She whimpered.
From what seemed a long distance away, the doorbell chimed. However, the sound did not register on Amanda’s passion-soaked brain until James let out an angry groan.
“Damn!”
Resurfacing through an erotic haze, Amanda made the connection slowly. “What? Was that…was that the door? Is our company beginning to arrive?”
“Damn!” he said again, confining her movements when she started to struggle. “Let them all go to hell.”
“James, there is nothing I would like better. But we can’t.”
He scowled. “Yes, we can.”
Amanda took his face in her hands, now forcing him to look at her. “Thank you for giving me something so wonderful…” she swallowed, blushing, “s-so exciting to look forward to.”
He went very still, and a smile gradually eased the annoyance on his features. His wintry eyes warmed with pleasure. “You are certain you wish to stop?”
“I can’t think of anything I’ve been less certain of in my life, but I’m imagining having to explain to Papa why we were late for his party.”
His grin widened. “I’ll explain.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“To finish what we’ve begun?” he asked huskily. “Absolutely.”
She pushed at him. “Get off me. You are a wicked man.”
James clung to her, clearly unrepentant. “Is that a bad thing?” He rubbed his nose against hers and then kissed her thoroughly.
The languorous feeling began its stealthy advance over her senses once more, and Amanda knew that if she didn’t make him leave now, she would not find the strength to do so later.
“James,” she whispered when he came up for air, “I promise to remember where we ended this.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes.”
He rolled off her into a sitting position. “I never was one for parties,” he grumbled. “That’s one of the reasons I left England. Too many rules to follow, too many proper things one must do.” He placed his arm beneath her shoulders, helping her to sit beside him.
Amanda was uncomfortable, somewhat unsettled now that normalcy had been restored. She touched his collar, avoiding looking at him.
“Your clothes are wrinkled,” she said. “You’ll have to change.”
“True, but all to a good cause.” The gentle teasing in his voice brought her gaze shyly to his before she slipped off the bed.
Her corset pinched her, and she felt short of breath. She was as ripe as a sun-drenched tomato, bursting from her skin, her body still anxious from things left undone. Self-conscious, she was aware that he watched her. She crossed to the mirror of her dressing table.
James followed, stopping directly behind her. The mirror reflected a handsome couple, both tall, both dark. Is that how their children would look? she wondered.
“I think a man invented the corset,” she said, struggling for air. “They are a torture chamber for certain.”
“Surely, not a man. I hate them. Like trying to hug a suit of armor. Believe me, men think about those things.”
He placed his hands around her waist, drawing her close. She realized he was still aroused when he pressed himself against her backside. A tremor of eagerness sliced through her belly.
“When we go to the country,” James continued next to her ear, “we’ll throw these miserable whalebone contraptions away.” He caught her gaze in the mirror. “We’ll dress you like the ladies of the West Indies.”
“How do they dress?” she asked.
“Loose cotton frocks for coolness, very colorful,” he lowered his voice, “nothing underneath.”
“Oh, they do not,” she said, scandalized. “Do they?”
He chuckled, dropping a sultry kiss on the nape of her neck. Every hair on her body rose to attention.
“Until later,” he said softly. James turned, his vow hanging on the air.
Amanda merely nodded, her throat too tight with emotion to speak. She watched in the mirror as he retreated across the room, the door closing behind him. Her pulse was racing, and her reflection revealed a riot of dark curls and a rosy flush covering her cheeks and throat. If she did not calm herself, her guilty demeanor would expose to everyone what an amazing few minutes had just passed between Lord Lonsdale and his bride.
A knock at the door and, upon permission, Betty entered the chamber. A sly smile played on the maid’s mouth, and Amanda gritted her teeth with embarrassment.
“Not one word, Betty, do you hear me? You abandoned me to-to…” Flustered, she reached up to pat her mussed hair.
“The attentions of a handsome man?” There was laughter in her voice. “I’m sorry, my lady, truly I am.”
The sound Amanda made was somewhere between a gulp and a splutter. Her outrage must seem ridiculous under the circumstances. Being a fair person, her sense of humor reasserted itself, and she found herself grinning sheepishly.
“Point taken,” she conceded. Turning businesslike, she continued. “Our company has begun to arrive?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your father is here and Lord Lonsdale’s mother. There seems to be a pair of uncles, an aunt and a cousin, also belonging to his lordship. And a much older uncle and aunt, the Marquess of Sutherfield and his wife. He’s a real nabob that one is, the likes o’ which this house has never seen.”
Indeed. “Only family?”
“For the moment.”
Even as the maid spoke, the door chime pealed out again, and Amanda knew that the evening had begun in earnest. Briskly, she instructed the maid to help her dress. Many minutes passed before she was trussed up once again in her finery. She wore the requisite crinoline under a heavy satin ball gown, dark green with tiny cap sleeves off the shoulder, modestly scooped neck, and nipped around the waist like a second skin.
She sat at the dressing table and waited impatiently while Betty restored some order to her hair, since James had seen fit to destroy all the maid’s hard work. The result was a sleek upswept style that suited her perfectly. Emeralds and diamonds at her ears and throat were the final touch, a gift from her husband. The stones shone brilliantly like her eyes, a dazzling promise of what was to come.
When Amanda left her bedchamber a short while later, she had never felt lovelier, more desirable. Her heart was singing.
***
The earl entered his room, peeling off his shirt and wrinkled trousers, searching through his trunk for newly-pressed ones. He rang for his personal servant but knew he would be nearly dressed before the man arrived. Against his will he was becoming accustomed to employing a valet again. During his traveling days he had learned to take care of himself, and he preferred not having someone who fussed over him.
James dreaded the coming party, hated formal affairs as he always had. There was no way around tonight, however, so rather than dwell on the next few hours, he chose to think about when he and Amanda would finally be alone. This time uninterrupted.
His one taste of lovemaking with her had left his blood simmering. She was not only beautiful, she was passionate, although he could see that she was unnerved by such intense emotions. No man could ask for more. Best of all, he liked her. Amanda was intelligent and kind, a witty woman who kept him on his toes. He suspected theirs would not always be a serene coupling.
James had feared, despite a worldlier viewpoint he had acquired over the years, that he and Amanda would be a social mismatch. He need not have worried. She was sophisticated and charming, well-bred if not high-bred. His only real concern was that she might suffer slights when he took her into society, not for his sake but hers. She deserved the best, and he would slay the individual who hurt her.
All and all, the earl was well pleased with the unexpected turn his life had taken. His money worries were over, and he had formed an alliance with a woman who had significant potential for being a fine wife. And lover. This last was eclipsing all else presently, which was not admirable perhaps, but understandable given his new lady’s extraordinary physical
appeal.
James wasn’t certain he could call it love. Love had always eluded him—or he had eluded love. All he knew was Amanda made him feel in a way he never had before, protective—hungry. He was comfortable with the lust, but the tightness in his chest when he thought of her, the tender emotions, left him feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable.
As he predicted, the valet arrived as James was pulling on his white gloves.
“You look splendid, my lord,” Jenkins said, clearly used to the earl’s penchant for dressing himself. He retrieved the clothing brush from the bureau to remove any lint that still clung to his master’s formal black coat.
James exited his chamber in time to see Amanda exit hers. She was a vision in emerald satin, and his jewels sparkled at her throat and ears. The tightness in his chest returned as she glided toward him, a secret smile just for him playing on her lips. He placed her hand on his arm and together they descended the stairs to the dining room.
***
CHAPTER 3
Muriel Tremont, the Dowager Countess Lonsdale, took a sip of her champagne—another in a long succession of sips—watching her new daughter-in-law without warmth. Blue-eyed and dark like her son, the years had not been kind to her. Permanent dissatisfaction lined what once had been a handsome face. Amanda understood her mother-in-law would be living at Lonsdale—in a dower house, she hoped.
“I must say, James was not lying when he said you were beautiful, my dear,” the dowager said, slurring slightly. Her biting tone robbed the words of any real approval.
“You are kind,” Amanda murmured politely, her attention wandering as she searched for her husband. The evening had been long and dreary, first the interminable dinner and now the ball. Where was James?
“Yes, well, we were all surprised that he leapt so quickly,” the dowager continued, “but under the circumstances I suppose he had no choice.”
“Under the circumstances…?”
At that moment the earl joined them, approaching from behind Amanda. He had in tow two middle-aged gentlemen who were exact replicas of one another, tall, overfed and balding, hairy mutton-chop whiskers that were a droll contrast to their shiny heads. They bowed in unison as James introduced them.
“These are my father’s younger brothers, Uncle Harold and Uncle Hamilton,” James said. “They are twins as I’m sure you have guessed. They’ll be living with us at Lonsdale.”
Amanda sent her husband a startled glance then returned her attention to the twins. Both men had open, friendly faces, and they gave her identical toothy grins.
She smiled in return. “Who is who?”
“I’m Hamilton,” said the uncle to her right. “Call me Ham—they all do. I talk more than Harry. He’s a miser with words. That’s how everyone tells us apart. Was that way even when we were babies. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
“True,” said Uncle Harry.
A brief pause followed as they waited for Uncle Harry to expound further, but he seemed content with his contribution to the discussion.
“There, you see?” said Uncle Ham.
Shaking his head, his eyes alive with amusement, James pulled Amanda onto the dance floor. She glanced over her shoulder to nod at her mother-in-law and the twins. Ham and Harry were grinning hugely, but the dowager looked as though she had been sucking lemons. It didn’t take a soothsayer, Amanda decided, to realize her relationship with the woman would not be an easy one.
A waltz was playing and James enfolded her in his arms, drawing her close. For long moments they simply moved to the music, synchronized steps without effort, each aware of the other in a very intimate way. Amanda laid her head on his shoulder, too content to worry about her unseemly show of affection.
The heat of his breath caressed her ear when he spoke. “This party has gone on far too long. I think we should send everybody home since no one has the good sense to know when to leave.”
She sent him a coy smile. “You seem a bit anxious, my lord.”
His blue gaze deepened. “Witch,” he said. “You’re enjoying yourself?”
“Most tedious gathering I’ve ever attended.”
James laughed outright, garnering attention from those dancing around them. He bussed her lightly on the lips. Amanda was aware of the other couples sharing knowing looks, and she felt her face warm.
“Have I embarrassed you?” he asked, peering into features she knew had turned pink.
“You know you have,” she said tartly.
“And you are angry with me?”
“Being angry with you would be counterproductive for our immediate plans, don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed. Counterproductive.”
Again James laughed, a full-throated guffaw that announced to the gathering just how delighted Earl Lonsdale was with his new wife. He swung her in a tight circle, and Amanda followed his lead, never missing a step.
“Would you stop? Everyone is looking at us.”
“Then we’ve given them what they came for, a man and wife in love, eager for their honeymoon to begin.”
He sounded so happy her heart tumbled in her breast.
“Have you been introduced to all my family?” he asked as the music ended, guiding her to the edge of the dance floor.
“You have more aunts and uncles and cousins than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Just one sibling, though. I wish you could meet my sister Ilene, but she lives in Scotland and couldn’t travel because her time is almost upon her. Marcus—that’s her husband—refused to let her risk the journey.”
“I’m sure we’ll meet eventually.”
“Who else is there…?” His gaze wandered the crowded ballroom then lit with pleasure. “Uncle Simon and Aunt Cassandra!” James grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her across the room.
This must be the nabob and his wife, Amanda thought as she and James joined an elderly couple standing at the edge of the dance floor. She remembered them from earlier at dinner, but they had been sitting across the table and down from James and her.
“Uncle Simon, Aunt Cassandra, so glad you could attend.” Without ceremony James grabbed his uncle’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. He kissed the older woman’s knuckles before stepping back. “Amanda, let me introduce you to Simon Fitzgerald, Marquess of Sutherfield, and his lovely wife Cassandra. Simon is my mother’s uncle, her mother’s brother.”
The marquess and his wife nodded graciously, as handsome an elderly couple as Amanda had ever seen. Lord Sutherfield—surely at least eighty—had a full head of white hair and was very tall, his posture that of a much younger man. His lady had clearly been a great beauty in her day, and though her hair sported some gray, much of the vibrant red of her youth still remained. Amanda like both of them immediately.
“A pleasure to meet you, Amanda,” The old man said, taking her hand in his two large ones. “I suspect you are just what my rascal of a nephew needs.”
“Now see here, sir,” James began then laughed. “I suspect you are right.”
“Welcome to the family, my dear,” Cassandra said.
Several minutes into their conversation, James looked up and apparently again saw someone he recognized. “Will you excuse me, Uncle? I haven’t greeted my father’s sister yet.”
Amanda took her leave of Lord and Lady Sutherfield as she was once more hauled across the ballroom.
“Aunt Henry!” he said. “Come, she’s my favorite.
“Aunt Henry?”
“Henrietta, actually. Little sister to Ham and Harry—and my father, of course. You may not care for her son Derrick. Can’t stand him myself. Takes after his father Albert who is, I’m pleased to say, quite dead.”
“James!”
“Truth is truth, and Aunt Henry will agree with me.”
As they came upon her, Aunt Henry looked at James with true affection. “I’m so happy for you, dear. She is a joy.”
He beamed. “My sentiments exactly.”
Aunt Henry was not tall like her t
win brothers but her figure was equally plump, and her face, round and pink, was equally friendly. She was dressed all in heavy purple, an amazing feather-studded headpiece on brown curls that were graying. She linked arms with the earl and addressed Amanda.
“And you’re a very fortunate girl. Your husband takes care of his responsibilities as a good man should. After my brother Herbert died, I was terrified that my poor Derrick and I would find ourselves without a place to live. But James, the dear boy, would have none of it.” She gazed at James adoringly. “Bless him, for he offered his home for as long as we need it.”
Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “At Lonsdale?” she asked weakly.
“Naturally. Where else?”
Amanda turned to James. “Herbert was your father?”
He smiled at her sheepishly. “Yes. Sweetheart, I meant to tell you—”
Aunt Henry turned away from them, her expression softening as she held out her hand to a young man who chose that moment to join them. “This is my son Derrick Bickford, Viscount Lindley,” she said proudly.
Reeling from all the introductions and the realization that apparently all her husband’s relatives would be living with them, she was unprepared for the young man whom she greeted next.
The viscount was perhaps her age, middling height and slim, with white-blonde hair and eyes so light blue they were nearly transparent. His features were perfect, almost pretty. He eschewed the fashionable mutton-chop whiskers because, she suspected, he didn’t have enough beard to grow them. She would have been dazzled but for the look he sent her way, equal parts disdain and lechery. Amanda recoiled inwardly.
Derrick took her gloved hand, grazing it with his lips. “Charmed,” he said, his eerie gaze on James. He straightened. “You’ve done well for yourself, Cousin.”
Amanda was grateful that her glove was a barrier between her and actual contact with the man. How could anyone so beautiful be so repellent?
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 3