At least this time it seemed she could. Even if someone had seen her coming to the stable, there would not have been time to arrange such a horrific trick.
She sought Ryne’s face, searching for the truth in the line of his mouth or the fathomless blue of his eyes, so darkly alert. Surely no malice could be harbored behind the caring, worried expression she saw. Surely those portals which were said to be windows to the soul could not be so cunningly deceptive. And if they were, she did not think she could bring herself to care. Not while he held her, not while his warm breath caressed her face.
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said softly. “I should have called out before going in.”
Breathing deeply, Amanda settled blissfully into his embrace. Folded in his arms, she felt warmed against an inner chill, and the last vestige of apprehension cleared from her mind. If only everything could be so easily solved.
After a few moments of silence and stillness Amanda felt quite normal and told him so, but still he would not allow her to move from the spot where she rested. His hands were stroking her shoulders, making her relax more and more. She felt an odd little flutter in her chest. She had not been wrong to believe he could feel compassion or could let it be known he could care for someone other than himself.
He was infinitely attractive, infinitely arousing with his face creased in a smile. Amanda sighed and dropped her eyes from his. She hoped he could not tell how her body was responding to him.
“I feel very foolish . . .”
“Hush now, hush,” he said in the mild, melodic voice that had drawn her through the darkness of the stable. His arms tightened around her and she could feel a tautness in his muscles. “Rest a little longer and I’ll take you to the house.”
“It was you singing,” she said softly. “And beautifully.”
“Aye,” he said. “And with my own voice in my ear I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It was a lovely melody. I didn’t want you to stop.”
“Flattery?” He laughed. “Take care, Amanda—I am not unmoved by it.” One hand was at her waist, the other toyed with the deep pink ribbons that laced the bodice of her rose-colored silk gown. The last glow of sunset lit his smiling face, while hers was cast in shadow. She wondered briefly if he had seen the spots of color which had risen to her cheeks.
“Ryne,” she asked, trying to speak lightly. “Who is Libelia?”
He laughed. His fingers slipped behind her neck to untie a matching ribbon she wore around her throat. “Only the fairest lass ever to sail out of Ireland. A spirited beauty like yourself.” He pulled the ribbon free and then his fingers brushed the honey-brown coils she had pulled to one side and let fall in a tumble of curls.
“The sweetest little mare in Virginia,” he added. “The best of the lot I’ve brought in.”
The touch of his hand stoked a slowly growing fire. She could not repress a small shiver that he must have felt as his hand lingered on her hair.
“You were singing to a horse?” She felt a disconcerting tremor in her voice as well.
“Not just a horse,” he said. “Libelia is the beginning of the finest bloodlines in the colonies. I’ll be taking her back to my stable tomorrow. Old Groom has been tending her for a time—he is the best I know with horses. He assures me she is sound as any he has ever seen.” Ryne’s face showed his pleasure. “I wanted nothing to go wrong with this one. I have tied my future to the foals she will produce.”
Amanda was fascinated by this dimension of him and his evident affection for the mare. Perhaps this was where he had staked his fortune. He had put his money in breeding stock and expected it would return his investment and more. It was a relief to learn that he had not squandered away all of his inheritance. Still, it seemed to her a risky endeavor and she hoped he would not be disappointed.
“I should like to see Libelia,” she said, in her enthusiasm pressing her hand firmly against his knee.
“Another time,” he said quickly, and his voice lost some of its mellow quality. “You two can get acquainted later. But not this day.” He shook his head and the tone of his voice altered. “Let’s be getting you inside and to bed.”
Amanda was startled at the change in him and felt the intense disappointment flare through her. Until this moment he had seemed content to hold her as she had wanted to be held. But now his face showed a sudden restlessness. She was learning quickly that Ryne Sullivan’s moods were as changeable as the wind, and could be as devastating. He hastened to stand and she was left on the ground at his feet to look up at a pair of shapely calves encased in high black boots.
He stared down at her, the mocking look back and his mouth set in a wry smile that made her suspect he found it amusing to have her at his feet.
“I am perfectly well now,” she said flatly, rising, though not without his assistance.
“You have suffered a shock whether you admit it or not.” He gripped her about the shoulders—to be sure she was steady on her feet, she had thought, but that would not account for the brilliance she saw in his eyes. “I insist that you rest.” A huskiness crept into his tone.
Amanda’s pulse pounded at a tenuous and puzzling pace. She was shocked at the awareness she felt as her breasts again touched gently against his chest. Unable to speak or pull away, she stared at his lean dark face, baffled that she could want him to hold her ever closer, that she should want to feel the heat of his mouth upon hers.
Ryne followed the play of emotions in her eyes, though he could make no more sense of it than he could his own battling thoughts. Always she took him by surprise. When he wished to push her away he found it impossible not to take her in his arms. He wanted to explore those lips, soft and pink as rose petals. He wanted to loosen her hair and breathe in the jasmine fragrance that lingered in the tawny, luminous curls. And this when he had promised himself and her he would not touch her again.
She quivered in anticipation as his lips descended to meet hers, as he drew her so tightly against him that she felt his strong corded thighs and rigid manhood through her silken skirts. He kissed her with a hunger that sent spirals of ecstasy spinning through her. He had not been unaffected by having her in his arms. She knew it as he ground his hips against her and as his tongue plunged hotly into her mouth. No, sweet heaven, his body was as full with desire as was her own.
She had wanted him to kiss her like this. She knew it as his hand slipped inside the neckline of her gown. She had wanted it since the first time his lips had teased hers. His fingers, rough and warm, found the tight nipple and began to squeeze and tug it to ever greater arousal. Amanda moaned and lent her mouth more fully to the savage ecstasy of his kiss.
She could think of nothing beyond it for a blinding moment. Ryne’s kiss, Ryne’s fire, Ryne’s lovemaking. It had been those things she desired when she had been locked in Gardner’s embrace, when she had kissed him and wished he were Ryne. The memory shamed her, made her stiffen in his arms. As his mouth crushed harder against hers, she pulled his hand from her breast.
“No,” she said unsteadily. “Please don’t.”
His body went rigid against her. He drew back, his eyes glaring and almost completely black with anger. “As you wish,” he said flatly.
They spoke no more as he escorted her to the house and up the stairs to the door of her bedroom. There he issued a crisp good night and left with a promise to send Gussie to her.
An hour and a half later Amanda had finished with a supper tray in her room, and having bathed, prepared herself for bed. She felt no more distress over the incident in the stable. She could at least content herself that one frightful experience had a logical explanation.
The experience with Ryne was another matter. She had disgraced herself with a man who cared little more for her than for a tavern doxy. Indeed, why should he? She had behaved as one. Somehow it saddened her immensely to know she had so little resistance to him.
Still she must overcome the weakness she felt whenever he was near. She was a
practical woman and she must not weaken and let Ryne worm his way beneath that practicality as he was so capable of doing. How could she justify throwing herself at a man like Ryne? Even though he had been kind to her for a moment today, she must not forget his reputation with women, nor the accusations he had flung at her.
It was not surprising that she had been susceptible to him when he had shown so much empathy. He had not ridiculed her for fainting at the sight of a rat. Instead he had rescued her from her fears and sought to bring her back to rational thought. And that had led to a burst of passion. In truth Amanda admitted she could not solely blame him for what had happened.
But just what sort of man was Ryne? A rogue? A man embittered by his mother’s death? Yet try as she would, she could not help thinking a man who would sing a lullaby to an Irish mare must have other redeeming qualities, however well they might be concealed.
Such thoughts troubled her until she fell asleep. But fortunately she slept untroubled that night, and for the several days that followed. Gardner came each morning to inquire of her health. She allowed it only because she knew he made the trip partly to survey the crops on his land. Otherwise the long ride each morning would have been out of the question.
She saw little of Ryne for the next two days. But late one evening in midweek he rode up on a frisky bay mare and invited her to walk in the gardens. He behaved as if nothing strange had taken place between them. Except for the little trill of excitement she felt at seeing him, she could almost believe it too. It seemed, in fact, as if everything had changed since her last visit to Williamsburg. Not one odd occurrence had taken place at Wicklow. Gussie was friendlier. Groom had apologized for causing her a fright, and she had spent many happy hours exploring her new home. But for the stolen chess set, she decided, everything had been set right.
“I have not forgotten my promise to have my laborers put the grounds back in good form,” Ryne assured her. “But the work in the fields is taking longer than I thought, and until then they have no time to spare.”
She listened intently as they walked side by side along the stone paths laid out intricately inside a large circle. Her mind was not so much on the weed-choked garden as on the change in his manner. Since the incident at the stables, his treatment of her had undergone an odd change. There seemed no remnant of resentment left. Yet she thought she detected a coolness and formality in his actions and words that brought some regret.
“I am grateful even with the wait,” she said, pausing in the center of the garden where all the paths met. She could be as formal and distant as he. It was, after all, what she wanted, was it not? “I believe once they are well-worked and weeded, I will be able to keep them properly cared for.”
A faint humor shone in his eyes.
“So you mean to be groundskeeper, maid, and mistress of Wicklow?”
She answered with a smile. “And whatever else is required that Wicklow might have the dignity and pride it deserves. I am certain both your Grandfather Jubal and your mother would expect no less of me.”
He laughed. “It has taken you only a short while to gain a fierce love of home and land. Virginia will soon claim you as her own.”
“I can imagine a worse fate for a woman,” she remarked.
Their walk had taken them back over the circuitous route through the gardens and to the hitching posts on the side of the house.
“This cannot be Libelia,” she said as they approached the bay mare.
“Indeed not,” he answered. “Libelia is back in my own stable and due to drop her foal any day now.”
The horse’s reins were tied to one of three posts made with iron bases and topped with a circle of grillwork made in the same pattern as the three windows above the entrance to Wicklow.
“Has this design some significance?” she asked, tracing the weblike grille with her hand as Ryne tightened the saddle girth he had loosened while the mare stood at rest.
“Possibly,” Ryne answered, untying the mare and looping the reins about her neck. “But none that has been recorded. It must have had some meaning to Grandfather Jubal. The same design is carved into his tombstone.” He swung himself astride his mount. “You may remember there is a family cemetery just beyond those trees.”
The horse stepped impatiently toward the lane. Amanda thought he would take the mare to the stable, but it appeared he intended to leave again, even though it was already late in the evening.
“Are you going?” she asked, surprised at the disappointment the prospect brought. “I thought perhaps you might be here for dinner.”
He smiled. “Libelia must be watched carefully.” His tone of voice softened. “If you like, once the foal has arrived you can ride over to the lodge with me and see them both. Libelia’s foal will be the firstborn of my new breeding stock.”
“I’d like that,” she answered, gratified that he had not forgotten her request to see the mare and wondering if he remembered that day as vividly as she did. “I shall look forward to it.”
Ryne nodded. “Good-bye,” he called as he gave the horse her head and she leapt into a gallop.
“Good-bye,” Amanda replied softly, knowing the pounding of the horse’s hooves made it impossible for him to hear.
Her hand rested on the hitching post as she watched him ride out of sight. She had made her peace with Ryne, and though it made no sense at all to think so, she felt she had lost in the bargain.
So that she would think of him no more, she turned her attention to the intriguing circle of the hitching posts, and the unusual shadows they cast on the ground. She studied the design a moment, wondering if she had not seen it somewhere else at Wicklow other than in the windows.
Possibly she remembered it from the tombstone. She seemed to have a vague memory of visiting the plot years ago. One evening she would walk out and put flowers on the graves. But not today. The sun would soon be sinking and Gussie expected her at dinner in just a short while.
But by the following morning Amanda had forgotten about visiting the cemetery. Emma Jones and Trudy were scheduled to arrive in a few more days and she was so occupied with her work inside Wicklow that she forgot almost everything else.
Except for a few rooms on each floor, Wicklow was cleaned to her satisfaction. And now, with the ghostly covers removed from the furnishings and the draperies drawn open in all the rooms, the house was not nearly so oppressive as it had been at first. She had not yet opened the master suite. Somehow she could not, after Gussie had told her the room was unchanged since the time it had been occupied by Jubal Wicklow and Evelyn. But she was sure that soon her curiosity would win out and she would have to explore that memorable room as well.
She had spent almost an entire day searching for the chess set, unsuccessfully, leaving little doubt that the set she had seen in the shop was Aunt Elise’s. But the day had not been completely fruitless. She had learned many of Wicklow’s secrets. First she had discovered a secret compartment beside the mantel in the downstairs parlor. She had been cleaning one of the gargoyles carved below the mantel when a door had popped open right above her head. Since then she had discovered almost every room had such a compartment as well as some dreadful creature in the decor.
She was quite certain Jubal Wicklow had added the stone dragons above the doors, and faces of mythological beasts in the moldings, to create a frightening atmosphere. No small wonder nightmares abounded in the house. Who could sleep soundly with such roommates? She often wondered what the man was like.
One small room near the master chamber had been hung with black scrolled wallpaper. She had discovered it once when the door shut of its own accord. The few furnishings which remained in the room were covered in black velvet. No amount of daylight could ever make the room bearable, and Amanda could not imagine a use for the strange chamber.
“Who could say?” Gussie replied when Amanda asked about the black room. “Can’t think of a decent use for it. But by all accounts he was a devil himself. Had to be, or his soul could
rest.”
“A devil, Gussie? Really, your imagination is freer than mine.” But perhaps there was some truth in what she said. Jubal had done his share of vile deeds. Perhaps even in his later years he had harbored a sinister and dark side. Was that why Evelyn went to desperate lengths to leave him?
Other rooms were more ordinary. As Amanda went through them and compared the items to those listed on her inventory, she found them complete, but there was still much to check. She had come to believe Gardner right in crediting the theft to a disgruntled servant. And though it saddened her that the chess set, for which she had deep sentiment, had been the one thing taken, she reluctantly accepted the loss.
She had little chance of recovering it, as there was no way to prove it was the one from Wicklow. Nor was there a way to trace it.
Amanda worked long and hard. By week’s end the lack of company had begun to dampen her spirits. She no longer let her eyes stray to the dragons or beasts who dominated the rooms. When she could bear them no longer she would retreat to the rose bedroom, which was free of such creatures. Often she took a book from the library and read the long hours away.
She had not thought the isolation would affect her, but found to her surprise as the days passed that more and more she missed the companionship of others. When Gardner sent his driver one afternoon with a message inviting her to Williamsburg for dinner, she was overjoyed to accept. Mrs. Weller enclosed a note begging her to come, since they would also be at Gardner’s house.
Anticipating an evening of good company and a lively conversation with Mrs. Weller, Amanda dressed with care in a silk dress of Aunt Elise’s. To occupy her time in the evenings, she had begun doing needlework and fortunately had completed the restyling of several gowns. The one she chose to wear was a particular favorite. It was champagne-colored, almost as pale as her skin, and had a bodice beaded with black jets. Large puffed sleeves dipped low from the shoulders. It had been necessary only to nip in the waist and change the lines of the skirt to bring the gown up-to-date.
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