“Oh? I was certain that all this finery so early in the morning was designed to dazzle my impressionable little brother. I’m honored that you went to so much effort for me.”
“Will you please listen to me?” she demanded fiercely. His eyebrows rose again, and he subjected her to another of those unnerving looks. Amanda bit her lip. She would not allow this discussion to degenerate into an argument before she’d said what she had to say. Accordingly, her tone was milder when she continued. “I can’t stay here, Matt.”
“I fail to see why not.” He looked over at her, sighed faintly, and pulled his chair away from the table again. “If we are going to discuss this subject, and I can see we are, I would appreciate it if you would sit down. I can hardly do so unless you do, you know.”
Amanda was impatient at this bagatelle, but she sat down. So did Matt.
“Why can’t you stay here? I am assuming you mean this house, not New Orleans in general.”
“Yes.” Now that the time had come, Amanda did not know quite how to phrase what was on her mind. “It . . . it isn’t proper, Matt.”
“Oh?”
He looked so unconcerned that Amanda had to restrain an urge to throw something at him. Of course the proprieties didn’t matter to him—he was a man. Men were almost totally exempt from society’s condemnation.
“Everybody thinks I’m your . . . your mistress. They think I’m a fallen woman.”
Matt leaned back in his chair, one hand slipping inside the pocket of his pale gray pantaloons as he looked at her.
“Quite apart from the fact that both you and I know that isn’t so—at least, not anymore—who is ‘everyone’?”
Amanda shrugged. His nonchalance was annoying. “The servants . . . Lalanni—”
“Lalanni dared to say such a thing to you?” He looked angry. Amanda retreated hastily, not wanting to cause her maid trouble. Lalanni had merely been replying, reluctantly, to her questions.
“No. No, of course not. But I can tell—”
“If the servants have been anything less than respectful, I’ll have a talk with them. That should settle the matter.”
“Matt, it isn’t only that.” Amanda was maddened by his refusal to recognize her point. “I can’t continue to live with you, and you can’t go on supporting me. You know you can’t.”
“Why not? I’m reasonably wealthy, and though your clothes were rather expensive, you don’t eat that much.”
“Will you be serious?” Amanda glared at him, exasperated. He was deliberately making light of her difficulties. “You know what I mean.”
He frowned faintly, picking up a knife from the table and toying with it. “Yes, I think I do. It bothers you that people think we’re lovers. I can see your point, but I can’t see what you expect me to do about it. Unless you’re suggesting I turn you out into the streets.”
“If you would help me find employment, I could be independent of you.” She looked at him hopefully. He looked back at her, his expression thoughtful.
“And just what sort of work do you imagine you could do?”
“I could be a governess.”
He snorted with derision. “At your age, and with your beauty? Your little charges’ papa would take one look at you and be unable to think of anything thereafter except getting under your skirts, and his wife—if she hired you, which is doubtful—would discharge you without a character as soon as she caught the gleam in her husband’s eye.”
Amanda’s cheeks burned, and her eyes were bright with indignation. “There is no need to be crude.”
His lip curled. “Isn’t there? Amanda, you must see that this discussion is ridiculous.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I must go to the docks. Zeke’s been there this hour and more and will be wondering what has become of me.”
Amanda stood up, too, moving in front of him and catching at his arm. She could feel the hardness of his muscles through the dark blue coat.
“There must be something I can do.”
His lips compressed, then his eyes began to glint with amusement as he looked from her hand clutching his coat to her face.
“You are absolutely determined to earn your living?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Then I think I know the perfect situation for you. You’re a little short on experience, but the talent is there.”
Something about his smile she disliked.
“What is it?” The words were wary, and her expression was more so. His smile widened, and his hand came up to catch her chin.
“You could be my mistress again, Amanda. Up to now it hasn’t been lucrative, I know, but I’d be happy to remedy that in the future.”
She jerked her chin from his hand, her eyes shooting violet daggers at him.
“How dare you,” she gasped. He laughed, chucked her under her chin again, and headed for the door. Amanda stood glaring at his broad back. At the door, he turned to look over his shoulder at her.
“Think about it,” he said softly, then, with another of those mocking smiles, left the room.
Amanda did think about it, all the rest of that day. Matt could have been teasing her, of course, but she had a feeling that, beneath the mocking amusement, he had been serious. She knew he found her desirable, and she knew, too, if she were honest, that she wouldn’t truly dislike being his mistress. At least, not the physical side of it. She loved him, and if the truth were told, she had been first piqued and then annoyed, over the past weeks, when he had made no attempt to come to her bed. Which was shameful, she knew, but was the way she felt. What made it worse, and made the idea of being Matt’s mistress impossible, was the certainty that he didn’t love her. Oh, he wanted her; he’d made that clear. But he didn’t love her, didn’t even trust her, and if she agreed to be his mistress, it would last only until he found someone else to amuse him. Amanda didn’t delude herself that there would be any more to it than that.
With a wry smile, Amanda considered what the nuns and Susan and everyone else in her social circle would think if they knew she was even considering accepting a man’s carte blanche. Before she had fallen in love with Matt, she would have been shocked and appalled herself. Like everyone else she knew, she had always thought that only a certain type of woman received such an offer, much less accepted it. Certainly she had never imagined that she, Lady Amanda Rose Culver, daughter of a duke, would ever receive such a proposition. Or that she would for a moment consider living with a man outside the sacred bonds of matrimony.
But she loved him, and there was the rub. Just the memory of that lean, handsome face, with its silvery eyes and chiseled mouth, was enough to send a thrill of pleasure down her spine. She loved everything about him, from the texture of his jaw when he had not shaved recently to the feel of his crisp black hair under her fingers. With Matt, no matter how angry he might be at her, she always felt safe and secure, protected. He made her feel as though she had come home.
Obviously he did not feel that way about her. His mother had made him wary of all women, and she had been unable to break the attitudes of a lifetime. He wanted her, and at one time might have been falling a little bit in love with her. Then he decided she had betrayed him, on what seemed to her the flimsiest of evidence. Thinking about that, Amanda wondered with a quick flash of insight whether he might not have seized on the supposed betrayal as an excuse. He had been growing too fond of her, and he had panicked. What had happened that morning on the beach was a shield he could use to protect himself from becoming emotionally vulnerable to a woman again.
What she wanted, Amanda admired to herself with a grimace, was for him to love her and ask her to marry him. The world could hold no greater happiness for her. It didn’t matter that, as the illegitimate son of a prostitute, he was so far beneath her on the social scale that in theory such an alliance was laughable. It didn’t matter that he was a convicted murderer who would certainly hang if he ever set foot in England. All that mattered was that she loved him. It was as simple as t
hat.
He would never ask her to marry him. The knowledge was bitter, but it never did any good to blind oneself to the truth. She could be his mistress, in fact as well as in name, or she could leave him. Those were her choices, and both were painful.
Amanda was still considering the matter late that afternoon. She had just returned from accompanying Lalanni, who had bought fresh vegetables for dinner from the street vendor at the corner. New Orleans in July was stifling hot, a sticky, humid heat that curled the little tendrils that escaped from the simple knot in which she had dressed her hair, and caused dewy perspiration to moisten the pale skin at her temples. She had changed into a sleeveless, low-necked white muslin gown with only a lavender satin sash for ornament. Beneath it she wore only her chemise and a single petticoat. It was too hot for stays or for the two additional petticoats that convention required. In an effort to keep cool, she was sipping a large glass of mint-flavored iced tea and sitting on a chaise longue pulled up before the open French windows that looked out onto the walled garden. A book lay forgotten in her lap. She was more interested in watching the antics of a pair of hummingbirds as they flitted among the brilliantly colored flowers.
She had leaned her head against the soft upholstery of the chair, enjoying the lush perfume of the flowers and smiling faintly at the flight of the birds, when Lalanni tapped on the door. Amanda looked around, surprised. She was rarely disturbed in the back parlor at this time of day.
“Visitor, ma’am,” Lalanni said after opening the door in response to Amanda’s assent.
“Who?” Amanda sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise longue and frowning slightly. She had not had a visitor before. Since the ladies of New Orleans were hardly likely to call under the circumstances, it had to be business of some sort. “The visitor asked for me, Lalanni? Not Captain Grayson?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a gentleman. Wouldn’t give his name, but he’s a swell, from the look of him.”
“Show him in, Lalanni,” Amanda directed, lifting an abstracted hand to her hair as she stood up. She could not imagine a gentleman calling on her. More than likely, Lalanni was mistaken.
“Good afternoon, Amanda.” The unmistakable clipped vowels of an upper-class English accent brought Amanda’s eyes leaping to the man’s face. She went so white that Lalanni started toward her in concern. Amanda waved her away, then recovered enough to say, “Thank you, Lalanni. That will be all. But stay within call, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” By the time the girl curtsied and left the room Amanda had regained much of her poise. She was still shocked, but she was determined not to show it. Besides, what could he do to her now?
“Why are you here, Edward?” She made no effort to conceal the hostility in her voice. Her half brother smiled slightly, his cold eyes glittering with malicious amusement as they moved over her.
“Not a very sisterly greeting, Amanda, especially considering the trouble you’ve put me to.”
“You must know I don’t feel very sisterly toward you, any more than you feel brotherly toward me. I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“Why, I’ve come to take you home, of course. Did you think you could spoil my plans so easily?”
He was smiling at her with eyes like a barracuda’s. Amanda almost shivered with fear before she remembered that she didn’t have to be afraid any longer. She was no longer subject to Edward’s authority. They were in America, not England. And there was Matt.
“You must know that I won’t go back with you. If that’s why you came, you’ve had a wasted trip.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He strolled toward her, and she took an instinctive step backward. His smile widened.
“How did you find me?” She asked the question more to give herself time to think than from any real curiosity. Without Matt to protect her, there was nothing to stop Edward from physically forcing her to go with him. She doubted that the servants would come to her aid.
“That was easy. I had Jamison watching you, you know, from the time we had our little . . . disagreement. I was afraid you might do something foolish, like running away. Imagine my surprise when Jamison overheard you and a man in your bedroom—not nice, that, Amanda, especially not in a convent. A man you called Matt. With the description Jamison gave me after watching the fellow leave—in quite a temper, Jamison said; you must be somewhat lacking in the feminine arts, Amanda—I came to the horrifying conclusion that you were aiding and abetting—as well as bedding—the murderer all England was searching for. The next morning, it was a simple matter to notify the constable, then wait until you went to warn your lover. I sent the soldiers after you, Amanda. Your little ruse was quite easy to see through. And after Grayson was supposedly killed, I still had Jamison watch you. I wasn’t convinced he was dead, you see. The soldiers aren’t particularly good shots. He might have tried to contact you—or you might have tried to run away. I was taking no chances. Jamison followed you that night you went running along the edge of the cliff, and he saw everything that happened. He was even able to get the name of your abductors’ ship. It was painted on the side of the boat they came ashore in—very careless, but I don’t suppose they expected anyone to see them. With that information it was only a matter of checking the registry of the ship, which, I found, without much surprise, belonged to one Matthew Grayson of New Orleans. And here I am.”
“I won’t go with you, Edward.” Amanda’s voice was steady, and her eyes were calm and certain as they met his. Underneath, she was not nearly so confident. Edward, as she knew from experience, would have no compunction about using force. In fact, she thought he would enjoy it: he liked to inflict pain.
“Oh, I think you will.”
“You can’t carry me screaming through the streets of New Orleans. And I would scream.”
“I could if it were necessary. After all, I am your legal guardian, Amanda. But I hardly think it will be necessary, once you’ve thought the matter over. Because there is obviously one aspect of it that you haven’t considered.”
Amanda looked at him in silent defiance, but her thoughts were churning. What could he mean?
“You haven’t thought about your lover. If you don’t come with me willingly, I will go to the British consul and tell him that an escaped murderer is here in New Orleans, living with my sister, whom he kidnapped. You would, of course, immediately be handed over to me, and your lover would undoubtedly be handed over to the proper authorities for extradition. Have you heard of extradition, Amanda?” When she continued to stare at him numbly, he explained it to her in loving detail.
“Why are you doing this, Edward? Lord Robert can’t possibly want to marry me now.” She was struggling to keep the despair out of her voice. But Edward had won, and they both knew it: she would not be the cause of Matt’s death.
“You’re right, he doesn’t. But he’s willing to pay a good price to have you as his mistress, which is all you’re fit for now. You should have considered that before you allowed yourself to be publicly disgraced, Amanda. No gentleman would marry you now. You’ll end as a whore, like your mother, but without a husband to save your face.” He smiled, clearly enjoying the prospect. “I’ve had to sell Brook House—because of you, you bitch—but I still need the money. And you need a lesson.”
Amanda stared at him, fear and anger and desperation written plainly on her face. Edward’s smile widened as he watched her. “Well, will you come with me?” he demanded silkily. Amanda swallowed, knowing there was only one reply she could give but unable to say the words. She would have to go with him, of course. She opened her mouth to tell him so. Then, to her mixed relief and dismay, there was a movement in the doorway. Matt stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, his wide shoulders leaning negligently against the jamb as he surveyed the scene before him. Dressed in the same pale gray pantaloons and dark blue coat he had worn at breakfast, his white shirt and elegantly tied cravat making his lean face seem even darker in contrast, he looked very big and very dang
erous. Edward looked at him and stepped backward. Amanda had to fight an urge to run to Matt’s side. His presence couldn’t help her, of course; if anything, it merely complicated matters, because she doubted that Matt would easily agree to let her leave—especially with Edward. And if she didn’t go with Edward, she had no doubt that her half brother would carry out his threat. But just looking at Matt made her feel infinitely better.
“Your half brother, I presume?” Matt asked Amanda softly. The sunlight glinted on his black hair as he turned his head in her direction. Amanda nodded, the movement jerky. The look Matt turned on Edward sent shivers down her spine; the smile that curved those handsome lips was tigerish.
chapter twenty-two
“A most unexpected pleasure.” Matt’s voice was so soft it was almost a purr. Amanda looked across at him, her eyes widening with alarm. She had never heard quite that note of deadly menace in Matt’s voice, and it frightened her. At all costs, he must not be allowed to do Edward an injury. If he did, Edward would surely inform the authorities whether or not Amanda went back to England with him.
Swallowing, she crossed the room to catch at his arm. “Please, Matt, don’t make any trouble,” she whispered. He barely glanced down at her; all his attention was focused on Edward, who was staring back at him, his gaze measuring.
“You must be the murderer.” Edward, evidently recollecting the sword he held over Matt’s head, had recovered his aplomb. There was a barely disguised jeer in his voice. Amanda felt Matt’s muscle tense beneath her hands, and she tightened her grip on his arm.
“Yes.” Matt was still smiling, but it was the most ferocious-looking smile Amanda had ever seen. She cast a warning glance at Edward, who seemed unaware of his own danger. In a bottle-green coat and pale yellow breeches that showed his tall, slender figure to advantage, Edward looked the epitome of an elegant English nobleman.
“You were speaking to your sister when I came in, I believe. Would you care to repeat your words to me?”
Matt was going to kill him. Amanda could read his intention in his eyes, his voice, his very stance, which reminded her of nothing so much as a tiger poised to spring. And much as she would like Edward to get what he deserved, she couldn’t allow Matt to do it. For his own sake.
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