Whispers at Midnight

by Parnell, Andrea

  Amanda laughed. “Did you know Evelyn Wicklow, Groom?” Sometimes she found herself wondering about the woman who had disappeared.

  “Yes, mum. A fine lady she was. Fair-haired, and eyes what were beautiful but strange as a cat’s. ‘Specially when she wore the heart pendant the Cap’n give her.”

  “What do you supposed happened to her?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe she just run off when the Cap’n was gone. Grief, I reckon. Never believed she was waitin’ somewhere for that other fellow. Happened down back by the river,” he went on. “Not a fair fight or the Cap’n would never been shot to death. Were a crime, what that other fellow done. But Cap’n winged him too, by the blood.” Groom took a seat on a keg by the barn door. He went on in a whisper. “I believe one reason the old Cap’n is still around, he’s waitin’ for her to come back.”

  “Why, Groom,” Amanda said with a smile ruffling her mouth, “I believe you’re a romantic.”

  “Tosh!” the old man said.

  ***

  The remainder of the week passed pleasantly at Wicklow. Cecil Baldwin called one day. He had business with Emma and Trudy which brought him out. There was still an entanglement of legal matters left by Emma’s husband, and the poor woman’s signature was needed.

  Before the affable Mr. Baldwin left, he renewed his offer to find a buyer for Wicklow, telling Amanda that scrubbing was not proper work for a lady. Again Amanda refused. He was right that she could hire servants and live lavishly in a smaller house with the money Wicklow would bring. But that was not her choice.

  The other days, delightfully balmy for midsummer, had been filled with fruitful labor. The entire first floor of Wicklow had been scrubbed and scoured until the slate floors glistened like polished onyx. The filigreed panels were dusted and washed and gleamed like new.

  The hardest undertaking had been the polishing of the mirrors and floors in the ballroom. But now even that grandiose room glistened, from the crystal prisms of the chandeliers to the gilt frames of the mirrors. By late September when Gardner planned to hold the ball, Wicklow would be the most splendid house for miles. And perhaps the cleanest.

  Ryne had not made an appearance at Wicklow the entire week. After a few days Amanda concluded he had somehow managed to afford lodgings elsewhere or, as she thought more likely, had found a woman to practice his charms upon.

  One thing she could not help be aware of was that in the past week, not one terrifying thing had happened at Wicklow. There had been no strange sounds or dreams, and not once during that time had she heard the eerie whispering of her name.

  Ezra had become accustomed to Emma and Trudy and resumed his old habits. Some days Trudy would share in feeding the parrot bits of apple. Amanda suspected Trudy was becoming as fond of the old bird as she was herself.

  Even Gussie had joined in the work and in her slow way had done her share of scrubbing. Gussie as much as anyone was pleased to see Wicklow once again looking the way Aunt Elise had kept it, and had praised Amanda for her efforts.

  Tired through to the marrow from the task she had reserved for herself alone, that of dusting and cleaning the Turkish King, Amanda cast her scrub brush aside and declared the work at an end for the week.

  Weary, she spent an hour soaking in the marble tub after supper. Emma and Trudy had retired early. As always, the long soak in the scented water did its magic, and when she returned to the rose bedroom, she felt as refreshed and gay as she had on arising that morning.

  She wore a rose silk dressing gown and a pair of silk mules trimmed with a tuft of white feathers. Her hair hung loose and tumbling over her shoulders, shining like silk from the hundred strokes she had given it.

  Good night, fair lady. Good night, kind sir.

  I bid you sweet journey through night’s dark hour.

  Amanda sang the song softly as she opened the door to her bedroom. But as the door swung aside, her song ceased, and she looked up in surprise. The room had been bright with the light of many candles when she left. Now it was dimly lit with the light of one narrow taper on the desk.

  She trembled slightly as she tried to imagine why the other candles had been snuffed out. A momentary panic gripped her mind. She was thinking of that dark room at the end of the hall and of being trapped inside. An instant later she knew her short period of peace was over. He was there.

  “Why are you in my room?” Her fear quickly transformed to anger. Seeming barely separate from the darkness in his black attire, Ryne stood at the open windows, legs apart, hands at rest behind his back. As their gazes met, she felt a disconcerting little lurch in her chest.

  “To talk to you,” he said without changing his stance.

  Amanda stood immobile just inside the door. But even from that distance she could tell his eyes blazed with an intent that brought a tremble to her flesh.

  “If you wanted to talk, you might have seen me downstairs.”

  “I might have,” he said smoothly. With an easy stride Ryne crossed the room and shut the door behind Amanda.

  The action brought her out of her momentary shock. She whirled around.

  “Ryne, I want you to leave at once.”

  He shook his head slowly and dropped his hands to her shoulders. His palms, through the thin silk of her dressing gown, were like fiery brands, melting through her flesh to melt her very soul.

  “But I want to stay, my sweet,” he said softly.

  Ryne’s fingers curled into her flesh in a slow and sensuous massage of her shoulders.

  “Really?” She stiffened. It was hard to remain angry when his hands felt so wonderfully good touching her. “Why, Ryne?” she asked in a frosty voice which she hoped did not betray the boiling temperature of her blood.

  It wasn’t fair that her body should respond so quickly to his touch. Her emotions waged war. She ought to pull away, but somehow she could not.

  “Must you always ask why?” The moment he touched her, he knew there was fire, not ice in her veins. The flame burned as hotly in him. With a flick of his fingers he loosened the tie on her dressing gown and let it fall away. He could feel the heated flesh beneath his fingertips as he ran them over her bare shoulders and over the soft swells that rose enticingly out of the low neckline of her gown. “You must know, Amanda, you’ve poisoned my blood and stolen my thoughts, until nothing will ease me but holding you in my arms and having you again.”

  As he spoke, he lifted her hair, so fragrant and soft, from her neck and kissed the tender spot underneath.

  A sigh slipped lightly from her lips. “Please do leave, Ryne,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Her voice was like soft shimmering silk and her breath a sweet warm breeze on his cheek. If the truth were known, he had not come here for this but to try to prove to himself once more that he did not need her. But as her slender arms wrapped about his waist and her head dropped caressingly against his chest, he found he was proving something entirely different.

  “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t want to be here,” he whispered unsteadily. “But I am here and I want you more than I want to breathe.”

  Amanda tried to steel herself against his dangerous magnetism. She must not want what she was wanting, must not even think it. She tried to ignore the wild hammering of her heart. If he kissed her again or held her a moment longer, she would not be able to resist.

  “No, Ryne. I don’t want you.” She fought him with words, a feeble weapon against his nearness, but the only one she could use. Her body had long ago surrendered to his touch.

  Ryne answered her first with a kiss, and as his lips fastened to hers, he pushed the straps of the pink silk gown from her shoulders, baring her breasts to the candlelight and to the caress of his gaze.

  “You do,” he whispered, reading the desire in the emerald mists of her eyes. “Oh yes, love. You do.”

  His lips recaptured hers, gentle but more demanding as she lost the last bit of desire to make him leave. In a moment she had stepped out of her gown
and Ryne had torn his shirt away. He took her in his arms and carried her to the bed, her mind now as pliable and willing as her body.

  There on the soft linen sheets she waited in trembling anticipation as he stripped off his boots and breeches. He stood for a moment looking at her, the hard muscles rippling beneath his bronzed skin, his eyes the blue-black of midnight, his state of arousal evident. He was superb, beautiful, and dangerous. Her heart pounded and she quivered all over.

  She needed him. She wanted him. And it was wrong. She ought to hate him, ought to despise him for making her feel this way. But he was looking at her with eyes full of desire and tenderness and she could see he was as mystified as she by the compelling force that brought them together.

  That look on his face unleashed something gentle and forgiving inside her. She would be satisfied that he had come to her, that he wanted her so badly he could not stay away even when he wanted to. For now it would be enough.

  She wanted to tell him those things, to share all the thoughts racing through her mind, but her lips could only whisper his name.

  Ryne groaned at the sight of Amanda lying on the snowy sheets, her skin almost as white as the fine linen. In the candlelight her eyes were brilliant, flickering shards of green, her lashes a dusky flittering shadow around them. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her rosy lips parted as she formed his name, her cheeks glowed with the blush of inner heat.

  Ryne knelt above her. What was it that brought him back to this woman he had tried so hard to forget? She was only a woman, was she not? And he might have his pick of any. Why, then, could he not keep himself from this lovely sprite whom he did not even trust?

  Ahh, but it was not a time to examine such heady matters as those, not when passion flamed his loins and a morsel as sweet and desirable as Amanda lay willingly beneath him.

  He wove his hands into her hair, rich and brown as fertile earth shimmering with bands of gold. She smelled sweet and fresh, as if the essence of flowers had been rubbed over her skin.

  A soft cry came from her lips as he poured hot, searing kisses from her temple to her throat. Expertly he slipped gentle hands under her shoulders and raised her up. Amanda shook with excitement as the smoldering flame in his eyes swept over her, taking in hungrily the radiant glow of her skin; the soft rounded curves of her shoulders and breasts; the rose-crested nipples that had hardened in response to his kisses; the flat plane of her belly and the satin smoothness of her thighs.

  She lifted her lips to his, slid her hands slowly from his shoulders over the crisp black hair that covered his chest, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Ryne’s lips were ravaging hers again, his tongue darting quickly in and out of her mouth, tantalizing, teasing, tasting all the sweetness within. Amanda kissed him back fervently, knowing she wanted him, loved him—and no longer forcing herself to deny it.

  The burn of desire grew as once more Ryne’s mouth seared a trail from her lips to her throat. He whispered words of love, soft and low. Amanda shuddered, feeling as if she were suspended in the fleecy, voluminous swells of a cloud.

  Moving gently, his hands found her breasts, the small, perfect mounds that tingled with excitement under his caress. His fingers fondled possessively the rosy crests, making them tighten into little pink buds before he bent his head and took one rosy peak in his mouth.

  Amanda gasped his name as his tongue caressed and his teeth nibbled gently, sending a flux of fire surging through her veins. She was lost in the frenzied sensations he was starting in her body. His mouth moved to the other breast, his lips pressing a circle of kisses around that bud and his tongue swirling gently over it.

  Strong hands stroked her thighs, moving boldly upward, one hand brushing softly over silken curls and dipping down to intimately touch her womanhood. Writhing beneath his touch, she whimpered as he found and caressed rhythmically, gently, the soft, silken folds of skin.

  His lips found her ear and whispered soft words of love before he kissed a fiery path over her cheek and once more covered her mouth with his. But his lips lingered there only a moment before he blazed the trail to her breasts and to her belly, where he plied the soft white skin with more hot kisses.

  Faster and faster his fingers probed her womanhood, moving inside her warm nectar, titillating all her senses into one that heated and expanded and bloomed in a wild explosion of light.

  “Oh, Ryne, Ryne!” she cried as her body stilled its quivering.

  Rising, she touched the mat of black hair on his chest, traced the bands of muscles beneath his bronzed skin.

  Ryne took her hand and guided it to his bold manhood. He moved his hand over hers at first, but then left the ancient rhythm to her as he caressed and kissed her face and ran his hands in masterful strokes over her body. She felt the heat rising inside her as he groaned, and drew her hand away. A moment later he pushed her down on the pillows and raised himself, poised above her.

  She gave a small incoherent cry as he thrust inside her. His hands were tangled in the tumbling honey-brown tresses spread across the pillows. He lay motionless for what seemed an eternity, his lips burning hers with a smoldering heat. She begged him with her eyes and he responded by starting to move within her, thrusting harder and harder with the savage passion that consumed them.

  “Sweet love, Amanda,” he whispered hoarsely against her throat. “You are mine.”

  Amanda gasped in sweet agony. She felt the delectable heat boiling in her loins, spilling into her veins, forging through her blood with tremors of pleasure. She clawed at his back. The skin was damp under her fingers, the muscles hard as steel. Her body began to shudder as if it were no longer her own, yielding her to a floodtide of ecstasy that rolled and swelled until at last it burst forth in a tumultuous, molten release.

  Almost at the same moment, Ryne plunged into her for the last time, his body jolting in the wild ecstasy he sought, leaving him glistening with sweat and panting for breath. His ebony hair hung damply on his shoulders as he whispered her name, and still entangled within her legs, rolled to his side.

  They lay in each other’s arms, neither willing to say the words that might destroy the moment. How long they lay awake, she did not know, but before her eyes closed the candle had burned down and flickered out and Ryne’s arms were still wrapped tightly about her.

  ***

  In the soft, crystalline light of morning Ryne stood silhouetted at the window, a slow, secret smile spreading across his face as she opened her eyes and looked for him beside her.

  “I am here.”

  Amanda quickly covered her breasts with the sheet and raked the tangles of hair from her eyes. She pushed a pillow into a plump cushion behind her and leaned her weight against it.

  “I thought you had gone,” she said softly, not knowing how things would be with them by the light of day.

  Ryne came to her bedside. She noticed that already he had donned his boots and breeches, and the shirt he had cast away last night had been retrieved and hung over the back of a chair.

  “I would not deprive myself of this lovely sight.” He tugged the sheet away, uncovering her breasts to his smoky gaze and caress. “Nor of this sweet taste,” he added, taking one rose-tipped breast in his mouth and nipping it lightly. His hand rested high on her thigh and as his mouth trailed hotly to the other breast, she felt him softly kneading her leg. “You are not sorry I stayed, are you?”

  “No, no. I am pleased.” Amanda moaned softly. How easily he could light the fire in her blood.

  His lips moved to her mouth and she quivered at the sweet tenderness of his kiss. But too soon he pulled away.

  “You bedevil me, woman. I should have been gone at sunrise.”

  “Business?”

  He laughed. “Yes, business. And count yourself proud. You are the first woman ever to sway me from my plans.” His voice lowered. “I watched you sleeping for an hour.”

  “Why?”

  Ryne laughed again. Even with the bristle of a beard
showing on his face, he was handsome.

  “More whys, Amanda? They can be dangerous, you know. I might change my mind and stay.”

  Amanda blushed. “You are dangerous, I think.”

  “No more so than you are to me. And I cannot stay. I have arranged to meet some men who are interested in investing in my horses. As it is, my mount will have to fly to get me there on time.”

  “No, please, wait just a moment more. I’ll dress and walk out to the stables with you.”

  “How can I refuse?” he asked with a smile. “I’ll wash and get a shirt from my room while you cover your charms.” Ryne dropped a kiss on her lips.

  “I’ll be dressed in shortly,” she called to him as he hurried away.

  Whistling softly, Ryne raked the tousled black hair from his face and paused for a moment, remembering he had left the black silk shirt in Amanda’s room. But no matter, he would get it when he returned. So lost was he in memories of Amanda locked in an intimate embrace that he did not notice the quick whisk of skirts as someone drew quickly into the doorway of another room along the hall.

  He shook his head in consternation. He had been terribly wrong about her, terribly wrong. Perhaps he had become too hard and suspicious, but that happened to a man who had been betrayed by someone for whom he cared. It was a trait now deeply ingrained.

  He sighed. What a beautiful, tempting smile she had. How could he have believed those soft green eyes could mask deceit? On both occasions she had given herself to him completely, without questioning. It was time to make amends for what he had said and done—more than amends, if he could have his way.

  As soon as the door was shut, Amanda exhaled a soft sigh of contentment. Her eyelids closed dreamily and she fell to the pillows. Could this be happening? This wonderful, blissful, happy moment. Oh, but it was. It was. And Ryne was adoring, sweet, loving . . . and waiting.