Rogue in the Regency Ballroom: Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence

And so, when the prison governor was away from the prison and there was no danger of him walking in on them, with Nan and Amos standing like statues behind her to bear witness to her bizarre wedding, Amanda moved to stand beside Kit, impatient for the affair to be done.

She had told herself that when they next met he would seem less attractive, and that the image she held of him would vanish, but it was scored into her mind and there it would remain. And as she waited for the moment when she would become his wife, she felt the delight of secrecy and a dizzying madness at what she was about to do.

She was relieved to see Mr Hennesey had done what she had paid him to do and found Kit some decent clothes—a white shirt and dark blue trousers—and that he was clean. And now, as she stood beside him, he was more attractive than ever, more desirable. He turned to look at her, and she saw his deep, black eyes, and the long, silken lashes and well-defined brows. She felt an urgency to reach out and touch him, to be even closer to him, and suddenly, standing there beside him, she felt that when she walked out of that prison cell there would be an emptiness in her life that she didn’t want to admit to, a solace that would not be appeased no matter where she was, and her arms would be achingly empty.

As the ceremony was conducted, Amanda replied to the droning questions the minister presented to her, and Kit’s voice rang out in the stillness of the cell as he, too, gave his troth towards the marriage, looking deep into her eyes as he promised to love and cherish her. The minister presented a ring, a ring Amanda had bought and given to him when she had arrived. Taking her hand in his own, a hand that was warm and alive, Kit placed it on her finger.

In that brief time Amanda had become the wife of Christopher Claybourne.

The day was hot and sunny, but in the prison it was cool, and when, still holding her hand, Kit bent his head and gently kissed her mouth, his lips warmly touched hers. A part of Amanda’s mind warned that to return his kiss was insane. It would complicate everything, and she didn’t need any more complications, but the need to taste his lips was too strong for her to resist.

The moment she yielded her lips to his, Kit sensed her capitulation. Unaware of the others present or Nan’s gasp of shocked disgust, Amanda let him part her lips and of their own volition her fingers curled around his. She felt his swift, indrawn breath when she tentatively returned his kiss, and suddenly everything began to change when his kiss deepened.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Amanda knew this was only a formality, she knew that as clearly as she knew she had no choice but to participate, but if this was true, then why did her heart beat faster, and why couldn’t she open her eyes?

Kit’s head lifted just enough to break contact with her mouth, and when he spoke his voice was husky and soft. ‘You will belong to me until I die, but for now I guess I’ll have to be content with that.’

It took an unnatural effort for Amanda to move, but she pulled her hand from his grip. Panicked by her inexplicable lethargy she stepped back.

Stunned by the hint of tears in her eyes, Kit stared down at her creamy skin and soft mouth with a hunger that he was finding almost impossible to control. The exquisite sweetness of her lips, the way it felt to have her close, to feel the gentleness of her fingers holding his, almost made the notion of making love to her in his prison cell seem plausible—a notion she demolished when he automatically reached out to take her hand once more and she snatched it back.

‘Don’t think you can repeat kissing me just because of our altered circumstances,’ she warned him indignantly, angry with herself for having actually enjoyed his kiss. No matter how hard he protested his innocence, he was still a convicted murderer and she must not, dared not, ever forget that.

Kit was too preoccupied with the results of their kiss to rise to her anger—anger she had bidden to conceal her sudden vulnerability. Her cheeks were tinted an adorable pink, and her dark-lashed eyes were lustrous.

The documents that made their union legal were signed and handed to her, and the minister, being unable to wish the couple a long and happy life as was usually the case, quickly departed.

The closing of the door reverberated around the cell.

‘For goodness’ sake, hurry up and say your goodbyes,’ Nan whispered, shrinking towards Amos and the door. ‘I hate this place and want to be out of it. No good will come of this. What will Mr Quinn say—and your cousin Charlotte?’

Taking her arm, Kit drew Amanda aside. Rousing to awareness, she looked at her husband. Despite her angry words of a moment before, she felt an aching dread as to his fate. Her despair must have shown, for he said, ‘Take heart. In no time at all you will leave Charleston and you can put all this behind you. You will be a free woman, Amanda, and able to do what you want with your life.’

Amanda struggled impotently for the last vestiges of control, feeling it beginning to crack under the strain as his eyes looked down into hers. She had a strange sensation of falling. ‘I don’t think I shall ever be able to do that,’ she whispered, swallowing down the hard lump that had risen in her throat.

Seeing the distress in her eyes, Kit placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Do not look so sorrowful, Amanda. Congratulate yourself. Your plans have gone according to your wishes. When you return to Magnolia Grove you must raise a toast to your success.’

‘When I think of what is to happen to you I can summon no feelings of satisfaction.’

‘Nothing can be done to save me now. All I ask is that you take care of my daughter.’

From his pocket Kit withdrew two sealed envelopes. Amanda watched him, noting the authority, the strength held in check as he handed them to her. So many conflicting emotions swirled inside her, fighting for ascendancy.

‘When you reach England go to my cousin in London and give her this letter,’ Kit said, indicating the letter addressed to Mrs Victoria Hardy with her address in Chelsea written on the envelope. ‘I have explained everything. Victoria has children of her own and will take good care of Sky.’

‘Where is your daughter? Where can I find her?’

‘Take a boat up river—the steamer, if you prefer. Tell the boatman who you want—Samuel Blake, and his wife is called Agatha. Sam is a fisherman and well known on the river. Their home is close to the water—the boatman will point it out. Give this letter to Agatha and you’ll have no problem obtaining custody of Sky.’

‘Have you no message for your daughter?’ Amanda asked, wondering how the child would feel, dispossessed of her father’s love and protection, and cast adrift in an alien world.

‘Tell her—tell her that I’m thinking of her,’ he said tremulously, a great and tender pain bursting within his heart when he thought of his beautiful daughter, ‘that I love her, and to remember me in her prayers. After that go home and have a good life, Amanda Claybourne, and I thank you for this.’

Amanda walked towards the door, feeling the words of farewell sticking in her throat. The remorse that gripped her was powerful and sudden, the injustice of Kit’s fate filled her. On the threshold she turned back. She saw his eyes fixed upon her with an expression of such sadness in them that it wrenched her heart.

‘Farewell, Kit,’ she whispered, with tears in her eyes.

‘Farewell, Amanda.’

As she followed Nan and Amos out of the gaol, a gust of chill air broke into her solitary world, bringing cold reality with it. She was appalled to think Kit’s end was so close, that he was going to be hanged by the neck until he was dead. It all seemed so monstrously unjust. She genuinely forgot that only a short while before she had given no thought to his fate, only what he could do for her.

Dashing away a tear, she quickened her pace. The sooner she was gone from this place, the better she would feel. She tried telling herself that Christopher Claybourne’s misfortune was of his own making, but there was a voice in her head telling her that none of this was right and that they would hang an innocent man.

Never again, she vowed as she emerged into the light of day and felt the sun on her face, would she put herself in such a fraught situation. She had succeeded in her plan, but she had the suspicion that she was only storing up trouble for later.

As the carriage carried her back to Magnolia Grove, she rested her head against the soft upholstery, closed her eyes and allowed the memory of the kiss to invade her mind—the kiss, vibrant and alive, soft, insistent and sensual—the kiss she’d been forced to participate in. When Kit had bowed his head to place his lips on hers, she’d understood instinctively that it was a common practice between a newly wedded couple, but her reaction to it terrified her. She’d wanted more—much more. She’d wanted it to go on and on and to kiss him back with soul-destroying passion, to feel his hands on her bare flesh and his body driving into hers.

Dear, sweet Lord! How could she have felt like that? she thought with bitter self-revulsion. Was it not bad enough that she had allowed him to kiss her—and, worse, to revel in it? The truth was that she’d believed Kit’s assertions because she’d wanted to, and because the nauseating reality was that she was disgustingly attracted to Christopher Claybourne, who’d fascinated her from the moment she had seen him in the street.

Amanda realised that any attempt to keep what she had done secret was useless. She was in deep trouble and knew it. First she sought out Mr Quinn. He was in the study, pacing the floor as he read through some correspondence from her father that had just arrived.

Mr Quinn was a quiet, private man—secretive, even. Where he went and what he did Amanda had no idea and nor did she care, providing he left her alone to do as she pleased. As her father’s employee of two decades or more—more than she could remember—she had respect for the man, but she could not like him. His past was a mystery to Amanda, and she had not enquired into it. He had served her father well, which was why he had entrusted the care of his daughter to him for the time she was in Charleston.

Now his features were set in a stern, unsmiling expression. With the width of the desk between them, Amanda raised her chin with a touch of defiance, steeling herself for Mr Quinn’s wrath that would descend on her like an axe when she told what she had done.

As quickly as she could, she told him everything there was to tell about her marriage to Mr Claybourne. All the while her eyes never left his furious face. Such a transformation came over him as he listened to what she had to say that she recoiled before the change. All that had been calm and controlled had given way to fury and positive revulsion. They stood facing each other, but before Amanda could utter one more word, Mr Quinn erupted with fury.

‘By all the saints, have you taken leave of your senses? You foolish, stupid, reckless girl. You have brought shame on your good name and will break your father’s heart because of it.’

Amanda stood her ground, her face as stubborn and angry as his. ‘Do calm yourself, Mr Quinn. I know how greatly disappointed you must be—’

‘And what did you expect? For me to raise a toast and congratulate you and that—that horse breaker—that murderer—on your new-found happiness? I can only think your youth and thoughtlessness prompted such irresponsible conduct. And what of your cousin? Was Charlotte in on this—this escapade?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not. She has more sense. And this is how you repay her kindness—and your Aunt Lucy’s.’ He gave her a withering look. ‘Your father placed you in my care. What do you think he will say when he hears of this—this farce of a marriage? This is one time you won’t be able to wheedle and sweet-talk him. His punishment will be severe—on both of us. One thing is certain—my dismissal from his service will be immediate. He does not deserve to be deceived, and there will be hell to pay when he finds out.’

Amanda flinched at the harsh words. She had no doubt that the shock on his face was genuine, and yet she sensed another emotion there too, as if a distant fear that had nothing to do with her father’s finding out were suddenly shimmering in the older man’s eyes. There was a fierce, almost frightening anger about him, but there was not a thing Mr Quinn could do about her marriage now. She was Mrs Christopher Claybourne and she had the papers to prove it.

‘Then all the more reason not to tell him. We can spare him the details. It can be our secret.’

He stared at her in appalled amazement. ‘You are asking me to become your co-conspirator? You were not brought up to be devious,’ he snapped.

‘It’s too late for recriminations, Mr Quinn. It’s done. I am Mrs Claybourne now. There is no need for my father to know my husband was a murderer hanged for his crime. He will be told Mr Claybourne died on board ship.’

‘I do not like conspiracies.’

‘To bring this matter to his ears will hurt him, Mr Quinn, you must see that, and nothing will induce me to wound him.’