She stiffened. “I have had a great deal of happiness in my life. I have my family, my fiancé, my books. It is all one could ask for.”
It probably was enough for her, he thought, but for most women it wouldn’t be. “Why don’t you and Taylor come to the dance with us and make it a double date?”
“I hardly think so,” she said and couldn’t imagine Taylor dancing. She stood, gathered her notebook and pen and started toward the doorway. “I think I better go in.”
As quickly as a cat, he blocked her way. He was standing very close to her and he could smell the fragrance of her. Without thinking what he was doing, he reached out to touch the hair at her temple. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “Stay here with me.”
Amanda swallowed hard. He was looking at her the same way he had when he’d quoted that poem to her, the poem about loosening thighs. No man had ever looked at her this way or spoken to her this way. It was frightening, yet at the same time she couldn’t move away.
“How long is your hair?” he whispered.
“Long?” she asked stupidly. “To my waist. It is difficult to keep neat.”
“I’d like to see it not neat. I’d like to see it long and full and thick.”
Amanda was feeling quite strange. Perhaps it was the missed meal. Perhaps it was several missed meals over the last few weeks, but she did indeed feel light-headed and limp-limbed. “Dr. Montgomery, I don’t think…” she began but trailed off as she took a step backward and he stepped forward.
“What are your shoulders like, Amanda? As white and as smooth as the skin of your cheek?” He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Definitely strange, she thought, her eyes locked with his. His words were not right, she thought, and he shouldn’t say these things to her. Perhaps she should cry for help. But she only took another step backward and he took one forward.
“Those eyes of yours could eat a man alive,” he said, his voice pouring over her like something hot and thick and creamy. “And lips. Lips made to be kissed. Lips made to whisper love words. Lips made to kiss a man’s skin.”
Oh my, she thought, but no words came out. Oh my, oh my, oh my. She was afraid of him, and that’s why she didn’t scream or run from him. Only this emotion didn’t feel like fear, it felt…There was nothing to describe it or compare it to.
“Amanda,” he whispered and put his hands on her neck, his thumbs caressing the line of her jaw.
She had never been touched like this and it was as if she were starving. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and let herself feel his hands on her face.
Then, one minute he was there and the next he was gone. For a moment she stood there, all alone in the night, and wondered if she’d dreamed it all, but then she heard the door of the house shut noisily and she knew he’d gone inside.
Heavily, she sat down on the seat, her pad and pen, which she’d clasped to her the whole time, falling to her lap. Wrong, she thought. This was absolutely, completely wrong. It was wrong to have done and even more wrong to have felt.
She thought of Taylor and her chest tightened. He trusted her so much, he believed in her so much, yet she’d betrayed him as if she were a wanton creature with no morals. How could she ever be worthy of Taylor if she acted like this toward this stranger who was toying with her? Dr. Montgomery might seem like a man of high character, what with his degrees and all, but he wasn’t. He quoted vulgar poems and drove too fast and invited women he didn’t know to dances, then made improper advances to an engaged woman practically under her fiancé’s nose. This was not the behavior of a man of high moral character such as Taylor was. Taylor never drove too fast (or drove at all, for that matter). Taylor didn’t indulge in unseemly pastimes like dancing, and Taylor would never, never drive out in the middle of the night and meet someone like Reva Eiler. And he didn’t make improper advances, not even to the woman he was to marry. Taylor didn’t tell a woman her lips were made to be kissed, or to whisper love words or to kiss a man’s skin.
Kiss a man’s skin, she thought. To kiss his bare shoulder or his throat or even the palm of his hand or his—No! she told herself, put those thoughts from your mind. Or at least, when she thought them, she was to imagine kissing Taylor’s bare shoulder and not Dr. Montgomery’s as she was doing. But for the life of her she couldn’t even imagine Taylor in his shirt sleeves, much less bare-chested.
As she started back toward the house, she knew she had never been so confused in her life, and once again she wished Dr. Montgomery had never come. From now on she was going to do her best to stay away from him.
Hank didn’t sleep much that night. He didn’t know if it was guilt or just plain old-fashioned lust that kept him awake. Why did he always seem to want the women he shouldn’t have? He hadn’t been the least interested in Blythe Woodley while she was his student, but the minute she was engaged to another man, he couldn’t keep his hands off of her.
Now here was Amanda, not at all the sort of woman to inspire great passion, yet he couldn’t keep away from her. She was pretty but there were lots of women prettier. She was too thin, too perfectly proper, too much of a little old maid. So why was she driving him stark, raving crazy?
He got out of bed, and before he could change his mind he packed his clothes. Tomorrow he would leave the Caulden house and go into Kingman to stay. That would be better anyway, because the unionists would be able to reach him there. He’d stay at the Kingman Arms and every night he’d go out with a different woman, a warm, real, flesh and blood woman, one who ate pork chops and drank beer and didn’t believe dancing was a mortal sin. He’d find a woman he could talk to.
It was three A.M. before he fell asleep.
“Amanda,” Taylor said sternly. They were in the dining room, waiting for Dr. Montgomery to join them for breakfast. “Mrs. Gunston says his bag is packed, that he means to leave today.”
Amanda swallowed guiltily. It was her fault that Dr. Montgomery was leaving.
“Perhaps you don’t understand what this means. This Dr. Montgomery is practically a socialist. All his writings indicate that he believes in giving everything to the poor people. He wants to take away your house, your pretty clothes. Amanda, he wants you to work in the fields, to be a servant. Would you like that, Amanda?”
She remembered the meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes the servants had been eating in the kitchen, but she pushed that vision away. “No, I wouldn’t,” she said solemnly.
“It may happen if Dr. Montgomery has his way. When these union men come, they will go to him and he will side with them and he will incite them to strike.”
Amanda looked down at her hands. And if that happens, it will be my fault, she thought heavily, but she couldn’t figure out what to do. On