He must have sensed her dilemma. “Don’t worry, I won’t look,” he said wryly. Looking uncertainly at him as he stood with his back to her, his broad shoulders nearly blocking the window, she realized that regardless of his pedigree or lack of one, he was a gentleman to his fingertips. At least where she was concerned. In fact, she thought, sometimes she wished he had just a shade less chivalry. But this definitely wasn’t one of those times.
He was as good as his word. While she hastily removed her nightdress and washed, a wary eye fixed on his tall form, he continued to look pensively out the window. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said that he had forgotten her presence in the room. She dressed as quickly as she could, putting on a fresh chemise and stepping into pantalettes, knotting the tapes of her petticoat with fingers that were made slightly clumsy by Matt’s silent presence, then slipping into one of her plain gray dresses. Fashion decreed the addition of at least two more petticoats as well as stays, she knew, to say nothing of a very different style of dress, but the sisters had nothing but contempt for fashion and their pupils willy-nilly followed their lead. But Amanda was suddenly assailed by a vision of herself in a dazzling white ball gown with skirts so wide that she had to pass through a door sideways, and short, puffed sleeves and a neck cut down to there . . .
It would be satisfying to watch Matt’s reaction if he could see her dressed so beguilingly. She had an image of him on his knees at her feet, his arrogant black head bowed as he begged humbly for the favor of a dance. She chuckled at the absurdity of the notion. The convent was far more likely to fall into the sea. And she didn’t know how to dance.
“You can turn around now. I’m almost finished,” Amanda said, standing on one shod foot as she slid the other into a flat black slipper. Matt turned obediently, one eyebrow rising as he surveyed her.
“Don’t you have anything besides gray dresses?” he asked impatiently. Amanda looked at him in some surprise. He sounded testy, and she wondered what she had done to cause his ill-humor. She was ready to swear that he had been perfectly even tempered when he awakened her.
“A black one, for Sunday best,” she answered flippantly. He frowned at her, studying the unfashionable gray dress with such a sour expression that Amanda raised her eyebrows at him. His mouth tightened as he observed her expression. “Your brother treats you shamefully. He isn’t short of cash, I take it?” Amanda shook her head. “He should be shot.” Matt thrust his hands into his pockets as he spoke. Through the rough material of his trousers Amanda saw his hands ball into fists. Puzzled, she considered questioning his odd behavior, but then thought better of it. There was no time for a discussion if she was to make it downstairs before matins; besides, she was often cross herself for no apparent reason. Wasn’t he allowed the same privilege? Perhaps he was simply one of those people who never spoke a civil word before noon. That was possible. After all, she had never seen him in the morning before.
“I suggest that you quit staring at me as if you’re afraid I might explode at any moment, and do something about your hair. You can’t go downstairs like that.”
The tone was still disgruntled, but the advice was so eminently practical that Amanda did as he suggested. As she stood in front of the small mirror struggling with the heavy, wayward mass, she was conscious of his eyes watching her intently. Putting her hair up was more difficult than usual this morning; because she had slept with it unconfined the night before, it was a mass of tangles and rat tails. Finally, dragging the weight of it over one shoulder, she began to rake her brush through it so hard that tears came to her eyes.
“Here, let me help you.” She had been concentrating so on her blasted hair that she wasn’t aware that he had moved until he stood directly behind her. Even as he spoke, he removed the brush from her hand and swept the mass of hair over her shoulder so that it waved and spiraled down her back. With infinite gentleness, he began to work his fingers through the thick strands, separating knots and tangles before at last smoothing the whole with her brush. Amanda stood very still as he ministered to her, loving the feel of his hands in her hair but afraid to give him the slightest inkling of how she felt. If he guessed what the mere touch of his fingers against her hair did to her, she knew that he would immediately abandon his task and put the width of the room between them. Still, there was nothing to stop her from watching him in the mirror . . .
He looked so tall and dark standing behind her, his expression intent as he worked on her hair. Positioned in front of him, her bright head barely reaching his shoulder, she admired the breadth of his shoulders, the rippling muscles of his arms, the strong brown neck and hint of silky chest hair revealed by the open collar of his shirt. He was so big that he would easily make two of her, she thought, big enough to break her like kindling between his two hands if he wished. But for all his size and enormous strength, he had been nothing but gentle with her . . . A stray beam of sunlight sneaked through the window to touch the glossy blackness of his hair. The few silver strands shimmered in the sunlight, almost matching the color of his eyes, which she knew by heart now, although his lashes were at present veiling them from her gaze. The lean strength of his jaw and slightly cleft chin were faintly blurred by black stubble that was not yet long enough to obscure the chiseled masculine beauty of his mouth . . . She was staring at that mouth when he glanced up to catch her eyes on him in the mirror.
His jaw clenched. Amanda watched, fascinated, as a tiny muscle began to twitch at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened as they met hers. He stared at her silently for an instant before those smoldering eyes shifted to rest almost unwillingly on her mouth. Amanda felt the touch of his eyes like a physical caress. Her lips parted involuntarily, and her breathing quickened. More than anything in the world she longed to turn and slide her arms around his neck . . .
“You’d better finish it yourself,” Matt said harshly, tossing the brush on the bed, and while she watched in the mirror he turned on his heel and crossed to stare out the window again. Amanda gritted her teeth against disappointment so acute that it was almost an ache. Then, with clumsy hands, she retrieved the brush from the bed and finished putting up her hair.
She was just stabbing the last pin through the coronet of braids when a light rap sounded on the door. Amanda whirled to stare at the portal, and Matt dropped to the floor behind the bed so quickly and silently that it was almost as if he had never been there. And just in time, too. The door opened before Amanda could respond. Susan stood framed in the doorway, a worried frown marring her pretty face.
“I’m just coming,” Amanda began, moving quickly toward the door, hoping that her drumming heart was not audible to anyone else. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”
‘You have visitors.” Susan gnawed her lower lip. “I was sent to fetch you. It’s your brother, and another gentleman.”
The two girls stared at each other in dismay. Susan knew better than anyone except Matt how Amanda felt about Edward. Amanda didn’t have to say a word; the sudden consternation in her eyes said it all for her. Her first, cowardly impulse was to remain in her room, to send Susan down to tell Mother Superior that she was ill. Then she thought of Matt, who could undoubtedly hear every word from his hiding place. Whatever happened, she could not do anything that would cause the sisters or, God forbid, Edward himself to come to her room. Anyway, she thought, squaring her shoulders defiantly, she was not afraid of Edward.
“I’ll be right down.” Amanda’s chin lifted as she braced herself for the inevitable. Then she turned back to the mirror, ostensibly to check her appearance but really to give herself a precious few seconds to regain her composure. Moving with conscious deliberation, she tucked in a wayward strand of hair. Then she was ready. Susan followed her silently down the stairs. Amanda could feel her friend’s unspoken sympathy enveloping her.
“They’re in Mother Superior’s office,” Susan said softly as they reached the ground floor. Amanda nodded but, despite her best intentions, hesitated. What
could Edward want? Nothing pleasant, she was sure. Never in all the years she had been a pupil here had he deigned to visit her. Impossible to hope that this was a mere social call. No, if she knew anything of Edward, he was here on business—business that boded no good for her. Then another possibility struck her forcibly, causing her face to whiten. Could it be that the nuns had somehow found out about Matt and had sent for Edward before confronting her with their knowledge? He was, after all, her legal guardian, and presumably would be interested to know that his half sister and ward was concealing England’s most notorious murderer.
“Oh, Amanda, you don’t think they’re going to take you away?” Susan’s worried question was so in line with what she had been thinking that Amanda started. A dragoon of soldiers to drag her off to prison might even now be waiting behind Mother Superior’s closed door. Then she realized what her friend had meant. Susan was afraid that Edward might have come to remove Amanda from the convent for some purpose of his own. And that was possible, too.
“I hope not,” she said slowly. Susan’s pansy-brown eyes, meeting hers, misted with sudden tears.
“I-I do, too.” Her voice was husky. “If you left, I would be so . . . lonely.”
“I would miss you, too.” It was all Amanda could find to say. Susan knew as well as she did that if Edward wanted to remove her from the convent, Amanda would have no say in the matter. Just as Susan would, in the end, have no choice but to obey her parents. Except for the few who were lucky enough to have financial independence, females were mere chattel, expected and, indeed, legally required to do as they were told. It was terribly unfair, but it was the way of the world.
The door to Mother Superior’s office opened, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts. Joanna looked out into the hallway, saw Amanda and Susan standing at the front of the stairs, frowned, and beckoned.
“Mother Superior is waiting for you, Amanda,” she said reprovingly.
Amanda squared her shoulders, then on impulse reached over to give Susan’s hand a quick squeeze. Susan returned the gesture for an instant. Then, gritting her teeth, Amanda moved past Joanna into Mother Superior’s office.
Despite her small size, Mother Superior radiated authority as she sat like a queen behind her desk. Amanda thought that she had never seen her look so totally in command. Clearly she disapproved of her visitors. Not Edward, whom she had met before and who now stood in front of one of the many-paned windows with the morning sun streaming in to highlight his fair hair. (Amanda suspected that he had taken up that stance for just that reason.) No, Edward, who managed to greet her with a civil word, was, outwardly at least, a gentleman. It could not be he who had irked Mother Superior.
Which left the other gentleman. He rose to his feet from the small chair before Mother Superior’s desk as Amanda entered.
“You remember Lord Robert, Amanda,” Edward murmured by way of introduction, not moving from the window as the other man stepped forward to take the hand that Amanda automatically held out to him. She could only stare in liveliest dismay as her prospective betrothed raised her hand to his lips, planting a damp kiss on its unresponsive back. Yes, indeed, she remembered him. But in his case memory had been kind. Surely he had not always been so short or plump, and surely his scalp had not always gleamed so brightly through the thinning ginger strands that were unsuccessfully arranged to conceal his baldness. And surely he had not always dressed his rotund form in such a ridiculous fashion. Why, his collar points were starched so high that he could scarce turn his head, and his lavender coat ill suited his florid complexion. She had no doubt that, combined with his biscuit-colored breeches and intricately tied cravat, the coat was the height of fashion, but, quite apart from its color, the wasp-waisted, shoulder-padded style made him appear more than a little ridiculous. And this was the man Edward had chosen for her husband.
“It is a great pleasure to see you again, Amanda,” Lord Robert was saying. “I may call you Amanda? After all, in one way or another, we are very nearly related. And may I say you have improved far beyond my wildest hopes—er, expectations—since I last saw you.”
He released her hand at last and sent a significant smile to Edward, who smiled in return. Both men eyed Amanda, one with satisfaction, the other with avidity. Amanda surreptitiously wiped her hand on her skirt and barely repressed a shudder. Lord Robert looked as if he would like to have her for breakfast, and Edward, she knew, was perfectly capable of feeding her to him.
“Have you nothing to say, Amanda?” Edward demanded with an edge to his carefully smooth voice. Amanda realized with some surprise that she had not uttered a word since entering the room. First nervousness and then shock had rendered her tongue-tied.
“Of course. It’s merely that I’m surprised to see you,” Amanda said with some composure to her half brother. Not for anything would she let Edward see she feared him; he would enjoy that and take full advantage of it. Then she turned to Lord Robert, who was beaming at her fatuously. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Robert. And of course you may address me by my given name. After all, we are cousins.”
Edward glared at her, clearly disliking her implicit disclaimer of any closer relationship with Lord Robert. Amanda returned his look unflinchingly, though she had to swallow once to combat the sudden dryness in her throat. Mother Superior, seeing this deadly exchange of glances, chose that moment to intervene. She rose unhurriedly and came around the desk to stand beside Amanda. The slender girl with her vivid coloring and the old nun in the somewhat limp habit were nearly of a height.
“Your brother and Lord Robert have asked permission to take you out for the day, Amanda. I have consented. I suggest you return to your room and fetch your shawl. They will await you here.”
Amanda looked into Mother Superior’s kindly old eyes and nodded slowly. For the moment, at least, she would not openly defy Edward. Later was the time, when she was safely rid of Matt.
“Yes, Mother,” she said meekly and, with a small curtsy dropped in the general direction of the two gentlemen, quitted the room.
Susan was hovering just outside the door, as Amanda had known she would be. She reassured her friend quickly. Then, gathering her wits and realizing that she might be gone for most of the day, she managed to sneak away to the larder and take some food for Matt. Bread and cheese merely, but that would have to do until she could get more . . .
Matt was clearly not pleased when she told him her visitors’ identities, and what they wanted. He frowned, staring at her thoughtfully with his hands thrust into his pantaloon pockets. But there was nothing she could do but comply, and they both knew it. Besides, what harm could possibly come to her on an outing in broad daylight with her half brother and stepcousin, be they ever so unpleasant? She put the question to Matt with a smile, but his frown did not lessen in return. He of all people knew how much she hated and feared Edward.
“I must go,” she told him, snatching up her shawl and moving quickly toward the door. Matt put out an involuntary hand, as though to stop her. She hesitated, looking into that lean, handsome face that was dark with concern for her. Then she smiled her heartshakingly sweet smile. “I really must, Matt,” she said softly. He stared at her for a moment, unspeaking. Then his mouth twisted in wry acceptance, and his hand dropped to his side.
“Take care,” she thought she heard him murmur as she went out the door . . .
The day was like a bad dream. That was the only way Amanda could think to describe it. She felt as though she had been split into two persons: one rode in Edward’s carriage on a tour of the local sights, making innocuous conversation with an eager Lord Robert while Edward watched and listened with grim pleasure; the other was worrying about Matt. Suppose he was discovered? Amanda found that she had no idea what Lord Robert was saying to her or what she was replying. The strain of knowing that England’s most wanted murderer was secreted in her bedroom, coupled with the strain of trying to appear totally unconcerned about anything but her two companions, was addling her wits.
She had no doubt that, if Lord Robert had proposed in the last few minutes, she had absently accepted. She could only hope that he had not.
Edward had not changed one iota, Amanda discovered as the day wore on. She also discovered that absence had not made her heart grow fonder. What she found most painful was that he was so like their father physically. Seeing the distaste in his eyes when he looked at her, hearing the cold voice that made no effort to conceal its dislike, was like watching a cruel caricature. Every time Amanda looked at that sneering, supercilious face she felt as though a knife were twisting in her heart.
As nearly as Amanda could figure it, they had come because Lord Robert wanted to get a look at his prospective bride before irretrievably committing himself to the betrothal. Neither he nor Edward actually said so, but from chance remarks they let fall, and from the smiles and nods that Lord Robert bestowed on Edward through the day, Amanda guessed this must be the case. After all, the last time her stepcousin had seen her, on the day of her father’s funeral, she had been a scrawny, carrot-topped thirteen-year-old with eyes red and swollen from weeping. No doubt he objected to buying a pig in a poke and wanted to see for himself what changes the intervening years had wrought. For her part, she could not discover that he had changed at all, except to become a little more puffed up in his own conceit. If she had found him unappealing at thirteen, now, at almost eighteen, she found him repulsive. Probably because she knew now that he intended to make her his wife, with all that that entailed. And also because she now had Matt’s kindness and hard male beauty with which to compare him.
It was long after dark when, after providing her with an excellent dinner at the inn where the two men would pass the night, Edward returned her to the convent. Amanda wondered why Lord Robert, who had stuck to her side like a cocklebur to a dog’s back all day, did not accompany them. No sooner had Edward said his good-evenings to Mother Superior than Amanda had her answer. Edward wanted to speak with her alone.
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