“Kiss me, Matt. I want you to.” The total darkness was making her bold. That was the only way she could account for her temerity.
“Amanda . . .” The harsh tone was a warning and nearly a plea. “Amanda, I told you . . .”
“Please.” It was little more than a breath. She could feel his heart slamming against his breastbone. Compelled by some instinct she’d never even guessed she possessed, she pressed her lips to that wild throbbing. A long shudder rippled through him, and Amanda was suddenly conscious of a little prickle of triumph. No matter how hard he protested, he was going to give in . . .
“Amanda, damn it, didn’t anything I said to you before penetrate that beautiful skull? A kiss is one thing, and I’d kiss you if I thought I could stop there, but I wouldn’t be able to. I’m on fire for you, Amanda, and you’re the one who’s going to get burned, not me.”
She silenced his protest by the simple expedient of raising herself on tiptoe and placing her lips on his. He didn’t move for a long moment, standing as though frozen in place, his hands instinctively gripping her waist to give her balance while she clung to his shoulders. Then, with a muttered oath, he surrendered, his arms circling her so fiercely that for a moment he stopped her breath, his mouth taking starved possession of hers as he bent her backward over his arm.
“Matt . . .” She breathed his name into his mouth as the blood in her veins turned to liquid fire. Her eyes closed, and her arms slid up around his neck, her fingers closing on the thick, silky hair at his nape. It felt cool and a little rough under her hands. He was trembling against her, his arms shaking as they held her to him, his mouth shaking, too, as it probed and stroked and plundered . . .
“Sweet Jesus.” He tore his mouth from hers, swearing softly but fluently under his breath. If his arms around her hadn’t held her upright, she would have fallen. Her hands refused to release their grip on his neck. Disappointment and disbelief combined to make her forget their circumstances, the smugglers in the cave, everything except the fact that he wasn’t going to kiss her after all.
“Matt.”
“Hush.” One big hand came up to cover her mouth, reminding her irresistibly of another occasion when he had silenced her. Then she had been terrified of him; now she was furious. She bit down hard, catching the fleshy part of his palm between her teeth with the clear intention of biting right through it. He snatched his hand out of harm’s way, then immediately put it back, the palm carefully cupped so that she could not bite him. His fingers sank warningly into her cheek, and the arm holding her waist gave her a little shake.
“Behave yourself,” he said sharply into her ear. He was tense but not because of anything she was doing to him. Amanda was beginning to recognize the difference. He seemed to be listening . . . “They’re leaving.”
Amanda’s eyes widened as she realized she had completely forgotten about the smugglers. If he hadn’t silenced her . . . She had no doubt that, in the first fierce burst of rage and disappointment his abandonment of their kiss had engendered, she would have given them both away. With consequences too horrible to think about. Matt would surely have died, either murdered by the smugglers or turned over to the authorities for hanging, and she might have been killed, too. And all because she couldn’t control her temper . . . Shuddering, she went limp against him, letting him hold her as he would as they both listened to the sounds of booted feet dying away.
At last he took his hand from her mouth. Amanda ran her tongue over lips dried by the contact with his skin. She was no longer angry; the thought of what her quick temper might have brought about had cooled her rage quicker than a douche of cold water.
“All right?” He was being careful; his whisper was no louder than before. Amanda nodded. He must have felt the movement of her head, because his arms slid away from her, releasing her, leaving her to stand on her feet without support from him. Amanda felt almost bereft as the warmth and strength of his body moved away.
“Stay here.” That was all he said. She didn’t hear the sound of his shoes on the stone, but she knew he had left her alone in the dark. Wrapping her arms around her suddenly cold body, she leaned back against the cool, moist wall as she waited for him to return. Clearly he was taking no chances that the smugglers might have left a man to guard their cargo. He was less careful coming back; she heard him stumble over something and curse, making no effort to lower his voice, from which she surmised that he had ascertained that they were indeed alone.
Only moments ago she would have been delighted at the prospect, but now she felt a tingling embarrassment. She was uncomfortably aware that her behavior tonight had been something less than circumspect. Gently bred young ladies did not kiss men or beg men to kiss them; they certainly did not feel the aching longing that she did whenever Matt held her in his arms. At least, she didn’t think they did. Having had no experience of the more intimate types of contact between a gentleman and a lady, she couldn’t be sure. But Susan had confided the horror and shame she had experienced at having her virginity taken, and some of the other girls who had been sent to the convent precisely because they knew about such encounters had described men’s kisses as unappealing things at best. Their giggling recital of their own cold response had included no mention of a sudden surge of fire in their blood, or a compulsion to lock their arms around the gentleman’s neck and press their bodies to his . . .
Suddenly Amanda remembered the things Edward had said about her mother. Isabelle had been low born, an actress with beauty but no background when Amanda’s father had married her. Was it possible she had inherited from her mother this shameful inability to control herself? Edward had called Isabelle a whore. For the first time the description frightened rather than infuriated Amanda. If it were true—and Amanda felt a stab of contrition as she remembered her beautiful, laughing, loving mother—then was it something that was passed on from mother to daughter, like a disease? She shivered at the prospect.
Amanda was so caught up in her uneasy speculations that she didn’t hear Matt return. The scrape of a match head against stone and the sudden flare of light made her start. She watched him as he bent to light the candle, her hands clenching as she felt a tingle of pleasure just looking at him. Surely a real lady wouldn’t be so affected by a man’s face and form?
“What’s wrong now?” The tone was resigned, but the silver-gray eyes were sharp as he surveyed her pale face and clenched hands from beneath frowning brows. Amanda said nothing, but her cheeks grew hot as she looked at him. Just the sight of that beautifully shaped mouth awoke feelings that she could only think of as wicked . . .
“Out with it, Amanda.” It was an order, and when she didn’t comply he sighed, set the candle on the floor, and reached for her. Amanda flinched at the feel of his warm hand on her upper arm through the thin stuff of her night rail, but he drew her inexorably forward despite her obvious reluctance. When she was close enough, he lifted his other hand so that his thumb was beneath her chin, and tilted her face up so that he could study it.
“Can’t you tell me, honey?” The gentleness of the question made her shut her eyes. More than anything she wanted to rest her head against that broad chest, to pour out her confusion to the one person who had so ridiculously come to represent security to her. But if she told him what was in her mind, he might think worse of her than he must already.
“You’re not angry at me.” It was a statement, made in a thoughtful tone, as if he were considering and dismissing the possibilities one by one. Amanda refused to answer, refused even to open her eyes and look at him for fear he might read what he wanted to know there.
“You’re not scared of the smugglers.” She could feel him watching her, sense the scrutiny of his eyes even through her closed lids.
“You’re embarrassed.” There was sudden conviction in his voice. Despite everything she could do to prevent it, telltale color heated her cheeks.
“You are embarrassed.” There was a wealth of triumph in his tone. “You should ne
ver try to hide things, Amanda. Your face gives you away every time. All right, now that we’ve got that out in the open, would you care to tell me why?”
Still she said nothing, keeping her eyes resolutely closed. His hand tightened on her arm, and his voice was laced with exasperation when he spoke again.
“I’m getting tired of asking questions, Amanda. And I can make a pretty good guess at what’s bothering you, so you may as well tell me. Come on, Amanda. Open your eyes and tell me.”
He would only keep badgering her until she did as he said, she knew, so she slowly opened her eyes. His face was serious as he studied her expression. Amanda looked up at him helplessly, part of her wanting to rid herself of the whole sorry tangle of her feelings, part of her dreading his reaction if she did. She remained miserably silent.
“You’re embarrassed because you kissed me, aren’t you, Amanda?” That shot was close enough so that her cheeks grew hot again. Her thick lashes fluttered down in a futile effort to shield her eyes from the hard probe of his. Not that it would do any good, she thought. Her blasted skin would tell him everything he wanted to know.
“You’re worried about the way I make you feel, right, Amanda?” The hot surge of color was his answer. His fingers left her chin to close over her other arm and he shook her, hard this time. Her eyes flew back to meet his, and she was taken aback to find an almost grim look on his face.
“If you don’t start talking to me, I’m liable to commit a real murder,” he warned tightly. To her surprise as much as his, she smiled. The taut line of his mouth relaxed, and he smiled back at her, his eyes gentling. That crooked smile made mincemeat out of the last shreds of her resistance.
“Do you think I’m . . . bold, Matt?” The question made her cheeks flush scarlet, and she quickly dropped her eyes. If he despised her, she didn’t want to see it on his face.
“No bolder than you should be. Why?” To her relief his reply was almost negligent. She dared another glance at him. He didn’t look shocked or horrified.
“Nobody else has ever kissed me,” she confessed in an almost-whisper. The answering quirk of his eyebrows told her that he knew this. “I . . . don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I know you’ve kissed lots of other girls. Do most of them . . . Well, do they react as I do?”
“No.” The cold certainty of the word shattered her. Her eyes were enormous and defenseless as they flew to meet his. Stricken, she felt her lower lip tremble. His eyes fastened on that betraying quiver, and his hands on her arms tightened almost cruelly. “What you have is a precious gift, Amanda,” he went on, his voice rough. “The gift of a warm and loving nature. You’re a passionate little thing, honey, or at least you will be when you’ve had a little more experience, and that’s something you should thank God on bended knees for. A passion like yours is the best gift a woman can give the man she loves. Believe me, whoever he is will treasure it.”
Amanda regarded him with an expression that was somewhere between relief and suspicion. “Are you telling me the truth, Matt? You’re not just trying to make me feel better?”
His mouth twisted in unmistakable annoyance. “Of course I’m telling you the truth. Whatever else I may do, you can trust me not to lie to you.”
“Then why—”
He interrupted with a fierce gesture. “Why don’t I take what you’re doing your best to give me?” Watching her blush, he looked grimly satisfied. “I told you, Amanda: I like you too much. That passion of yours is a gift for the man you’ll love—the man who will marry you and give you children. And that’s another reason: children. Whether you know it or not, and I know you probably don’t—it’s criminal the way we keep young girls so ignorant—the way you feel results in children. If I made love to you the way I’d have to if I had very much more of your kind of kissing, you’d soon have a baby growing in your belly. And that’s not what you want, is it?”
Amanda stared at him. Matt’s baby growing in her belly—the thought made her toes curl involuntarily. Mortified, praying that this time he wouldn’t be able to guess what she was thinking, she dropped her eyes and pulled away from his hands.
“No, of course not.” Her voice betrayed embarrassment, but if she was lucky he would think that it stemmed from discussing such an indelicate subject. She stole a look at him. He was watching her with keen eyes. Quickly she searched her mind for a topic to distract him. Thank goodness there was an obvious one at hand. “Matt . . . you can’t stay here tonight.”
“I can’t? Why not?” He drawled the words, plainly aware that she was trying to change the subject but willing to follow her lead.
“The smugglers will be back to pick up their cargo, probably in a day or two. They don’t usually leave it any longer than that.”
“I’ll stay out of their way.”
Amanda shook her head. “No . . . that would be too dangerous. They could come again at any time, even later tonight. And if they found you . . .” She didn’t have to go on. Matt knew as well as she did what would happen if they found him.
“What do you suggest?”
Amanda thought for a moment. “The cellar’s out. Sister Patrick goes down there fairly often—she stores vegetables there. And you certainly can’t just wander about the convent. Someone’s bound to see you.” She frowned. “I think you should stay in my room,” she said slowly. “It’s way up in one of the turrets, by itself. No one ever goes in there except with me. And if by some mischance someone should, you can always hide in the wardrobe.” Her eyes moved over him, and she grinned. “No, not the wardrobe—you’re too big. Under the bed.” He gave her a speculative look.
“So long as you’re not planning any more assaults on my virtue,” Matt said dryly. “I don’t think I could stand it.”
Cheeks flushing with indignation, Amanda glared at him and opened her mouth with the fixed intention of leaving him in no doubt as to what she thought of such an ungentlemanly suggestion. He grinned suddenly and silenced her by holding up a restraining hand.
“I’m truly sorry. I apologize for that. Now suppose you quit spitting fire at me, and we make sure that you cleared everything away properly in there. Next time, the smugglers might not be in such a hurry.”
He picked up the candle and moved past Amanda as he spoke. Amanda was left with no option but to follow. This she did, after favoring Matt’s disappearing back with a last glare. Handsome or not, it was the outside of enough for him to suspect she meant to attack him.
Matt stopped just inside the cavern, holding the candle high so that the room was illuminated, and Amanda stopped, too, some few paces behind him. Besides the usual stalagmites, stalactites, and other rock formations, the circular chamber was now embellished by the addition of perhaps forty brassbound barrels, stacked haphazardly. Matt passed Amanda the candle without speaking, then crossed to the barrels, rolling one free to pry at the lid. It didn’t take him long to get it open; when he did, he looked faintly surprised at its contents.
“They’re smuggling grain.”
Amanda, having lived in the area for some years, was well aware of that. The smugglers’ activities were rather an open secret, one that she, like the rest of the peninsula’s inhabitants, was not particularly concerned about. Live and let live was the way most of the local residents felt about the smugglers, who were almost thought of as family. Black sheep, maybe, but family. Nearly everyone took a proprietary interest in their goings-on, and no one would have dreamed of turning them over to the local authorities.
“It’s because of the Corn Laws,” Amanda explained. She moved a little farther into the chamber and peered into the nooks and crannies to see if there was anything that might betray Matt’s presence. There was an unraveling bandage peeking out from behind a rock. Amanda picked it up and looked around for anything else. As Matt had said, next time, the smugglers might not be in such a hurry. “They probably brought the grain over from France. Tomorrow night or the one after that, a boat will come across St. George’s Channel to take it t
o Ireland. That’s what they always do.”
“And how do you know so much about it?” Matt was looking at her rather strangely. Amanda grinned.
“Oh, I’ve been watching them for years,” she admitted. “I can see the bay from my bedroom window, and whenever I see their lights I go out on the cliff and watch them work. When the moon’s out, I can see quite a lot.”
“You seem to have any number of nighttime adventures,” Matt said dryly. “Did it never occur to you that it might be rather dangerous for a young girl to go wandering around alone at night?”
Amanda threw him a saucy look. “Not until I stumbled across a murderer on the beach. Since then, I’ve been more careful.”
Matt’s mouth quirked upward in a somewhat reluctant answering smile. “And so you should be. Next time, there actually might be a murderer.”
“Yes.” Matt was still looking at her strangely, and Amanda frowned. She did not realize that in candlelight, her thin night rail was almost diaphanous, that only the glittering skeins of hair flowing past her hips in any way preserved her modesty. She only saw Matt’s eyes move over her once before they were abruptly averted. Her frown deepened, and she would have questioned him, but he had already replaced the lid on the barrel and was crossing to her, taking the candle from her hand.
“Let’s go,” he said brusquely. “Dressed—or should I say undressed—as you are, you’re likely to catch your death of cold. Next time you go flying out into the night, take a moment to slip into your dressing gown and slippers. They might preserve your health in more ways than one.”
Only then did Amanda remember the scantiness of her attire. Looking down at herself, she blushed scarlet. Matt’s lip curled at her embarrassment.
“Just so,” he said curtly, then left her to follow him to the trapdoor. Amanda stopped only long enough to tuck the tureen under one arm before scrambling after him. Once they were inside the cellar, the going became more difficult. The candle was of necessity blown out, leaving them in total darkness. Amanda knew the way and alone would have had little trouble returning to her room, but guiding Matt added hair-raising dimension to the exercise. He bumped his shins more than once and cracked his head on a low beam so hard that it sent him staggering. The words he uttered under his breath should have had the convent walls tumbling about his ears, but though Amanda momentarily held her breath, nothing happened.
Amanda Rose Page 12