Suddenly You(82)

Most mornings Amanda reserved time to write in a spacious room that had been redecorated for her use. The soothing sage-green walls were lined with towering mahogany bookcases, while framed engravings occupied the spaces between. Instead of the usual ponderous furnishings that one would find in a library or reading room, the desk and chairs and settee were light and feminine. As Jack added constantly to Amanda’s collection of pen holders, many of them jeweled and engraved, she kept them in a leather-and-ivory case on her desk.

In the evenings Jack often liked to entertain, for there was a never-ending horde who wished to court his favor…politicians, artists, merchantmen, and even aristocrats. It surprised Amanda to realize how much influence her husband possessed. People treated him with wary friendliness, knowing that he could sway the public view on any issue he took an interest in. They were invited everywhere, from balls and yacht-parties to simple picnics, and they were seldom seen out of each other’s company.

It was clear to Amanda that for all her apparent compatibility with Charles Hartley, he would never have penetrated her soul the way Jack did. Jack understood her with a thoroughness that almost frightened her. He was infinitely flexible, unpredictable, sometimes treating her like the fully mature woman she was, other times holding her on his lap as if she were a little girl, coaxing and teasing until she dissolved into helpless laughter. One evening he ordered a bath to be prepared before the fireplace in their room, and a supper tray sent up. He dismissed the maids and bathed her himself, his strong hands caressing her beneath the hot, soapy water. Afterward he combed her long hair and fed her bites from the supper plate while she relaxed against his chest and stared dreamily at the blaze in the hearth.

Jack’s strong appetites certainly extended to the bedroom, where the intimacy they shared was so raw and relentless that Amanda sometimes feared she would not be able to face him in the bright light of day. Jack let her hide nothing from him, either physically or emotionally, and she was never quite comfortable with being so ruthlessly exposed. He took, and he gave, and he demanded, until it seemed that she no longer belonged to herself. He taught her things that no lady should know. He was the kind of husband she had never known she needed: a man who shook her from her complacency and inhibitions, a man who made her cavort and play until she had lost all bitterness over the responsibility-laden years of her youth.

With the publication of the last installment of An Unfinished Lady, Amanda’s position as England’s premier female novelist was unchallenged. Jack laid out plans to publish the entire novel in a three-volume format, with one edition bound in expensive calfskin leather and another, more affordable version bound in a “false-silk” cloth.

Demand for the forthcoming three-decker edition of Unfinished Lady was so high that Jack estimated it would set sales records. He celebrated by purchasing a diamond-and-opal necklace with matching earrings for Amanda, a set so ridiculously opulent that she laughingly protested when she saw it. The necklace had originally been made for Catherine the Great, empress of Russia, three-quarters of a century earlier. The design was called “moon and stars,” with fiery opal moons set in gold filigree, and large clusters of diamond stars set between them.

“I can’t possibly wear such a thing,” Amanda told him as she sat na**d in bed, clutching the sheets around herself.

Jack approached her with the necklace in hand, the morning sun causing the jewels to sparkle with unearthly brilliance. “Oh, yes, you can.” He sat behind her on the mattress and pushed the curling mass of her auburn hair to one shoulder. As he fastened the heavy piece around her throat, she gasped at the coldness of the stones against her sleep-warmed skin. He dropped a kiss onto one bare shoulder and gave her a hand mirror. “Do you like it?” he asked softly. “We’ll exchange it for some other design, if you prefer.”

“The necklace is magnificent,” she said dryly. “But it is not appropriate for a woman like me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know quite well what my limitations are. You may as well tie a peacock feather to a pigeon’s tail!” Reluctantly she reached behind her neck and tried to unclasp the piece. “You are very generous, but this is not—”

“Limitations,” Jack repeated with a snort. He took hold of her hands and gently pushed her down to the mattress. His hot blue gaze roved over her na**d body, lingering on the pale, pure expanse of her chest as the opals scattered miniature rainbows on her skin. His expression was infused with lust and adoration as he lowered his head to kiss her throat, his tongue venturing into the little spaces between the diamonds and round opals. “Why can’t you see yourself as I see you?”

“Stop it,” she said, squirming as she felt the protrusion of his aroused sex through the fabric of his robe. “Jack, don’t be silly.”

“You are beautiful,” he insisted, moving over her, his muscled thighs straddling hers. “And I am not going to let you leave this bed until you admit it.”

“Jack,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Repeat after me…’I am beautiful.’”

She pushed at his chest, and he caught her wrists and stretched them over her head. The movement caused her br**sts to rise, while the heavy web of diamonds warmed to the temperature of her skin. Amanda felt herself turning crimson, but she forced herself to stare into his intent eyes. “I am beautiful,” she said, in the tone one might use to humor a madman. “Now may I be released?”