The Magic of You

by Johanna Lindsey

  Stupid jealousy, to goad her like that, when Warren had every right to sleep with as many women as he cared to—at least until she had a firmer commitment from him than “Keep your distance.” After they were married would have been the time to do something this foolish if he even considered being unfaithful, but not now, when he wasn’t yet hers.

  But she’d come, and not a moment too soon. She hadn’t had to search the smoky room for Warren. She’d seen him easily enough the moment she stepped through the door. He’d been mounting the stairs in the corner, a buxom barmaid pulling on his hand to hurry him, laughing down at him, promising untold delights. Amy had seen red, or rather green, and rushed up the stairs after him, ignoring the startled exclamations of a few of the customers who noticed her, and fairly shouting Warren’s name just as he was entering the barmaid’s room. That got his attention quick enough, and got the door slammed shut in his face, too, the girl having heard Amy and probably thinking her customer had been found out by an enraged wife.

  Amy could be grateful for the girl’s assumption and, she supposed, for the close timing that was going to let her do her explaining in private, in this dimly lit hallway, rather than downstairs with a roomful of drunken witnesses. And Warren was waiting for that explanation. He’d recovered from his original shock upon finding her there, and was now impatient as well as furious.

  “Are you going to answer, or just stand there wringing your hands?”

  Major decision time. Did she resort to the drastic, or go on as she had begun? But nothing she’d tried so far was working. The drastic, then, and no turning back.

  “What you’ve come here for, you can come to me for.”

  There, she’d said it, and she wouldn’t take it back. But he didn’t seem all that surprised by her momentous decision. On closer inspection, he didn’t seem all that sober either. And as he approached her, slowly, his furious expression turned to a sneer.

  “Do you know what I’m here for? Yes, of course you do, promiscuous minx that you are.”

  He flipped back the folds of the lilac cloak she’d used to shroud her delicate form, revealing the deep purple of the satin lining and the demure style of her lavender gown, hardly the ensemble of a seductress, yet enticing nonetheless because of her simple beauty. The hood fell back partially, so that her face was no longer cast in shadow, her blue eyes appearing violet in the frame of the purple satin. Had she dressed in something even a little more revealing, he would never have been able to continue his derisive line of attack.

  “So you want to take the whore’s place, do you? Ah, but with strings attached, a blasted engagement first.” The back of his finger slowly crossed her cheek. There was the feel of regret in that caress. “I’ll stick to the wench who expects a coin or two instead, thank you. Your price is too damned high, Lady Amy.”

  “No strings,” she said on a breathless whisper. “Now that I’ve declared myself—”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Of course I have.” She was a bit surprised by his quick denial. “I’ve said I want to—that is, I’ve told you that I want you.”

  “What you want. That doesn’t say what’s in here.” His hand came to rest over her heart, despite the fact that the soft curve of her breast was in the way. Both of them noticed that it was. “Are you saying you love me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear from a girl who’d claimed she wanted to marry him, and it clearly baffled him. “You don’t know?”

  She said in a rush, “I wish there was more time to figure this thing out, but there isn’t. You won’t be here that long, Warren. But I know I want you. There’s no doubt about that. And I know I’ve never felt before what you make me feel. I also know it makes me sick, the thought of you going to some other woman right now. But I’m not sure yet if I love you.”

  He’d had a few drinks, one too many to deal with Lady Amy and her complexity of doubt and certainties. His hand dropped from her breast and he said with curt finality, “Go away.”

  She lowered her gaze from his. “I can’t. I sent the carriage off.”

  He exploded. “What in hell did you do that for?”

  “So you’d have to take me home.”

  “You’ve got everything figured out—except whether or not you love me—so you can damn well find your own way home.”

  “Very well.”

  She turned to leave. He grabbed her back. “Damn you, where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.”

  “How?”

  “But you said—”

  “Shut up, Amy. Just shut up and let me think. I can’t do that with your incessant chatter.”

  She’d hardly said a thing, but as the silence stretched between them, with his frown getting darker, she became a bit uneasy and thought to suggest, “Perhaps one of your brothers could take me home.”

  “They’re not here.”

  She hadn’t thought so, which was why she’d felt safe in making the offer. Her brief glance into the room below hadn’t noted any Andersons other than Warren, and once she’d caught sight of him on the stairs, she hadn’t looked any further. But she could have been wrong, and in fact, she had worried that she might have to deal with Warren’s brothers as well as with him when she came here.

  But she should have known Clinton and Thomas wouldn’t care for a place like this. The two younger brothers would also prefer a place where they could be assured of no trouble. Only Warren wouldn’t care, and in fact, he’d probably been hoping for a fight here as well as a willing woman. One of the things Georgina had mentioned about him was that when he was upset, he looked for fights, and he didn’t care whom they happened to be with.

  He was definitely upset right now. If he found out that she’d only sent her carriage around the corner to wait, he’d probably murder her—no, he’d take her to it, toss her in, and come right back to his hussy. Her little half-truth was going to keep him away from the barmaid at least for the time being, though likely not for the entire night. He did want a woman, or he wouldn’t be here. Drat it, what did she have to do to make him choose her instead?

  “Hell,” he finally said, obviously deciding what to do with her, since he grabbed her arm and started dragging her down the hall.

  “Where are you taking me?” They weren’t heading in the direction they’d come up, which gave her a moment of hope that he dashed with the simple word “Home.”

  There was a back stairway which led down to a storeroom and then to an alley outside. At least he didn’t have a carriage waiting there. The alley was empty. Amy supposed she ought to fess up to having a carriage available, but that would end her time with him that much quicker, and the longer she was with him tonight…

  “Wouldn’t you rather take me to your hotel?”

  “No,” he snapped.

  He was still pulling her along, out to the street. His stride was hurried. She had to run to keep up. She didn’t know what she’d do if he turned in the direction that would take him ’round the block to where her carriage was, especially if the driver said something to alert Warren to the fact that he was waiting for her, which he’d likely do, since she’d promised him a fat purse.

  To her relief, Warren headed in the opposite direction when he reached the street, and there wasn’t a single hack in sight—just now. But at the rate he was going, he’d find one in no time.

  She came up with another suggestion. “Could you slow down, Warren?”

  Another “No,” just as curt.

  “If you don’t, I’m liable to sprain an ankle. Then you’ll have to carry me.”

  His pace slowed instantly. Dratted man, it was probably killing him just to hold her arm to drag her along behind him. Heaven forbid he should have to put his arms around her.

  But now that she could walk instead of running, and his pace was close to normal, though he still kept ahead of her, his mind must have started working again, because he suddenly demanded, “Does
your uncle know that you frequent taverns?”

  “Which uncle?” she hedged.

  He cast a glare back at her. “The one you’re presently staying with.”

  “But I don’t frequent taverns.”

  “What do you call The Hell and Hound?”

  “A horrible name?”

  He stopped and turned toward her. For a moment, she thought he was going to strangle her, but he let go of her instead to dig both hands through his hair, an indication that she was exasperating him a bit too much.

  She decided to confess. “So I haven’t handled my first experience of jealousy very well. I’ll do better once I get the hang of it.” He made a sound halfway between a snort and a chuckle, so she made a wild guess that she’d amused him and said, “It’s all right if you smile, you know. I promise not to tell anyone.”

  He snatched her hand and started off again. She was back to running to keep up with him. “The ankle?”

  “I’ll take my chances,” he shot back.

  That did it. Her future husband was hopeless, no sense of humor, no sense of romance—no sense. Well, she’d had enough of his surliness for one day. She might have caused his present mood—who was she kidding? he had no other mood—but she didn’t have to put up with it any longer.

  Amy jerked her hand away from him, refusing to budge another inch. That brought him around again, hands on hips.

  “What now?” he demanded.

  “Nothing now,” she said heatedly. “Go back to your tavern wench, Warren. I can find my own way home, and get there in one piece, thank you.”

  “You had planned to get home in one piece?”

  His tone was so sarcastic, there was no doubt he was alluding to her latest offer, but she was too angry to blush, and instead gave him back some of the same. “Actually, the plan was that I wouldn’t be a virgin after tonight, but since you aren’t ready yet to relieve me of that—”

  “Stop it! If I believed for one minute that you were a virgin, I’d probably take a switch to you for such outlandishly inappropriate behavior. Someone should have done so, to keep you from following the Malory tradition of debauchery—Amy, come back here!”

  Was he joking? After that blistering set-down and dire threat, not to mention the insult to her family? She picked up her skirts and ran faster, back toward the tavern and her waiting carriage beyond, and to hell with Warren Anderson. Switch her, would he, just because she wanted him? As if she didn’t have honorable intentions? As if she went around trying to seduce every man who caught her eye? Drat it, how else was she supposed to melt that protective block of ice in which his heart was encased? It wasn’t as if he were a normal man she could deal with in a normal manner. He hated women, mistrusted them, used them without ever letting them get close to him.

  Callous, cold, a cad; she must have been crazy to think she could change all that. She didn’t have the experience, though he obviously thought she did. Not a virgin? No wonder he didn’t want her—no, it should be just the opposite. She’d thought it was her innocence that was making him resist her, but if he thought she wasn’t a virgin, why refuse what she was offering unless—he really didn’t want her.

  Amy’s step faltered with that realization. She glanced back to find Warren closing the distance between them. But he’d never catch her. She’d had years of outrunning brothers who weren’t as big and clumsy—and foxed as he was. But then, she hadn’t counted on running smack into one of The Hell and Hound’s patrons.

  She nearly knocked the fellow down. His arms locked around her in reflex, but fortunately, he recovered his balance before they both tumbled over. Unfortunately, he noticed what he was holding before he let go.

  “Here now,” the man said with obvious relish. “What have we—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. Warren caught up with Amy and his fist went straight over her shoulder into the man’s face. He was definitely knocked back this time. Amy screeched as she fell with him, since his hold tightened on her when he started to fall, and they both landed hard. And before she could even push herself up, she was lifted off the man. Warren’s arm, tight around her waist, took the breath from her more than the fall had.

  The man, still sprawled on the ground, looked up at Warren to demand, “What the bloody hell was that for?”

  “The lady isn’t available.”

  “You could’ve just said so,” the man grumbled as he fingered his cheek.

  “I did, in my way,” Warren replied. “And I’d stay down if I were you, unless you want more of the same.”

  The fellow had started to sit up. At that ominous threat, he lay back down. Well, Warren was a rather large man, and the Englishman was rather scrawny-looking. Warren also looked capable of some serious violence at the moment. Amy, pressed tight to his side, could feel it, as well as sense his disappointment that the man obviously didn’t care to tangle with him.

  He marched off at another furious pace. Since he didn’t set Amy down, she began to wonder if he’d forgotten that he was toting her. She started to remind him of her presence when they could hear another grumble coming from behind them.

  “A bloody American.” The man guessed it by Warren’s accent. “Ain’t you heard the war’s over?” Then, much louder: “And we’d have whipped your tails if I’d been there!”

  Warren swung back around. The fellow scrambled to his feet and took off at a run. Amy would have laughed if she’d had the breath to. Her future husband wasn’t getting satisfaction tonight of any kind. He started off again in the direction he’d taken earlier.

  For her stomach’s sake, Amy brought herself to his attention. “As long as you’re going to carry me, could you turn me around so I can enjoy it?”

  He dropped her. The dratted man dropped her! Ordinarily, her Malory temper would have exploded at that point. But when she looked up at Warren, he seemed as surprised to find her sitting on the ground as she was.

  “I take it that was a no?”

  “Damn you, Amy, can you never be serious?”

  “You don’t want to see me serious, unless you like to see a female cry. On second thought, you probably do,” she said in disgust.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked as he hauled her back to her feet. But he noticed her wince and added, “Did I hurt you?”

  “Do not pretend concern for my backside, which you were all too eager to bruise with a switch.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “This from the man who believes women are never too old to spank?” she scoffed.

  He frowned. “You’ve gotten a bit too friendly with my sister, haven’t you?”

  “If you mean that I know things about you that you’d probably wish I didn’t, yes, I do. Someday you’ll be glad of it, since that knowledge is what leads me to think you’re not a complete lost cause—damn close to it—but you do have a redeeming quality or two.”

  “Is that so? And you’re going to tell me what they are, I suppose.”

  “No, I’m not.” She grinned impishly. “I’ll leave you to guess what impresses me.”

  “I’d prefer you to consider me a lost cause.”

  “Yes, I know.” She sighed. “And a few minutes ago I would have obliged you, no doubt about it.”

  “What, dare I ask, changed your mind?”

  “That splendid display of jealousy you just gave in to,” she said with some definite smugness.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. “That was not jealousy.”

  “’Course it was, and nothing you say or do will convince me otherwise. Would you like to know why?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  She told him anyway. “Because I’ve declared myself. I’m yours for the asking, and deep down, your proprietary instincts have accepted that, even if you aren’t ready to admit it, even to yourself.”

  “What nonsense.” He snorted. “I merely felt like hitting the man. I’ve
felt like hitting someone ever since I docked. But then, I get that way whenever I know I’m going to have to be civil to my brother-in-law.”

  Amy laughed. “Uncle James will be delighted to know that, I’m sure, but you picked this chap to hit because he had his arms around me.”

  He tried indifference. “Suit yourself.”

  “Oh, I will, Warren. You may depend upon it. And by the by,” she said, switching into a more seductive tone, “about my virginity and your contention that it’s a mere memory. You do know how you can prove whether or not I’ve still got it, don’t you?”

  It was either the sultry way she said it or the blatant dare implicit in those words, but Amy got what she’d about given up on. His hands fastened on either side of her head, so she had to accept his kiss whether she still wanted it or not. But she did want it, oh, yes. He could have no doubt of that with the voraciousness of her response, which was immediate and wildly abandoned.

  Her arms slipped around him to do some imprisoning of her own, while their tongues entwined with a kind of frantic desperation born of stolen moments. It was a maelstrom of heat and longing, of frustration and inexperience united in passion’s sweet need.

  Time and place held no meaning in that erotic storm, but it was a delicate storm, as easy to escalate as it was to abruptly end. When his hands went to Amy’s buttocks to lift her against his hardness, it was the mere sound of her moan of pleasure that broke the spell.

  They separated at once, swiftly, the fire still too intense without some distance from it. He turned his back on her, as if the sight of her would destroy what sense he had regained. She stood there panting, hands clenched, fighting the urge to beg, her frustration was so keen. But she understood this was not the time to push. He was a volatile man in each of his passions, and it was obvious she’d have to tread carefully to get the one she wanted. And she would get it. She was quite certain of that now. Trouble was, patience wasn’t one of her virtues.

  “Christ, you’d let me take you right here on the street, wouldn’t you?”