She could see his face plainly. He looked as if he had been deep in sleep, but that could not be so. Not even if his eyes did seem to take a moment to adjust to the light. No one else would have dared such a deed. And who else could have? Not Gussie. As Amanda continued to stare, waiting irritably for him to admit his guilt, his expression changed to one of great puzzlement.
“The blood?” He spread his hands and frowned. “Amanda, are you given to nightmares?” He spoke as if he were addressing a small child.
“No. And I won’t let you frighten me this way. I won’t have it.”
He rolled his shoulders back and stretched. “What the devil do you mean? Frighten you? How could I frighten you? I’ve been sleeping soundly and would be yet but for your interference.”
“Why, Ryne?” she asked in a whisper.
Her breathing had become a series of pants. She couldn’t abide his calm, his pretense of innocence. He had to hope his silly tricks would frighten her out of the house. She should never have trusted him. It piqued her nerves even more that as she accused him he sat quietly on the bed giving her a condescending look of pity.
Amanda swore softly beneath her breath and stepped gingerly across the floor, her small feet peeping timidly out from the hem of the gown with each movement. She didn’t know what she meant to do or why she dared to move closer to him, when instinctively she knew she should be wary. She only knew that in some way she meant to make him admit his knavery.
Ryne watched in fascination as she crossed the floor. She was a paradox. He couldn’t look at her without thinking how that flawless, sweet face masked such a cunning heart. He felt drawn to her, had come back to Wicklow because she was there. He kept telling himself it was because he wanted to annoy her, cause her some minor grievance for how she had taken advantage of his mother. But the memory of his recent dream was too strong. He still felt the desire in his flesh.
When he spoke again, it was with a catch in his throat. “Tell me what you mean.”
“You . . . the blood,” she said so softly he could barely hear.
No more than a step away, she paused and gritted her teeth nervously. The candle on its stand near the door threw out a beam of light that made her soft silk gown a transparent web hovering around her body. Ryne felt a lump tighten in his throat. She looked to be unworldly, like a woodland nymph who had skimmed to his bedside on a ray of candlelight. The silken garment flittered and settled against her curves, the delicate pink ribbons pulsating at her breasts.
“Amanda.” Ryne’s blood stirred faster through his veins. He knew now why he had come back to Wicklow, and it wasn’t simply to even a score. He wanted to possess Amanda Fairfax, to invade her soul, to make love to her and know every secret morsel of her satin flesh. He clenched his hands into tight, dangerous fists. What was she doing to him with that frantic, hurt look in her eyes? His gaze caught and lingered on her face. She looked as if she needed someone to hold her and keep her safe.
“Come here,” he whispered. Hardly aware of it, Ryne lifted a hand to grasp hers. So small, so beautiful. She was a pale star that had taken a tempting womanly form. Odd, he’d have thought her sleepwalking, except for the set of her mouth, which warned that her disposition was far from heavenly.
As his expression changed, Amanda could read his thoughts. She could feel the line of his vision like a hot flame burning away the gown she wore. His lips parted as his eyes followed the swells and hollows that marked her womanhood. Too late Amanda wondered if she had been taken in by a horrid scheme to bring her running to his room. Or if she had been too willing to seek him out. How vile he was. And how fascinating. Those blue eyes, always mocking and accusing, now were claiming what belonged to her alone.
Her face flamed until the color scorched her cheeks. She had come to him. She had been lured by the bait and now she stood at his bedside half-hypnotized by his caressing voice. But she refused to be his victim. Amanda steeled herself against the strange attraction she felt. Angrily she raised a hand to strike him. The blow never met its mark. He was far too fast and captured her arm in mid-swing, trapping her wrist in his firm grip.
“Let me go!” she cried, trying to shake loose from the hand that held her like an iron trap. “Let me go and leave me alone, Ryne! Stop your tormenting. Stop your tricks, I beg you.” She sobbed. “If not for me, then for Aunt Elise. She would not have us be enemies.”
“You are hysterical.” He was on his feet and quickly ringed her shoulders with his arms, pulling her tightly against him.
“No!” she cried. Fear and panic soared to such a height within her that she trembled uncontrollably and with a wild look to her eyes rolled her head from side to side as she tried to push away from him.
“You’ve had a nightmare, a bad one I think, my sweet.”
“No, Ryne,” she pleaded. She knew what he was about to do. It was in his eyes and in the gentling of his embrace. She dropped her head and stiffened her body, but to no avail. He found her tight, resistant lips, but once the warmth of his mouth had touched them, they quivered and yielded to his kiss.
She didn’t want to succumb to that kiss or even participate in it. If only it had been hard and brief, something taken and nothing given. But it was not. It was gentle and probing, possessing, the soft wetness of his mouth joining tenderly to hers. A budding, then fervid pleasure took her breath away. All at once his closeness was a sweet solace for all the agony she felt. She couldn’t make herself remember that he was the cause of much of that agony.
Ryne moaned softly. What was the matter with him? He suddenly didn’t care what she was. It only mattered that she was in his arms, responding to his kiss, and that he could feel the fear and anger draining from her body. He liked the way her curves fit against him and the way her arms twined around his waist. His consciousness faded into a blur of pleasure that welled from his loins. Reluctantly he moved his mouth from her lips and made a half-turn toward the bed.
Amanda sighed. Even when his lips were no longer on hers, the spell was slow to disappear. Ryne’s arms dropped from her shoulders but he kept a gentle hold on her hands as he pulled her around with him. For a brief moment his face was filled with caring and concern, but only briefly. At once Ryne’s thoughts cleared and he knew that if ever he possessed her he would forever be her slave.
His blue eyes froze. Ryne Sullivan meant to be no woman’s slave. And though his passion boiled within him, he willed it away. If he did not, he would be playing into her hands and would find himself willingly beguiled by this innocent-looking temptress.
Amanda ceased to think and let herself succumb to the pleasurable feelings floating through her body. Ryne’s long, lean muscles held the magnificence and wild strength of a jungle beast, and he was not without a tender nature. She could sense that within him, however deeply it might be hidden. It was in his touch and in the gentleness of his kiss, in the soft whisper of her name. Behind the cold, hard visage he presented was another man altogether, and she longed desperately to know that secret side of him.
She sighed deeply. Could a man who would give shelter to a poor man and his family when he himself must beg for a roof over his head be without compassion? Her heart told her that he could not.
Ryne dropped his head and cursed silently as her eyes lifted gently to his face. He wouldn’t be caught, even though he wanted her so much a cold sweat had broken out on his brow. Let Gardner be the one caught in this spider’s web. He shook his head, sending the heavy black hair and silk cord that held it in a flight around his neck.
“Ahh, my sweet.” He pushed her away from him as a smile played lightly on his lips and a devilish gleam shone in his eyes. “Calm again. But to what lengths you will go for a kiss,” he said stiffly. “Now, what is this nonsense about blood?”
Amanda’s eyes widened. She felt his change of mood like the thrust of steel. Her own mood changed too. Suddenly she wanted to fight him again, to hurl her anger and exasperation back at him. But she had little fight left, and
as yet only a growing realization of how detestable Ryne Sullivan could be if he chose. She swallowed hard as tears burned behind her eyelids.
“I am calmed but not blinded,” she said with a jerk of her head. “I can see you would use any means to cover your misdeeds, nor have you any qualms about breaking a promise, Ryne. But I know it was you who slipped into the house last night and smeared blood on the door. And it was you who spilled the drops on my face not many minutes ago.” Her wide eyes surveyed his face for any hint of admission. But she saw none. “If I were a woman of lesser fortitude,” she went on, “you might have succeeded in making me leave. But as I am not so fainthearted as that, it will take a great deal more to make me abandon Wicklow.”
“Amanda,” he said flatly. “I did not return to the house last night. There are those who will attest to the fact. As for spilling blood on your face, I think you have let a dream become too vivid.” He moved toward her and spoke again in a lowered voice. “Be certain I don’t want you to leave Wicklow, not now. There’s no advantage in it at the moment.” His fingers stirred a curl that rested on her cheek. “On the other hand, there may be considerable advantage in having you here. I find a certain surprising harmony with you.” He let his fingers brush across her shoulder, his resolve to resist her weakening. “I’m in no hurry to rebuild my lodge. We could—”
“No,” she interrupted. “We could not. You must leave. Even if you are innocent of the other, in the space of a few hours you have broken your promise to be a gentleman. If I cannot trust you, I cannot have you here.” She spoke with far more command in her voice then she felt in her spirit. Ryne unnerved her because he both attracted and repelled her, and she found the conflict exceedingly trying to deal with.
“Now Amanda . . .” He used a caressing voice. “You can’t want me to go. You’d be alone here then. Just you and old Gussie and the ghosts. Whom could you blame for your nightmares if I were not in the house?” he teased.
Amanda felt a shiver run down her spine. Her eyes were downcast for a few moments. He might be right. Perhaps she didn’t really believe Ryne was responsible for what had happened, but had only grasped at what seemed the simplest explanation. Yet her uneasiness grew as she realized that if he were not to blame she had another tormentor who wanted her out of Wicklow.
Amanda stiffened her spine. “I won’t be alone,” she countered in spite of her doubts. “Cecil Baldwin has arranged for a woman and her niece to board. I am certain with others in the house these happenings will cease.”
Rather than settling the matter, her reply had the effect of strengthening his determination to stay at Wicklow. His brows flickered slightly. “I assure you, Amanda, I have played no part in whatever has disturbed you. You’ve had a nightmare—admit it.” His hands hung at his sides and she saw that he was clenching and unclenching his fists.
“You wouldn’t be the first to find Wicklow disturbing. Some of Mother’s guests found the house so disquieting they wouldn’t stay there. But it will pass as you get accustomed to the place. Meanwhile I plead with you not to cast blame at my feet.” His voice became subtly warmer. “Now, think of it, if there are to be others in the house, what harm can there be in my staying as well?”
“You kissed me.”
He shrugged. “I kissed you to calm you. It was a kindness to halt your hysteria. Nothing more. Though I do suggest you get a robe for your nightly missions. That wisp of cloth you are wearing would tempt a saint.”
“A kindness?” So it was that to him, the kiss that had made her feel the stirrings of womanhood. She crossed her arms over her breasts, uncomfortably conscious of the sheerness of her gown and realizing how rash she had been to confront him clothed as she was. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks and Ryne marked her distress.
“I might have shaken you or struck you. A kiss seemed kinder. Don’t you think if I had wanted more,” he said, catching her by the shoulders and gripping her flesh lightly, “I would have had it?”
Though his touch was slight, his fingers felt like hot blades where they lay on her skin.
“No,” she whispered weakly. Amanda’s blood sped through her veins like an unleashed river. Her heart thundered. She thought for an instant he was going to crush her in his arms again, that he was indeed about to toss her to his bed. But he suddenly let go, leaving her stunned and silent for a moment.
“You need not worry over that.” Ryne laughed as his eyes scanned her body critically. “A woman needs more flesh to fill my needs.”
“Like Maggie?” she fired back, and immediately wished she could snap her tongue off for responding to his gibe.
“Like Maggie.” He grinned. “A woman in full bloom.”
Amanda gave a slow nod. “That knowledge pleases me.”
“Then I can be spared residence in the stable?”
Amanda turned away. His manner baffled her. She didn’t like the way he was politely begging a favor one moment and being arrogantly rude the next. What did he hope to gain by such behavior? Her thoughts had become settled and calm. But nothing about the time she had spent at Wicklow made any sense. As for Ryne, he seemed to delight in twisting her emotions about and trying to keep her confused, but that didn’t prove he had tried to frighten her away.
Her shoulders drooping a little, she walked slowly back to where she had left the candle. All at once she felt terribly alone, and the thought of there being no one else in the house seemed too much to bear.
“Oh, Ryne, I don’t know,” she said listlessly. “Something is happening to me, and if you are not responsible, then who is? I didn’t dream the woman I saw here this afternoon. Did you send her?” She turned back to face him from across the room, but her body had blocked out the light and she could see only a shadowy black shape where he had been standing.
That shape began a slow walk toward her so that with every step a little more of him was revealed by the candle’s light, first his legs swathed in black silk, then the strip of his chest bared where his shirt hung open, and last his face with the eyes shining red from the reflected flame.
“Maggie’s the only woman I’ve brought here—in the past week. If you mean her, you already know—”
“I don’t mean Maggie,” she said hurriedly, and dropped her gaze from his face; his eyes were too bright with the fire in them. “It was someone else. I saw her through the window when I returned from Williamsburg. She was in my room. Aunt Elise’s room.”
He stopped. “But you didn’t actually see her, not inside?” He inclined his head, and as she glanced up she could see the lines of uncertainty on his brow.
The thought that he was about to tell her once again that she had imagined an incident stirred her stubborn nature to life.
Amanda straightened her back and spoke up quickly. “If you’re going to say I saw a shadow or a reflection, Gardner has made that supposition. But I know I saw a woman, and I wasn’t dreaming when I stepped out of the carriage.”
Briefly she thought he was going to challenge her statement. It was almost possible to see his mind racing with thoughts of his own. His eyes flashed, his lips tightened, but to her surprise he said no more of the matter and turned to another subject.
“Tell me about the blood.”
She realized all at once she had wanted to tell someone, and before she could stop herself, she was blurting out an account of the two occurrences.
“After you had left and I had gone to bed, I heard a voice. Someone was calling my name. It was frightful, really, like a warning from far away.” She could almost hear that voice again, and the thought of it brought a glazed look to her eyes. The sound had seemed to float in the darkness like a dead leaf caught in a slow current of air. Amanda’s voice shook as she went on. “I ran into the hall. The whisper seemed to come from there. But instead of finding anyone, I saw blood on the door to Aunt Elise’s room. The print of a hand. I was terrified. Elizabeth—my companion—was sleeping there. I thought something had happened to her. But when I got inside, she
hadn’t even waked up. And when I looked back at the door, the blood was gone.”
Ryne’s eyes had never left Amanda’s face and now there was such an air of seriousness to his expression that she felt a strange touch of alarm.
The tips of his nostrils thinned and his dark brows drew together. “Then you must have dreamed that part,” he said slowly. “Otherwise how could the blood disappear?”
Amanda’s fingers trembled and she laced them together to still them. “Someone could have wiped it away,” she answered.
“Wouldn’t you have seen whoever it was?”
She shook her head. “No. I was far too concerned about Elizabeth. I wouldn’t have noticed anything for a moment.”
“And tonight?”
“Tonight I heard the whispering again, someone calling my name and giving a warning. I dreamed of rain, felt it on my face. Only it was blood, drops of blood. I saw it in the mirror.”
“I don’t see . . .”
“There was a towel at the washstand. I wiped it off.”
She caught the hesitancy in his voice when he spoke once more. “Then there would be stains on the towel.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, remembering that she had wiped her face and dropped the soiled towel at her feet. She had splashed cool, clear water on her cheeks afterward. The towel would still be on the floor and the stains would prove she hadn’t dreamed the blood.
“Show me,” Ryne said, taking her arm and supporting her with a surprising gentleness as they walked from his room to Amanda’s. He had taken up the candle, and the way he held it, two shadows danced ahead of them in the corridor. Amanda watched the dark shapes soundlessly precede them on the smooth slate floor. She was suddenly aware the house had been unnaturally quiet for a long time. The rustling of the branches had ceased and the whistle of the wind had died away. Not even the usual creaks and groans she had become accustomed to at Wicklow could be heard.
Whispers at Midnight Page 9