The Perfect Bride (17 page)

He
read her distrust and gave a bitter smile. "You know," he said
softly, "we never finished what we started in the meadow."

“We
started nothing, Julian.”

He
moved toward her. "Eight years ago, Amanda, you were a frightened rabbit.
The years seem to have brought you a woman's awareness. Perhaps you now
appreciate what we might offer each other."

She
was almost to the door. "I demand that you leave my room."

"I
do not think you mean that," he challenged softly.

Amanda
lifted her chin. "Your monstrous pride leads you astray, Julian. I daresay
Lord Sommersby would not like to hear that you molested one of his
guests."

To
her surprise, he laughed. "No. A man with Simon's stifling sense of duty
would have to issue a challenge. And while I fought by his side at Salamanca, I
should not like to be on the other end of his sword."

The
image of Lord Sommersby poised on the balcony in Felicity's room, broadsword at
the ready, brought a small answering smile to her lips. Julian noticed it
instantly.

"Ah,
so that is the way of things, is it? The chaperon has an eye for her charge's
betrothed."

Amanda
flushed. "Why must you assume that everyone has your base nature,
Julian?"

"Why
must you assume that I am blind?"

Crossing
her arms, Amanda regarded him. "If you do not leave this instant — "

Before
she could continue, he moved easily toward the door, opening it in one fluid
motion so soundlessly that she suspected sneaking out of ladies' bedchambers
was second-nature to him.

"Allow
me to give you some advice, Amanda," he said. "It would be futile to
pin your hopes on Sommersby. The man has a dreadfully oppressive sense of
honor."

With
that, he slipped out into the darkened hallway.

***

Through
narrowed eyes, Simon studied the departing figure. There could be no benign
explanation for Julian's presence in Miss Fitzhugh's room. He had a mind to
call the man to account here and now, but the possibility that she had
entertained Julian willingly stopped him.

Yet
she appeared to hold Julian in little regard. Why would she welcome him to her
room under the cover of night?

Simon
had to know if she was safe. But he could not simply present himself at her
door and inquire whether the Duke of Claridge, with whom she shared some murky and
apparently amorous history, had just had his way with her. Besides, he was
supposed to be away overseeing one of his troubled mills.

It
would have to be Thornton again.

Simon
threw open the bureau drawer and pulled out the infernal mustache and wig.
After what happened on the cliff today, Thornton's appearance at her bedroom
door would seem a brazen attempt at seduction.

And
seduction was certainly not what he had in mind.

Not
at all.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The
soft tapping at her door sent panic rising in Amanda's throat, but it was
quickly overtaken by anger. So Julian meant to try again, did he? The man was
so puffed up with his own consequence that he could not conceive of a woman
denying him.

Ripping
off the bedcovers and throwing on her shawl, Amanda ran to the hearth, picked
up the poker, and strode to the door.

"I
am prepared to defend myself, sirrah," she said. "If you do not go
away this instant, I shall not be responsible for the results!" Her words
would never strike fear into Julian's heart, but they might give him pause.

Amanda
waited for one of Julian's sardonic insults. Instead, after a prolonged
silence, there came the sound of a throat clearing.

"Miss
Fitzhugh?" asked a low baritone voice. "Is anything amiss?"

Mr.
Thornton!

Relief
warred with embarrassment — what must he think of the threat she had just
hurled at him?

Hesitantly,
Amanda opened the door. Mr. Thornton stood in his claret dressing gown, holding
a small candle perilously close to that long, drooping mustache. His grey mop of
hair was askew, suggesting a less than restful night of sleep.

But
his eyes belied the politely inquiring tones of his voice. Indeed, they seemed
unnaturally bright, as if some volatile emotion lay behind them. A rather
dangerous volatility that momentarily put her in mind of Julian.

"Mr.
Thornton," Amanda stammered. "Yes, I am quite well." As an
afterthought, she added awkwardly, "Thank you for inquiring."

His
gaze flicked over her, taking in her bare feet, the shawl that poorly covered her
nightrail, and the disordered state of her hair, which doubtless looked as if
birds had nested in it.

To
be sure, there was a world of difference between Julian and Mr. Thornton. Yet
as she drew her shawl more tightly around her, Amanda wondered at that unsettling
glint in his eyes, which resembled nothing so much as Julian's frank
sensuality. Even as she pondered it, however, it disappeared. His features
became almost studiously bland.

"I
heard someone in the hall," he began, then halted. "Actually, I
thought I saw someone in the vicinity of your door."

It
was not quite an accusation, but Amanda knew he must have seen Julian leave and
had come to the worst possible conclusion. Would he believe her if she told him
that Julian had suddenly emerged from her wardrobe, chatted briefly, then left
to continue whatever nefarious pursuits drove him to wander about in the middle
of the night? Probably not. Still, she wanted him to know that things were not
the way they seemed. She took a deep breath.

"You
will perhaps think this strange, sir, but Julian — that is, er, the Duke of
Claridge — did in fact just leave my room."

One
of Mr. Thornton’s brows shot skyward in silent, but unmistakable commentary.

"It
is not the way it sounds," she added quickly. "You see, he just popped
out of my wardrobe."

Now
his look was frankly dubious.

"The
back of the wardrobe seems to be an entrance to one of the tunnels," she
continued, feeling more foolish by the minute. "Evidently he has been
searching them for certain papers." Smiling brightly, aware that she was
babbling but unable to stop, Amanda added, "Did you know that Julian lived
here one summer as a boy? In this very room, I believe."

From
his position out in the hall, Mr. Thornton peered  skeptically at the wardrobe.

"Would
you care to see?" Amanda was determined to persuade him that she was
telling the truth, that she would never have willingly entertained Julian in
her room.

He
was silent for a moment. "I believe I would," he said at last in a
carefully neutral tone.

Some
chaperon she was turning out to be, Amanda thought wildly as, for the second
time that night, a man stepped into her bedchamber.

Unlike
Julian, Mr. Thornton undoubtedly had the best of intentions. Still, the kiss
they had shared earlier had put their relationship on a rather awkward footing.
As he stood a scant few feet from her bed, the air in the room seemed suddenly
stifling. Amanda wondered whether he, too, was thinking of that moment out on
the cliff.

As
if she were wearing her most sedate walking dress, not a thin nightrail, Amanda
walked calmly to the wardrobe. "The back opens into a tunnel." She
put her hands over the rear panel in hopes of finding the entrance before Mr.
Thornton concluded she had bats in her belfry.

She
gave a sigh of relief as her fingers met a small groove. The thick panel swung
inward, unveiling a gaping blackness beyond. Holding his candle aloft, Mr.
Thornton stepped into the yawning void. Amanda followed.

Candlelight
illuminated a ceiling barely high enough for him to stand. In some places crumbling
stones had fallen from the walls, but otherwise the tunnel looked in relatively
good condition. Amanda wondered what sort of intrigue it had seen over the
years. From Thornton’s demeanor, she guessed this was the first time he had
been in the tunnel.

"With
Claridge prowling around at night, I had best take a look." With that, he
walked deeper into the tunnel. The glow of his candle faded until Amanda found
herself alone in the dark.

"Mr.
Thornton?" she called uneasily.

There
was no response. Amanda stood motionless, undecided whether to retreat to her
room, follow him into the darkness, or remain where she was.

No
sounds of footsteps met her ears, no reassuring noises indicated Mr. Thornton
was nearby. Since she could no longer see her own hand in front of her face,
Amanda decided she must turn back. Wishing she had her cane, she edged her way along
the wall toward the faint light filtering through the wardrobe from her room.
Her pulse pounded nervously.

"Careful,
Miss Fitzhugh. The footing is very uneven,” came a nearby masculine voice.

She
gave a little shriek and whirled.

Amanda
felt rather than saw the broad chest before her and the penetrating eyes that
regarded her solemnly.

"Mr.
Thornton! You gave me quite a start."

"Forgive
me," he said quietly. "A draft put out my candle, so I had to retrace
my steps. Further exploration must wait for another day."

Touching
her elbow, he helped her along the darkened corridor. In the next moment, they
stood in her room.

"Thank
you for coming to see to my safety, Mr. Thornton," Amanda said, wondering
whether he felt the bizarreness of this night as acutely as she did.

But
he was studying the back panel of the wardrobe. "There is a bolt here on
the inside. You should keep it locked so that you do not have any more unexpected
visits."

"I
do not think Julian will enter my room again," she replied.

"There
is no way to predict Claridge's actions." His eyes held a chill.
"Unless you welcome his nocturnal visits, you should take appropriate
steps to prevent them."

Amanda
did not miss the implication. "I am not certain how to respond to such a
statement, sir," she said coolly.

His
gaze grew shuttered. "Your relationship with the duke is none of my
business," he said stiffly. "I regret causing you any
discomfort." He turned to go.

Amanda
knew she could not let him leave with this strained awkwardness between them.
Mr. Thornton might not be one for lengthy conversation, but the kiss he had
given her this afternoon bespoke volumes about the possibilities that lay
between them. Those possibilities had nurtured a hope she did not know she
possessed. For the first time in eight years, she allowed herself to think of a
man in such a light.

Suddenly,
she wanted him to know everything.

"Mr.
Thornton," she began, flushing. "Julian and I once — that is, we had
a relationship of sorts."

"It
is none of my concern, Miss Fitzhugh." His rigid posture told her the
subject made him acutely uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she wanted no lies that
might come between them, no dishonesty that might sabotage that hope. If there was
one thing she had learned from the experience with Julian, it was the value of
truth.

"I
am not a sinful woman, only an unwise one," she said. She tried to slow
her words, though her pulse was racing. "Julian was a frequent caller
during my Season eight years ago. I am afraid that I allowed his flattery to
blind me to how careless was his regard. I failed to realize that the niece of
a baronet is not exactly an eligible
parti
for a man in line for a
dukedom."

"Miss
Fitzhugh," he protested, "there is no need to —"

"But
there is every need," she corrected. "I nearly disgraced myself.
Without the knowledge of my aunt and uncle, who were sponsoring my Season, I
arranged to meet him at Vauxhall one night. I thought the idea of a walk through
the garden paths most romantic, but I soon discovered he had something else in
mind."

Under
that mustache, a muscle tightened in Mr. Thornton's jaw. Before she could lose
her nerve, Amanda rushed on.

"He
led me down the furthermost promenade known as Lover's Walk. Foolishly, I was
flattered that a man of Julian's standing should wish for a few private moments
with me." She fought the urge to avert her gaze. This was not the time for
cowardice. "We came to a bench, and that is where I invited disaster. I
allowed him to kiss me, and —"

"Miss
Fitzhugh,” he put in quickly. “Please spare yourself this ordeal. It is not
necessary, I assure you."

"The
truth is always necessary, Mr. Thornton. Is it not?”

His
features grew rigid — with condemnation, she guessed. No matter. Amanda took a deep
breath. "Fortunately, Sir Thomas came along searching for me and
discovered us there. My clothing was scandalously askew and I had allowed Julian
to take extensive...liberties, but no real harm was done."

Her
face grew warm. She was doubtless red with embarrassment, but perhaps in the
candlelight he would not see that.