Page 35 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

For another long moment he stared at her, his lips tight, his expression fierce, whether from anger, irritation or sorrow, she couldn’t tell. She was about to turn tail in dismay and retreat when he smiled, that familiar charming, engaging smile that sent a warming gladness through her anxious heart. ‘I’m much better at hello.’

‘Might you be telling me that in London, perhaps?’ she asked, grasping at a small morsel of hope.

‘I don’t know. I must talk with Lord Englemere at some point. Right now, I’ve got my hands fully occupied trying to keep things running smoothly for your papa who, as you know far better than I, juggles more enterprises than a circus performer. Mines! Sheep! Wool carding! Lace-making! Cattle! Grain!’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I’m staying up later than I ever did when I was a dissipated fribble, trying to sort it all out.’

His voice turned serious. ‘I promise you, I will sort it out. I mean to make sure your father suffers no anxiety about anything involving the estate.’

‘I know you will master it.’

His smile softened. ‘As you will shine on a stage much grander than any offered in Devon. If ever a lady were made to be a brilliant society hostess, it’s you. You mustn’t spoil this opportunity fretting over your papa’s health, either. Althea and I will keep a close watch over him and take immediate action if anything is required, so you may be easy.’

‘Easy as I can be, separated from him.’ And you, the unwanted thought slipped in.

He nodded. ‘There will be many diversions in London to help distract you.’ He paused, and she hoped he might elaborate, take that opening to prolong the conversation. But then he said simply, ‘Since there’s no doubt of your ultimate success, I will simply…wish you joy.’

He was dismissing her—from the room and from his life. A pain greater than anything she’d anticipated swelled in her heart, constricting her throat, hampering speech. ‘As I wish it for you,’ she managed after a moment.

Avoiding her eyes, he gave her a tight nod. ‘I’ll make sure your carriage is ready tomorrow.’

‘Will you be there when I leave?’ she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He gave a shake of the head. ‘I’ll probably be in Mr Acherman’s fields by then.’

She’d promised herself she wanted only one last chance to talk with him. But need boiled up from within, a volatile combination of desire, desperation and the fear that she would never see him again, all driving her to steal one last touch.

Before she lost her nerve or sanity returned to restrain her, she closed the small distance to the desk, seized his face and kissed him.

For an instant he resisted, the shock of her unprecedented action holding him motionless. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her back in an all-out assault on her senses, his mouth devouring, his tongue ravishing hers until she felt her bones must melt, her legs went limp, and all she wanted to do was to go on kissing him like this, for ever.

She was gasping, her heart pounding with such force she thought it must leap from her chest, when he roughly pushed her away. ‘I must go,’ he said unsteadily, ‘before I do something even more foolish than last time. God speed, Amanda.’ With that, he strode from the room.

Numbly she watched his retreating back. She wanted to recall him, but a small moan of distress was the only sound she seemed able to produce. Stumbling backwards, she sat down hard on the edge of the desk he’d just abandoned, completely unprepared for the stunning strength of the sense of loss filling her chest.

She scrubbed a fist over her stinging lips and took a deep steadying breath. Dashing useless tears from her eyes, she straightened and trudged up to her chamber, chastising herself for having to learn the hard way that sometimes you are much better off not getting what you ask for.

As her carriage pulled away the next morning, Sands, Althea and Mrs Pepys stood waving from the steps. Before leaving, she’d gone to Papa’s chamber to kiss him goodbye and promise to faithfully write every detail of her adventure in London.

As expected, Mr Anders had not been present, neither in breakfast room nor on the steps as the staff bid her farewell, nor anywhere along the main road that wound through the estate. Disappointed, as the carriage rolled past the boundaries of Neville land on to the turnpike, she turned her gaze from the coach window.

So that was it; she’d not catch any further glimpses of him. With determination, she tried to bury all the confused emotions that had prompted last night’s display of idiocy in the library.

Her indiscretion over that gentleman aside, though she hated to acknowledge it, for all the times she’d envisioned setting off on this journey, the reality of it fell flat. Of course, it was only natural to feel uneasy about leaving, with Papa’s health still so uncertain.

Nor could she expect to be as excited as she would have been, had Mama and Grandmama been here to share it with her. Feeling an insidious sadness pulling at her, she pried her mind free.

What was wrong with her? She was embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, capitalising on an opportunity any gently bred young lady would give all her worldly goods to possess. Once she arrived in London, she’d be able to shake off this dull mood, leave behind in Devon the confusing muddle of attraction, anxiety, desire, and regret that had made her behave like someone she didn’t even recognise. Thrust into the diversions of the ton, under Lady Parnell’s careful guidance, she’d be herself again: calm, purposeful, clear-minded, ready to seize her dream and make it a reality.

However, loss and grief had tempered the idea that being on the most important social stage in England, turning heads, gathering beaux and making what was accounted a brilliant match was the most important achievement in life.

She now believed, with a painful clarity born of two years of devastating losses, that sharing her love with those who loved her was life’s most essential purpose.

Was that not also her purpose in going to London? To find the one, perfect man to love her, who would replace all the dear ones lost. So she might, as the marriage service said, leave her family and cleave to her husband, in the closest and most intimate of bonds.

She’d always envisioned him as somewhat older, handsome and distinguished. A wise and thoughtful man, deeply concerned about sorting out the problems left in the wake of Napoleon’s destructive march through Europe. He would want to ameliorate, as she did, the poverty of those thrown off land by enclosures, those toiling long hours for pitiful wages in the factories.

Although when she thought now of the man she wished to marry, that foggy image cleared and Greville Anders’s face appeared.

She sighed. Though she supposed she ought to be appalled and ashamed of her shocking conduct with him, now that she’d escaped without dire consequences, she just…wasn’t. Indeed, she only wished to repeat the experience, the sooner, the better. No longer could she imagine marriage without the deeply exciting fulfilment of the senses.

Passion was a gift of the divine, he’d seemed to suggest—and thinking back on the ecstasy of it, she could only agree. After he’d so sweetly initiated her into rapture, how could she not feel a little regret that the husband she sought could never be him?

She needed to find a political gentleman who inspired in her that same level of desire.

Someone like…Lord Trowbridge, perhaps? His family and position in government were everything Mama and Grandma could have hoped. Though she didn’t yet know him well enough to judge his true character, she knew he was handsome, intelligent and well spoken.

Though Greville Anders had made mincemeat of his argument at their dinner that night.

She sighed as a pang of longing rippled through her. Enough—it was time, she told herself again, to put Greville Anders out of her mind and look to the future. She owed it to Mama and herself to start over in London with a clean slate and bend every effort to bring her dream to fruition.

But despite her intention to dismiss him, deep within her rebellious heart the image of Mr Anders tucked itself away, resisting all her efforts to dislodge it.

Two days later, Amanda craned her neck, gazing out the window as the carriage finally approached London. As the Hyde Park Turnpike brought them to the last toll gate, they passed Apsley House and headed into Mayfair itself. Her heartbeat accelerating, she sat up straighter and roused the dozing maid. The knowledge that she had almost reached her destination brought a rise of the excitement she’d always expected would accompany her throughout the whole of the journey.

Her hazy recollections from her childhood visit told her they should soon arrive at Lady Parnell’s town house in Upper Brook Street. A rush of warmth filled her, knowing within minutes she would be under the care of her mama’s confidante.

She remembered well the elegance of the Parnell town house, the regal beauty of her mama’s tall, red-haired friend, her awe of Lady Parnell’s two daughters, both just beginning their Seasons and seeming to her young eyes so lovely and sophisticated. Both were now well married, busy raising families on the estates of a marquess and an earl respectively.

Would she be even half as successful as Lady Parnell’s daughters? She’d never expected to be thrust under the exacting eye of the ton without Mama at her side, she thought, a rush of longing for her absent mother filling her.

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