Chapter 16 #3
Amanda could not sleep. Hugging her knees to her chest, she thought about the odd conversation with Cliff earlier in that very room. He had not wanted her to agree to a suit from MacLachlan, she realized, and she was beginning to wonder why.
He had seemed to despise Garret on sight.
When they had been strolling in the gardens outside of Harmon House, Amanda had seen him watching them from the terrace, and she had felt his intense interest and his equally intense suspicion.
Today he had looked so unhappy and grim when asking her if she wished to marry the other man.
She laid her face on her knees, and she couldn’t help wondering if he was jealous.
She was aware that he remained terribly attracted to her.
So often, when he looked at her, she knew exactly what he was thinking—he wanted to take her to bed, in that moment, not a second later.
Not only did their attraction remain, it had become stronger with every passing day, impossibly and achingly so.
And as inexperienced as she was, she also knew he found her very pretty in her new gowns. Cliff was approving and admiring of the changes she was making and she had begun to feel comfortable in her dresses and shoes. Recently, it had required less thought to speak and act like a lady.
You are beautiful…beyond words.
Amanda had been thrilled when he had softly praised her, and she was as thrilled now, recalling not just his words, but the way he had been looking at her when he had spoken them. There had been so much admiration in his eyes. He had been gazing at her as if he felt the way she did about him.
Of course, he wasn’t in love with her. He was fond of her, that much was clear, and he wanted her, so it was very possible that he was jealous of MacLachlan’s interest. Amanda did not have to be terribly experienced to know that men did not need much incitement to consider one another rivals, whether for territory, a prize or a female.
She shivered, smiling, because she would not mind his being a bit jealous.
But was he as aware as she was of the changes in their relationship?
She wondered. Somehow, their friendship seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.
There seemed to be so much warmth between them.
Amanda could not even begin to count the times their gazes would meet and they would share a silent thought, a mutual comprehension or a knowing smile.
A dozen times a day she would suddenly turn to find Cliff there, watching her, and he would smile at her, his eyes filled with warmth or admiration or affection.
Amanda knew she loved him—she would never stop—but he certainly seemed to care for her far more than he ever had.
She felt certain she was not imagining it.
Which was why this was so hard, she thought in real confusion.
He was her benefactor, her guardian, her friend, but she had never loved him more.
And the fact that they shared such affection, and that he was so virile and continued to desire her, only deepened her confusion.
She wished she didn’t have to marry anyone.
She wished she could remain his ward forever, so things would stay like this and never change, even if at times like now, in the chill of midnight, it was so physically challenging.
She hugged her knees more tightly to her chest, finding it impossible not to think about the night he had been in her bed, his hard body probing hers, hot, huge and slick, so close to taking her innocence.
And that time on the ship, when she had believed it to be a dream, his mouth on her thighs, his tongue devouring her sex.
Amanda bit her lip to keep from crying out, wishing once again that they could be lovers, at least. But he was simply too honorable.
Besides, she knew now that being his lover, even if for a time, would be impossibly heartbreaking. Or would it?
Amanda took a pillow into her arms and lay down, hugging it and wishing she could redirect her thoughts, but it was far too late.
Every night, it seemed, she fell asleep dreaming of his kisses and his body, her own blood raging.
But she was a lady now. Ladies obviously suffered through such bouts of physical desire, at least until they were wed.
Amanda could not imagine herself in a husband’s bed.
The only man she could imagine herself in bed with was Cliff.
But he would never marry her, no matter that she was almost a lady now.
It felt as if years had passed since that night when she had learned of Dulcea’s rejection and the following day, when he had refused to become her lover.
A simple solution occurred to her, shocking her. What if she tried one more time? She could have Ashford Hall and not get married at all—if Cliff would keep her as a mistress.
The pillow slipped to the floor. He wanted her but was refusing to act on his passion because he thought it better that she wed.
He was being noble. It probably was better, from society’s point of view, and even she realized that if she became his mistress, she’d have to give up this new dream of being a lady.
A part of her didn’t want to give up that dream.
But the truth was, she didn’t want to marry someone else.
And she heard his footsteps in the hall.
Amanda tensed. She had not a doubt that he was going downstairs because he couldn’t sleep, too—and she knew why. She hesitated, the lady she was becoming truly protesting what she had to do. If she got up now, if she worked her wiles as she never had before, that dream would end.
But she loved and wanted Cliff, not Garret MacLachlan or anyone else.
Amanda swallowed, shaken. She slid from the bed and started across the room, then she opened the door wide.
Cliff was already past the doorway, clad only in his pale doeskin breeches, his beautifully muscular torso bare, as were his feet. But he stopped, turning toward her.
She couldn’t smile or speak. She could only stare, wishing for the impossible, afraid of her choice but determined to go forward. She had only to convince him that her plan was the better one and from the blaze of light in his eyes, it might not be as difficult as she had thought.
He was motionless.
The hall was lit by wax candles dripping in their sconces and glass lanterns. Although shadows danced around them, he was clearly visible.
His brilliant blue eyes slid to her mouth and to the lace detailing at the edge of her new pink nightgown’s silk bodice, then lower, to the ruches over her breasts.
Amanda dared to breathe, hard. She somehow lifted her hand.
Her nipples were so tight and erect the silk was abrasive and hurtful.
She forgot about choices. There was only the man she loved and the huge throbbing tension that stood between them. “Cliff…”
He shook his head in negation, eyes wide, staring at the peaks before looking back at her eyes.
She wet her lips, managed to speak. “Come to my bed,” she somehow whispered.
He inhaled harshly. She saw a strong arousal form against his pale breeches. “I am your guardian.”
She wet her lips again. “I don’t want to marry anyone else,” she breathed.
“We’ll discuss this…tomorrow,” he said thickly.
“I could stay here…and I could be your mistress,” she whispered. “You could keep me.”
He flinched. It was a moment before he spoke, his cheeks dully red. “Go back to bed, Amanda.” But he did not move.
She simply stood there. “Do you like my new nightgown?” she asked softly.
His color deepened. He was breathing hard, the two broad slabs of his chest rising and falling, as if he’d just run a great distance.
She realized he could have walked away, but he hadn’t. She touched the pink silk at her waist, smoothed it down to her hip. Then she looked up.
He was staring, his eyes so hot she thought the hall might burst into flames.
A part of her felt awful for so shamelessly trying to seduce him.
One moment stretched into an eternity as she waited to see if she would triumph over him.
But his next actions weren’t clear. He turned his back to her and leaned his forehead against the wall, panting.
Amanda went to him and put her arms around him and leaned her face against his back, followed by her entire body.
He flinched when her breasts flattened there and she thrilled, her hands on his tight stomach.
He whirled, taking her in his arms, a look of fury and despair on his face, in his eyes. “Damn it!”
Then he cradled her face in his two large hands, holding her so she could not move, and he began to kiss her.
The kiss was hot, hard, demanding and filled with both passion and anger.
He opened her mouth, giving her no choice but complete surrender and an even greater response.
Amanda tried to kiss him back, gasping in pleasure, but he was controlling the kiss, devouring her, making any response other than a passive one impossible. His tongue went deep.
He released her face, his tongue still deep inside her, grasping her breasts, the silk between his hands and her flesh exquisitely sensuous. Amanda whimpered, gripping his waist. He shoved his hard thigh right between her legs, forcing her to sit astride him.
She began to sob against his mouth, writhing on his leg, rubbing herself there.
He clasped her buttocks and lifted her even higher; her hip brushed his huge erection.
Amanda threw her arms around him and gasped in an explosion of pleasure.
He turned her, pushing her back against the wall, still kissing her, thrusting his leg up higher. She wept as the convulsions intensified.
And when they softened and slowed, he tore his mouth away and held her in his arms, tightly, his cheek against the top of her head, allowing her feet to drop to the floor.
The climax fading, she clung to his broad shoulders, new emotions swiftly arising.
Being in his arms was the best place in the world.
Cocooned by his entire body, she never wanted to be set free.
He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away.
She was still dizzy and faint, not quite coherent. But she looked at him and saw that he remained furious. “Don’t,” she begged, terrified now. “I don’t mind just this, Cliff, just your lovemaking. Please, do not talk of honor now!”
He backed away. “Haven’t I hurt you enough? I am only a man, Amanda, and apparently not honorable enough to resist your charms. Damn it! We are here inspecting your dowry—a dowry for you and your future husband—I am not making you my mistress! Why do you wish so little for yourself?” he cried.
She had never seen him so enraged, and he was angry with her. “But if I do not mind, truly,” she began.
“I mind,” he roared.
She flinched, squaring her shoulders. And she made one final attempt, already knowing it was futile. His will was too strong. “I want you. I will always want you. Why is it so wrong?” she cried. “You want me, too, and you care about me, I know you do. We are friends! Good friends!”
“I’m your guardian!” he shouted. “It’s my responsibility to find you a husband, not take you as a lover.” He was shaking. He jerked on his breeches for some relief. Then he raised his hand, warding her off, preventing her speech.
“You have become a beautiful lady. Why destroy your future this way?” He shook his head. “My family is already mocking my efforts to be noble with you. This is hardly helping!”
After such ecstasy, she was sinking rapidly into despair. It was hard to wrap herself in dignity, but she did. “I have one defense,” she said. “I love you.”
He inhaled harshly, trembling. “I care for you. Deeply. And that is why I am not making you my mistress,” he ground out.
“If I need a mistress, there are a hundred suitable trollops in town. I am trying to provide you with a good future, Amanda. But I will not succeed, obviously, if we continue to spend time together as we have this day.”
She was trembling. “What does that mean?”
“We should not be alone together. Not ever,” he added harshly.
“No!”
He shook his head, his expression telling her that his mind was made up. “I will no longer delay. You need a husband immediately.”
Amanda sagged against the wall. “How can you do this?”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “I am taking you back to London tomorrow. I will ask Eleanor and my stepmother to comprise a new list of suitors. In fact,” he hesitated, “I will solicit Adare in the endeavor. You will be wed within months.”
Amanda cried out, horrified.
But he was set against her now. “In the interim, I have a ship making a short run to Holland. I will be on it.”
Amanda gasped. “Cliff, please! What about the Carrington ball? It’s in three weeks. You promised me the first dance!”
He was as rigid, as unyielding. “I gave you my word. I will be there for the first waltz.”
“Don’t go,” she heard herself whisper.
Their gazes locked. “This is untenable,” he said. “I have no other choice.”