Whispers at Midnight (10 page)

“But Aunt Elise left you quite a large sum
of money and a great deal of land.”

“That she did, but not being the thrifty
businessman my brother is, I find my pockets currently empty.” He
slid his hands into the pockets of breeches that could scarcely
have hidden a single coin, so tightly did they fit about his loins.
“Temporarily, to be sure.” A diabolical grin spread across his
face. He withdrew his hands and turned the palms up to show their
emptiness. “I have investments that are sure to show me a rich
return soon.” Ryne stood and began to move about the room with ease
and comfort, making it clear to Amanda he had spent many pleasant
hours of his boyhood in the cozy warmth of the kitchen. As he
talked, he readied two teacups for pouring and removed the cover
from the teapot. “But, alas, until then I am a homeless wastrel in
need of shelter.” He smiled, with a ready charm she felt certain
was affected. “What do you say? Is it Wicklow or am I to be turned
out to the stable?”

Eyeing him in amazement, Amanda lifted the
blue Wedgwood teapot and poured two steaming cups of tea. What
audacity he had. And could he possibly have squandered away in a
matter of months the fortune Aunt Elise had left him? Ryne twisted
in his chair to reach a small pitcher on a shelf behind him. He
turned back and, looking very sure of himself, poured cream into
one of the cups. He was about to pour cream into the other when
Amanda quickly picked up the teacup and lifted it for a sip of the
bitter brew. It galled her that he even presumed to know how she
took her tea.

“Wait,” he said, his eyes calculatingly on
her.

“I don’t take cream,” she snapped, wondering
what he was about to say as his lips moved to speak again. She took
a large swallow and suddenly, painfully, she knew as she pulled the
cup away from her scalded lips, spilling half its contents on the
surface of the table. Awkwardly she grabbed for the cloth and
pressed it to her stinging mouth.

“Hot?” Ryne asked, his head cocked to one
side, a gleam of amusement shining in his eyes.

“Of course it’s hot!” Amanda said sharply.
The marks of a frown creased her brow. She had sobered up quickly
enough. Feeling Ryne’s gaze upon her, she looked up to return a
hostile stare but saw that he had turned his eyes from her and was
sipping his tea with slow caution. “Ryne,” she said gruffly. He
looked as if he were struggling to contain his laughter. “I’m aware
you think I somehow tricked Aunt Elise into leaving me this house.
And while I don’t particularly care for your opinion of me, I
wouldn’t think of putting you out of Wicklow. It was, after all,
your home, and you are welcome to stay as long as necessary.”

His smile was one of concession. “Mother had
her consummate weaknesses and her peculiar reasons for whatever she
did,” he said in a light voice. “But nevertheless the house was
hers and not part of the inheritance. By the terms of Grandfather
Jubal’s will it could never pass into the estate of her husband. If
she wanted you to have it, I suppose that was her right, and I
should not question it.” He shrugged. “I do appreciate your at
least understanding my objections to what seems a rather strange
bequest.” He nodded and for once she could read nothing in his
eyes.

Amanda sat utterly silent for a moment. He
sounded almost as if he were retracting his earlier accusations.
But possibly only because it was to his advantage to do so. She
wouldn’t trust his change of heart too far.

She gave a faint sigh. “I do ask that you
promise to be a gentleman and not bring your women here.” She did
not add that if the women Cecil Baldwin had spoken about stayed at
Wicklow, he would be forced to behave himself.

“And will you promise to be a lady?”

“Do not jest,” she said, scowling, then
wincing and gently touching her fingers to her lips. So much talk
had brought the pain back to them.

“I assure you I will keep in the right
path,” he said very quietly. Ryne was smiling and regarding her
with a surprisingly tender look as he slowly rose to his feet and
took her by the hand. “Come here,” he said consolingly. “I know a
cure for burned lips.”

Thinking he meant to put some salve or
soothing ointment on them, she allowed him to pull her to her feet
and followed docilely as he led her to a spot nearer the
candle.

“Let’s see,” Ryne said softly, placing a
hand to either side of her head and tilting it back. Amanda closed
her eyes so that the light would not shine in them. Ryne leaned
closer. His touch was light, but as before, made little currents
run under her skin. “Not bad,” he whispered, lowering his moist
lips to hers in a kiss as light and gentle as the stroke of a
feather.

Amanda felt the burning leave her lips and
flood through her body like the burst of steam from the kettle.
Stunned, she stood like a statue for a moment, neither abetting nor
resisting his assault of soft kisses. But when her senses came
reeling back, she put her hands to his chest and pushed him roughly
away. Shock and anger had her gasping for breath.

“You are vile, Ryne!” she said, her face
twisted into a contemptuous sneer.

Ryne took a quick, sharp breath, then forced
a smile to his lips. “But it feels better does it not?”

Her eyes blazed with outrage. “Let us
understand each other, Ryne. I am not one of your doxies, to be
mauled or cajoled when the whim strikes you.” She flung her head up
defiantly. “If you are to stay at Wicklow, you’ll do well to
remember your promise.”

Undaunted, he laughed. “You’ll find, madam,
I can play the gentleman equally as well as my brother Gardner, of
whom you have so quickly become fond.”

Her voice snapped with indignation. “It
would do you no harm to mark his ways.”

His eyes glowed with evident enjoyment. “Oh,
but I do. A beautiful woman interests me just as she does my
brother.”

Amanda gave her head a curt tilt. “Your
brother’s interest falls into a somewhat different realm. He is
considerate, well-mannered, and charming.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

A glint of humor shone again in his eyes. “I
suppose he is capable of fanning a flame of interest during your
short stay at Wicklow. Tell me, Amanda, how long before you tire of
this backward place and sail back to the gay theater world of
London?”

She closed her eyes a moment against a
dizzying whir in her head. He seemed to draw his greatest pleasure
from goading her into a state of fury. When she opened her eyes
once more the fire in them crackled.

“Does everyone think I have traveled all the
way from London to look at a house and sell it? I have come to
Wicklow to stay. I’ll not be leaving.”

Her answer had been unexpected. He regarded
her quietly for a moment. “You’ll find life dull. We haven’t the
constant fervor and excitement a woman like you wants.”

“You have no inkling of what I want,
Ryne.”

“I know the sort of life your mother lived,
the notoriety of her friends, the rounds of parties. And sweet
Amanda always at her side. How long can you last without them?” He
reached out to touch her cheek, but she stepped back. He shrugged.
“You’re extraordinarily like her, you know,” he said softly. “More
beautiful, actually. I am surprised you never followed her on the
stage.”

“My mother and I wanted entirely different
things from life. She had what she wanted. Here I hope to find the
things I want.”

They were doing the dance again, like last
night in the bedroom. She taking a step and then he. It was
unnerving and she wished he’d just stand still or else some music
would start and he would whirl her around the floor. But of course
it was the wine making her think that, otherwise she would never
consider being in Ryne Sullivan’s arms again.

His face was markedly arresting, really, and
those eyes were blazing down into hers. She shook her head gently
to clear her thoughts.

“And what do you hope to find, Amanda?” he
whispered.

“Something far beyond your capacity to
understand.” She spat out the words venomously, then looked away,
lost for a moment in her own distant thoughts. A moment later she
added quietly, “A life that is simple and peaceful, a life that is
my own.” Her eyes sped back to him. “You see, Ryne, my financial
circumstances are little different from your own. I have only
Wicklow and the sum Aunt Elise left to maintain it.”

His raucous laughter shattered a quiet lull.
“How can someone accustomed to living at the height of London’s
society possibly exist on the pittance Mother left you?”

“My needs are simple,” she said tartly,
feeling the sting of his laughter. “We’ll keep the garden here and
get a flock of chickens if necessary.”

His laughter broke out anew. “A flock
indeed! I pray I am here long enough to see you casting grain to
the chickens. I expect, though, it will not take you long to have
precisely what you have come for.” He ground out the words as if to
better send them home. “After all, a beautiful ‘lady’ who has been
rehearsed in the ways of womanhood need not wait long to have
whatever her heart desires.”

“You are despicable, Ryne.” She fumed. What
ill fate had inflicted this devil on her? She would much prefer the
wicked spirit of Jubal Wicklow to this taunting Ryne Sullivan. She
threw her head back proudly. “You judge everyone by your own
debauchery.”

He laughed. “If you’ve set your hooks out
for my brother, you’ll no doubt get what you want. I am not alone
in appreciating a mare well-broken.” His leering gaze started a
maddening current racing through her. “Should you need my advice on
how to tighten your snare, I will be entirely willing to
assist.”

Amanda gasped and stormed to the door. “I am
going up to bed, and be assured I shall lock my door,” she said
hotly, certain Ryne could not know she had not yet gotten a key
from Gussie.

Ryne’s mocking eyes followed her hasty
retreat. “You are quite safe from me. I want nothing more yielding
in my bed this night than a pillow.”

With a great huff of breath Amanda dashed
through the doorway, stumbling most clumsily as she caught her foot
on the doorjamb.

“Take care, ‘dear lady’,” Ryne crooned from
behind her, and followed his gibe with a scornful laugh.

Amanda reached her room in remarkably short
time, given her state of mind and the condition of her head. How
could Aunt Elise have spawned two sons so different? She thought
how pleasant Gardner was. He knew how to treat a woman, to make her
feel appreciated and special. Somehow that knowledge had escaped
Ryne. He was by far the most impossible, infuriating blackguard of
a man she had been so unfortunate as to encounter.

Only out of respect for his mother could she
endure having him in the house. How, in good conscience, could she
force the man from the house that might by right have belonged to
him? And with his sour disposition, what chance did he have of
anyone else extending hospitality? She hoped with a bit of luck he
would have his own place ready for occupancy in a short time and
she would be rid of him. It was no wonder his own brother could not
tolerate him.

He was like too many other men she had known
in her short life. They saw nothing when they looked at her but a
replica of her mother’s famous face. Would Ryne have scoffed to
know that much of Sarah Fairfax’s reputation was invented? Her
mother had been a lonely woman who had never found a love to
replace the one she had lost so early in her career. George Fairfax
had died even before Amanda was born. To compensate for her loss,
Sarah had thrown all her emotions into her career. It was her own
sadness and everlasting sense of tragedy that had made her a great
actress. The parties, the easy smile, and the light laughter had
not been real. They had been Sarah’s way of hiding the pain that
never left her heart.

Amanda begrudged none of the years she spent
at her mother’s side, or, as some might say, in her shadow. Sarah
had loved her daughter and Amanda returned that love with all her
heart. But she had no desire to try to capture the ashes of her
mother’s career. She wanted what everyone seemed to find impossible
to believe, a simple life of her own. If Ryne and others in
Williamsburg could not accept what she sought, then let them keep
their peace and she would keep hers.

She didn’t know how she had expected Gardner
and Ryne to react to her, but if only they could both have been as
kind as Gardner it would have been far better for them all.

Amanda splashed cold water on her face and
blotted it dry with a towel. She had only a dull headache left to
remind her of the wine she had drunk. Actually the disagreement
with Ryne had caused her much more grief. But she wouldn’t think of
him anymore now. She’d sleep. That was what she needed more than
anything else.

She wandered to the dressing table and sat
at the mirror, pulling the pins from her thick hair and letting its
coiled length fall free. Thank goodness she had gotten her trunk
unpacked in the afternoon and had her own familiar things out
around the room. It made the place seem truly hers and nothing Ryne
had said could diminish the wonder of that.

Her tortoiseshell brush lay on the dressing
table with the toiletries she had brought from England. She took it
up absently and pulled it through her waist-length hair brushing
until the tangles were gone both from her mind and from the long
silky curtain floating over her back. There had always been a maid
to do the brushing and lay out her clothes, to turn down the covers
for her. But, surprisingly, it was remarkably nice, this learning
to do things for herself and not being fussed over by a staff of
servants. At last she stopped and put the brush aside, anxious to
get to bed and put an end to this long, eventful day. She would
forego braiding her hair tonight. It would take time and
concentration she simply could not spare when she needed so
desperately to sleep.