Danice Allen (17 page)

“Miss Darlington, have you ever been kissed?” he found himself inquiring in a husky tone.

Her eyes lifted to stare into his. “Yes,” she replied in a tremulous whisper. “But … not by you.”

Chapter 9

Jack could swear he’d just heard an invitation from Miss Darlington to kiss her! It seemed too good to be true, and definitely out of character coming from such a proper female. After all, it was the sort of indirect invitation seasoned flirts delivered with a coy smile and fluttering lashes. Miss Darlington had said it with the simple straightforwardness he’d come to expect of her, but was it really Miss Darlington talking, or was it the elderberry wine?

Despite the possibility that Miss Darlington’s judgment was a trifle fuzzy, Jack was sorely tempted. The fact was, he’d been planning to steal a kiss from her sometime before they parted ways, and now was his chance. Hell, he’d kick himself later if he didn’t take advantage of such a golden opportunity! And it was a delightful bonus to find out she was as interested in sharing a kiss as he was.

Maybe he’d been wrong to assume she was the cloistered little nunlike creature she appeared to be. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? He wanted to kiss her, therefore he wanted to believe she was far more experienced than he’d previously supposed. It all came back to the wine. Was she inebriated or wasn’t she?

Jack really didn’t want to take unfair advantage, so he looked at Miss Darlington keenly and said, “Tell me truthfully, are you foxed, m’dear?”

“Not at all, John,” she said with quiet assurance. Then her hands on his waistcoat began to stray, to begin a shy, tentative exploration of his chest. Her eyes followed the movement of her hands. Her rapt concentration was damned arousing.

Jack swallowed hard. “I could be married,” he warned her. His own hands were moving … had perhaps been moving all along … up and down her smooth, slender back.

She lifted her gaze to his and smiled. Her expression was a little dazed, and her whole face was aglow. She was enchanting. “You said you weren’t married, and I believe you. You’d never forget something that important.” Her hands continued to move, warming his skin underneath the layers of clothing. Heat collected in his loins. Her lips were mere inches away.

“More importantly,” he added huskily, “I’ve no intention of
getting
married.”

“I gathered as much from some of your comments,” she replied with a distracted nod. Her gaze shifted back to the movement of her hands, which now roamed over his shoulders.

“I don’t even know your Christian name,” he continued to reason somewhat desperately. “You instructed me to call you Miss Darlington … remember?”

Her voice softened and lowered to an intimate murmur as she said, “My name is Amanda.”

“Amanda, look at me,” he ordered.

She looked at him.

He grasped her lovely, roving hands and held them against his chest so he wouldn’t be distracted. He sighed heavily. “As desperately as I want to, I don’t think it would be a good idea to kiss you.”

Much to Jack’s chagrin, she immediately lowered her gaze, nodded, then quietly said, “I’ll go back to the coach.” She began to move away.

“Like hell you will!” Jack grated, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her back against his chest and into his arms. He had not expected such a quick and complete capitulation! He wanted to kiss her and he was going to kiss her … his conscience be damned!

“Amanda.…” he crooned. Then he cupped her head in his right hand, slid his left arm about her waist, and kissed her.

Amanda felt as though she’d waited forever—all her life, in fact—for such a kiss. His lips were firm and soft and lavishly warm. A sweet ache blossomed in her chest and wandered uncontrollably through her body. Her head tilted, her body arched as she melted into him. His lips molded her mouth to his, and she followed his lead as he led her deeper and deeper into a sensual paradise.

Amanda had been kissed before. Once by Benjamin Walker, a local squire’s son when they were both thirteen, and twice by the rector at the parish in Edenbridge during a brief courtship two years ago. Benjamin’s kiss was wet and sticky and never repeated because Amanda was never so obtuse as to go into a deserted barn with him again. Rector Mitford’s kiss was dry and cold and singularly uninspiring. Determined to give him another chance, Amanda allowed the good rector to kiss her again, but the result was the same.

Perhaps even then she understood how barren her parents’ marriage was and had resolved, unconsciously, never to fall into a similar trap. She gently declined further visits from the rector.

John’s kiss was different from either of these. Very different, indeed. Every nerve and fiber of her body was tingling. Her blood thrummed through her veins. She felt faint and curiously energized at the same time.

Then he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and delving inside the sleek borders of her mouth. A drenching pleasure washed through her, and she moaned and pressed herself hard against him. He responded with a gasp, and she felt his hands roam over her back, her arms, her neck, and then her breasts…. Her skin was on fire.

She had no sense of right or wrong, no sense of time or place. She felt a wild urge to strip herself of every black scrap of clothing she wore, right down to her undergarments, to stand bare and brazen in this man’s arms. She remembered the look of him, the feel of him, when he lay naked on the bed at the inn. And she yearned to see him, to feel him again.

Braced against his waistcoat, her hands began a tentative exploration. Oh, how well she remembered the hard planes of his chest, the taut hollow of his belly, the angle of his narrow hips, the muscled curve of his thighs, the jut of his magnificent manhood….

Her knees weakened. Her weight shifted into the circle of John’s arms as she leaned forward, and he began to urgently lower her toward the soft, downy grass….

“Ahem. Er …
miss
?”

Amanda lurched backward, nearly falling flat on her rump. She stumbled and gained her balance, then whirled around to face … Theo. He stood ramrod straight, his eyes averted, his mouth pulled into a stem pucker of disapproval.

“The wheel is repaired, miss.”

Amanda was horrified. She felt exposed, as though Theo—if he dared to look at her—could actually see her breasts throbbing with heat against the chafing, stifling fabric of her traveling gown. As though he knew how slick and wet she felt at her core. But of course he couldn’t see those intimate parts of her, couldn’t know how wanton and aroused she felt.

He could, however, see the disarray of her loosened hair, her kiss-swollen lips, and the mortified blush that stained her cheeks. And she
was
mortified. Nothing could have brought her senses back to reason faster than a trusted old servant’s disappointed and disapproving demeanor. Amanda couldn’t imagine what she’d been thinking. For the past hour, she’d frankly forgotten who she was. Was amnesia contagious? she wondered with grim humor.

“Th-thank you, Theo,” she said, finally able to form the words through lips that were stiff and numb from shock … lips that moments before had been as pliable as warm honey. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

Theo had been dismissed, but he did not budge. Part of Amanda was desperate to run away to the coach and pretend that nothing had happened between her and John, but she knew that would not settle anything. She knew she must stay and set things straight with John, but she refused to do so while her servant looked on.

“Theo, go back to the carriage,” she said in an even, firm voice.

Finally he looked at her, his expression half-embarrassed, half-reproachful. “Will ye be comin’ in a minute, then?” he inquired roughly.

“I assure you, Theo,” Amanda said earnestly, “I will follow you instantly. I just need a short word with John.”

Theo threw a hateful look John’s way, then turned sharply on his heel, climbed the rise of ground to the graveyard, and disappeared.

Amanda turned reluctantly and faced John. He was standing nonchalantly, his weight thrown on one hip, his arms crossed low on his chest, his expression a cool mix of amusement and chagrin. “How ill-timed,” he said.

“How ill-judged,” Amanda retorted, flustered. “There should have been nothing for Theo to see.”

“If he’d shown up five minutes later, there’d have been even more to see, I daresay.”

Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and held up a restraining hand. “No, please don’t say that.”

John’s expressive brows lifted. “So that’s how the wind blows, eh? So, it
was
the wine making you behave so uninhibitedly?”

Amanda was about to argue that the effects of the wine had worn off long ago, then realized that her indulgence in the alcoholic beverage was a wonderful and convenient excuse for her actions during the last few minutes. She couldn’t explain her behavior—even to herself—so she allowed the blame to fall on Richard Clarke’s elderberry wine.

“You should have known it was the wine and behaved like a gentleman,” she said accusingly, all the while simmering in her own sense of guilt.

“You invited
me
to kiss
you
, not the other way around,” he reminded her.

“I don’t remember inviting you to do anything!” she insisted stubbornly, though she knew better.

John grinned. “If that wasn’t an invitation, then I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“You should have controlled yourself,” she sniffed.

“I daresay you’re quite right. I should have controlled myself,” was his generous reply.

“And … and if I
did
invite you to kiss me, you can be sure I’ll never do so again!” she further informed him.

“Very wise of you, Amanda,” he said dryly. “Now I suppose you understand what I meant when I said it is sometimes disastrous to impulsively act upon one’s feelings, eh?”

“Don’t remind me of things I said while under the influence of a fermented beverage,” she replied angrily. “And don’t call me Amanda!”

“All right,
darling
,” he said with a debonair grin.

“Oh, you insufferable man!” Amanda exclaimed, grasping her skirts in her fists and turning to stride quickly up the hill. “It would serve you right if I left you here to fend for yourself,” she flung at him over her shoulder, then stomped away in great indignation.

Jack watched Amanda’s black skirt swish behind her as she disappeared over the rise of the hill, her slim hips swaying tantalizingly. The minute she was gone, his suave smile fell away. Far from feeling roguish and urbane, he was shaken to the very center of his being. Even though he couldn’t remember his name, who his family was, what he was doing last week or last year, he knew he’d remember if he’d ever been so stirred by a kiss. And he was very sure he never had….

Jack was intrigued and entranced by Amanda Darlington. She was a mystery—prim and prickly one moment, wanton and full of innocent wiles the next. She was strong and willful, yet touchingly vulnerable at the same time. He wanted to take her to bed … and he wanted to protect her. He wanted to be her lover … and her friend. These impulses seemed distressingly at odds with one another. He was confused.

One thing he did understand about the situation was that things would be much clearer, his mind much less a muddle, if he knew the real reason why Miss Darlington was traveling alone and why she was in such a tizzy to get to some remote island with the unprepossessing name of Thorney.

Quite obviously she’d much rather not have him and his amnesia around to worry about in the interim, but fate had flung them together. And if he could allow himself to give in to a little vanity, he was convinced that she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. She’d said so, hadn’t she? And why else would she allow him to kiss her?

But then Jack’s brows furrowed in a frown. She had also confided that she liked him for his “anonymity.” It would be lowering to be liked simply because one was temporarily a nonperson … but he couldn’t help but think there was something more to the attraction than
that.

Taking a deep breath, Jack uncrossed his arms and trudged up the hill. It had taken all his self-command to cool the ardor he felt for Miss Darlington, and he knew it only required one glance, one touch to send his senses reeling again. If Theo hadn’t interrupted them, he’d have made love to her right there in the grass, regardless of who might have chanced upon them. He’d been that lost to passion.

Walking through the graveyard, crossing the street, greeting wedding guests who were starting to mill and stagger about town, and braving Theo’s scorching look of warning, however, stripped him of the last bit of carnal lust he still harbored as he entered the grove and approached the carriage parked snugly under the trees.

The horses were already harnessed, Joe was sitting in his usual station beside Theo, and Harley was perched on the rumble.

“Where’s Mr. Clarke?” Jack inquired.

“T’ mistress ’as already paid ’im,” Theo replied stiffly, pulling back slightly on the reigns and making the lead horse rear his head and snort restlessly.

Jack took the hint. He threw Theo a bland look of innocence and climbed aboard. As he expected, Miss Darlington was conscientiously staring out the opposite window. Her hair was pulled into its usual tight coil at the nape of her lovely neck, with no wisps or waves daring to escape.

“Too bad Clarke didn’t stick around to say goodbye,” said Jack, testing the waters with the conversational comment. “I thought him a very pleasant man.”

Miss Darlington turned and glared at him. “I told him I would relay his best wishes to you, etcetera … so consider it done.”

Brrrr.
The waters were decidedly cold. Jack was quite sure Mr. Clarke’s best wishes would not have given him such a chill had they been relayed by the gentleman himself.

He sighed, resigned to a view of Miss Darlington’s chipped-in-ice profile till they reached Chichester. Then she’d thaw just long enough to hand him over to the authorities. Or try to. He had no intention of being detained by some local constable or dragged off to London like a prisoner. And he likewise had no intention of abandoning Miss Darlington until he was quite sure she was going to be safe for the duration of her mysterious journey. As long as his memory eluded him, he didn’t think she’d abandon him, either … not even to the constabulary.