Whispers at Midnight (12 page)

“Amanda.” Ryne’s blood stirred faster
through his veins. He knew now why he had come back to Wicklow, and
it wasn’t simply to even a score. He wanted to possess Amanda
Fairfax, to invade her soul, to make love to her and know every
secret morsel of her satin flesh. He clenched his hands into tight,
dangerous fists. What was she doing to him with that frantic, hurt
look in her eyes? His gaze caught and lingered on her face. She
looked as if she needed someone to hold her and keep her safe.

“Come here,” he whispered. Hardly aware of
it, Ryne lifted a hand to grasp hers. So small, so beautiful. She
was a pale star that had taken a tempting womanly form. Odd, he’d
have thought her sleepwalking, except for the set of her mouth,
which warned that her disposition was far from heavenly.

As his expression changed, Amanda could read
his thoughts. She could feel the line of his vision like a hot
flame burning away the gown she wore. His lips parted as his eyes
followed the swells and hollows that marked her womanhood. Too late
Amanda wondered if she had been taken in by a horrid scheme to
bring her running to his room. Or if she had been too willing to
seek him out. How vile he was. And how fascinating. Those blue
eyes, always mocking and accusing, now were claiming what belonged
to her alone.

Her face flamed until the color scorched her
cheeks. She had come to him. She had been lured by the bait and now
she stood at his bedside half-hypnotized by his caressing voice.
But she refused to be his victim. Amanda steeled herself against
the strange attraction she felt. Angrily she raised a hand to
strike him. The blow never met its mark. He was far too fast and
captured her arm in mid-swing, trapping her wrist in his firm
grip.

“Let me go!” she cried, trying to shake
loose from the hand that held her like an iron trap. “Let me go and
leave me alone, Ryne! Stop your tormenting. Stop your tricks, I beg
you.” She sobbed. “If not for me, then for Aunt Elise. She would
not have us be enemies.”

“You are hysterical.” He was on his feet and
quickly ringed her shoulders with his arms, pulling her tightly
against him.

“No!” she cried. Fear and panic soared to
such a height within her that she trembled uncontrollably and with
a wild look to her eyes rolled her head from side to side as she
tried to push away from him.

“You’ve had a nightmare, a bad one I think,
my sweet.”

“No, Ryne,” she pleaded. She knew what he
was about to do. It was in his eyes and in the gentling of his
embrace. She dropped her head and stiffened her body, but to no
avail. He found her tight, resistant lips, but once the warmth of
his mouth had touched them, they quivered and yielded to his
kiss.

She didn’t want to succumb to that kiss or
even participate in it. If only it had been hard and brief,
something taken and nothing given. But it was not. It was gentle
and probing, possessing, the soft wetness of his mouth joining
tenderly to hers. A budding, then fervid pleasure took her breath
away. All at once his closeness was a sweet solace for all the
agony she felt. She couldn’t make herself remember that he was the
cause of much of that agony.

Ryne moaned softly. What was the matter with
him? He suddenly didn’t care what she was. It only mattered that
she was in his arms, responding to his kiss, and that he could feel
the fear and anger draining from her body. He liked the way her
curves fit against him and the way her arms twined around his
waist. His consciousness faded into a blur of pleasure that welled
from his loins. Reluctantly he moved his mouth from her lips and
made a half-turn toward the bed.

Amanda sighed. Even when his lips were no
longer on hers, the spell was slow to disappear. Ryne’s arms
dropped from her shoulders but he kept a gentle hold on her hands
as he pulled her around with him. For a brief moment his face was
filled with caring and concern, but only briefly. At once Ryne’s
thoughts cleared and he knew that if ever he possessed her he would
forever be her slave.

His blue eyes froze. Ryne Sullivan meant to
be no woman’s slave. And though his passion boiled within him, he
willed it away. If he did not, he would be playing into her hands
and would find himself willingly beguiled by this innocent-looking
temptress.

Amanda ceased to think and let herself
succumb to the pleasurable feelings floating through her body.
Ryne’s long, lean muscles held the magnificence and wild strength
of a jungle beast, and he was not without a tender nature. She
could sense that within him, however deeply it might be hidden. It
was in his touch and in the gentleness of his kiss, in the soft
whisper of her name. Behind the cold, hard visage he presented was
another man altogether, and she longed desperately to know that
secret side of him.

She sighed deeply. Could a man who would
give shelter to a poor man and his family when he himself must beg
for a roof over his head be without compassion? Her heart told her
that he could not.

Ryne dropped his head and cursed silently as
her eyes lifted gently to his face. He wouldn’t be caught, even
though he wanted her so much a cold sweat had broken out on his
brow. Let Gardner be the one caught in this spider’s web. He shook
his head, sending the heavy black hair and silk cord that held it
in a flight around his neck.

“Ahh, my sweet.” He pushed her away from him
as a smile played lightly on his lips and a devilish gleam shone in
his eyes. “Calm again. But to what lengths you will go for a kiss,”
he said stiffly. “Now, what is this nonsense about blood?”

Amanda’s eyes widened. She felt his change
of mood like the thrust of steel. Her own mood changed too.
Suddenly she wanted to fight him again, to hurl her anger and
exasperation back at him. But she had little fight left, and as yet
only a growing realization of how detestable Ryne Sullivan could be
if he chose. She swallowed hard as tears burned behind her
eyelids.

“I am calmed but not blinded,” she said with
a jerk of her head. “I can see you would use any means to cover
your misdeeds, nor have you any qualms about breaking a promise,
Ryne. But I know it was you who slipped into the house last night
and smeared blood on the door. And it was you who spilled the drops
on my face not many minutes ago.” Her wide eyes surveyed his face
for any hint of admission. But she saw none. “If I were a woman of
lesser fortitude,” she went on, “you might have succeeded in making
me leave. But as I am not so fainthearted as that, it will take a
great deal more to make me abandon Wicklow.”

“Amanda,” he said flatly. “I did not return
to the house last night. There are those who will attest to the
fact. As for spilling blood on your face, I think you have let a
dream become too vivid.” He moved toward her and spoke again in a
lowered voice. “Be certain I don’t want you to leave Wicklow, not
now. There’s no advantage in it at the moment.” His fingers stirred
a curl that rested on her cheek. “On the other hand, there may be
considerable advantage in having you here. I find a certain
surprising harmony with you.” He let his fingers brush across her
shoulder, his resolve to resist her weakening. “I’m in no hurry to
rebuild my lodge. We could—”

“No,” she interrupted. “We could not. You
must leave. Even if you are innocent of the other, in the space of
a few hours you have broken your promise to be a gentleman. If I
cannot trust you, I cannot have you here.” She spoke with far more
command in her voice then she felt in her spirit. Ryne unnerved her
because he both attracted and repelled her, and she found the
conflict exceedingly trying to deal with.

“Now Amanda . . .” He used a caressing
voice. “You can’t want me to go. You’d be alone here then. Just you
and old Gussie and the ghosts. Whom could you blame for your
nightmares if I were not in the house?” he teased.

Amanda felt a shiver run down her spine. Her
eyes were downcast for a few moments. He might be right. Perhaps
she didn’t really believe Ryne was responsible for what had
happened, but had only grasped at what seemed the simplest
explanation. Yet her uneasiness grew as she realized that if he
were not to blame she had another tormentor who wanted her out of
Wicklow.

Amanda stiffened her spine. “I won’t be
alone,” she countered in spite of her doubts. “Cecil Baldwin has
arranged for a woman and her niece to board. I am certain with
others in the house these happenings will cease.”

Rather than settling the matter, her reply
had the effect of strengthening his determination to stay at
Wicklow. His brows flickered slightly. “I assure you, Amanda, I
have played no part in whatever has disturbed you. You’ve had a
nightmare—admit it.” His hands hung at his sides and she saw that
he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

“You wouldn’t be the first to find Wicklow
disturbing. Some of Mother’s guests found the house so disquieting
they wouldn’t stay there. But it will pass as you get accustomed to
the place. Meanwhile I plead with you not to cast blame at my
feet.” His voice became subtly warmer. “Now, think of it, if there
are to be others in the house, what harm can there be in my staying
as well?”

“You kissed me.”

He shrugged. “I kissed you to calm you. It
was a kindness to halt your hysteria. Nothing more. Though I do
suggest you get a robe for your nightly missions. That wisp of
cloth you are wearing would tempt a saint.”

“A kindness?” So it was that to him, the
kiss that had made her feel the stirrings of womanhood. She crossed
her arms over her breasts, uncomfortably conscious of the sheerness
of her gown and realizing how rash she had been to confront him
clothed as she was. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks and Ryne
marked her distress.

“I might have shaken you or struck you. A
kiss seemed kinder. Don’t you think if I had wanted more,” he said,
catching her by the shoulders and gripping her flesh lightly, “I
would have had it?”

Though his touch was slight, his fingers
felt like hot blades where they lay on her skin.

“No,” she whispered weakly. Amanda’s blood
sped through her veins like an unleashed river. Her heart
thundered. She thought for an instant he was going to crush her in
his arms again, that he was indeed about to toss her to his bed.
But he suddenly let go, leaving her stunned and silent for a
moment.

“You need not worry over that.” Ryne laughed
as his eyes scanned her body critically. “A woman needs more flesh
to fill my needs.”

“Like Maggie?” she fired back, and
immediately wished she could snap her tongue off for responding to
his gibe.

“Like Maggie.” He grinned. “A woman in full
bloom.”

Amanda gave a slow nod. “That knowledge
pleases me.”

“Then I can be spared residence in the
stable?”

Amanda turned away. His manner baffled her.
She didn’t like the way he was politely begging a favor one moment
and being arrogantly rude the next. What did he hope to gain by
such behavior? Her thoughts had become settled and calm. But
nothing about the time she had spent at Wicklow made any sense. As
for Ryne, he seemed to delight in twisting her emotions about and
trying to keep her confused, but that didn’t prove he had tried to
frighten her away.

Her shoulders drooping a little, she walked
slowly back to where she had left the candle. All at once she felt
terribly alone, and the thought of there being no one else in the
house seemed too much to bear.

“Oh, Ryne, I don’t know,” she said
listlessly. “Something is happening to me, and if you are not
responsible, then who is? I didn’t dream the woman I saw here this
afternoon. Did you send her?” She turned back to face him from
across the room, but her body had blocked out the light and she
could see only a shadowy black shape where he had been
standing.

That shape began a slow walk toward her so
that with every step a little more of him was revealed by the
candle’s light, first his legs swathed in black silk, then the
strip of his chest bared where his shirt hung open, and last his
face with the eyes shining red from the reflected flame.

“Maggie’s the only woman I’ve brought
here—in the past week. If you mean her, you already know—”

“I don’t mean Maggie,” she said hurriedly,
and dropped her gaze from his face; his eyes were too bright with
the fire in them. “It was someone else. I saw her through the
window when I returned from Williamsburg. She was in my room. Aunt
Elise’s room.”

He stopped. “But you didn’t actually see
her, not inside?” He inclined his head, and as she glanced up she
could see the lines of uncertainty on his brow.

The thought that he was about to tell her
once again that she had imagined an incident stirred her stubborn
nature to life.

Amanda straightened her back and spoke up
quickly. “If you’re going to say I saw a shadow or a reflection,
Gardner has made that supposition. But I know I saw a woman, and I
wasn’t dreaming when I stepped out of the carriage.”

Briefly she thought he was going to
challenge her statement. It was almost possible to see his mind
racing with thoughts of his own. His eyes flashed, his lips
tightened, but to her surprise he said no more of the matter and
turned to another subject.

“Tell me about the blood.”

She realized all at once she had wanted to
tell someone, and before she could stop herself, she was blurting
out an account of the two occurrences.

“After you had left and I had gone to bed, I
heard a voice. Someone was calling my name. It was frightful,
really, like a warning from far away.” She could almost hear that
voice again, and the thought of it brought a glazed look to her
eyes. The sound had seemed to float in the darkness like a dead
leaf caught in a slow current of air. Amanda’s voice shook as she
went on. “I ran into the hall. The whisper seemed to come from
there. But instead of finding anyone, I saw blood on the door to
Aunt Elise’s room. The print of a hand. I was terrified.
Elizabeth—my companion—was sleeping there. I thought something had
happened to her. But when I got inside, she hadn’t even waked up.
And when I looked back at the door, the blood was gone.”