“Amanda,” she told him impetuously. “My name is Amanda.” She took a deep breath, and then another. Oh, goodness, if only her heart would stop beating so violently, if only she could catch her breath. Then perhaps she could think straight. What was she doing, telling him her name?
“Amanda,” he repeated, as if tasting it on his lips as he had her kiss. “It fits. Fair and pretty.”
“Hardly that,” she managed to say, trying very hard not to be delighted at the sound of it on his lips, at his praise.
“That and more, my sweet Amanda.”
Oh, this was worse than she’d imagined. Having Jemmy kiss her was one thing, but to have him holding her so and whispering endearments into her ear and asking her to stay—
Not when—
“I can’t,” she said, pushing at his chest.
“Can’t what? Stay?” He nestled her securely in place and then kissed her forehead. “I don’t know how or why, but you’ve brought the light back into my life. Never fear, I’ll take care of Her Dragonship and all this betrothal ball nonsense in the morning. And then we’ll find some way to—”
“No!” she told him, wrenching herself free. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I just can’t.” How foolish she sounded. But what else could she tell him? The truth?
“Is it me?” he asked. “I know I’ve been a little forward and all, but, demmit, I haven’t felt this way…well, ever.”
“No, it isn’t you.” She glanced heavenward. Never you.
“Then what is it?” he demanded. “Is there someone else?”
“No!” Amanda told him.
“Then why won’t you stay?” he asked, catching her before she realized what he was doing. He didn’t even hesitate, but caught her mouth in a passionate kiss. A hot, demanding kiss that sent her heart fluttering anew. By the time he tore his lips from hers, she was gasping for air. “Stay with me, Amanda. Brighton will always be there.”
“Yes, but I won’t be,” she whispered as she tore herself out of his arms and ran for the door.
“Stay with me, Amanda,” he beseeched. “Be my life, my heart.”
She paused at the doorway, clutching the latch and gulping back the sobs that tore at her heart, then confessed the secret she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.
“I can’t stay with you because I haven’t a life to give you. I can’t stay with you because I’m dying.”
Six
The next morning Jemmy was still berating himself for not immediately following Amanda into the house and demanding an explanation.
Amanda dying? The woman who had breathed life back into his existence about to lose her own? It was unfathomable.
And what had he done? Stood in the garden gaping after her like a floundering trout. And by the time he’d gained his senses he’d found the side door locked, as well as the front door.
Short of the impossible—climbing the trellis to her window—he’d had no choice but to wait until morning to discover what could be done for her.
“I won’t allow it,” he muttered as he stalked into Finch Manor the next morning, past the usually unflappable Addison.
“Allow what, sir?” the butler asked.
Jemmy ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing, Addison. Is everyone at breakfast?”
“Up and gone, I daresay,” the butler told him. “Your mother arose very early, and is now in the ballroom with Miss Smythe and the dancing master.”
Jemmy started for the stairwell.