Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AMANDA WAS BEGINNING to feel very sick inside. Two weeks had passed and it was after six in the evening. At half past seven, they would be leaving Harmon House to go to the Carrington ball. Cliff had not returned.
She stood at the window in disbelief and dismay, clad in a wrapper, her hair pinned up, wearing the countess’s stunning pearl and diamond tiara and the necklace Cliff had given her.
All she had to do was be helped by a maid into her ball gown and gloves and a diamond bracelet the countess insisted she also wear. Amanda bit her lip.
He would never disappoint her this way. Something terrible had to have happened to have delayed him. Either that, or he was far angrier than she had thought.
If he did not come, she wasn’t going to the ball. In spite of all that had happened, the first dance was his. She would not give it to anyone else.
As she stood there, shivering, for the early autumn night was cool, her heart raced uncontrollably.
She had been in a nervous, excited and apprehensive state all day.
She had been afraid of their first reunion, of what his expression would be, of what he might say.
She knew it was foolish, but she prayed he had forgiven her for what she had done at Ashford Hall.
She prayed he had changed his mind about putting so many barriers between them.
Even if he had not, she had to see him again. She was emotionally exhausted.
And then she saw a hired hansom turn through the two brick pillars at the end of the drive. Amanda cried out, pushing open the window and staring as it approached. The black carriage came up the drive and paused before the house. The door opened, and Cliff alighted.
She held on to the sill tightly, her heart hammering wildly now. He hadn’t let her down. She looked at him and was consumed by her feelings of love.
He glanced up.
Although she was two stories above, their gazes instantly locked.
Amanda didn’t smile, she could not.
He didn’t smile, either, but as he strode toward the house, he stared up at her, until he passed under the portico and out of sight.
Amanda closed the window, shivering. Cliff had come home.
HE STRODE INTO THE HALL, making a conscious effort to appear unhurried when what he wanted to do was run.
He never veered, heading directly for the stairs, his pulse pounding with excitement.
He would greet his children, and then he would casually say hello to Amanda.
He knew he had to keep a distance from her, but he had missed Amanda more than he had ever missed anyone in the past two weeks.
She had haunted his mind night and day. In fact, his nights had been sleepless; they had been hell.
But he remained convinced that he had done the right thing in leaving, and in soliciting Adare to the cause of her marriage.
And whenever he brooded about that, his insides turned into knots.
He had begun to have some grave doubts about being able to hand her over to someone else at the wedding altar.
“Cliff,” Tyrell said from behind him.
Cliff was dismayed but he halted, facing his oldest brother, who had stepped out of the smaller salon where he now saw Rex and Sean seated. Everyone was already attired in their black tailcoats and evening trousers. Not only did he wish to see his children and Amanda, he had to get a leg on.
He had also begun to think about the waltz. He could not help it—he couldn’t wait to take her in his arms and dance her around the room.
But he hadn’t seen Tyrell in almost a year. He respected and was very fond of his older brother, never mind that he was becoming more and more like Adare every day. He smiled and the two men embraced.
“You are late,” Tyrell remarked, a slight smile on his face.
“I am aware of that. What time are we leaving?” He tried to control his impatience. Why hadn’t Amanda smiled at him? Perhaps she was angry with him for his behavior when he had left London. It had been churlish, and if she was angry, he wouldn’t blame her.
“Half past seven. Are you rushing up the stairs to dress?” Tyrell asked too casually.
Cliff stared at him. “Why else would I be rushing up those stairs?”
Tyrell smiled. “There was some doubt today about your return.”
His tension eased very slightly. “Why? I gave Amanda my word I would return for the ball. She has promised me the first dance. How is she?”
“Very well,” Tyrell remarked, “in spite of the fact that someone spread a nasty little rumor that she is a pirate’s daughter.”
Cliff felt himself still. Rage began. “What?”
Tyrell briefly told him what had happened.
Cliff trembled with more rage. As Sean and Rex stepped into the hall, he said, “She must have been devastated.”
“She wasn’t in the least bit devastated, and in any case, the rumor has been laid to rest,” Tyrell said.
Cliff didn’t believe him. Amanda’s worst fear had been the scorn of society.
He turned to rush up the stairs, but Sean stepped in front of him.
“If you are on your way up to visit your children or if you are going up to dress, I can allow you to pass.” His expression was bland.
“But I am under strict orders from my wife not to allow you to see Amanda before she finishes dressing.”
He was in disbelief. “I wish to speak to her. She is my ward!”
Sean started laughing at him. “You are besotted. Why don’t you give in, surrender, confess, admit it?”
Cliff felt like landing a solid blow in his stepbrother’s smug face. “You are the besotted one. For God’s sake, every time I enter a room, I have to scan the premises to make certain you and Eleanor aren’t behaving like adolescent lovers behind the sofa.”
Rex approached, also clearly amused. “You are not allowed to visit Amanda until she comes downstairs. Relax, Cliff. It’s only been, what, two weeks?”
“It has been eighteen days,” he growled, and when everyone chuckled, clearly entertained by him, he turned red.
“I suggest you greet your children and make some haste,” Tyrell said evenly. He turned and walked back into the salon. Sean followed.
Cliff looked at Rex, who sobered. “She is fine. She has great courage and even greater dignity, Cliff. She stepped out the next day with the countess and Tyrell and an end was put to the gossip before it began.”
“Are you certain?” Cliff asked intensely. “Because you do not know the condescension she suffered while growing up on the island.”
“I am very sure. Cliff? The waif you brought home in August is gone.”
Instantly, he recalled Amanda standing in the hall at Ashford House, clad in a pale pink silk nightgown, the most desirable woman he had ever beheld. He already knew the waif was gone. “I need a hot bath,” he said, a lie, because he needed a cold one. And he turned and ran up the stairs.
IT WAS PRECISELY half past seven when he came down the stairs, clad in his tuxedo and making a final adjustment to his necktie. His heart was thundering and he could not deny why. It felt as if eighteen months had passed since he had been with Amanda, not eighteen days.
His entire family was assembled in the hall, apparently waiting for him. He saw no one, as his steps slowed and he reached for the banister to steady himself.
She stood in their midst, a vision in white and gold.
His thundering heart turned over hard one final time and he stilled.
Amanda smiled hesitantly at him.
He stared, no longer capable of drawing a breath.
Her hair was swept up, tendrils framing her beautiful face, and her exotic green eyes were riveted to his.
The ball gown was almost Grecian in style, sensually flowing over her curves.
She wore his pearls at her throat but the countess’s diamond jewelry.
She was more than beautiful, and now, there was no more denying how he felt.
He had missed her so badly he had decided to return earlier than planned a dozen times in eighteen days. Now, he knew why.
She had become the center of his life the day he had rescued her from Governor Woods. She was still the center of his life. She meant everything to him. He could never bear such a separation again.
I am in love, he thought, incredulous. In his entire life, he had never been more stunned.
He stood there, staring, overwhelmed by the enormity of his emotions.
For this was what love was and he had no more doubts.
It was a huge and swelling, all-consuming joy, a sense of completion, exhilaration and need.
He needed Amanda the way he needed the wind and the sea to live, to breathe.
And it was so much passion, at once raw and emotional.
And it was the determination to never see her hurt, abused or scorned again.
He had fought it as hard as he could. Someone had told him earlier to surrender. He was so dazed and overwhelmed he couldn’t recall who had done so, but that person was right. It was time to surrender at last.
It was time to surrender to Amanda.
He realized that the hall was silent and he had been standing there staring at her as if a smitten, speechless fool. Well, he decided, stepping down the last steps, finally smiling, that was what he now was—senselessly besotted and smitten, at long last a man in love.
She stared as he approached, her eyes huge, as if she somehow knew.
He didn’t think twice. He touched her chin, tilted it up. “You are too lovely, Amanda. So lovely, it is hard to even speak.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then filled with relief. She smiled at him, and her eyes told him she had missed him terribly, too.
He realized he was smiling widely, helplessly, himself.
“You’re not angry?” she finally asked.
“No.” He touched her cheek, her neck. His body stirred. He thought about kissing her, deeply, and then he thought about finally making love to her, until he heard a cough. He hesitated, controlling the now-consuming urge. “I bought you something.”