Suddenly You(63)

Amanda smiled wanly, aware that she was the target of a host of jealous stares from matrimonially minded dowagers and their charges. She wished she could reassure them en masse that she had no interest in the ridiculous fop.

Unfortunately, Stephenson could not be persuaded to leave her side for the rest of the evening. It seemed he had decided that Amanda should be given the honor of writing his life’s story. “‘Twould be a sacrifice of my valuable privacy,” he reflected, his multitude of rings sparkling as he clamped a pudgy hand firmly on Amanda’s arm, “but I can no longer deny the public the story they desire so greatly. And only you, Miss Briars, have the ability to capture the essence of its subject. Me. You will enjoy writing about me, I vow. ‘Twill hardly seem like work.”

It finally dawned on Amanda that this was the reason she had been invited to the ball—the family must have agreed that she was to be given the honor of writing their pompous heir’s biography.

“You’re very kind,” she murmured, caught between outrage and laughter as she glanced around at her surroundings for any avenue of escape. “However, I must tell you that biographies are not my forte—”

“We will find a private corner,” he interrupted her, “and we will sit together for the rest of the evening while I tell you the story of my life.”

Amanda’s blood curdled at the prospect. “Mr. Stephenson, I could not deny the other women at the ball the chance to enjoy your company—”

“They will have to console themselves,” he said with a regretful sigh. “After all, there is only one of me—and for this evening, Miss Briars, I am yours. Come now.”

As Amanda was practically dragged to a small velvet settee in the corner, she saw Jack Devlin’s dark face. The sight of him caused her heart to lurch. She had not known that he would be attending the ball…it was all she could do not to stare openly. Jack was handsome, princely even, in his black formal wear, his black hair brushed back from his face. He was standing in a group of men, watching her over the rim of his brandy glass with an expression of mocking satisfaction. His white teeth gleamed in a quick grin as he witnessed her predicament.

Abruptly Amanda’s longing changed to burning annoyance. The evil wretch, she thought, glaring at him as she was tugged along behind Stephenson’s corpulent form. She should not be surprised that Jack would take pleasure in seeing her discomfort.

Silently Amanda fumed as Stephenson monopolized her for the next two hours, orating grandly about his beginnings, his accomplishments, his opinions, until she longed to scream. Sipping from a glass of punch, she watched as everyone else at the party was happily dancing, laughing, and talking, while she was trapped on a settee with a self-important windbag.

Worse, every time someone approached them, and it looked as if rescue might be likely, Stephenson waved the person away and continued his incessant chatter to Amanda. Just when she was considering a feigned illness or a pretend swoon in order to be rid of him, help came from the quarter she desired the least.

Jack stood before them with an expressionless face, ignoring Stephenson’s attempts to shoo him away. “Miss Briars,” he murmured, “are you enjoying the evening?”

Stephenson responded before Amanda could speak. “Devlin, you have the honor of being the first to hear the good news,” he crowed.

Devlin arched his brow as he glanced at Amanda. “Good news?”

“I have convinced Miss Briars to write my biography.”

“Have you?” Devlin sent Amanda a mildly chiding gaze. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Miss Briars, that you have contractual obligations to me. Despite your enthusiasm for the project, you may have to delay it for a while.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, nearly choking with a galling mixture of annoyance and gratitude. Silently she flashed him a message, her gaze promising vengeance if he did not rescue her immediately.

Devlin bowed and extended a gloved hand. “Shall we discuss the matter further? During a waltz, perhaps?”

Amanda needed no further urging. She practically leapt from the settee, which had developed all the appeal of a torture chamber, and seized Devlin’s hand. “Very well, if you insist.”

“Oh, I do,” he assured her.

“But my life’s story…” Stephenson protested. “I haven’t yet finished with my years at Oxford…” He spluttered indignantly as Jack ushered Amanda toward the whirl of dancing couples in the drawing room. An effervescent waltz floated through the air, but its cheerful melody did little to soothe Amanda’s irritation.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” Jack asked. He took her gloved hand and slid his arm around her.

“Thank you for what?” she responded sourly. Her cramped leg muscles objected to the prospect of a dance after the prolonged stay on the settee, but she was so relieved to be away from her tormentor that she ignored the pain.

“For rescuing you from Stephenson.”

“You waited two hours to do so,” she said tersely. “You’ll get no thanks from me.”

“How was I to know that you wouldn’t find Stephenson attractive?” he asked, all innocence. “Many women do.”

“Well, they are welcome to him. You have allowed me to be tormented by the most pretentious ass of a man that I’ve ever encountered.”