by Brenda Joyce
The house was silent. Lizzie, Tyrell, the earl and countess had all left the ball shortly after midnight, but Sean and Eleanor remained and would undoubtedly stay for another hour or two. He took the stairs two at a time and paused at Amanda’s door. Obviously, it was late, and he should not barge into her bedroom at this hour.
His heart tightened. He had thought of little else that evening than his extraordinary feelings and the woman who had somehow, impossibly, engendered them. He had been looking forward to a very long, very deep good-night kiss, and far more. He had been anticipating having her in his arms, in his bed, and touching her as he wished. He smiled, leaning against the wall.
He was a de Warenne. When the men in his family fell in love, it was once and forever. He could survive this night alone, because once she was his wife, he would never sleep without her again. Knowing Amanda, she would join him on his voyages, at least until she was carrying his child.
His wife. He had never dreamed he would ever think such words or want to make such a commitment. But Amanda was going to become his wife, and soon, of that he had no doubt. First thing in the morning, he would buy her a proper ring, so he could propose marriage to her. He would even get down on one knee. Normally, he thought romance nonsense, but God, he wanted to be as romantic as possible with her.
His child. He adored his two children, and fatherhood was the greatest joy of his life. Now, he could think of nothing more joyous than Amanda carrying another son or daughter for him. But she had been rudely deprived for most of her life. He wanted to give her everything life had to offer, all of the finer things she had missed, the opera and champagne, rubies and pearls, fine art and gowns designed by Parisian couturiers, safety, security, love. His heart danced. He could wait for a third child. He was getting so ahead of himself.
He glanced at her door, images of Amanda at the ball filling his mind, the most beautiful woman present, the most courageous, the most unique. He had never declared himself before and he felt awkward and even gauche now. He had never dreamed he would one day ask a woman to marry him, either, but he would somehow find the right words, even if she so often made him tongue-tied. He realized he had his hand on the knob. If he went inside now, he thought, he was going to make love to her.
But she deserved a proper proposal first, just as she really deserved a genuine wedding and a wedding night which she would never forget.
He fought his own base instincts, because he wanted to make love to her then and there. Although he had been with many women he had not truly made love to any of them.
He sighed and went back downstairs to the west wing. He banged on Rex’s door, hoping he was alone. However, his brother was known to carouse, his amputated leg not hindering his conquests. “Are you asleep, Rex?” he demanded.
His brother grunted. “Not anymore.”
Cliff stepped into the bedroom as his brother sat up and lit a lamp. He was alone, fortunately. “What happened? Why didn’t you summon me? I was Amanda’s escort. I should have brought her home.”
Rex appeared annoyed. “Go back to bed, Cliff. Speak with her in the morning. She seemed upset, somewhat.” He turned off the light and flopped back down, clearly ending the conversation.
But Cliff didn’t go. “Did she say why she was upset?”
“No, she did not. Good night.”
“How distressed was she?”
“I do not know! Good night, Cliff!”
Cliff sighed and left. If it had been truly important, Rex would have alerted him. He would speak with Amanda in the morning, before he went to Bond Street for her ring. He would buy her the most magnificent diamond he could find. Just in case he could not find the right words to express his feelings, the grand gesture would.
He smiled to himself.
CLIFF HAD HARDLY SLEPT at all, too overcome with his feelings to do so. It was shortly after eight, and he and Tyrell were the only ones taking breakfast at that hour. His brother was reading both the Herald and the Dublin Times. Cliff fidgeted, sipping coffee, his stomach twisted into knots. Amanda would probably remain abed for a few more hours, and the Bond Street shops did not open until eleven. He wanted to see her before he went out. Time had never crept by with more infuriating delay.
“What is wrong with you?” Tyrell remarked.
Cliff realized he had been drumming his fingers on the table. “Nothing.”
“You appear like a green-broke race horse about to be let out of the starting gate.”
That was exactly how he felt, but he did not say so. And then he heard her steps. He jumped to his feet as Amanda appeared in the dining room doorway, fully dressed in a pale ivory-and-gold striped silk. She looked as if she had slept only a few hours, as well. Strain was mirrored on her face and in her eyes.
Something had happened last night, he realized grimly, instantly concerned. And damn Rex for making light of it. Cliff rushed forward.
“Good morning.” She nodded at Tyrell, her smile forced, and then she turned to Cliff. “I would like a word with you. In private,” she added quietly.
In that stunning moment, he felt as if she was the adult, he the child, and he was being summoned for a set-down. “Of course,” he said. He glanced at Tyrell. “Excuse us.”
Tyrell nodded, returning to his newspaper.
Cliff followed Amanda down the hall and into the library. As he stepped inside, she closed the door behind him. “I am becoming increasingly alarmed,” he said, remarking her every feature. “You did not sleep well.”
She sent him a wan smile. “Neither, apparently, did you.”
“What happened last night? Why did you leave in such haste? Why didn’t you summon me? I would have taken you home!” he exclaimed.
She smiled again, more firmly. “It was obvious you were enjoying yourself,” she said.
What was she talking about? “I was enjoying watching your incredible success,” he said, and he flushed, for that wasn’t what he really meant. He added, “I was enjoying watching you.”
Her chin lifted. “There is something I wish to discuss.”
His alarm escalated dramatically. “Are you upset with me? Have I done something to offend you?”
“Oh, Cliff.” She smiled fully now. “How could I be upset with you? I will forever be grateful for all you have done for me, and last night was wonderful.” She hesitated, coloring. “I will never forget our waltz.”
“You are speaking as if we will never waltz again!” he exclaimed. He stepped closer, intentionally towering over her. He had no intention of losing her now. “You are speaking as if you are going somewhere.”
She wet her lips, her gaze on his. “I have made plans,” she whispered.
“Plans? What kind of plans?” he demanded, dread uncoiling as swiftly as a serpent.
“While you were away, I realized I have no wish to marry. I am going home.”
For one moment, he gaped at her, absolutely shocked. “What?”
“I am going home. I cannot marry. I will not. Please, do not misunderstand. I will forever be grateful for all that you have done for me, but my place is in Jamaica. I am going to open up a shop, with borrowed funds, and eventually, I intend to start a shipping business.”
He felt as if someone had dealt him a physical blow and he became so dazed he could hardly think. “You want to go back to the island,” he repeated. “But this is your home!”
“Harmon House is your home.” She smiled firmly at him. “I know you are shocked, as you had other plans for me, but I will not back down.”
His mind began to work. “You want to open a shop? What is this about?” His senses returned. “What happened last night?”
“This is not about last night, not precisely. I have taken far too much from you and your family. I made my plans while you were gone, when I had a chance to really think. Cliff, I know you only want what is best for me, and I am so appreciative. But I don’t want to marry a stranger. As much as I love Ashford Hall, Jamaica is my home. If I do not marry her
e, I must provide for myself, and that is what I will do. I know all about trade and shipping. I have made elaborate plans,” she added. “I feel very confident I can become a success.”
He fought for calm. It was a long moment before he could speak. “Of course you do not want to marry a stranger,” he said. He hesitated, wanting to blurt out his feelings but very unsure of how he would be received. He had never had such a failure in confidence before. “You do not have to marry, Amanda,” he said slowly, “until you wish to.” He was resolved to win her heart, if he had somehow lost it. “But you can stay here. I will turn all suitors away.”
She shook her head. “That is the point, Cliff, I cannot stay here. I want to go home and start my business immediately.”
He had to grip the back of a chair as he stared at her, incapable of understanding her now. “Was it Dulcea? Did she say something to you last night? Although you do not seem stricken with hurt…”
Amanda interrupted. “I spoke to her. She wanted me to live with her at Belford House, among other things.”
He tensed. “But instead, you are running away to the island?”
She lifted her head. “I am not running away! And I am not leaving because of Dulcea. I did not particularly like her and I don’t care if I ever see her again. I am not going to argue with you, although I wish you could understand. You rescued a child in Spanishtown. I am a woman now. You can’t take care of me this way indefinitely. It is time I took care of myself.” Her gaze was moist.
“Why can’t I take care of you,” he tried. “It is a pleasant task.”
“It defeats the purpose of my becoming independent.”
He stared, at a loss. Why did she wish to be independent now, when he was so deeply in love? Women were not independent! “If you really wish to go back to the island, I will take you.” This seemed to be a solution for them both. “If you want to open up a shop, I will gladly loan you the funds. As for shipping—”
“No!”
He stopped, shocked. “You do not want my help anymore?”
“You do not understand,” she cried softly. “I wish to do this alone! I must do this alone! “
He was now aghast. Was he going to lose her? And he knew he could not. He would do whatever he had to so that he won her heart all over again. “Why? I simply cannot understand what is happening here.”
She bit her lip, finally tearing her gaze away from him. She smiled so sadly again. With real dread, he watched her slowly pace toward the fireplace. The transformation, he realized, was complete. He had thought her changed last night, but no, he saw the true difference now, in that moment, with her telling him she had no wish to be dependant on anyone, not even on him. An elegant lady was slowly taking a turn about the room, choosing her words with care, and they were words of rejection. He was realizing that now. She finally faced him. “Do not be so upset.”
“I cannot turn my back on you. Please, don’t ask me to do so.” He was begging, he realized.
“I am not asking you to do so. I am asking you to set me free.”
He was horrified. “Is that how you feel?”
She was white, but she somehow nodded.
And finally he understood. Until this season, society had always made him feel like a caged animal, and he would have to leave, rushing to make sail, rushing to be free. Of course she felt that way. She had spent two months in town, and she’d had enough. Beneath the stunning and genteel facade, La Sauvage still lived.
As frightened as he was, he was also fiercely glad. “I will take you home,” he said. And he would watch her make over her life from the shadows, because whether she wanted it or not, he would always be her protector and her guardian. For the first time in his life, he would deny his virile interests and he would wait as long as it took to woo her back to him.
He went over to her and clasped her small hands in both of his. “I brought you here to set you free,” he whispered roughly, “not to imprison you in society’s cell.”
“I know.”
“Do you regret the wardrobe, the reading lessons, the waltz?”
“Of course not! You don’t understand.” She touched his face. “I am not going home as La Sauvage, I am going home as Miss Carre. I do miss the wind in my hair, but it isn’t society I must escape. I have to go home because I can’t be your ward anymore.”
She had just stabbed him in the heart. He dropped her hands. “I thought I understood. You wish to run from me?”
“I can only tell you again, I must make my own way now, without a husband, without a guardian—without you. But we will always be friends, won’t we?”
He turned away. Was she rejecting him? He tried to think, but his heart was screaming at him. Nothing made sense anymore. This couldn’t be happening. He could not be losing the only woman he had ever loved. If she had been running from society, he would have let her go and followed and waited for her. But if she was running from him, he could not let her go.
He slowly faced her.
“I have hurt you!” she cried. She clasped her hands to her face, which was starkly pale, in spite of two bright spots of crimson. “Cliff, you have been the best champion a woman could ever have! In my heart, you will always be my champion. And one day, when I am wealthy and respected, I will call on you at Windsong and we will reminisce over these times!”
“Like hell,” he said.
“And I am going to pay you back for every cent you have spent on me. Finally, I am making you a promise!”
“I don’t want to be repaid, not one cent,” he cried. “This is about what happened at Ashford Hall!” he accused, pointing at her. His hand was shaking.
She backed up, gasping, and he knew he was right. “I don’t know what you mean!”
He stalked her, recalling her attempt at seduction and his brutal rejection of her. How he wished he had taken her then, entirely. “I rejected you.”
She flushed. “You are a man of honor. You were right—my advances were wrong!”
“And this is why you run.” Triumph began, but it was predatory and savage.
She shook her head. “No!”
He trapped her against the wall. “You said you made these plans while I was in Holland. I went to Holland because my desire for you was beyond all control. I went abroad so I would not take what you were offering. And while I was gone, you decided to leave…me.”
She inhaled. “Yes.”
Relief began and his emotions, just slightly, eased. The rest of his body, already battle ready and fiercely aroused, escalated its tension. His loins engorged fully. “Now you are being honest with me,” he whispered, sliding his hand to her cheek.
She gasped, comprehension filling her eyes, but she cried, “What are you doing?”
He had wanted her insanely that night, and even months ago, on his ship, when she was untutored and naive. His heart thundered. He leaned closer. “You know what I am doing.”
For one moment, Amanda stared, realizing he was going to give in to his desires, at last. “Cliff,” she breathed, reaching for his shoulders.
He pulled her into his arms, against his massive chest, his mouth covering hers.
He had intended a savage, possessive, demanding kiss. But the moment he felt her lips, he softened, the anger, the fear, the savagery vanishing. This woman he loved. And he needed her now and forever.
He touched her mouth softly with his lips, again and again, coaxing them to open wide and wider still. She gasped and he entered her, thrilling, and she began kissing him back, their passion slowly and surely increasing.
Cliff thrust his tongue deep, pressed her more firmly against the wall, and shifted his loins against her hip, already wanting to explode in his release. Amanda wept, clinging to his arms.
He pulled away, gripping her hand. “Come with me,” he said flatly, and before she could speak they were crossing the room.
The hall was empty. He glanced into the dining room, but Tyrell was hidden by his newspaper. He gave Amanda a look, one
which spoke of all of his intentions, and he saw her nod, her eyes huge. They ran up the stairs.
The moment they were in her bedroom he released her, slamming the door and locking it. He threw off his jacket, meeting her gaze. She stood near the bed, as still as a doe paralyzed by an oncoming light. But she was breathing hard, almost as hard as he.
He approached, taking her in his arms. “I want to make you happy, Amanda,” he said thickly. He stroked her cheek. He wasn’t sure how much control he could exercise now.
She nodded. “Cliff…hurry.”
He hadn’t been sure she wouldn’t think to refuse him in the end. He cried out, carrying her to the bed while she flung her arms around him, kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheek. He laughed exultantly, because nothing was more important than taking this woman—his woman—now, and giving her more pleasure than any one woman had a right to.
He laid her down, tearing at the buttons on the back of her dress. They popped and scattered across the rug.
She smiled breathlessly and tore his shirt open, too, more buttons spewing. Then she inhaled, laying her palms on his chest. Her hands were shaking wildly.
He thrilled at her admiration, and flung his shirt aside. She gasped, ogling his chest and arms and he laughed, somehow shrugging her gown off. All laughter died. Sexual tension thrummed in the room. They fell to the bed in a swirl of pillows, sheets, petticoats.
He took her mouth again while fumbling with her chemise and corset, trying not to grind himself between her thighs. He was going to embarrass himself, he realized, as he had no self-control left.
She seized his belt and opened it, and their eyes met while she fumbled with his breeches. Every caress caused his loins to grow. He had to smile. “Darling, I am trying to be a gentleman—”
“Do not bother!” She gasped, setting him free.
