Danice Allen (32 page)

He followed, desperate for things to be right between them. “Amanda, I have to ask you one more thing before we join the others. I have to know…. How much did you hear?”

She turned on him. “What kind of question is that?” Her voice was full of exasperation and hurt. “Are there other things I should know … things you’re afraid I’ll find out that will make me even angrier? Maybe it’s best we leave things the way they are, Jack.”

“But I have to know—”

“What could I possibly tell you that would make any difference in the way things are?”

She was right. Even if she’d heard him tell Julian he was in love with her, even if she loved him back, what difference would it make? He was still honor-bound to marry Charlotte. And if he didn’t do the honorable thing, Amanda would despise him anyway. She would consider him as irresponsible and cowardly as she considered her father.

He just wished he knew how she felt.… It was selfish of him, of course, but it would be the most wonderful memory to take to his dotage if she told him she loved him, too. But he couldn’t just come out and ask her, so he said instead, “Amanda, naturally I’ll marry Charlotte if she still wants me. But what if she doesn’t want me? What if she won’t marry me?”

Jack held his breath while he waited for Amanda’s answer. Her pained expression as she searched his face was the most punishing feeling in the world, but her words stung him to the quick. “If she refuses you, once again you’ll be a carefree bachelor, Jack. Therefore I can only suppose you’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

Then she turned without another word and walked away.

Jack had been absent from London less than a week, but he felt as though an entire lifetime had passed since he’d last tooled his shiny black phaeton down Great Stanhope Street toward the stately residence of Charlotte Batsford, his fiancée.

It was a gloomy afternoon and the leaden skies matched Jack’s mood precisely. He had arrived very late at his own town house the night before, having driven up from Prinstead in Julian’s carriage the morning after he and Amanda had walked on the beach at Thorney Island. The pain of that last parting was never far from his thoughts.

Leaving Julian to stand as escort and protector on Amanda’s homeward journey had seemed the most sensible thing to do. To say the very least, there had developed an awkwardness between Jack and Amanda since the moment she’d overheard his conversation with Julian behind the cottage. She could not forgive him for his deceptions, and Jack could not blame her for that. Besides, Jack was wanted in London as soon as possible.

In addition, Julian seemed to have a way with Amanda’s sister, Sam. Ever since he’d bullied her into bathing, she considered Julian with something akin to religious awe. Julian would not say how he had accomplished the task of turning Sam from a grubby hoyden to a clean, quiet girl in a black dress that night, and no one seemed to want to know the particulars … not even Amanda. She simply seemed grateful for the transformation by whatever means Julian had resorted to.

Julian was also the one to convince Sam to return to Edenbridge with her sister. He’d made her some sort of confidential promise, which Sam sometimes coyly alluded to but didn’t share with anyone. Jack wasn’t surprised by Julian’s influence with the child, but he was surprised and pleased that Julian took the time to help Amanda with her troublesome sibling.

However, once Sam was left alone at Darlington Hall with her sister, without Julian to intimidate and charm the little brat into behaving respectably, Jack knew Amanda would have a difficult time of it. Sam needed a firm hand to offset Amanda’s soft heart. Now, if it were up to him …

Jack’s hands tightened on the tethers, and he urged his matched grays to a brisker trot. He had to quit thinking about Amanda. He had to quit wishing he could involve himself in her life somehow. She wanted nothing to do with him, and even if she did it wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d be married soon and off on his three-month honeymoon abroad.

He shook his head ruefully. He was on his way to his fiancée’s house, and some complicated explanations and difficult apologies needed to be made, but he hadn’t spared a thought for what he was going to say to Charlotte.

All he could think about was Amanda and how very desperately he missed her.

He stopped the phaeton in front of the Batsfords’ mansion, jumped off the high perch, and tossed the tethers to his tiger. “Walk ‘em, Reynolds,” said Jack. “I may be a while.”

“Righto, milord,” said the diminutive Reynolds, immediately following orders.

Jack stood for a calming moment on the walkway in front of the house. He had dressed carefully for this interview with Charlotte. He wore a Clarence blue morning jacket with an ivory satin waistcoat and buff-colored pantaloons. His Hessians were polished to a reflective brilliance by his valet’s personal mix of water and champagne and a great deal of elbow grease.

He’d had a steaming, scented bath, a manicure, a shampoo, and a very close shave. But despite all these pampering devices, he felt like hell and hoped Charlotte wouldn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes from two sleepless nights. But if she did notice and comment, he’d blame his altered appearance on his recent ordeal and injury. Charlotte must never know it was taking all his force of mind and spirit to present himself as a willing groom. He had no choice, however. It was the honorable thing to do.

He used the door knocker and was not surprised when the Batsfords’ barrel-chested majordomo, Phipps, instantly appeared. Jack was expected. He’d sent a note immediately upon waking that morning and had received a note in return suggesting three o’clock for tea and—Jack couldn’t doubt—a great deal of questions. He only hoped Lady Batsford had calmed down somewhat from the initial shock of discovering her daughter’s bridegroom to have disappeared on the very eve of the wedding.

“This way, milord,” said Phipps in stentorian tones, but Jack noticed a telltale gleam of excitement in the staid servant’s usual vacuous gaze.

From what his valet had related to him that morning, Jack knew his disappearance had caused a great deal of gleeful gossip among the
ton.
His reputation for avoiding commitment had set the groundwork for some very uncharitable speculation. Jack took a malicious pleasure in knowing that he’d be disappointing their voracious greed for scandal by showing up with a perfectly valid reason for his untimely vanishing act.

Jack followed Phipps up the stairs to the drawing room, and they entered through the narrow double doors held open by a liveried footman. Just inside the formal chamber the butler intoned, “Lord Durham, miss,” then bowed and left, closing the door behind him.

Jack wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was surprised and relieved to find Charlotte entirely alone. As he hesitated by the entrance, his fiancée rose slowly from a red velvet sofa near the windows. Bathed in the lambency of bright afternoon sunshine, she looked quite lovely in a midnight blue gown trimmed with white ribbons and lace. Her auburn hair was artfully arranged with soft ringlets framing her oval face.

But as Charlotte came closer with slow and measured steps, Jack realized how pale her usually blooming cheeks were. He’d never seen her so sober and drawn, and a pang of guilt reminded him that he was the culprit responsible for her distress. It was a reprimand far more effective than a blistering scold.

Reacting with instinctive sympathy, he opened his arms and she walked into them, laying her cheek against his chest. “Jack,” she said in a soft, choked voice. “Thank God you’re safe.”

As he comforted Charlotte with awkward little pats on her back, Jack was aware of a great many thoughts and feelings … most of them self-condemnatory. Regardless of how little he deserved it, it appeared he was forgiven. He’d still make his explanations and apologies, but apparently he needn’t worry overly much about whether or not Charlotte would accept them at face value. He could tell her he’d been visiting the moon and she’d believe him. How did a bounder like him attract such trusting females?

Amanda … she’d trusted him, too. It had been her decision to make love with him, but if he’d known she was a virgin he’d have somehow found the strength of will to gently refuse her beguiling advances. And now he’d have memories of her to torment him for the rest of his life.

Her pale hair scattered on the pillow. Her sweet, warm body eagerly responding to his. The prim way she’d reprimand him, with her hands perched on her slim hips and her aristocratic nose in the air. Her eyes gleaming with excitement as they’d danced. Her gentle hands as she’d bathed his brow and nursed him through the fever. Her wit and intelligence. Her compassion and her loyalty to her sister.

There was no one like Amanda. No one who would quite fit in his arms like she did. No one who could plumb the depths of his heart and still leave him feeling whole and alive and peaceful.

“Jack?”

Jack blinked and looked down into Charlotte’s face. He’d been a million miles away. “Yes, Charlotte?”

She moved out of his arms and two steps back. She studied his face. “We need to talk, Jack.”

“Yes,” he agreed, forcing a smile and trying to look playfully rueful. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, I know. But hopefully I won’t be so long about it that I delay the wedding ceremony again.”

Charlotte smiled sadly and lifted a hand to tenderly stroke his cheek, her fingers lingering on the scar. “There’s no rush, Jack. There’s not going to be a wedding. Not for us.”

Chapter 17

Robert Hamilton had been walking up and down Great Stanhope Street, trying to look inconspicuous, for nearly an hour. “How the devil long does it take to cry off from a betrothal?” he grumbled to himself, glaring up at the forward-facing windows of the Batsfords’ first-floor drawing room. “Charlotte was determined to tell Jack she’s not going to marry ‘im, so what’s the delay?”

Rob was impatient. Charlotte had to be free before he could ask her to marry him, and he was desperate to know the outcome of her little reunion with Jack. He pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopped his brow. It was a humid day and unusually hot for October, but his damp forehead was probably more the result of worry and stress than uncomfortable weather. He’d laid some careful groundwork in the past week while Jack was missing, and the result of today’s interview between the affianced couple would determine whether or not he’d wasted precious time.

After blotting the beads of sweat and tucking away his handkerchief, Rob began again to walk slowly toward the Batsford mansion. As the minutes ticked slowly by, he wondered if Jack’s lethal charm had swayed Charlotte’s decision to break off the engagement. He did not suppose he’d overestimated Charlotte’s growing regard for him over the past week, but one ingratiating gesture or word on Jack’s part might very well undo all Rob’s hard work. He could just picture Jack settled in a sofa with his arm around Charlotte’s waist, her face reflecting her besotted condition. The picture made Rob clench his fists with fury.

Jack’s effect on women galled Rob to the core. He’d seen them melt at a mere glance from the charming Viscount Durham time and time again. From scullery wenches to duchesses, from French divorcées to American heiresses. Many just wanted to share his bed for a few hours, but most of them wanted him till death did they part.

That Jack could have a rich wife at the flick of his wrist was the most galling point of all to Rob, because Jack didn’t need a rich wife. But Rob did, and he was determined to get one … in Charlotte. And the dire nature of his predicament was growing more pronounced by the day. He was as deep in dun territory as a man could be. Soon he’d be run out of town on a rail … or worse.

If he didn’t come up with money to placate his bankers and the break-a-leg-if-you-don’t-pay moneylenders at the Two Sevens, a gaming hell on St. James Street, where he’d bartered his very soul to the tune of five thousand pounds, he was going to have to do what the Beau Brummell had done just last May … flee his creditors by leaving the country.

Damn it, but gaming was in his blood. What was a wager-loving bloke to do?

Then there was that other matter…. It had been over a month since he’d sent any money to that hovel in Spitalfields, and even longer since he’d paid a visit. But Sophie would have to wait. He had to save his own skin before he would even consider sending a bit of financial relief to Sophie and the baby.

Damn her for getting pregnant! he thought for the umpteenth time. The pregnancy had ruined her figure, and now they’d another mouth to feed. As well, Sophie was unable to earn even a pittance on her own with the babe to care for. She should have done as he’d advised at the outset and taken a potion to rid herself of the child before it was born. But such an irritating and trivial problem did not bear thinking of at the moment. He had much more important fish to fry.

Rob hesitated at the bottom of the steps leading up to Charlotte’s front door. He’d climbed these steps too many times to count in the last week. In fact, he’d practically lived with the Batsfords, playing Jack’s concerned friend and selflessly pouring out support and consolation to Jack’s fiancée.

All along, of course, he’d dropped hints for Charlotte to pick up and ponder. Hints that Jack was not exactly ecstatic about the marriage. Hints that his disappearance might reflect a definite reluctance on the groom’s part to buckle himself to a bride. And Charlotte, trusting little goose that she was, had listened.

Of course, there was a great deal of truth in what he’d said, Rob rationalized. After all, Jack was entering the wedded state out of a sense of family responsibility. But since he had made the initial plunge by proposing, he’d never cry off and leave both him and Charlotte shamefaced and socially
de trop.
He’d go through with the wedding no matter what.

But if Charlotte, who actually imagined herself in love with Jack, knew of his reluctance, and if Rob exaggerated that reluctance, she’d feel duty-bound to grant him his freedom.

Then Rob would waltz in and nab the vulnerable and heartbroken bride for himself. Such was the plan, and it was a good one in Rob’s opinion.