Suddenly You(47)



“What do you know of Charles Hartley, Oscar?”

“You’re referring to his situation, sir? His character? Hartley is a widower, and he is known to be an honorable man. He is of moderate wealth, born of a good family, and his reputation is completely free of scandal.” Fretwell paused briefly and smiled. “And I believe he is adored by children everywhere.”

“And what do you know of me?” Jack finally asked softly.

Fretwell frowned in confusion. “I’m not certain what you’re asking.”

“You know my business practices—I’m not honorable, nor am I scandal-free. I’ve made a fortune, but I’m illegitimate and I come from bad blood. On top of that, I don’t like children, I abhor the idea of marriage, and I’ve never managed to have a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than six months. And I’m a selfish bastard…because I’m not going to let any of that stop me from pursuing Miss Briars, despite the fact that I am the last thing she needs.”

“Miss Briars is an intelligent woman,” Fretwell said quietly. “Perhaps you should allow her to decide what she needs.”

Jack shook his head. “She won’t realize her mistake until after she’s made it,” he said grimly. “Women never do in these matters.”

“Sir…” Fretwell said uneasily, but Jack walked away, rubbing the back of his neck in the unconsciously weary gesture of a man who was driven by a ferocious will that dominated his better instincts.

Christmas dinner was superb, as course after course of remarkable dishes was served to guests, who all exclaimed in delight. The uncorking of wine bottles provided a steady rhythmic undertone to the clinking of glassware and the hum of animated conversation. Amanda lost count of the various delicacies that were offered to her. There were four kinds of soup, including turtle and lobster, and several roast turkeys dressed with sausages and herbs.

A never-ending parade of servants brought platters of veal in béchamel sauce, capons, sweetbreads, roast quail and hare, venison, swans’ eggs, and a dazzling array of vegetable casseroles. Puddings made of exotic fish and game were presented in steaming silver bowls, followed by trays of luxury fruits and salads, and crystal plates laden with truffles in wine. There were even tender stalks of asparagus, well out of season and therefore highly prized at Christmastime.

As much as Amanda enjoyed the marvelous meal, she was barely aware of what she was eating, so enthralled was she by the man beside her. Devlin was extraordinarily charming, telling stories with a droll wit that certainly came from his Irish heritage.

A heavy, sweet ache formed inside Amanda, one that had nothing to do with the wine she had drunk. She wanted to be alone with Devlin, wanted to lure and possess him, if only for a little while. The sight of his hands made her mouth go dry. She remembered the incredible warmth of his body against hers…she wanted to feel it again. She wanted to pull him inside herself…she wanted the peace of physical release to encompass them both, to lie relaxed and happy in his arms. She’d had such an ordinary life, and Devlin seemed as brilliant as a comet streaking across the sky.

After what seemed an eternity, dinner was concluded and the guests separated into groups, some men remaining at the table for port, some ladies congregating in the parlor for tea, whereas many of both sexes gathered at the piano to sing carols. Amanda prepared to join the latter group, but before she could reach the piano, she felt Devlin’s hand close around her elbow, and his deep voice murmured in her ear.

“Come away with me.”

“Where are we going?” she asked pertly.

His polite social expression did little to mask the vibrant desire in his eyes. “To find a convenient bower of mistletoe.”

“You’ll cause a scandal,” she warned, caught between laughter and alarm.

“Are you afraid of scandal?” He guided her through the drawing room door and down a darkened hallway. “You’d better stay with your respectable friend Hartley, then.”

Amanda made a sound of amused disbelief. “You almost sound jealous of that kind, gentlemanly widower—”

“Of course I’m jealous of him,” Devlin muttered. “I’m jealous of every man that looks at you.” He pulled her into a large, shadowy room that smelled of leather and vellum and tobacco. It was the library, she realized dimly, while her heart thundered in excitement at the prospect of being alone with him. “I want you all to myself,” Devlin continued gruffly. “I want all those damned people to leave.”

“Mr. Devlin,” she said shakily, her breath catching as he backed her against a bookcase and stood with his powerful body almost touching hers. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m not drunk. Why is it so difficult for you to believe that I want you?” She felt his warm hands come to either side of her head, clasping her skull gently. His lips touched her forehead, cheeks, nose in soft, scorching kisses that drew fire to the surface of her skin. He spoke quietly, his rum-scented breath caressing her. “The question is, Amanda…do you want me?”

Words fluttered and collided inside her, while her body strained toward him so willfully that she could no longer keep from pressing forward into the large, muscular shape of him. He took her against him, urging her h*ps forward until their bodies were molded together as tightly as the layers of their clothing would allow.

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