“Amanda?”
She turned around with a gasp, pressing a hand to her pin tuck shirtfront. “Heavens, you startled me.”
“My apologies. I heard noises up here, and I thought I’d better investigate.”
“I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I was working.”
“Still?” She eyed him with sympathy. “I thought surely you’d have finished by now.”
“No such luck,” he muttered and decided to change the subject. “What are you doing up here?”
“I was looking for the croquet set. Samuel had mentioned there was one in one of the trunks up here. If it’s fine out tomorrow afternoon, I thought the boys and I might have croquet. Or clock golf. Or badminton.”
He grinned. “Given up on cricket, have you?”
“Well, the boys did boot me off the team,” she reminded him. “My pride demands we have at least one game at the ready that I can play without feeling like a fool.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You only began learning the game today, and believe me, cricket’s not as easy as it looks. With a bit more practice, you’ll do all right.”
She made a face. “Forgive me if I’m doubtful,” she said, and returned her attention to the trunk she’d been searching through upon his arrival.
He stared at the shapely hips that were being presented to his gaze with such erotic innocence, and when she wriggled, trying to push the trunk aside, all his suppressed fantasies came roaring back, as lusty as before and every bit as immune to the admonitions of his conscience.
“Really, my lord, where are your manners?”
“What?” Jamie blinked, trying to regain his wits as her amused question about his manners penetrated his aroused, very unmannered senses. “I beg your pardon?”
Without straightening, she twisted around to look at him. “A chivalrous man would come and help me move some of these trunks.”
“Right. Of course.” Relieved at the idea of a task to divert his attention from her luscious hips, Jamie set the lamp he was holding on a nearby packing crate and came to where she stood. “Best move out of the way,” he told her.
“Careful,” she warned, stepping back. “That one’s full of books and quite heavy.”
He didn’t even bother trying to lift it; he merely shoved it aside with his foot, then moved several crates out of the way as well so that she could reach the trunks that were against the far wall. But when she moved to his side and opened one of the trunks, he decided he’d flirted with the line of propriety long enough.
“I shall leave you to it then,” he murmured with a bow, and turned to go, but before he’d taken three steps, she gave a kind of groaning laugh that made him pause.
“What is it?” he asked, turning around.
“I cannot seem to get away from this game.” She turned toward him, a cricket bat in her hands, and when he saw her laughing face, he couldn’t resist flirting with the line just a little bit longer.
She gripped the bat and gave it swing, then looked at him. “Well?” she asked. “Was that any better? What?” she added as he laughed. “Why are you laughing? What am I doing wrong?”
“Where should I start?”
“You offered to help me this afternoon,” she reminded. “And laughing,” she added, frowning at him, “is not helpful.”
“Sorry,” he apologized at once. “But you’re swinging that bat as if it’s rounders you’re playing.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” she countered at once. “I can hit a ball in rounders.”
“Cricket’s a bit different. But,” he added as her shoulders slumped in discouragement, “if you can hit a ball in rounders, you can probably hit a ball in cricket, too. You just have to learn how it’s done. Didn’t the twins give you any pointers this afternoon?”
She shook her head. “They just said if I wanted to join the team, I’d have to prove myself. Then, they handed me the bat and said I had to hit the ball and run for the opposite wicket.”
He gave her a dubious look. “They didn’t persuade you to wager anything on the outcome of this audition, did they?”
“They tried. I didn’t fall for it. I’ve learned a thing or two since Cowboys and Indians.”
He chuckled and came to take the bat from her. “I’ll show you how to bat properly. Then you can turn the tables and trick them for a change.”
Glancing around to be sure nothing was in his way, he squared off and swung the bat, moving slowly so she could observe precisely what he did. “See?” he said, and did it again. “You swing down toward the ground, then up, not straight across. And you keep the lower half of your body facing sideways, your upper body facing the bowler. Now, let’s get you in the proper position.”
He bent down, rummaged in the trunk she’d pulled the bat from, and pulled out three cricket stumps. “Come with me.”
He walked to the center of the room where there was some open space, then he set up the wicket and straightened. “Notice how I’ve placed the stumps?”
“Stumps?” She moved to stand beside him. “You mean these three sticks? I thought those were called the wicket.”
“They are, but the packed dirt you run across is also called a wicket, so to avoid confusion, most of us just call these the stumps. See how I’ve stood them upright in a row?” When she nodded, he removed the center stump and tossed it aside, then stepped back a few feet and took a batting stance. “To practice your batting, you’ll face the stumps, like this.”
“Face them? But aren’t they supposed to be behind you when you bat?”
“Yes, but we’re indoors, so we can’t use a cricket ball to practice with. Having the stumps in front of you with the middle one missing is how you practice your swing when you don’t have a ball. You’ll want to swing the bat between the two remaining stumps without touching them. Like this.”
He swung again, demonstrating the point. “Notice how I’m keeping the flat side of the bat facing forward?” When she nodded, he stepped back and tapped the floor where he’d been standing with the end of the bat. “Come, stand here.”
When she had positioned herself in the exact place he’d been a moment before, the wicket to her left, he moved to stand a few feet in front of her. “See how the seam of one floorboard is straight through the center of the wicket?” he asked, gesturing to the floor with the bat in his hand. “That seam,” he went on as she nodded, “can act as your sight line and help you position your body in the proper stance. Where are your toes?”
She lifted the hem of her skirt several inches to peer down at her feet, and when he caught sight of her ankles, he sucked in a sharp breath. Even in opaque black stockings, her ankles were not helping him maintain his equilibrium.
“Put the tips of your toes on the sight line,” he muttered, averting his gaze as he held out the bat to her, and when she took it, he moved back to a safe distance, reminding himself to pay attention to her stance, not imagine the shape of her legs.
“Bend your knees a bit and lift your right elbow higher. Good,” he added when she complied. “Now, keeping in your mind what you saw me do, try to do the same.”
She did, but when she swung the bat, she hit one of the stumps and knocked it over.
“That’s because of your grip,” he said. “The way you’re holding the bat is preventing you from keeping the flat side forward. I’ll show you.”
He stepped forward, putting his hands over hers on the bat, thinking to maneuver her fingers into a better position, but the moment he touched her, he realized he’d made a serious mistake.
He stilled, staring down at his hands, feeling her smaller ones beneath, warm and soft, her skin silky against his palms. He should step back now, while he still could, but it had been so long, so damned long, since he’d even touched a woman, and he just couldn’t make his body obey his mind’s command.
She stirred, but she didn’t pull her hands away. Nonetheless, he opened his, lifting them a fracti
on so that he was no longer touching her, giving her the clear choice to withdraw, hoping like hell she wouldn’t take it.
She didn’t move.
He closed his eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned closer, and when he caught the fresh, pristine scent of talcum powder, he appreciated the reason at once.
She must have bathed.
The thought was so erotic, it made him dizzy. He stilled again, his hands suspended just above hers, his eyes closed, his heart pounding so hard, it hurt his chest. He could not move, he could only stand here, taking in the scent of her skin and the sound of her soft, quick breathing, and the warmth of her body so close to his own. He wanted to stand here forever.
“Jamie?”
He heard his name and the question in it. He opened his eyes, but he could not reply. He could only stare at her, helpless, as lust flooded through him in thick, hot waves.
She’d said he had a poker face, but as he watched her eyes widen and rosy color wash into her cheeks, he knew any talent he had for hiding his feelings had chosen now to desert him. Her lips parted, drawing his gaze like a magnet, and when the tip of her tongue touched her bottom lip, he knew he had to draw back, before he did something that he would regret and she would despise him for.
“I should go.” He started to step back, but then, for no reason, he stopped. “Or you should,” he added, hating that he was so desperate to hang on to this moment that he would put the burden of proper conduct on her, when the burden was his. He compromised. “One of us should go.”
“Yes,” she agreed, but she didn’t move.
“I don’t . . .” He paused, and then he laughed, a short, caustic sound. “I don’t want to.”
Her eyes, wide and pretty, looked into his. “Neither do I,” she whispered.
And then, just like that, she was in his arms. The cricket bat clattered to the floor, and he kicked it out of the way. Then he pulled her close, tilted his head, and captured her mouth with his.
So long since he’d kissed a woman, he almost felt as if he’d never done it in his life before. Her lips were like warm velvet, and the feel of them against his own mouth sent exquisite shimmers of pleasure throughout his body.
His hand pressed into the small of her back, urging her closer, and when she came, he slid his arm fully around her waist as his other hand lifted to cup her face. The skin of her cheek was soft against his palm, the wisps of her hair tickled his fingertips, and after his self-imposed exile in the desert of celibacy, her kiss was like water and food to his body and a sweet balm of solace to his soul. But it was not enough. Not nearly enough.
He slid his hand to the back of her neck, raking it through the short, silky crop of her curls, then tightening to tilt her head back. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his, and her low moan into his mouth harkened to his need, urging him on. He responded gladly, his tongue entering her mouth, tasting deeply of her as he slid his hands down to shape the contours he’d already imagined—the gentle swell of her breasts, the slimness of her waist, the more generous curves of her hips. How, he wondered, had he ever managed to deny himself the pleasures of a woman for so damn long? Self-denial like that seemed ridiculous now, absurd.
He tightened his embrace again, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her back, wanting her even closer, needing even more.
She must have felt the same, for her arms came up around his neck, bringing the delicate scent of powder and the womanly heat beneath it to his nostrils, and he gave an agonized groan as his masculine instincts perceived her arousal.
His palms glided over her buttocks, and he made a sound of appreciation against her mouth as he cupped their fullness in his palms. And when he lifted her, pressing her hips to his hard arousal, the pleasure of it nearly drove him to his knees.
He wanted that. He longed to take her down to the floor with him, to pull up her skirts, to pleasure her with his hands and his mouth, and to feel those long, long legs of hers wrap around him as he came inside her.
But that, he knew, could not be. She was in his employ, and as he’d told her—promised her—he wasn’t the sort to bed the help. In these circumstances, the wild, reckless chap he’d been at twenty might have done it, but he wasn’t that man anymore.
Because of Pat.
The thought of his late wife gave him the will to stop, if not the desire. He eased Amanda to the ground, and as her hips slid down along his shaft, the pleasure was so unbearably exquisite, he groaned against her mouth, and when he tore his lips from hers and stepped back, it felt as if he was ripping himself in half.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. In the dim light and dusky shadows of the attic, they stared at each other, their rapid, mingled breathing the only sound.
She lifted her hand to her lips, still puffy from his kisses, and he knew that he could not stand here a moment longer or he would come apart.
“Forgive me,” he muttered as he picked up his lamp and turned away.
He walked toward the door. He didn’t dare look back, for he had anarchy inside him, and if he paused, if he turned, if he took even one more look at Amanda’s long legs, gorgeous eyes, and kiss-stung lips, the promise he’d made to her just two weeks ago would be broken beyond amendment, any integrity he thought he had would be proved a joke, and any notion that he was a responsible and honorable man would be lost.
His body in full rebellion against what he’d just done, he departed the attic and returned to his study. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the nearest window and flung up the sash, his only thought to cool the fire raging in his blood.
He stood there, one shoulder propped against the window frame, breathing deep and trying not to wish he was still the wild, skirt-chasing rake he used to be. He stood there a long time.
Chapter 13
Amanda watched the door swing shut behind Jamie, but she scarcely heard the squeak of the hinges or the click of the latch or the tap of his footsteps as he descended the stairs.
Her blood was a roar in her ears, her heart was thudding in her chest, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. And if all that wasn’t enough to confound a woman, her knees didn’t seem to work properly.
Amanda sank down onto a trunk with a thud as her wobbly legs gave way beneath her. “Oh dear,” she murmured, and gave a wild little laugh, wondering if she were having some sort of glorious, erotic dream.
She pressed a hand to her mouth and grimaced, for her lips felt tender and swollen, as if rasped by sandpaper. No dream, she realized, and with that, her exhilaration faded. She lowered her hand into her lap, trying to get her bearings.
It was just a kiss, she reminded herself, nothing new to a ruined, scandal-ridden woman like her. Kenneth, after all, had kissed her many times. He’d also seduced her and bedded her. Thanks to him, nothing about physical love ought to be any sort of surprise to her now, and yet, Jamie’s mouth on hers was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Unlike Kenneth’s kiss, Jamie’s had not been sweet and tender and a slow path to a virgin’s seduction. And it had certainly not been like Mr. Bartlett’s kiss, forced on her in a closet and impelling her to use force to escape.
No, Jamie’s kiss had been exhilarating and wild and scorching hot, and had left her with the strange, bizarre feeling that she’d never really been kissed in her life before.
Still, despite how it had felt, she knew one thing for certain. It had been a mistake. Jamie was her employer, and letting him kiss her had been inappropriate, foolish, and possibly disastrous.
Not that allowing him to kiss her was what had happened, precisely. In fact, when she thought back, she wasn’t quite sure who had kissed whom. One moment, he’d been teaching her how to hold a cricket bat, and the next, his lips had been on hers, and her arms had twined eagerly around his neck, and everything in the world had gone spinning out of control.
Regardless of who had made the first move tonight, the fact remained that stopping it had never entered her he
ad. Quite the contrary, for Jamie had been the one to call a halt, Jamie the one who had pulled back and walked away.
In fact, if stopping had been left up to her, Amanda suspected she and Jamie would still be standing here, their lips locked together, their arms wrapped around each other in a passionate embrace.
Chagrined by her own idiocy, Amanda groaned and buried her hot face in her hands. Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now? Hadn’t Kenneth taught her that carnal desires meant ruin for an unmarried woman? Hadn’t Mr. Bartlett reminded her that it was up to women to firmly and clearly enforce the boundaries because men could not be trusted to do so?
Either way, the question remained: what was she supposed to do now?
Amanda lifted her head at that question and forced herself to stop this stream of self-recrimination. Regrets were a waste of time. What mattered was what her next action should be.
Her first thought was to run away, so that she wouldn’t have to face him tomorrow. But she didn’t have the luxury of such cowardice, for she had nowhere to go, and little money to get there. And besides, she thought in aggravation, why should she have to run away? Why should she have to surrender a job she loved because of one mistake?
And there were the boys to consider. They were doing so well now. If she left, what would happen to them? They’d revert to their previous naughty ways, and that would be such a shame, given the progress they’d made. They were good boys, both of them, and they didn’t deserve to be abandoned by her because she and their father had made a stupid mistake.
No, leaving was not the answer. Perhaps she and Jamie could just pretend that kiss had never happened. Perhaps they could ignore it and carry on.
The moment Amanda considered that course, she knew she couldn’t take it. Ignoring the problem between herself and her employer was what she’d done in her previous post, and though this situation and her feelings about it were quite different this time around, nothing would be resolved by sticking her head in the sand. Jamie wasn’t Mr. Bartlett, not by a long way. But he was a man, and what had happened tonight might lead him to believe her virtue was open to question.
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