Amanda Rose (17 page)

His teeth gleamed in the darkness.

“Are you, now? All right, then, my curious cat, I’ll satisfy your curiosity: I was in London to see a gentleman about a contract for shipping molasses. I was alone. When it became obvious that it was going to take more time than I had expected to come to terms, I sent my ship on to Lisbon to deliver its cargo under the captainship of my first mate, who’s a very capable seaman himself. His instructions were to head for Morocco after he had delivered the cargo to Lisbon and pick up a load of silks at Rabat, which he was to take back to New Orleans. I planned to sail on one of my ships or to book commercial passage home. In either case, I should have arrived about a month ago. I imagine that Zeke was intending to make a detour by London to see what was detaining me when he finished his business in Le Havre.” He paused, frowning. “Considering the isolation in which I was held and the brevity of my trial, I could easily have been hanged before any of my people found out what had become of me.”

Amanda’s brow wrinkled. “But why did they think
you
were the murderer?”

Matt smiled mirthlessly. “Ah, there’s the rub. I was drinking with my prospective customer in a London inn near the docks when I pulled from my pocket a timepiece I had recently purchased. His eyes bulged as he watched me open it, and he excused himself and left the bar rather hastily. I assumed he had had too much to drink and thought no more about it. I was sitting there, finishing my drink, the only thoughts in my head concerning whether or not I would get the shipping contract, which was a rather large one, when a dragoon of soldiers burst in. They asked me if I was myself. I said yes. They searched me, removing my watch for ‘evidence,’ they said, and hustled me away with them.

“The next day, I was charged with murdering Lord Farringdon and his family. I had heard of the crime, of course. Who hadn’t? But I had never, to my knowledge, set eyes on the fellow. Certainly I had no motive for murdering him. But that watch was one he was known to have possessed, and it was believed that he had had it in his pocket the night he was murdered. Not that mere possession of the watch was enough to convict me. Oh, no, after they found that, they searched the rooms where I had been staying and found another item I had purchased at the same time and in the same place: a jeweled dagger, a pretty toy, I thought. What I had no way of knowing at the time I bought it was that it had been used, most recently, to slit the throats of Lord Farringdon and his wife and children.”

Amanda made an inarticulate sound of horror.

“My reaction exactly. Well, to continue, I told them I had purchased the items from a young girl who had offered to sell them to me so she could buy milk for her child. She had the babe with her, and it cried the whole time and looked extremely undernourished. Like a fool, I had felt sorry for her and so paid her a good price for the watch and knife. The soldiers were unable to find a trace of her, although I was assured they had tried. Then came the decisive factor: aside from being in possession of a personal item belonging to the victim, as well as the murder weapon itself, I didn’t have a shred of an alibi for the night in question. I was in bed asleep. Alone. The officers in charge of the investigation seemed to find that almost impossible to believe. I pointed out to them that if I had really committed the murder, I would have taken good care to arrange an alibi. They were not impressed. Within three months of being arrested, I was tried, found guilty, and brought to the very brink of the gallows before fate intervened. And I may hang yet. I have no doubt that they’ll string me up without ceremony if ever they get their hands on me again.”

Amanda was silent for some time after he had finished.

“What will you do? Now, I mean.” Her voice was troubled.

“Go home, first of all. They’ll manage to trace me there eventually, but I think they’ll find that arresting me in New Orleans, where I’m well known, is a very different kettle of fish from arresting me in London. And in the meantime I plan to send someone over here to try to find that blasted girl. Without her my story falls apart.”

“What if whomever you send doesn’t find her?”

“Then I’ll take good care never to come to England again. Which would be no great hardship. I haven’t found your country to be particularly hospitable. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

He was staring at the opposite wall, his expression brooding. Amanda impulsively reached out to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, his face once again shadowed so that she could not see his expression. Then he lifted a hand to cover hers, pressing it to his shoulder for a moment before lifting it carefully and carrying it with infinite tenderness to his mouth. Amanda felt her breath catch in her throat as he placed a deliberate kiss on the very tip of each of her slender fingers. When at last he turned her hand over to press his mouth to her palm, heat seemed to radiate from the spot. Amanda was conscious of a sudden wild desire to leave the shelter of the bed and join him, to wrap her arms around him and soothe his hurts with soft words and softer kisses. But she knew he would only push her away …

“Is your curiosity satisfied now, my cat-eyed angel?” He pressed a last brief kiss on her knuckles before returning her hand to her, tucking it gently beneath the blanket as though to put it safely out of harm’s way. Amanda caught her breath in a deep, shuddering sigh and cradled the hand against her breasts.

“Yes. Thank you.” The words were indistinct. She hardly knew what she was saying.

“Then I suggest you try to get some sleep. I’m relying on you to keep the wolves at bay tomorrow. I really don’t relish having to spend the day under the bed.” A brief smile glimmered.

“I don’t think you’ll have to.” Her voice was soft, dreamy.

“Good. Go to sleep, Amanda.”

“Yes, all right. Good night, Matt.”

His reply was little more than a grunt. Amanda obediently shut her eyes, hugging the feel of his mouth on her hand to her. Just thinking of his mouth inevitably brought to mind the occasions when he had kissed her. Twice now … She shivered at the memory.

“Matt.” Her eyes opened to find him. He hadn’t moved.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I slapped you.”

He turned to look at her. His teeth shone white in a slow smile.

“Think nothing of it. Go to sleep, Amanda.”

“You keep saying that.” The words were plaintive.

“Because I mean it. Go to sleep.”

“Oh, all right.” Crossly she turned so that she was facing away from him and closed her eyes. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of looking at him so that she could be sure. But she would
never
go to sleep …

His hand gently shaking her shoulder woke her. When she felt that unmistakably masculine touch, her eyes flew open and she rolled onto her back with a startled gasp. Just for a moment she could not imagine who on earth … Then she looked up into silver-gray eyes and a lean, handsome face roughened by a day’s growth of beard, and she smiled. The silvery eyes darkened to the color of gun metal as they observed her flushed with sleep, her unbound hair tousled and vivid against the virginal night rail and equally virginal sheets. She had kicked the covers off during the night; the hem of her night rail had ridden up around her thighs, baring legs that were slender and shapely and the color of warm cream amid that cocoon of white … Amanda followed the direction of his glance and flushed as she realized how much of herself was unveiled for him. But her movements were almost languid as she pushed the offending garment down. It startled her to realize that she liked having him look at her. It was Matt who moodily turned away.

“You’d better get up.” His voice was harsh, and Amanda could see him clenching and unclenching his fists. “A bell rang a few minutes ago.”

Reminded now of their situation, Amanda sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. After one hard glance at her Matt turned his back and moved to the window, where he stood looking out at the sky and the sea.

“I have to get dressed.” As the last remnants of sleep fled, her sense of propriety returned—and with it came consternation. She could not simply remove her night rail and get dressed as he stood not five feet away. But what else
could
she do? He couldn’t leave—and she couldn’t remain in her night clothes all day.

He must have sensed her dilemma. “Don’t worry, I won’t look,” he said wryly. Looking uncertainly at him as he stood with his back to her, his broad shoulders nearly blocking the window, she realized that regardless of his pedigree or lack of one, he was a gentleman to his fingertips. At least where she was concerned. In fact, she thought, sometimes she wished he had just a shade less chivalry. But this definitely wasn’t one of those times.

He was as good as his word. While she hastily removed her nightdress and washed, a wary eye fixed on his tall form, he continued to look pensively out the window. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said that he had forgotten her presence in the room. She dressed as quickly as she could, putting on a fresh chemise and stepping into pantalettes, knotting the tapes of her petticoat with fingers that were made slightly clumsy by Matt’s silent presence, then slipping into one of her plain gray dresses. Fashion decreed the addition of at least two more petticoats as well as stays, she knew, to say nothing of a very different style of dress, but the sisters had nothing but contempt for fashion and their pupils willy-nilly followed their lead. But Amanda was suddenly assailed by a vision of herself in a dazzling white ball gown with skirts so wide that she had to pass through a door sideways, and short, puffed sleeves and a neck cut down to
there
…

It would be satisfying to watch Matt’s reaction if he could see her dressed so beguilingly. She had an image of him on his knees at her feet, his arrogant black head bowed as he begged humbly for the favor of a dance. She chuckled at the absurdity of the notion. The convent was far more likely to fall into the sea.
And
she didn’t know how to dance.

“You can turn around now. I’m almost finished,” Amanda said, standing on one shod foot as she slid the other into a flat black slipper. Matt turned obediently, one eyebrow rising as he surveyed her.

“Don’t you have anything besides gray dresses?” he asked impatiently. Amanda looked at him in some surprise. He sounded testy, and she wondered what she had done to cause his ill-humor. She was ready to swear that he had been perfectly even tempered when he awakened her.

“A black one, for Sunday best,” she answered flippantly. He frowned at her, studying the unfashionable gray dress with such a sour expression that Amanda raised her eyebrows at him. His mouth tightened as he observed her expression. “Your brother treats you shamefully. He isn’t short of cash, I take it?” Amanda shook her head. “He should be shot.” Matt thrust his hands into his pockets as he spoke. Through the rough material of his trousers Amanda saw his hands ball into fists. Puzzled, she considered questioning his odd behavior, but then thought better of it. There was no time for a discussion if she was to make it downstairs before matins; besides, she was often cross herself for no apparent reason. Wasn’t he allowed the same privilege? Perhaps he was simply one of those people who never spoke a civil word before noon. That was possible. After all, she had never seen him in the morning before.

“I suggest that you quit staring at me as if you’re afraid I might explode at any moment, and do something about your hair. You can’t go downstairs like that.”

The tone was still disgruntled, but the advice was so eminently practical that Amanda did as he suggested. As she stood in front of the small mirror struggling with the heavy, wayward mass, she was conscious of his eyes watching her intently. Putting her hair up was more difficult than usual this morning; because she had slept with it unconfined the night before, it was a mass of tangles and rat tails. Finally, dragging the weight of it over one shoulder, she began to rake her brush through it so hard that tears came to her eyes.

“Here, let me help you.” She had been concentrating so on her blasted hair that she wasn’t aware that he had moved until he stood directly behind her. Even as he spoke, he removed the brush from her hand and swept the mass of hair over her shoulder so that it waved and spiraled down her back. With infinite gentleness, he began to work his fingers through the thick strands, separating knots and tangles before at last smoothing the whole with her brush. Amanda stood very still as he ministered to her, loving the feel of his hands in her hair but afraid to give him the slightest inkling of how she felt. If he guessed what the mere touch of his fingers against her hair did to her, she knew that he would immediately abandon his task and put the width of the room between them. Still, there was nothing to stop her from watching him in the mirror …

He looked so tall and dark standing behind her, his expression intent as he worked on her hair. Positioned in front of him, her bright head barely reaching his shoulder, she admired the breadth of his shoulders, the rippling muscles of his arms, the strong brown neck and hint of silky chest hair revealed by the open collar of his shirt. He was so big that he would easily make two of her, she thought, big enough to break her like kindling between his two hands if he wished. But for all his size and enormous strength, he had been nothing but gentle with her … A stray beam of sunlight sneaked through the window to touch the glossy blackness of his hair. The few silver strands shimmered in the sunlight, almost matching the color of his eyes, which she knew by heart now, although his lashes were at present veiling them from her gaze. The lean strength of his jaw and slightly cleft chin were faintly blurred by black stubble that was not yet long enough to obscure the chiseled masculine beauty of his mouth … She was staring at that mouth when he glanced up to catch her eyes on him in the mirror.

His jaw clenched. Amanda watched, fascinated, as a tiny muscle began to twitch at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened as they met hers. He stared at her silently for an instant before those smoldering eyes shifted to rest almost unwillingly on her mouth. Amanda felt the touch of his eyes like a physical caress. Her lips parted involuntarily, and her breathing quickened. More than anything in the world she longed to turn and slide her arms around his neck …