Suddenly You(44)

She paused and then laughed in delight. “Gulliver’s Travels!” She had once confided to Devlin that this “anonymous” work by Jonathan Swift, the Irish clergyman and satirist, had been one of her favorite childhood stories. This particular edition was the 1726 Motte original printing, impossibly rare.

Smiling, Amanda reflected that this small volume pleased her more than a king’s ransom in jewels. No doubt she should refuse a gift that was so obviously valuable, but she couldn’t make herself part with it.

She held the book in her lap as the carriage continued toward the fashionable area of St. James’s. Although Amanda had never visited Jack Devlin’s home before, she had heard about the place from Oscar Fretwell. Devlin had purchased the mansion from a former ambassador to France, who had decided in his declining years to establish residence on the Continent and relinquish his English holdings.

The house was located in a distinctly masculine preserve filled with handsome estates, bachelor lodgings, and exclusive shops. It was unusual for a businessman to own a mansion in St. James’s, as most wealthy professionals built homes south of the river or in Bloomsbury. However, Devlin did have some aristocratic blood in his veins, and perhaps this, combined with his considerable wealth, made his presence more palatable to the neighbors.

The carriage slowed to join a queue of vehicles that had lined along the street, depositing their passengers in turn at the pavement leading to a magnificent house. Amanda could not prevent her jaw from hanging slack in astonishment as she stared through the frosted window.

The house was a splendid, towering, Georgian-style residence, red brick fronted with massive white columns and pediments, and rows of oversized Palladian windows. The sides of the building were framed by immaculately trimmed yew and beech hedges that led to groves of coppiced trees underplanted with carpets of fresh white cyclamen.

It was a home that any person of consequence would be proud to claim. Amanda’s imagination sparked to life while she waited for the carriage to reach the front walk. She pictured Jack Devlin as a boy at school, daydreaming about the life outside the grim walls of Knatchford Heath. Had he known somehow that he would someday live in such a place as this? What emotions had motivated him on the long, difficult climb from there to here? More important, would he ever find a respite from his own endless ambition, or would it keep driving him ruthlessly until the day he died?

Devlin didn’t have the necessary limits that ordinary men possessed…he lacked the ability to relax, to feel contentment, to enjoy his own accomplishments. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, Amanda thought that Devlin was possibly the most fascinating person she had ever encountered. And she knew without a doubt that he was dangerous.

“But I am not some dreamy-headed schoolgirl,” Amanda told herself, finding comfort in the knowledge of her own good sense. “I am a woman who can see Jack Devlin for what he is…and there is no danger as long as I don’t allow myself to do something ridiculous.” Such as fall in love with him. No; her heart contracted anxiously at the very thought. She did not love him, nor did she wish to. Finding amusement in his company was enough. She would keep reminding herself that Devlin was not a man whom a woman could have for a lifetime.

The carriage stopped, and a footman hastened to help Amanda to the pavement. She took his arm as he guided her up the icy, sanded steps that led to the double entrance doors. Conversation, music, and heat billowed from the brilliantly lit interior. Boughs of holly and mistletoe were strung along the banisters and cornices with scarlet velvet ribbons. The smell of spicy greenery and flowers mingled with the promising scents of an elaborate dinner being set out in the dining room.

There were many more guests than Amanda had expected, at least two hundred. While the children played in a separate parlor that had been designated for their use, the adults moved about in a large circuit of visiting rooms. Cheerful music that originated in the drawing room filtered throughout the house.

Amanda felt a pleasurable quake of her nerves as Devlin found her. He was elegant in a black coat and trousers, with a charcoal waistcoat tailored neatly to his lean torso. However, the gentlemanly attire did nothing to conceal his piratical nature. He was too irreverent and too obviously calculating to fool anyone into thinking he was a gentleman.

“Miss Briars,” he said in a low voice, taking both her gloved hands in his. He raked her with a frankly approving glance. “You look like a Christmas angel.”

Amanda laughed at his flattery. “Thank you for the lovely book, Mr. Devlin. I will treasure it. But I’m afraid I have nothing for you.”

“The sight of you in that low-cut dress is the only gift I want.”

She frowned at him, casting a quick glance around them to see if anyone was close by. “Hush…what if someone were to overhear you?”

“They would think that I have an itch for you,” he murmured sotto voce. “And they would be correct.”

“An itch,” she repeated coolly, inwardly delighting in the exchange. “Dear me, how poetic.”

He grinned at her. “I haven’t your talent for writing rapturous descriptions of carnal lust, I’ll freely admit—”

“I’ll thank you not to mention such filthy subjects on a sacred holiday,” she whispered sharply, her cheeks flaming.

Devlin grinned and placed one of her hands on his arm. “Very well,” he said, relenting, “I’ll behave like a choirboy for the rest of the day, if that will please you.”