The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “Don’t make excuses fer me, missy,” snarled the boy, taking Amanda by surprise. She looked down at her brother, with his golden mass of cropped curls skimming the edge of his coarse shirt, thinking he looked like one of heaven’s cherubs that had fallen from some celestial perch and ended up in a pigsty. Though he scowled at her, she was determined to believe that underneath that dirt was an angel’s apprentice.

  “And don’t talk to your sister that way, brat,” Lord Serling ordered, “or Jack and I might regret that we saved your life tonight.”

  This information demanded further explanation, and Amanda turned to Jack, who briefly and diffidently described what had occurred on the cliffs.

  “Then I must thank you yet again, Jack,” Amanda said softly, stifling the urge to throw her arms around his neck and cover his dear face with kisses. “Not only did you save my life when the gun went off accidentally, but you saved Sam’s life, too. How will I ever thank you?”

  Jack gave Amanda an eloquent look indicating that they both knew exactly how he’d like to be thanked. However, as they knew that such a gesture of gratitude also was impossible, Jack quickly averted his gaze and said modestly, “Sam and I’d both be over the cliff and washed out to sea by now if it weren’t for Julian. He caught my heels and pulled us to safety.”

  Amanda turned to Lord Serling. “Then I have you to thank as well, my lord,” she said, smiling warmly. “How can I show my gratitude?”

  Lord Serling raised a haughty brow. “It will be quite simple to show your gratitude to me, Miss Darlington,” he assured her. “All I ask is that you oversee the bathing of this troublesome sibling of yours so we can return to Prinstead as quickly as possible.” His aristocratic nostrils flared as he flicked a distasteful glance Sam’s way. “And remember to burn the clothes.”

  Amanda’s brows knitted in a frown. “But what shall he wear, my lord? I saw no change of clothes in the bedchamber, and even if your or Jack’s clothes were here, they’d be far too large for the boy. We can’t very well bundle him up in sheeting and take him naked into Prinstead!”

  “Sam’s a mite smaller than you, but you females have a way of altering your clothes to fit with a stitch here and a stitch there, don’t you?” Julian inquired.

  “Now see ’ere!” bellowed Sam, “I’m hot wearin’ any fussy female finery!”

  “Of course you aren’t,” Amanda agreed, staring at Lord Serling with a mixture of confusion and consternation. “I have no notion why his lordship is finding his amusement at your expense, Sam, but I’d appreciate an explanation from the gentleman.”

  “I can explain, Amanda,” Jack offered with a sly grin as he pushed away from the mantel and stepped forward. “I thought I was the only one privy to Sam’s little secret, but once again I haven’t taken into account the acute perspicacity my brother’s known for.”

  Amanda propped her fists on her hips and looked from one smug Montgomery brother to the other. “What are you babbling about?”

  “Sam’s a girl,” Jack answered succinctly.

  “What a bag of moonshine!” Amanda blurted. “I don’t believe you!”

  “Oh, but it’s true,” Lord Serling assured her with a convincingly careless shrug. “Strip the little baggage for a bath and you’ll find definite proof beneath those flea-infested rags.”

  Amanda shook her head disbelievingly and stared at Sam. “Sam, is … is this true? Are you really my sister instead of my brother?”

  Sam made a noise of disgust, shoved her hands in her pockets, and kicked at some invisible object on the floor. Then she screwed her face into a pugnacious scowl and scornfully replied, “Bah! Who in their right mind would want to be a girl. On the island, I could be whoever I wanted, and I wanted to be a Sam, not a Samantha!”

  “Good lord,” Amanda said faintly, sinking into a chair Jack scooted behind her just in time.

  Sam watched her sister’s reaction with a sullen fascination, then said sulkily, “Anyhow, Samantha’s a name for some simpering little chit. And, believe me, you’ll never make me into one of those!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Following orders, Theo, Harley, and Joe fetched water, heated it up, and poured it into a misshapen tin tub they found in a dusty corner of the kitchen, covered with cobwebs. As there was no soap in the house, Amanda borrowed a bar she carried in her portmanteau when she traveled. The none-too-clean sheeting from the bed would have to do for drying Sam off after the bath, as there appeared to be no huckaback in the house set aside for bathing purposes.

  Once all the preparations were finished, the gentlemen went outside: Theo, Harley, and Joe to tend to the horses, and Jack and Lord Serling to linger for the required amount of time in a neglected wilderness at the back of the house that used to be a garden. Since the tub was set in front of the fireplace in order to keep the bather as warm as possible, there was really no place in the house the men could go … except for the tiny bedchamber, which was obviously out of the question … and still preserve Sam’s modesty.

  “There!” said Amanda with enthusiasm as soon as the door had closed behind the last male. “Now you can climb into that deliciously hot tub of water, Samantha. You’ll feel much more the thing once you’ve had a bath!”

  But Sam, who had sat, silent and sullen, throughout the process of preparing the bath, looked suspiciously at the steaming water, turned up her nose, and said disdainfully, “You ain’t gettin’ me in there.”

  Amanda had been afraid something like this would happen. Obviously Sam wasn’t used to bathing regularly, but considering the amount of dried mud she was coated with … on top of the dirt that was already there … she’d hoped Sam would be cooperative.

  “My dear, you can’t go into town covered in muck. Besides, you’ll feel much more comfortable cleaned up and wearing a proper garment.”

  “If you mean that black dress you’ve draped yonder, I won’t put it on. I ain’t goin’ to no funeral, and I ain’t puttin’ on mournin’ for a pa what deserted me.” She folded her thin arms across her chest and lifted her pointed chin. “Likewise, I ain’t goin’ to town, and I ain’t takin’ a bath!”

  “Samantha, don’t you want to make a good impression on your first trip off the island?” Amanda reasoned.

  “My name is Sam,” Sam reminded her. “And fer your information, I been off the island plenty o’ times.”

  “Indeed?” Amanda replied patiently, glancing at the tub and hoping the water wouldn’t cool too quickly. “Where did you go?”

  “I snuck round Prinstead. You know those books in my room?” She looked smug. “I stole ‘em. And don’t tell me it’s a sin to steal. I already know that, ‘cause Grimshaw used to read me all about sin from the Bible every night.” Her narrow chest puffed with pride. “That’s how I learned to read. Grimshaw would read out loud and I’d follow along without her bein’ any the wiser. She wouldn’t teach me to read, ‘cause she said bastards don’t need to know nothin’. She said I was only here on earth ‘cause of sin … your pa and my ma’s sin.”

  Amanda’s heart expanded painfully. “Sam, don’t talk that way. You aren’t—”

  “Grimshaw, she used to beat me fer stealin’,” Sam continued matter-of-factly, “but I didn’t care ‘cause books was what helped me know there was a better place out there somewhere, and that maybe someday even I could have a better life, too.”

  She grew thoughtful, staring off into the middle distance and probably remembering the fantasy world she’d created to keep her sanity. “I used to think all the time about runnin’ away, but I was afraid Grimshaw would find me and haul me back and make me sorry I’d ever left in the first place.” She shivered, whether from the cold mud coating her or the remembered dread of Grimshaw, Amanda wasn’t sure.

  “I can understand your reasoning,” Amanda agreed softly. “But, tell me, why did you stay after Grimshaw left?”

  Sam didn’t answer. She hung her head, set her jaw, and stared broodingly at her feet. But Amanda knew why she hadn
’t left. She was afraid. And who could blame her? She’d never known anything beyond the boundaries of Thorney Island, except for brief, furtive forays into town, hiding and stealing to get her precious books. She didn’t know how to act around people, and she had no reason to expect them to be kind to her. Grimshaw certainly hadn’t been kind, and Grimshaw was the only human being she’d ever known.

  Sam had been repeatedly told for seventeen years that she was a bastard, the product of sin, unwanted and practically a nonperson, undeserving of anyone’s love or even their passing interest. Of course, she’d be terrified to venture beyond the squalid safety of the only home she’d ever known.

  While Grimshaw remained on the island, she’d been Sam’s keeper, and Sam had probably developed a strange sort of dependency on the old crone. Then, after Grimshaw left, she’d been trapped on the island by her own fear, forced to hunt or steal for her food and scrounge for the most basic necessities.

  It made Amanda sick at heart to consider how wretched Samantha’s life had been as a result of a sanctimonious and cowardly decision made by their so-called respectable father all those years ago. She burned with indignation and an almost physically painful need to make things right, to undo the wrongs done to her sister.

  But Sam had an innate pride and seemed to despise anything that remotely resembled pity. She was determined to refuse any help or accept any of the kindnesses Amanda was aching to shower her with.

  But most importantly, and most essential to Sam’s recovery from her dreadful upbringing, Amanda wanted Sam to realize that nothing that had happened to her was her fault. She wanted her to know that she was cared for, that she was no longer alone in the world, that she wouldn’t have to just dream about a good life … she could live it.

  “Samantha … er … Sam, I wish I knew the words to say that would convince you how very sorry I am about what our father did—”

  Up came that stubborn chin again. “It don’t matter whether you’re sorry or not. It won’t change things.”

  “But together we can change things … don’t you see? If you come with me, we can—”

  Sam stopped her with a look as frigid as a mountain stream in January. “Get this straight, Miss Priss. I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you: not tonight, not ever. And there’s no way in bloody hell you’re goin’ to get me in that tub!”

  Amanda was exhausted, hungry, and overwrought. She considered wrestling Sam into the tub, but she wasn’t sure if she had the strength or the energy, and she wasn’t sure it was the best way to start off their sisterly relationship. She refused to believe she was entirely defeated, however, and decided to seek advice on the matter.

  And who did she immediately think to turn to for help? Why, Jack, of course.

  “I’ll be right back, Sam,” said Amanda, moving to the door. Sam initially looked surprised, then shrugged and pretended not to be the least bit curious about Amanda’s next strategy. She probably didn’t think it would work, anyway.

  As it was such a short distance, and all the lanterns were in use, Amanda walked around the cottage toward the back without bothering to carry a light. She was about to turn the last corner when her shoe got bogged down in the mud and slipped off her heel. She was standing on one leg, with one hand braced against the outside wall of the cottage as she gingerly pushed her shoe back on, when she heard Lord Serling say something that made her freeze in place.

  “Well, Jack, you’ve told me the broad particulars of what happened to you after you stumbled out of The Spotted Dog to relieve yourself, but you haven’t yet told me when you recovered your memory.”

  “It was when we were leaving Patching.”

  “So, you’ve been lying to Miss Darlington ever since you left Patching?”

  Amanda felt sick. She’d been duped! Jack had been pretending to have amnesia since yesterday afternoon! She should have figured it out, but she’d been blind to so many clues! For example, the way Jack and Lord Serling talked to each other during the dog attack indicated that Jack remembered a great many things. She’d apparently been too preoccupied with other matters to take note. And she’d trusted Jack. Why would he do such a thing?

  “I had to pretend I still needed her assistance, Julian, or she’d have booted me out the door.”

  “And your reasons for wanting to stay with Miss Darlington were entirely altruistic? You wanted to assist her in the recovery of her abandoned sibling?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I didn’t think you understood her true reason for traveling to Thorney Island till this morning?”

  “Well, er, it’s true I didn’t have an altogether precise idea of her reason till this morning, but I suspected”—he gave a self-derisive little chuckle—“actually, I suspected a great many things and was very far off the mark in one particular….” His voice trailed off. “But there’s no changing that now,” he finished on a note of regret. Amanda wondered exactly what part of the last four-and-twenty hours he regretted.

  There was a pause, then Lord Serling continued. “I concede wholeheartedly that Miss Darlington was very much in need of help in this little undertaking, and I shudder to think how she would have got on without your assistance, Jack, but are you being completely truthful when you say you had no other inducement for pretending amnesia? Could you possibly have been procrastinating your return to London because of the wedding?”

  The wedding? Amanda knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help herself. Things were coming to light that she had every right to know. Apparently Jack had not only been lying to her but had also kept important facts a secret.

  “As you know, my nonappearance at the wedding was not my fault. My initial loss of memory was very real. But once I recovered my memory, I saw no reason to rush back to London.”

  “No reason, eh?” Lord Serling’s tone was sardonic. “Your bride behaved stoically when she and her family found it necessary to send out five hundred notes of apology the night before the wedding.”

  His bride? Amanda couldn’t believe what she was hearing!

  “Her grace under fire was extremely commendable, Jack. Charlotte is a fine girl, and she was genuinely worried about you. Returning to London as soon as you got your memory back, or at least sending word that you were alive, would have saved Charlotte several hours of worry.”

  “Damn Charlotte! I wish I’d never met the girl, much less promised to marry her,” he said with a bitterness that sent a chill down Amanda’s spine. “Getting leg-shackled is the last thing on earth I want to do. Hell, I may never go back to London, Julian!”

  Amanda had heard enough. With her trembling hand clamped over her mouth, she turned and stumbled away, no longer caring that her skirts dragged in the mud. She couldn’t believe it! The night Jack made love to her he knew himself to be betrothed. He had betrayed both her and his bride-to-be. She was a woman that Lord Serling esteemed, but the poor thing had become just another casualty of Jack’s lethal charm! And now it appeared that Jack regretted his proposal of marriage and was wishing… perhaps even planning … to disappoint and shame her again.

  Jack was just like her father, Amanda fumed. He was unwilling, perhaps unable to meet his responsibilities. No wonder he’d insisted on remaining with her. Jack told Julian he’d stayed with her so he could help her, but Julian didn’t know about their lovemaking at the Angel Inn. Perhaps Jack had seen Amanda’s willingness to dally … with no strings attached … as an opportunity too golden to pass up.

  She strode quickly past the house and headed for the beach, taking care to stay out of sight of Theo as he fussed about the horses. Her mind was in turmoil, and her throat ached from holding back a deluge of tears and emotion. She was hurt and angry and growing more furious by the minute.

  Perhaps, she thought now, he’d been meaning to get her into bed all along. She was just his sort, wasn’t she? The sort that asked for no commitments, just a single night of unbridled passion to keep as a memory for her dotage! His initial reluctanc
e—on grounds of “pledged honor”—must have been pretense, just like his amnesia was a pretense.

  Amanda shook her head. How pathetic I must seem to him, she thought, but what perfect prey for a man like Jack, who shunned commitment like the plague!

  She should have seen it coming. Even when he had no memory, his aversion to marriage was frequently brought out in conversation. He talked intimately in his sleep of women. Even Theo had labeled him a rogue from day one. But Amanda had been too starved for affection, too beguiled by the man to be sensible. Oh, how she wished she’d never clapped eyes on Jackson Montgomery!

  “You know I don’t approve of such language when you’re speaking of a lady, Jack,” Julian said stiffly. “I find it particularly offensive when you use it in the same sentence with the name of Charlotte Batsford.”

  “Good God, Julian,” said Jack, dragging both hands through his hair. “If you think so highly of her, why don’t you wed the chit? That would settle things nicely for everyone!”

  “I had a feeling you were regretting your betrothal, but I never once entertained the idea that you would try to weasel your way out of the wedding. I defended you to Lady Batsford when she insinuated as much.”

  “Thank you, brother,” Jack said grimly. “But now I suppose you’re wondering if your gallant leap to my defense was precipitant.”

  Julian’s silence spoke volumes.

  Jack sighed with weary resignation. “No, blast it. I’m not going to jilt Charlotte. I’m very sorry I cursed just now while discussing her. I’m going to go directly back to London as soon as we’ve safely escorted Amanda and her sister to Surrey. I’ll repeat my vows at the altar whenever Charlotte sets the date. I’ve never seriously considered any other course of action.”

  “I’m relieved, Jack,” Julian admitted. “Normally I wouldn’t doubt you in the least, but recently I had begun to wonder if your affection for another woman had fuddled your reasoning.”