His heart did a curious little spin in his chest and he almost shook his head to deny it. He had spent half his life avoiding the drowning sensation he was feeling as he lowered his mouth to hers. But it was there and as he heard the soft little cry and felt her lips part willingly to his, he could not stop himself from sighing as he lowered himself down into her arms.
He pushed his hands into her hair, freeing it from the scrap of ribbon, spreading it beneath them like a golden fan. His tongue filled her mouth, inviting and winning soft shivers and breathy, soundless gasps in response. His hands urged her up and into a gentle roll so that when he lay back, she was above him and the bindings and fastenings of her frock were easy prey to his searching fingers.
His body was far too impatient to wait for his hands to complete their task, and with a husky groan, he swept the abundance of petticoats and muslin above her waist and searched out the slitted center of her drawers, cursing the encumbrance of his own clothes when he felt how sleek and pearly-wet she was.
His trousers were strained almost to the point of bursting, and it was all he could do to loosen the buttons at his waist and spring himself free of the confining cloth. He grasped Amanda by the hips and brought her heat sliding down over him, arching his hips at the same time, hearing her shattered cry, hearing his own hoarse rattle of pleasure growl in his throat.
After his first pentrating thrust, he held her hips firm, forcing her to remain perfectly still, lest he spill himself like an adolescent schoolboy. Above him, her lips were slack and her eyes were wide as she absorbed the shock of feeling him so hard and deep inside her. Her arms were stretched straight out, her hands splayed and braced on his chest, and as his grip on her hips eased, a soft cry broke from her lips.
“God doesn't share this bed,” he growled. “You’ll have to start calling me Michael if you want to get my attention.”
She shook her head, sending more loosened curls tumbling around her shoulders. Her teeth clenched through a series of short, arrested breaths and she stared down at where they were joined, unable to see anything through the crush of muslin and petticoats, still too shaken to do more than keep her thighs clamped tightly to his.
“I didn’t think it was so terrible a name, or so difficult to say.” He shifted his hands higher on her waist and started to guide her back and forth over the rocking motion of his hips.
Amanda groaned and arched with the pleasure each time his hands pulled her forward, pressed her back. Her hair engulfed them both in a shining waterfall of sun-bright gold, and as he felt her trying to push against the restraint of his hands, he stopped her again and waited for her eyes to open.
“Michael. Say it, dammit, or—”
“Michael,” she whispered through a shiver. “Michael, Michael … Michael!”
He surged up inside her, his hips rising off the bed, his hands holding her tight again, not to restrict her movements but to help her keep her balance as the orgasm set her twisting and writhing and shuddering over his flesh.
“Stubborn,” he murmured after a while. “You’re very stubborn, you know.”
She groaned and buried her head in the crook of his neck. His shirt had been pushed off his shoulder and she found bare, hard-surfaced flesh beneath her lips, warm and lightly dampened from his exertions.
“I’ll take that to be a ‘yes, Michael,’” he said with a soft chuckle. “And it’s not a crime, you know, to enjoy what we’ve just done. Married couples have been known to lock themselves away for hours, days ... sometimes weeks in order to fully explore the potential of their newfound freedom.”
“Freedom?” she asked, denouncing the word for its obvious contradictions. “In marriage?”
“You aren’t a prisoner here, Mandy,” he said quietly. “Nor are you bonded or indentured. You aren’t even obligated to share my bed if you find the idea absolutely abhorrent to you.”
She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked down at him through the disheveled cloud of her hair. “That wasn’t the impression you gave me last night.”
“Last night … was different,” he murmured, his own eyes slipping to where her bodice gaped open and her breasts had spilled out, round and full and delectably flushed. "I was calling your bluff."
“And just now?”
"Raising the ante." He grinned with the careless aplomb of a pirate and sent his hands pillaging beneath the parted edges of her bodice. His palms cupped her breasts and his thumbs brushed across her nipples, chasing a shower of fiery bright sparks into her belly. She was conscious of his heat stirring inside her and aware of her own body tightening around him, and she sighed again as he coaxed a nipple forward into the suckling warmth of his mouth.
“You are impossible, you know,” she protested softly. “And you don’t play fair.”
“Not when the stakes are this high, no. I don’t.”
“It’s all happened so fast. My family, my friends ... they won't understand. They'll think—"
He pushed the tousle of hair back from her face so he could hold it and keep her eyes locked firmly to his. “They will think you succumbed to the charms of a dashing, handsome rogue and married him to preserve your reputation. Only you and I need to know anything different.”
“But Wainright,” she whispered. “He knows different.”
“You leave Wainright to me. He will never touch you or your family ever again.” His thumb brushed tenderly along her cheek and down the smooth curve of her jaw. “Do you believe me? Do you feel safe?”
“Right here? Right now?” Her voice was so hushed it was barely a sound at all. “Yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters,” he said, and drew her mouth back down to his.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A carriage was coming up the rutted driveway to Rosalie, the wheels spinning a faint cloud of dust in its wake.
“Doan know whose it is,” Mercy declared, standing and shielding her eyes against the sunlight. “But it sho’ is some fancy rig, Miz Sarah.”
Sarah Courtland walked to the lip of the veranda and reached down instinctively to reassure the small grasping hands that instantly clutched at her leg.
“There, there now, Verity, dear,” she said matter-of-factly, “It’s far too bright a day for bogeymen to be out and about. And the carriage is indeed too fine for—” She stopped and gasped, recognizing at once the face of the passenger who leaned her head out the side and waved. It was Amanda. Or at least it looked like Amanda, all fancied up in a new traveling suit and bonnet.
“Mercy,” she said weakly, “fetch my salts. And while you’re inside, find Mr. Courtland … and Ryan … and tell them … we have found Amanda.”
The large black mammy disappeared inside the house as the carriage drew to a halt at the foot of the porch steps. Amanda did not wait for Foley’s assistance; she was out of the buggy and running up the stairs before the driver had even climbed down from the box.
“Verity!” She hugged her daughter and swept the child up into her arms, spinning her round and round until she squealed in delight. “How is my sweetest little girl? Have you been good for Grandma?”
“Amanda!” her mother cried. “Where have you been? Your father and brother have been frantic. We have all been frantic with worry.”
“Did you not read the letter I left? I told you not to worry, that I would explain everything when I came home.”
“Letter? You expect me to read a letter?” she quailed. “We had no idea where you had gone! Why … it has just been too terrible for words! Ryan has scoured all of Natchez. He has had the authorities searching the river! Alisha has even come from Summitcrest to keep me from falling into distraction.”
“I have only been gone two days, Mother.”
“And two whole nights! What could you have been thinking! We have all been sick with worry and imagining the most horrible things. Where have you been?” She peered over Amanda’s shoulder. “And whose buggy is that?”
Before she could answer, Ryan came ru
nning out of the house. “Amanda? Where the bloody hell have you been?”
“I have just been asking her that very thing,” Sarah declared in a quavering voice. “But she refuses to tell me. She says I must read it in a letter.”
“I haven’t refused,” Amanda protested. “And I haven’t had a chance to—”
“What in thunderation is going on out here?” William rolled out onto the porch in his cane-backed wheelchair. “Has everyone gone completely mad? Shouting and carrying on as if the Yankees were in the woods. Amanda—is that you? Where have you been for the last week?”
“Father, Ryan … please, if you will just give me a chance—”
Verity had her mouth pressed to Amanda’s ear, whispering a mile a minute, trying to retell every detail of every hour that had passed. She was also spitting copious amounts of enthusiasm into her mother’s ear and hugging her so tightly, Amanda’s bonnet went askew. “Please, baby—”
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter returned to the fold,” Alisha said, emerging from the doorway. “So you’ve come back, have you? All in one piece too.”
“Oh, I just know something dreadful has happened,” Sarah wailed. “Mercy … Mercy, my salts. Quickly!”
“If you plan on fainting,” William roared, “plan to do it elsewhere. I am waiting to hear an explanation from your daughter, and I cannot do it and listen to your caterwauling at the same time. Obviously nothing too dreadful has happened —she looks perfectly fit to me.”
“She looks more than fit,” Alisha commented dryly, her gaze taking in every detail of the mint-green velvet suit, gloves, hat, even the lace-trimmed reticule that dangled from her twin’s wrist.
“Amanda …?” Ryan began.
“The lot of you,” William barked. “Shut up!”
When he had his family’s attention, he crooked his finger ominously in Amanda’s direction. “Come over here, Daughter. We’ll have no more excuses. And you had best not try any of your female tricks on me, I am wise to them all. I want to know where you have been and what you have been doing. Speak up now, and it best be the truth.”
Amanda glanced around the frowning circle. There was not a friendly face among them except for Verity, and for once it was Amanda who wished she could bury her face in her daughter’s skirts for protection.
She heard the faint creak of the carriage step behind her and turned, as did everyone else, in time to see Michael Tarrington stand down and remove his wide-brimmed hat.
“Good afternoon to you all,” he said easily. “I hope you have not been too worried about Amanda.”
Sarah let out a strangled cry. Her hand flew to her bosom and she gaped at Amanda in horror. “Oh, my Lord. She has been with a man!”
“Mercy, fetch the damned salts,” William declared dryly. “Daughter, if you have done anything to shame yourself, or to bring shame upon this family”—he ignored the shriek from his wife and wagged his finger again—“I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”
Amanda looked her father straight in the eye and said in a loud, clear voice: “There is no need to take any action. If you would all just listen and give me a chance to explain, I would tell you where I have been for the past two days." She paused and drew a steadying breath. "Mother, Father ... Michael and I have eloped. We were married Wednesday evening in Jamestown.”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. William’s eyebrows lifted so high they seemed to touch his hairline. Alisha, whose eyes had not left Michael Tarrington’s face since he had stepped down from the carriage, turned her cold, round-eyed stare on Amanda. Even Mercy, standing with the unstoppered bottle of hartshorn spirits, raised the cork and took a sniff herself to clear her senses.
Ryan gripped Amanda tightly around the upper arm and swung her about to face him. “You’ve done what?”
“Eloped,” she repeated calmly, her arms tightening around Verity. “Wednesday night. The Reverend Mr. Thorne performed the ceremony.”
Sarah looked from her daughter to the tall, handsome Yankee and back to her daughter. “You ... eloped?”
“Yes, Mother. We thought it would be best that way.”
“But … it isn’t possible. He … you …” Sarah gaped at Michael. “You were only here to dinner on Monday.”
“Mrs. Courtland.” Michael took several steps toward the porch. “Perhaps you will allow me—”
“You keep out of this,” Ryan snarled, whirling on him. “So help me God, if you take another step, I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”
Michael stopped. He acknowledged Ryan’s fury with a cool nod and retraced his steps.
“Ryan, please—” Amanda drew her brother’s rage back upon herself. “If you’ll just let me explain—”
“Please do explain,” Ryan said bluntly. “Saturday you could hardly bear to be in the same room as the man. Monday you did your damnedest to be rude to him … and now you tell us you have married him. It must be one hell of an explanation; I can hardly wait to hear it.”
“Indeed,” agreed William, rolling his way between Alisha’s and Sarah’s skirts. “I should think we do need an explanation, Amanda. Your mother was all but convinced there was some form of foul play and here you stand, telling us you have eloped with the man, just like that.”
“It was not just like that,” she insisted, conscious of the black look in Ryan’s eyes. “I mean, yes, we eloped … but no, it was not as simple as it sounds. I thought about it a great deal—truly I did—and I am sorry if you have all been overly worried.”
“Worried!” Sarah clasped her hands together over her breast. “Why, indeed, should we have worried. Our daughter disappears in the middle of the night. We hear no word for two days. And now you tell us you have eloped. Why, it isn’t even decent! What will people think? You have dinner with a man one night and marry him the next! This family cannot endure another scandal, we simply cannot!”
“Mother … there will be no scandal. And it wasn’t just one dinner. Michael and I … we have known each other longer than you think.”
Sarah, who had thrust her nose into the bottle of hartshorn, stopped and stared through watering eyes. “What do you mean you have known each other longer? How much longer?”
Ryan’s look, if anything, became even blacker, causing the words to stumble when they came off Amanda’s tongue.
“We met several weeks ago, Mother. We … have been acquainted … for quite some time.”
Now she could feel Michael’s gaze on the back of her neck and she could imagine the gleam dancing in the smoky gray eyes.
Sarah turned to the tall Yankee. “You have?”
“I am afraid so, Mrs. Courtland,” he said.
“But when? How? Where did you meet?”
“In Natchez,” he said easily enough. “I have come to town several times on business.”
“The Judge!” Sarah exclaimed. “He said nothing about having introduced you before Alisha’s wedding.”
“Aren’t you both just the most wicked and devious souls,” Alisha breathed, partly in surprise, partly in grudging admiration. “Sneaking off and meeting one another for secret trysts. I declare I feel almost guilty myself just imagining it.”
Sarah clutched Amanda’s arm and gasped, “Tell me that wasn’t what you did, Amanda! Tell me it wasn’t like that at all, or I swear I shall die of utter mortification here and now.”
“It was not like that, Mother,” Amanda assured her. "There were no trysts." She gave Verity a kiss and passed her into Mercy’s outstretched arms, then faced her mother with a calmness she was far from feeling. “It is true that I met Michael in Natchez, but there were always crowds of people around and I … never deliberately set out with the intention of meeting him. It was purely accidental, I swear it.”
“Then why didn’t you insist he come to the house like any other proper, decent caller?” Alisha inquired archly. “Like Mr. Joshua Brice, for instance. Oh, the poor, poor man. Whatever will he think when he finds out you were just playing him fo
r the fool?”
Amanda’s eyes flashed with sparks as she leveled her gaze on her twin. “I’m sure Josh will have figured out by now just who the biggest fool was in all of this.”
“But an elopement,” Sarah wailed, twisting her hands together in distress. “It all seems so … so furtive.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Amanda said. “Truly, I am. But there just wasn’t any other way.”
“Mrs. Courtland, if I may?” Michael stepped into the breach again “I can promise you that winning your daughter's hand was one of the most challenging tasks of my life."
"Hallelujah to that," Mercy muttered, snatching the salts back from Sarah. “Miz Amanda married wid a Yankee? Lordy, Lordy, hell done must’ve froze when none of us was watchin’.”
“Oh! Saints preserve us. A Yankee!” Sarah wailed again. “Oh, my Lord …”
“I may be from Boston, Mrs. Courtland,” Michael said easily, “but I do have roots in the South. Judge Moore is my uncle and both he and my mother were born in Baton Rouge."
William Courtland harrumphed. “I will not say I condone her actions but since the deed is done and cannot be undone … and you are related by blood to the Moores … I suppose we shall have to bear up and welcome you to the family.”
Amanda sank down beside her father’s chair and threw her arms around him, heedless of her bonnet slewing sideways.
“Ah-hem.” Karl von Helmstaad was suddenly in the doorway. “Is this a private family affair, or can anyone join in? Zounds, is it true? Is Miss Amanda home again?”
“Home,” Alisha drawled. “And married. And not the least bit guilty over all the fuss she has caused. For that matter, she doesn’t look the least bit repentant about anything, and I suppose we shall all have to accept the fact that she has … what was it she said to me before my wedding? … she has found herself her own rich Yankee to rub in the noses of our less fortunate neighbors.”
Amanda had no defense to offer as everyone's attention seemed to shift suddenly to her mint-green traveling suit, the soft kid gloves, the ruffled and beribboned bonnet. It was Sarah who stared at the gleaming black coach and was prompted to remember that her new son-in-law had just purchased Briar Glen, making her daughter the mistress of one of the grandest plantations in the state, if not the whole South.
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