Suddenly You(39)

“I’m surprised that your competitors did not conspire to put you out of business,” Amanda said matter-of-factly. Everyone in the literary world knew that the Booksellers’ Association and the Publishers Committee would unify to destroy anyone who didn’t abide by the unwritten rule: never sell an underpriced book.

“Oh, they tried,” he said with a grim smile. “But by the time they organized a campaign against me, I had acquired enough money and influence to defend myself against all comers.”

“You must be quite satisfied with what you’ve achieved.”

He gave a short laugh. “In my life so far, I’ve never been satisfied with anything. I doubt I ever will be.”

“What more could you want?” she asked, fascinated and puzzled.

“Everything I don’t have,” he said, making her laugh.

The conversation became more relaxed then, and they talked of novels and writers, and the years Amanda had spent with her family in Windsor. She described her sisters and their husbands and children, and Devlin listened with an interest that surprised her. He was unusually perceptive for a man, she thought. He had a knack for hearing what she didn’t say, as clearly as he heard her spoken words.

“Do you envy your sisters for having husbands and children?” He leaned back in his chair, a lock of black hair falling onto his forehead. Amanda was momentarily distracted by the thick, springy forelock, her fingers twitching with the desire to brush it back. She had not forgotten the texture of that dark hair, as smooth and resilient as a seal’s pelt.

She pondered the question, wondering why it was that he dared to ask questions that no one else would…and why she responded to them. She liked to analyze other people’s actions and feelings, not her own. But something compelled her to answer him truthfully.

“I suppose,” Amanda said hesitantly, “that I might occasionally envy my sisters for having children. But I don’t wish for a husband like either of theirs. I’ve always wanted someone…something…very different.” As she paused reflectively, Devlin remained silent. The unhurried quietness of the room beckoned her to continue. “I’ve never been able to accept that married life is not what I imagined it could be. I always thought love should be irresistible and wild. That it should take complete possession of one. As the books and poems and ballads describe. But it was not that way for my parents, or my sisters, or indeed any of my acquaintances in Windsor. And yet…I’ve always known that their sort of marriage was the right kind, and my ideas of it were wrong.”

“Why?” His blue eyes were bright with interest.

“Because it’s not practical. And that kind of love always fades.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a beguiling smile. “How do you know that?”

“Because that is what everyone says. And it makes sense.”

“And you like for things to be sensible,” he mocked gently.

She shot him a challenging glance. “What, may I ask, is wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” A taunting smile touched his lips. “But someday, peaches, your romantic side will triumph over your practical nature. And I hope that I’m there when it happens.”

Amanda steeled herself not to bridle at his teasing. The sight of him in the candlelight, flame and shadow playing over his striking features, golden highlights touching the generous shape of his lips and the crests of his cheekbones, made Amanda feel hollow and hot, like a bottle that had been held over fire, the pressure of heat pulling sensation inward.

She longed to touch the rough, silken filaments of his hair, the velvety-hard skin, the pulse at the base of his throat. She wanted to make his breath catch in his throat, and hear him whisper Gaelic words to her again. How many women must have yearned to possess him, she thought in a sudden wash of melancholy. She wondered if anyone would ever truly come to know him, if he would ever allow any woman to share the secrets of his heart.

“What about you?” she asked. “Marriage would be a practical arrangement for a man like you.”

Devlin settled back in his chair and regarded her with a smile lurking at one corner of his mouth. “How so?” he asked in a tone that was soft but crackling with challenge.

“Why, you have need of a wife to arrange things and act as hostess, and to provide companionship. And you must certainly desire children, or whom would you leave your business and property to?”

“I don’t have to marry to get companionship,” he pointed out. “And I don’t give a damn what happens to my property once I’m gone. Besides, the world has enough children—I’ll do the population a favor by declining to add to it.”

“You don’t seem to like children,” she observed, expecting him to deny the statement.

“Not especially.”

Amanda was briefly startled by his honesty. People who did not like children usually tried to pretend otherwise. It was a virtue to make a fuss over children, even the bratty ones who whined and misbehaved and generally made themselves objectionable.

“Perhaps you might feel differently about your own,” she suggested, falling back on a piece of conventional wisdom that had often been recited to her.

Devlin shrugged and replied easily, “I doubt it.”

The subject of children seemed to have dispelled the feeling of unfolding intimacy between them. Devlin set his linen napkin on the table with great care and smiled slightly. “I should go now,” he murmured.