“Matt . . .” she began. He was in front of her now, pushing her sodden skirt out of the way as he worked to free her ankles. Her hand came out to touch his shoulder beseechingly. He shrugged away from her touch, and Amanda winced as her unwanted hand fell to the floor.
“If you insist on continuing with that imbroglio of lies, I suggest you wait until we’re alone. My men aren’t too kindly disposed toward you, and it wouldn’t take much to persuade one of them to tip you quietly over the side. Unlike you, they’re intensely loyal.”
The words were said so quietly that Amanda didn’t think the seamen, one of whom was busy filling the tub with water, heard. But the very softness of his voice made it seem all the more menacing. He talked as if he hated her—and, looking into those glittering eyes, Amanda began to be very much afraid he did.
She was obediently, despairingly silent as the sailors finished their task. Matt meanwhile freed her feet, and she occupied herself with rubbing life back into her numbed limbs while he rose to stand towering above her, his hands jammed in his pockets.
“Anything else, Captain?” The tub was full now, and the men were gathering up the empty buckets and moving toward the door. They paused to look respectfully back at Matt.
“That’s all, thank you.” His tone was abrupt, but the sailors didn’t seem to be offended. Taking his words as dismissal, they left the cabin. Amanda was once more alone with Matt—and the thought made her shiver.
“Matt . . .” she began again, swiveling so she could look up at him. He loomed above her like a mountain while she huddled, shivering and dripping, at his feet, not sure whether her limbs retained sufficient strength to support her if she should try to stand. She never had a chance to try, for, ignoring her attempt at speech, he stooped and caught her under the armpits, lifting her to her feet. Amanda hung swaying between his steadying hands, gripping his forearms for support. His mouth twisted with an emotion Amanda couldn’t quite recognize. Perhaps it was nothing more than distaste at her sodden state. She was making quite a puddle on the highly polished floor.
“Can you stand?”
Amanda nodded. “I think so.”
The supporting hands were withdrawn. Amanda found that she could, indeed, stand, but that she was shivering so hard from the cold her teeth chattered.
“Strip off.” The words were harsh, the tone almost brutal. Amanda, clenching her teeth as she felt another spasm of shivers, could only stare at him in disbelief. Surely he couldn’t mean that terse command? Even angry as he was, he surely couldn’t expect her to submit meekly to the humiliation of undressing in front of him?
“Did you hear what I said?” The bite in his voice made her jump.
“You can’t be serious,” she managed at last in what she hoped was a reasonable manner. His lip curled, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as if he were having trouble keeping them from shaking her.
“Why can’t I? If you’re planning to claim maidenly modesty, don’t. I’ve seen every inch of your delectable white skin—and you’re no maiden.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.” She was staring at him, her eyes wide with hurt.
“But true.” He smiled. Amanda feared the look in his eyes. It seemed predatory, like a wolf’s glare. “Will you take off your clothes, or must I do it for you? My plans for you don’t include having you die of pneumonia—at least, not yet.”
Amanda gave up. From the look on his face, he meant what he said. Either she took off her clothes or he would. And she didn’t want his hands on her, not while he was in his present mood. He might take it into his head to exact vengeance—in the most primitive way—for her supposed betrayal of him.
“I will.” His eyes glinted at her, as though her capitulation both pleased and annoyed him. As Amanda reached behind her back to feel for the fastenings of her dress, the thought came to her that he would have enjoyed forcing her to his will.
The silk was cold, wet, and slippery. Amanda struggled with the few hooks she could reach, separating no more than two from their eyes. After watching her lack of progress for some little time in brooding silence, Matt made a harsh sound under his breath and caught her by the arms, turning her so that her back was to him. She flinched at the touch of his hands on her back as he began to manipulate the hooks. Her hair was dripping icy water down her back, and with an impatient sound he threw it over her shoulder.
“A lovely dress,” he said, sneering, as he apparently noticed her changed apparel for the first time. “How did you acquire it—with your thirty pieces of silver?”
“No.” Amanda started to turn toward him, only to be stopped as his hands tightened savagely over the material at her back. There was a loud tearing sound as the material separated under his fingers. “Matt, no. Stop it.” He was ripping the gown from her body, his face dark with blood as the ugly fire that had blazed at her earlier returned to his eyes. Ignoring her protests and frantic attempts to get away, he tore the dress until it was little more than a rag lying in tatters around her feet. She stepped quickly away from him, clad only in her chemise and pantalettes, both of which were sopping wet and did little to conceal her body from his gaze. Wrapping her arms defensively over her breasts, she stared at him from a distance of five feet. Dark blood still suffused his face; his hands were clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to regain control.
“Undress and get into that tub—now.” The words were growled from between clenched teeth. Amanda hesitated, sorely tempted to do as he said and warm her frozen body in the water that steamed enticingly, but she was both afraid and embarrassed to take off the rest of her clothes in front of him. In his present mood, rape was not beyond him, and even if he didn’t descend to that level of violence, she didn’t want him to look at her—not like this. Before, when he had made her naked, it had been an act of passion if not of love. Now it would be just one more method of punishing her. She could read in his eyes his desire to humiliate her.
“Amanda, if you’re not out of those clothes in the next minute, I’ll tear them off you.”
There was no doubt that he meant it. Amanda looked into that dark, implacable face, saw the harsh set of the beautifully cut mouth and the steely color of his eyes, and felt more afraid of him. Always before, he had been quick to laugh, to smile at her. She realized she had never seen him truly angry—until now. Now he was furious; the knowledge made her heart pound.
Before he could carry out his threat, she began to remove her soaked underclothes. Better not to risk a repetition of his violence. But her hands were shaking, from cold or fright, and the tapes to her petticoat were wet. What had once been a bow had now become a knot, and she couldn’t untie it for the life of her. She struggled with it, despairing, while violent shivers racked her. When she heard him rap out an impatient oath, she jumped. He was walking toward her, his stride quick and menacing, and he held a long-bladed knife in one hand.
Amanda uttered a choked cry and would have cringed away from him, but he caught her by one arm and held her still as his knife sliced through the sodden knot. Her petticoat immediately dropped to lay in a soggy heap around her feet. Pulling her free of it, he folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. Then his hands were at her waist, stripping off her dripping pantalettes, leaving her standing in nothing but her chemise.
“Matt, I can do it.” Amanda tried to speak calmly, not wanting to provoke him further. He ignored her, catching the hem of her chemise and lifting the icy-wet garment over her head. Her words of protest were muffled by the folds of cloth. Then he was flinging the chemise aside, and she was left standing before him with nothing but her dripping hair to preserve her modesty. She wrapped her arms over her naked breasts, blushing furiously as she tried to look everywhere but at his face. He was looking at her, she knew. She was all too aware of the heat of those metallic eyes as they moved over her body.
“Matt . . .” Whatever she had intended to say died in her throat as he took a step toward her and scooped her up in his arms. Her
head fell back against his wide shoulder as he held her against his chest. He seemed not to care that her hair was soaking his shirt. Amanda quivered as his eyes roamed insolently over her body, lingering on her breasts, which had grown rigid with cold, and her bare, slender thighs. Then he was lowering her without ceremony into the tub. A muscle jumped convulsively in his jaw as he moved away.
Amanda watched that broad back as he walked away from her to rummage in a sea chest pushed against one wall. The hot water was wonderfully warming, and one part of her mind acknowledged its comfort, but the rest of it concentrated on Matt, and what he meant to do next.
“Can you bathe yourself, or do you want me to do that, too?”
He had turned back to look at her, with a cake of soap in one hand and a towel in the other.
“I can do it.” Her voice was low, her eyes wide with appeal as she looked at him. If anything, her expression made his own harden. Clearly he was determined to believe the worst of her—and while she was sitting naked in a bath, vulnerable and defenseless, was not the ideal time to try to persuade him otherwise. She would get warm first, and clean and dry, and then she would try again to convince him of her innocence. It couldn’t be that difficult. The Matt she had come to know was kind and fair, and at the very least fond of her. He had to listen, and believe . . .
“Don’t be all night about it. You and I have some business to attend to, milady.” There was that sneering mode of address again. Amanda’s lips tightened, but it was not difficult to restrain her own quick temper. She had never been a fool, and it would be foolish to lose it now; in a confrontation with Matt, she was bound to lose. She cast a quick, apprehensive look at him. He was walking toward her, the soap and towel in either hand. When he was perhaps a foot from where she sat in the tub, he tossed the soap to her. Taken by surprise, she missed, and had to scrabble around the bottom of the tub for the slippery cake.
“Are you certain you don’t want me to scrub your back?” His jeering question made Amanda flush, and she looked at him quickly. He had walked back to reseat himself in the straight-backed chair. Only this time he tilted the chair against the wall so that it balanced on its two back legs. One hand was in his pocket and the other idly drummed the tabletop as he watched her. Amanda flushed under that mocking perusal, supremely aware that the shallow water left her body from the waist up clearly visible to him. And from the expression on his face, he was intent on enjoying the sight.
“You make me feel like a . . . a wanton,” she said, voice quivering, then could have bitten her tongue out. She had not meant to say the words aloud. As she had suspected he would, he looked pleased at her discomfiture. That long mouth twisted into a nasty, mocking smile.
“If the shoe fits . . .” he said softly. Amanda stared at him in angry disbelief, her soft lips trembling with hurt, her eyes huge with reproach. With her long, water-darkened hair trailing around her in the water, its sodden state making it of very little use in hiding her charms from him, she looked like a mermaid. Or a siren. One of those deadly sea sirens who sang so prettily until they lured besotted sailors to their graves . . .
“Take your bath. And hurry. I’m not feeling very . . . patient now.” He watched her from beneath half-lowered lids as he added this last. Amanda flushed, for his meaning was unmistakable. He meant to force her to endure another of those degrading, painful performances with him.
“Matt, why are you acting like this? You must know that I didn’t betray you. We were friends, Matt—at least I thought we were.”
“Is that how you would describe what we were to each other, milady? Now, I would have said we were lovers—and that you didn’t like having a lover. Oh, you liked the kisses and the caresses, but when we arrived at the consummation, it wasn’t quite genteel. So you decided to put the memory—and me—behind you in the most effective way you could think of. Do you have any Borgia blood in your veins? I wonder. If I remember correctly, that family boasted a lady who rid herself of unwanted men by killing them off.”
“Matt, that’s not true.” She was glaring at him and beseeching him at the same time. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his eyes glittered as the front legs of the chair hit the floor with a bang. He was on his feet, glaring at her as if he hated her. Amanda cringed.
“Finish your bath,” he gritted. “And be silent. If you say another word, I won’t be responsible.”
Amanda watched, biting her lower lip, as he took a quick, angry turn about the small cabin. Temper emanated from him in waves. It came to her then that Matt Grayson was a dangerous man when he was angry—and she had made him very angry indeed. Prudently deciding to say nothing more for the moment, she began to soap herself.
She worked the soap over her arms and shoulders and breasts and belly, then extended first one long, slender leg and then the other to be lathered. Throughout, she felt Matt’s eyes on her, his gaze growing hotter and angrier with every new movement. But she refused to look at him. Bathing in front of him this way was humiliating in the extreme, and it would be made even more so if she acknowledged that he was watching. But she could not prevent the blush that spread from her face to her neck and even to her breasts. The usually pale peaks were rosy and glowing . . . Amanda saw a trickle of soapy water run down the slope of one breast to dangle from the nipple, and she absently wiped it away. Then, compelled by instinct, she looked up to find Matt’s eyes fixed on her, their expression unnerving. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a nerve jumped at the corner of his mouth. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitened by the force of his grip.
“You’ve had long enough. Get out,” he ordered tersely, his eyes, with that same frightening expression, never leaving her body.
“Matt . . .” Now was the time to try to reach him, if there was ever to be a time. Now, before he got his hands on her body, as she could read in his eyes that he meant to do. But he didn’t give her a chance. At the wide-eyed fear in her expression, the soft appeal in her voice, his mouth twisted savagely. He crossed the floor in two quick strides, catching her under the armpits to haul her dripping and still partially covered with soap to stand before him. His eyes raked her contemptuously, the sneer not quite able to hide the desire. Amanda shrank from him, twisting to try to preserve as much of her modesty as she could, but he wouldn’t let her go. One hand bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm while the other caught up the towel and ran it roughly down her body. To her shame, the abrasion of the rough material made her nipples harden. He laughed as he saw her body’s involuntary response, and tweaked one nipple insolently. Amanda cried out at the sudden touch that was almost painful, and her eyes flew to meet his. What she read in them made her knees tremble.
“Matt, please, don’t,” she breathed, shivering at the thought of being taken by him in anger. Before, when he had been kind and gentle with her, it had been a horrible, disgusting experience. What would it be like now, when he hated her, and seemed bent on proving it?
“Oh, yes, you’re the little virgin who decided she didn’t like making love,” he said, smiling unpleasantly at her as he stopped drying her body to wind the towel around her hair. “Isn’t that unfortunate?”
“Matt, please.” She was begging, shamelessly, terrified by what she read in his eyes. He meant to deliberately hurt and humiliate her.
“Not this time,” he snarled softly. “This time I mean to please me.”
And he picked her up in his arms.
Amanda lay as still as death as he carried her to the bunk, which was built into the far wall. He wanted her to struggle, she realized, so he could have the pleasure of taming her. If she fought him, it would only inflame him further. She knew that instinctively.
“What, no maidenly protest?” He was mocking her, his silver-smoke eyes gleaming at her nastily, his arms like iron bands around her as he held her close against his muscular chest. She could feel the heat and strength of him through the fine linen of his shirt, feel the flexing muscles of his arms as he lower
ed her to the bunk and sat beside her, his hands on either side of her, imprisoning her. Her eyes were huge purple pools of fright as she stared up at him. He smiled tauntingly.
“Matt, won’t you please listen?” Her teeth were chattering, from fear this time instead of cold. The fate he intended for her was too horrible to contemplate. She remembered the stabbing pain that had felt as if it would rip her in two, and shuddered. If she didn’t convince him of her innocence now, at once, it would be too late . . . “I didn’t betray you, Matt.” She spoke slowly, as if to a child. “I swear it. It was Edward.”
“Say any more, and I just might strangle you.” His voice was almost pleasant, but it was belied by both the ominous glitter of his eyes and the savage snarl that revealed most of his white teeth. Terrifying in their slowness, his hands moved to unwind the towel from about her head and drop it to the floor. Then he began to spread out her still-damp hair across the pillow . . .
He wasn’t listening, wasn’t going to listen, Amanda realized with a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach. His face wore that absorbed, almost blind look of passion that she had seen on it only once before, when he had forgotten everything except his own desire and the slaking of it . . . Despairing, she tried one last time.
“Matt, please listen to me. I would never betray you: I love you.”
He looked at her then, his eyes hardening and darkening until they appeared almost black.
“You lying little bitch,” he gritted. “You’ll try any trick, won’t you?”
And then he reached for her.
chapter sixteen
Amanda jerked helplessly as she felt his hands close over the soft flesh of her upper arms, but it was useless. His mouth came down over hers, his lips hard and hot, taking what they wanted from her shaking mouth, his tongue thrusting insolently between her teeth, daring her to fight him. When she tried to wrench her mouth away, his hand came up under her chin, his long fingers biting into her jaw as he held her still. He kissed her, over and over again, long, hungry kisses that gave no quarter to the remnants of her innocence. His hands were everywhere, not hurting her but shaming in their familiarity, roaming her body as if it were his to touch and explore. Despite her fear, the feel of those long, strong fingers with their faintly calloused tips running possessively over the crests of her breasts caused a tingle in her belly. Her nipples swelled to quivering life against the stroking hands. She felt him smile against her mouth at this evidence of her reluctant arousal, and then one hand was trapping the tender prey while his mouth moved to torment it. Amanda gasped as his teeth closed over the rosy nipple with a force that stopped just short of pain. Her eyes flew open, and her hands came up instinctively to clutch at his head. A pair of lanterns lit the cabin; by their soft glow, she could see every detail: the blackness of his hair against the pearly gleam of her breast, the whiteness of his teeth as they mouthed her quivering nipple, the bronze of the large hand that cupped her softness, holding it helpless victim to his mouth. The rough texture of his jaw and chin against her silken flesh reminded her vividly of the first time he had taken her. He had seduced her then as now, exciting her unsuspecting body to blind enchantment before destroying her girlish illusions forever with hard, thrusting pain. Remembering that pain, Amanda went rigid. Her hands, which had been curling around the back of his head, now tried to push him away.
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