“Come, let’s find a private corner and talk,” Amanda urged. “I have many questions I would love to ask you.”
“That is a most appealing suggestion,” he said, presenting his arm and leading her away.
Amanda found his company to be restful and soothing, different in every way from the dazzling stimulation that Jack Devlin’s presence offered. Ironically, although Hartley made his living by writing books for children, he was a widower and had no children of his own.
“It was a good marriage,” he confided to Amanda, his large hands still cradling a crystal punch cup, even though he had drained it several minutes earlier. “My wife was the kind of woman who knew how to make a man feel comfortable. She was very unaffected and agreeable, and never put on the silly airs that most females seem to have nowadays. She spoke her mind freely, and she liked to laugh.” Hartley paused and considered Amanda thoughtfully. “She was rather like you, as a matter of fact.”
Jack managed to extricate himself from a deadly dull conversation with a pair of classical scholars, Dr. Samuel Shoreham and his brother, Claude, both of whom were earnestly attempting to convince him that he should publish their manuscript on Greek antiquities. Striding away from the pair with poorly concealed relief, Jack found Fretwell nearby. “Where is she?” he asked the manager curtly. There was no need to explain who “she” was.
“Miss Briars is occupying the settee in the corner, with Mr. Hartley,” Fretwell said. “She is perfectly safe with him, I assure you. Hartley is not one to make improper advances to a lady.”
Jack glanced at the pair and then moodily surveyed the brandy in the glass he held. A strange, bitter smile pulled at his mouth, and he spoke to Fretwell without looking up.
“What do you know of Charles Hartley, Oscar?”
“You’re referring to his situation, sir? His character? Hartley is a widower, and he is known to be an honorable man. He is of moderate wealth, born of a good family, and his reputation is completely free of scandal.” Fretwell paused briefly and smiled. “And I believe he is adored by children everywhere.”
“And what do you know of me?” Jack finally asked softly.
Fretwell frowned in confusion. “I’m not certain what you’re asking.”
“You know my business practices—I’m not honorable, nor am I scandal-free. I’ve made a fortune, but I’m illegitimate and I come from bad blood. On top of that, I don’t like children, I abhor the idea of marriage, and I’ve never managed to have a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than six months. And I’m a selfish bastard…because I’m not going to let any of that stop me from pursuing Miss Briars, despite the fact that I am the last thing she needs.”
“Miss Briars is an intelligent woman,” Fretwell said quietly. “Perhaps you should allow her to decide what she needs.”
Jack shook his head. “She won’t realize her mistake until after she’s made it,” he said grimly. “Women never do in these matters.”
“Sir…” Fretwell said uneasily, but Jack walked away, rubbing the back of his neck in the unconsciously weary gesture of a man who was driven by a ferocious will that dominated his better instincts.
Christmas dinner was superb, as course after course of remarkable dishes was served to guests, who all exclaimed in delight. The uncorking of wine bottles provided a steady rhythmic undertone to the clinking of glassware and the hum of animated conversation. Amanda lost count of the various delicacies that were offered to her. There were four kinds of soup, including turtle and lobster, and several roast turkeys dressed with sausages and herbs.
A never-ending parade of servants brought platters of veal in béchamel sauce, capons, sweetbreads, roast quail and hare, venison, swans’ eggs, and a dazzling array of vegetable casseroles. Puddings made of exotic fish and game were presented in steaming silver bowls, followed by trays of luxury fruits and salads, and crystal plates laden with truffles in wine. There were even tender stalks of asparagus, well out of season and therefore highly prized at Christmastime.
As much as Amanda enjoyed the marvelous meal, she was barely aware of what she was eating, so enthralled was she by the man beside her. Devlin was extraordinarily charming, telling stories with a droll wit that certainly came from his Irish heritage.
A heavy, sweet ache formed inside Amanda, one that had nothing to do with the wine she had drunk. She wanted to be alone with Devlin, wanted to lure and possess him, if only for a little while. The sight of his hands made her mouth go dry. She remembered the incredible warmth of his body against hers…she wanted to feel it again. She wanted to pull him inside herself…she wanted the peace of physical release to encompass them both, to lie relaxed and happy in his arms. She’d had such an ordinary life, and Devlin seemed as brilliant as a comet streaking across the sky.
After what seemed an eternity, dinner was concluded and the guests separated into groups, some men remaining at the table for port, some ladies congregating in the parlor for tea, whereas many of both sexes gathered at the piano to sing carols. Amanda prepared to join the latter group, but before she could reach the piano, she felt Devlin’s hand close around her elbow, and his deep voice murmured in her ear.
“Come away with me.”
“Where are we going?” she asked pertly.
His polite social expression did little to mask the vibrant desire in his eyes. “To find a convenient bower of mistletoe.”
“You’ll cause a scandal,” she warned, caught between laughter and alarm.
“Are you afraid of scandal?” He guided her through the drawing room door and down a darkened hallway. “You’d better stay with your respectable friend Hartley, then.”
Amanda made a sound of amused disbelief. “You almost sound jealous of that kind, gentlemanly widower—”
“Of course I’m jealous of him,” Devlin muttered. “I’m jealous of every man that looks at you.” He pulled her into a large, shadowy room that smelled of leather and vellum and tobacco. It was the library, she realized dimly, while her heart thundered in excitement at the prospect of being alone with him. “I want you all to myself,” Devlin continued gruffly. “I want all those damned people to leave.”
“Mr. Devlin,” she said shakily, her breath catching as he backed her against a bookcase and stood with his powerful body almost touching hers. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not drunk. Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I want you?” She felt his warm hands come to either side of her head, clasping her skull gently. His lips touched her forehead, cheeks, nose in soft, scorching kisses that drew fire to the surface of her skin. He spoke quietly, his rum-scented breath caressing her. “The question is, Amanda…do you want me?”
Words fluttered and collided inside her, while her body strained toward him so willfully that she could no longer keep from pressing forward into the large, muscular shape of him. He took her against him, urging her hips forward until their bodies were molded together as tightly as the layers of their clothing would allow.
The relief of being clasped firmly, held close by his hands, was so great that Amanda couldn’t hold back a sudden gasp. He nuzzled into her bare throat, kissing, tasting, and her knees wobbled at the sensations that streaked through her. “Beautiful Amanda,” he muttered, his breath rushing fast and hot against her skin. “A chuisle mo chroi…I said that to you once before, remember?”
“You didn’t tell me what it meant,” she managed to say, resting her soft cheek on his shaven, faintly scratchy one.
He pulled his head back and stared down at her with shadowed eyes that looked black instead of blue. His broad chest moved jerkily from the force of his breathing. “The very pulse of my heart,” he whispered. “From the first moment we met, Amanda, I knew how it would be between us.”
Her fingers trembled as she clutched the soft twilled wool of his lapels. This was desire, she thought dimly, and it was a hundred times more powerful than anything she had experienced before. Even on the night he had give
n her the shatteringly sweet climax that had kindled her senses to a brand-new awareness of pleasure, he had still been a stranger to her. And she was learning that there was a very great difference between wanting an attractive stranger and wanting a man she had come to care about. Through the shared confidences, the debates, the frequent laughter, and the simmering tension, something new had developed between them. Attraction and liking had changed into something dark and elemental.
He’ll never be yours, her heart warned her swiftly. He will never belong to you. He will never want to marry, or endure any kind of restrictions on his freedom. It will come to an end someday, and you’ll be alone again. She was too much of a realist to avoid the unsettling truth.
But all thought was chased away as his mouth closed over hers. His lips teased, settled, insisting until her own mouth relaxed and opened to him. Her response seemed to cause a small shock within him—she felt the reverberations in his throat and chest, and then the kiss turned harder, deeper, his tongue exploring her in eager surges. The invasion excited her, and she squeezed herself more tightly against him, until the abundant mounds of her breasts were compressed against his chest.
Devlin tore his mouth away from hers as if he could stand no more, his lungs dilating in swift expansions, his hands clamping tightly over her body. “God,” he muttered into the pinned-up curls of her hair. “The way you fill my arms…it makes me insane. You’re so sweet…so soft…” He kissed her again, his mouth hot and demanding, feeding on hers as if she were some choice delicacy that he craved. As if he were addicted to her, as if only the taste and texture of her could assuage his violent need. She felt delight coiling in all the tender places of her body, tightening, waiting for the trigger that would release the gathering tension in one ecstatic explosion.
His hands moved over her bodice, fumbling slightly as he searched the panels of corded green silk. The cool flesh of her breasts plumped out over the square neckline, their fullness resisting the tight containment of the gown. He bent and pressed his lips to the deep valley of her cleavage, then spread slow kisses over the revealed skin. Her nipples rose in hard points beneath the gown, and he touched them through the silk fabric, his thumbs rubbing, stroking, his fingers gently plucking. Amanda whimpered in distress, remembering their other time together on her birthday, how her body had been exposed to him in the firelight, the way his mouth had licked and tugged at her bare breast. She wanted that intimacy again, with a desperation that felt like madness.
Devlin seemed to read her mind, for his hand cupped over the rise of her breast and squeezed firmly to ease the yearning ache. “Amanda,” he said hoarsely, “let me take you home tonight.”
Her mind was foggy with sensuality. It took a long time for her to answer. “You’ve already offered the use of your carriage,” she whispered.
“You know what I’m asking.”
Yes, of course she understood. He wanted to go home with her, and accompany her to her bedroom, and make love in the bed that no one but she had ever slept in. Resting her forehead against his hard chest, Amanda nodded unsteadily. It was time. She understood the risks, the limits, the possible consequences, and she was willing to accept all of that in return for the sheer joy of being with him. One night with him…one hundred…whatever fate allowed her, she would take.
“Yes,” she said into the soft, damp linen of his shirt, where the scent of his skin mingled deliciously with traces of starch and cologne and Christmas greenery. “Yes, come home with me tonight.”
Chapter 9
Amanda had little awareness of time for the rest of the evening, only that it seemed to take an eternity for the guests to leave. Finally, weary children were bundled into the waiting carriages by parents flushed with wine and holiday cheer. Couples murmured discreetly in the entranceway, exchanging plans and promises, as well as a few hasty kisses beneath the swag of mistletoe over the door.
Amanda saw very little of Devlin during the last hour of the party, as he was occupied with bidding the guests good-bye and accepting their good wishes. An irrepressible smile edged her lips as she realized what he was doing: subtly ushering the partygoers out the door and to their carriages with all possible speed. Clearly he was eager to be rid of them and alone with her. From the wary glance he directed her way, Amanda guessed that he suspected she might change her mind about her promise.
However, nothing would come between them this evening. She had never felt so undefended and willing and filled with expectation. She waited with forced patience, sitting in a small blue-and-gold parlor and dreamily contemplating the yellow blaze in the marble fireplace. When all the guests were gone and the house bustled with servants cleaning and the musicians were carefully packing away their instruments, Devlin came to her.
“Jack.” His name rose softly in her throat as he sank to his haunches before her and took one of her hands.
The firelight skimmed unevenly over one side of his face, highlighting half his features in brilliant yellow, leaving the rest in shadow. “It’s time for you to go home now,” he said, staring at her, not with his usual jaunty confidence or any hint of a smile. Instead, his gaze was intent and arrested, as if he were trying to read her private thoughts. “Do you want to leave alone,” he continued gently, “or shall I accompany you?”
The tip of her gloved finger touched his cheek, where flame-glow touched the closely shaven bristles and turned them to brilliant flecks of gold. She had never seen a mouth as beautiful as his, the upper lip so perfectly shaped, the lower one softer, fuller, containing the promise of carnal delight. “Come with me,” she said.
The interior of the carriage was cold and dark. Amanda placed her slippered feet directly on the foot warmer. Devlin’s large body settled beside hers, his long legs taking up most of the available space below the seats. He laughed as he saw her greedily absorbing the heat of the coal-filled porcelain box after the footman closed the carriage door with a quiet click.
Devlin slid an arm around Amanda’s shoulders, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “I can make you warm.” The carriage rolled away, jostling slightly as the springs over the wheels absorbed the uneven bumps of the road.
Amanda found herself being lifted effortlessly into her companion’s lap. “Jack!” she exclaimed breathlessly while he pulled away her burgundy shawl and drew one hand over the back of her gown. He seemed not to hear her, his gaze fastened on the pale gleam of her half-exposed breasts as his other hand expertly found one ankle beneath her skirts.
“Jack!” she gasped again, pushing at his chest, but he exerted enough pressure on her back to cause her to collapse against him.
“Yes?” he murmured, his mouth brushing the soft skin of her throat.
“Not in a carriage, for heaven’s sake.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s…” The tip of his tongue touched her skin, tickling a sensitive nerve at the side of her throat, and she paused to suppress a little moan of excitement. “Vulgar. Common.”
“Exciting,” he whispered back. “Have you ever thought of making love in a carriage, Amanda?”
She jerked her head back to stare at him in amazement, barely able to see his shadowed face in the dark interior of the vehicle. “Of course not! I can’t even imagine how such a thing would be accomplished.” When she saw the white gleam of his teeth, she immediately regretted her words. “No, no, don’t tell me!”
“Instead, I’ll show you,” he said, murmuring intimate, mortifying things while his fingers worked stealthily at the back of her gown. She felt, from the series of little tugs and the loosening of her bodice, that he was making rapid headway with the garment.
When she had agreed to let him make love to her this evening, she had envisioned a romantic scenario in her own bedroom, not in his carriage. He stole kisses from her half-open lips and dragged his mouth along her throat. “Don’t,” she moaned. “We’re almost there…the footman will know…oh, do stop!”
Jack cuddled her on his lap, st
aring into her shadowed gray eyes, always so alive with intelligence and challenge. Now the silvery depths were vulnerable, molten, utterly alluring. Excitement caused his heart to pound riotously, the mad pulse concentrating in his loins, bringing his cock to leaping arousal. He wanted to plunge into her, squeeze and bite and lick every tender inch of her.
He took her mouth in an ardent kiss, searching for her tongue, greedily absorbing the delicious taste of her. She responded willingly, letting him kiss her exactly as he wanted, her body arching as he spread the back of her gown open. His hand searched the length of her spine until he encountered the edge of her corset. Impatiently he tugged at the laces until they loosened and the stiff-boned garment relinquished its tight containment of her body. Amanda began to breathe in deep surges as her lungs were liberated from the prison of starch and stays.
Jack peeled the silk dress away from her front, and unhooked the front of the corset. The round shapes of her breasts spilled forth, covered only in the crumpled tissue of her chemise. Blindly he lifted Amanda higher on his lap and searched for the shadow of a nipple, found it, captured and licked and softly bit it through the linen. The sweet crest hardened in his mouth, and each scalding touch of his tongue drew a gasp from Amanda’s throat. He pulled at the chemise, felt the delicate fabric tear beneath his fingers, then kept pulling until both her breasts were naked. Groaning, he buried his mouth in the valley between them, cupped his hands beneath the plump weights.
“Jack…” She could barely speak through her shallow, unfinished breaths. “Oh, Jack.”
His avid mouth found her nipple again, his tongue circling the silken tip and lingering at the edge where the crest met the pale skin of her breast. The fragrance of her animated a response so primal that he lost all awareness of the world outside the dark, swaying carriage. Greedily intent on claiming his prey, he slid his hands beneath her skirts and settled her swaying body over his, spreading her thighs so that she straddled him fully.