Danice Allen (39 page)

She hid her growing terror and fixed him with a cold eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t play the dolt with me, Miss Darlington. It won’t fadge. Whether you admit the truth or not, it doesn’t matter. Once I start the rumor about town, your sister, Samantha, will be known for exactly what she is.”

Fear and frustration crowded Amanda’s throat. Her voice came out in a raspy whisper as she said, “Jack won’t allow you to do such a cruel thing. He’ll, he’ll—”

“What can Jack do to stop me, short of killing me? And he won’t kill me because I saved his life during the war.”

“Julian—”

“I’ll make bloody sure the rumor is started before Julian can get his hands around my neck. He’d be happy to kill me, of that I’m quite certain. But the damage will have already been done.”

“No one will believe you. The Montgomerys are well-respected, and they’ll refute anything you say against my sister.”

“The
ton
love gossip and are generally more likely to believe something injurious than something good about a person. They may claim to believe the Montgomerys, but they will still whisper and point and gleefully persist in believing the worst.”

Amanda’s eyes filled with angry tears. “Why are you intent on exposing my sister?”

“Normally I wouldn’t concern myself with such trivial matters. She could fool the prince regent into believing she was the Queen of Sheba for all I care, but I’ve found a way to use the unfortunate circumstances of your sister’s birth to good purpose. Your sister is simply the pawn in this game.”

She swallowed hard. “You’re blackmailing me, aren’t you? You’re threatening to expose Samantha if I marry Jack. And I suppose you want money, too?”

He smiled unpleasantly. “Besides being beautiful, you’re sharp as a tack, Amanda. Of course I want money.”

Amanda’s brows furrowed. “I understand the money part. But I don’t understand the stipulation about not marrying Jack. He knows about Sam. He understands. He does not seem to find the situation an impediment to marriage. If Jack does not object, why do you? Why don’t you want me to marry Jack, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Because, my dear,” he said with a malevolent smile, “I intend to marry you myself.”

Amanda shook her head disbelievingly. She gave a strangled little laugh. “You’re mad. Why would you want to marry me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re rich.”

“But you intend to blackmail me anyway, so why—”

“My propensity to gamble won’t be cured by paying off my debts. If I married you, Miss Darlington, I’d control your entire fortune.”

“Ah, I see. Then you’d have the ready to pay off
future
gaming vowels.”

“Quite right.”

Amanda stared suspiciously at Rob’s black eye. “Your duns are getting insistent about repayment, are they?”

Rob self-consciously touched his swollen eye and winced. “They’re not very patient,” he concurred bitterly. “In fact, they’re getting rather more violent every day. As I said, Miss Darlington, I’ve really got nothing to lose.”

Amanda felt the blood drain from her face. If Rob’s life was at risk, that meant he was more dangerous than ever.

Rob leaned forward and slid an index finger along the curve of Amanda’s jaw. Repelled and angry, she jerked her head away. He laughed. “Besides relieving me of my pressing financial problems, marrying you enables me to take something away from Jack … something he wants desperately. Just this once, I’ll be able to show Jackson Montgomery how it feels to lose.”

“And today, if he proposes?”

Robert grinned. “Why, you’ll say no, of course.”

Amanda recognized hate when she saw it. Rob, who had been posing as Jack’s friend for so long, hated Jack. And she recognized desperation, too. Obviously, Rob was at the end of his tether or he’d not attempt such a harebrained scheme as to try to blackmail her into marriage. He was apparently willing to risk everything … including his own life.

Trouble was, when a man was willing to risk his own life, he was willing to risk the lives of others, too.

Chapter 20

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said Henchpenny with the blandest possible expression, “but Miss Darlington instructed me to inform you that it will be impossible to see you today.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stood at Amanda’s door in his finest togs, with a forget-me-not boutonniere in his lapel, a foolish smile spread from ear to ear on his fresh-shaven face, and a heart full of hope. Now the smile wavered and the hope faded.

“Are you sure, Henchpenny?” Jack urged.

“Quite sure, my lord.”

A possible explanation came to him that offered a bit or hope mixed with alarm. “Miss Darlington’s not ill, is she?”

“As far as I can presume to say, my lord, Miss Darlington seems healthy as usual.”

Jack lowered his voice. “Has Samantha done something to throw the household into mayhem?”

“Not … er …
this
morning, my lord.”

“Then why is Miss Darlington refusing visitors?”

“She hasn’t refused … er …
everyone
, my lord.”

Jack couldn’t ignore the obvious any longer. Amanda was shutting him out. Did that mean she was shutting him out her life … her heart … for good? What had changed since last night? Had she finally succeeded in convincing herself that she hated him instead of loved him? Jack refused to accept that possibility.

“Very well,” said Jack at last, lifting his chin in a determined pose. “You may
warn
Miss Darlington that I fully intend to return on the morrow.”

“I will relay the message, my lord,” said the expressionless butler. Then, just as Jack was about to turn to go, Henchpenny extended a sealed envelope toward him in an immaculate gloved hand.

“What’s this?” asked Jack, his brows knitting worriedly. Sealed envelopes from females who refused to be visited were a bad sign. A very bad sign, indeed.

“Miss Darlington instructed me to give this to you, my lord,” said the butler. Reluctantly, Jack took the envelope, and Henchpenny immediately withdrew and shut the door.

Jack stood for a minute at Amanda’s threshold, eyeing the envelope with grave misgiving. Then he turned and slowly descended the steps to the walkway. He crossed the street and entered a small park through a wrought-iron gate. His boots crunched through a smattering of tinder-dry leaves as he walked to a marble bench under an oak tree that was rapidly losing its foliage to the advancing season. Mechanically, he broke the seal, unfolded the missive, and began to read.

Dear Jack
,

Too late last night I realized that I may have misled you into believing that something more intimate than friendship is possible between us. While I treasure our times together and will always be grateful to you for the kind services you rendered me and my family, I hope you understand there can be nothing more between us. As well, coming to London has opened my imagination to many possibilities as to what my future might hold. If I have presumed too much, and you had no intention of declaring yourself this morning, forgive me. However, if I am correct in believing you meant to declare yourself to me this morning, again I say … forgive me. Please don’t try to see me. It will be better if we avoid one another for a while. If we chance to meet in public, pray treat me as a friend … which is how I will always think of you. Dear friend, God bless you.

Amanda

Jack sat in a state of shock. Then, as he reread the letter twice over, he got angry.

“Her imagination has been opened to new possibilities, has it?” he snarled, glaring at the letter. “In other words, her pretty head was turned by all that attention last night, and she means to buckle herself to someone who can offer her more than I can!”

But Jack’s heart and sense of fairness rebelled against the idea that Amanda could have mercenary ambitions. He knew her better than that. But maybe she was looking for someone she could trust and love without reservations. Jack had made a good many mistakes in his life and had given Amanda reason to doubt and distrust him more than once. His anger turned inward.

Jack stood up, crumpled the paper in his fist till it was no larger than a walnut, and threw it on the ground. “If I don’t deserve Amanda, I may as well go to the devil,” he muttered fiercely. He turned and looked at Amanda’s town house. He saw a white face staring out of an upper window. It was her.

He stood stone-still for a moment, then pulled the forget-me-not boutonniere from his buttonhole, kissed it, extended it in the air in a tragic last toast and tribute to Amanda, then dropped it at his feet and crushed it with the heel of his boot. He turned away, headed for the darkest tavern and the foulest bottle of Blue Ruin he could find.

Tears streamed down Amanda’s face as she watched Jack stride away, leaving the small park through an opposite gate without looking back. She had hurt him terribly, and her own heart was breaking in two. But she’d had no choice. Until she could think of a way to foil Robert’s plan, she must keep Jack as far away from her as possible.

Every fiber of her being rebelled against giving in to Rob’s demands, but she had no intention of confiding her troubles to Jack. He’d charge to her rescue like the gallant knight he was … and possibly get himself killed. As she’d endured Robert Hamilton’s loathsome company for the brief time he stayed, Amanda was easily able to see that Robert was insanely jealous of Jack. He wanted money, yes. But he wanted revenge, too. And he was desperate … which made him extremely unpredictable and dangerous.

If Jack knew the truth, he’d challenge Robert to a duel. She could not bear the thought that Jack’s life might be jeopardized in any way. She’d rather hurt him now by sending him away disappointed and heartbroken, and hope she could patch things up once she’d figured out what to do about Robert.

Besides, the rat had threatened to spread the rumor about Sam even if Jack or Julian came after him intent on killing him. Amanda couldn’t stand the thought that Sam’s chances for a respectable marriage and a shameless life could be ruined by Robert’s cruel tongue. There had to be some way to stop the detestable man … but how?

Amanda dashed away her tears, trying to block out the image of Jack in the park, grinding that forget-me-not boutonniere into the ground. It seemed so unfair! She and Jack had just come to an understanding! But she refused to collapse under the strain of it all and instead paced the floor continuously and cudgeled her brain to come up with a solution to her dilemma.

Dusk was nigh when Amanda finally realized that she’d been shut up in her bedchamber for hours. The room was cold and dark. She had instructed Henchpenny to refuse any visitors and told the servants not to disturb her until she summoned them. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry.

She moved to the mirror over the mantel. She grimaced at her wan appearance. Despite her determination to bear her troubles with fortitude and to fight back as best she could, she felt overpowered by an unshakable gloom. She had to pull herself together for the sake of Sam and Prissy and Nan.

Then she suddenly realized that it was far past the hour she’d expected Sam and the aunts to return from Spitalfields. She knitted her brows and glanced at the clock, concern replacing the numbness paralyzing her since morning. She hurriedly lit candles, piled the fire with wood, and gave the bellpull a yank.

When her chambermaid arrived, she ordered tea and toast, fortifying herself for the vigil of waiting. Amanda refused to entertain thoughts of a dire nature. Fate could not be so cruel as to deliver two devastating blows in one day.

A half hour later, it was with weak-kneed relief that Amanda heard her carriage clatter to a halt out front. She left her room and hurried down the stairs, arriving in the entrance hall as the door swung open and Aunt Prissy scrambled through with a look of excited agitation.

“What is it, Aunt Prissy?” exclaimed Amanda, rushing toward her aunt and clutching her cold hands. “Has something happened?”

“Yes, indeed!” Pris gasped out, breathless. Then in a great rush, she gabbled, “We were driving home—going rather slow, you know, as the streets are narrow there and cluttered with debris and poor, dirty children running free like stray dogs—when he stumbled into the path of our carriage! We didn’t hit him, mind you, but he fell to the ground! At first we thought he was only drunk, but I fear, Amanda Jane, he’s lost his memory again! He’s in a daze and doesn’t seem to have a notion who he—!”

Amanda grasped her aunt’s thin arms and gave her a shake. “You aren’t telling me, Aunt Prissy—you’re
not
saying—”

“Pardon, miss,” came Theo’s aggrieved voice from the porch just outside the door. “What do ye want us to do with ’is lordship? He’s as heavy as ever, he is!”

Amanda turned and her greatest fear was realized. Theo had hold of an unconscious Jack at the shoulders, Harley had his feet, and Joe was supporting his middle parts. Nan and Sam stood behind them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Hurry up and decide which room you want him in, dear,” Nan prompted anxiously as Amanda stood with her mourn agape. “The dear boy needs to be put to bed!”

Collecting her scattered wits, Amanda darted a quick look outside to make sure no nosy busybody was observing the scene, then motioned them all inside. “Take him to my room,” she ordered.

Four hours later, Amanda stood over her bed and stared down at the prone figure of Jackson Montgomery. After what had occurred that morning, she’d never in a million years have expected to see him in
her
bed, snuggled under
her
sheets, with his tousled head resting on
her
pillows. It was a stroke of cruel fate, that was certain, because he looked far too tempting for Amanda’s already devastated peace of mind. But at least this time she hadn’t been required to disrobe him; Henchpenny and a couple of footmen managed that particular task.