The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “I’m sure I don’t know why he isn’t here,” Sam said, forcing a smile. “But I don’t think we need worry about him going hungry. You should know him better than that, my dear aunts.”

  The aunts agreed and eventually the conversation turned to other matters. Sam ate a very small breakfast, then retired to her bedchamber. She did not want to be nearby when Jean-Luc came to call. In fact, she didn’t even want to catch a glimpse of him leaving the house. She could hardly bear to imagine the look of satisfaction on his face after receiving permission from Julian to seek her hand in marriage. And since he’d already procured her own acquiescence, it was only a matter of time before the betrothal would be puffed up in the papers and her own matrimonial fate sealed for good.

  Sam was only too aware this morning that she’d made a terrible mistake. If she couldn’t marry Julian, she had no business marrying anyone. But the die had been cast, and there was no turning back. By and by she hoped she’d become reconciled to the marriage and make Jean-Luc as happy as he deserved to be.

  At exactly ten o’clock, there was a knock on Julian’s library door. The eager bridegroom-to-be is exactly on time, Julian thought bitterly, rising from his chair behind the desk and coming round to the front to greet his visitor. “Come,” he called, and the footman entered, announced Jean-Luc, then bowed himself out.

  Julian braced himself for the interview he’d been dreading ever since he saw Jean-Luc kissing Sam’s fingers last night at the Wilmots’ ball. And when Jean-Luc later asked to meet with him this morning, Julian’s worst fears were confirmed. It had taken him too long to understand his own heart, and meanwhile Sam had made other plans. He had pushed her away one too many times. But was it entirely hopeless? he wondered. He would soon know.

  Jean-Luc strode in, fashionably dressed and impeccably groomed as usual, but the sparkle in his eyes and the broad smile on his lips made him a different man today. He obviously felt himself the luckiest man on earth.

  He bowed, and Julian returned the courtesy with a slight nod of his head. Jean-Luc’s cheerfulness and confidence was like a knife in Julian’s heart. It reduced his own hopes considerably. He would be civil, but he could barely tolerate Jean-Luc’s happiness.

  As if sensing Julian’s irritation with him, Jean-Luc seemed to try to smile less, to appear less joyful. But it didn’t work. His eyes still glowed, his mouth still persisted in turning up at the corners.

  “Good morning, Lord Serling,” Jean-Luc began.

  “Is it?” Julian drawled with a faint smile.

  Jean-Luc’s expressive eyebrows lifted. “Haven’t you noticed what a beautiful day it is outside?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Julian replied, indicating a chair for Jean-Luc to sit in, then sitting down himself. “But, in your present mood, I imagine you would think it a fine day even if it were pouring rain. However, you did not come here to talk of the weather.” Julian wanted to get this ordeal over with as soon as possible.

  Jean-Luc sat down on the edge of the chair, leaning forward, as if he were too excited to relax. “Of course you know why I’m here. I’m quite sure I’m not the first to ask for Sam’s hand in marriage, but I flatter myself that I’m the first she has encouraged.”

  “You have already asked her to marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  “At the Wilmots’ ball last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she said … yes?”

  “Yes! And I’m the happiest of men.”

  Julian turned away. “Obviously,” he muttered. Then it was settled, Julian thought morosely. As he had feared, Sam had already told Jean-Luc that she would marry him. So what choice did he have but to give Jean-Luc his consent and blessing to the betrothal?

  There was certainly nothing he could reasonably object to in the fellow. He was rich and well-connected. He had been a bit of a philanderer over the years, but he now seemed quite ready to settle down. And if Sam wanted him, how could he refuse her? But did Sam want him more than any other man? Did she love him more than any other man? Was he truly the right man for her?

  “You must know I am well able to give your ward a very comfortable lifestyle, Lord Serling,” Jean-Luc continued when Julian did not speak. “I’ve an estate in Derbyshire and—”

  “I am well aware of your ability to provide for my ward,” Julian cut him off. “I am more concerned that you are … er … compatible as a couple.”

  As well he might, Jean-Luc looked surprised. Compatibility between a man and a woman was probably hardly ever discussed in these sorts of interviews. Money and connections were all that mattered to most guardians.

  “We are extremely compatible,” Jean-Luc assured him. “We are the best of friends. She confides in me, and I in her. We have a great deal of fun together, and—”

  “Do you love her?”

  Jean-Luc’s handsome face beamed with tenderness and sincerity. “Very much,” he said with quiet conviction.

  Jealous beyond bearing, Julian wanted to strangle Jean-Luc. But how could he dislike—much less strangle—a man that had such exquisite taste in women? If he didn’t desperately want Sam for himself, he would be overjoyed at the prospect of giving her away to such a fellow.

  But there was one more point that had to be covered. The most important point of all.

  “And does Sam love you?”

  Jean-Luc hesitated. Some sort of emotion—doubt?—flashed in his eyes for an instant. But soon he was smiling as broad as ever. “I believe she does. But if she doesn’t, I will make her love me! I will make her the center of my life. If you consent to our marriage, Lord Serling, I promise to devote myself to her happiness. What is your answer, sir? May I have Sam’s hand in marriage?”

  Julian observed Jean-Luc for a long, considering moment. Then he said, “It appears that I have no choice in the matter. There’s only one possible answer to your request.”

  Jean-Luc leaned eagerly forward, his face reflecting his joy and triumph.

  Twenty minutes past the hour of ten, Sam was startled by a knock at her bedchamber door. She’d been thinking of her mother and wondering how that lovely lady would have advised her to handle her present problems. And she had been trying very hard not to think about what was going forth in the library during Jean-Luc’s interview with Julian. But it appeared that now she was going to find out whether she wanted to or not.

  She opened the door, half-expecting to see Julian himself, but it was Hedley.

  “Lord Serling wishes you to come to him in the library, miss,” he said. “Immediately,” he added with emphasis.

  Sam followed Hedley down the stairs to the library. He opened the door for her, she went in, and much sooner than seemed possible she was facing her guardian across the narrow width of the room.

  Julian was leaning in a negligent pose against his massive mahogany desk, his shapely, lean-muscled thigh hiked over the edge. He was wearing buff-colored pantaloons and tall Hessian boots, a Devonshire-brown jacket and an oyster-shell brocade waistcoat. As usual, he looked magnificent and, despite his casual attitude, he exuded strength and virility. He took her breath away.

  “So, Samantha,” he began in a measured voice, the expression in his silvery blue eyes intense and aloof at the same time, “Jean-Luc is the man you have chosen for your bridegroom.”

  Samantha’s gaze dropped to the Axminster carpet at her feet. She felt a constriction in her throat and the pressure of beginning tears behind her eyes.

  “Is there anything wrong, Sam?” The question was quietly and coolly spoken.

  Sam swallowed the lump in her throat and forced back the tears. If there was one thing she was determined to hold on to at this point, it was her pride. She threw back her head and smiled brightly. “No, there’s nothing wrong, Julian,” she lied, her voice remarkably steady considering how wretched she truly felt. “It’s just that it felt odd to hear you speak of my marriage as a … a … positive thing. There was a fluttering in my chest. I’m so very happy, you see.�
�

  Julian pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “So, Jean-Luc was not just indulging a bit of wishful thinking when he told me that you had already consented to an engagement?”

  “He was not,” Sam agreed, still forcing a tremulous smile.

  “Then you … care for him?”

  Sam gave a short, artificial laugh. “How could you doubt my feelings for Jean-Luc after what you witnessed last night at the Wilmots’ ball? I do not allow just any man to … to kiss me.”

  “Indeed, I should hope not,” Julian returned, still quite sober. “Kisses should not be strewn about like rose petals. Not even kisses on the hand.”

  “Or on the cheek,” Sam couldn’t resist adding, conjuring up a painful memory of Julian and Charlotte at the Wilmots’ ball last night.

  He stared hard at her, seeming to try to read her thoughts. But Sam didn’t so much as flinch. She had resolved to get through this ordeal without losing her composure. After all, Julian was engaged to Charlotte now and honor-bound to keep his promise to spend the rest of his life with her. Sam would keep her promise, too. She would marry Jean-Luc.

  Thinking the interview nearly at an end, Sam was surprised and unnerved when Julian slowly slid his thigh off the desk top and stood. He paused, simply looked at her, then deliberately advanced.

  Immediately Sam’s heart began to beat faster. It was one thing affecting unconcern with Julian far across the room. But the closer he approached, the harder it was for Sam to pretend that her heart wasn’t breaking, that she wasn’t yearning to throw herself into his arms, that she didn’t love him more than life itself.

  He stopped just in front of her and looked down, gazing steadfastly into her face. She bravely stood her ground, her eyes locked with his. Still he said nothing.

  Sam felt gooseflesh erupt on her arms, her back, her breasts. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body. She could smell his unique scent of soap and linen and clean masculinity, taking her back to that night at the inn when they’d kissed and he’d held her close against him. Her body responded to the memory … quickening, warming, aching.

  He lifted his arms and cupped her shoulders with his large, strong, beautiful hands. Sam gasped, then hoped Julian had not noticed her involuntary response.

  “Sam, may I ask you a question?” he said at last, his eyes searching hers.

  “Y … yes, of course.”

  “You and I have kissed…” His gaze strayed to her lips.

  “That … that was not a question, Julian,” Sam quavered. “That was a statement.”

  “If you are so particular about whom you kiss, Sam, why did you allow me to kiss you? Nay, why did you dare me to kiss you?”

  Sam did not understand why Julian was asking such a question, especially now that neither of them were free. Was he doubting her affection for Jean-Luc … or testing it? Her pride would not allow him to suspect that she’d decided to marry Jean-Luc on the spur of the moment, and that she had only succumbed to such a whim because she couldn’t have the one man she truly loved … him.

  Reminding herself that she was the daughter of an actress, Sam forced herself to answer lightly. “I had an infatuation for you … remember?” she said, somehow managing a sheepish smile. “I would have tried anything to get you to see me as a woman.”

  “Well, guess what?” he said softly, lifting his hand and lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It worked. I do see you as a woman now.”

  “You … you do?” she said wonderingly.

  “Yes, a young woman quite grown-up and ready for a relationship with a man.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked into her eyes. “Only I wonder if you’ve chosen the right man. Have you, Sam?”

  Sam wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that he was the only man for her. But to what purpose? To admit that her feelings for him had not changed since she’d confessed them to him at the King’s Arms, then been rebuffed, would only make her look foolish and pathetic. After all, even though he had not told her of it yet, he’d made his choice. He was engaged to someone else, and he was far too honorable to cry off from an engagement even if she was able to somehow get through to him this time … which seemed extremely unlikely. If her bare body had been so easily ignored by him, why should she bare her soul? No, there was no point in doing so. No point at all.

  Again Sam forced a smile and told a lie. “But of course I’ve chosen the right man, Julian! It has just taken me a while to … to understand my true feelings. I am sure Jean-Luc will make an excellent husband. He loves me very much.”

  “But do you love him?” Julian persisted, his eyes intensely bright.

  It was time for another lie, but Sam couldn’t get it out. She felt dazed, disoriented by Julian’s closeness. Why was he torturing her? Why didn’t he just leave her alone and let her be miserable in her own way!

  “If you’re not sure, there’s one way to find out,” he advised her in a soft-as-silk voice. “When he’s this close to you, do you want him to put his arms around you … like this?” He slid his arms around her waist.

  “Do you want him to hold you close … like this?” He pulled her flush against him. His hard body against hers awakened a thousand pulse points that throbbed throughout her.

  He bent his head till his lips were inches from hers. “Do you want him to kiss you … like this?” he breathed.

  Julian stared into Sam’s wide, questioning gaze. Tension pulsated in the air between them. Then, throwing caution aside for once in his life, he claimed her mouth in a passionate, possessive kiss that made rational thought impossible. He was wonderfully out of control!

  She, too, seemed to welcome the recklessness of their embrace. She clung to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, fervently returning his kisses.

  “Sam,” he rasped, his mouth gliding down her throat to the frantic pulse at its base. Thrilled by her eager trembling and gasps of pleasure, his hand moved to her small, round breast and caught the taut nipple between thumb and forefinger. She moaned, and he was drunk with joy. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  He picked her up and carried her to the sofa, sitting down and cradling her in his lap. Still holding her, he pressed her back against a pile of throw pillows, kissing her mouth, her neck, the fragile ridge of her collarbone.

  She sighed and arched her back in invitation. He took the invitation, burying his face in the dip between her breasts, gently but urgently pushing down the bodice of her gown as he kissed and lathed her soft skin. Soon he had exposed a creamy breast and could not resist the urge to suckle there. He swirled his tongue around the rosy nipple, teasing and tugging. She clutched at his hair, drawing him closer and closer.

  His hand wandered down to caress her rib cage, her slim waist, and the swell of her hips. She curled against him, her own hands roaming his chest and shoulders. He caught the edge of her skirt and pulled it up and up…

  There was a knock at the door. Julian cursed eloquently under his breath, then immediately struggled to a standing position, pulling Sam up with him. “Just a moment, please,” he called in a hoarse voice. As Sam wobbled on her feet in a seeming stupor, Julian straightened her gown, then pushed her into a chair. Ordering his own slightly disheveled clothing, he then walked quickly to the door and opened it a crack. Hedley was on the other side, looking frankly perplexed by the delay.

  “What is it, Hedley?” Julian inquired in as cool a voice as he could manage. “I’m talking with Miss Darlington and do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” Hedley said in a mortified voice. “I was not aware that you did not … er … wish to be disturbed.”

  “Never mind. What is it?”

  “Miss Nancy and Miss Priscilla sent me to fetch Miss Darlington. A note has arrived from her mother, and they will not be easy till she has opened it and divulged its contents to them. Or so they say, my lord.”

  Julian sighed. “Tell them we’ll be down momentarily.”

 
; “Of course, my lord,” Hedley said, then marched away down the hall. He had been easy to get rid of, with no questions asked, but such would not be the case with the aunts.

  Julian closed the door and turned around. Sam was still sitting where he’d placed her, looking a bit shocked and considerably confused. Though it had not seemed so at the time, Julian conceded to himself that a note from Sam’s mother couldn’t have come at a more propitious time. He had been at the point of actually making love to Sam in the middle of the afternoon with the possibility of interruption almost a certainty. She obviously made him careless and crazy.

  “Julian … what just happened here?” she asked him in a faint voice.

  Dragging a trembling hand through his hair, he said ruefully, “I went slightly mad.”

  Her brows furrowed in a troubled frown. “That’s no explanation.”

  “There’s no time for explanations, Sam. We’ll talk later.”

  “You always say that and we never do! I want to talk now!”

  “Sam, the aunts are waiting for us with a letter from your mother.”

  Sam seemed to be momentarily distracted by the news that her mother’s note had arrived, but she immediately returned to the original subject, saying fretfully, “You must promise me you’ll explain later, Julian!”

  “I promise,” he said, and it was a promise he fully intended to keep … but in his own time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Madame DuBois’s note to Sam was brief and polite, requesting that Sam visit her that evening at eight o’clock. She further explained that she would have been delighted to see “her daughter” at an earlier hour, but after performing to a crowded theater most nights, she wasn’t fit for company till she’d had her beauty sleep. She signed the note M. DuBois. Sam held the note to her heart and hoped fervently that she and her mother would have something to say to one another when they finally met.

  Because Priss and Nan did not think Sam would especially care for an audience when she and her mother first clapped eyes on each other, the aunts did not accompany Julian and Sam to Madame DuBois’s house that evening, but arranged to meet them later at an elegant gathering for a musical soiree at the McAdamses’.