Suddenly You(61)

Amanda forced herself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

She did not entirely understand the cast of bitterness on his face. A man did not look like that unless he had been deeply hurt, and yet she did not believe that he cared enough about her to feel that way. Perhaps his pride was wounded.

“It is time to say good-bye,” she whispered. “You know it is.”

His face was blank as he continued to stare at her. “When will I see you again?” he asked gruffly.

“In a few weeks, perhaps,” she said hesitantly. “And then we will be able to meet as friends, I hope.”

The air was charged with a peculiar, pained silence until Jack spoke again. “Then let’s say good-bye in the same way we began,” he muttered, and reached for her with rough hands. In all the times Amanda had imagined or written about lovers parting, it had never been with this harsh urgency, as if he wanted to hurt her.

“Jack,” she protested. The grip of his hands eased, secure but no longer punishing.

“One more display of fondness isn’t too much to ask, is it?” He spread her legs with his knee and thrust inside her with no preliminaries. Amanda caught her breath at the feel of him driving deep inside her, establishing a demanding, pounding rhythm that resonated throughout her being. The pleasure kindled and rose, her h*ps arching with each stroke. Her eyes closed, and she felt his mouth on her br**sts, catching at her ni**les, gently biting and stroking with his teeth and tongue. She struggled to press closer to him, urging her entire body up into his, craving the heat and weight of him. He kissed her, his mouth opening hungrily over hers, and she moaned as a rippling cl**ax overtook her, washing through her in searing waves. He withdrew from her in an abrupt jerking motion, his breath rattling in his throat, his body trembling and taut in the throes of his own release.

Usually when they made love, Jack held and caressed her afterward. This time, however, he rolled away and left the bed with a harsh exhalation.

Amanda bit her lip and held still as Jack searched for his clothes and dressed silently. Perhaps if she had managed to explain things in a different way, a better way, Jack would not have reacted with this baffling anger. She tried to speak, but her throat was clenched too tightly to allow words, and all she could manage was a strange, broken sound.

Hearing the faint noise, Jack shot her a searching glance. Reading the pain that must have been obvious on her face did not seem to mollify him. In fact, it only seemed to frustrate him further.

He finally spoke in a cold, stiff manner, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. “I’m not finished with you yet, Amanda. I’ll be waiting.”

Amanda had never known a silence as absolute as the one that occupied the bedroom after he left. Gathering the sheet around her in great bunches of linen that still retained the warmth and scent of his body, she tried to calm herself enough to think. They had exchanged no promises or commitments…neither of them had ever dared to believe in any kind of permanence.

She had expected to feel pain at their final parting, but she had not expected a sense of loss so profound that it seemed as if part of her had been amputated. In the weeks and months to come, she would discover all the ways that the affair had changed her, all the ways in which she would never be the same. For now, however, she would try to rid herself of the unwanted details that crowded her mind…thoughts of Jack’s dark blue eyes, the taste of Jack’s mouth, the misty heat of his skin as he moved over her in passion…the wonderful low timbre of his voice as he murmured in her ear.

“Jack,” she whispered, and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow as she cried.

The biting February breeze was a welcome shock as Jack walked out into the night. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and strode without his usual purpose or sense of direction. It did not matter where he went, or how far; all that mattered was that he did not stop. He felt as if he had been drinking badly distilled whiskey, the kind that made his mouth dry and his head feel as if it had been stuffed with wool. It seemed impossible that a woman he wanted so badly did not want him. While he understood Amanda’s fear of scandal and its consequences, he could not seem to make himself accept that he could no longer see her, talk to her, possess her…that their affair had so abruptly become a thing of the past.

It was not that he blamed Amanda for her decision. In fact, had he been a woman in her circumstances, he probably would have done the same thing. But he could not drive away a sense of anger and loss. He felt more intimacy with Amanda than he had with any other person in his life. He had told her things he had found it difficult to admit even to himself. It was not merely the delight of her body that he would miss. He loved her prickly intelligence, her easy laughter…he loved simply to be in the same room with her, though he could not explain fully why her companionship was so thoroughly satisfying.

Opposing urges battled inside him. He could return to her this minute, argue and coax until she allowed him back into her bed. But that was not what she wanted…it was not what was best for her. Swearing quietly, Jack increased his pace, walking faster and farther away from her home. He would do as she asked. He would give her the friendship she wanted, and somehow he would find a way to remove her from his heart and mind.

Chapter 12

The London Season, with its rituals of suppers, balls, parties, and teas, began in March. There were events for every strata of society, most notably the insufferably dull gatherings of blue bloods to match suitable husbands with appropriate wives to ensure the continuation of their lineage. However, anyone of good sense took care to avoid these gatherings of the aristocracy, as the conversation was slow and self-congratulatory, and one was likely to find oneself trapped in the company of pompous half-wits.