Anne Barbour Page 17

  He paused for a moment and swore prayerfully that once he and Amanda were married he would whisk her away with all possible speed to the Park and bar the door behind them. Oh yes, he would accept Bridge’s largesse, but he would work from sunrise to moonset every day of his life, and the moment the Park began to show a profit, he would repay every cent. With interest.

  How would Amanda react to such strictures? he wondered uneasily. She seemed to enjoy life in London. Would she see living in rural solitude as a prison sentence? And how might she feel when told her father would be unwelcome in her own home? She displayed no fondness for the old bandit, but he was her father, after all.

  His glance surveyed the throng milling about the edge of the dance floor, but Amanda was nowhere to be seen. Had she decided to try her wings in a country dance? He was about to turn toward the refreshment room when his breath caught in his throat. There, behind a pillar in a secluded corner of the room stood his fiancée in earnest conversation with none other than Cosmo Satterleigh.

  His hands once more curling into fists, he started toward the couple, but he was halted by Lianne’s breathless voice in his ear. “Gracious! I have not danced in such ages that I fear I am quite out of practice. Would you procure a glass of—oh!” Ash turned to observe that she had followed the direction of his glance. “My,” she purred, “I wonder what Mr. Satterleigh is doing here. I understood he has been forbidden the house.”

  “You seem to have absorbed an inordinate amount of gossip for being in town such a short time.” He almost snarled the words, and Lianne’s emerald eyes widened in dismay.

  “Oh, Ash. I did not mean—that is, I must admit to being incensed that Miss Bridge would so far forget herself as to indulge in dalliance with a man so disliked by her parents, when she is betrothed to you.” Tears glittered on the lashes she cast down over her cheeks. “I know you do not care for her—at least, in the way you and I care for each other, but such behavior must surely cause you embarrassment and discomfort.”

  Ash endeavored to produce the compunction he should have felt for discommoding the woman he loved. He was still itchy with resentment, however, when he patted her hand and drew her away. “I appreciate your sentiments,” he said somewhat dryly, “but you really must leave the behavior of my fiancée to me.”

  Lianne stared at him, startled. “Of course, Ash. I never meant to interfere. I was just—”

  “Come,” said Ash brusquely, “the orchestra is beginning a quadrille. Will you dance with me?”

  Once again, Ash experienced a vague sense of relief that the figures of the dance permitted very little conversation between himself and his beloved. When the last strains of the music died away, however, the two were positioned opposite a door that led to a small salon.

  “Come, Ash,” said Lianne, smiling winsomely, “do let us talk for a moment.”

  Ash drew away slightly, but her hand on his coat sleeve was insistent. With a sense of foreboding. Ash followed her from the ballroom.

  The moment they were well into the shadowed confines of the little chamber, Lianne turned and pressed herself against Ash, her mouth seeking his. The kiss, though deep and passionate, did not, to Ash’s guilty surprise, stir him as he might have expected. His only clear thought was that he would rather not have to deal with Lianne right now. Scarcely a lover-like sentiment, he realized with a start, but he was feeling more than somewhat harassed at the moment.

  Lianne ended the kiss with a sigh and leaned back against Ash’s shoulder to gaze at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Oh, Ash,” she whispered, drawing her fingers across Ash’s cheek, “I do love you so.”

  Ash covered her hand with his own, and squeezing it gently, brought it away from him and released her from the circle of his arms. “I know,” he said softly. “But, we must resign ourselves. We must, Lianne.”

  “Must we?” she asked, her voice husky. She moved away a little, but kept his hand in hers. When she spoke again, a certain purposefulness was evident in her tone. “Ash, I have been thinking about our situation. I understand why we cannot marry, though it has taken me many months to accept the fact of your duty to your family and your position. But, oh, my love, it is so unfair that a love such as ours should be so doomed. It will never die, of course, for it is too strong, and I have come to the conclusion that there is only one path for us.”

  She drew a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her great, jeweled eyes to his. “I have decided, Ash, my dearest and only love, that I will agree to become your mistress.”

  Ash felt as though something very large and very sharp had exploded in his midsection. His first confused thought was that he did not remember asking Lianne to be his mistress. His second was that he could not have heard aright, and his third, contributing even further to his emotional upheaval, was the unexpected certainty that he did not want to enter into a liaison, illicit or otherwise, with Lianne, the Countess of Ashindon.

  “My dear,” he said swiftly, “you cannot have thought—”

  “Yes, I have. I’ve thought and thought, and—” Lianne’s voice rose. “There is simply no other way, Ash.” She stepped back. “Dear God,” she continued, choking, “you think me sunk below reproach for suggesting such a thing, but—”

  “No, of course not. I am moved beyond words that you would turn your back on the standards of a lifetime—that you would risk ruin and disgrace for me. I cannot let you do it, Lianne. And,” he said heavily, “I cannot betray the vows I am about to make. You must see that. Much as I—”

  Lianne turned away suddenly. “It is as I thought,” she whispered tragically. “I have lost your love—and now”—her voice broke—”I have lost your esteem as well.”

  “No—do not talk that way.” Ash was appalled at the insincerity he heard in his voice. “You know how I feel about you.” He was guiltily aware of an urgent desire to be away from her. “Lianne, I must not stay here with you. Amanda—”

  Lianne stamped her small foot “It is always Amanda, now, isn’t it? Very soon. Ash, I shall begin to believe that you have given your heart to her as well as the promise of your name.” She pouted adorably, and it was not until Ash began to mouth the protest that she so obviously expected that he realized his expressions of eternal devotion sounded empty, even to his own ears. The pout turned to a rather ominous frown.

  “You say you love me, but you will not make the slightest push to keep our love alive.”

  “I wish you will believe,” said Ash wearily, “that I have no choice, and neither do you, if you will but think.” He extended his hand in an effort to remove the sting of his words, but with what in anyone not quite so exquisite might have been called a snort of impatience, she whirled and left the room, her silken skirts hissing her displeasure.

  Ash started after her, but observing that her progress was followed with undisguised interest by those in the ballroom, he halted. Lianne was already giving the tabbies a field day; there was no sense in fueling the scandal further. He sank down on a small settee. Dear God, what had just happened here? He did not know whether he was more shocked by Lianne’s suggestion or by the stunning realization that the thought of bedding her left him unmoved.

  It was some minutes before he finally dragged himself to his feet and left the little salon to find his betrothed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amanda, however, was nowhere to be found. Serena was chatting to a group of matrons near a potted palm in one corner of the room, and Amanda was not with her. Cordelia and Charlotte were each on the dance floor, pointing graceful toes in the cotillion. Amanda was not. She was not in the refreshment room, nor in the card room.

  Ash drifted toward the ladies’ withdrawing room, but when she did not emerge after several moments, he took his search elsewhere. The terrace, the small salons bordering the ballroom, and the drawing room, where supper was to be served later, also proved unproductive. As a last resort, he made his way to the music room, and here he was successful. There, at the far
end of the room, backed up against a pier table, was his betrothed—in the arms of Cosmo Satterleigh.

  For an instant, Ash stood frozen in a rage that he thought might choke him. One corner of his mind observed that Amanda stood in Satterleigh’s embrace, still and uncooperative. This fact notwithstanding, Ash’s first instinct was to stride to the couple, wrench them apart, and beat Satterleigh into the carpet. At the sound of his step, however, the gentleman whirled about.

  “Ashindon!” he cried in a throbbing tone. Observing Ash’s clenched fists, his face paled, but he remained where he stood. Ostentatiously, he put Amanda behind him. “I do not apologize, my lord, for claiming what is mine by right. If you wish to call me out, you may name your seconds.” He tossed his head, sending his carefully curled ringlets quivering.

  “I do not require an apology, you smarmy little hedge-bird,” snarled Ash, advancing menacingly. “Nor am I going to call you out. I merely intend to give you the thrashing you deserve.”

  Mr. Satterleigh, apparently thinking better of his bravado, stepped backward, thereby bumping into Amanda, who moved out from him.

  “Don’t be absurd, Ash,” she said crossly. “The silly little twit thinks I’m in love with him. He, of course, is in love with my money—which you ought to understand. I don’t know how he got in here tonight, but he will be leaving shortly, as soon as I can summon a couple of footmen.”

  She moved toward the bellpull, but Ash stayed her with a gesture. To Satterleigh, he said coldly, “I advise you to leave on your own. Otherwise, I shall be happy to throw you out bodily—from that window over there, a story above the ground.”

  For a moment, it looked as though the hapless swain would hold his ground, but with a groan he lurched toward the door. “I see how it is!” he flung over his shoulder to Amanda. “You have spurned a heart that loves you with all the sincerity of my being for a noble title. I wish you joy of your choice—Countess!”

  He scuttled through the door. Ash turned to face Amanda, fury rising in him once more. “Just what the devil did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

  “I wasn’t doing anything!”

  “Nothing! What do you call kissing that oily snake?”

  “I wasn’t kissing him. I was merely waiting for him to get through kissing me. I thought of struggling, but nonparticipation is just as effective in dampening a man’s ardor, and it doesn’t ruin your hairdo.”

  She appeared so calm and self-possessed that Ash wanted to shake her.

  “And what were you doing in this little tête-à-tête to begin with? A little far afield from the ballroom, isn’t it?”

  “He threatened to make a scene if I didn’t talk to him, so I took him where I thought there would be people, but not too many. When we came into the room, there were several couples here, but, unfortunately, they left.”

  “How obliging of them,” said Ash nastily.

  Amanda moved toward him. “Now, see here, my lord, I hope you are not implying ... Good grief, do you actually think I have some feeling for that ludicrous jerk?”

  “No—you see here, Miss Bridge. All the world knows you planned to elope with him. Don’t tell me you were going to accomplish that without feeling anything toward him.”

  “Oh, that.” Amanda shrugged. “As I told you, I have no memory of all that, but it must have been a—a momentary lapse on my part.” She hesitated a moment before lifting her hand in a propitiatory gesture. “Ash, if I were truly in love with someone else, I would not have agreed to marry you. Furthermore, please believe me when I tell you that, since I did make such an agreement, I plan to keep it. I shall not indulge in flirtations with other men. I will not kiss them in secluded nooks, and I won’t encourage them to believe that I am open to extracurricular behavior when we are married.”

  She took a long breath and gazed at him steadily, her eyes still and deep and clear as mountain pools. Shaken, Ash took refuge in a tone of light irony. “What laudable sentiments, Miss Bridge. Are you saying that you plan to make a real marriage of our business arrangement?”

  Amanda stepped back, and Ash knew a moment of compunction. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that, I merely meant—”

  “I never said anything about marriage, my lord. I am speaking of the betrothal. If you will recall, it is my intention that the marriage not take place at all.”

  Ash swore under his breath.

  “Are you still on that tack? How many times do I have to tell you that the betrothal—and the marriage are signed, sealed, and all but delivered? You will be my wife, Amanda.” He stepped forward and grasped her lightly by the shoulders. “Is that so very distasteful to you?”

  Amanda, staring up at him, said nothing. Ash found that he was drowning in those magical pools, and he was having a great deal of trouble with his breathing. Slowly, unable to help himself, he bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of wine. She shivered in his arms for a moment, and Ash tightened them so that she would not draw away.

  Instead, she shifted slightly to accommodate his body against hers, and Ash thought that nothing he had ever experienced in his life felt so good. She seemed made to fit against him, her curves filling his hollows, and her scent filling his senses. She made a small sound in the back of her throat that nearly shattered what composure he had left. His mouth moved urgently on hers, and he shuddered when her hands came up to curl in the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling her closer, as though he would absorb her into his very bones, he ran his hands over the delicate curve of her back, then up to the swell of her breasts.

  Amanda drew in a sharp breath, and at the sound of voices in the corridor outside the music room pulled away from him. Her eyes, Ash noted somewhere in a corner of his mind, had darkened to the color of a summer midnight. She stared at him, and in her gaze Ash saw the reflection of his own confusion. But all she said was, “We had best return to the ballroom, my lord.”

  Passing two laughing couples in the corridor, they made their way wordlessly back to the throng of dancers. They did not speak until Ash claimed her hand for the supper dance, which was a quadrille.

  “You have attained a commendable skill in country dancing, Miss Bridge,” Ash said with a composure that pleased him vastly. “I think you will not need any more lessons.”

  Her voice was somewhat breathless as she replied, “I had an excellent instructor.” She laughed. “I have twice danced to music other than the waltz this evening, and I must tell you I am quite flown by the compliments on my skill.”

  It seemed to Ash that they communicated on two levels. Below the commonplaces during the brief contact afforded by the figures of the dance, there was a current between them that spoke of a new, unsettling turn in their relationship. Was it a turn he wished to pursue? he wondered. He had no desire to lead Amanda Bridge to the inalterably false conclusion that he wanted more from her than an amicable association. Yet the kiss had stirred him to a depth he would not have thought possible.

  He had exchanged kisses with many women, of course, and, aside from those shared with Lianne, he had found them to be sexually stimulating, but nothing more. The contact with Amanda had gone beyond the physical, however. He felt they had shared a communion of spirit—a joining of essence such as he had never experienced even in Lianne’s exhilarating embrace. And, frankly, it scared the hell out of him.

  They were joined during supper by Serena and Jeremiah, and as the meal concluded, Jeremiah rose and cleared his throat ostentatiously. The clatter of glasses and silver silenced as Jeremiah launched into the speech that, though brief, represented the culmination of his dreams.

  “My dear friends,” he began, placing a slight emphasis on the last word, “I am so pleased you could be with us tonight, for we have invited you here for a special purpose beyond music and dancing. It is my very great pleasure to announce at this time the betrothal of my beloved daughter Amanda to William Wexford, the Earl of Ashindon.”

  If the assembled comp
any thought it odd that Serena was given no recognition as coproducer of the beloved daughter, there was no indication in the polite round of applause that greeted the pronouncement. A toast was proposed and the guests rose to offer their felicitations to the happy couple.

  Through it all, Amanda smiled and nodded and mouthed appropriate expressions of gratification, all the while feeling both numb and terrified at the same time, as though she stood in the center of a whirling maelstrom.

  She felt that part of her was still in the music room, lost in Ash’s embrace. She had never known a kiss could be so stirring—so eminently satisfying yet creating such a storm of wanting. When Ash’s mouth had come down on hers, she had known she should protest. The man was in love with another woman, after all. But at the feel of his lips on hers, and the touch of his hands, all rational thought had fled. Her body, traitor to her will, responded with every atom of her being to the wonderful, almost unbearably right feel of his touch, and she had curled into him like an animal seeking haven.

  Had he been trying to seduce her? she wondered uncomfortably. If so, he’d certainly made splendid progress in a very few moments. That first kiss a couple of weeks earlier in the Marchford garden, had been shockingly provocative, but it had not produced the spreading heat that even now, as she thought about it, caused her pulse to throb. He did not seem the sort of man who could love one woman and seek to conquer another. Yet why else would he use her so? He had apparently determined to shake off his initial antipathy toward her in order to make the best of their bargain, but nothing in his behavior toward her so far indicated anything beyond a mild liking for her.

  Her thoughts continued in this muddled vein throughout the rest of the evening, and she maintained a flow of meaningless conversation with the patronesses, the dukes and their wives, and the rest. At the end of the evening, exhausted and wrung dry of coherent thought, Amanda stood with her parents at the Bridge front door to bid good night to the earl. His lips, brushing her fingertips seemed to burn through the fragile fabric of her glove, and she murmured an incomprehensible assent to his offer to take her driving the next morning.