Amanda stared at him, mouth hanging open like a fish, erasing, she was certain, any semblance to fair looks. She had heard it all, the swains waxing poetic on her beauty, and she had rolled her eyes, never taking them seriously. Why now did her heart begin thudding painfully and the blood rush to her cheeks? Only the understanding that he was playing at gallantry kept her from completely losing her poise.
“Lord Lonsdale, I have the feeling you are prone to exaggeration. Beauty is subjective.”
“James, remember? And I was only speaking for myself,” he said gently.
Oh, he was a first-rate flatterer! How could she turn away such a pretty compliment without sounding ungracious?
“Then, James…I thank you.”
“I hope I didn’t offend earlier when I implied that you and your father do not look alike.”
“Papa finds it amusing when people are taken aback as you were.” She paused, returning the smile she saw in his eyes. “I look like my mother.”
“That explains it. The portrait of the woman in the dining room?”
Amanda nodded.
“She has fair hair.”
“I have my father’s coloring, as you pointed out, my lord,” she said archly.
“I didn’t come off well in that exchange, did I?”
She laughed, delighted by his ability to make a jest at his own expense. “You came off just as you were meant to.”
He chuckled with her, and for a few moments they sat quietly—comfortably, to Amanda’s surprise.
“Your mother?” James asked at last.
She sobered. “Passed. We lost her when I was fifteen years.”
“I’m sorry. My father died recently, so I understand.”
“I didn’t think Papa would recover.” She glanced at the sky with its myriad of twinkling stars, her thoughts slipping inward. “It was a love match, you see.”
“Indeed?”
“You sound surprised. Papa was wealthy without a handsome face, and Mama was beautiful with no prospects. She married for convenience, but Papa loved her always. My mother adored him before she died.”
“They spoke of it openly?”
“It was their little jest, and they shared it with me.” She swallowed. “I miss her.”
James took her hand, turning it over so the inside of her wrist was exposed above her glove. He ran his thumb across her pulse in a gesture so intimate, she felt her insides contract. He brought his gaze to hers, a crooked smile easing the fire that sparked in his eyes.
“I have enjoyed tonight. Do you suppose your father will allow me to call again?”
Confused, she said, “But of course. You and he have business, do you not?”
“Business? Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten in the pleasure of the evening. Business can hardly compete with the company of a lovely woman.”
She should ignore his outrageous compliments, understanding that he, like most men, used flattery to disarm a woman. Yes, that’s what she should do. However…
“I hope you do call again, James,” she said, afraid that she was simpering at him like a schoolgirl. “I’ve enjoyed tonight, also.” Embarrassed, she slipped her hand from his and came to her feet. “I think I should go inside now. I’m finally feeling the chill.”
Once more in the sitting room, Amanda bid her father a subdued goodnight, sending him a look of reproach that he ignored equally as well as he had ignored her earlier silent messages.
She turned to their guest. “My lord,” she said politely.
“Miss Campbell,” he returned, his voice deep and suggestive, his gaze fraught with meaning.
James took her hand again and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. Even through her glove she could feel his mouth, the warmth seeping through the fine cotton to linger long after they parted. She climbed the stairs to her room, trailing her fingers along the banister, lost in thought.
Not for a moment did she believe something could come from tonight. But Earl Lonsdale was every young girl’s dream, handsome and titled, charming and sophisticated. The one thing she had not imagined as a child was the raw masculinity of her “dream,” the outright sexual magnetism. No, it took a grown woman to be aware of that in a man.
She lay awake a long time that night, the sounds of the city drifting in from the street, her body alive with nervous excitement. Like a ride down a steep hill on a snow sled, her stomach leaped into her breast each time she remembered the way the earl had looked at her. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing he was attracted to her. A lonely little part of her wished that was enough.
***
James watched as Amanda disappeared up the staircase then turned a wary gaze on his host. It was reckoning time, and he wasn’t yet prepared to play his hand.
“Well?” Archie began as they moved back into the drawing room. He went to the sideboard, where a full decanter of sherry rested, and poured two small glasses nearly to the rim. “What did you think of my Manda?”
“Your daughter is lovely, exceptional. But then you already knew that.”
Archie motioned to two chairs in front of the fire and handed James his drink as they sat down.
“She’s had offers, my lord, more than I can count.”
“I don’t doubt it.” James took a swig of his sherry, surprised by a sudden irritation. “A woman with money is in demand. A beautiful woman with money…well, need I say more? You should be careful that you don’t sacrifice your daughter to a scoundrel.”
The old man eyed him shrewdly. “Are you a scoundrel, my lord?”
“Damn it, man! You are approaching me at a vulnerable time. You know my circumstances. I need money, but I don’t think marrying Amanda to get it is fair to her. She deserves better.”
For a long time Archie said nothing, sipping his drink, the fire seeming to absorb his interest. The look he finally turned on his guest made James squirm.
“You care for Manda’s feelings, and that gives me hope. It says something for your character, what kind of man you are. That’s important to me, whether I’ve made that clear or not.”
“And what do you gain from my marriage to Amanda, Campbell?”
The old man smiled a mocking smile. “I’m a business man, my lord. Father-in-law to an earl, grandfather to a future earl, that lends me a cache I don’t have presently. I’m not without my selfish motives, and I’ll not pretend otherwise because I hate a hypocrite. But truth is, I’ve begun to worry that Manda won’t find someone who pleases her, and I want her to marry—for her sake, not mine.”
“What makes you think I will please her where others have failed?”
Archie’s expression turned sly. “Oh, you please her, my lord. I know my daughter.”
Uncomfortable, James quickly looked away, a knot of heat unfurling in his belly. “One night is hardly enough to go on,” he mumbled.
“True, but we have to begin somewhere.”
“She’ll want to know what kind of business we share.”
This last was taken, as James knew it would be, for acquiescence.
Archie grinned hugely. “Cigars, my lord!”
“What?”
“Cuban cigars. You’ve lived in the West Indies. What more natural association since you’ve just come from there. And everyone knows my feelings on the matter.” He stuffed the cigar he was smoking back in his mouth, clamping his teeth around it.
“I suppose.”
James returned to his sherry, troubled. It was too easy, the pieces falling into place without effort. And that was never to be trusted. He had met the man’s daughter, and he was certain of at least this much—she would find the subterfuge, the manipulation of her future, insulting.
He should run now while there was still time. Oddly, he didn’t want to nearly as badly as he had before dinner tonight, before a walk in the garden—before the image of Amanda Campbell in his bed had stolen his imagination.
***
CHAPTER 2
Late June, 1859
It was a whirlwind romance, the stardust of fairy tales and magic. Amanda had given up wondering where her good fortune had come from, deciding that she was tempting fate by not seizing the moment.
They had met less than twelve weeks before, and an hour ago she had married one of London’s most eligible bachelors. The church had been filled with aristocrats and common folk alike, reflecting the differing social positions of the couple at the altar. James had brought his family down from the country for the wedding, and tonight there would be a grand ball to celebrate their union. Papa had spared no expense, spending lavishly—foolishly—on his only child.
For now it was just the two of them except for the servants. Her father had given over his London townhouse for their wedding night, but a formal dinner and the ball came first, and most likely the festivities would continue until dawn. Those guests invited to dine would be arriving within the hour.
Amanda tripped up the stairs of the townhouse, the skirt of her ivory wedding gown swishing elegantly to and fro with the fullest crinoline she had ever worn. She felt like a puffed pastry confection, all delicate lace and shimmery satin bows. She slowly peeled off her elbow-length gloves, swirling on the landing to look down on her new husband.
James stood at the foot of the staircase on the ground floor. Still dressed in his wedding finery, he had watched her ascend, blue eyes alight with appreciation.
“You make a fetching bride, Mrs. Tremont.”
“You’re rather fetching yourself, Mr. Tremont.”
“I’d rather not be fetching, if you don’t mind.”
She trilled a laugh. “Too late.”
Instantly, James placed his foot on the first step, grabbing the banister as if to leap the distance between them. Amanda spun on her dainty slippers. His roar of mirth followed her as she dashed up to the second floor and across the hall to her room.
In her chamber her maid was waiting. Amanda leaned against the closed door, breathless, conscious that she was wearing a fatuous smile.
“Miss?” Betty began, then her eyes widened. “Oh, I mean, my lady.” She stared at Amanda as if the import of her mistress’s new status was only now becoming clear.
“My lady…” Amanda let the words roll slowly off her tongue. “Don’t know if I can get used to that.” Merrily she pressed her index finger to her lips. “Perhaps you had better call me miss for a little while longer.”
Joy permeated every pore of her body, and she took Betty’s hands, the maid kindly joining her mood. Swinging each other gaily, they danced in a circle. Amanda’s foot caught on the bottom hoop of her crinoline, and she stumbled. She found herself sitting in the middle of the floor, the winded Betty beside her.
Whatever elegance had been hers was completely destroyed, as she now looked like a crushed puffed pastry. They shared a look, mistress and maid, and before long the room was filled with their laughter. Ebbing into hiccups, their merriment was slowly spent, and Betty stood up and helped Amanda to her feet.
Amanda straightened her voluminous skirt. “You must think me the silliest woman alive,” she said sheepishly.
Betty moved to her back, capable hands undoing the countless pearl buttons that held her lady’s gown together. “I think you are as happy as a woman should be on her wedding day. I envy you.”
Her emotions running the gamut, Amanda now felt close to tears. She turned and hugged the maid. “I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Come, my lady,” Betty said gruffly, patting her shoulder, “let’s get you out of this gown.”
It was a struggle, shucking horsehair hoops and the cumbersome wedding dress, but she finally stood in her corset, chemise and linen drawers. Betty walked across the room and removed an emerald green ball gown from the wardrobe. As beautiful as it was, Amanda could not be enthused.
“I wish I did not have to put on another gown,” she said.
“I wish you did not, also,” came a masculine voice that made her pulse leap.
She was facing away from the door, but Betty’s expression confirmed her worst suspicion. She whirled around to find James watching her from the threshold of the chamber. Leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest, he wore formal black trousers and a crisp linen shirt, open at the neck. His eyes were as blue and compelling as a tropical sea.
“I’m not ready,” she managed through her shock.
What a nonsensical thing to say. Of course, she wasn’t ready. She was in her unmentionables, stripped and self-conscious.
“Neither am I, as you can see.” He straightened and spread his arms wide.
“At least you’re decent.”
“That can be changed,” he murmured.
Betty gasped.
His attention, steely now, shifted to the maid. Though he did not speak, she immediately laid the gown on the bed and scurried toward the door.
“Betty!” Amanda whispered urgently.
The maid sent her a look of apology, bobbed a curtsy to the earl and sidled past him into the corridor.
Her face burned with humiliation. “James, what will she think? What will they all think? She’ll tell, you know.”
He shut the door behind him, still watching her, assessing his new wife in a manner that made her aware of her own body in a very intimate way. She brought a clenched hand to the cleft between her breasts as if it could protect her from his scrutiny.
“She will think her mistress has an eager groom.” He crooked a smile at her. “It might surprise you to know that those below stairs are taken with a master and mistress who desire one another. Passion is something they understand.”
Amanda swallowed over a nervous lump. “They do?”
“Yes, indeed.”
With sudden determination, James closed the distance between them. He stopped in front of her, taking hold of her bare shoulders, and the feel of his cool hands caused her skin to pebble with goose flesh. His gaze was like a caress, warm and filled with promise.
“Do you think they will miss us if we fail to show?” he asked huskily.
Appalled, she said, “We can’t do that.”
“You have much to learn, my dear. Part of being one of the privileged is that we can do anything we damned well please.” He grinned. “As long as it’s not illegal, of course.”
“Oh, James.” The words were a sigh, filled with longing. “I’m not looking forward to the party, either.”
The fire lurking in his eyes sparked, and he gathered her close, wrinkling his fresh shirt. Amanda dropped her arm from her breast, leaning into him, and was startled by a rush of heat in her belly.
He kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding, and she sensed a breaking of the restraints of respectable behavior that had held him in check these past weeks. All at once she was on her back on the bed with James on top of her.
She pushed at his chest, her lower body squirming beneath his. He chuckled low in his throat and grabbed her wrists, pressing them into the mattress above her head.
“If you wish to make an appearance at your father’s ball, you had better stop moving,” his gaze intensified, “because I think my resolve is beginning to crack.”
She believed him. His groin was pressed tightly against hers, and his excitement was obvious. Her contrary side decided to make an appearance for, instead of heeding him, Amanda had the oddest desire to wrap her legs around his hips and see where this compelling little drama would lead.
James was watching her, and her thoughts must have been obvious. A slow lascivious grin lit his features. His blue eyes burned with anticipation, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest.
“You tempt the devil, sweetheart.”
“The devil is a very handsome man,” she whispered. “He tempts me.”
His face was so close to hers, all she had to do was lift her head slightly to touch his lips with hers. On impulse, she brushed her tongue against his bottom lip.
“By God!” he rasped. He took her mouth in a savage kiss that drained the strength f
rom her body.
A languid sweetness like warmed honey crept through her limbs, until the tenseness was gone and Amanda lay limp beneath him. It was a moment of surrender and she was certain he knew it, for James eased his grip on her wrists, releasing her.
He came up on his elbows, his gaze dark and hungry, but there was a question there. He must have been pleased with what he saw because he smiled a smile of satisfaction before he leaned down, nuzzling her throat. His mouth was hot and moist, and he managed to find a spot so achingly sensitive, she purred like a contented kitten.
In an act of whimsy, Amanda ran her hands up his shoulders, slipping them into his hair. It was thick and soft and clean—no pomade—and the dark strands cascaded sensuously through her fingers. She stroked his ears, forehead, the nape of his neck, embracing him with wonder, overwhelmed by the tenderness that touched them both.
She sensed the leashed passion, the need for something more, and she could feel it rising within him—within herself. What a wise man he was, this new husband of hers, that he did not take advantage of the situation. James was allowing his caresses to gently woo her, holding himself back, even as he held her. In that instant Amanda knew, as she had not understood before, that she loved him.
His lips traveled to the swell of her breast, only her corset stopping him from going on, and she could feel his frustration. She was frustrated, too. All at once he lifted his head, his face transformed by lust. His eyes were bright blue now, feverish, shining with an emotion she had never seen before. Rather than fear she felt intrigued, warmth flooding her pelvis.
As if he understood where all her most secret sensations were pooling, he eased away from her just enough to bring his hand to her stomach. The smile James gave her no longer held humor. It was tight and intense, and fierce lines edged his eyes as his gaze captured hers. His fingers dipped lower, moving slowly, excruciatingly. Amanda held her breath.
When he finally reached his destination, Amanda shuddered. He touched her intimately, caressing her through her linen drawers. James kissed her then, his mouth moving back and forth over hers, lightly, mimicking the teasing pressure of his hand.
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 2