The Hope Chest Read online

  With those words echoing through his mind, Maxwell pulled his gaze from the box and looked at Lady Amanda. Their gazes met and he stilled, searching her face, seeking some clue as to why this woman, and apparently only this woman, could open the box.

  He studied her closely, but instead of an explanation, he noticed the porcelain texture of her skin. It looked incredibly soft, and he imagined it would feel like silk beneath his fingers. Rather than an answer, he discerned a pale smattering of freckles on her pert nose that he could only describe as…fetching.

  His gaze traveled downward and settled on her mouth. While he instantly knew it offered no reason for her ability to open the box, he could not seem to look away from those full, moist lips. They beckoned like a siren’s call, enticing him to taste, filling him with a sudden, fierce hunger that clenched low in his belly. Then he noticed another freckle…a single golden dot near the corner of her lovely mouth. His fingertips instantly itched with the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch that beguiling spot. Indeed only clasping his hands together on his lap prevented him from doing so.

  Bloody hell, he was losing his mind. He needed to rein in his runaway thoughts before they galloped out of control. A fine plan, but one that went totally awry the instant he forced his gaze upwards.

  She was staring at his mouth. His lips tingled as if she’d actually caressed him there, firing an unmistakable heat through him. Even though it had been a long time since he’d felt desire, there was no forgetting how it felt—especially when it gripped him with such intense force.

  She looked up and their gazes collided. Her eyes, with their flecks of gold, reminded him of fine, aged brandy, and, he was quickly realizing, they were just as intoxicating. Surprise and what appeared to be confusion were reflected in their golden-brown depths, and Maxwell wondered if she was experiencing the same reaction as he.

  She blinked several times, then lowered her gaze to the box, breaking whatever odd spell had been cast over them. With a touch she opened the box, then asked, “May we look at the inside now?”

  “Of course.” Maxwell opened the lid the rest of the way and they both peered inside. Lady Lydia rose and moved to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. The interior was finished with the same unusual, enamel-like gloss as the exterior.

  “It’s empty,” Lady Lydia said, her voice filled with disappointment. “I was halfway expecting, or at least hoping, it would be filled with jewels or gold coins.” She returned to her seat and proceeded to freshen her tea.

  Lady Amanda shifted her chair nearer to his and he caught a hint of a delicate scent. Her scent. Under the guise of peering deeper into the box, he leaned closer to her and breathed in. She smelled like…sunshine. And flowers. His eyes drifted closed and he instantly pictured her, standing in a bloom-filled meadow illuminated by slender skeins of golden sunlight. A gentle breeze murmured, catching her hair and gown, flowing them behind her while she reached upward, as if to capture a dazzling, gild-kissed ray. She looked lovely and alluring and—

  Exactly like the woman on the box.

  His eyes popped open. Good God, he really had taken leave of his senses. The woman on the box had no features—she didn’t look like anyone. Still, he found himself turning to stare at Lady Amanda’s profile, and the similarities immediately hit him. The curve of her cheek, the sweep of her forehead, the tilt of her chin—

  “Do you think these carved curlicues lining the edge might be something more than merely a decoration?”

  Her question yanked him from his brown study, and he quickly shifted his attention back to the box. “More than a decoration? Why do you ask?”

  “Because they don’t appear to follow any sort of pattern as you’d expect on a decorative border.”

  He studied the swirling black lines, then reached out to trace them with a fingertip. “You’re right,” he agreed, impressed by her quick observation. “I wonder if it could be some sort of writing, although I’ve never seen anything quite like this. It looks a bit like Arabic, but based on my knowledge of the language from my alchemy studies, this isn’t it.” He tipped the box onto its back, and with heads bent closely together, they looked at the curved inner lid.

  “These dots do not appear to be in any sort of pattern either,” he murmured.

  “No, they don’t,” she agreed. She leaned closer to the box. “Could you tip it up a bit more please, so it’s in the sunlight?”

  Maxwell complied, and she leaned closer still, until her nose was practically buried in the box. Then she abruptly straightened and turned toward him. “I don’t think they’re dots, Lord Dorsey,” she said, her voice filled with a note he well recognized from experience—the excitement of discovery. “Look at their shape. They appear to be tiny stars.”

  Maxwell leaned closer and peered at the miniscule markings. “You’re right,” he said, impressed again, his voice taking on the same excited tone as hers. He studied the pattern for several seconds, then frowned. “It is not a pattern I immediately recognize, but with further study and comparison to my constellation charts I may be able to identify it.”

  “What initially looked like nothing more than a spattering of dots might be a map of the heavens,” she said softly. “How fascinating.”

  Maxwell turned toward her. When their gazes met, she smiled—a beautiful smile that displayed even, pearly teeth and made her eyes glow.

  His entire body tensed with a yearning, a sense of longing and want unlike anything he’d ever before experienced and if he’d been free to do so at the moment, he would have laughed at his unprecedented reaction to this woman. “Fascinating,” he agreed, his voice coming out in a husky rasp.

  “Well, it certainly appears you made quite a find, Lord Dorsey,” Lady Lydia said.

  With a start, he turned toward his forgotten hostess. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’ve made quite a find. And clearly it is even more captivating than you’d originally thought.”

  Something in her tone made him wonder if she was referring to more than the box, but her expression was innocence itself. “Indeed it is.” He turned back to Lady Amanda and he was struck by the overwhelming need to know more about this intriguing woman who opened the mysterious box, seemingly by magic, and whose beautiful smile, astute observations and expressive eyes bewitched him. A dozen questions rushed to his lips, but right now the most important one was, “How long do you plan to remain in Cardiff?”

  “Until the end of the month. Then I shall return to London.”

  Relief swept through him. He’d feared she’d say she planned to leave tomorrow. Three weeks…she would be close by for three weeks. His heart sped up to a ridiculous rate at the knowledge. Three weeks was certainly enough time to call on her again. For he knew with absolute certainty that he had to see her again. Learn about her. Get to know her better. See her smile. Hear her laugh. The mere thought filled him with a sense of anticipation and exhilaration he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d invite her to dine with him—

  “When my niece returns to London,” Lady Lydia’s voice broke into his runaway thoughts, “her father shall announce her betrothal.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MAXWELL FELT as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. An unpleasant sensation resembling a tight cramp seized his insides, and as quickly as his ridiculous hopes had been raised, they crashed back to earth. “Betrothal?” The word tasted like sawdust upon his tongue.

  Lady Amanda’s cheeks flamed bright red. “Yes.”

  With that single word it seemed as if a kindling flame had been irrevocably snuffed out. Keeping his features and voice coolly impassive, he said, “Please accept my best wishes. Who is the lucky gentleman?”

  She appeared very disconcerted. “Actually, I don’t know.”

  He frowned, then nodded slowly as understanding dawned. “Ah, your father is arranging the match.”

  She shook her head. “No. He is allowing me to choose among my…suitors.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, you should have seen her this Season, my lord,” Lady Lydia said. “Declared an ‘Incomparable.’ I don’t believe she was permitted to sit out a single dance. Four gentlemen have approached her father regarding marriage. Such an important decision to make! ’Tis why I brought her here, so she could have time to reflect. So she can choose wisely. After all, there is no decision more important than whom one marries.”

  The knot clenching Maxwell’s stomach cinched tighter. Bloody hell, she had not one but four men pursuing her. And he’d wager none of them was saddled with a tarnished reputation or a sobriquet containing the words “crazed killer.”

  That was more than enough to free him from the net of madness which had somehow ensnared him from the moment he’d laid eyes upon her, making him for an insane moment consider pursuing her. He had nothing to offer a proper young woman like her. He barely knew her. And in less than a month’s time she would be promised to another man.

  Bludgeoning back that disturbing thought, he rose. “I fear it’s long past time for me to return home.” He slipped his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully folded the snowy material over the edge of the opened box. “So it cannot close all the way,” he murmured. After rewrapping it, he tucked the bundle under his arm then offered a formal bow. “My thanks for the tea and hospitality, Lady Lydia.”

  “’Twas a pleasure.” She looked up at him with a direct stare. “I’m glad you’ve ventured from your estate, my lord. I hope you continue to do so. You are always welcome here.”

  “Thank you,” he said, not fully prepared for the rush of gratitude that washed through him. He turned to Lady Amanda and bowed. “And my thanks to you for opening the box.”

  “You’re welcome.” It appeared she wished to say something more, and he hesitated, his heart suddenly thumping with an erratic beat.

  “Will you…?” She paused, and the answer “yes” rushed to his lips, as he couldn’t imagine denying her anything. He forced himself to remain silent, however, and she continued, “Will you let me—us—know if you discover anything about the markings inside the box?”

  “Of course.” He didn’t add that it would be better that he do so by letter than by personal visit.

  Her mouth curved upward in a slow smile, drawing his attention once again to the rosy plumpness of her lips, an alluring sight that threatened to discourage him from taking his leave. Giving himself a severe mental shake, he murmured goodbye, then walked across the flagstones toward the French windows—swiftly, lest whatever spell Lady Amanda had cast upon him lured him to remain. Yet he couldn’t squelch the unsettling knowledge that she was lost to him forever—ridiculous as she’d never belonged to him in the first place.

  Amanda watched Lord Dorsey disappear through the French windows. Even after his form was no longer visible, she continued to stare at the spot, filled with the conflicting sensations of relief and disappointment at his departure. Relief because the man’s presence had the oddest, most unsettling effect on her. Disappointment because…well, she wasn’t quite certain, but there was no denying she felt it.

  “Oh, my. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that.” Aunt Lydia’s words filtered through the fog that seemed to have engulfed her, and she pulled herself from her reverie.

  Determined not to show her discomfiture, Amanda lifted her teacup and offered a noncommittal nod. “Yes, ’tis very strange that only I could open the box.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, well, that was remarkable as well.”

  “As well? Is that not what you referred to?”

  “Heavens, no. I was referring to Lord Dorsey. To the way he looked at you.” Aunt Lydia blew out a long breath that could only be described as a gushy sigh. “It gave me tingles, and I was sitting on the opposite side of the table. I can only imagine how it affected you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “My dear child,” Aunt Lydia said, fixing her with a steely stare, “do not even attempt to convince me that you didn’t notice the earl couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Or that you didn’t feel the weight of his intent regard. For if you do try to say as much, I shall be forced to summon the undertaker because you would have to be dead to have missed it.”

  Warmth crept up Amanda’s neck. “Of course I noticed he looked at me while we conversed, but he looked at you as well.”

  “Darling, there was nothing even remotely similar in the way he gazed upon you and the way he looked at me. He regarded me with polite interest. He beheld you much the way I imagine a man dying of thirst would contemplate an oasis.”

  An unprecedented heated thrill zoomed through Amanda. “And,” Aunt Lydia continued, “his eyes were drawn to you even when you weren’t conversing. As were yours to him.”

  An instantaneous denial sprang to Amanda’s lips, but knowing her aunt was right, at least as far as Amanda’s wandering gaze was concerned, she merely said, “I can’t deny I found his visit interesting, although it only leaves me more irritated than ever that I wasn’t able to purchase that box.”

  “Irritated? Is that how his visit left you?”

  “Well, yes.” Among other things. “Surely the fact that only I can open it means the box should have belonged to me.”

  “Well, my dear, perhaps some day you shall own it.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. Lord Dorsey clearly has no intention of selling it.”

  “Hmm, yes, I would say you are correct in that.” Aunt Lydia set her cup in its matching china saucer. “I must say I was happy to see him looking so well. Indeed, I believe he’s even more attractive than when I saw him last. So tall and broad-shouldered. And the combination of that dark hair and those startling blue eyes…very striking, don’t you think?”

  An image of him flashed in Amanda’s mind, and her pulse jumped. Yes, striking was an excellent word to describe Lord Dorsey. Before she could speak, however, Aunt Lydia waved off her own words with a dismissing flutter of her hands.

  “Oh, but you probably didn’t even make note of his appearance. Why would you, what with a gentleman of Lord Abbott’s superior looks vying for your hand? Now he is a man a woman would be hard pressed to erase from her mind. Or Lords Branton, Remington and Oxmoor either, for that matter.”

  “Yes,” Amanda agreed. “In fact, this is an excellent time to begin thinking about and evaluating my suitors.”

  “An excellent idea. Three weeks is not very much time you know.”

  Yes—a fact that Amanda would have very much liked to forget.

  “Although…”

  “Although what?” Amanda found herself asking in spite of not being convinced she really wanted to know.

  “If any of your four suitors truly engaged your heart, you’d know it in, well, a heartbeat.”

  “And so I shall,” Amanda said with far more confidence than she felt. “As soon as I fully apply myself to the task. Would you care to join me for a turn in the garden?”

  “Thank you, but no, dear. I’m still enjoying my tea. Besides, one needs solitude and quiet when reflecting, especially on matters of the heart.”

  Amanda rose, kissed her aunt’s soft cheek, then headed for the gardens, resolved to think of her suitors.

  And no one else.

  Two hours later, she plopped onto a curved stone bench situated in the lower garden beneath the shade of a copse of towering elms, and blew out a frustrated, defeated, disgusted sigh. She’d tried mightily to concentrate on her four suitors, to examine her feelings toward them, but her musings had been constantly interrupted by thoughts of Lord Dorsey.

  Why couldn’t she erase the man from her mind? How was it that he’d affected her so profoundly after such a short acquaintance, in ways that the suitors she’d spent months socializing with had not? What was it about him that had captured her so?

  Since she obviously wouldn’t be able to banish him from her thoughts until she gave the matter her full attention, she decided she might as well do so now and get it over with. Then
she’d be able to devote her thoughts to the gentlemen she should be thinking about. Yes, that was an excellent plan.

  So what was it about Lord Dorsey that had him so firmly embedded in her mind? Certainly it wasn’t his looks. Why, all four of her London suitors were far more handsome. A frown pulled down her brows. Still, there was something compelling about Lord Dorsey’s features, something that grabbed the attention and wouldn’t allow one to look away. Made one long for another glance.

  Perhaps it was his eyes. Their vivid blue color. Their sharp intelligence. The unexpected flickers of mischief and humor. At first glance she’d thought his eyes cold, but upon reconsideration decided that they instead were…wary. Guarded. Shadows of suffering were evident in his eyes, understandable given his circumstances. Did he realize that those shadows lurked in their depths? Most likely not.

  Then there was the way he’d looked at her. With an intensity that had prickled awareness and warmth under her skin. And he’d listened with unwavering interest when she’d spoken, as if he hadn’t wanted to miss a word of what she’d said. Although all her suitors were attentive, listening to her wasn’t a trait she could assign to any of them. No, they were great ones for fetching her punch, or talking to her, but she couldn’t recall any of them ever soliciting her opinion on anything other than the weather or fashion.

  Or perhaps it was Lord Dorsey’s smile. Her heart skipped recalling his quick grin, how it had transformed his stern features, making him look almost…rakish. It was the sort of smile that made her want to cast about in her mind for something clever to say just so she could see it again. Of her London suitors, Lords Branton and Remington had ready smiles that one did not need to expend any effort to see. Lord Oxmoor’s smile was attractive, yet filled with an air of insouciance, and while Lord Abbott’s smile showed off perfect teeth, it somehow did not ever reach his eyes.

  Or perhaps it was the air of solitude and loneliness surrounding Lord Dorsey that intrigued her. Both were no doubt results of The Incident, but after today’s meeting, Amanda agreed with Aunt Lydia’s assessment of his innocence as she simply could not envision him as a killer. The fact that the gossip and rumors had clearly hurt Lord Dorsey, not to mention damaged his standing in the community, pulled on Amanda’s heartstrings in a way that they’d never been tugged upon before. While her London suitors all had dozens of friends and enjoyed great popularity, Lord Dorsey seemed very much alone in the world, which again yanked at her heart. She couldn’t imagine being so alone.