Amanda Rose (29 page)

“She’s a pretty little thing, but I wouldn’t have said she was quite your style. Too young, for one thing.” Zeke made this observation in a dispassionate voice, staring out at the dark waves that were growing ever taller. Matt leaned against the wheel casing, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding his brother with brooding eyes.

“She’s almost eighteen,” he said. No need to tell Zeke that Amanda was something different, special—or had been until she had betrayed him.

Zeke raised his brows and risked an inquiring look at his brother. “Want to talk about it?” he asked softly. Matt shook his head.

“No.”

“All right.” Zeke knew when to let a subject drop. For a while both brothers were silent, intent on the sea and sky and their own thoughts. Then Zeke spoke again.

“I sent Van Horn on to London to see if he can resolve your difficulties. I thought he would be best.”

“Yes.” At the moment Matt was not interested in whether Van Horn would be able to find the vital witness who would enable him to have his murder conviction reversed. The image that kept returning to his mind was Amanda, naked and lovely beneath him, Amanda frightened at first and then responding until he had once again lost control and let himself be carried away too fast for her, Amanda smiling at him, crying, trembling in his arms …

“Are you asleep?” Zeke’s half-humorous, half-exasperated voice finally penetrated Matt’s absorbed consciousness. “I asked you if you wanted to take the wheel.”

For a moment Matt hesitated. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to return to his cabin and Amanda, to join her in his bunk and make love to her until she discovered the ecstasy whose memory was even now heating his loins. But, he told himself, if he went below now, it would be an admission, an admission that, no matter what she had done to him, he could not resist her …

“I’ll take it.” He made up his mind in that instant.

“I’ll get some sleep,” Zeke said, a note of humor in his voice. “I’ll bunk with Kidd.”

Matt grunted in reply as Zeke left. Matt stood at the wheel, his hands absently enjoying the feel of the smooth wood, his feet braced against the rise and fall of the deck and his face lifted to the wind. It was good to be free again, to have a deck beneath his feet and know that tomorrow was a better than fair possibility. It was good to look up at the velvety black sky and at the endless expanse of sea …

Amanda. He could not get her out of his mind. She haunted him like an earthbound ghost. He didn’t have to close his eyes to see her as if she stood before him, her glorious hair blowing in the wind, her lovely face, with its exquisite bones pink and glowing. He thought of her eyes, which changed from amethyst to smoky violet to purple according to her mood, and remembered that her eyes had been as purple as pansies when he had made love to her. From fear at first, then from passion … As he had thought, she was marvelous in bed. She excited him as no other woman had ever succeeded in doing. It seemed that he was always losing control when she was around, both of his temper and of his passion, and his control and ability to pleasure a woman were two things on which he had prided himself. It galled him to admit that a schoolgirl could reduce him to the endurance level of a white-hot boy with his first woman, but it was true. Just the thought of that slender, perfect shape, of those pale breasts like small melons with their strawberry tips, of the narrow waist and curving hips, the long, luscious legs and the dark triangle of hair between them was enough to make him tug uncomfortably at his crotch. She excited him, even now, when she was as untutored as a baby. What would she do to him when he had taught her a little more of what it was all about?

The knowledge of her betrayal sat like a stone in his stomach. He thought he knew why she had done it; it had happened in a fit of temper, because of the way he had taken her and his anger afterward. At least, he hoped that was how it was. He could understand, if not forgive, a sudden burst of anger. He had, he supposed, behaved badly that night. But his emotions had been as raw and confused as hers. He had wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life; not just her body but Amanda herself. And she’d said that she loved him. He hadn’t acknowledged the admission in any way, but it had wormed its way into his heart and lodged there, warming him. At the time she had said it, he had been too caught up in the needs of his body to give the words the attention they deserved; later, afterward, when he had pulled them out to examine them, she had been cold and angry with him, refusing to repeat them or give him any hint that she had meant them. It had hurt damnably, if he was honest, and the hurt had made him angry, too. So he had stalked out and she had gotten even. By turning him over to the authorities, to be hanged, as she must have thought.

Throughout that long swim, he had promised himself he would make her pay for what she had done to him. Tonight, when Zeke had dumped her on the floor at his feet, he had felt a cold, hard anger and a colder satisfaction. He had meant to rape her, to punish her for what she had done to him in the oldest, most primitive way known to man. But when it came to the point, when he had felt her soft, silky body stiff with fear beneath his, heard her voice breathing his name, husky with pleading, seen the fright in the huge purple eyes, he had not been able to. He had realized, with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, that he would sooner cut off his arm than harm a hair of her head.

He had realized something else, too: he loved her.

And the thought terrified him.

chapter seventeen

The promised storm broke before morning. Amanda was jolted rudely awake by the violent pitching of the ship, which tossed her from the bunk to land with a hard thump on the floor. She lay blinking for a moment, trying to catch her breath, then scrambled to her feet. Were they sinking? From the steep tilt of the floor beneath her and the rolling motion of the ship, it seemed quite possible. Amanda shivered as the ship dipped again, then rose up on end like a rearing horse. She had to find out what was happening. Scrambling to her feet, she started for the door, only to remember her nakedness. That was easily remedied, she thought, turning back. Then, seeing the tattered remnants of her lovely yellow gown on the floor where Matt had thrown it, her eyes widened in dismay. She had literally nothing to wear. And not for any consideration would she appear on deck, in front of all those men, clad only in her underclothes.

As the ship pitched again, Amanda staggered, grabbing the table, which had been bolted to the floor for just such an eventuality. Clinging to it for dear life while her feet slid wildly on the slippery wood, she noticed the sea chest from which Matt had extracted the towel and soap last night. More than likely he kept clothing in there, too.

Taking a deep breath, timing her action so that it coincided with a downward plunge of the ship, Amanda let go of the table to dart across the floor. No sooner had she reached the sea chest than the ship was tilting the other way. Amanda grabbed the sea chest for support, finding, to her dismay, that it was not bolted down or secured. Clutching it, she began to slither helplessly across the floor. The sea chest slithered with her and they landed with a thump against a table leg. Amanda hooked one arm around that blessedly stable post and managed to wedge herself against the table so that she was relatively secure. She took several deep breaths to steady herself again, then turned her attention to opening the trunk. If the ship were sinking—and it seemed as if it might well be—the sooner she was decently covered, the sooner she could leave the cabin. Though what she would do once she was on deck she didn’t know.

As she had guessed, the trunk contained several articles of clothing. Matt’s shirt was huge on her, she realized with a grimace as she pulled on one of fine white linen. Its tails hung way past her knees, and the cuffs dangled ludicrously past her wrists, but at the moment all she cared about was that she be adequately covered. She rolled up the sleeves and rooted through the chest for something to cover her lower half. She found a pair of charcoal-gray knee breeches; but, though the length was reasonable, the waist could wrap around hers twice, she realized as she slid into them. There was neither belt nor any type of rope in the chest, so she gathered up the excess material at her waist and tied it into a clumsy knot.

“I hope that holds,” she thought, looking down at the bunched cloth rather doubtfully. Then, with a shrug, she dismissed the problem. Now all she had to concentrate on was reaching the door. That was no small feat, but eventually she managed.

Once she was on deck, she braced herself against the wall of the captain’s cabin, clinging to a hook just above her head. Her eyes were huge as she stared around her. The deck was awash with water. Towering gray waves rose on all sides like mountains; some the ship rode, which accounted for all that bucking and pitching, and some broke over her bow, sending icy water cascading over the deck. Men were everywhere, running across the slanting deck, wrestling with ropes and sails, climbing in the rigging. They paid her no mind, in fact did not appear to see her. Amanda looked up at the lowering sky, listened to the ominous howling of the wind and the sharp crack and pop of the rigging, and understood perfectly. They were battling for the ship’s life; they had no thought to spare for her.

Where was Matt? Try as she would, she could not make out his form among the bustling figures. He had not returned to the cabin last night, and it occurred to her that he might be avoiding her. But surely, when they were faced with such danger, he would put aside such petty considerations as pride and anger?

He would be on the quarterdeck, of course. After all, it was his ship. He would surely be at the helm. She had to get to him. Despite everything, he represented security to her. He would take care of her, she knew, if anyone could.

Negotiating the steep, narrow stairs from the main deck to the quarterdeck was a nightmare. Twice she thought she would be thrown back down on the hard boards below as the ship rolled wildly. Once, she nearly lost her grip on the handrail as a deluge of icy water washed over her. When at last she arrived, clinging to the railing that ran all around the quarterdeck as if it were a lifeline, she was soaking wet and shaking from fear and the cold. And still she couldn’t see Matt.

Zeke was at the helm, barely recognizable in an oilcloth coat. Three other sailors were working feverishly, trying to free a large sail that had broken away from its lines and was now hopelessly tangled in the rigging. Another sailor stood near Zeke, holding tightly to a spar with one hand while he fought to take a compass reading.

Zeke would know where Matt was. He might not think very highly of her, but from what Matt had told her of him, she felt she could trust him. If Matt hadn’t prejudiced him against her, as it had been obvious he had from the very beginning, they might have become friends.

Taking a deep breath, she waited until the ship was on a downward roll, then let go of the railing. The motion of the ship propelled her toward where Zeke stood at the wheel. She crashed into the shoulder-tall wooden shelter built around the wheel and hung on for dear life as the ship rolled the other way.

“What do you want?” If Zeke was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. He scowled at her, shouting to be heard above the wind. His brown hair was darkened with water, plastered to his skull. The hazel eyes were cold with dislike as he looked at her.

“Where is Matt?” She had to scream the question. Zeke heard her—she could tell by the way his mouth tightened—but for a long moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he shrugged and made a curt upward gesture with his thumb.

For a moment Amanda thought that this was some piece of sailor’s crudity. Her cheeks colored angrily, though her eyes instinctively followed the direction his thumb had indicated. And froze, widening with horror.

Matt was high in the rigging, clinging to a spar with both legs and one hand as his knife worked to cut loose the crippled sail. He was dressed only in a shirt and pantaloons. His black head was bare and wet, gleaming like a seal’s, and his feet were bare, too. The distance between them precluded Amanda from seeing his expression, but as she watched him she could have sworn she saw a flash of white teeth in that dark face. She stared, swallowing. She hadn’t been mistaken: the lunatic was actually grinning.

“Dear God,” she breathed. Zeke looked at her curiously, but her eyes were riveted on Matt and she was barely conscious of him.

“You’d better go below,” Zeke instructed curtly, the shout all but lost in the wind. Amanda ignored him. She wouldn’t leave until Matt was safely back on deck. If he fell from that height … She couldn’t bear to think about that.

Just then Matt whooped, and as Amanda watched, the tangled sail fluttered toward the deck like a dying swan. He had succeeded in cutting it free. The three sailors below were catching it, gathering it up, while Matt put the knife between his teeth and started to lower himself to the deck. And then it happened.

A wave, larger than the others, caught them unaware, bathing them in a violent deluge of icy seawater. At the same time the ship stood almost on her bow, then plunged into the trough left by the huge waves. Amanda clutched at the wheel casing to keep her balance, felt Zeke’s hand close over her arm like a vise as he tried to hold her in place, and thought for a moment that she might be swept over the side. Then Zeke, looking up, let out a hoarse shout. Amanda looked up, too, to see Matt falling, hurtling through the rigging toward the deck far below.

For the first time in her life, she fainted.

When she regained consciousness, she felt as if a horrible, crushing weight had settled on her chest. Matt had fallen. If by some miracle he was not dead, he must be grievously injured. Zeke was kneeling beside her, leaning over her as she slowly opened her eyes. With the small part of her mind that was still functioning rationally, Amanda noted that the man who had been using the compass had taken the helm.

“Matt …” she groaned, struggling to sit up, looking for and yet not wanting to see his broken body. Why was Zeke not with him?