Suddenly You(36)

“I sympathize with her,” Amanda said frankly. “I’ve always thought it would be the worst kind of horror to be trapped in a loveless marriage. So many women are forced to marry because of pure economics. If more women were able to support themselves, there would be fewer reluctant brides and unhappy wives.”

“Why, Miss Briars,” he said softly. “How unconventional of you.”

She countered his amusement with a perplexed frown. “It’s only sensible, really.”

He realized suddenly that this was the key to understanding her. Amanda was so doggedly practical that she was willing to discard the hypocrisies and stale social attitudes that most people accepted without thinking. Why, indeed, should a woman marry just because it was the expected thing to do, if she were able to choose otherwise?

“Perhaps most women think it is easier to marry than to support themselves,” he said, deliberately provoking her.

“Easier?” she snorted. “I’ve never seen a shred of evidence that spending the rest of one’s days in domestic drudgery is any easier than working at some trade. What women need is more education, more choices, and then they will be able to consider options for themselves other than marriage.”

“But a woman isn’t complete without a man,” Jack said provocatively, and laughed as her expression became thunderous. He held up his hands in self-defense, “Calm yourself, Miss Briars. I was only teasing. I have no wish to be bashed and battered as Lord Tirwitt was. Actually, I agree with your views. I’m no great proponent of the marital union. In fact, I intend to avoid it at all cost.”

“Then you have no desire for a wife and children?”

“God, no.” He grinned at her. “It would be obvious to any half-witted female that I’m a bad risk.”

“Quite obvious,” Amanda agreed, but she was smiling ruefully as she spoke.

Usually when Amanda finished writing a novel, she began on another right away. Otherwise, she felt uneasy and aimless. Without some kind of story in her head, she was positively adrift. Unlike most people, she never minded having to wait in a queue, or sitting in a carriage for a long time, or having long stretches of unfilled time. These were opportunities to reflect on her work-in-progress, to play with bits of dialogue in her head, to produce and discard ideas for her plot.

And yet, for the first time in years, she couldn’t seem to produce a plot that excited her imagination enough to begin writing again. Her revisions on An Unfinished Lady were done, and it was time to launch into a new project, and still the prospect seemed curiously uninviting.

She wondered if Jack Devlin was the cause of this. For the past month that she had known him, her inner life did not seem nearly as interesting as the outside world. This was a problem she had never encountered before. Perhaps she should tell him to stop visiting her, she thought reluctantly. Devlin had developed the habit of calling at her home at least twice a week, without any kind of polite warning. It could be in the middle of the day, or even at suppertime, when she would be forced to invite him to share her evening meal.

“I’ve always been told that one should never feed strays,” Amanda said darkly the third time he appeared uninvited for supper. “It encourages them to keep coming back.”

Hanging his head in a useless effort to look penitent, Devlin sent her a coaxing smile. “Is it suppertime?…I hadn’t realized it was so late. I’ll go. No doubt my cook will have some sort of cold potato mash or warmed-over soup ready for me at home.”

Amanda failed in her effort to look stern. “With your means, Mr. Devlin, I doubt that your cook is as wretched as you always make her out to be. In fact, I heard just the other day that you have a veritable mansion and a regiment of servants. I doubt they would allow you to starve.”

Before Devlin could reply, a cold blast of winter air swept through the entranceway, and Amanda hurriedly bade Sukey to close the door. “Do come in,” Amanda told Devlin tartly, “before I turn into an icicle.”

Visibly radiating with satisfaction, he strolled into the warm house and sniffed the air with appreciation. “Beef stew?” he murmured, casting a questioning glance at Sukey, whose face split with a grin.

“Roast beef, Mr. Devlin, with mashed turnips and spinach, and the prettiest little apricot jam puddings ye’ve ever seen. Cook has outdone herself tonight, ye’ll see.”

Amanda’s flicker of annoyance at Devlin’s presumption was dispelled by amusement as she saw his obvious anticipation. “Mr. Devlin, you appear at my home so frequently that you never give me a chance to invite you.” She took his arm and bade him to escort her to her small but elegant dining room. Although she often dined alone, she always ate by candlelight and used her best china and silver, reasoning that her lack of a husband did not mean she had to eat in spartan surroundings.

“Would you have invited me had I waited long enough?” Devlin asked, his blue eyes wicked.

“No, I would not have,” she replied pertly. “I rarely welcome ruthless blackmailers to my table.”

“You’re not still holding that against me,” he said. “Tell me the real reason. Are you still uncomfortable because of what happened between us on your birthday?”

Even now, after all the hours she had spent with him, the slightest reference to the sexual encounter between them still caused her face to flame. “No,” she muttered, “it has nothing to do with that. I…” She stopped and sighed shortly, forcing herself to admit the truth to him. “I am not especially bold where gentlemen are concerned. Not to the extent of inviting a man to supper, unless there is some pretext such as business. I don’t much care for the prospect of being refused.”