Chapter Twelve
The leave-taking from Lady Farnsworth proved emotional. Amanda spent the day at her desk, completing a few tasks so nothing would remain unfinished. They shared some tea in the afternoon, and Lady Farnsworth did not even acknowledge it was the last time except to reassure Amanda that she would explain all to Mrs. Galbreath. Only when Amanda went to say good-bye did they face the day’s importance.
“Please sit with me a moment, Miss Waverly. Amanda.”
She sat on the damask bench and Lady Farnsworth examined her. Then she handed over a folded paper. “This is the reference I promised you. You can give any prospective employer my address and they can contact me, should this letter be questioned.”
“Thank you. You are too kind.”
“I doubt I will replace you immediately. At least a fortnight will pass. Should you discover that your mother does not need you as long as you fear, you must write and let me know and I will hold the position longer. Please write in any case and tell me you arrived safely and give me a place where I can direct letters to you.”
Amanda did not have it in her to speak another lie, but of course she would never write to Lady Farnsworth.
“Thank you for having faith in me,” she said. “I have learned much from you, and seen fascinating things and important people. You are a rarity among women and I will forever treasure knowing you.”
“And I you, Amanda dear. I will miss you sorely.” Lady Farnsworth opened her arms. Amanda went over and accepted her embrace and kiss.
She held back any tears until she left, but as she walked away from the house, her eyes blurred. She swallowed the swell of emotion and worked to steady both her nerves and resolve. She had two more such painful good-byes to endure. That with Katherine, and that with the Duke of Langford.
* * *
He assumed she would enter at the back of the garden. He unlocked the portal so she would not have to try another way. For all he knew, she would climb the wall.
He had no idea when she would come, so he made himself comfortable on a stone bench inside a folly set deep among the plantings. The small structure resembled an Asian tea house, only constructed of painted stone instead of wood. The roof with its sloping lines had been carved of stone, and required more supports than any real tea house sported.
It was not, he decided, the landscape architect’s finest achievement.
He wondered if she would like that house he was letting. Was Stratton correct, and one day they would agree he should buy it or another for her? He had never done that before, but then he never had mistresses very often. Lovers, yes, but not the more formal arrangements that some men preferred. Even among his lovers, the longest liaison had been less than a year. As he grew older, they lasted shorter periods all the time.
The problem was that inevitably the new excitement grew old. The mysteries were all solved. One then was left with the question of whether this woman was someone you liked in a way that would urge one to spend further time in her company. The pleasures might remain strong, but time’s passage introduced other considerations.
Would it be different with Amanda? He had no idea. One thing would be different, however. In the past, his women had been well born. They had husbands or brothers or fathers to take care of them. Some had independent fortunes. With Amanda, he took on obligations. He could not walk away if it ended without ensuring she had a secure future. He would find a way to do that.
Any woman who had left that locket on the carpet might resist his efforts in that direction. He suspected she would never ask him to buy her a house, or any of the other things a kept woman received. When he’d spoken of arrangements, she had not presented a list of expectations. That impressed him in good ways, but her independence could prove inconvenient.
The shadows beneath the trees moved. He sensed her presence in the garden. “Over here,” he said quietly.
More shifting shadows. She emerged from them and stood right outside the folly. She tilted her head and peered up at the structure. It stirred a memory of another woman doing that in front of a house.
“It is hard to see, but appears to be rather awful,” she said.
“It is far nicer inside.”
She heard the invitation and stepped in under the roof. He could not tell what color dress she wore, but its form did not flatter her. He guessed it had been remade in some way, not created for her by an expert. He would like to buy her a wardrobe. Perhaps in a few weeks she would allow that.
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. He savored her scent and taste. He had been waiting for this kiss with more anticipation than he’d realized. The feel of her in his arms brought him profound contentment.
“I cannot stay long,” she said while she nuzzled his neck.
“Then come inside with me now.”
“I do not think I should. It can’t be like last time. I can’t risk falling asleep. There are things I must do early tomorrow.”
I risk much. That was what she meant, as if he needed the reminder. Which he probably did, since in his mind he was already past these initial steps in claiming her.
“We will stay out here, then, if you like. The night is warm enough.”
“It is lovely here. I can smell the flowers in the bed beyond these trees. The breeze carries the scent to us.”
The only sweet scent he noticed was hers, familiar to him now and a part of her presence that he remembered while she was away.
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
He should have made arrangements about that first. It had been ignoble of him not to. Nor would Vincent or another footman have followed her this late. Their orders were to ensure she returned from Lady Farnsworth’s unharmed.
He pictured her being stopped on her way here by a constable who assumed she was a whore. “I will bring you home. You are not to walk through town at night anymore.” I will buy you a carriage and pair, and hire a coachman and footman to serve you. Stratton had been correct. Practicalities would demand bigger arrangements, no matter how casually this began.
“I would prefer you do not.”
“Then I will hire a hansom. Do not object. It is either that or I call for one of my carriages.”
She giggled. He felt her smile while she kissed him. “One of my carriages. I forget who you are sometimes. What you are. How astonishing this is, you and me here.” She caressed his face and peered at him through the dark. “I may forget what you are, but I will never forget you. Not ever. I will treasure the memories until I die.”
“There will be many more, starting tonight.” He kissed her hard, the way he had wanted to since he’d embraced her. Her response said the time for talk was over. Her quick fever matched his own. The breezes swam around them as they rose in the whirlwind together.
Joy. That was what he felt. That was the difference. He noted that vaguely while he released the tapes of her dress. She wore only short stays underneath, and her breasts rose above them, covered only by her chemise. She straddled him and pushed down the chemise herself. He lifted her hips and licked her breasts until her hips rocked with need. She clutched one of the folly’s stone supports behind the bench and urged him on with her cries and gasps.
He lifted her skirts. “Hold these.” She took them in one hand and steadied herself on the support with the other. He lifted her higher yet until she set her feet on either side of him. He sensed her astonishment and hesitation. Too soon, perhaps, but he could not stop now.
He caressed her mound, then stroked deeply. She looked down and cried her pleasure and shock. He touched her until she trembled and her cries turned desperate. Then he lowered her just enough so he could support her bottom with his hands and kiss the same flesh he had aroused with his fingers.
Desire owned him then, like a feral madness. He indulged himself until her scream of release almost undid him.
She dropped to her knees, flanking his lap. She fumbled with his trousers and tried to release him. He made quick work of it. She rose slightly, then lowered with a groan as they joined.
She moved on him, hard. Holding his shoulders, she circled and slammed furiously, creating unbelievable sensations and provoking a ferocious urge. He grasped her hips and pushed deeper yet while his consciousness darkened and the demand for a finish raged through him. Her escalating cries sounded around him while the cataclysm shook him to his essence.
* * *
She could stay like this forever, breathless and spent, sagged against his chest, surrounded by his arms. This was heaven, surely. While she lay on him in a stupor of sensuality, she knew such peace. Such bliss.
“I have let a house where we can meet next time.” His words, spoken near her ear, reminded her that it could not last forever.
She buried her face in his chest and swallowed the burn in her throat. He thought he knew who she was now. What she was. But he didn’t. It had been a mistake to come tonight. The lure had proved stronger than her courage to do the right thing.
Only one more time, she had told herself. Yet here she was, wondering if there might be another one more time. And each time she deceived him more.
What does a daughter owe a mother? She had debated the question all last night, appalled with herself but facing the cost of saving her mother squarely. Finally. A mother who had abandoned her. Did she owe her own life? Her soul? The possibility of tasting heaven with a man who, inexplicably, wanted her?
She did not know the answers. She only knew the questions had come too late. There could be no honesty now, not without explaining how she had used him to commit a crime.
She sat up and looked at him. She could not keep her emotion out of her voice. “There cannot be a next time. I cannot do what you ask. It would make me more dependent on you than I have been on anyone in years. Nor is there a future in such arrangements. They serve brief, passing affairs, and I think I will be the one to grieve when it ends.”
He took her head in his hands and looked at her hard. “I promise that I will take care of you. You will not be left ruined and destitute by me. Nor should you assume it will end. I don’t.”
Not destitute, but ruined for sure. Not that there was much to ruin.
Oh, how she yearned to believe his view of it all. Even the charming assumption it might not end. Yet, how could it not? “You are past the age for marriage. Do you think to have a wife on your estates and another woman in a house in town?”
“It has been done.”
“Not with me as the woman.” She slid her arms into the bodice of her dress. She reached behind and fixed the tapes. “Even without trying I have learned about you and women. That is how notorious you are. Wealthy women. Exquisite beauties. You are a devilish charmer, but your fascinations do not last long, it is said. You are quick to love and quick to leave. It would be horrible to have you trying to pay me off in nine months when your eye drifts to another. It might ease your conscience then and the promise serves your purpose now, but I would hate it.”
She slid off his lap and fixed her skirt. He reached for her and drew her closer again.
“Can you so easily turn away from me? From this? It is a rare pleasure that we share, Amanda. You may be too inexperienced to know that, but I am not.”
Her heart broke on hearing him admit that they shared a special intimacy. Her courage began leaking away while she gazed in his eyes.
“I have no choice but to turn away.” She kissed him. “If I dance with the devil, I will surely get burned.” She ventured one more kiss. He rose and embraced her and made it a long one, designed to seduce her the way his kisses always had.
Miserable with her choice, she eased out of his arms. “Do not follow me, please. I do not want you to see me weep.” She took two steps, then looked back to him. “Thank you. I am grateful in more ways than you will ever know.”
She made it to the back garden portal and into the alley before her tears flowed so hard that they blinded her.
* * *
Stratton and Brentworth sat in Gabriel’s dressing room, making small talk. Brentworth kept eyeing the empty bottles lined like soldiers on the carpet. Miles fussed about, going again to the shaving implements and rearranging them with a forlorn expression.
“You sent for them, didn’t you?” Gabriel addressed his valet, interrupting another tidbit from Stratton about how quickly his son kept growing.
“He did not,” Stratton rushed to say.
“So it is a coincidence that the two of you found each other on a Sunday morning and the inspiration struck to visit me before noon? I may be a fool, but I dislike being treated like one.”
“No one said you are a fool.”
“No? Well, I did.”
Brentworth toed the soldiers. “Have you had other visitors?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miles subtly shake his head.
“I have gone out, but no visitor has been here.” In particular, no women had been here. To be very precise, no Miss Waverly had called, entering by either door or window.
He had thought she might, idiot that he was.
“We know you went out. Your behavior at the club Friday night is all the talk,” Stratton said. “It is unlike you to engage in fights when you are drinking.”
“All the talk, is it? Good. As for fighting, I am tired of standing down when fools speak in kind and goad me. Sir Gordon is insufferable and everyone knows it. If I called his bluff and he is the worse for it, I should get a medal, not your damnable scolds.”
“No one scolded,” Brentworth said.
“Not yet, but it was coming.”
“Indeed it was. You look like hell. Let Miles shave you and make you presentable. And damnation, stop wallowing in self-pity about some woman. It isn’t like you and it is unseemly.”
“This has nothing to do with a woman.”
“The hell it doesn’t. Your shepherdess wouldn’t have you, is my guess. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
Stratton smirked, which made Gabriel think another fight might be in order.
Miles assumed his position near the chair used for shaving. Brentworth stood and pointed at it. “Sit, or we will hold you down.”
They looked like they meant it. Grudgingly, Gabriel stood and threw himself into the chair.
Brentworth looked far too satisfied. “Get him cleaned up, Miles. Then get rid of these bottles. Once you are presentable, call for your horse, Langford, and join us in the park. Fresh air will do you good.”
The two men who called themselves friends left. Gabriel submitted to his valet’s razor. He resented Brentworth treating him like a green boy. Brentworth probably never acknowledged disappointment over a woman. The most ducal duke most likely believed any woman who rejected him belonged in Bedlam.
Wallowing, hell. Except he had been. Nor did he much want to stop yet. The possibilities that had been thwarted deserved a good wallow. A man who did not wallow every now and then had no heart left, was how he saw it.
At least the few hours of sleep this morning made him less sick from the spirits. The fog had mostly left his head. While Miles slid the razor over his skin, he went over every word Amanda had said Thursday night, looking for an argument to convince her that an affair with him was a splendid idea.