“Wait.” Devlin stood also, and came around the table to her. He wore a curious expression, both absorbed and wary, like a wild animal that was being lured to take food from the hand of a stranger it did not trust. Amanda returned his intent stare with a politely inquiring smile, trying to appear composed when her heart had begun to thump in a mad rhythm.
“Yes, Mr. Devlin?”
“You have the strangest effect on me,” he murmured. “You make me want to tell the truth—which is damned unusual, not to mention inconvenient.”
She wasn’t aware of backing away from him until she felt the brocaded wall panel press against her shoulder blades. Devlin followed her, bracing one hand near her shoulder, the other hanging loosely at his side. His pose was casual, but she felt surrounded, embraced by his nearness.
Amanda moistened her damp lips with the tip of her tongue. “What do you wish to tell me the truth about, Mr. Devlin?” she managed to ask.
The bristly fans of his lashes shrouded his expression, and he paused for a very long time, until she thought that he might not answer. Then he stared into her eyes. As they stood this close, the concentrated depths of blue were shockingly intense. “The loan,” he muttered. The velvety timbre of his voice had become spare and flat, as if it were difficult for him to force the words out. “The loan I got to start my business. It wasn’t from a bank or any other institution. It was from my father.”
“I see,” she said quietly, although they both knew that she didn’t understand at all.
The large hand against the wall compacted into a fist, the knuckles pressed hard into the brocaded surface. “I’d never met him before, but I hated him. He’s a peer, a wealthy man, and my mother was one of the housemaids. He either raped or seduced her, and when I was born, he tossed her out with a pittance. I wasn’t the first bastard he’d sired out of wedlock, and God knows I wasn’t the last. An illegitimate child has no meaning or interest for him. He has seven legal children by his wife.” Devlin’s upper lip curled with disgust. “From what I’ve seen, they’re a litter of pampered, lazy good-for-nothings.”
“You’ve met them?” Amanda asked carefully. “Your half brothers and sisters?”
“I’ve seen them, yes,” he said in a bitter voice. “But they have no desire to become acquainted with one of their father’s many bastard offspring.”
Amanda nodded, staring at his proud, hard face as he continued.
“When my mother died and no one volunteered to take me in, my father had me sent to Knatchford Heath. It was…not a good place. A boy who had been sent there could hardly be blamed for thinking that his father wished him dead. And I was well aware that it would have been no great loss to the world if I died. It was that thought that kept me alive.” He gave a short, grating laugh. “I survived on pure stubbornness. I lived purely to spite my father. I—” He broke off as he gazed into her calm face, and shook his head as if to clear it. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he muttered.
Amanda touched the front of his coat lightly, holding the edge between her fingers. “Go on,” she murmured. She was very still, her body alive with the electric awareness that for some reason, he was opening to her, trusting her, in a way that he did with no one. She wanted his confidences…she wanted to understand him.
Devlin stayed with her, his gaze locked on her face. “When I graduated,” he said gruffly, “I had nothing to borrow on, no name, no collateral, no family. And I knew I could never make something of myself without money to start with. So I went to my father, the man I hated most in the world, and I asked him to loan it to me, at any rate of interest he chose. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That must have been difficult,” Amanda whispered.
“The moment I saw him, I felt like I had been dipped in a vat of poison. I suppose until then I had a vague idea that he owed me something. But I knew from the way he looked at me, that I was not a son to him, or anything close to it. I was only a mistake.”
A mistake. Amanda recalled that Oscar Fretwell had used the same word to describe himself and the other boys who had attended the school. “You were his son,” she said. “He did owe you something.”
Devlin seemed not to hear her. “The ironic thing is,” he went on softly, “I look exactly like him. I resemble him more than any of his legitimate sons do…all of them are blond and fair, like their mother. I think it amused him that I bore his stamp so obviously. And it seemed to please him that I would admit nothing about the school I had attended. He gave me every opportunity to complain about what a hell it had been, but I didn’t say a word. I told him of my plans to become a publisher, and he asked how much money I wanted from him. I knew it would be a devil’s bargain. Taking money from him would be a betrayal of my mother. But I needed it too damned badly to care. And I took it.”
“No one could blame you,” Amanda said earnestly, but she knew that it didn’t matter. Devlin was not inclined to forgive himself for his actions, no matter what anyone else said. “And you paid the loan back, didn’t you? The matter is resolved now.”
He smiled bitterly, as if the statement were impossibly innocent. “Yes, I paid him back in full, with interest. But it’s not resolved. My father likes to boast to his friends that he gave me my start. He plays the part of benefactor, and I can’t contradict him.”
“The people who know you are aware of the truth,” Amanda murmured. “That is all that matters.”
“Yes.” His expression became distracted, and Amanda sensed that he regretted having told her so much about himself. More than anything, she did not want him to be sorry for trusting her. But why had he? Why would he tell her what he clearly thought was the worst thing about himself? Had he intended to bring her closer or drive her away? His gaze dropped, and he seemed to be waiting for her censure, almost to want it.
“Jack,” she said, his name tumbling from her lips before she realized it. He moved a little, as if intending to push away from her, and she reached out impulsively, her short arms catching his broad shoulders. She embraced him protectively, although it might seem ridiculous to shelter such a physically powerful creature. Devlin stiffened. To her surprise, and perhaps his, he gradually accepted her hold, hunching over to accommodate her short stature. His black head lowered almost to her shoulder. Amanda put her hand on the nape of his neck, where the warm edge of skin met the crisp edge of his collar.
“Jack…” She meant to sound sympathetic, but somehow her voice came out as briskly pragmatic as ever. “What you did was neither illegal nor immoral, and there is certainly no point in wasting your time with regrets. You needn’t berate yourself for something you can’t change. And as you say, you had no choice. If you wish for revenge against your father and siblings for their treatment of you, I suggest that you apply yourself to being happy.”
He gave a brief huff of laughter against her ear. “My practical princess,” he muttered, his arms tightening around her. “I wish it were that easy. But some people are not made to be happy—has that ever occurred to you?”
To a man who spent every minute of his life managing, controlling, struggling, and conquering, this moment of surrender was a damned odd experience. Jack felt dazed, as if a warm fog had suddenly descended on him and blurred the edges of the ruthless world he occupied. He wasn’t certain what had caused his impetuous confession, but somehow one word had led to another, until he was blurting out secrets he had never told anyone. Not even Fretwell and Stubbins, his closest confidants. He would have preferred Amanda to mock him, or become coldly distant…that he could have handled with humor and sarcasm, his favorite defenses. But her support and understanding were unnerving. He couldn’t seem to move away from her, no matter that the moment was spinning out far too long.
He loved her strength, her straightforward approach to life, her lack of maudlin sentimentality. It occurred to him that a woman like Amanda was what he had always needed, someone who would not be intimidated by the massive welter of ambition and turmoil that had tro
ubled him all his life. She had an endearing confidence in her own ability to cut any problem down to size.
“Jack,” she said softly. “Stay a bit longer. We’ll have a drink in the parlor.”
He turned his face into her hair, where the smoothly pinned-back wing at the side had ruffled into a mass of rebellious curls. “You’re not afraid to be alone with me in the parlor?” he asked. “Remember what happened the last time.”
He could feel her bristle. “I can manage you quite well, I believe.”
Her self-assurance delighted Jack. He drew back and took her round face in his palms, and used his own weight to press her back against the wall. His spread legs contained hers within the rustling weight of her amber velvet skirts. Surprise glinted in her clear gray eyes, and a flush came over her face. She had beautiful fair skin, and the most tempting mouth he had ever seen, soft and rose-tinted, and nicely curved when she wasn’t clamping her lips together in her usual habit.
“You should never say that to a man,” he said. “It makes me want to prove you wrong.”
He liked being able to fluster her, something he guessed that few men were able to do. She laughed unsteadily, still blushing, and she didn’t seem able to think of a reply. Jack drew the pads of his thumbs lightly over the sides of her cheeks, the skin cool and silken. He wanted to warm her, to fill her with fire. He lowered his head and nuzzled the side of her face, letting his lips graze the soft skin.
“Amanda…what I just told you…it wasn’t to gain your sympathy. I want you to understand what kind of man I am. Not noble. Not principled.”
“I never thought you were,” she said tartly, and he laughed against her cheek, and felt her shiver. “Jack…” She kept her cheek pressed against his, as if she enjoyed the sensation of his shaven skin. “You seem to be warning me about yourself, although I can’t fathom why.”
“You can’t?” Jack drew back and looked down at her gravely, while his desire burned steadily through all rational considerations. Her silvery eyes were wide, as cool and refreshing as spring rain. He could stare into them forever. “Because I want you.” He forced himself to speak through the sudden hoarseness of his voice. “Because you should not welcome me in for supper anymore. And when you see me walking toward you, you should run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. You’re like one of the characters in your novels, Amanda…a good, moral woman who is getting mixed up in bad company.”
“I find bad company quite interesting.” She didn’t look afraid of him at all, nor did she seem to understand what he was trying to tell her. “And perhaps I’m merely studying you for research purposes.” She startled him by throwing her arms around his neck and touching her lips to the corner of his. “There—you see? I’m not afraid of you.”
Her soft mouth burned him. Jack could no more control his response than he could stop the earth from turning. His head dove down, and he caught her mouth with his, kissing her with undiluted passion. She was luscious and sweet, her small but bountiful figure caught firmly in his arms, the abundant shapes of her breasts impelled against his chest. He explored her with deep strokes of his tongue, trying to be gentle, while a great bonfire blazed inside him. He wanted to tear the velvet dress off her and taste her skin, the tips of her breasts, the curve of her stomach, the fiery curls between her thighs. He wanted to debauch her a thousand different ways, shock her, exhaust her until she slept for hours in his arms.
Blindly he found the curves of her buttocks and clamped his hands over them, bringing her loins against the prodding stiffness of his sex. Her skirts muffled the sensation, folds of heavy material preventing the intimate contact he longed for. They kissed even harder, straining together, until Amanda whimpered in growing agitation. Somehow Jack managed to tear his mouth away, his breath coming in steamy gusts, and he crushed her against his aroused body. “Enough,” he whispered harshly. “Enough…or I’ll take you right now.”
Her face was hidden from him, but he heard the jerking rhythm of her breathing, and he felt her efforts to hold still despite the tremors that coursed through her body. Clumsily he petted her hair. The gleaming auburn curls were like coils of fire beneath his palm.
It was a long time before Jack could bring himself to speak. “Now you see why it is a bad idea to invite me into the parlor.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said unsteadily.
Jack eased her away from his body, although every nerve screeched in rebellious protest. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight,” he muttered. “I made a promise to myself, but I can’t seem to—” A soft growl rose in his throat as he realized that he was about to make yet another confession. What had happened to him, a man so scrupulously closemouthed about himself, that he couldn’t seem to stop talking when he was around her? “Good-bye,” he said abruptly, staring at Amanda’s flushed face. He gave a brief shake of his head, wondering where the hell his self-possession had gone.
“Wait.” Her fingers caught at his jacket sleeve. He looked at her small hand and struggled with the insane urge to snatch it and drag her fingers down the front of his aroused body and clamp them around his aching sex. “When will I see you again?” she asked.
A long time passed before he responded. “What are your plans for the holiday?” he asked gruffly.
Christmas was less than two weeks away. Amanda’s gaze dropped, and she industriously settled the waistband of her gown to its proper place. “I intend to go to Windsor, as usual, and spend the holiday with my sisters and their families. I’m the only one who remembers the recipe for my mother’s flaming brandy punch, and my sister Helen always asks me to prepare it. Not to mention the plum cake—”
“Spend Christmas with me.”
“With you?” she murmured, clearly startled. “Where?”
Jack continued slowly. “I host a party at my home every year on Christmas Day, for friends and colleagues. It’s…” He paused, unable to read her blank face. “It’s a madhouse, really. Drinking, carousing, and the noise will deafen you. And by the time you manage to find your supper plate, the food is always cold. Moreover, you’d hardly know a soul there—”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
“You will?” He stared at her, astonished. “What about your nieces and nephews, and the flaming brandy punch?”
She became more certain with each second that passed. “I’ll write out the recipe for the punch and post it to my sister. And as for the children, I doubt they’ll even notice my absence.”
Jack nodded dumbly. “If you wish to reconsider,” he began, but Amanda shook her head instantly.
“No, no, this will suit me very well. I welcome a change from all the screaming children and my sisters’ badgering, and I deplore that bone-rattling carriage ride to Windsor and back. It will be refreshing to spend Christmas at a party filled with new faces.” She began to usher him from the dining room, as if she half suspected that he would have the bad manners to rescind the invitation. “I won’t keep you, Mr. Devlin, as you indicated that you wish to leave. Good night.” She rang for the maid to bring his coat, and before Jack could fully grasp what was happening, he had been bundled out of the house.
Standing on the icy front doorstep, his shoes grinding into the sand that had been sprinkled to prevent them from slipping, Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. He walked slowly to his own waiting carriage while the driver prepared the horses for departure. “Why the hell did I do that?” Jack muttered to himself, stunned by the unexpected outcome of the evening. He had simply wished for an hour or two of Amanda Briars’s company, and somehow he had ended up inviting her to his home for Christmas.
Jack climbed into the carriage and sat tensely, his back not quite touching the fine leather upholstery, his hands gripping his knees. He felt threatened, off-balance, as if the world he had comfortably inhabited had suddenly changed beyond his ability to adapt. Something was happening to him, and he didn’t like it.
Apparently a small spinster had broken through his well
-constructed defenses. He wanted to pursue her, equally as much as he wished to abandon her, and neither seemed possible. Worst of all, Amanda was a respectable lady, one who would not be content with a mere affair or a light dalliance. She would want to own the heart of any man she became involved with—she was too proud and strong-willed to desire anything less. And his calcified heart was not available to her, or to anyone.
Chapter 8
“Here we come a-caroling
Among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wand’ring,
So fair to be seen,
Love and joy come to you,
And to you glad Christmas too…”
Amanda smiled and shivered in the open doorway as she, Sukey, and Charles listened to the children caroling on her front doorstep. The small group of boys and girls, a half-dozen in number, warbled the tune amid the folds of knitted scarves and caps that nearly concealed their faces. Only the tips of their reddened noses and the white puffs of their breath were visible as they sang.
Finally they finished the song, holding the last note as long as possible, while Amanda and the servants clapped in appreciation. “Here you are,” Amanda said, giving a coin to the tallest child. “How many more houses did you plan to visit today?”
The boy answered in a thick Cockney accent. “We thought to find one more, miss, an’ then it’s ‘ome to eat our Christmas supper.”
Amanda smiled at the children, a couple of whom were stamping their feet to relieve the numbness of their toes. Many such children were sent out to carol on Christmas morning to earn some extra holiday money for the family. “Here, then,” Amanda said, digging into the pocket at her waistband to find another coin. “Take this and go home at once. It’s too cold for you to be outside any longer.”
“Thank you, miss,” the boy said in delight, and a chorus of echoes followed from his comrades. “Happy Christmas, miss!” The group hurried down the front steps and away from the house, as if they feared she would change her mind.