Danice Allen Page 13

  Miss Darlington suddenly turned and grasped Jack’s hands. “Do you think it would be thought dreadfully improper of me if I danced?”

  Jack was shocked. He’d never thought for a moment that he’d actually be able to talk Miss Darlington into dancing. After all, she was still in mourning clothes. Many women went into half-mourning after six months, but Miss Darlington was covered in black from the crown of her hat to the soles of her neat little nankeen boots.

  “You might raise a few critical brows amongst the stiff-rumped of the bunch,” Jack admitted, “but I don’t think the majority of the townsfolk of Patching would care a fig if you danced, Miss Darlington. But are you quite sure?”

  “I’m very sure,” she said with a decided nod, then looked eagerly about the room. “Whom do you think I should ask?”

  “My dear girl,” Jack expostulated, “of course you’ll dance with me!”

  “But your head, and your knee—”

  He stood up and peremptorily pulled Miss Darlington to her feet. The very idea of her seeking out some young buck to jig her about the room—now he knew she wasn’t thinking straight. Besides, if anyone was going to dance with his wife, it was going to be him!

  The fiddler launched into a quick-paced country dance, and Jack swung his partner onto the floor. Their appearance caused a stir among the townspeople, but once the surprise wore off most of the stares directed their way were admiring ones. And there was much to admire, Jack thought with pride. They danced well together.

  Miss Darlington was light on her feet and very graceful. It was a pleasure swinging her down the line of dancers and watching her face glow from the exercise and sheer enjoyment of the activity. During one especially brisk turn, her bonnet ribbons loosened and her bonnet flew off and onto the floor. A child ran forward to pick it up and keep it for the “gran’ lady” till the dance was done. Miss Darlington merely laughed, throwing back her head till her abundant hair loosened and the escaping golden waves bobbed around her face.

  Jack was entranced. He’d thought from the moment he’d first clapped eyes on Miss Darlington that she was capable or such vital beauty and energy, but he never thought he’d be around long enough to watch her blossom so dramatically. She was always so proper, so serious, so conscientious, so reserved, so sad and so worried about something….

  He found it hard to accept that this incredible transformation was brought about merely by Richard Clarke’s special recipe for elderberry wine. If the wine were so potent in relaxing a person’s inhibitions, the wheelwright would be well advised to bottle it in small vials and market it as an aphrodisiac!

  After two country dances and an Irish jig, Miss Darlington was finally persuaded to sit down. Jack’s knee ached like the blazes, he was slightly dizzy, and his head hurt from the constant rotations and bouncing required, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to Miss Darlington.

  “Lord Thornfield. My lord?”

  Jack finally realized that Richard Clarke was trying to catch his attention. He’d been dancing, too, and sweat trickled down his broad forehead like rain off a roof. The fellow dabbed at the deluge with a handkerchief and breathed heavily.

  “Mr. Clarke,” Jack said with a commiserative smile. “You’re about done up, old fellow. Me, too, I’m afraid.”

  “Aye, the ladies could dance all night, couldn’t they? But I’m ready to leave for a while and see to the fixin’ of your wheel. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, of course. How long do you think it will take?”

  “No more than half an hour.”

  “You know where the coach is, so I’ll leave you to it. Lady Thornfield and I are going to take a restorative walk … slow and easy … by that pleasant brook I caught sight of earlier that runs behind the chapel.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Mr. Clarke, nodding his approval and pleasure. “We’ve a pleasant little town. Do enjoy it while ye’re here.”

  Jack was not so intent on enjoying the beauty of the region as he was on calming down Miss Darlington. The dancing had only exhilarated her further, and he wanted to get her away to a quiet spot where she could regain her composure. Not that he didn’t like her all rosy and animated, but he expected a change in mood any moment. Better she was away from public view when that radical change occurred.

  Miss Darlington kissed the little boy that had rescued her hat from the floor when it flew off her head, then bade farewell to Mrs. Clarke, the bride and groom, and sundry other people with whom she’d become instantly friendly. She was still waving goodbye as John took her arm and escorted her through the wide doors, which were already open to the mild October day, and across the road to the graveyard.

  “Where are we going?” Miss Darlington inquired, looking curiously about her. “The carriage is the other way.”

  “I thought it would be pleasant to stroll by the stream while Mr. Clarke fixes the wheel. Do you object?”

  “Not at all,” Miss Darlington replied unhesitatingly, slipping her arm in his. “As you said earlier, there’s no point in sitting in a stuffy carriage when we could be outside on such a glorious day.”

  Jack looked down at her smiling face, her cheeks flushed from dancing, her eyes bright and clear. Her hair was unbound, and the sun made it shine like gold. He had an almost overwhelming urge to sift his fingers through the loose tresses but controlled himself with an effort.

  “You don’t seem as anxious as you were to get to Thorney Island,” he said.

  That tiny furrow reappeared between her brows. “It’s still just as important that I get there in a timely manner—” Her eyes shifted to his face for an instant; then she stared straight ahead. “—because my brother and his wife have a schedule to keep. But we have to wait for the wheel to be fixed anyway, so we might as well enjoy a walk. How long do we have?”

  Jack noted that she had said earlier that her sister lived on Thorney Island, not her brother. “About half an hour.”

  “Good,” she said with a satisfied sigh.

  Jack was entranced … and confused. He had been attributing Miss Darlington’s uncharacteristic behavior to the wine, but she no longer appeared giddy or overexcited. She had not become depressed, either. She certainly seemed much more relaxed than usual, but she also seemed completely in control of herself. She seemed … content.

  Yes, that word summed it up best of all. For the first time since he’d met her, Miss Darlington seemed quite content. Instead of analyzing the situation, Jack decided to take his own advice and simply enjoy the moment. He knew better than to expect such a halcyon mood to last.

  They walked across the graveyard, weaving through the tombstones, down a sloping footpath to the edge of a creek that was lined with ancient willows. They looked up and down the gently cascading flow of water as it bumped and bubbled over a bed of rocks and rushes, then instinctively turned toward each other.

  The gurgle of the brook was soothing, the sun was warm, the breeze was mild but with just enough lift to scatter Miss Darlington’s hair about her face in a very charming manner. Jack had just reached up to push a tress out of her eyes when she slipped on a slick tuft of grass. He kept her from falling by grabbing hold of her waist with both hands.

  “Steady,” he cautioned, staring down into her startled blue eyes, his gaze straying uncontrollably to her lips, which were parted and frozen in an unspoken exclamation of surprise.

  “Yes … steady,” she repeated breathlessly, bracing the palms of her hands against his chest.

  Jack’s heart hammered against his ribs, he couldn’t catch his breath, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Miss Darlington’s inviting mouth … looking all pink and dewy and tender.

  His hands tightened on her waist. “Miss Darlington, do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

  She gave a soft gasp, and her lashes fluttered down over her eyes. He watched her blush, the color tinting her cheekbones an alluring pale rose.

  “Am … I … beautiful?” she said haltingly.

>   He slid his hand under her satin-soft chin and tilted her face, urging her to look at him. Shyly, she met his gaze. He smiled. “Oh, yes,” he assured her. “You’re very beautiful. And standing so close to you like this is playing havoc with my self-control and making me wish I weren’t a gentleman. You are the sweetest, the most delectable temptation to come my way”—he grinned—”in recent memory.”

  She smiled slightly at his witticism and looked down again. He studied the graceful sweep of her lashes against her porcelain skin, the curve of her lips, the delicate cleft in her chin. Her hands had remained on his chest, and now her fingers were splayed and were lightly—unconsciously?—caressing him. He could tell she was a sensuous woman underneath her prim exterior.

  “Miss Darlington, have you ever been kissed?” he found himself inquiring in a husky tone.

  Her eyes lifted to stare into his. “Yes,” she replied in a tremulous whisper. “But … not by you.”

  Chapter 9

  Jack could swear he’d just heard an invitation from Miss Darlington to kiss her! It seemed too good to be true, and definitely out of character coming from such a proper female. After all, it was the sort of indirect invitation seasoned flirts delivered with a coy smile and fluttering lashes. Miss Darlington had said it with the simple straightforwardness he’d come to expect of her, but was it really Miss Darlington talking, or was it the elderberry wine?

  Despite the possibility that Miss Darlington’s judgment was a trifle fuzzy, Jack was sorely tempted. The fact was, he’d been planning to steal a kiss from her sometime before they parted ways, and now was his chance. Hell, he’d kick himself later if he didn’t take advantage of such a golden opportunity! And it was a delightful bonus to find out she was as interested in sharing a kiss as he was.

  Maybe he’d been wrong to assume she was the cloistered little nunlike creature she appeared to be. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He wanted to kiss her, therefore he wanted to believe she was far more experienced than he’d previously supposed. It all came back to the wine. Was she inebriated or wasn’t she?

  Jack really didn’t want to take unfair advantage, so he looked at Miss Darlington keenly and said, “Tell me truthfully, are you foxed, m’dear?”

  “Not at all, John,” she said with quiet assurance. Then her hands on his waistcoat began to stray, to begin a shy, tentative exploration of his chest. Her eyes followed the movement of her hands. Her rapt concentration was damned arousing.

  Jack swallowed hard. “I could be married,” he warned her. His own hands were moving … had perhaps been moving all along … up and down her smooth, slender back.

  She lifted her gaze to his and smiled. Her expression was a little dazed, and her whole face was aglow. She was enchanting. “You said you weren’t married, and I believe you. You’d never forget something that important.” Her hands continued to move, warming his skin underneath the layers of clothing. Heat collected in his loins. Her lips were mere inches away.

  “More importantly,” he added huskily, “I’ve no intention of getting married.”

  “I gathered as much from some of your comments,” she replied with a distracted nod. Her gaze shifted back to the movement of her hands, which now roamed over his shoulders.

  “I don’t even know your Christian name,” he continued to reason somewhat desperately. “You instructed me to call you Miss Darlington … remember?”

  Her voice softened and lowered to an intimate murmur as she said, “My name is Amanda.”

  “Amanda, look at me,” he ordered.

  She looked at him.

  He grasped her lovely, roving hands and held them against his chest so he wouldn’t be distracted. He sighed heavily. “As desperately as I want to, I don’t think it would be a good idea to kiss you.”

  Much to Jack’s chagrin, she immediately lowered her gaze, nodded, then quietly said, “I’ll go back to the coach.” She began to move away.

  “Like hell you will!” Jack grated, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her back against his chest and into his arms. He had not expected such a quick and complete capitulation! He wanted to kiss her and he was going to kiss her … his conscience be damned!

  “Amanda.…” he crooned. Then he cupped her head in his right hand, slid his left arm about her waist, and kissed her.

  Amanda felt as though she’d waited forever—all her life, in fact—for such a kiss. His lips were firm and soft and lavishly warm. A sweet ache blossomed in her chest and wandered uncontrollably through her body. Her head tilted, her body arched as she melted into him. His lips molded her mouth to his, and she followed his lead as he led her deeper and deeper into a sensual paradise.

  Amanda had been kissed before. Once by Benjamin Walker, a local squire’s son when they were both thirteen, and twice by the rector at the parish in Edenbridge during a brief courtship two years ago. Benjamin’s kiss was wet and sticky and never repeated because Amanda was never so obtuse as to go into a deserted barn with him again. Rector Mitford’s kiss was dry and cold and singularly uninspiring. Determined to give him another chance, Amanda allowed the good rector to kiss her again, but the result was the same.

  Perhaps even then she understood how barren her parents’ marriage was and had resolved, unconsciously, never to fall into a similar trap. She gently declined further visits from the rector.

  John’s kiss was different from either of these. Very different, indeed. Every nerve and fiber of her body was tingling. Her blood thrummed through her veins. She felt faint and curiously energized at the same time.

  Then he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and delving inside the sleek borders of her mouth. A drenching pleasure washed through her, and she moaned and pressed herself hard against him. He responded with a gasp, and she felt his hands roam over her back, her arms, her neck, and then her breasts…. Her skin was on fire.

  She had no sense of right or wrong, no sense of time or place. She felt a wild urge to strip herself of every black scrap of clothing she wore, right down to her undergarments, to stand bare and brazen in this man’s arms. She remembered the look of him, the feel of him, when he lay naked on the bed at the inn. And she yearned to see him, to feel him again.

  Braced against his waistcoat, her hands began a tentative exploration. Oh, how well she remembered the hard planes of his chest, the taut hollow of his belly, the angle of his narrow hips, the muscled curve of his thighs, the jut of his magnificent manhood….

  Her knees weakened. Her weight shifted into the circle of John’s arms as she leaned forward, and he began to urgently lower her toward the soft, downy grass….

  “Ahem. Er … miss?”

  Amanda lurched backward, nearly falling flat on her rump. She stumbled and gained her balance, then whirled around to face … Theo. He stood ramrod straight, his eyes averted, his mouth pulled into a stem pucker of disapproval.

  “The wheel is repaired, miss.”

  Amanda was horrified. She felt exposed, as though Theo—if he dared to look at her—could actually see her breasts throbbing with heat against the chafing, stifling fabric of her traveling gown. As though he knew how slick and wet she felt at her core. But of course he couldn’t see those intimate parts of her, couldn’t know how wanton and aroused she felt.

  He could, however, see the disarray of her loosened hair, her kiss-swollen lips, and the mortified blush that stained her cheeks. And she was mortified. Nothing could have brought her senses back to reason faster than a trusted old servant’s disappointed and disapproving demeanor. Amanda couldn’t imagine what she’d been thinking. For the past hour, she’d frankly forgotten who she was. Was amnesia contagious? she wondered with grim humor.

  “Th-thank you, Theo,” she said, finally able to form the words through lips that were stiff and numb from shock … lips that moments before had been as pliable as warm honey. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Theo had been dismissed, but he did not budge. Part of Amanda was desperate to run
away to the coach and pretend that nothing had happened between her and John, but she knew that would not settle anything. She knew she must stay and set things straight with John, but she refused to do so while her servant looked on.

  “Theo, go back to the carriage,” she said in an even, firm voice.

  Finally he looked at her, his expression half-embarrassed, half-reproachful. “Will ye be comin’ in a minute, then?” he inquired roughly.

  “I assure you, Theo,” Amanda said earnestly, “I will follow you instantly. I just need a short word with John.”

  Theo threw a hateful look John’s way, then turned sharply on his heel, climbed the rise of ground to the graveyard, and disappeared.

  Amanda turned reluctantly and faced John. He was standing nonchalantly, his weight thrown on one hip, his arms crossed low on his chest, his expression a cool mix of amusement and chagrin. “How ill-timed,” he said.

  “How ill-judged,” Amanda retorted, flustered. “There should have been nothing for Theo to see.”

  “If he’d shown up five minutes later, there’d have been even more to see, I daresay.”

  Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and held up a restraining hand. “No, please don’t say that.”

  John’s expressive brows lifted. “So that’s how the wind blows, eh? So, it was the wine making you behave so uninhibitedly?”

  Amanda was about to argue that the effects of the wine had worn off long ago, then realized that her indulgence in the alcoholic beverage was a wonderful and convenient excuse for her actions during the last few minutes. She couldn’t explain her behavior—even to herself—so she allowed the blame to fall on Richard Clarke’s elderberry wine.

  “You should have known it was the wine and behaved like a gentleman,” she said accusingly, all the while simmering in her own sense of guilt.