Forever Amber полностью

“I’m Mrs. St. Clare and I came from Essex. What else d’you want to know?”

“What are you doing on the stage? You don’t look as though you belong there.”

“Oh, don’t I? I’ve been told different.”

“That isn’t what I mean. You look like a person of quality.”

“Oh. Well—” She gave him a sidelong glance as he began to pour the champagne. “To tell you truly, I am.”

She took the glass as he handed it to her, leaned back in her chair and began to spin for him the story upon which she had been embroidering almost since she had first come to London, improving upon it whenever she got a new idea. “My family’s old and honourable and they had a good estate in Essex—but they sold everything to help his Majesty in the Wars. So, when an old ugly earl wanted to marry me my father was going to insist, to help repair his loss. I wouldn’t have the stinking old goat—my father said I should have him, and he locked me into the house. I broke out and came to London—Of course I changed my name—I’m not really Mrs. St. Clare.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass, pleased to see that he apparently believed her.

He got up then, moved their chairs closer to the dying fire, and they sat down side by side. Amber lifted her legs, bracing her feet on one side of the narrow fireplace so that her skirts fell back above her knees and showed her legs in black silk stockings and lacy garters. He reached over to take her hand in his and they sat for several moments, perfectly still and silent, but with the tension mounting between them.

What shall I do? she was thinking. If I do, he’ll take me for a harlot—and if I don’t, maybe he won’t ever come back again.

At last she turned to face him and found his eyes on her, intense and serious, glowing with desire. One arm reached out and went around her waist, drawing her slowly toward him, and she slid over onto his lap. For a moment she hesitated, and then her face bent to his and she felt the pressure of his mouth, moist and warm and eager; his hand moved over her breasts, and she could feel the heavy beating of his heart against her own. Her blood began to rush, filling her with warmth and quick passion—she felt herself sliding toward surrender and had no inclination to stop.

But as he would have knelt before her she jumped up suddenly and left him, crossing the room to stand before the black windows, her head buried in her hands. Instantly he was behind her, his fingers taking hold of her shoulders, pressing her back against him. His voice whispered to her, pleading, and as his lips touched the back of her neck a thrill ran along her spine.

“Please, darling—don’t be angry. I’m in love with you, I swear I am. I want you, I’ve got to have you!” His fingers cut into her shoulders and his voice in her ear was hoarse with intensity. “Please—Amber, please! I won’t hurt you—I won’t let anything happen—Come here—” He swung her around to face him.

Amber wrenched herself free; her own eyes were a little wild and her face was flushed. “You’ve got the wrong opinion of me, Captain Morgan! I may be on the stage, but I’m no whore! My poor father would die of shame if his daughter gave herself up to a sinful life! Now let me go—” She brushed past him, starting to get her cloak, and when he turned swiftly, catching her arm, his jaw set and hard, she cried warningly, “Have a care, sir! I’m not one of your willing rapes, either!”

She jerked away and getting her cloak, flung it on, took up her muff and went to the door. “Good-night, Captain Morgan! If you’d told me why you brought me here I could’ve saved you the cost of a supper!” She looked at him haughtily, but the cold angry expression on his face alarmed her.

Now! she thought. If he doesn’t really like me I’ve spoiled everything.

One eyebrow went up as he stared at her and his mouth twisted slightly, but as she took hold of the knob he crossed over and stopped her. “Don’t go away like this, Mrs. St. Clare. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I’d heard—Well, never mind. But you’re a damned desirable woman. A man must be gelt if he wouldn’t want you—and to tell the truth, I’m not.” He grinned down at her. “Let me see you home.”

After that she saw him often, but not at the theatre, for she was not sure of him yet and did not care to give Beck the opportunity of jeering at her. Beck, meanwhile, continued to boast and brag of his attentions to her, showed Amber his gifts, and gave her the intimate details of his visits. Amber was receiving some gifts, too: A pair of exquisite black-lace stockings from France, garters with little diamond buckles, a muff made of wide bands of gold brocade hooped at either end with black fox—but she was very mysterious about the giver.