Suddenly You(79)

It had not been so easy, though, to face Charles Hartley. She would have preferred condemnation to the gentle kindness he showed her. He was so forgiving, so damnably understanding, that she felt utterly wretched as she tried to explain that she would not be marrying him, but Jack Devlin.

“Is this what you want, Amanda?” was his only question, and she responded with a shamefaced nod.

“Charles,” she managed to say, nearly choking on her guilt, “you have been dreadfully ill-used by me—”

“No, never say that,” he interrupted, beginning to reach for her, then checking himself. He held back and gave her a faint smile. “I have been the better for knowing you, Amanda. All I desire is your well-being. And if marriage to Devlin will secure your happiness, I will accept it without complaint.”

To Amanda’s annoyance, when she repeated the conversation to Jack later, he did not seem to feel a shred of remorse. He only shrugged nonchalantly. “Hartley could have fought for you,” he pointed out. “He chose not to. Why should you or I take the blame for that?”

“Charles was being a gentleman,” she retorted. “Something you obviously have little experience with.”

Jack grinned and pulled her onto his lap, his hands cupping insolently over her bodice. “Gentlemen don’t always get what they want.”

“And scoundrels do?” she asked, making him laugh.

“This scoundrel has.” He kissed her soundly, until all thoughts of Charles Hartley were banished from her mind.

* * *

To Amanda’s dismay, the news of her hasty marriage had filled the gossip pages of London papers with lurid speculation. The publications that Jack owned were, of course, moderately respectful, but the ones he did not own were merciless. The public seemed titillated by the marriage between London’s most successful publisher and a celebrated novelist. During the fortnight after their wedding, new details of their relationship—many of them fabricated—surfaced every day in publications such as The Mercury, The Post, The Public Ledger, The Journal, and The Standard. Understanding the voracious appetite of the news industry, Amanda told herself that soon the gossips would lose interest in her marriage to Jack and find some new subject to exploit. However, there was one story that managed to distress her, and despite its obvious untruth, she was disturbed enough to approach her new husband with it.

“Jack,” she said warily, approaching him in their massive green-and-burgundy bedroom.

“Mmm?” Jack shrugged into a neat charcoal-colored waistcoat that matched his trousers exactly. The sleek, powerful lines of his body were followed faithfully by the clothes, which had been tailored in the new fashion, a fit that was easy and comfortable rather than snug. Picking up a patterned silk stock that had been selected by his valet, Jack examined it critically.

Amanda extended the paper to him. “Have you seen this item in the London Report‘s gossip section?”

Jack set aside the stock and took the paper. His gaze scanned the rustling page with practiced speed. “You know I don’t read gossip.”

Amanda frowned and folded her arms across her chest. “It is about you and me.”

He smiled lazily, still scanning the printed lines. “I especially don’t read gossip about myself. It annoys the hell out of me when it’s false, and even more so when it’s true.”

“Well, perhaps you can explain to me which category this bit of news falls into…truth or untruth.”

Hearing the rising tension in her voice, Jack glanced at her face and then dropped the paper onto a nearby table. “You tell me what it says,” he suggested, becoming serious as he realized that she was genuinely upset. His hands came to her shoulders, stroking her upper arms. “Relax,” he urged gently. “Whatever it is, I have no doubt that it’s of little consequence.”

She remained stiff against him. “It’s a nasty little piece that speculates on the unions of older women and younger men. There is a mocking paragraph on how wise a man like you must be to reap the benefits of an older woman’s ‘grateful enthusiasm.’ It’s a completely dreadful article, and it makes me sound like a lust-crazed old crone who has managed to ensnare a young man for stud service. Now, tell me at once if there is any truth in it!”

One would have wished for immediate denial.

Instead, Jack’s expression became guarded, and Amanda realized with a sinking heart that he was not going to refute the newspaper’s claim. “There is no solid proof of my age,” he said carefully. “I was born a bastard, and my mother never registered the event in any parish records. Any speculation that I am younger than you is merely that—a bit of guesswork that no one can confirm.”

Amanda jerked back and stared at him incredulously. “You told me the first time we met that you were thirty-one years of age. Was that true or not?”

Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Amanda could practically see the series of rapid calculations in his mind as he devised a strategy to handle the situation. She did not want to be handled, damn him! She merely wanted to know if he had lied to her about something as fundamental as his age. Finally he seemed to acknowledge that there was no way to avoid admitting the truth.

“It was not true,” he said gruffly. “But if you recall, you were damned sensitive about your thirtieth birthday at the time. And I knew that if you became aware that I might be a year or two younger than you, I’d probably be set out on my ear at once.”