A Lady at Last (30 page)

Cliff touched her arm. “We can sit together before supper and make a list of necessary repairs and the furnishings we will need to buy.”

Amanda jerked, her gaze flying to his, and when he smiled at her warmly, she felt herself melt. “Does this mean you will purchase the estate for my dowry?”

“If you still insist, after our discussion, then, yes, I will.”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Instantly, she was acutely aware of his hard male body. Being in his arms still felt dangerous and worse, it still felt so right. She would never forget the waltz they had shared, either. She had replayed it a hundred times in her mind since the other day.

I love you so much
, she thought, and had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying the words aloud. Instead, overcome with emotion, she looked him in the eye. “Cliff, how will I ever repay you?”

He pulled away so that she did not continue to grasp his arms. “The only repayment I wish, is for you to be happy,” he said, appearing uncomfortable.

“I am happy. You have taken me into your home, your family has been kind and welcoming, and I was even a success in society. And now, dear Lord, there is this house.” She beamed. “A home of my own.”

But she felt her smile fade. Yes, Ashford Hall would be hers if she insisted—Cliff had made that clear—but she was going to have to marry one day, probably sooner rather than later. She didn't have to think about it to know that she would miss Cliff terribly after she was wed. But she would have this house—a home of her own. And eventually, there would be wonderful children. She wanted a son just like Alexi and a daughter just like Ariella. And whenever Cliff was in London, she would call on him. London was only a half day's coach ride away.

Cliff slowly walked away from her, appearing as if he had something he wished to say. When he did not speak, she went to the bed and sat down on it, just to test the mattress. It was far too soft and would have to be replaced, she realized, but her dismay had more to do with her marriage than the mattress.

Then she looked up and saw him staring, his blue eyes bright.

Instantly, she felt his virile interest and she was fiercely glad that that had not changed between them. At least she had his friendship and his desire, even if he wouldn't act on it.

“I want to ask you something,” he said quietly.

Amanda realized he was uncomfortable, but not because he was grappling with his wayward male nature. “You can ask me anything,” she said, bemused. She slipped off of the bed, turning to reshape the pillow she had leaned on.

“Amanda.”

His tone was so serious and so odd. She faced him, some concern beginning. “What is it?”

He forced a smile, then it vanished. “Do you wish to see Garret MacLachlan again?”

She was surprised by the subject. “Of course I do,” she said, bewildered. “He is very gallant, and like you, he is kind.” She thought about his call. She had genuinely enjoyed his company, even if she had felt as if she were somehow betraying Cliff. “And he is handsome,” she added.

Cliff was flushing. “I denied him the right to call on you, Amanda,” he said tersely, “but he is an eligible bachelor. He is also the son of an earl—the eldest son. He has no real means, but his character is upright and he has that title.”

Amanda became afraid. “What are you asking me?” She hugged herself. “Are you thinking of choosing him as a husband?” Panic began. She couldn't marry yet—it was far too soon!

“He hasn't stated that his intentions are matrimonial ones,” Cliff said, his face set in a grimace. “But I suspect he is very taken with you, and his intentions might become such.”

She realized she was trembling. Garret MacLachlan was so like Cliff, but he wasn't Cliff! “I don't even know him,” she managed, her knees useless now.

Cliff crossed the room and caught her, supporting her weight. “I am trying to be honorable,” he ground out. “The man is a Scot, with a title, and he could take care of you. You would have to live very modestly, but you would be safe for the rest of your life. A man like that would always take care of his wife.”

She clasped her flaming cheeks. “Scotland is far away, isn't it?”

“It is far away, yes, and MacLachlan lives in the west. By ship, however, I believe you could reach his estate in days.”

Amanda began shaking her head. “I don't want to live in Scotland,” she whispered. “I want to live here, close to London.” And close to Harmon House, she thought, close to Cliff.

Relief appeared in his eyes. “It is a barbarian, backward land,” he said. “You are certain?”

“I have never been more sure of anything!” she cried.

He put his arm around her and she leaned against his body, overcome with relief. “Good,” he said, sounding as relieved. “It is settled, then.”

Amanda closed her eyes, her cheek resting against the very fine blue wool of his jacket. She was breathless from the fear she had been afflicted with, but now, she became aware of being pressed completely against Cliff's hard, powerful body and that he had one arm around her. Slowly, she looked up.

He stared down, his blue eyes far too bright. For one instant, she knew he was going to bend over her and kiss her. He shifted his weight, his eyes flamed and he leaned closer.

But she was wrong.

He released her instead and walked out of the room.

 

A
MANDA HAD BEEN GIVEN
the gold bedroom after all. Michelle had found six servants and they had transformed the manor, cleaning every speck of dirt, waxing the furniture, mopping and polishing the floors. The difference was miraculous, making her love Ashford Hall even more. While they had taken their supper at the village inn, they had returned to the Hall to pass the night. Everyone had retired an hour or so ago and the house was now achingly silent.

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.