The Perfect Bride (15 page)

“Because,”
Amanda continued, “my reputation — and indeed, my innocence — was thoroughly cast
into doubt some years ago. So you see there is naught to protect and no reason
for the earl to put such a proprietary stamp on my welfare. Fortunately, my
misdeeds, of which my uncle is quite aware, have not been published far and
wide. My aunt and uncle have placed their faith in me to look after Felicity,
and that is all that matters.”

Thornton
looked quite aghast. For a long moment, no one spoke. Amanda felt guilty for reckless
words and decided it would be sporting to give him a respite from what, upon
reflection, was something of a tirade.

“Seeing
the turret today would require me to negotiate quite a number of stairs,” she
said in a more subdued tone. “I do believe that would best wait until another
day. Perhaps you would care to show me the grounds.”

Without
a word — though she was certain she read relief in his eyes — Mr. Thornton
offered her his arm. As she took it, Amanda gave herself a mental shake. She
most certainly had
not
felt a tiny jolt at the contact.

His
expression was impassive as he guided them outside to the path that meandered out
to the cliffs. Mostly flat, the path produced no strain on her ankle as they
strolled in silence.

Mercifully,
the longer the silence between them continued, the more distant seemed her
tirade in the castle. Such dramatic displays were quite foreign to her nature. What
in the world was wrong with her? Amanda tried to put the matter out of her mind
and found the task easier as the gulls’ cries overhead grew louder and they
neared the cliff edge.

"The
view past that ridge is one of the most extraordinary in all England," Mr.
Thornton said, clearly relieved to have a neutral topic of conversation. He
pointed to a ridge a dozen or so yards ahead.

"May
I show it to you?" He offered her his arm, and she took it.

Sea
breezes ruffled the hem of Amanda’s serviceable gray walking dress as they
moved toward the cliff. She found it necessary to lean on his arm now and then when
the footing became uneven. Mr. Thornton possessed a steady, unflagging strength.
Amanda could well believe that generations of Thorntons had been able warriors.
Even past their prime, the men in this family evinced fortitude and competence.

Mr.
Thornton’s strength, like Lord Sommersby's, carried a restraint that made her
wonder what the Thornton men were like in battle, with their power unleashed.
Each man seemed to have a keen awareness of his own might and the
self-possession to control it. Yet their mercurial eyes made Amanda wonder
whether they ever lost that cool discipline.

Studying
Mr. Thornton, she could not imagine that he would ever lose the steely
solemnity that lent him such a remote air. As for the earl, except for that
moment when he had leapt into Felicity's chamber like some bare-chested mythical
warrior, he had never exposed the fierceness she suspected lurked beneath that
civil veneer.

Amanda
sighed. Why did she find the Thornton men — young  and old — so fascinating?
Perhaps it was simply the tantalizing fact that each man withheld himself a
bit.

"Is
your ankle bothering you?" Mr. Thornton asked, apparently taking her sigh
for evidence of pain.

"Not
overmuch." In truth, her leg was aching under the demands of the path's
gentle ascent and she had yet to master the cane. But she was determined to see
the view.

“The
cliffs are so unusual,” she said as they reached the overlook. “So many
different layers of rock — almost like a pastry. Those French confections —
what do they call them?”

“
Mille
feuille — a
thousand leaves,” he supplied. “It is an apt analogy. The
different types of rock that create the layered appearance. Sandstone, chalk,
limestone. The affect is beautiful, is it not?”

As
he looked at her for affirmation, Amanda was captivated by what appeared to be
a smile under that sagging mustache.

“Yes,”
she agreed, her attention no longer on the cliffs or her footing but on his
face, so that when her cane hit a rock, she stumbled slightly.

Mr.
Thornton quickly steadied her. “I do not think your ankle is yet up to snuff,”
he observed.

“Nonsense,”
Amanda said. “It is — oh!”

Her
feet abruptly left the ground as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms and
carried her the few remaining yards to the top of the cliff. There was nothing
to do with her arms but to put them gingerly around his neck. Amanda felt her
face grow scarlet.

"I
can walk well enough," she protested, mortified even as she marveled that
a man of his age managed such a task so easily.

"That
may be," he said, "but you have done enough for one afternoon."

The
heady pleasure of being nestled against that strong chest left Amanda only
dimly aware of reaching the overlook. The view might not have existed, for she
could scarcely take her gaze from his.

That
is when he quickly set her on her feet — or rather, tried to. In her daze, Amanda
did not release her grip on his neck when he attempted to put her down. Her ensuing
awkward slide down his front created a rather unexpected intimacy between them.

Beneath
the drooping mustache, Mr. Thornton's lips parted on a sharp intake of breath.
The hands that rested lightly around her waist stiffened but did not relinquish
her.

Amanda
felt a strange lightheadedness as she realized she could no more look away from
him than the man in the moon could come down to Earth and dance a jig.

There
was a time and place for everything, Amanda thought giddily. Perhaps now was
the time and place for Mr. Thornton to indicate whether he wished to deepen
their acquaintance. It was no use denying that she found him attractive, and
Amanda was honest enough to acknowledge that fact to herself — strange as it
might be for a woman who had put all thought of such feelings in a tidy box in
her mind, never to be opened again.

Happily,
Mr. Thornton was neither betrothed to her cousin, nor a notorious rake with a
past. And though they must both be mortified by the accidental intimacy, it had
done no real harm, the practical side of her said. Indeed, it had loosed a
rather reckless curiosity within her — an interesting reaction to ponder, perhaps,
at her leisure.

As
her mind spun through such thoughts, she wondered about his. Amanda found
herself half hoping to see a tiny crack in that composed discipline of his.

She
did not.

The
mercurial eyes had gone to green, but they were remote and unreadable. And yet,
within them might have been... something. The thought of what that might be
sent a tingling down to the tips of her toes.

And
though he looked to be as impervious to the moment as one of those rocks they
were standing on, Amanda stared in utter wonder as the remoteness in his eyes
vanished, to be supplanted by an expression that was rather. . .naked. Amanda
gave an involuntary gasp at the smoldering intensity she saw there.

Amazing
as it seemed — and she had not even dared to think of the possibility until
this very moment — Mr. Thornton's mouth lowered to hers.

She
felt the faint tickling of the mustache as his lips claimed hers, tentatively
at first, then with increasing firmness. Her eyes closed, and she allowed the
kiss and the keening cry of the wind to transport her to a place unlike any she
had visited with Julian LeFevre.

It
was a world that sent her spirit soaring into territory poets had long explored
but which she, Amanda Fitzhugh, had never dreamed existed. Her heart, which she
had rigorously purged of any romantic whimsy, suddenly swelled with wretched
excess.

Surely
they were the only people in the world to stand on this rocky precipice, their
pulses pounding in harmony with the roar of the surf and the kindred cries of a
thousand gulls clamoring like souls driven to the edge of longing by one simple
kiss under the brilliant sun.

Surely
there had never been a moment like this one or a time when her pulse had
thundered its passion so urgently. Surely there had never been another man like
Mr. Thornton, with his grey hair and tired mustache and marvelous kisses that
joined their lips in white-hot fire.

Amanda
clung to Mr. Thornton and his worn dimity suit as the sea winds swelled in a wordless
symphony, eloquent as any of those flowery poems Felicity was so fond of. She soaked
up his kiss as eagerly as a parched plant embraced the rain.

Perhaps
age had lent him a vast amount of knowledge about such things, Amanda reflected
weakly, unable to think of any other reason that his touch provoked such a
burning desire deep within her. Indeed, she fervently anticipated the moment
when those strong hands might wander more adventurously, perhaps ministering to
her body as expertly as the earl had once tended her wounded ankle. When his mouth
might trail kisses down her neck, over her shoulders, and beneath the bodice
that would — could there be any doubt? — open under his probing caress. When
she would submit to him, offering him anything if he would satisfy the
desperate desire within her.

Her
lips, awake as never before, parted in shameless, delightful yearning, and he
deepened the kiss, invading her mouth with his tongue as his hands fumbled with
the buttons on her dress. There were far too many, Amanda realized belatedly. He
gave a muttered curse and several of the buttons went flying.

Yes,
Amanda thought wildly.
Yes
.

Abruptly,
he released her.

So
complete was her body’s submission to his embrace that she nearly fell when his
arms were no longer around her. She reached for her cane, but it had fallen. Mr.
Thornton quickly picked it up and thrust it into her hand.

"Please
forgive me," he said, a look of anguish on his face. "I did not mean
to force myself on you —"

"You
did not,” Amanda said quickly. The man looked so stricken that it was almost
insulting. Surely kissing her had not been
that
unpleasant
.
She
fought the urge to kick him in the shin, then realized the anger she felt was
but the sting of rejection.
Dear Lord.
Had she been so far gone down the
road of unrealistic romantical expectations that she actually thought — nay,
hoped
— that he might carry her off and have his way with her?

He
cleared his throat. "I deeply regret my disregard for your delicate
sensibilities, Miss Fitzhugh."

“Nay,
sir,” Amanda corrected. “Do not take me for a frail flower of femininity. My sensibilities
are not in the least delicate.”

Indeed
she was struggling mightily to understand how a sensible woman like herself had
been so easily swept into a nigh-demented state. The fumbling encounter with
Julian at Vauxhall had been nothing like this — although in retrospect it had hinted
at the terrifying secret she had just discovered about herself.

For
Amanda now realized the shattering truth: Passion was in her blood as surely as
Mr. Thornton was standing before her, abject apology and everlasting regret written
on his face.

***

"’She-wolf'!"

"Now,
Isabella, calm yourself. It is nothing you have not heard before."

"Why
does no one understand me, Mortimer?"

"I
understand you, my dear. I always have."

"Edward
never appreciated me."

"His
interests lay elsewhere, Isabella."

"I
thought that after Warwick murdered Gaveston, all that nonsense was over."

"It
was never over, Isabella. Look what happened with Hugh."

"Was
it me, Mortimer? Was there something truly repulsive about me that he had to
turn to other men for his pleasure?"

"Edward
was simply following his own nature, Isabella. You should never have taken it
personally. It had nothing to do with you."

"So
you say, but no man has ever spurned me so
thoroughly."

"Why
dwell on what cannot be changed? You have me now."

"I
am restless, Mortimer. I am tired of watching our tenant dance around the
matter as if he had eternity."

"Considerable
progress was made this afternoon, my dear."

"Granted.
But not enough. I will warrant that at this very moment the man is putting himself
through all manner of recriminations."

"What
of it? You will win in the end. You always do."

"I
grow weary of waiting. If we let things be, he will drape himself in that
discipline in which he so prides himself and that will be the end of it. We will
act tonight."

"You
can only manipulate a man so far, Isabella. In the end, we all must follow the
dictates of our natures. Look at Edward."

"I
am looking at him. Now that I think on it, there may be a role for Edward in
all of this."