Amanda Rose

by Karen Robards

  “Damn it, don’t you have any sense?” Even over the howling of the wind, his angry bellow was audible. And not only to Amanda. Looking around, she saw that to nearly every man on board they were the objects of fascinated attention.

  “Don’t shout at me,” she cried, incensed and embarrassed at being publicly upbraided. “I was perfectly all right until you came along and frightened me.”

  “If I frightened you this time, wait till you see what I do to you if I catch you out on deck again.” Dark blood rising high in his cheekbones said more than words about how angry he was. His silvery eyes took on the menacing gleam of twin knives as he glared at her. With his black hair wet and curling wildly around his head, his clothes soaked with seawater and plastered to his body, showing every sinewy muscle, and his mouth set in a grim line, he looked formidable. Amanda lifted her chin and returned glare for glare, her eyes shooting purple sparks and the color of her hair no redder than the haze before her eyes. She was not about to allow him to intimidate her.

  “Don’t threaten me, you bully.” She was furious now. Matt looked down at her slender shape, ridiculously clad in his too-large clothes, and noted her arms-akimbo stance that threatened to send her sprawling with the next pitch of the ship. Then his lips twitched. Until he noticed how the drenched clothes clung to her skin, revealing every luscious hill and valley. Her nipples, rigid with cold, were straining against the material of the shirt she wore. The laughter vanished from his eyes, to be replaced by another hot flare of anger.

  “I’ll do more than threaten you next time. And that’s a promise,” he said grimly, snatching her off her feet and throwing her over his shoulder as he spoke. Amanda kicked and squirmed furiously, scarlet with humiliation, as he strode back toward the cabin with her, one arm locking her in place over his shoulder and the other hand holding tightly to the safety line. When at last he shouldered his way through the door, he tossed her on the bunk and turned to leave. Amanda was spluttering, too angry to be coherent about the insults she would like to have flung at him. He stopped at the door, turning back to fix her with a stony glare.

  “If you leave this cabin again before the storm clears, I’ll hog-tie you to the bunk.” Before she could reply, he left, closing the door behind him.

  By the next morning the storm had vanished as though it had never been. The sea was as smooth as blue-green silk, and the sky was equally halcyon. The sun shone brightly down, reminding the world that it was indeed spring, and a gentle breeze chased a few fluffy white clouds across the sky. Amanda, waking to find that the rolling and pitching had miraculously ceased, poked her head cautiously out the cabin door and smiled with pure delight. It was a beautiful day and, best of all, she no longer had to worry about the possible consequences of defying Matt. Because, of course, she had no intention of staying in the cabin.

  Quickly she stepped back inside the cabin and tidied herself as well as she could. Besides splashing her face and hands with water and pulling her chemise on under the shirt and breeches, there wasn’t much else she could do. The bit of string with which she had bound the end of her braid the day before had fallen off when Matt had grabbed her hair; finding a comb in Matt’s sea chest, she merely ran it through her hair, then tucked some carelessly behind her ears.

  She left the cabin, padding barefoot toward the quarterdeck—and Matt. Now that the storm was past, it was time for him to answer a few questions, such as where he was taking her, although she had a fair idea. Hadn’t he said once that the first thing he would do after escaping from England would be to head for New Orleans, his home?

  Men were sprawled all over the main deck, most lying facedown in attitudes of exhaustion. Amanda would have thought that some dreadful plague had visited the ship overnight, killing off her crew, if it had not been for the stentorian snores that rose all about her. From the look of things, only a very groggy skeleton crew remained to see to the operation of the ship.

  Zeke was at the wheel again, Amanda saw as soon as she set foot on the quarterdeck. There was no one else about. With some trepidation, she looked up into the rigging, but Matt was not there either. Hesitating only a moment, she walked toward Zeke, who was whistling as he stared out to sea. He might not like her, but surely he wouldn’t harm her.

  “Good morning,” she said, hoping that civility would win a like response. To her surprise it did. He didn’t smile at her as he returned her greeting, but his eyes no longer shouted his dislike.

  “Matt is below, having something to eat,” he added dryly, anticipating her question before she could ask it. “That’s what you were going to ask me, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Amanda smiled at him, wanting to be friends. She had no idea how that sweet and faintly mischievous smile affected him. It was the first time he had ever seen her smile, and it made her look very young, and very lovely. Not at all the monster in maiden’s clothing who had betrayed his brother.

  “Why did you do it?” he blurted out, then was immediately angry with himself. Matt would wring his neck for butting into Matt’s private business; besides, it didn’t matter why. The only important thing was that this dazzlingly beautiful and deceptively innocent-looking chit before him had nearly gotten his brother killed.

  “Do what?” For a moment Amanda was at a loss. Her smile faded as she stared up at Zeke. He was not anywhere near as handsome as Matt, she noted abstractedly, but he had a certain charm of his own. A friendly, open charm that did not extend to her. He shrugged curtly in answer to her question, his mouth tightening as he returned his eyes to the sea.

  “Betray Matt?” Amanda queried softly, and the look he sent her was answer enough. “I didn’t, Zeke. I swear it. I went to the beach that morning to warn him. My half brother, Edward, had told our local constable that Matt was hiding at the convent. Edward hates me, you see. I don’t know how he found out about Matt, though. Anyway, I wanted to give Matt a chance to escape. The soldiers must have followed me. I suppose I was responsible in that way, but I didn’t deliberately betray Matt.”

  Zeke was silent for some time after Amanda’s earnest little speech, and she suspected that he, too, thought she was lying. Then he turned to look at her. a sharp, judgmental expression in his hazel eyes.

  “Did you tell that to Matt?”

  Amanda nodded miserably. “He doesn’t believe me.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head, her eyes clouding over as she pondered the question that had tormented her so many times. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Zeke pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. He frowned at Amanda, his hands idly tracing patterns on the wheel’s wooden surface.

  “I believe you,” Zeke said suddenly. His eyes were intent as they fixed on her face. “And I think I can explain to you why Matt doesn’t—although he’d probably slit my throat if he knew what I was about to tell you.” He hesitated. “Before I do, I need to ask you a personal question. Amanda”—this was the first time he had used her name—“are you in love with my brother?”

  Amanda felt the heat rise in her cheeks. It was embarrassing to admit such a thing to a stranger, but . . .

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  Zeke stared at her hard for a moment, then nodded.

  “All right, then, I’ll tell you. But for God’s sake, don’t tell Matt that I did.”

  chapter eighteen

  “Has Matt told you anything about our mother?”

  Amanda shook her head. “No. Only that she’s dead.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “Did Matt actually say that?”

  Amanda nodded, then frowned. “No, he didn’t. What he said was that you are the only family he has. I assumed, then, that your mother was dead.”

  “She isn’t,” Zeke said flatly. “Cristabel, our mother, is very much alive. At least as of six months ago, when Matt last heard from her.”

  “Matt never mentioned her.” Amanda frowned again. “I take it that there is an estrangement?”

  “In a way.
I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story. That’s the only way you’ll understand why Matt sometimes behaves as he does.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Zeke chewed his lower lip for a moment, still plainly hesitant about revealing so much that his brother preferred to keep secret. Amanda gazed up at him encouragingly. She very much wanted to hear the story of Matt’s past, and she had a strong suspicion that Matt himself would never tell her.

  “Cristabel—we always called her Cristabel, never Mother, on her instructions—was, according to her own version of events, the daughter of an aristocratic Southern family, the Graysons,” Zeke began slowly, shifting his gaze from Amanda’s wide eyes to the sea. “Though there are some Graysons living in Charleston, where she says she was born, I have my doubts that she is related to them. Sometimes I even doubt that her name is Grayson. But that’s what she says, and that’s the name Matt and I grew up with.” He glanced at Amanda again, noting her puzzled frown as she absorbed the information that Matt and his brother used their mother’s maiden name.

  “Oh, yes,” Zeke continued, the lightness of his tone not disguising an underlying bitterness. “Cristabel never married. Matt and I are both—begging your pardon, Amanda—bastards.”

  “Matt never told me,” Amanda breathed, her eyes fixed on Zeke’s face.

  “It isn’t something one brags about,” Zeke returned dryly. “Does it make a difference to the way you feel about Matt?”

  “Of course not.” Amanda was clearly indignant. Zeke nodded, the movement brusque.

  “Good. Because that’s merely the beginning of the story. According to Cristabel, after a debut that would have put Queen Victoria’s to shame, she eloped with a handsome young man from New Orleans. She thought he came from a wealthy aristocratic Creole family. Later, when they arrived in New Orleans, she discovered that he was nothing more than a professional gambler. Again according to Cristabel, when he learned that she didn’t have any money of her own, he abandoned her. Left her at a seedy hotel one night and never came back. The next night, when he still hadn’t appeared, she went to the hotel where he had set up his games and asked about him. A lady—and I use the term advisedly—came out to talk to her upon hearing whom Cristabel had been asking for. The lady was also Paul Mareschel’s wife—that was his name, Paul Mareschel. And since their marriage was solemnized some years before Cristabel’s, obviously it took precedence. And just as obviously Cristabel was not Mrs. Mareschel at all, but still Miss Grayson. And Miss Grayson was alone, frightened, and with child.”

  “Matt.”

  “That’s right.” Zeke nodded. “Well, Mareschel’s wife—if she was his wife, any more than Cristabel was, is open to speculation. Apparently he was quite a lady’s man.” Zeke grinned suddenly and added in an aside, “Matt must take after him. Cristabel always said that Matt’s daddy was as handsome as the devil himself and as popular with the ladies.” Then, recollecting himself, he went on hastily. “Mrs. Mareschel felt sorry for Cristabel and took her in. Oh, not to the hotel, but to a little business she owned in partnership with an aristocratic New Orleans gentleman. They gave her a place to stay until Matt was born, and then she had to start earning her room and board. Which she did, without any qualms that I ever noticed.”

  Amanda’s eyes were huge as they met Zeke’s. The implications were clear.

  “You mean . . .” She faltered.

  He nodded. “I mean she became a practitioner of the world’s oldest profession: a prostitute, if you’ll forgive my bold speech. And she plied her trade with talent and enthusiasm, from all accounts. I was born seven years after Matt, when Cristabel, according to her calculations, was twenty-six; I think she must have been closer to thirty. I have no idea who my father was. Some nameless fellow who bought my mother for the night. Since I don’t look like Cristabel—who is blonde and small, although she now makes up in girth what she lacks in height—I assume I resemble my father. Good looking son-of-a-gun, wasn’t he?” This last was accompanied by a flashing grin that reminded Amanda again that this man was Matt’s brother.

  “Then Matt is ashamed because his mother is a . . . prostitute?” Amanda colored a little on the last word, but got it out nonetheless. This conversation was too important to leave vital points unclarified for lack of a little plain language. “I don’t really see what that has to do with why he won’t believe me when I tell him I didn’t betray him.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t think Matt is ashamed, not anymore. You get used to it, over the years. What he is, is hurt and angry—and bitter toward women. You see, despite what she was, Matt thought the sun rose and set in our mother. When I was a child, he would come into the room we shared in the attic of Cristabel’s place of employment, his face all bruised and bloody from fights with boys who’d called his mother a whore. For a long time Matt wouldn’t admit to himself what Cristabel was. He would even be angry at me when I tried to tell him.” Zeke paused to take a deep breath. “When I was seven and Matt fourteen, Cristabel was offered better circumstances. There was a man who wanted to take her away from the sordid life she’d led until then, and give her everything she didn’t deserve. She left us then. Merely kissed both of us on the forehead, said good-bye, and left us. That was the first and only time I’ve seen my brother cry: the day our mother left us. He was a big boy, tall but rather thin and gangly, and he sat there on the end of our bed and tears ran down his cheeks. It frightened me more than Cristabel’s leaving did. I’d never depended on Cristabel, but I did depend on Matt. And Matt was crying.”

  Zeke’s eyes clouded as he remembered. Amanda’s heart ached at the image he was creating for her, the image of a tall, thin boy with Matt’s face, weeping for the mother who had abandoned him.

  “But Matt stopped crying and went to work,” Zeke continued softly. “He supported me from the time he was fourteen until I could do it myself. He’s a remarkable man, my brother.”

  “Yes,” Amanda agreed softly, her eyes misting. She thought about what Zeke had said. Matt’s mother, whom he had adored, had betrayed him, and that had led him to expect betrayal from all women. He was harboring a deep-rooted fear. She would have to be kind and patient and, most of all, loving . . .

  “But you’ve had contact with Cristabel since?” she asked, suddenly remembering that Zeke had said they’d heard from her just six months ago. Zeke’s mouth twisted.

  “Oh, yes—whenever she needs money. When Matt was about twenty-two, she came back to New Orleans and learned that he was part owner of the Lucie Belle, his first ship. And she thought it was charming that the son she had abandoned had done so well. She tried for a reconciliation, but her money-grubbing little claws were showing. Matt gave her some money—he has a soft heart beneath that tough exterior. At the end of their last interview, when she saw she wasn’t making headway, she gave up acting the prodigal mother and screamed about being destitute—and Matt wouldn’t leave her in want no matter what she’d done to him. Now we hear from her once or twice a year, whenever she’s penniless. And Matt always sends her money. But she’s never tried to see him again and he never speaks of her. And I think she’s forgotten that I ever existed.”

  “I’m so sorry, Zeke,” Amanda murmured impulsively, sensing the pain that was as real in him as he’d said it was in Matt. She laid a gentle hand on his arm in an instinctive gesture of comfort. He looked down at her, smiled Matt’s smile, and patted her hand. And then both of them became aware of a tall figure looming behind them.

  “Making advances to my girl, little brother?” Matt asked. His tone was light, but as Amanda and Zeke both started and turned a guilty look on him, his eyebrows knitted in the faintest of frowns. Those silvery eyes were keen as he surveyed them in turn.

  “I acquit you of trying to steal my girl,” Matt said slowly, his eyes fixed on Zeke. “But the two of you are clearly up to something. Come on, brother, out with it. If you don’t, Amanda will. She’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen. She’s even worse than you.”
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  There was a taunt in his voice as he said that last. Zeke looked uncomfortable, and Amanda, feeling sympathy for a fellow habitual truth teller, stepped into the breach.

  “We were deciding to be friends,” she said, tilting her chin defiantly as she looked Matt straight in the eye. “Just because you’re stubborn and mule-headed doesn’t mean Zeke has to be.”

  Matt’s eyes widened fractionally. “Is that right?” he drawled as Zeke chuckled.

  “She has you there, brother.” Zeke grinned, obviously not a whit disturbed by the frown Matt directed at him. “You are stubborn. And mule-headed. Only, I never thought to hear a little chit of a girl tell you so.”

  Matt looked back at Amanda. She looked very small and slight as she stood there staring impudently up at him, her bright head barely reaching the top of his shoulder. For what must have been the thousandth time, he thought what a lovely thing she was, with her violet eyes and delicately carved face, pinkened now by the breeze, and the sun finding golden threads in the cascade of ruby curls. His stomach twisted as he looked at her, and his mouth was grimly set.

  “You can go below,” he said shortly to Zeke, moving to take command of the wheel. “You need some sleep.”

  “I’m fit,” Zeke protested. Matt silenced him with a look. Zeke pursed his lips, shrugged, and obediently went below.

  “What were you and Zeke talking about?” Matt asked abruptly when he and Amanda were alone.

  “Oh, nothing. Just . . . just this and that,” Amanda stammered, caught by surprise. A faint flush rose in her cheeks. She knew she must look guilty, and she also knew she could not betray what Zeke had told her in confidence. She decided to take the offensive, hoping it would throw him off the track.

  “What do you suppose we were talking about, how to cause a mutiny?” she added tartly. Matt looked at her, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

  “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he retorted. “But I do trust Zeke.”