Danice Allen Read online

  Jack could be useful sometimes, as he’d been useful since their return from the peninsula in serving as Rob’s entre into le beau monde, the highest echelon of society, the members of which wouldn’t have considered accepting him under any other circumstances. Jack’s brother, Lord Serling, for example, was just such a nob who wouldn’t countenance him if it weren’t for Jack’s sponsorship. Yes, Julian—damn those preternaturally pale and eerie eyes—seemed to suspect him of being a hanger-on, a mushroom, a user. Rob couldn’t care less what Julian thought of him, but the man gave him the jitters.

  Jack was easier to fool because he had a trusting and open spirit. And Jack felt an obligation and a deep desire to trust and like Rob because Rob, an enlisted man serving under Jack’s captaincy, had had the great good luck of saving Jack’s life one fateful day. Thus Rob had secured Jack’s blind friendship and loyalty ever since.

  But Julian Montgomery was an entirely different bag of tricks. He didn’t like Rob, and he only tolerated him because he’d saved Jack’s life. He had a shrewd, suspicious nature and was ruthless when crossed or whenever a member of his family was threatened in any way. Rob knew he had a foe and not a friend in the imperious Marquess of Serling. Wisely, he steered clear as best he could.

  Rob was standing on the porch now and was about to make use of the knocker when the door suddenly opened and Jack came out. Rob was hopeful that his friend’s dazed expression meant his scheme had been successful. In a moment he’d know for sure, but first he’d a role to play….

  “Jack! Jack, you old sod!” He clutched Jack to his chest and gave him several hearty thumps on the back. “Heard you was back! Coming round to see you tonight, but thought I’d best check in on Charlotte first. Been a Trojan, she has. Kept the stiff lip and all that. How the deuce are you, old man?”

  “Hello, Rob,” Jack replied, once he’d been released from Rob’s affectionate stranglehold. He straightened his cravat and smiled wryly. “So you’re glad to see me, eh?”

  “Thought you’d turned up your toes, Jack. Was worried sick about you. ‘Twas devilish queer the way you disappeared outside The Spotted Dog. Was sure you’d been murdered.”

  Jack walked down the steps and Rob followed. “As you can see, I’m in fine fettle except for another scar to add to my collection.” He stopped, turned in the street, and pointed at his forehead where a narrow bandage an inch and a half long was secured.

  Rob inwardly seethed. Another scar that females would find interesting. The scar on Jack’s cheek had won him a great deal of feminine sympathy in the form of bedchamber romps, and this one would only add to his allure. They didn’t seem to detract from his basic good looks, either. Actually, they gave him a dangerous air and saved him from being too pretty. Damn the man.

  “How’d you get it?” Rob inquired, falling into step with Jack as he walked toward his approaching phaeton and horses.

  “How much do you know about what happened to me, Rob?” Jack asked.

  “Only as much as Charlotte was told in the note from your brother. That you were injured and that you’d temporarily lost your memory.”

  “Well, that’s enough for now. You’ll have to come visit me to get the details. Only don’t come tonight. I’ve got a lot to do. I’m driving to Surrey on the morrow, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Why the deuce are you going to Surrey all of a sudden? What’s there? And why aren’t you staying in town to prepare for your wedding?”

  “You ask too many questions, Rob. Besides, I thought you were on your way to see Charlotte?”

  Rob peered closely at Jack’s face. He couldn’t gauge his mood. “Why don’t you tell me how she is?”

  Jack shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “She’s in excellent form. I’ve never given her enough credit before, I daresay, but I think her an extremely wise young woman. She’s refused to marry me, Rob. Seems she’s had second thoughts. Don’t blame her, mind you. In fact, I applaud her. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” The phaeton had pulled up alongside the walkway, and Jack easily swung himself up several feet into the high seat.

  “What the deuce are you talking about, Jack?” said Rob, feigning astonishment. “Don’t tell me the wedding’s been called off for good this time?”

  Jack took the ribbons from his tiger and held them aloft. He bent a serious gaze on Rob. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rob. Charlotte says you’ve been a staunch friend to her while I was gone. Go and keep her company, will you? She says she’s fine, and I think she’s much better off without me, but just in case she’s feeling a little blue-deviled—calling off the wedding and all, and having to put up with that dragon of a mother—why don’t you see what you can do to cheer her up? There’s a good fellow.” Then he flicked the ear of his leader and was off.

  Rob watched Jack tool his phaeton down the road and envied him the kind of wealth that could afford such a spanking equipage and the means to stable horses in town. It was a monumental expense. But Rob’s surly expression turned into a smile as he contemplated his own plans for acquiring a tidy fortune. He didn’t know the details of Jack’s weeklong adventure, and he thought his friend extremely preoccupied and uncommunicative. But none of that mattered any more. Once he was Charlotte’s husband, he’d be nearly as flush in the pocket as Jack.

  Rob turned and walked back toward the Batsford town house. He was a bit worried that the Batsfords would think it indelicate to press his suit so soon after Charlotte and Jack had broken up. But Rob hadn’t the time to consider delicacies. Besides, on the other hand, the Batsfords might be relieved and delighted to be able to puff off to the papers news of Charlotte’s most recent engagement. They might even use her attachment to Rob as a reason for her breaking things off with Jack, a way … as it were … of saving face.

  Rob’s chest swelled like a preening toad’s as he imagined the latest on dit about town: Charlotte Batsford jilts Jackson Montgomery, Viscount Durham, for the mere Honorable Robert Hamilton. What tittle-tattle it would cause in every drawing room among the exalted ranks of the upper ten thousand. And wouldn’t haughty Lord Serling be flummoxed!

  With supreme self-confidence, Rob gave the door a hearty whacking with the knocker. Smiling smugly to himself, he waited for Phipps to open the portal to golden opportunity. Rob could almost hear the extra coins jingling in his pocket already….

  “Samantha’s been sulking ever since he left, you know,” said Prissy, wringing her hands.

  “Yes, and she absolutely refuses to cooperate with the dressmaker,” Nan added fretfully. “If Lord Serling … the dear man … had only stayed another day, she might have stood still long enough to be fitted for a few day dresses, at least. What are we going to do with the child, Amanda Jane?”

  Amanda sighed and stroked imagined creases out of her own jonquil-colored morning gown with a worried expression on her face. The noonday sun was shining in through the downstairs sitting room windows as the three ladies sat in chintz-covered chairs around an oak worktable. A vase of yellow chrysanthemums graced the unoccupied end of the table and stitchery boxes and balls of yam littered the end where the ladies were sitting and knitting socks for the orphanage in nearby Crowhurst.

  “Lord Serling was anxious to return to London,” Amanda said. “Besides, I’ve presumed on his kindness quite enough already and wouldn’t dare ask him to stay another minute. Sam will get used to us—and to her new home, I daresay—and in time she won’t miss Lord Serling at all.”

  Both aunts looked doubtful.

  “He had such a way with her,” Prissy couldn’t help saying in a tone of lament. “He knew how to make her behave. Just a look from him, or a raised brow, made her absolutely docile!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Aunt Prissy,” Amanda replied dryly. “Certainly Sam behaves much better for Lord Serling than for anybody else, but I’ve heard her talk back to the marquess, too.”

  “Nevertheless, his influence over the girl is considerable,” Nan piped in
. “And who would have guessed such a man would take the slightest interest in an … er … underprivileged child like Samantha? Most people would be amazed to know what a kind heart he has considering how … er … well—”

  “Aloof he seems?” Amanda finished for her with a wry smile. “How toplofty? How high in the instep, dear aunt?”

  “I will admit he frightened me quite speechless when he first arrived with you yesterday, Amanda,” Nan confessed, her faded brown eyes wide and wondering. “My, such a grand man he seemed, and so excessively tall! But now I think him the dearest fellow.”

  “He said he’d call again in a few days, Amanda Jane,” Prissy reminded her quite unnecessarily, “to see how we’re getting on. If we’re not succeeding with the child by then, hopefully he will advise us what to do.”

  Amanda picked up her knitting and trained her eyes to the job. “I don’t think it would be wise to involve Lord Serling in our problems, Aunt Prissy,” she said evenly. “And, quite frankly, I think you’re underestimating our abilities. You talk as though we can’t muddle along at all without a man to direct us.”

  Out of the comer of her eye Amanda caught the aunts exchanging meaningful glances. She braced herself for what she was sure was coming next.

  Aunt Nan cleared her throat. “Well, Lord Serling and his brother certainly came in handy on your trip to Thorney Island,” she asserted. “And they’re men!”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I gather from the snippets I’ve heard from you and Sam that if not for their help you might have found yourself in quite a tangle, Amanda Jane,” Prissy added emphatically. “I hope you’re not being ungrateful, dearest.”

  “Certainly not,” Amanda snapped, dropping her knitting in frustration. She gave her aunts a look of sheer exasperation. “I’m very grateful to Lord Serling for his help, but you don’t know … you can’t even imagine how much trouble his brother was!”

  Amanda broke off and picked up her knitting again as she felt her face flush with heat and color. She couldn’t even allude to Jack without a strong emotional reaction. She tried not to think of him at all, but the aunts were curious, and she’d been quite vague and sparse with details when she’d explained her adventures of the last few days … particularly when the explanations required mentioning Jack.

  Prissy tsked-tsked at Amanda’s outburst and said, “He couldn’t help losing his memory, dear. You can’t fault him for that. And he saved Samantha’s life! I wish I could meet the dear man and thank him face-to-face. Maybe we should invite him and Lord Serling to dinner, Amanda Jane. ‘Tis only a half-day’s drive from London. Don’t you think that would be the proper thing to do?”

  Amanda threw down her yam and needles and abruptly stood up. With clenched fists propped on the glossy tabletop Amanda glared down into her aunts’ startled faces. “No, I don’t think that would be proper, or the least bit wise. I never want to see that man again for as long as I live!”

  “But why, Amanda Jane?” Prissy inquired in a quavering voice.

  “Yes, why?” echoed Nan.

  Amanda closed her eyes. “If you must know, aunts, Jack Montgomery’s behavior on our trip was anything but prop—”

  “Miss?”

  Amanda opened her eyes and looked toward the sitting-room door, where Henchpenny stood at attention. She straightened up and endeavored to compose herself. “Yes, Henchpenny?”

  “There’s someone to see you, miss.”

  She took a deep breath. This would be the first caller since she’d returned home. Had Vicar Pleasely already heard about Amanda’s strange houseguest? Or was it the nosy Bartholomew sisters, Mary and Martha? She’d rehearsed in her mind a hundred times how she would explain Samantha to her neighbors. She hoped she was ready to lie convincingly.

  She took another deep breath and inquired, “Who is it, Henchpenny?”

  But before Henchpenny could reply, one long, trousered leg slipped through the half-opened door, and then another. And then the entire elegant figure of Jackson Montgomery appeared. From the top of his fashionably tousled blue-black hair to the tips of his polished Hessians, he was as neat and glossy as a raven’s feather. He held his hat in his hand and had a sheepish half-smile on his lips.

  “It’s me, Aman—Miss Darlington. May I come in?”

  Amanda felt as if every bit of air had been squeezed from her lungs. She grabbed the table for support as she felt herself slightly swaying. His appearance was so unexpected, the shock was considerable. But even if she’d known he was coming, she’d have reacted just as violently to the sight of him.

  The sight of him … was it possible that she’d forgotten how handsome he was? How his presence filled a room? How he made her heart pound and her pulse drum through her veins till she was as heady as a June bride?

  Beyond her swimming senses, all of which seemed to be concentrated on the man standing at the door, Amanda was vaguely aware of her aunts’ incredulous and curious stares. Their white heads swiveled back and forth from Amanda to Jack, back to Amanda, then … inevitably … back to Jack. And there their gazes remained fixed. The aunts were as mesmerized by Jack as Amanda was … as all women were. Apparently there was no age limitation on keen sexual awareness.

  Frightened by her initial reaction, Amanda strived to remember why she was furious with Jack. She recalled every hurtful detail that would reinforce her against the onslaught of tender and passionate feelings flooding through her heart and soul. As the seconds ticked by, she was able to dredge up enough anger to save her from rushing headlong into the villain’s strong arms. At the same moment, she found her voice.

  “Henchpenny, you may go,” she said evenly. The man inched away slowly, his lips pursed in disapproval. He had no doubt noticed the thick-as-pea-soup tension in the room.

  “Come in, Lord Durham,” Amanda said with regal formality. She made a split-second decision to behave with icy decorum instead of anger. He’d still get the message, and she wouldn’t have to air her and Jack’s dirty laundry in front of her aunts.

  Jack frowned and moved forward. He’d been limping when she walked with him on the beach at Thorney Island, but now it appeared his limp was gone. All the better to walk down the aisle, she thought with caustic humor that only hurt herself. His eyes searched her face, but she forced herself to remain expressionless.

  “Lord Durham, these are my aunts, Miss Priscilla and Miss Nancy Steeple. Aunts, this is Lord Serling’s brother, Lord Durham.”

  Jack tore his troubled gaze away from Amanda and smiled down at the aunts. His lips parted to display straight white teeth that seemed to glint dazzlingly in the sunshine that bathed the room. He bowed elegantly and took each of their hands. “Your niece has told me a great deal about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  The aunts blushed and stuttered. They were in awe. And they didn’t have a clue what to say because they couldn’t make the same polite comment in reply. Amanda had told them nothing about him!

  “To what do we owe this visit, Lord Durham?” Amanda inquired without inviting him to sit down or offering him any refreshment after his long drive down from London. The aunts noted the rude omission and stared at their niece disbelievingly.

  Jack dropped a caressing look down the length of her dress, then up again to her face and hair, seeming to take in every detail. “You’ve left off wearing black,” he said. “You’re lovely in yellow. It makes your hair look like sunshine …”

  Amanda tried to control the rush of blood to her cheeks, but it was impossible. He still had the power to thrill her, to charm her, to crowd and confuse her senses with his smile, his words, his vital presence.

  She briefly closed her eyes to compose herself. “Don’t flatter me, Jack. Just state your business and be off.”

  Jack shook his head and dropped his hat on the table. He was dressed in a burgundy riding jacket, a waistcoat with a subdued paisley print, and buff-colored kerseymere trousers that clung to his shapely legs like a second skin. “I can see y
ou’re not going to make this easy for me, Amanda.”

  She raised her brows and moved so that the entire length of the oval table was between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Could we speak privately?”

  The aunts dear-deared and tut-tutted and began to scoot back their chairs.

  “Don’t go,” Amanda ordered in a no-nonsense voice, and the aunts remained seated. She didn’t take her eyes off Jack, but she could see her aunts’ confused flutterings in her peripheral vision. “There’s nothing Jack needs to say that he can’t say in front of other people.” She threw him a challenging look. “Is there, Jack?”

  Jack’s jaw tightened. He’d been patient and conciliatory so far, but now his eyes flashed with angry determination. A chill raced down Amanda’s spine.

  “Do you take pleasure in seeing your aunts squirm in their seats, Amanda?” he inquired with deceptive calmness. He placed his splayed hands on the table and leaned forward. His voice lowered seductively. “Or are you insisting that they remain because you’re afraid to be alone with me?”

  Amanda’s chin tilted up. “Of … of course I’m not afraid to be alone with you,” she lied.

  He raised his black brows, implying disbelief.

  Amanda sighed shakily and turned to look at her aunts. They indeed appeared as though they were feeling decidedly awkward and uncomfortable. “If you want to go, aunts, please feel free to leave the room, but if you’d rather stay, don’t let Jack—”

  But Amanda didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Her aunts had already scurried out of the room and closed the door behind them. She was alone … with Jack. She forced herself to meet his unwavering gaze with assumed unconcern.

  “Thank you, Amanda,” Jack said gravely.

  “Don’t thank me,” she snapped back. “Just tell me why you’re here. By-the-by, does your bride-to-be know where you are this lovely afternoon, or does she think you’re at Weston’s being fitted for a wedding suit?”

  Jack smiled wryly and slowly edged toward the curve of the table, trailing the fingers of his gloved right hand along the smooth, gleaming wood. Amanda’s stomach clenched with longing. She could remember the feel of his hands on her skin. Gentle, urgent, thrilling. But she stood her ground.