“He is a good man.” Defensiveness was strung tightly through her tone. “We have everything in common. I expect to be very happy with him.”
“I’m sure you will,” he muttered.
She gathered her composure like an invisible mantle and straightened her shoulders. “And you and I will continue on as we have been, I hope.”
Jack knew exactly what she meant. They would maintain the facade of distant friendship, work together occasionally, their relationship kept carefully impersonal. As if he had never taken her innocence. As if he had never touched and kissed her intimately, and known the sweetness of her body.
His chin jerked downward in an abbreviated nod. “Have you told Hartley about the affair?” he couldn’t help asking.
She surprised him by nodding. “He knows,” she murmured, her mouth twisting wryly. “He is a very forgiving man. A true gentleman.”
Bitterness spread through him. Would he himself have accepted the information like a gentleman? He doubted it. Charles Hartley was indeed the better man.
“Good,” he said brusquely, feeling the need to annoy her. “I would hate for him to stand in the way of our professional relationship—I foresee making a pile of money off you and your books.”
A scowl worked between her brows, and the corners of her mouth tightened. “Yes. Heaven forbid that anything should stand in the way between you and your profits. Good day, Mr. Devlin. I have much to accomplish today…Wedding arrangements to make.” She turned to leave, the white plumes on her little blue bonnet agitating with each step as she headed for the door.
Jack forbore to ask sarcastically if he would be invited to the blessed event. He watched stonily, not offering to escort her out as a gentleman should have.
Amanda paused at the doorway, looking back at him over her shoulder. For some reason, it seemed that she wanted to tell him something else. “Jack…” Her forehead was scored with a perturbed frown, and she appeared to struggle with words. Their gazes locked, troubled gray eyes staring into hard, opaque blue. Then, with a frustrated shake of her head, Amanda turned and left the office.
With his head, heart, and groin all burning, Jack made his way to his desk and sat down heavily. He fumbled in a drawer for a glass and his ever-present decanter of whiskey, and poured himself a drink.
The sweetly smoky flavor filled his mouth, soothing his throat with a hot glow as he swallowed. He finished the drink and poured another. Perhaps Fretwell was right, Jack mused sourly—a man of his position had better things to do than carry crates of books. He would forgo any kind of work today, as a matter of fact. He would simply sit here and drink, until all feeling and thought were extinguished, and the images of Amanda naked in bed with mannerly Charles Hartley would drown in a sea of spirits.
“Mr. Devlin.” Oscar Fretwell hovered in the doorway, his bespectacled face showing concern. “I did not wish to bother you, but—”
“I’m busy,” Jack growled.
“Yes, sir. However, you have another visitor, a Mr. Francis Tode. It seems that he is a solicitor in charge of dispensing your father’s estate.”
Jack was very still, staring at the manager without blinking. Dispensing his father’s estate. There could be no reason for that unless… “Send him in,” he heard himself say in a flat tone.
The unfortunately named Mr. Tode actually did resemble an amphibian, diminutive of stature, bald, and big-jowled, with moist black eyes that were disproportionately large for his face. However, his gaze was keenly intelligent, and he wore a demeanor of gravity and responsibility that Jack immediately liked.
“Mr. Devlin.” He came forward to shake hands. “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I regret that we have not met under happier circumstances. I have come to deliver a piece of very sad news.”
“The earl is dead,” Jack said, gesturing for the solicitor to have a seat. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Tode nodded, his liquid black eyes filled with polite sympathy. “Yes, Mr. Devlin. Your father passed away in his sleep last evening.” He glanced at the whiskey bottle on Jack’s desk and added, “It seems that you have already heard.”
Jack laughed shortly at the man’s assumption that he was drinking out of grief over the passing of his father. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. “Good God, how closely you resemble your father,” the solicitor remarked, staring as if mesmerized by Jack’s hard face. “There is certainly no doubt as to who sired you.”
Moodily Jack swirled some whiskey in his glass. “Unfortunately so.”
The solicitor did not appear to be surprised by the negative comment. No doubt the earl had acquired a good many enemies during his long, pernicious lifetime, including a few bitterly discontent bastard children. “I am aware of the fact that you and the earl were…not close.”
Jack smiled slightly at the understatement and made no reply.
“However,” Tode continued, “the earl did see fit before he died to include you in his will. A token, of course, to a man of your obvious means…yet it is something of a family prize. The earl left you a country property with a small estate manor in Hertfordshire. Well situated and maintained. A jewel, really. It was built by your great-great-grandfather.”
“What an honor,” Jack murmured.
Tode ignored the sarcasm. “Your brothers and sisters certainly think so,” he replied. “Many of them had an eye on it before your father’s passing. Needless to say, they were universally surprised that he left it to you.”
Good, Jack thought with a sting of mean satisfaction. He took pleasure in having displeased the privileged group of snobs who had chosen to take so little notice of him. No doubt there was a great deal of whining and grousing about the fact that an ancient family property had been left to an illegitimate half brother.
“Your father had the codicil written not long ago,” Tode remarked. “Perhaps it will interest you to know that he followed your achievements with a great deal of interest. He seemed to believe that you were like him in many ways.”
“He was probably right,” Jack said, self-disgust slithering through him.
Tilting his head a bit, the solicitor regarded him thoughtfully. “The earl was a very complicated man. Apparently he had everything in the world that one could wish for, and yet the poor fellow seemed to lack the talent for happiness.”
The turn of phrase interested Jack, temporarily pulling him from the well of bitterness. “Does it require a particular talent to be happy?” he asked, still staring at his whiskey glass.
“I’ve always believed so. I am acquainted with a tenant farmer on your father’s lands who lives in a crude stone cottage with a dirt floor, yet he has always struck me as finding far more pleasure in life than your father. I’ve come to think that the condition of happiness is something a man chooses, rather than something that merely befalls one.”
Jack shrugged at the observation. “I wouldn’t know.”
They sat together in silence, until Mr. Tode cleared his throat and stood. “I wish you well, Mr. Devlin. I will take my leave for now, and in short time I will send the materials relevant to your inheritance.” He paused in a moment of patent embarrassment before adding, “I’m afraid there is no diplomatic way to say this…however, the earl’s legitimate children have asked me to tell you that they wish to have no communication with you of any kind. In other words, the funeral…”
“Have no fear, I won’t be attending,” Jack said with a brief, ugly laugh. “You may inform my half brothers and sisters that I have as little interest in them as they have in me.”
“Yes, Mr. Devlin. If I may be of assistance to you, please do not hesitate to inform me.”
After the solicitor had left, Jack stood and paced around the room. The whiskey had gone to his head—it seemed his usual tolerance for the stuff had disappeared. His head ached, and he felt empty, hungry, weary. A mirthless smile tugged at his mouth. It had been a hell of a day so far, and the morning
wasn’t even over.
He felt curiously removed from his past and his future, as if he were somehow standing outside his own life. Mentally Jack cataloged all the reasons he should be content. He had money, property, land, and now he had inherited a family estate, a birthright that should have been given to a legitimate heir rather than a bastard. He should have been very pleased.
But he did not care about any of it. He wanted only one thing—to have Amanda Briars in his bed. Tonight and every night. To own her, and to be owned by her.
Somehow Amanda was the only thing that would prevent him from ending like his father, rich and callous and mean-spirited. If he could not have her…if he had to spend the rest of his life watching her grow old with Charles Hartley…
Jack swore, his pacing becoming more agitated until he circled the room like a caged tiger. Amanda had made what was clearly a good choice for herself. Hartley would never encourage her to do something unladylike or unconventional. He would shroud her in comfortable propriety, and before long the impulsive woman who had once tried to hire a prostitute for her birthday would be buried beneath layers of respectability.
Jack stopped by the window, flattening his hands on the cool pane. Grimly he acknowledged that it was far better for Amanda to marry a man like Hartley. No matter what it took, Jack would quell his own selfish desires and think more of her needs than his own. If it killed him, he would accept the match and wish them both well, so that Amanda would never realize how he felt about her.
Amanda smiled up at her soon-to-be-betrothed. “At what time will you make the announcement, Charles?”
“Talbot has given me leave to do so whenever I wish. I thought we would wait until the dancing begins, and you and I would start the first waltz as a betrothed couple.”
“A perfect plan.” Amanda tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in her stomach.
They stood together on one of the outside balconies that extended from the drawing room of Mr. Thaddeus Talbot’s home. The party was well attended, with over a hundred and fifty guests having gathered to enjoy the fine music and bountiful delicacies that were standard at any of Talbot’s events. Tonight Amanda and Charles would announce their pending nuptuals to their friends and acquaintances. Afterward the banns would be read in church for three weeks, and they would have a small wedding in Windsor.
Amanda’s sisters, Sophia and Helen, had been delighted by the news that their younger sibling was to wed. I fully approve of your choice, and cannot conceal my great pleasure that you paid heed to my counsel, Sophia had written. From all reports, Mr. Hartley is a decent and quiet-living gentleman, his pedigree estimable, and his fortune well founded. I have no doubt that this marriage will be of great benefit to all parties concerned. We look forward to welcoming Mr. Hartley into our family, dear Amanda, and I do congratulate you on your most judicious selection of a partner…
Judicious, Amanda thought with silent amusement. It was hardly the way she might have once wished to describe her choice of a fiancé, but it would certainly do.
Hartley glanced around to make certain they were not being observed, then bent to kiss her forehead. It felt odd to Amanda to be kissed by a man with a beard, the softness of his lips surrounded by the wiry brush of hair.
“How happy you’ve made me, Amanda. We are perfectly matched, are we not?”
“We are,” she said with a little laugh.
He took her gloved hands and squeezed them. “Allow me to fetch you some punch. We’ll share a few moments of privacy out here—it’s so much more peaceful than the crush inside. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course I will, dear.” Amanda returned the squeeze of his hands, sighing as the disquieting feeling left. “Hurry, Charles—I shall miss you if you are gone for long.”
“I will indeed hurry,” he replied with an affectionate laugh. “I would not be fool enough to leave the most attractive woman at the party unaccompanied for more than a few minutes.” He opened the glass-paned doors that led to the drawing room. A burst of music and conversation accompanied his exit, the sounds quickly muffled as the doors were closed once more.
Moodily Jack surveyed the elegant throng of guests in the drawing room of Thaddeus Talbot’s red brick home, hunting for a glimpse of Amanda. Music drifted from the paneled copse at one end of the room, an exuberant rendition of a Croatian folk tune that lent a vivacious mood to the gathering.
A fine night for a betrothal announcement, he thought bleakly. Amanda was nowhere to be seen, but Charles Hartley’s tall form was visible at the refreshment table.
Every particle of his being rebelled at the idea of talking civilly with the man. Yet somehow it seemed necessary. He would make himself accept the situation like a gentleman, no matter how foreign that behavior was to his nature.
Forcing his face into an expressionless mask, Jack approached Hartley, who was directing a servant to fill two cups with fruit-colored punch.
“Good evening, Hartley,” he murmured. The man turned toward him, his wide, square features seeming untroubled, his smile gentle amid the trim thatch of his beard. “It seems that congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you,” Hartley said carefully. In tacit agreement, they both withdrew from the refreshment table and found an unoccupied corner of the room where they would not be overheard. “Amanda told me that she visited you this morning,” Hartley commented. “I had thought that after she broke the news you might have…” He paused, giving Jack an assessing glance. “But it seems that you have no objections to the marriage.”
“Why would I? Naturally I want the best for Miss Briars.”
“And the circumstances do not trouble you?”
Thinking that Hartley was referring to the affair with Amanda, Jack shook his head. “No,” he said with a hard smile. “If you can overlook the circumstances, then so can I.”
Looking perplexed, Hartley spoke in a guarded murmur. “I would like you to know something, Devlin. I will do my best to make Amanda happy, and I will be an excellent father to her child. Perhaps it is easier this way, with your lack of involvement—”
“Child,” Jack said softly, his gaze arrowing to the other man’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Hartley was very still, appearing to devote unusual concentration to a distant point on the floor. When he glanced upward, his brown eyes were crinkled with dismay. “You don’t know, do you? Amanda assured me that she had told you this morning.”
“Told me what? That she—” Jack broke off in utter confusion, wondering what in God’s name Hartley had meant. Then he understood. A child, a child…
Dear God.
The news was like an explosion in his brain, setting every cell and nerve afire. “My God,” he whispered. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she? With my child. And she would have married you without telling me.”
Hartley’s silence was reply enough.
At first Jack was too stunned to feel anything. Then fury kindled, and dark color washed over his face.
“It seems that Amanda could not bring herself to discuss it with you after all.” Hartley’s quiet murmur filtered through the angry buzzing in his brain.
“She will damn well have to,” Jack muttered. “You had better delay your betrothal announcement, Hartley.”
“Perhaps that is best,” he heard Hartley say.
“Tell me where she is.”
Hartley complied, and Jack went in search of Amanda, his mind seething with unwelcome recollections. He had too many memories of helpless little boys struggling to survive in a merciless world. He had tried to protect them—he even bore the marks of that effort on his own body. But ever since then, he had wanted to be responsible only for himself. His life had been his own, to be dealt with on his own terms. For a man who did not want to have a family, avoiding such a fate had been a simple enough matter.
Until now.
That Amanda had tried to cut him so neatly out of the situation was maddening. She knew full well that he had no
t wanted to take the risk of marriage and all that went with it. Perhaps he should even be grateful that she had completely absolved him of responsibility. But gratitude was the last thing he felt. He was filled with outrage and possessiveness, and a primitive need to claim her once and for all.
Chapter 14
A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, bringing with it the scent of fresh-turned earth and lavender blossoms. Amanda drew to the side of the balcony, where she was completely concealed from view. As she leaned against the wall of the house, the rough texture of the red brick gently abraded her bare shoulders.
She had worn a pale blue, corded-silk gown with a low-cut back, and draperies of gauze that crossed over the bodice in an X pattern. The long sleeves of the gown were made of more transparent gauze, while her hands were encased in white gloves. The flash of her bare arms beneath the filmy blue silk made Amanda feel sophisticated and daring.
The French doors opened and closed. Amanda glanced sideways, her eyes so accustomed to the darkness that they were temporarily dazzled by the light from inside. “Back so soon, Charles? The line at the punch bowl must have shortened considerably since we arrived.”
There was no reply. Quickly Amanda realized that the dark silhouette before her was not that of Charles Hartley. The man approaching her was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a stealthy grace that could have belonged to no one other than Jack Devlin.
The night seemed to whirl around her. She swayed a little in her heeled slippers, her balance precarious. There was something alarmingly deliberate about Jack’s movements, as if he were bent on cornering and devouring her like a tiger with its prey. “What do you want?” she asked warily. “I warn you, Mr. Hartley will be returning to me soon, and—”
“Hello, Amanda.” His voice was silken and menacing. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“What?” Amanda shook her head in bewilderment. “You’re not supposed to be here tonight. You said you wouldn’t come. Why—”