Suddenly You (24 page)

Rather than look remorseful, the scoundrel actually had the temerity to smile. “Let me ease your pain, darling. Just lie still for a little while.”

Amanda would have liked to prolong her disgruntlement for at least a few more minutes, but his mouth covered hers gently and the clean, salty spice of his skin teased her nostrils. Her body arched upward as a current of pleasure hummed through her. It felt strange to be held bare against his clothed body…she was more exposed, far more vulnerable, than if he had been naked, too. A small sound rose in her throat, and she plucked at the layers of fabric that concealed him from her.

“No,” Jack whispered, moving downward to kiss the firm angle of her collarbone. “Put your hands down.”

“I want to undress you,” she protested, but he caught her wrists and pressed them firmly at her sides.

Amanda closed her eyes, the rhythm of her lungs quickening. His breath touched her nipple like a waft of steam, and she pushed upward with a muted groan when she felt the exquisite flick of his tongue. “Jack,” she panted, reaching for his dark head, but once again he took her hands and brought them to her sides.

“I told you to lie still,” he murmured, his voice caressing. “Be a good girl, Amanda, and you'll get what you want.”

Perplexed, aroused, she tried to relax beneath him, though her hands clenched in an effort to keep from reaching for him again.

Murmuring his approval, he bent over her breasts, softly kissing the space between them, the tender undercurves, the resilient plumpness at the sides. Her nipples tightened into aching peaks, and she felt a mist of sweat break out on her skin as she waited, waited, until finally he covered one tip with his mouth and tugged. Searing delight coursed from that one point of contact to the rest of her body, and her loins swelled in eager preparation for him.

One large hand came to rest lightly on her belly, just above the triangle of auburn curls. She could not prevent the pleading undulation of her hips, and Jack pressed firmly on her stomach, keeping her flat against the mattress. “I told you not to move,” he said, sounding amused rather than threatening.

“I can't help it,” Amanda gasped.

He laughed softly. His thumb circled her navel, exciting the responsive skin. “You
will
help it, if you want me to continue.”

“Yes,” she said, beyond pride or dignity. “I'll be still. But
hurry,
Jack.”

Her shameless pleas seemed to delight him. Perversely, he became even slower, if possible, covering every inch of her skin with lazy kisses and nibbles. She felt him touch the curls between her legs, his palm brushing as gently as a breeze, and she wanted his fingers against her, inside her, so badly that she could not prevent a pleading moan.

His lips searched through the curls, found her, and the strong, immediate suction of his mouth caused her breath to catch sharply. Delight shot through her, scalding and relentless, and she felt his fingers stroking into the crease between her thighs. His wet finger traveled lower, too low, softly delving between her buttocks in a way that made her start uneasily. “No,” she whispered. “No, wait…”

But his finger slid inside her, in a place so strange and impermissible that her mind went blank from the shock of it. The gentle glide continued, and she tried to push him away, but somehow her body trembled and yielded, and the pleasure enveloped her in a hot, saturating cloud. She cried out again and again, thrashing, arching, until finally the sensation eased and she breathed in frantic bursts.

While her limbs still twitched in delicious aftermath, she felt Jack unfastening his trousers. He came into her deep and hard, and she wrapped herself around him, moaning, while he plundered and possessed her. Amanda kissed his taut face, his mouth, his shaven cheeks, loving the heat of him inside her, the way he groaned in the manner of a man who had been thoroughly sated.

They lay wrapped together for several minutes, her naked thigh hooked over his trouser-clad one. Amanda felt so exhausted and replete that she doubted she would ever move again. She rested a hand on her husband's taut belly.

“Now you may go to work,” she finally said.

He laughed low in his throat and kissed her thoroughly before he left the bed.

 

Although Jack Devlin was not a scholarly man, he possessed a combination of intelligence and instinct that amazed Amanda. The sheer weight of his business concerns would have crushed a lesser man, yet he handled them with cool competence. It seemed that his range of interests knew no bounds, and he shared his many enthusiasms with her, opening her mind to ideas that had never occurred to her before.

To Amanda's surprise, Jack discussed business matters with her, treating her as if she were an equal partner rather than a mere wife. No man had ever accorded her such a mixture of indulgence and respect. He encouraged her to speak freely, challenging her opinions when he did not agree with them and acknowledging openly when he was wrong. He urged her to be bold and adventuresome, and in this pursuit he took her everywhere with him, to sporting events, taverns, scientific exhibitions, even to business meetings at which her presence was received with frank astonishment by the other men attending. Although Jack must have been aware that such behavior was not condoned by society, he did not seem to care.

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 naked 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 naked 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 breasts 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?”

His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “I'll give you release, madam.” He bent lower, his mouth nearly touching hers. “Say it again,” he whispered close to her lips.

She tugged at her imprisoned hands, and struggled playfully to free herself. Jack allowed her to writhe beneath him until his robe had parted, the sheet had been kicked away, and their naked loins were enjoined. The blazing heat of his sex pulsed against her, and her body throbbed in response. Breathing heavily, she opened her knees, widening herself for him. He kissed her breasts, the wet heat of his mouth surrounded by the scratchiness of an early-morning beard.

“Tell me,” he muttered. “Tell me.”

She surrendered with a moan, too inflamed to care how foolish she might sound. “I am beautiful,” she said through gritted teeth. “Oh, Jack—”

“Beautiful enough to wear a necklace made for an empress.”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, God—”

He slid inside her, making her whimper, making her body flex in wrenching pleasure. She clutched him with her arms and legs, her hips tilting urgently to match each downward plunge. She stared at the face above hers. Jack's eyes narrowed to intense blue slits. His hands covered the sides of her head in a gentle clasp, and he made love to her until she groaned in release. He shuddered and spent his own passion, pulsing violently inside her warm body. When he finally caught his breath, he smiled and nudged his now-softened sex deeper inside her. “That will teach you not to refuse my gifts.” He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured with pretend meekness, and he grinned as he gave her buttocks a pat of approval.

 

As Amanda became acquainted with her husband's many projects, she took a particular interest in an ailing journal called the
Coventry Quarterly Review
. It had been suffering for some time from Jack's benign neglect, and consisted of review essays that examined recent developments in literature and history. It was clear to Amanda that the
Review
would do splendidly if only it had an editor who was strong enough to shape it, and give the publication some intellectual weight.

Filled with ideas on what should be done with the journal, Amanda wrote a prospectus that included suggestions of possible topics, contributors, and books to review, as well as an outline of the general direction it should follow.
The
Review
should be remade into a progressive and unsentimental publication,
she proposed,
favorable to reform and social change. On the other hand, it should retain a tolerance for existing systems and structures, and seek to refine them rather than tear them down, so as to preserve the best features of society while weeding out the worst…

“It's good,” Jack pronounced after reading the prospectus, his gaze distant as his mind clicked with a multitude of thoughts. “Very good.” They sat together in the outdoor conservatory of their home. Jack sat in one chair and propped his feet up, while Amanda curled up on the cushions of a small settee with a cup of hot tea cradled in her hands. A cool afternoon breeze wafted in through the open archways.