Anne Barbour Page 13

  “Ah,” said Ash. “Very good. Now, take your place opposite me at the head of these two lines of dancers.” Raising his arm, he swept an arc toward an imaginary grouping. “We are now the first couple. Now, come toward me—no, don’t stop humming—move in a hop, and we change places, thus.” He advanced on her in a step that she remembered from elementary school gym classes. “And move past me, and—change places. All the other couples in the lines will have done the same thing. Now, we repeat the process, only instead of changing places we will meet in the middle, cross hands, and promenade down the line of dancers. We will separate and circle around the last couple in each line and promenade back to our original places. Ready? Don’t forget to step in time.”

  Amanda almost giggled aloud, for the words struck her as bizarrely humorous. That’s what she had been doing for the past two weeks—stepping in a time that was not her own, to a rhythm that was unfamiliar and frightening. She hadn’t done too badly, though, and if she could only remember to keep stepping in time, she might eventually adjust to this new rhythm. She laughed inwardly at her absurd philosophizing.

  Amanda found she was able to complete the steps indicated with little difficulty, and again she reveled in the sureness and facility of her legs. As she had in the waltz at the ball, she became exhilarated with the sense of motion and her joy in her own body. She hummed faster and fairly threw herself into the rhythm of the dance until Ash called a laughing halt.

  “How was that?” asked Amanda breathlessly. “Did I do well enough to dance in public, should anyone ask me to join in a reel?”

  “My dear young woman,” he said with mock severity, “if you persist in tossing your skirts up in such a disgraceful manner, you will certainly not lack for partners.”

  She giggled, and an unexpected wave of tenderness swept over Ash. With her golden hair tumbling about her face, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea, he felt that the very spirit of the music was smiling up at him.

  He took her hand, wanting very badly to pull her toward him so that he could bury his face in that scented tangle of curls. He shook himself. Lord, had he learned nothing from that scene in the Marchford garden? What had possessed him to kiss Amanda Bridge in that fashion—or in any fashion at all? He had been, he realized, intent on punishing her for her impudence in prying into his affairs. And punishing himself, if he was to be truthful, for his continuing illicit feelings for Lianne. The moment his lips tasted Amanda’s, however, all coherent thought had fled, and he found himself lost in her warmth and softness. Her pliant body seemed made to fit against him and in that instant he wanted so much more from her than a kiss. It had taken everything in him to draw away from her and to lead her back to the house.

  Dazedly, he returned to the present, and with a conscious act of will detailed in a cool voice the instructions for the quadrille.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he said finally, after a half an hour of intensive instruction. “Just remember to point your toe, thus, on jeté and keep in mind that you must lift your arms, so, when you chasse.”

  “Good grief!” exclaimed Amanda. sinking down on the piano bench. “I always wondered how Regency heroines managed to keep their shapes with the amount of food they were confronted with every day. Now I know. Country dancing beats aerobics all hollow.”

  “Aerobics? Is that yet another new dance craze? One can hardly keep up with them. Last week, I was severely chastised by a young woman because I could not perform the figures of something called the mazurka, which seems to me to be nothing more than a glorified quadrille.”

  Amanda smiled but did not respond, turning instead to face the keyboard. She lifted her hands and began the slow strains of the Brahms Waltz in A major. Ash seated himself next to her and Amanda was immediately conscious of the slight pressure of his thigh and hip against her.

  Good grief! she thought irritably, she was being absolutely ridiculous. She came from a time when men and women found themselves in close proximity in even the most innocent of social situations—sports, riding in elevators and crowded trains, cocktail parties. Yet she had never experienced the jolt of sensation that swept over her every time this cold, saturnine aristocrat so much as bowed over her hand. Even Derek’s touch had brought no more than a lovely warmth and a sense of belonging.

  “That’s beautiful,” said Ash, his voice husky. “What is it?”

  “It—it’s by Brahms.” Oh, no, Amanda thought, dismayed. Johannes Brahms had not even been born. “He’s not very well known as yet.”

  “Ah. Well, I predict an illustrious future for him. I had no idea,” he continued, lightly brushing her fingers with his own, “that you were so accomplished on the piano.”

  Amanda shivered. “Not as much as I’d like to be. You’d think I’d be a regular virtuoso after—” She stopped abruptly. She had almost said “after fifteen years of lessons.” She took a deep breath. “After practicing so industriously as a child,” she finished, instead.

  “Play something else,” commanded Ash. “Something with a little more élan.”

  Without giving herself a chance to think, Amanda launched into “The Entertainer” and continued with excerpts from a few more Scott Joplin rags. She noticed that the earl’s foot tapped vigorously in time to the rollicking music.

  “That was—extraordinary,” he said when she had finished.

  “Did you like it?”

  “I—I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  Nor will you ever again, thought Amanda, at least, not in this life.

  “Where did you learn it?” continued Ash.

  “I—I must have heard the tune from a street musician,” Amanda replied hastily. Ash bent a strange look on her, but said nothing.

  Amanda let her hands drift over the keys in a nameless melody, and for a while a comfortable silence fell in the music room. Coming to a decision, she dropped her hands suddenly and turned to face Ash. This movement brought her face into such close proximity with the earl’s that she rose quickly.

  “My lord,” she began. “That is, Ash ...”

  “Yes?” he said encouragingly.

  “Ash, I have come to the conclusion that our betrothal is a colossal mistake.”

  “What?” Ash’s brows snapped together and the warmth that had been in his expression was replaced by an arctic fury.

  “You’re a very nice man, I suppose—No,” Amanda said hastily. “What I mean is, you don’t love me and I don’t love you.”

  He stood to tower over her. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Bridge, but I believe that love formed no part of our agreement. Are you reneging?”

  “No, of course not. Well, yes I am—in a manner of speaking. The thing is, when I entered into our bargain, I did not realize you were in love with someone else.”

  A dark flush stained the earl’s carved cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke the words in such a low growl that she could barely distinguish them.

  “Please, Ash, if nothing else, let us be honest with one another. It is obvious to me that you are in love with Lianne—that you and she have loved each other for years. Please, believe me,” said Amanda, lifting her hand as Ash’s mouth opened in protest, “I find your situation touching and very sad, and I am certainly not going to come between two people who belong with each other.”

  Ash rose from the piano bench and faced her directly. She had never seen a human being look so angry. His black eyes fairly spat venom and the power controlled in his rigid stance was almost frightening. Almost, hell. She was quaking in the absurd silk creations that passed for her shoes.

  His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and menacing.

  “My personal life is of no concern to you, Miss Bridge. My offer for your hand did not include permission to delve into the most intimate details of my existence. My feelings for the Countess of Ashindon are not for your intrusive scrutiny.”

  His gaze pierced her until she felt like a moth pi
nned to a board. “Please,” she gasped. “I did not mean—I didn’t think—”

  “Of course, you did not think,” he said contemptuously. “You were merely amusing yourself with a tale of love lost and hearts sundered. When, in your short, pampered life, have you ever truly considered the distress of another? If you had, you would not make a mockery of it in your mindless efforts to insert yourself into a situation that has nothing to do with you. Now, listen to me carefully. I have offered for you, and I have shaken hands with your father. The arrangements have been agreed upon. I am going to marry you and you are going to marry me, no matter what our feelings are on the subject. I am marrying you for your money, Miss Bridge,” he said cruelly, “or, had you forgotten that you gave your girlish promise to a fortune hunter?”

  Amanda stared at him, wide-eyed. A number of scathing retorts sprang to her lips, but the anguish that had prompted his outburst was too genuine and too near the surface for her to dispute just now the injustice of his words. Instead, she drew a deep breath and said coolly, “Well, I seem to have hit a nerve, haven’t I?”

  “What!” he said again in a voice like thunder, and Amanda watched as surprise, outrage, and indignation battled across his features.

  “Please, just hear me out, Ash. I truly do not wish to pry into your private affairs, but you must admit that your being in love with another woman sort of impinges on my private affairs, too. I am merely saying that perhaps, if we mull things over, we might come up with another solution.”

  All the while she was talking, she was uncomfortably aware of the twinge skittering through her at the thought of Ash’s devotion to someone else, and with some annoyance she thrust the idea to the back of her mind.

  Ash was still visibly simmering. “Do you think,” he asked, his tone bristling with sarcasm, “that I did not spare a thought or two to other options before I offered for you?”

  “Yes, but as you pointed out, I am rich and you are not. If I could somehow provide you with funds on my own, perhaps—”

  “Oh, my God! Spare me your simpering expressions of charity. Do you think I can repair the Park on your pin money? Do you plan to give my sister her Season and my brother his law education on your winnings at silver loo?”

  Amanda simply gaped at him. “Is that what you want the money for?” she asked in stupefaction.

  Caught off stride, Ash returned her stare. “Of course it is. What did you think I was planning to do with it?”

  “Uh—I guess I thought you wanted some ready cash for all the usual Regency rake stuff—gambling, wining and dining, women...”

  To her surprise, Ash’s answering laughter was genuine. “You really are the most extraordinary female,” he said at last. “Have you no idea of the requirements of my position?”

  Dumbly, Amanda shook her head.

  “To begin with, there are approximately four hundred souls living at the Park who depend on me for their livelihood—field laborers and their families, the house staff, etcetera. Even the vicar and his wife and children, for I am responsible for the upkeep of the church. I own several other estates, as well, all of which are in worse shape than the Park. There used to be more, but everything that was not entailed was sold off years ago.

  “The house at the Park is heavily mortgaged and, but for your father’s largesse, I should have lost it to the Crown by now. Oh yes, he has already started on the payments he agreed to in the marriage settlements. A very generous fellow, your papa, not to wait until the thing was signed, sealed, and delivered.”

  “And your brother and sister?” whispered Amanda, horrified.

  “As I think I told you, they were raised at the Park with me, but recently I have had to move Dorothea to the home of our Aunt and Uncle Breverton in Gloucester. They are an older couple and not well circumstanced. They have been all that is kind to Dorothea, but her presence presents a financial burden to them. Andrew is in the City, studying Law. He has a small inheritance of his own from a distant uncle that is barely keeping a roof over his head, and meals. He augments this income by working in the office of one of the barristers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

  “Dear Lord,” said Amanda, once more sinking onto the piano bench. “I had no idea.”

  “It is probable, then,” Ash replied austerely, “that you also have no concept of what I owe to the family name.”

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  “Quite. The Ashindon title dates back to the time of the Tudors, and this means a great deal to my family—all the uncles, aunts, and cousins. My Grandmama Ashindon has been at me to marry since I acceded to the title, because my primary function in her eyes is to beget an heir. She repeats, ‘The line must continue’ to me like a litany every time we are together. So, you see, Miss Bridge, it is not simply all your lovely money that I’m after.”

  “Oh. Oh-hh,” Amanda said again as the implications of this statement sank in. A mental image of the earl’s lean body above hers, naked in a candlelit bedroom, flashed through her mind and she could feel herself blushing. She shook herself. She was not an ignorant virgin, after all. Well, yes, she supposed she was a virgin, for surely the young Amanda was unsullied, (She uttered a silent, hysterical giggle. Who says you can’t get it back?) but since she had no intention of marrying this man, her maidenly trepidation was absurd. Besides, she knew very well his lordship would much rather be doing his begetting with his cousin’s beautiful widow.

  “Well, all right, then,” she said after a thoughtful pause. “You say my father has agreed to hand over a lot of money to you. How much will he be giving you before the actual ceremony?”

  “What—?” Ash drew a long breath. “This is not a matter that concerns you, but he has agreed to pay off the mortgage immediately. He will also provide the wherewithal to begin repairs on the Park so that by the time I bring my new bride through its portals it will be fit to live in.”

  “I see. Well, that sounds as though it will bring in quite a chunk of change right there. I should think all we have to do—”

  “You really have acquired the most peculiar phraseology,” interrupted Ash irritably. “Yes, I know,” he finished in unison with Amanda. “Your bump on the head. What was it you were saying? Not that any of it makes sense.”

  Amanda breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he was speaking to her in tones of reasonable civility. “I should think,” she continued patiently, “that all we need to do is milk Papa to the max over the next few months. From what Serena has said, I can get thousands of pounds just for clothes—and there’s the wedding trip.”

  “What the devil—?” began Ash in angry puzzlement.

  “A few weeks before the wedding date,” Amanda continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “we can just call the whole thing off. By then you should have enough to solve your immediate cash flow problems, don’t you think?” She smiled brightly, anticipating his ready agreement to such an eminently sensible plan.

  Instead, Ash’s glare increased in intensity so that she felt she was in danger of melting around the edges.

  “I think,” he rasped, “that knock on your head permanently damaged your powers of reason. Even if such a course of action were not despicable—which it is—and even if it were to solve my problems—which it would not—your papa would be within his rights to sue me for breach of promise—which he undoubtedly would.”

  “Oh,” said Amanda, undaunted. “But how about if I call it off instead of you?”

  Ash, who had been pacing the carpet, whirled to face her.

  “Have you any idea what the repercussions would be of such a move?”

  “Mm, I suppose Papa would not be happy, but—”

  “That is the understatement of the century. Your father wants this union very badly, and when men of his stamp are thwarted in what they want very badly, they tend to get very ugly. I expect at the very least you would be sent to the country to live on bread and water for an extended length of time.”

  “If that’s all—” />
  “In addition, it would be years before you could show your face in London again. The tabbies would have a field day with you, and I would be made to look ridiculous. Not that that matters to me, but—”

  “Oh, dear, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course, you had not.” He grasped both her shoulders and shook her ungently. “You may as well resign yourself to the fact of this betrothal, Miss Bridge. Whether you—or I—like it or not, we will marry, and you will have to make the best of it—as I intend to do.”

  He released her so suddenly she almost toppled backward and, turning, he left the room without another word. In a few moments, she heard the slamming of the front door.

  Well hell, that had not gone at all as she planned. She shrugged. She would just have to confront him once more, the next time he came to the house. She was not about to allow herself to be trapped in a loveless marriage, particularly with a man who was besotted with somebody else, and so she would tell him. Sooner or later, he would realize that she was not going to marry him, and this being the case, the earl might as well reap the benefit of her refusal.

  Amanda reflected in some dismay on Ash’s words pertaining to her own money. She had not considered the matter before, but it was apparent that she was totally dependent on Jeremiah Bridge for every facet of her existence. Women in these days, as a general rule, had nothing of their own. Every move they made was at the discretion of the men in their lives. Dear God, what was to become of her? How could she bear to be “cabin’d crib’d and confin’d,” as Shakespeare put it, for the rest of her life? Her years in the twentieth century had conditioned her to a freedom of movement that was unheard of here. She simply could not sit in her father’s or her husband’s drawing room and occupy herself with embroidery, while outside a fascinating world was going about its business.