Wainright’s eyes darkened briefly. He smirked and took several angry strides toward the door before he halted again and glared over at Amanda. “I suppose you think you’re quite clever, do you? All you have done, however, is sold yourself to the highest bidder … sort of a slave auction in reverse, you might say, but then I guess old habits die hard.”
“Mrs. Reeves,” Tarrington said silkily. “Will you show this gentleman to the door now?”
“Aye.” Flora nodded, her chest puffed out with indignation. “By the scruff o’ his neck if he’s not quick on his feet.”
Wainright was unimpressed “Don’t forget what I said, my dear. I will have my day.”
The menace in Wainright’s voice lingered long after he had left the room. Despite the warm sunlight streaming into the room, Amanda was chilled to the bone. Her hands shook and her nails had gouged little half circles of red in her palms, painful reminders that some of what he had said was true. She had merely sold herself to the highest bidder.
Sensing Tarrington’s presence beside her, she lifted her chin, lifted her eyes to his, uncertain of what she would see. Amazingly enough, there was only concern … and a trace of gentle humor.
“You do know how to pick your enemies, don’t you?”
“I … tried to warn you.”
He tucked a finger beneath her chin, preventing her from retreating again. “And I made you a promise, did I not? That he would have to go through me first?”
Her lips trembled apart. Tears stood in her eyes, burning unbidden and unwanted across her lashes. “You said yourself, he’s a dangerous man,” she whispered. “A murderer.”
His thumb traced the softness of her lower lip.“Do I detect a wifely concern for my safety?” he mused, catching the shiny wetness of a tear on his fingertip.
“For yours, for mine,” she admitted. “For Verity’s and Ryan’s, for my mother and father … for Rosalie,” she added in a rush. “I believe him when he says he is not finished with us.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Then you’ll be careful when I’m not around and you won’t go welcoming strangers into our parlor with only Mrs. Reeves to watch your back.”
The gentle admonition was delivered with a kiss—a kiss that left her staring up at him, startled for more reasons than one.
His moustache was gone. He had shaved away the thick chestnut handlebar, removing the saturnine, piratical look with it. Without the camouflage of hair concealing it, his mouth was a generous, wide slash, flawed slightly through one upper bow by a faint white scar. And although she had realized before that he was a handsome man, the moustache had been distracting and without it, there was nothing to detract from the angle of his jaw or the darkness of his lashes or the unsettling sensuality of his mouth and eyes.
He smiled self-consciously and brushed a fingertip across the hairless expanse. “Tell me you’ve just noticed and you’ll have done untold damage to my vanity.”
“Why did you do it?”
“You disapprove?”
“I … have no opinion either way.”
“You did last night. As I recall, you bemoaned the fact that it was like kissing sandpaper—which, I suppose, is better than the hind end of a goat, but distracting nonetheless.”
Reminded of her vow that she would rather kiss a goat, Amanda felt her cheeks grow warm, but any denial she might have been tempted to offer was cut short by Flora's return.
“Blistering no-necked slimy red-topped devil,” Mrs. Reeves announced, returning from seeing that the door had slammed with the proper emphasis behind Wainright. “He’d best no’ be showin’ his arse on ma doorstep again or he’ll feel the stub o’ ma boot so far up the crack he’ll no’ be able to piss proper fer a month!”
Tarrington chuckled. “Ahh, Flora. Speaking of devils, was I mistaken when I walked past the kitchens, or was that one of your devilishly delicious pork pies I smelled?”
“Pies an’ tatties,” she said, folding her arms imperiously across her ample bosoms. "I was plannin' to serve them for dinner, but if ye're hungry now, I could carve one up now."
"Speaking for myself," Michael said, "I could slay and ox and eat it off the hoof."
Flora snorted and hurried off to prepare the meal.
“I’m really not very hungry,” Amanda said quietly.
“Well, I am,” he said, propelling her forward in Mrs. Reeves’s wake. “And we will sup together. I breakfasted alone this morning and have no intentions of letting it become a habit. Besides which, Flora’s pork pies are famous throughout all of Massachusetts. Turning your pretty nose up at them could incite graver repercussions than the Boston Tea Party.”
Amanda let herself be guided back to the small dining salon. Michael held her chair solicitously, taking the opportunity to study every detail of her appearance as if he were seeing her for the first time that day.
“By God, you truly are a lovely woman,” he murmured against her ear. “No wonder your Mr. Wainright was a tad piqued.”
Her neck still warm from his breath and from the kiss he pressed into her nape to emphasise the compliment, Amanda watched her husband settle into a chair opposite her.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked. “Does it not make you angry that he is riding away from here with fifty thousand of your dollars in his pocket?”
“It makes me furious,” he said with an easy smile. “But it would have made me more furious to think of him—or anyone like him—putting his hands on you.”
Amanda met his gaze across the table. The look in his eyes was intense enough to draw the breath out of her lungs and possessive enough to send a shiver down her spine.
"Ryan will pay you back every penny. He will write you a new note for the amount."
"I'm not a banker," Tarrington said with an easy smile.
"He won't accept charity."
"I wasn't offering any. His word is good enough. As is yours."
Amanda felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, but Mrs. Reeves saved the day again, swinging her way through the servants’ doorway carrying a platter of steaming hot dishes.
“Ach,” said Tarrington, mimicking a broad Scots accent. “’Tis starved I am.”
“Aye, well, ’tis starved ye’ll stay until I get the spoons to serve the pie. Sally! Come along lass. I canny dish out ma pies without a fork or a spoon.”
A slender, dark-haired girl came into the room bearing more dishes of vegetables and crisp fried potatoes. She had the same plump, round cheeks as her mother, and shared a similar lack of height, the top of her head possibly reaching five feet if she stood on tiptoes. Her eyes were a shy, liquid brown and, very unlike her mother, flicked away the instant anyone threatened to take notice of her.
“This is ma own daughter Sally,” Flora announced proudly. “She lends a hand in the kitchen, mostly, but she does a fine turn with hair irons, and she sews a dream."
Amanda forced a smile as the girl made a nervous curtsy in her direction. “I’m pleased to meet you, Sally.”
The girl bobbed again and whispered, “Ma’am. I’m ever so pleased to meet you as well, and ... and ...” she glanced at Flora who nodded, "and welcome to Briar Glen. We're all dead happy Mr. Tarrington has taken a wife."
Flora nodded vigorously to approve of her daughter's words.“Aye, we’ll leave ye to ye’re meal now. Sound the bell if ye be needin’ me fer owt else. An’ don't be lettin' the big brute keep all the brown bits o’ tatty to himself," she said to Amanda."He’s a right wee pig when it comes to that, an’ ye’ll have to watch him close.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reeves,” Amanda said. “I will.”
Flora nodded brusquely and was gone, ushering Sally ahead of her like a mother hen shooing her chick.
“Well,” Michael said, reaching for a serving spoon and a plate. “You seem to have passed the first test with ease. Flora has very definite opinions as to who she takes under her wing and who she kicks out of the nest to fly on their own.”
Amanda twisted th
e corner of a linen napkin, barely listening.
“Which is good, because we have been together a long time and, as much of a pain in the … neck … as she is, I would hate to have to send her packing.”
He scooped some choice bits of pie and crispy potatoes on the plate, then frowned. "Mind you, if it came down to a choice of having Flora in the kitchen … or you in the bedroom …”He glanced up and waited for a response, but her head was turned and she was staring out the window. “I would probably bunk down in the stables and let the two of you have the house to yourselves. Amanda?”
She turned at the sound of her name and reached for the plate he passed her. It was steaming hot and smelled delicious but her mouth was dry and her stomach was like a lead ball. She went through the motions of picking up a fork and pushing around a small pile of potato.
Tarrington set about attacking the mountain of savory pie he had served himself, drowning each mouthful in gravy as he went along. “As for the rest of the household matters, I willingly place everything in your hands. Change the curtains, hire all the servants you need, order new furniture by the wagonloads if you like: I am relieved to have been saved from Flora’s tastes in refurbishing the I-don’t-know-how-many rooms still wanting for someone’s attention. I have already told Flora I thought you might want to put Verity in the room adjoining ours. I will advise the bank tomorrow so you can draw the funds you need to make it a proper little girl’s room—pink, do you suppose?”
Amanda stared at him unblinkingly, her fork abandoned.
“One of my sisters had a pink room … Beth, I think. I wasn’t allowed in any of them very often unless I agreed to wear an apron and drink tea, but I seem to recall a great deal of pink in Beth’s room, and out of all of them, she grew up with the best disposition. On the other hand, she made the poorest choice of husbands—Arveld Pinwater, if you can believe it—a corset maker who can talk for hours on the various types of whalebone he uses in his stays. You’re not eating your pie.”
Amanda looked down.
“Mrs. Reeves will know,” he cautioned blithely. “She probably has her eye and ear to the keyhole now.”
A muffled curse from the other side of the servery door sent Michael’s brow arching with an I-told-you-so expression. “It’s part of her charm.”
Amanda picked up her fork and tried a tiny bite of the pork pie. It was as delicious as it smelled and she managed several little forkfuls before her throat threatened to close again. She looked across the table and found the slate gray eyes waiting for her.
"I have to go home," she said quietly. "I have to speak to Ryan."
Tarrington nodded. “I assume you left a note of some kind? And since Wainright appeared to be in relatively good health, I shall also assume you neglected to mention any specifics?”
“I only said I would be gone a few days, and not to worry.”
“The knack of understatement,” he murmured, “is a female’s greatest talent. Well ... one of them, at any rate. Aren’t you worried he will interpret your note the wrong way and think, perhaps, that you’ve caught up with another riverboat?”
Amanda shook her head. “I would never be able to do something like that on my own.”
“It still surprises me that you were able to do it at all.”
The velvety husk in his voice sent another wave of sensation down her spine and she swallowed hard. “I suppose I should tell him soon. He will be worried.”
“I suppose you should. And yes, he will.”
“Today would be best,” she said hesitantly.
“Probably.”
“Or first thing in the morning.”
Tarrington laughed. “Are you asking me to decide for you? Very well, tomorrow morning is soon enough, and yes, I will stand at your side and share the slings and arrows … although I really should let you sweat it out alone. It was a hare-brained scheme and it would have been interesting to see how you would have handled the situation had you driven up to the door as Mrs. E. Forrest Wainright.”
Amanda’s lashes lowered quickly. Was he going to continually remind her of that near disaster?
“Yes,” he said quietly, guessing the reason for the sudden tautness in her jaw. “I am. But only until I hear you admit that I was the better choice. Do you like horses, by the way?”
“Horses?”
“Yes. Four legs and a tail. I’m sure you’ve seen them around.”
A tiny spark flared in her eyes, and he was pleased to see her spirit had not been entirely dampened by Wainright's visit.
“I don’t consider myself an authority on them, no.”
“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you liked them.”
“As friends, not especially.”
“You might find some of them have far more merit than their human counterparts.”
“You are probably quite right.”
“I know I’m right. I was hoping you would agree, since I plan to breed and raise the wee beasties, as Flora so fondly calls them.”
“I thought your first love was the sea, not the land.”
“Because I joined the navy, not the army? Or because our own first auspicious meeting was on a riverboat?”
“You come from Boston. Is it not a seaport?”
“It was also a city that went to war over a few pounds of tea, but that doesn’t mean I like to drink the stuff. I take it your rather obvious avoidance of my question means you are not the accomplished horsewoman I presumed all Southern belles to be?”
“I have done my fair share of riding,” she said testily.
“Side-saddle, no doubt. Twirling a parasol and flirting with fellow churchgoers.”
“For your information, I happen to loathe riding side-saddle, and while I cannot attest to the habits of your Yankee women, I would sooner be caught with a few freckles on my nose than be seen carrying a parasol on a horse!”
“Excellent. Then I may expect your company on a riding tour of Briar Glen this afternoon?”
Amanda started to protest, then hesitated. How on earth was she going to get around this one? Of all the things he had to be enamored with, why horses!
“They don’t like me,” she said with a sigh.
“They?”
“Horses,” she snapped without thinking. “Four legs and a tail. I’m sure you’ve seen them around.”
The wolfish grin reappeared and she flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Is there any particular reason why they don’t like you?”
“Good heavens, how should I know? I don’t know the way the creatures think.”
“You might have to learn. There are over forty thousand acres surrounding us that do not take well to a buggy.”
“And why should that concern me? I have no intentions of tramping over each and every acre.”
He leaned back and stroked the tip of his forefinger over the now-naked upper lip. “My, my. Is this the same fearless woman who faced down hardened gamblers in order to save her family home?”
“That was different.”
“How?”
She knew what he wanted her to say. He wanted her to say Briar Glen was her home now, but she could not bring herself to do it. She could not say it, she could barely bring herself to think it.
“Mandy?”
He had called her Mandy during the night, and use of the endearment brought back the warm, slippery, useless feeling that made her stomach rise up and settle back down awry.
With a start she realized he was standing beside her. His strong hands were on her shoulders, and he was drawing her up and into his arms.
“I am not the kind of man who wants a wife for window dressing only,” he insisted softly. “Last night should have proved that much to you. I want you to be as much a part of Briar Glen as you were of Rosalie. I want you to feel like you belong here, Mandy. Here, by God. With me.”
He was too close. She could not think straight with the memories of last night crowding in on her. Memories of his hands, his lips,
his body pressing into hers. She had lost control of her senses, lost all modesty and shame and begging...even begging him not to stop. It was a terrible, helpless feeling to know he could affect her so. The mere fact he was standing next to her now was nearly causing her knees to buckle and she was hard-pressed to resist the urge to fall into his arms and let him make the whole world go away again.
“No,” she whispered. "I mustn't."
Tarrington misunderstood and swept her up into his arms.
“Yes, by God, you must,” he snarled, "And you will."
He kicked the chair out of his way and strode out of the room, passing a startled Flora Reeves along the way. Amanda kept her face buried in the curve of his shoulder, kept her eyes tightly shut and her arms firmly around his shoulders until they were up the stairs, in the bedroom, and he was booting the door shut behind them.
Someone—Sally or Flora—had made up the bed and tidied the evidence of the previous night’s activities. The curtains were tied back to let the sunlight in, and the hundreds of square panes in the writing alcove split and refracted the rays, mottling the floor and walls in a rainbow array of starbursts. The brightest, hottest streamers were hazed with floating dust motes that glittered and swirled with the passage of Tarrington’s body as he cut through them to get to the bed. The satin cover gleamed like the still surface of a lake, and as he set Amanda’s body down upon it, the satin was drawn into silvery ripples, forming a shimmering halo around her.
He knelt on one knee above her, prepared for another verbal battle, prepared to prove her wrong if she thought she could slip into her role as a chameleon again. He had broken through her barriers last night and he would do it again. And he would keep doing it until she understood he wanted more than just a plaything in his bed.
He was about to say as much, but then he saw her face, those wide blue eyes that had not given him a moment's peace since he first met them across a poker table. Eyes that were clouded with confusion and vulnerability. He saw the naked longing there, the loneliness she had kept hidden so well for so long. And he felt her hands where they were laced around his neck stopping him from lifting himself too far away.
Straight For The Heart Page 24