Mother Superior graciously allowed them the use of the little parlor that was usually reserved for visiting priests. As she followed Edward through the door and watched him shut it behind him, Amanda felt her stomach lurch. Now Edward would tell her what she both wanted and dreaded to know.
He wasted no time on the preliminaries. His eyes followed her closely for a moment as she took a chair near the unlit fire, determined to present as cool a facade as she could, despite her drumming heart. He did not sit down but strolled closer until he towered menacingly over the chair in which she had seated herself. Edward was tall, though not so tall as Matt, with slender bones and their father’s fair hair. His clothes were the height of fashion, and so were his gleaming boots, or at least Amanda assumed they were. She had lived retired from the world for so long that she was not conversant with male sartorial standards. At any rate, the pale yellow coat and biscuit-brown breeches became him admirably. He would have been a handsome man—except for his eyes, which were of so cold and pale a blue that they resembled chips of ice.
“You’ve turned out just as I expected: the image of your mother.”
“Thank you,” Amanda returned composedly, although from the sneer in Edward’s voice she was well aware that the words were not meant as a compliment. But, if she were to have a chance of emerging victorious from this encounter, she knew she could not afford to give her temper free rein. “Why are you here, Edward?”
He looked faintly startled. It was clear that he had not expected her to take the initiative. Amanda hoped that his slight surprise would give her an advantage.
“Robert wants to make sure that you give your assent to this marriage before he signs the papers. For some reason which escapes my comprehension, he does not want you if you are unwilling. But you are willing, aren’t you, Amanda?” His voice held a veiled threat. Amanda swallowed, then looked up to meet his eyes steadily. The expression in their pale blue depths chilled her.
“No, I am not,” she answered, taking her courage in both hands. Edward’s eyes narrowed until they were little more than cruel slits in an equally cruel face.
“You will be. By tomorrow, when the fool has it in mind to ask you. Because if you’re not, Amanda, if you refuse him or make him think you don’t want to be his wife, I’ll make you sorry your bitch of a mother ever gave you life. And I can do it. I can take you back to Brook House and lock you in the attic and tell everyone that you are mad. Who will gainsay me? Or I can beat you. And make no mistake about it, Amanda, I will. You are not going to ruin this for me.”
Amanda’s first impulse was to jump to her feet and tell him with what contempt she viewed his threats. But for almost the first time in her life, caution stayed her. Edward could, indeed, do as he said. And if she didn’t obey him, she knew his vengeance would be terrifying.
“Why is this marriage so important to you, Edward?” Her tone was carefully even. His mouth relaxed slightly as the defiance he had expected was not forthcoming.
“Robert has promised to deed your inheritance back to me on your wedding day. Without that money, Brook House and all the land with it must be sold.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. She had assumed that Lord Robert wanted to marry her for her money. To discover now that he was prepared to deed it back to Edward greatly surprised her. But why should Edward need her money?
“Why is the money so important? There was always plenty—”
“Are you questioning me, girl?” His mouth hardened, and his eyes glittered ominously. Then his gaze shifted as a thought occurred to him. “You want to know, do you? Very well. Perhaps it will make it clear to you how far I am prepared to go to see to it that you marry Robert. Over the last few months I have had rotten luck at cards. Now there is only Brook House left. And I won’t lose that, Amanda. Not while I have you to sell instead.”
The calculated cruelty of the words should have hurt, but it didn’t. She was too used to Edward’s animosity.
“But why should Lord Robert want to marry me?’ she asked slowly. “I had thought it was for the money.”
Edward laughed briefly, the sound harsh. “No, my dear half sister, he’s not after your money. It seems that he was one of the legion of men fascinated by your mother—and apparently one of the few who didn’t have her. He thought he might be able to realize his long-standing desire with you, Isabelle’s daughter. And when he saw you, he was sure of it. You’re so like your mother, Amanda—in every way, I’m sure.”
Amanda had had enough. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother that way.” She jumped to her feet and glared up at her half brother. He was only scant inches from her. One hand came up to grip her hard by the arm.
“I’ll talk about that whore any way I please. And you will marry Robert. Won’t you, Amanda?” His fingers tightened on her arm, squeezing until Amanda winced at the pain.
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will. Think about it, Amanda. If you refuse, I’ll take you away with me tomorrow. Won’t that be nice, Amanda, coming home at last? And if you’re still unsure about what that means, I’ll give you a little sample of what you can expect if you force me to take you home.”
With that, he lifted his hand and slapped her very deliberately across the face. The blow was so hard that it made her eyes water. Amanda raised a disbelieving hand to her sore cheek as Edward released her.
“That was just a sample, little sister. Refuse Robert tomorrow and there will be more.” He turned away as he spoke.
Amanda, knees shaking, moved to the door and walked out into the hallway. It was deserted; the lack of light meant that everyone except herself and Edward had retired. Edward would soon be leaving to join Lord Robert at the village inn. Tomorrow they would be back, and Lord Robert would want her answer. Amanda pressed her cool hand to her throbbing cheek again as she made her way along the corridor and up the stairs toward her room. He would want her answer—and she knew already that there was only one answer she could give. She was trembling all over with dread as she let herself into the bedroom and stood leaning against the door. Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing the narrow bed in a pool of light. Matt lay on the bed, his long legs crossed, his arms folded under his head, which turned toward the door as she entered.
“Have a nice day?” he asked mockingly as he got to his feet with lithe grace. Amanda didn’t answer, didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was afraid her knees would buckle if she took a step, and her mouth was shaking so that she couldn’t form words. Matt came closer, peering at her curiously in the darkness. Then his hand was beneath her chin, and he was tilting her face so the moonlight caught it. There was an instant’s silence. She felt his hand beneath her chin grow tense.
“What in the name of hell happened to your face?”
chapter eleven
“Edward . . .” Her voice shook.
“I’ll kill him.” The deadly menace in his tone brought Amanda back to reality. Matt’s hand fell from her chin to join its fellow in closing about her waist. Clearly he intended to lift her out of his way. “Where is he? Downstairs?”
“Matt, no.” Shocked into horrified awareness, Amanda lifted her arms to lock her hands behind his neck. Her head tilted back on the slender stem of her neck as she stared up beseechingly into his face. It looked grim and determined. Amanda was once again reminded of the ruthless murderer she thought she had discovered on the beach.
“If you think I’m going to let him get away with abusing you, you can think again.” His voice was a deadly rasp. “I’ll beat him to a pulp with the greatest pleasure imaginable.”
“Please, Matt, no.” She was frantic now as she tried to hold him. It was useless, of course. His strength was many times greater than hers. He lifted her with no more trouble than if she had been a small child and set her down on the floor behind him, turning so that he faced her while she still clung to his neck. His hands came up to pry her arms from around his neck; Amanda knew that if she did not stop him now, at once, he wou
ld go downstairs and find Edward and very likely kill him. Not that she was worried about Edward, but in the ensuing uproar Matt would undoubtedly be caught—and then hanged.
“Don’t leave me, Matt,” she moaned, cunningly letting her body go limp so that he was forced to abandon his attempt to remove her arms from about his neck and support her sagging weight.
“Amanda.” The sound of her name on his lips was harsh. She sagged more completely against him, feeling relieved as he cursed and shifted his grip so that one arm was sliding beneath her knees while his other arm cradled her shoulders. She felt herself being lifted as if she were weightless, and clung to his hard chest while he strode toward the bed. When he lowered her to the mattress, she panicked, thinking that he meant to leave her and see to Edward. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as he leaned over her, and her lashes fluttered up so that she could look at him as she felt the softness of the mattress accepting her weight.
“Please don’t leave me, Matt,” she begged again, something suspiciously resembling a sob making her voice break. His lips compressed, and she saw his eyes flicker as if he, too, were hurting; then he sat down on the bed beside her, his hands gentle as they eased her back against the pillow.
“I won’t leave you, honey,” he promised tightly. Amanda relaxed then. He had promised, and she would hold him to it. Which meant that he was safe for now, at least—but so, too, was Edward, Amanda thought with a twinge of regret.
“Let me look at your face, Amanda.” Matt’s hand came up to tilt her face gently into the streaming moonlight, which did little to disguise the bruise that was already beginning to darken beneath her cheekbone. As Matt looked at that mark of abuse on the tender white skin, his mouth compressed into a hard, straight line and his eyes glinted dangerously. Amanda lifted a hand to catch his wrist as it rested below her chin, suddenly afraid again as she saw the rage in Matt’s eyes.
“That bastard,” Matt said through his teeth, the words flat although the glittering eyes belied his tone. Then, his voice softening as he saw the worry clouding her face, he added, “It’s all right, honey, I’m not going anywhere. Lie back and relax, and let me bathe that bruise for you. It must be sore as hell.”
Amanda looked up at him for a long moment, relieved to see that, although the ominous glitter still lurked in his eyes, some of the coiled tension had left his muscles. He would not do anything rash, she was almost sure. She allowed herself to do as he’d said and relax against the pillow, her fingers moving up to touch the throbbing bruise almost ruefully.
“The whole side of my face feels numb,” she confessed. She heard a faint, gritty sound that she identified at last as Matt’s teeth grinding together, and her gaze flew to his face once more. Those silvery eyes were blazing with an icy fire, but as he caught her eyes upon him he managed to twist up one corner of his mouth in the semblance of a reassuring smile.
“It’s all right,” he said again. “Just lie still a minute. I’m not going anywhere.”
He got up off the bed and stepped over to the washstand, where he doused the linen towel and wrung it out. Then, cloth in hand, he came back to sit beside her on the bed.
“Look up, Amanda.” She did, and he gently wiped her face, his hands very careful as they worked over the sensitive area of the bruise. When her face was washed to his satisfaction, he reached down and caught her hands, and very gravely wiped them, too, as if he had been tending a little child. Amanda smiled mistily at him as he took such tender care of her. Only Matt had ever made her feel so cherished and protected. Finally he got up again to rinse the cloth and wring out the excess water, then brought it back folded to lay it gently against the sore cheek. The compress felt wonderfully cool and soothing. Amanda nuzzled her face into the cold cloth and the hand holding it, and smiled at Matt again.
“You’re very good to me,” she said softly. His eyes darkened.
“You deserve to have people be good to you,” he said, his free hand coming up to smooth back the disordered tendrils of her hair. “Your brother must be mad to treat you so. And I’d like to make him suffer.”
This last was muttered under his breath, but Amanda heard. She gnawed on her lower lip, looking up at him with anxious eyes. “Matt, you mustn’t do anything to Edward—he’ll make sure that everyone knows you’re here. One little slap in the face isn’t worth hanging for.”
“Isn’t it?” His mouth twisted wryly. “I’d do far more than hang for you, Amanda, if I thought it would benefit you. But short of killing your brother—which I may yet do if he dares to lay a hand on you again—I don’t see how anything I could do at the moment would be of much help to you. So you can take that worried look off your face. I told you I’d stay here with you and I will.”
“Thank you, Matt.”
He took the compress from her cheek and stood up to wet it again. When he came back, Amanda tried to hold the cloth in place herself, to save him from having to do so. To her surprise, her hand shook so badly that she had to let it fall back to the bed. Matt frowned as he watched.
“Tell me what happened, Amanda. Why did he slap you? Did you quarrel?” His voice was incredibly gentle.
Amanda looked at him for a long moment. She wanted to tell him—longed to tell him. But she feared to raise his ire against Edward any further. If Matt knew how Edward had threatened her, she had little doubt as to what his reaction would be.
“It was nothing, really. Edward told me that he had arranged my betrothal to Lord Robert. When I said that I didn’t want to marry him, Edward slapped me. He’s never struck me before—and it shocked me.”
“Is that the truth?” Matt sounded faintly disbelieving, and Amanda prayed that the darkness would keep him from seeing the betraying color that she could feel rising in her face.
“Yes.” She comforted herself with the reminder that it was, indeed, the truth—if not all of it.
“And did you agree to marry this Lord Robert?”
“No. At least, he hasn’t asked me yet. Edward says that he is planning to propose tomorrow. When he does, I-I haven’t decided yet what I’ll do.”
Matt took the compress away from her cheek and studied the bruise contemplatively for a moment. Then he met her eyes, his own narrowing.
“You told me before that there was no question of your marrying the man.” There was a barely discernible edge to his voice. “What has changed your mind?”
Amanda looked at him mutely. He seemed very big and dark sitting on the edge of her bed, his hands resting lightly on his thighs in their loose black trousers. His eyes were fixed on her face, searching her expression, waiting for an answer. Amanda wavered. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth about Edward’s threats, either. She had no doubt that Matt would kill Edward if he knew how her brother had threatened her . . .
“Edward pointed out . . . He told me of the life I would lead as Lady Turnbull. It wasn’t as . . . as disagreeable as I had imagined. Now I’m reconsidering, but I haven’t decided one way or the other yet.”
“I see.” The two words were drawn out. He looked down at his hands for a moment, then up again at her face so swiftly that if it hadn’t been for the darkness, Amanda had no doubt that he would have seen her lie written clearly in her eyes. Hastily she lowered them. “Care to talk about it?”
Amanda shook her head. There was nothing that she would rather do then tell her troubles to Matt, but under the circumstances it was impossible. To distract him, she raised her still-trembling hand to touch her brow.
“My head aches, Matt.” The words sounded so forlorn that Amanda nearly congratulated herself on her acting ability. Then it occurred to her that she wasn’t acting. She felt just as forlorn as she sounded—and she craved his comfort.
“No wonder, after that brutal slap.” He reached up to touch the braided coronet of her hair. “But these probably don’t help, either. Let me take them down for you.” His hands were busy removing the pins that held her braids in place as he spoke.
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br /> “I can do it.” Absurdly, the feel of his hands in her hair was making her feel shy. She reached up to remove the rest of the pins herself, only to find that her arms were too weak to allow her to do so. That scene with Edward had drained her more than she had realized.
“Can you?” The question was dry. “Just lie there and let me take care of you for once, Amanda. After all, you’ve done as much for me.”
At the memories his words conjured up, she smiled. When he had first ordered her to bandage his hip, she had been terrified—but that seemed very long ago now. “I have, haven’t I?” she murmured.
“Mmm.” He continued to take the pins from her hair, dropping them onto the bedside table one by one. When at last they were all out, she drew her braids down over her shoulders and began to loosen them, running his fingers through the strands until at last her hair lay smooth and gleaming in thick waves.
“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured, picking up a lock and studying it as if it were a rare and curious specimen. The moonlight streaming in through the window fell in love with the vibrant ruby color and shimmered it with hundreds of hidden lights that glittered like diamonds. Matt turned the lock of hair this way and that, absorbed as he watched the bright silk reflecting and refracting the light. Amanda watched him, her eyes taking on a warm, almost secret glow as she traced the planes and angles of his face. Even two days’ growth of beard could not disguise the masculine splendor of his features. A man had no right to be so outrageously handsome, she thought, and wondered how she had failed to recognize his beauty from the moment she had laid eyes on him. Even a full beard would no longer be able to hide from her the lean strength of his jaw and square, determined chin, or the classic cut of hard masculine lips that were tender now as he examined her hair with grave attention. His nose was classic, too, straight as a blade and arrogant, while the harsh curves of his proud cheekbones and wide brow could have been carved by a master sculptor. His lashes lay like thick, stubby black fans against cheeks that had regained much of their natural bronze, veiling eyes that she knew were as silver as coins within a darker ring of smoke. Even his eyebrows were beautiful, thick and black with a faint sardonic arch, and very expressive in conveying his moods without words. Just now one was lifted fractionally, as if he were curious about something. His hair was as black as his brows, so black that it shone with faint blue highlights under the wooing influence of the moon, curling as it fell down over his forehead and skirted around his ears to nestle at the nape of that strong brown neck.
Amanda Rose Page 15