chapter twenty-one

Three days later, Amanda was living in Matt’s luxurious town house in New Orleans’s exclusive Vieux Carré district. Matt and Zeke were out so much that Amanda barely set eyes on either of them. Matt had told Zeke to be ready to take another ship to England at the end of the week. The captain was ill, and the cargo—cotton destined for English mills—could not be delayed until his recovery. Amanda more than half suspected that Matt was exaggerating the urgency of the trip to remove Zeke from the scene, but if Zeke had similar suspicions, they didn’t seem to trouble him. He seemed almost glad to be going.

Amanda, on the other hand, was despondent every time she thought of being left alone with Matt. Since the night he had kissed her, his attitude toward her had changed from cold civility to a hateful, biting mockery. He seemed to take positive joy in hurting her. And if she was unhappy during this brief period in New Orleans, with the shops and colorful street markets to entertain her, what would it be like when she and Matt were alone at Belle Terre? Because as soon as Zeke was gone, that was where he intended to take her.

The servants were another source of discomfort to her. Slavery was an accepted practice in New Orleans, but it made Amanda uncomfortable to be waited on by human beings that Matt actually owned, as he did a horse or a dog or a ship. And, what was worse, they seemed to disapprove of her. Lalanni, the coffee-skinned housemaid who Matt had assigned to accompany her whenever she set foot outdoors and to act as her personal maid at home, let slip in her soft creole voice that moral outrage was the reason for the servants’ stiffness. In New Orleans, a gentleman did not have his mistress live with him. He bought his inamorata her own house, in a discreet section of town, and visited her at night. That was the way it was done, the way it had always been done, the right way. That Matt had set up his mistress in his own establishment was a scandalous breach of propriety.

The knowledge that all the servants considered her Matt’s mistress humiliated Amanda. Never had she imagined she would be reduced to such a state. Even the fact that it wasn’t strictly true was no consolation. Matt had given her her own room in the three-storied house, and he never entered it or laid a hand on her. But her mere presence—a young, unmarried, unprotected girl in a bachelor’s household—was enough to cause a scandal. Amanda burned with the knowledge that she was no better than a fallen woman, and sometimes, when people stared at her in the streets, she wondered if her shame was so intense that it was somehow visible in her face.

She was, of course, totally cut off from any contact with New Orleans society. Her position in Matt’s household made that inevitable. The world of afternoon barbecues and evening dances, mornings spent receiving and returning calls, elegant teas and all the other pleasant little activities that made up a lady’s life was closed to her—she feared forever. Aside from Matt, Zeke, and the scarcely friendly servants, and an occasional word exchanged with a shopgirl or tradesman, she spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. Sometimes when she wandered through the markets with Lalanni at her heels, she would encounter ladies who, under other circumstances, would have been Lady Amanda’s social inferiors. They acted as though she didn’t exist. After her first few tentative smiles were deliberately—and rudely—ignored, Amanda learned to treat them as they treated her, as if she were invisible. But, secretly shamed and hurt by such encounters, she took to staying within doors to avoid them. Used to Susan’s easy friendship and to the camaraderie of the other girls at the convent, Amanda found it hard to be totally deprived of female companionship. She realized that until now, when it was lost to her, she had never truly appreciated the value of respectability.

One afternoon, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she gave in to a compelling urge to write to Susan. She thought it would be safe enough—the missive was carefully worded to reveal no hint of her whereabouts or whom she might be with. It said merely that she was well and happy. By the time she had sealed the envelope tears were coursing down her cheeks. She missed Susan terribly and knew that Susan must miss her just as much. It hurt to realize that, under the circumstances, she was unlikely ever to set eyes on her dearest friend again. But then she realized that, if she could choose to return to the convent, to the days before Matt had turned her life upside down, she would not. Dear as Susan was to her, Matt was far dearer. In the space of a few short weeks he had become the most important person in her world. But it was steadily being borne in upon her that she could not continue to occupy her present ignominious position in his life. Her self-respect would not permit it. Wiping her cheeks, she sniffed once and began anew to consider the alternatives.

As the days passed, and the time of Zeke’s departure drew nearer, Amanda realized that she would have to confront Matt. Things simply could not go on this way. She was grateful for his care, for the food and shelter and truly lovely clothes he had provided, but she could not continue to live off his bounty. If she was ever to hold up her head again, she had to live within the conventions that governed the behavior of a lady. And that meant, at the very least, leaving Matt’s protection and supporting herself.

She could work, Amanda thought, but what could she work at? Her needlework hardly qualified her to be a seamstress, and there was little other decent employment open to a lady. A post as a governess would probably be best, for she had had an excellent education thanks to the nuns, but to obtain such a post someone would have to recommend her, and the only people she knew in the whole of America were Matt and Zeke. And she hardly thought that a recommendation from either of those gentlemen would help her cause.

Still, there had to be something she could do. She would talk to Matt about it.

Amanda got her chance the next morning. Instead of sipping a cup of chocolate and nibbling a croissant in bed, as Lalanni seemed to expect her to do, she arose early with the intention of catching Matt at the breakfast table. She did—but only just. He was finishing a cup of coffee when she walked into the room. From the looks of the serving dishes, he had recently polished off a large plate of ham, eggs, and something the servants called johnnycakes. Amanda eyed his empty plate with some distaste, her stomach churning in revolt at the idea of consuming such a quantity of food so early in the morning. Why, the sun was barely up.

Matt’s eyebrows rose as she came into the room, and his eyes moved over her. Amanda had dressed hastily, so she wasn’t entirely comfortable under the insolent scrutiny. She didn’t know that her full-skirted, tight-waisted morning gown of palest peach cambric made her skin glow like a pearl, or that the simplicity of her hair drawn back from her face with a peach satin ribbon gave her a young, untouched look that smote Matt’s conscience. And was the reason for the sardonic curl of his lips.

“Back to impersonating an angel, I see,” was his greeting; he drained his cup and stood. “Rather wasted, under the circumstances, isn’t it?”

Amanda felt her cheeks color angrily at the derision in his tone, but she was determined to say what she had come to say and she refused to let him sidetrack her. She crossed to stand at the end of the table, clutching the back of one of the graceful rosewood chairs for support.

“I want to talk to you, Matt.”

“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 that.

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 dangerous. 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.