chapter ten

For a long moment he remained motionless, saying nothing. Amanda returned his look gravely, wishing she could see his face, thinking how tall and broad he seemed with the moonlight pouring in around the dark shape that was his body, silvering the outline of him. He looked like something from her worst nightmare—or darkest fantasy. If she had awakened to find him looming over her bed as he was now, not knowing him, she knew that her scream would have roused the dead—if, indeed, she had screamed at all.

Finally he spoke.

“Sleep well, Amanda,” he said, turning away. His voice was husky; the words were almost inaudible.

“Good night, Matt.” Her voice was husky, too. Strangely, she felt almost on the verge of tears. With every fiber of her being she suddenly realized that she wanted this man; not just his kisses or his lovemaking, but his arms around her to hold her, his voice to soothe her, his very presence to cherish and protect her as she had longed to be cherished and protected for years. She felt so safe in his arms, so warm and secure . . . She wanted him; it was as simple as that. And there wasn’t any hope that she could have him. He would be in her life for only a few brief days, and then he would be gone, like the dream figure he resembled. And no one except herself would ever know how he had affected her.

At the thought of his going, she was horribly afraid that she would start to cry in earnest. Hearing her, he would probably, with his despicable conceit, imagine that she was trying to lure him into her bed. Indignation stiffened her spine and effectively banished her tears. He was settling himself on the floor near the bed, sitting with his back against the wall and his knees bent so that his arms could clasp them loosely. His black head rested against the whitewashed wall just a foot from where the simple, carved-wood headboard of her bed ended. His face, still veiled by shadow, turned toward hers. Silently she offered him a blanket and pillow. He rejected both with a gesture. Then he chuckled.

“Your eyes shine like a cat’s in the dark. Very unnerving. Go to sleep, Amanda.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Unlike you, I’m used to getting by on very little sleep. And at the moment I’m not feeling particularly sleepy.”

“Neither am I. Talk to me, Matt.”

“About what?” His voice was indulgent, as if he were humoring a child. Amanda knew she should feel indignant, but she didn’t. She liked having him near.

“In the cave, when I told you about the smugglers, you said that you were expecting someone,” she said, suddenly remembering. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, wishing she could read his expression in the darkness. “Who, Matt?”

He was silent for so long that she began to think he wasn’t going to answer. When at last he did, his voice was low, and he turned his head toward the window. Amanda didn’t mind because with the moon illuminating his profile, she had a better view of his face. She thought he looked wary.

“Some friends of mine.”

The clipped answer made her stiffen. “I see. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He sighed, turning his head so that he was looking at her again. The moon silhouetted a quarter view of his face, painting a silvery wash over his chiseled cheekbone and down the flat plane of his cheek to his jaw.

“I’m sorry, Amanda. I’m so used to not trusting anyone that I occasionally forget you’re not a treacherous mortal like the rest of us. As my personal guardian angel, you have the right to know anything you like.” His voice was whimsical, but his continued allusions to her as an angel disturbed her for some reason. She was as much flesh and blood as he.

“I’m not an angel, Matt.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that, if you please. And don’t argue—it could get you in trouble with the rest of the angels. I’m sure arguing is against the rules . . . Have you decided that ignorance is bliss, or do you want to know whom I’m expecting?”

For a moment Amanda thought about insisting that he acknowledge that she was as much a human being as anyone else, as capable of petty and not-so-petty sins as he, but the tantalizing lure of his last question sidetracked her.

“I want to know.”

He smiled faintly. Amanda could see the twisted curve of his mouth in the pool of moonlight.

“I thought you would. Very well, Miss Cat-Eyes, I’ll tell you: I’m expecting my ship and my men and my brother, anytime now.”

It took her a moment to assimilate that. She stared at him, astonished.

“But how on earth can they know where you are?”

“Zeke—my brother—and I have been here before. We once took shelter in the bay from a storm. He was sailing with me then. Now he generally captains his own ship. The day after I escaped, I sent word to him to meet me here. I imagine my letter must have been quite a shock—he can’t have had the one I bribed a guard to send him while I was in prison or he would have been in London before the ink dried. It’s probably waiting for him in New Orleans. In any case, if he’s on schedule, he should have arrived at Le Havre ten days ago to deliver a load of cotton to a buyer there. He should get my message as soon as he lands or, to be precise, as soon as he visits a certain lady who keeps a house near the docks, which if I know Zeke will be his first port of call. I’ve been expecting him anytime for the last few days.”

“You’ve been watching for a ship. That’s how you fell onto the beach and why you rushed outside tonight when I told you I’d seen lights in the bay.” Amanda spoke slowly. She was having trouble coming to terms with all he had told her. It was strange to think of him with a brother who cared what became of him. She was used to considering him as hers and no one else’s . . .

“Tell me about your brother. Is he older than you or younger?”

“Younger, by seven years, to be precise. Ezekiel Peter Grayson. Quite a mouthful but no worse than Matthew Zacharias, which is my full name, by the way. Our mother was fascinated by the Bible.” His mouth twisted wryly. Amanda was too absorbed to do more than vaguely register his expression.

“Is your mother still alive? Do you have any other family?”

“There are just my brother and me.” The words were faintly clipped.

Amanda’s brows drew together. She was suddenly inordinately curious about him. Strange she had never given any thought to the life he must have led before he was arrested for murder. “And you’re both sea captains?”

“Zeke is. He works for me. I’m more businessman than anything else these days, though I started out being hired to captain someone else’s ship. But I managed to persuade the owner—a New Orleans merchant with no stomach for the sea but a hard head for money—to pay me a percentage of the profit on each successful voyage. I saved everything I made, and it wasn’t too long before I was able to buy part interest in a ship of my own. Now I own half a dozen and spend more time securing business than I do sailing, although I occasionally take a cargo across just to keep my hand in.”

“Matt, how did it happen? Your being arrested, I mean.”

Even through the obscuring shadows she caught the teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“I thought you didn’t want to know,” he reminded her softly.

“That was when I thought you were guilty,” Amanda retorted. “Now that I know you’re not going to recount the gory details of your crime, I’m curious.”

His teeth gleamed in the darkness.

“Are you, now? All right, then, my curious cat, I’ll satisfy your curiosity: I was in London to see a gentleman about a contract for shipping molasses. I was alone. When it became obvious that it was going to take more time than I had expected to come to terms, I sent my ship on to Lisbon to deliver its cargo under the captainship of my first mate, who’s a very capable seaman himself. His instructions were to head for Morocco after he had delivered the cargo to Lisbon and pick up a load of silks at Rabat, which he was to take back to New Orleans. I planned to sail on one of my ships or to book commercial passage home. In either case, I should have arrived about a month ago. I imagine that Zeke was intending to make a detour by London to see what was detaining me when he finished his business in Le Havre.” He paused, frowning. “Considering the isolation in which I was held and the brevity of my trial, I could easily have been hanged before any of my people found out what had become of me.”

Amanda’s brow wrinkled. “But why did they think you were the murderer?”

Matt smiled mirthlessly. “Ah, there’s the rub. I was drinking with my prospective customer in a London inn near the docks when I pulled from my pocket a timepiece I had recently purchased. His eyes bulged as he watched me open it, and he excused himself and left the bar rather hastily. I assumed he had had too much to drink and thought no more about it. I was sitting there, finishing my drink, the only thoughts in my head concerning whether or not I would get the shipping contract, which was a rather large one, when a dragoon of soldiers burst in. They asked me if I was myself. I said yes. They searched me, removing my watch for ‘evidence,’ they said, and hustled me away with them.

“The next day, I was charged with murdering Lord Farringdon and his family. I had heard of the crime, of course. Who hadn’t? But I had never, to my knowledge, set eyes on the fellow. Certainly I had no motive for murdering him. But that watch was one he was known to have possessed, and it was believed that he had had it in his pocket the night he was murdered. Not that mere possession of the watch was enough to convict me. Oh, no, after they found that, they searched the rooms where I had been staying and found another item I had purchased at the same time and in the same place: a jeweled dagger, a pretty toy, I thought. What I had no way of knowing at the time I bought it was that it had been used, most recently, to slit the throats of Lord Farringdon and his wife and children.”

Amanda made an inarticulate sound of horror.

“My reaction exactly. Well, to continue, I told them I had purchased the items from a young girl who had offered to sell them to me so she could buy milk for her child. She had the babe with her, and it cried the whole time and looked extremely undernourished. Like a fool, I had felt sorry for her and so paid her a good price for the watch and knife. The soldiers were unable to find a trace of her, although I was assured they had tried. Then came the decisive factor: aside from being in possession of a personal item belonging to the victim, as well as the murder weapon itself, I didn’t have a shred of an alibi for the night in question. I was in bed asleep. Alone. The officers in charge of the investigation seemed to find that almost impossible to believe. I pointed out to them that if I had really committed the murder, I would have taken good care to arrange an alibi. They were not impressed. Within three months of being arrested, I was tried, found guilty, and brought to the very brink of the gallows before fate intervened. And I may hang yet. I have no doubt that they’ll string me up without ceremony if ever they get their hands on me again.”

Amanda was silent for some time after he had finished.

“What will you do? Now, I mean.” Her voice was troubled.

“Go home, first of all. They’ll manage to trace me there eventually, but I think they’ll find that arresting me in New Orleans, where I’m well known, is a very different kettle of fish from arresting me in London. And in the meantime I plan to send someone over here to try to find that blasted girl. Without her my story falls apart.”

“What if whomever you send doesn’t find her?”

“Then I’ll take good care never to come to England again. Which would be no great hardship. I haven’t found your country to be particularly hospitable. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

He was staring at the opposite wall, his expression brooding. Amanda impulsively reached out to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, his face once again shadowed so that she could not see his expression. Then he lifted a hand to cover hers, pressing it to his shoulder for a moment before lifting it carefully and carrying it with infinite tenderness to his mouth. Amanda felt her breath catch in her throat as he placed a deliberate kiss on the very tip of each of her slender fingers. When at last he turned her hand over to press his mouth to her palm, heat seemed to radiate from the spot. Amanda was conscious of a sudden wild desire to leave the shelter of the bed and join him, to wrap her arms around him and soothe his hurts with soft words and softer kisses. But she knew he would only push her away . . .

“Is your curiosity satisfied now, my cat-eyed angel?” He pressed a last brief kiss on her knuckles before returning her hand to her, tucking it gently beneath the blanket as though to put it safely out of harm’s way. Amanda caught her breath in a deep, shuddering sigh and cradled the hand against her breasts.

“Yes. Thank you.” The words were indistinct. She hardly knew what she was saying.

“Then I suggest you try to get some sleep. I’m relying on you to keep the wolves at bay tomorrow. I really don’t relish having to spend the day under the bed.” A brief smile glimmered.

“I don’t think you’ll have to.” Her voice was soft, dreamy.

“Good. Go to sleep, Amanda.”

“Yes, all right. Good night, Matt.”

His reply was little more than a grunt. Amanda obediently shut her eyes, hugging the feel of his mouth on her hand to her. Just thinking of his mouth inevitably brought to mind the occasions when he had kissed her. Twice now . . . She shivered at the memory.

“Matt.” Her eyes opened to find him. He hadn’t moved.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I slapped you.”

He turned to look at her. His teeth shone white in a slow smile.

“Think nothing of it. Go to sleep, Amanda.”

“You keep saying that.” The words were plaintive.

“Because I mean it. Go to sleep.”

“Oh, all right.” Crossly she turned so that she was facing away from him and closed her eyes. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of looking at him so that she could be sure. But she would never go to sleep . . .

His hand gently shaking her shoulder woke her. When she felt that unmistakably masculine touch, her eyes flew open and she rolled onto her back with a startled gasp. Just for a moment she could not imagine who on earth . . . Then she looked up into silver-gray eyes and a lean, handsome face roughened by a day’s growth of beard, and she smiled. The silvery eyes darkened to the color of gun metal as they observed her flushed with sleep, her unbound hair tousled and vivid against the virginal night rail and equally virginal sheets. She had kicked the covers off during the night; the hem of her night rail had ridden up around her thighs, baring legs that were slender and shapely and the color of warm cream amid that cocoon of white . . . Amanda followed the direction of his glance and flushed as she realized how much of herself was unveiled for him. But her movements were almost languid as she pushed the offending garment down. It startled her to realize that she liked having him look at her. It was Matt who moodily turned away.

“You’d better get up.” His voice was harsh, and Amanda could see him clenching and unclenching his fists. “A bell rang a few minutes ago.”

Reminded now of their situation, Amanda sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. After one hard glance at her Matt turned his back and moved to the window, where he stood looking out at the sky and the sea.

“I have to get dressed.” As the last remnants of sleep fled, her sense of propriety returned—and with it came consternation. She could not simply remove her night rail and get dressed as he stood not five feet away. But what else could she do? He couldn’t leave—and she couldn’t remain in her night clothes all day.

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.

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?”