Page 27 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

She’d not seen George since early yesterday; unable to prevent herself, she’d checked his bed and confirmed it had not been slept in. She’d not seen Mr Anders at breakfast, either, but Sands told her he’d already ridden into town. Oh, that he might discover what was going on and end this painful uncertainty, let her know just what sort of danger was afoot!

As she hurried down the hallway to meet Mrs Pepys in the kitchen, she passed the library door, and her feet stopped of their own accord. An unconscious smile curved her mouth as, in her mind’s eye, she pictured Mr Anders within, his handsome profile and tempting lips outlined by candlelight.

A much more complex man than she’d thought upon first meeting, she reflected. He’d begun by teasing—and tempting—her, while he disconcerted her with his unexpected perception. She’d come to rely on his logical, level-headed approach and his discretion. She thought she’d come to know him well—until last night, when he’d confessed to lapses in judgement and responsibility that should have shocked and disappointed her.

The way he’d gazed directly into her eyes as he revealed his disgraceful past said he expected her to be shocked and disappointed. That he expected his revelations would likely cause him to forfeit her good opinion.

He had acted badly. She probably should be more appalled and disapproving. But the very fact that he did confess, fully aware of what his honesty could cost him, swayed her in his favour. He had offered no excuses, nor did he try to equivocate about bearing full responsibility for his mistakes.

True, he had failed in his duty, but who among us has not? she thought, recalling her clumsy handling of George and her ignorance of Althea’s despair during her mother’s final days.

However slow to respond, Mr Anders had eventually recognised his lapses and tried to rectify them. When thrust into truly dire circumstances, he had responded with courage and fortitude. She could think of no reason he would own up to faults that he himself expected would diminish him in her eyes, unless he possessed a character worthy of her respect.

That he trusted her, and valued her enough to offer the truth, impressed and touched her.

His experiences were far different from those of any gentlemen she’d met or was likely to meet in London. Might that be why he fascinated her in a way the much more eligible Lord Trowbridge—whom he’d routed handily at dinner—did not? A unique and different man, moulded by living in a clash between two radically different worlds, one of privilege and one of poverty.

The fact that he was handsome and she was attracted to him probably also factored into her judgement of his worthiness, she admitted. The powerful physical force that had pulled her to him from the beginning was fully present last night, despite her anxiety. She probably shouldn’t have ignored the little voice of caution warning, even as she whispered the invitation, that meeting him alone at midnight wasn’t wise. All the while she told herself the situation with George and the free-traders was urgent enough that she would be able to ignore Mr Anders’s annoyingly persistent magnetism, she’d known in her heart that wasn’t true.

She had thought the initial pull to her intriguing guest would diminish, once she grew accustomed to the novelty of having a handsome, amusing young man about the house. Instead, the fascination seemed only to intensify the longer she knew him and the more she learned about him.

Pulsing just beneath her worry and concern last night had been a wicked thrill at the idea of meeting him alone, an insistent, insidious desire to test him and discover if her effect on him was as powerful as his effect on her. A hunger to taste his mouth she didn’t have the will to resist, once opportunity, need and clandestine desire collided.

She’d been driven to discover if one taste would satisfy the urgent need to touch him. Though deep down, she’d known even before she let him—nay, nearly begged him—to kiss her, that the first taste would only make her want more and more and more. The moment his lips touched hers, a sensual haze enveloped her, blocking out every warning of risk and all notion of prudent behaviour.

Thank Heavens, he had the presence of mind not to go on kissing her, since it seemed she’d left sense and restraint at the library door. After he moved away from her, she’d quit the library with reluctance, drifting to her chamber still in state of heightened arousal that made her body tingle and her nipples spark as the material of her nightrail slid over her naked flesh.

She’d pictured not soft flannel, but his strong, tanned hands and his warm persuasive mouth moving over her skin.

When she at last drifted into sleep, her dreams were filled with confused images of kissing and touching and more. Sensations so strong she felt a surge of heat and a throbbing between her legs, a tingle in her breasts, recalling them now.

Good sense and restraint had not re-emerged until the cold light of morning. Which should warn her, that with her thoughts, senses and emotions all inclining her towards him, she’d better be as vigilant on her own behalf as she was trying to be on Althea’s, lest she end up doing something stupid that would ruin careful plans that had been years in the making.

First and most important, she must resolve not to be alone with him again.

Ignoring the little voice within protesting that decision, Amanda resumed her walk towards the kitchen. Suddenly, Betsy appeared at the far end of the hall.

Stopping short when she spied her mistress, Betsy gave her an agitated wave, obviously entreating Amanda to wait as she rushed towards her. A stab of alarm scattering all other thoughts, Amanda hurried to meet her.

‘What is it? What have you learned?’

‘I slipped away to check on my brother—and found none of the menfolk home. Ma says they left at dawn. There’ll be a cargo to land come nightfall, and she fears they plan to settle with Black John once and for good. Billy wouldn’t tell me nothing, but the way he looked startled when I asked about Master George, I’m afraid he may be with them, though with Rob Roy or Black John, I don’t know. But you might try to keep him here tonight, miss, for I’m guessing whatever happens will come about once the sun goes down.’

‘Thank you, Betsy. I’ll do my best to keep my brother at Ashton Grove tonight.’

‘Aye, that would be safest. I just hope all turns out aright!’ Wringing her hands, the maid hurried off.

Amanda stood motionless, anger, worry and fear roiling in her gut. Before she could keep George home, she’d have to find him. Surely he would return before the run, to rest and change clothes, if nothing else.

Except…a new worry intervened, dashing her relief. If this cargo were truly that important, George might not return, fearing his prolonged absence could cause Papa to raise uncomfortable questions that would make it difficult for him to get away again.

There seemed little doubt now that he was somehow involved in the smuggling. Oh, how could he be so rash and thoughtless as to get tangled up in something potentially disastrous?

Unable at the moment to dispel any of her pressing worries, Amanda forced herself to the kitchen, where she listened in distracted fashion to Mrs Pepys, then continued with her endless list of domestic duties.

But as the hours ticked by, she grew ever more restless and anxious. Though she made several detours through the breakfast and billiard rooms, the library, the gun room, his own chamber, she saw no sign of her brother, nor had Mr Anders yet returned from his trip to Salters Bay.

By mid-afternoon, she could stand the waiting no longer. She’d still have enough daylight to ride to town, enquire about her brother at the Sloop and Gull, and return before dark. Once—she refused to let herself think ‘if’—she located him, she’d lure him back to Ashton on some pretext, then use cajolery or outright threats about Papa’s delicate health to talk him or shame him out of participating in whatever mischief was brewing on the Saltern Hills.

Anxiety beating a pulse within her, hastily she changed into her riding habit and set out for the stables.

Chapter Thirteen

Both she and her frisky mare feeling better for a hard gallop, Amanda slowed Vixen to a walk as they mounted the rise where the road to the village curved past the track leading to the ruins of Neville Tour. A feeling uncomfortably like jealousy struck her at the thought that Althea had already taken Mr Anders to what had always been one of her favourite places, the still-impressive ramble of walls around the stone tower where her long-ago ancestor, the Conqueror’s lieutenant, had kept watch over the sea and the river far below.

Reaching the heights, she pulled the mare to a halt, waiting for the trailing groom, who’d not been so intent on a gallop, to catch up. As she recalled picnics on the ruins shared with her cousin in summers past, when they giggled together as they spun tales about the valiant knights and ladies fair who had once inhabited this site, a melancholy pang went through her.

Could she break through Althea’s resentment over the inadvertent slights of last summer and bring them back into harmony again?

Jenkins having almost reached the crest, she let Vixen proceed around the next bend, then down where the sharply descending road cut deep between the surrounding fields. Suddenly, a small party of men emerged through the thicket from the adjoining field into the roadway. Quickly she jerked Vixen to a halt.

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