“So long as you’re not planning any more assaults on my virtue,” Matt said dryly. “I don’t think I could stand it.”
Cheeks flushing with indignation, Amanda glared at him and opened her mouth with the fixed intention of leaving him in no doubt as to what she thought of such an ungentlemanly suggestion. He grinned suddenly and silenced her by holding up a restraining hand.
“I’m truly sorry. I apologize for that. Now suppose you quit spitting fire at me, and we make sure that you cleared everything away properly in there. Next time, the smugglers might not be in such a hurry.”
He picked up the candle and moved past Amanda as he spoke. Amanda was left with no option but to follow. This she did, after favoring Matt’s disappearing back with a last glare. Handsome or not, it was the outside of enough for him to suspect she meant to attack him.
Matt stopped just inside the cavern, holding the candle high so that the room was illuminated, and Amanda stopped, too, some few paces behind him. Besides the usual stalagmites, stalactites, and other rock formations, the circular chamber was now embellished by the addition of perhaps forty brassbound barrels, stacked haphazardly. Matt passed Amanda the candle without speaking, then crossed to the barrels, rolling one free to pry at the lid. It didn’t take him long to get it open; when he did, he looked faintly surprised at its contents.
“They’re smuggling grain.”
Amanda, having lived in the area for some years, was well aware of that. The smugglers’ activities were rather an open secret, one that she, like the rest of the peninsula’s inhabitants, was not particularly concerned about. Live and let live was the way most of the local residents felt about the smugglers, who were almost thought of as family. Black sheep, maybe, but family. Nearly everyone took a proprietary interest in their goings-on, and no one would have dreamed of turning them over to the local authorities.
“It’s because of the Corn Laws,” Amanda explained. She moved a little farther into the chamber and peered into the nooks and crannies to see if there was anything that might betray Matt’s presence. There was an unraveling bandage peeking out from behind a rock. Amanda picked it up and looked around for anything else. As Matt had said, next time, the smugglers might not be in such a hurry. “They probably brought the grain over from France. Tomorrow night or the one after that, a boat will come across St. George’s Channel to take it to Ireland. That’s what they always do.”
“And how do you know so much about it?” Matt was looking at her rather strangely. Amanda grinned.
“Oh, I’ve been watching them for years,” she admitted. “I can see the bay from my bedroom window, and whenever I see their lights I go out on the cliff and watch them work. When the moon’s out, I can see quite a lot.”
“You seem to have any number of nighttime adventures,” Matt said dryly. “Did it never occur to you that it might be rather dangerous for a young girl to go wandering around alone at night?”
Amanda threw him a saucy look. “Not until I stumbled across a murderer on the beach. Since then, I’ve been more careful.”
Matt’s mouth quirked upward in a somewhat reluctant answering smile. “And so you should be. Next time, there actually might be a murderer.”
“Yes.” Matt was still looking at her strangely, and Amanda frowned. She did not realize that in candlelight, her thin night rail was almost diaphanous, that only the glittering skeins of hair flowing past her hips in any way preserved her modesty. She only saw Matt’s eyes move over her once before they were abruptly averted. Her frown deepened, and she would have questioned him, but he had already replaced the lid on the barrel and was crossing to her, taking the candle from her hand.
“Let’s go,” he said brusquely. “Dressed—or should I say undressed—as you are, you’re likely to catch your death of cold. Next time you go flying out into the night, take a moment to slip into your dressing gown and slippers. They might preserve your health in more ways than one.”
Only then did Amanda remember the scantiness of her attire. Looking down at herself, she blushed scarlet. Matt’s lip curled at her embarrassment.
“Just so,” he said curtly, then left her to follow him to the trapdoor. Amanda stopped only long enough to tuck the tureen under one arm before scrambling after him. Once they were inside the cellar, the going became more difficult. The candle was of necessity blown out, leaving them in total darkness. Amanda knew the way and alone would have had little trouble returning to her room, but guiding Matt added hair-raising dimension to the exercise. He bumped his shins more than once and cracked his head on a low beam so hard that it sent him staggering. The words he uttered under his breath should have had the convent walls tumbling about his ears, but though Amanda momentarily held her breath, nothing happened.
She made a quick stop in the kitchen, daring to light a candle as she hurriedly washed the tureen and put it away, all the while praying that no chink of light would show beyond the closed kitchen door. When she was at last able to blow out the candle, she let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness no one had awakened. Matt had been sitting at the scrubbed pine table, watching her. He stood as darkness descended upon them once more. Amanda groped her way to him, grasping his arm and secretly marveling at the hardness of the muscle beneath her hand, and steered him toward the stairs. By the time they had negotiated the remaining three flights of stairs to her room, he was limping and leaning reluctantly on her shoulder.
Amanda was panting now, as out of breath as if she had run every step of the way. When at last she eased them both through the door of her bedroom, which, she was thankful, was illuminated by moonlight, she heaved a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, anxiously looking up at Matt, who was resting wearily against the closed door.
“Yes.” The word was clipped. Amanda bit her lip, but she knew Matt well enough by now to say nothing.
“You take the bed. I’ll curl up with a blanket and pillow on the floor.” He looked so exhausted she had to make the offer, although she guessed that it was not likely to be well received. She was right.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll sleep on the floor—I’m used to it. Believe me, it won’t be any more uncomfortable than many of the places I’ve slept recently, and it’s certainly a damned sight cleaner. Get into bed, Amanda.”
This last was tacked on so abruptly that Amanda looked up at him in some surprise. She saw how his eyes, their silvery glitter restless, were once again moving down her body, and she realized that the streaming moonlight affected the material of her night rail in much the same way that the candlelight had earlier. She started to say something, thought better of it, then obediently crossed to the bed and climbed between the sheets. He followed her, more slowly, coming to stand between her bed and the window, looking down at her with his face in shadow so that she could not read his expression.
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.”