The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (14 page)

"I wish to ride, my lord," Amanda returned weakly, without looking at him, wishing her skin would stop its infernal tingling in response to Jared's casual touch.

"Well now, that's odd. I could have sworn eight hours in the saddle today would be enough, even for you. If not, at least have a little consideration for your horse. Come with me to the main salon instead, Amanda, and I'll pour you a sherry. I believe we have a few things to settle—as I also have a niggling suspicion my aunt, in her jubilation, may have muddied the waters a bit."

Realizing there was no escape, and suddenly too weary to argue, Amanda allowed Jared to lead her into the salon. As she sank into a chair she looked around the large room, her pert nose wrinkling in distaste.

Jared saw her expression and laughed. "I quite agree, Amanda. It's horrendous, isn't it. A veritable mirror of my father, in fact. Here," he said, handing her a glass, "perhaps some sherry will ease the burden of this unsightly view."

She accepted the glass thankfully, and they studied each other silently for a few minutes, she still in her chair, he standing halfway across the room in front of the fireplace, one arm propped on the heavy mantel.

How handsome Jared looked in his evening dress. Why must he be so odious? "Your aunt informed me of your plans for a marriage between us, my lord," she ventured at last, hating the tremor in her voice, for she was trying to be so proper, so controlled. "I thank you for your concern for my reputation, but I assure you it will not be necessary for you to make so large a sacrifice on my behalf. My ruin, if you'll recall, was of my own making."

"But what then of our bargain, Amanda?" Jared's twinkling blue eyes could not hide his glee at seeing her so obviously discomfited, and she hated him all over again. Her hand closed tightly around the stem of her glass, as if the action could hold her temper in check as he went on smoothly, "You did promise to stay at Storm Haven with me until I tired of you."

"We have no bargain!" Amanda's glass shattered into a thousand pieces as she hurled it against the fireplace in disgust, barely missing Jared, who had hastily stepped clear. "For the sake of your aunt I tried to have an adult conversation with you, but it's impossible. I've already told you that Lady Chezwick has informed me of your plans to marry me. For some twisted reason known only to yourself, you made that decision the night we met. Everything that has passed between us since that moment has been utter farce, and means nothing to me. Less than nothing!"

Jared raised one dark eyebrow and looked deeply into Amanda's eyes. They were both standing now, nearly face-to-face, and the tension in the room was almost visible. "Everything? Amanda, do you really mean that?" His voice was low, and dangerously intimate. He appeared to be looking deep inside her, searching out her true feelings—feelings that must be kept hidden at all costs. If he knew how he affected her, she would be forever in his power.

Amanda finally opened her mouth to speak; then closed it again without answering him. Surely he could hear her heart, it was thudding so loudly in her own ears. She tried to tear her gaze away from his face, but found she was powerless to move.

"Jared, I—" she ventured at last, but he stopped her with his mouth as it came down on hers with a force she didn't know he possessed. He held her to him in a crushing embrace as rockets exploded behind her closed eyes and bolts of lightning streaked down her spine. He held her, kissed her, as if he feared losing her, and knew he could not exist without her.

What did it matter if he had tricked her? What was the harm in assuming she would be glad to marry him? It was true, wasn't it? She was here, wasn't she, here with him—where her traitorous heart had been telling her she belonged. She gave herself up to the moment and returned his ardor kiss for kiss until a small, worried voice pried them apart.

"Jared, I have a confession to—
oh, my
! I see you have found her. Well then, there's nothing more for me to confess—that is, nothing more for me to say, is there? I'm assured the nuptials will go off just as scheduled. I also see that I am decidedly
de trop
. I would have to be a veritable slowtop not to think so. You're quite obviously dotty over the adorable little creature, aren't you, Jared, and she over you. Well, isn't this just wonderful! It's just as I had always hoped it would be for, oh, so many—"

"Aggie!" Jared broke in as Amanda giggled against his shirt front. "Get yourself the devil out of here before I'm tempted to pick you up and personally remove you."

#

It was a simple ceremony, unmarked except for the flustered stutterings of the awestruck young vicar and the copious weeping of Lady Chezwick. But to Amanda it was the culmination of a life–long dream. She was married to a man she quite unexpectedly adored, and she would be as happy as her parents had been in their marriage. Oh, Jared had not said he loved her—it was too soon for that—but it was obvious he cared for her or he wouldn't have wed her. Of one thing Amanda was becoming increasingly sure: Jared Delaney did nothing under threat or force.

Likewise she had not told him she loved him, although she was sure he knew it as she gazed at him during the ceremony. This was love, wasn't it? This feeling she had when she looked at him, when he touched her, when he kissed her? What else could it be, if it wasn't love?

Now, alone in her chamber except for Higgins, Amanda was suddenly attacked by a fit of nervousness. She dutifully had drained the wine glass Jared sent to her room, just as she had drunk the two glasses he'd pressed on her during dinner. But the wine did little to ease her tension—although she was feeling decidedly muzzy. She was so woefully inexperienced in the ways of married people on their wedding night. Would she disappoint him?

While she had mounted the stairs to her bridal chamber in almost unladylike haste, she now lingered over her evening toilette. As she sat in front of her vanity, slowly brushing out her long black hair—goodness, her fingers felt almost numb—she spied Higgins in the mirror and gave a gasp of dismay at the venerable nightrail the maid brought out from the depths of one of the trunks.

Denton had spent money on nothing but necessities, and her old gowns had not been replaced. Higgins held up the best of the bunch—a high-necked, long-sleeved white lawn gown almost three years old, and embroidered across the bodice in Amanda's own childish design of rosebuds.

"Oh, Higgins," she wailed, "whatever will Lord Storm think when he sees that gown? I'll look a complete infant! Quickly, braid my hair and pin it up. Perhaps that will add to my age."

Higgins sniffed. "What does the gown matter anyway?" she grumbled. "A man's a man, be he servant or lord, and if I know Lord Storm at all, this here gown will be gone in a—" she broke off, blushing. "Poor little creature. Trapped into marriage with a rakehell like Lord Storm, and then forced to live in this haunted house. Well, never mind all that. You just drink up, dearie," she said, raising the glass to Amanda's lips. "That's the girl."

Amanda drained the glass.

Higgins tucked Amanda up in bed and left the chamber even as Amanda felt hard-pressed not to call her back. Amanda's mother had died long before she and her daughter could have any serious discussions on love and marriage. And as Nanny's only enlightenments had consisted mostly of words like "duty" and "submission" and "your husband will tell you," Amanda knew she was probably in for a few shocks before this night was over. She shook her head, chiding herself for her foolishness. Jared would be kind to her, she was sure of it. Wasn't kissing pleasurable, as had been the sensations caused by the pressure of his hands on her body?

But that couldn't be all there was to this business of lovemaking, of that she was also quite sure. She snuggled farther down between the covers and tucked the blanket up higher under her chin.

And she waited.

It was thus that Jared found her, a tiny creature that barely dented the mattress, her toes no more than halfway down the great bed. His gaze traveled the length of the coverlet, to encounter her small white face—a face seemingly almost wholly taken up by a pair of enormous golden eyes. "You look quite lost, imp. Do sit up," he remarked, hoping to relax her.

Amanda slowly edged her way to the backboard of the ancestral marriage bed, for that is what Lady Chezwick told her it was, and raised herself up—carefully keeping the bedclothes about her chin. She watched warily as Jared undid his dressing gown and slid beneath the covers next to her and thought crazily that she was enormously glad he didn't, as did her stepfather, favor large white nightcaps.

Jared also propped himself against the backboard and, turning his eyes to her, questioned, "Tell me, infant, do you have any idea what is to happen next?"

"N-n-no," Amanda stammered, inwardly cursing herself for her ignorance. "I only know that it's something like what I saw Cook's cat do to a stray beneath my window one evening, or at least that's what Nanny told me." She quickly averted her head and nervously plucked at the bed sheets, mortified at hearing what she had just said. What was wrong with her? First her fingers had lost their feeling, and now her tongue was operating independently of her brain! "At least, I think so."

Jared gave a throaty chuckle. "In theory, that would be comparable, I suppose. Although the basic instincts, I agree, are much the same for all God's creatures, dear heart, I assure you, we humans are by far more blessed in technique."

Amanda sat up straight, her sudden anger overcoming the last of her nervousness. "Now you're making fun of me, my lord," she accused hotly. "I really must tell you that I like you least when you do that."

"God's death!" Jared exclaimed, taking in the sight of Amanda's best nightrail. "What do you call that contraption, imp? You look like a novice in a convent. And why, by all that's holy, is your hair drawn up like a governess? No wonder Higgins giggled when she saw me in the hallway."

Amanda hopped from the bed in a fury. "If I remember correctly, my lord, you were the one who insisted on this hasty marriage. I had precious little time to go collecting a trousseau. I realize you must be more accustomed to the nightwear, or lack of it, of your many mistresses, but until you wheedled my consent from me I was not contemplating marriage within the near future, and had no reason go about collecting suitable nightwear."

"
Wheedled
your consent?" Jared repeated. "Excuse me, imp, it's my fault entirely. It must have been some other Amanda Boynton who all but melted in my arms a few hours ago."

She turned to face the warmth of the fireplace, little knowing that the glow from the fire silhouetted her figure beneath the threadbare gown even as it cast a golden halo around her sedate braids.

"Forgive me, imp." Jared rose slowly and crossed the room to his bride, tenderly placing his hands on her tensed shoulders and reaching down to tease the nape of her neck with his lips. Amanda remained ramrod stiff and unforgiving. "I'm an unmitigated scoundrel to upset you, and I most sincerely beg for your forgiveness."

His lips continued their gentle assault on her throat, and with the unaccustomed wine Jared had pressed on her both at dinner and after the ceremony, she found herself somehow unable to remember precisely the cause of her anger. She closed her eyes. "Oh, dear. I think I might be drunk, Jared."

He chuckled against her shoulder blade. "Not drunk, imp. I wouldn't allow that. The wine was liberally watered. I only hoped you'd drink it, believing it would relax you."

"Oh," Amanda said in a small voice. She probably should be angry with him, but that also could most probably wait for the morning. At the moment, his actions seemed quite eminently reasonable. "Then—if I'm not drunk—why do I feel this way? Frightened…and yet not frightened. Not really."

Slowly Jared turned his wife to face him and cupped her face between his hands. "I know you're somewhat frightened, Amanda, but I promise to treat you with all the consideration your youth and innocent deserve. I'm not a complete bounder, imp, although I will admit some satisfaction in knowing you're not
really
frightened."

Amanda searched his face in the firelight. She looked deeply into his eyes and saw no trace of mockery. Slowly she lowered her eyes and gave an involuntary shiver—was it in fear or anticipation?—as with deft fingers Jared began to take down her hair. The ease with which he accomplished this feat was not lost on her, betraying as it did his expertise in the art, but instead of the anger she expected to feel she was relieved that he was so expert. A delighted, delightful giggle escaped her.

Jared stopped in his unraveling of her braid to look at her in question. "Imp?"

Amanda blushed profusely. "It's nothing. I was only just thinking, my lord, that I am ignorant enough. If we were both of us of the same lack, tonight would be trying indeed. That, and perhaps it might be good if you were at least a little bit of a bounder..."

Jared broke into a wide grin as he lifted her high against his chest and carried her to bed. "You're incorrigible, Amanda. Incorrigible."

Amanda smiled up into his face as he laid her back against the pillows and joined her on the bed. As their smiles slowly died, two sets of eyes met and held in a growing sense of wonder—the innocent surprised at her passion and the experienced astonished at his nervousness.

"I won't hurt you, Amanda," he whispered against her hair as his hands skimmed over her body, relaxing her, urging her to relax, to accept his touch. "There will be some discomfort this first time. It can't be avoided. But only this once, my love, and only for a moment. I promise."

Amanda slid her hands beneath his nightclothes, and he felt the brand of her heat against his shoulders. "I trust you, Jared. Truly."

Unexpected tears stung at Jared's eyes. She trusted him. Dear God, she
trusted
him! More than words of love—bandied about much too easily in Jared's world—Amanda's profession of trust nearly unmanned him, made him determined to be as gentle as he could be, ignoring his own rapidly growing passion, his burning need to possess her.