Danice Allen (34 page)

“Lord Durham, these are my aunts, Miss Priscilla and Miss Nancy Steeple. Aunts, this is Lord Serling’s brother, Lord Durham.”

Jack tore his troubled gaze away from Amanda and smiled down at the aunts. His lips parted to display straight white teeth that seemed to glint dazzlingly in the sunshine that bathed the room. He bowed elegantly and took each of their hands. “Your niece has told me a great deal about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

The aunts blushed and stuttered. They were in awe. And they didn’t have a clue what to say because they couldn’t make the same polite comment in reply. Amanda had told them nothing about
him
!

“To what do we owe this visit, Lord Durham?” Amanda inquired without inviting him to sit down or offering him any refreshment after his long drive down from London. The aunts noted the rude omission and stared at their niece disbelievingly.

Jack dropped a caressing look down the length of her dress, then up again to her face and hair, seeming to take in every detail. “You’ve left off wearing black,” he said. “You’re lovely in yellow. It makes your hair look like sunshine …”

Amanda tried to control the rush of blood to her cheeks, but it was impossible. He still had the power to thrill her, to charm her, to crowd and confuse her senses with his smile, his words, his vital presence.

She briefly closed her eyes to compose herself. “Don’t flatter me, Jack. Just state your business and be off.”

Jack shook his head and dropped his hat on the table. He was dressed in a burgundy riding jacket, a waistcoat with a subdued paisley print, and buff-colored kerseymere trousers that clung to his shapely legs like a second skin. “I can see you’re not going to make this easy for me, Amanda.”

She raised her brows and moved so that the entire length of the oval table was between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Could we speak privately?”

The aunts dear-deared and tut-tutted and began to scoot back their chairs.

“Don’t go,” Amanda ordered in a no-nonsense voice, and the aunts remained seated. She didn’t take her eyes off Jack, but she could see her aunts’ confused flutterings in her peripheral vision. “There’s nothing Jack needs to say that he can’t say in front of other people.” She threw him a challenging look. “Is there, Jack?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. He’d been patient and conciliatory so far, but now his eyes flashed with angry determination. A chill raced down Amanda’s spine.

“Do you take pleasure in seeing your aunts squirm in their seats, Amanda?” he inquired with deceptive calmness. He placed his splayed hands on the table and leaned forward. His voice lowered seductively. “Or are you insisting that they remain because you’re afraid to be alone with me?”

Amanda’s chin tilted up. “Of … of course I’m not afraid to be alone with you,” she lied.

He raised his black brows, implying disbelief.

Amanda sighed shakily and turned to look at her aunts. They indeed appeared as though they were feeling decidedly awkward and uncomfortable. “If you want to go, aunts, please feel free to leave the room, but if you’d rather stay, don’t let Jack—”

But Amanda didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Her aunts had already scurried out of the room and closed the door behind them. She was alone … with Jack. She forced herself to meet his unwavering gaze with assumed unconcern.

“Thank you, Amanda,” Jack said gravely.

“Don’t thank me,” she snapped back. “Just tell me why you’re here. By-the-by, does your bride-to-be know where you are this lovely afternoon, or does she think you’re at Weston’s being fitted for a wedding suit?”

Jack smiled wryly and slowly edged toward the curve of the table, trailing the fingers of his gloved right hand along the smooth, gleaming wood. Amanda’s stomach clenched with longing. She could remember the feel of his hands on her skin. Gentle, urgent, thrilling. But she stood her ground.

“You really do think me a villain, don’t you, Amanda? But do you honestly imagine I’d be here if I was supposed to be at Weston’s being fitted for wedding togs?”

“When you left your house this morning you might have forgotten your destination, my lord,” she answered tartly. “After all, you do have a lamentable memory.”

He laughed and eased around the curve of the table, inching closer. “How’s
your
memory, Amanda?”

“Perfect, as usual,” she retorted. She glared at him, daring him to come closer. “But there are things … times …
people
… I’d as soon forget.”

“Ah well,” he conceded with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Haven’t we all been guilty some time or other of wishing for a selective memory loss?”

“Some of us have been more guilty than others,” she answered dryly.

Jack took another step. He’d worked himself halfway around the table and was now almost close enough to reach out and touch her. The hairs on the back of Amanda’s neck prickled with anticipation … and fear. Fear of her own response should he dare to take her in his arms. Fear that he
wouldn’t
take her in his arms …

“If you are referring to me, m’dear—as I suspect you are—at least concede that I kept my recovery from amnesia a secret from you because I wanted to protect you.”

“From whom did you wish to protect me, pray tell?” she said with a low, harsh laugh. “Not from you, as I recall.”

“From yourself, you willful baggage,” he ground out, taking two more hasty steps. Now they were separated by mere inches, but he made no attempt to touch her. “You’d have been in a pickle without my help on Thorney Island!”

Amanda could feel the heat of Jack’s body.… She could sense the intensity of his feelings by the fiery expression in his eyes. “If—if you’re here to be thanked again for saving Sam,” she stuttered, desperate for him to back away and give her space to think, to breathe, “then—then
—thank you!
Thank you a million times over. Now please go!”

Jack grabbed her and pulled her against his chest. Amanda gasped. Her arms hung stiffly at her sides. She knew she mustn’t touch him. She dared not make a move or she’d twine her arms around his neck and shamelessly offer her lips to be kissed, just as she’d offered them before. His breath hissed across her face as he said, “I don’t want your gratitude, Amanda. I want—”

This time Jack didn’t wait for an invitation. He lowered his head and captured Amanda’s lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue plundering her mouth, his arms crushing her against him.

What do you want, Jack?
Amanda silently screamed as she helplessly returned his kiss with equal fervor, her hands wending their way up his hard, muscled back and into his glorious hair.
Do you want me? Do you truly want me?

Then, suddenly, Jack let her go and stepped back to a safer distance. Amanda’s head was reeling, her heart was pounding. She was left feeling bereft, disappointed … and prickly as hell.

“Why
are
you here, Jack?” she demanded in a low, raspy voice, wrapping her arms around her aching breasts. “Surely not just to steal a last kiss?”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He stared at her with anguish in his eyes. His chest rose and fell with quick, uncontrolled breathing. What was he feeling? Was it only lust? What did he really want? Amanda wondered desperately. To hold her? To kiss her? To
kill
her?

“Do you remember at Thorney Island when I said I’d marry Charlotte if she still wanted me?” he said at last, his expression and voice carefully neutral.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “So?”

His gaze raked her face, searched her eyes. “Well, she doesn’t want me.”

A thrill of excitement coursed through Amanda, but she ruthlessly suppressed it. He was lying. What woman wouldn’t want Jack? Or worse, he was telling her the truth and had come to propose to her out of a sense of obligation. She refused to be an obligation, and she refused to be second choice! Her heart hammered away, trying to be heard above her pride and common sense, but she turned a deaf ear to it. She would not be duped twice, or hurt twice, by the same man!

“You’re silent,” he said.

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know. I thought perhaps—that is, I’d hoped—”

Terrified what he might be leading up to, she quickly interrupted. “You should be happy, Jack. You’re free again. Isn’t that what you want?”

His dark eyes, amber in the sunlit room, gleamed like jewels. “No. That’s not what I want. Not any more. Not since I met you. Now I
want
to be married … to you, Amanda.”

Amanda laughed bitterly. “You insult me, Jack.”

Jack flinched. “Do you think so poorly of me that you consider my proposal an insult, Amanda?” he inquired mildly, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I may not be the greatest matrimonial
parti
on the isle of England, but I—” He stopped suddenly, seeming to catch himself before saying something he’d regret. She could see his mental wheels turning; decisions being made, options being weighed. Finally he said, “But I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“How can you expect me to believe you, Jack?” said Amanda, tears of disappointment stinging her eyelids.
If only he’d said he loved her!
“You’ve made no secret of your aversion to marriage. And you’ve lied to me before.”

Harshly, he said, “And you’ll never forgive me, I suppose.”

“It’s not a matter of forgiveness. It’s a matter of trust. But that’s not the reason I’m refusing your offer of marriage.”

“Then why?” he inquired stiffly.

Because you don’t love me
, her heart screamed. “Because you’re only offering out of a sense of obligation … because you think you’ve compromised me. You didn’t compromise me, I assure you. What happened between us was as much my doing as yours. I’d rather die than shackle myself to an unwilling groom … to a man who doesn’t—”

Jack, tell her you love her, you stupid jackass! Maybe that’s what she wants to hear!
And Jack wanted to tell her that he loved her with all his heart … but he couldn’t.

Why was it so hard to say those three little words? He’d admitted to his brother that he loved Amanda, so why couldn’t he tell her? Maybe he was afraid that Amanda wouldn’t say it back. Afraid that if she did say it back, she’d be saying it for the wrong reasons.

And she’d laughed. She’d laughed at his proposal.

“You’re speechless, Lord Durham.”

Amanda’s coolly spoken words interrupted Jack’s agonized thoughts. He stared at her. She was lovely but so unapproachable. Her delicate features seemed carved in stone, her eyes shimmered a frosty silver-blue. She had refused him, and it was absurd of him to keep standing duncelike in her sittingroom as if she’d suddenly change her mind. She wasn’t going to change her mind.

Jack forced a grim smile and bowed. “I can see this is a fruitless endeavor,” he said, icy and rigid. “It was very good of you to receive me, Miss Darlington, particularly as it is quite obvious that you’d have rather not. As well, please accept my apologies for intruding on your pleasant day with such a repellant suggestion as to buckle yourself for life to the likes of me! I assure you, it won’t happen again. Good afternoon … and God bless you.”

Amanda watched him march out the door, his spine as stiff as a northern breeze, the pained expression in his eyes a sight that would replay itself over and over in her mind and steal her sleep night after endless night. Completely overcome, Amanda slumped into her chair, cradled her head in her folded arms atop the table, and wept bitterly.

Nan and Prissy came into the room, saw Amanda sobbing at the table, and exchanged stricken glances. They scurried to take up positions on each side of Amanda’s chair.

“There, there,” said Prissy, stroking Amanda’s bright head.

“Yes, dear, don’t fret,” soothed Nan, patting her niece’s trembling shoulders. “All will be well.”

But the look she gave Prissy belied her consoling words. She and Prissy had been listening at the door, and she very much feared that all would
not
be well till dear Amanda Jane got her Jack back.

Chapter 18

“Tha’s one. Tha’s two. Tha’s—”

“Bloody hell, Jack. Why d’ya always hav’ta count your drinks? S’not important.”

Jack stared bleary-eyed at his drinking companion across the table in a smoky comer of a small but notorious gaming hell in Covent Garden. It was not the usual haunt for nobs of Jack’s aristocratic caliber, but that was exactly why he’d chosen it. He was avoiding all friends and acquaintances that might wish to question him about his broken betrothal or quiz him about his previous fit of amnesia and subsequent disappearance. Rob was simply hiding from the duns.

Yes, despite another generous loan from Jack just recently, Rob was as deep in debt as ever. No wonder he had as many empty tumblers in front of him as Jack did … maybe more. His situation was desperate. Jack had given him thousands of pounds already and had extracted many promises from Rob to curtail his gaming habit, but the poor bastard just couldn’t keep away from the green baize tables where great sums of money were won and lost. And Rob always seemed to lose.

Then there was that unfortunate incident he’d had recently with Charlotte.… Jack completely sympathized, too. No man liked to be turned down when he humbly offered his hand in marriage.

“I like countin’ the glasses, Rob,” Jack said, finally picking up the conversation, as it were, where they’d left off. “Gives me somethin’ t’ do besides thinkin’ ’bout that—” He paused, staring with unfocused deliberation into empty space. He conjured up Amanda’s face. Not the way she’d looked two weeks ago when she’d refused his marriage proposal, but the way she’d looked that night at the Angel Inn when they’d made love. He smiled, his eyelids drooping drunkenly. “—’bout that
woman,”
he finished, but in a much more tender and wistful tone than he’d originally intended.

Rob let go with a healthy belch and rubbed his bloated stomach.
“Women,”
he said emphatically, the single word conveying a wealth of meaning. He raised his right arm and extended his index finger in an orator’s pose. “A wise man once said—”