somewhere in the past he had obviously acquired a social polish and smooth urbanity that amazed her. He was perfectly able to converse on everything as well as equestrian matters. In fact, he was the perfect guest, with a natural manner that Amanda reluctantly admired.
‘You are certainly well informed on most subjects, Mr Benedict,’ she couldn’t help commenting when he had just finished discussing the present government and what he thought about the Prime Minister, Mr Gladstone’s, second ministry.
Kit smiled at her with bland amusement. ‘I know how to read as well as the next man—and educated woman,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘However, the fact remains that no matter how well educated a woman is she will some day have to submit to the authority of her husband.’
Amanda’s face snapped into a familiar expression of rebelliousness—familiar to her father at least. ‘Some may well do that, but I never will,’ she quipped haughtily.
‘Really?’ Kit mocked, meeting her gaze as he spooned the last of his soup into his mouth, his eyes holding a subtle challenge. ‘You may find that your husband has something to say about that.’
‘Amanda means it,’ Henry chuckled. ‘Self-willed, she is, and defiant and argumentative. Goes her own way, she does, and the devil take the rest. There are times when I wonder how I bred such a daughter. I sent her to Charleston to stay with her aunt, hoping she would meet some personable young man, marry him and settle down and present me with grandchildren. She completed the first part, but unfortunately the young man expired shortly after the wedding without my meeting him—which I regret.’
Amanda toyed with her food, not looking at the man opposite, who was watching her like a cat watching a mouse. How she wished he was back in Charleston Gaol where he belonged.
‘Your husband has been dead long, Mrs Claybourne?’ Kit enquired, placing his spoon down and lounging back in his chair.
‘Seven months,’ she answered tightly, without looking at him.
‘A tragedy it was,’ Henry remarked. ‘She’s far too young to be a widow.’
‘I’m sure Mr Benedict doesn’t want to hear about that, Father. Besides, I still find any discussion concerning my dear departed husband quite upsetting.’ Consciously feigning a sigh, smiling wistfully and dropping her eyes, she said, ‘I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Mr Benedict?’
Kit’s eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and when she fell silent he said, ‘Oh, absolutely, Mrs Claybourne. Absolutely. It is no easy matter losing someone you care for—and of course you must have loved your husband dearly,’ he said with elaborate gravity.
Seeing his mouth pulled down in mock-sympathy, Amanda felt a furious surge of indignation that he should think her such a fool as to have fallen in love with him. ‘What my feelings were for my husband are my own affair, Mr Benedict. But it would be disrespectful of me to say I wasn’t.’
Having been manoeuvred away from this particular discussion by a meaningful look from Caroline, Henry immediately launched into the subject closest to his heart and talked animatedly about his horses, so Amanda kept herself excluded, despite Kit’s frequent attempts to draw her into the conversation. Her father didn’t appear to notice how quiet she was, and if he did he would probably take it for ladylike reserve.
The meal was delicious and would have done credit to the finest chefs in the land—it must seem like a veritable feast, Amanda thought crossly, to the likes of Kit Benedict. As soon as she had spooned her last mouthful of raspberry meringue into her mouth she broke her self-imposed silence and stood up. Calmly excusing herself, she said she had letters to write that couldn’t wait.
The moment she rose, her gaze met Kit’s own—and Caroline almost saw the lightning flash that passed between them, causing a tension that held and held, teetering on the brink of—what? Catastrophe, or gathering strength for an assault on their emotions, their baser instincts?
Amanda spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, finding it impossible to dispel thoughts of Kit from her mind and unable to understand the turbulent, consuming emotions he was able to arouse in her. Just when everything was running smoothly, this arrogant man with mocking dark eyes and breezy, determined manner—and far too handsome for his own good—had forced his way back into her life.
She recalled the moment when she had risen from the table, the moment her frigid gaze had settled on his features. He had leaned back in his chair, fingering his wine glass. His gaze had raked over her with the leisure of a well-fed wolf, with an irritating smile flirting on his lips. The assured gleam in his eyes had told her he was not going to go away.
Chapter Five
During the days that followed Kit’s arrival at Eden Park, Amanda scrupulously resolved that any future contact between them would be brief and impersonal. It was a decision made calmly and without emotion. But emotion set in whenever she set eyes on him. The effect he had on her, the emotional turmoil he evoked, was nothing short of frightening. In fact her thoughts were so preoccupied with him that she could not sleep.
Kit seemed to be everywhere and perfectly gauged, appearing when she least expected him, lolling on a tree or a fence somewhere, casually striding about the place as if he owned it in search of her father, not once stepping over the line, but for ever battering at her defences.
She was beginning to feel like a fox being run to earth by a pack of hounds, for she knew he was after total submission and Kit, in his supreme arrogance, knew he would succeed. She could see the sensuality behind every look and could no longer pretend that desire did not burn just beneath the surface in them both, waiting to flare into passion. There was nothing she could do to prevent it, to deny the hold he already had over her senses. Just when she had been enjoying her freedom he had arrived to disrupt her present contentment. Suddenly her future was precarious, her life beset with tension and apprehension, like a threatening storm on a hot and humid summer’s day.
And Nan didn’t make things any easier when she learned that Christopher Claybourne had returned from the dead. Shocked and shaken, Nan had no sympathy for her whatsoever, saying she had no one to blame for her predicament but herself, and that no good would come of it.
‘The point is, Nan, what am I going to do?’
‘As to that, no one can tell you. You will do what you want in the end.’
‘Father is not going to know, Nan—at least, not yet,’ Amanda said curtly. ‘Unless you tell him.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ Nan answered with an air of injured dignity. ‘I am just warning you to have a care. I know your father has always allowed you to do much as you please, but that doesn’t mean he’s soft.’
‘Neither am I,’ Amanda said grimly.
Nan didn’t reply, although she privately thought Amanda was storing up a world of trouble for herself.
Amanda was relieved that Nan promised not to tell a soul, and in particular Mr Quinn. Amanda sincerely hoped Mr Quinn had not met Kit in Charleston; if he had, he would recognise him immediately and her secret would be out.
Kit’s feelings where Amanda was concerned, now he had seen her again, made him more determined than ever to make her fulfil her side of the bargain. Beautiful, intelligent, with a natural-born wit and as elusive as a shadow, she was a prize, a prize to be won. He
