would do.

  Maxwell stood perfectly still, his frozen stance at complete odds with the inferno roaring through him. She was so tantalizingly close. And God, she smelled so good. And she was looking at him in a way that nearly brought him to his knees. A tremor rippled beneath his hand and he flexed his fingers on her arm. Her eyes widened slightly. Unable to stop himself, he raised his free hand and brushed a fingertip across her cheek, then moved downward, to touch that single pale freckle near her mouth. Her skin felt like warm satin, and that whisper of a touch made him ache for more.

  “You’ve been in the sun,” he whispered, tracing his fingertip again over that beguiling golden dot.

  “I…removed my bonnet to carry my shells. I suppose I shouldn’t have as I tend to freckle.”

  “But you should have. The freckles suit you. They are unexpected. Disarming. Alluring. And utterly enchanting. Just like you.”

  She studied him through very serious eyes, a tiny frown forming between her brows. “You are not at all like what I’d initially thought.”

  “Oh? And what had you initially thought?”

  A sheepish expression washed over her features. “I thought you irritating, rude and that you possessed frightfully inconvenient timing. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to cosh you and abscond with the wooden box.”

  Maxwell laughed. “Well, I can hardly quibble since I asked, and I appreciate your candor as opposed to some polite drivel. But I take it that your initial feelings have changed—and for the better, I hope.”

  “They couldn’t have gotten much worse, I assure you,” she said in a dust-dry tone. Her expression then turned contrite. “It was very unfair of me to form such an opinion based on such a short acquaintance. I don’t know how to apologize.”

  “Just say ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “Very well. I’m sorry.”

  “And then kiss me.”

  She went perfectly still, except for her eyes which widened. “I should say ‘kiss me’?”

  “Well, I meant for you to actually kiss me, but either way is fine.”

  “I didn’t know that a kiss was part of an apology.”

  “A terrible lapse in your education as it is the most important part. And very necessary to make the apology official.”

  She raised a clearly skeptical brow, but rose up on her toes, leaned in and briefly touched her lips to his cheek.

  Maxwell shook his head sadly. “That was the sorriest kiss I’ve ever received.”

  “Is that not the point?”

  “In the literal sense, I suppose so. But I had something more like this in mind….” He lowered his head and brushed his lips lightly over hers. A tiny, breathless sound escaped her and he touched his mouth to hers again, trying to capture the bewitching note. His hand stole around her waist, drawing her closer. She settled her hands on his chest, right above the spot where his heart pounded, and leaned into him. And every thought except her drained from his head.

  He ran his tongue over her full bottom lip, and she opened for him, an invitation he instantly accepted. She tasted warm. Sweet. Delicious. Gathering her more tightly against him, he explored all the velvety softness of her mouth, his senses soaking up the lush feel of her pressed against him. The delectable taste of her in his mouth. The silky texture of her hair sifting through his fingers. The sensual friction of her tongue mating with his.

  He’d wanted to absorb her slowly, drink her in with small sips rather than one huge gulp, but his control was rapidly sinking below the surface. He surely would have had a better chance at keeping his head above water if she hadn’t been so incredibly responsive. She mimicked his every move, straining closer to him, sifting her fingers through his hair, skimming her hands down his back, until he knew he had to end this now if he had any hope at all of stopping.

  He slowly lifted his head. A low groan rumbled in his throat at the sight of her, eyes still closed, her kiss-swollen lips moist and parted. He brushed a dark curl from her cheek, then, unable to stop himself, dipped his head to touch his lips to the soft skin of her neck.

  “You smell like sunshine, even in the moonlight,” he whispered, touching his tongue to the delicate pulse at the base of her throat. He raised his head, then tilted up her chin with his fingers until she looked into his eyes. The languorous heat simmering in those golden-brown depths left him in no doubt that she was as affected as he.

  “I wish I was clever with words,” he said softly, cradling her soft cheek in his palm, “but I’m not. I can only say that I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you.” And I knew it would be like this, feel like this, when I did.

  She reached up and traced her fingertips over his face, as if trying to memorize his features. “I cannot deny that I’d imagined you doing so, my lord, although never in my wildest dreams had I imagined anything quite so marvelous as that.”

  And with those words she put to rest a question he’d tried his damnedest not to think about. Clearly, even if she’d been kissed by one of her London suitors, none had shared the heat and intimacy with her that he just had.

  “Maxwell,” he said. “I believe we’re on a first name-basis…Amanda.” God, he liked the sound of her name on his tongue. Indeed, it was a relief to say it out loud after hearing it echo in his mind for the past week. And because he wanted nothing more than to yank her against him and taste her again, he forced himself to release her and step back to put several feet between them—before he was unable to do so. “I’m afraid we must rejoin your aunt in the garden now.”

  She nodded slowly, then with more conviction, as if only slowly recalling their surroundings.

  Something in her eyes spread unease through him and he sensed her subtle withdrawal. “Are you sorry?” The words pushed past his lips before he could stop them. Damn it, he didn’t want her to regret their kiss.

  She looked troubled, but her gaze did not reflect sorrow. “No, Maxwell. I’m not sorry. But you’re right—we must return.”

  He clasped her hand. “Spend tomorrow with me, Amanda. We can collect shells along the beach, ride the horses, enjoy the gardens…anything you like.”

  She
clearly wrestled with the decision of whether or not to accept his offer, and he took the fact that she hadn’t instantly refused as a hopeful sign. Finally she said, “I would like very much to spend the day with you, Maxwell.”

  A warm feeling suffused him, and he basked in her response as he would a ray of sunshine. And for the first time in two years, he truly looked forward to the following day.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TEN DAYS AFTER sharing her kiss with Maxwell, Amanda sat on her aunt’s terrace, sipping tea and staring at the sky’s last fading embers of orange and gold visible through the trees. Tonight, for the first time in those ten days, she and Aunt Lydia had dined without Maxwell, who’d had some urgent estate affairs to see to.

  As much as she’d tried to deny it, she simply couldn’t any longer. She’d missed him. And his absence now forced her to face the question that had plagued her these past ten days with increasing urgency as the date of her departure from Cardiff grew closer—how was she going to face leaving here? Leaving him?

  The days had passed so quickly, it seemed to Amanda that she’d barely blinked and they were memories. Memories which were among the happiest she’d ever known. She’d spent each day with Maxwell—properly chaperoned by Aunt Lydia, of course—and she’d enjoyed every minute of their time together. They’d walked his path to the sea, strolled through the gardens, ridden horses, examined his extensive shell collection, toured his observatory, played whist and even shared a picnic on the beach. With each new day she’d learned more about him, and she’d yet to discover anything she did not like or admire.

  She’d discovered a shared love of animals and rare books, a fondness for oranges and apple cobbler. His interest had never flagged while listening to her massacre songs on his pianoforte, nor had his patience waned while explaining the finer points of billiards. He’d applauded her skill when she’d trounced him at backgammon, then kindly offered to explain the strategies of chess, a game at which she was quite hopeless. He’d known the scientific name of every plant and flower she’d pointed out, and introduced her to the culinary delights of the local shellfish.