Whispers at Midnight (4 page)

A moment later she rose slowly,
deliberately, so as not to make a sound. She stepped over the
marble rim of the bath. Rivulets of water streamed from her legs
and left a trail of wet footprints on the floor. Her heart sank as
she remembered leaving her damp dress spread over a chair in the
bedroom. She had brought nothing with her to the bath but a bag of
toiletries and the blanket she had used as a wrap. Feeling her
lungs tighten in fear, Amanda threw the blanket around her and
crept guardedly across the floor to reach her bag.

“Take it off, my pretty.” The words were
uttered with a drunken twist. Amanda froze even though she knew the
words were not meant for her. She found herself in another muddle
of confusion and wondered what she should do, even as her fingers
were tearing open the drawstrings of her small bag and pulling out
the black leather case.

The gleaming silver handle of the small
Belgian flintlock pistol that had belonged to Sarah Fairfax felt
cold to her hands. It had seemed prudent to keep the weapon. One
never knew what dangers a sea journey or life in the colonies might
bring. Quaking like a leaf in a storm, she loaded the pistol and
hid it beneath a fold of the blanket. Then, moving with
trepidation, Amanda eased the door open and glided like a shadow in
the direction of the sounds.

A woman’s voice and flirtatious laughter
rose shrilly from the bedroom Amanda had prepared for herself. Who
could it be? Thieves? Drifters who thought the house empty and had
broken in for shelter? They seemed totally unconcerned about the
noise of their revelry. Amanda crept nearer the door, pausing a
moment to cock the pistol and to brace herself for an encounter she
meant to win.

Hazy candlelight spilled out through a crack
in the door and lit a patch of floor in the hall. Amanda’s heart
pounded like a heavy rock smashing against her chest as she surged
forward and pushed the door open. It crashed heavily against the
wall. The splintering noise startled the people wrapped together
just inside.

Amanda’s first glimpse was of a man’s broad
bare back. She saw muscles tense and coil under tanned skin. Like a
wild animal, the man snarled and spun around. Hot, black fury
twisted his scowling face. But as soon as he saw her, his mouth
went slack in surprise. He stared unbelieving at the absurd sight
Amanda presented, wrapped in a blanket and brazenly wielding a
pistol. She looked no more than a child or a sprite of a woman.

“Hold still!” Amanda shouted, clutching the
blanket with one hand and waving the pistol threateningly with the
other. “Who are you?”

The fair-haired woman’s face drained of
color beneath her heavily rouged cheeks. She crushed a dove-gray
velvet bonnet in one white-knuckled hand as the other flew to her
heaving bosom that bulged like great white melons from the open
bodice of her gown.

Amanda stared back at the couple and chewed
her lip painfully. She had interrupted a cozy little rendezvous.
But who were they and what gave them the audacity to use Wicklow
for their assignation? Her small hand grew numb around the handle
of the pistol. The fury in the dark-haired man’s lean, sardonic
face yielded to a look of taunting humor. The corners of his mouth
twitched as he gazed knowingly at her from behind lowered
eyelids.

“Why, it’s dear Cousin Amanda,” he said
smoothly. “Welcome to Wicklow.” A devilish smile framed a flash of
white teeth. The man took a step toward Amanda, a cautious one.

Amanda gasped and colored fiercely. Her
whole body shook at the sound of his voice speaking her name.

“Ryne?” she asked weakly. His face was
shadowed in the dim light, but as he drew near, Amanda could see
the piercing blue eyes and the handsome features of his face. It
was most certainly Ryne. His hair was jet black and arrow straight.
Black breeches fitted tightly on his thighs and loins. With them he
wore high black boots, nothing more. His muscular chest had a mat
of crisp black hair that narrowed and trailed downward like a dark
shadow slipping over his gleaming skin.

The sight of him, head thrown proudly back,
arms crossed imperiously over his chest, and only half-dressed,
made Amanda critically aware she wore nothing beneath the
blanket.

“Ryne Sullivan! You beast!” The blond woman
came to life with a burst of wrath. She struck Ryne on the back and
shoulders with her rumpled velvet bonnet. “How dare you trick me
into coming here!” Her high voice shook with feigned indignation
and her large bosom heaved with the labor of heavy breathing as she
made fumbling attempts to fasten the bodice of her gown. “If I’d
known what you intended, I’d have never set foot in this
house.”

Ryne’s piercing blue eyes went to the blond
woman. He had forgotten she was there.

“Be calm, Maggie.” Ryne’s voice came softly,
but a hard, cold look stole into his eyes. His lips lifted swiftly
into a cynical smile. “My intentions were the same as the last time
we came here.”

Maggie’s eyes dropped in defeat. “You are a
beast, Ryne.” She pronounced the words tightly and followed them
with a coy smile. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she added, fluffing out
her bonnet and giving Ryne a wink as she edged past him. Maggie
nodded knowingly to Amanda as she eased by her in the doorway. She
could be heard breathing a deep sigh as she trotted hastily down
the hall.

Ryne’s probing eyes assessed Amanda. A hint
of challenge hovered in the burning look he gave her. He had seen
only the green fire in her eyes at first glance. Now he was
evaluating the delicate lines of her face. A lovely fawnlike
creature she was, too. She had her mother’s beauty, the high
cheekbones and straight nose and the perfect little mouth that had
been Sarah Fairfax’s trademark.

What a faultless package for a schemer,
someone cunning enough to hoodwink an old woman into leaving her an
inheritance. He could imagine how she used that guileless face and
sweet voice to play on his mother’s maternal nature.

The tips of his nostrils flared as he
breathed out a sigh. He found himself wishing her character matched
her elfin beauty. She had the deceptive fragility of a newborn
fawn. Her green eyes glowed gold in the candlelight and a cascade
of honey-brown hair fell like morning sunshine around her
shoulders. With his blood already hot, Ryne would have liked
nothing better than to pull that offending blanket from her grasp
and to see the treasures hidden underneath.

Instead he took a slow, deep breath and
noted that the look of panic had not left her face.

“We didn’t expect you so soon, Amanda,” Ryne
said calmly, bending to the floor to retrieve a shirt of black silk
that lay like a pool of ink at his feet.

“So it seems.” Amanda watched him pull the
garment over his head and then carelessly tuck it into his
trousers. She had seen men dress before. She had seen many sights a
young lady should never have known about. Her experiences in the
frivolous and fast-paced world of the theater had hardened her to
the wiles of men. Why a flush of heat should rise to her cheeks at
the sight of Ryne posturing about and adjusting his clothes was a
mystery. It occurred to her in turn that he would have been no less
uncomfortable under her gaze had she found him completely
disrobed.

“You might put the gun away.”

She frowned. The gun was heavy and her
outstretched arm ached under the weight of it. Gasping, she dropped
the barrel toward the floor and gently lowered the hammer in
place.

“You had it cocked?” Ryne’s eyes widened in
astonishment. He could imagine her inexperience with a gun. This
little sprite, this little usurper, might have ended his escapades
with a nervous clench of her fingers.

“I find it fires best that way,” Amanda said
flatly. “I had no idea you used the house as a bordello.”

Ryne’s brows flickered up a little. “I have
yet to adjust to the fact that Wicklow no longer belongs to my
family.”

“But it does,” Amanda countered quickly. “At
least Aunt Elise considered me family.”

Ryne smirked. “Then it’s ‘family’ we are, my
sweet.”

He shook his head and ran his fingers
through the tousled black hair, fighting the temptation to accept
the gentle innocence in her voice. Amanda Fairfax had inherited not
only her mother’s beauty but her skills as an actress as well. He
shrugged and went on in a lowered voice.

“I’m at a disadvantage to give you the
greeting you deserve, dear cousin, but I promise to make it up to
you.” A step brought him very near. He took the pistol she held
limply, his fingers rough-edged and warm on hers, his large hand
dwarfing her small, delicate one. “Let’s put this somewhere safe.
We don’t want to add a new ghost to Wicklow.” Ryne laughed softly
as his devilish gaze ran harrowingly over Amanda.

She swallowed hard and trembled inside the
blanket. So Ryne had grown up to be a rogue—an arrogant, confident
one who resented her having Wicklow. What would his brother Gardner
be like? Still a gentleman, she hoped. Two like Ryne would be hard
to contend with.

“Hadn’t you better take your friend
somewhere?” Amanda asked, a sly smile breaking out on her face.
“She’ll grow tired of waiting for you.” For all her bravado, Amanda
had taken a cautious step away from Ryne and now stood squarely in
the doorway, one arm tightly holding the blanket together. Ryne,
however, made the step with her as if they were engaged in a kind
of mental dance that coordinated their movements. Too aware of his
closeness, she took another step back, and once again he followed
her lead.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Never let
it be said I kept a woman waiting,” he whispered. He stood so close
she could smell the scent of brandy that clung to his lips. She
could feel the moist warmth of his breath on her face, see the
invitation in his eyes. “You’re blocking the door, m’lady.” A long,
slender finger caught her under the chin and lifted her face to
his. A shiver ran through her flesh as he caught a lock of her hair
in his hand and brushed the fragrant curl against his lips.

Amanda caught her breath quickly. Ryne was
practicing his debauchery on her. He was evidently a man who knew
and enjoyed the magnetism he had for women. No doubt they flocked
to him like hens to a wriggling worm. She had seen such
performances played out around her mother, both on the stage and
off. She had no intention of preening her feathers for Ryne
Sullivan. With a sudden jerk Amanda stepped out of the doorway and
out of reach of Ryne’s gentle touch.

A sound that was both a gasp and a shriek
escaped her. Ryne had his foot planted firmly on the trailing edge
of her blanket. It peeled quickly from her shoulders and dropped to
the floor, leaving her naked as a new moon to his searching
eyes.

A smile played lightly upon Ryne’s lips as
Amanda covered her breasts awkwardly with her arms and whirled to
shield herself from his view. A moment later she felt the soft
fleece of the blanket floating over her bare shoulders, and Ryne’s
soft laughter feathered her ears.

“Lost your wrap, m’lady,” he crooned,
letting his lips brush against the fragrant curls at her nape.

Burning with embarrassment and anger, Amanda
bit back words a lady shouldn’t utter. Had he deliberately. . . ?
No, surely not. Surely even Ryne Sullivan could not be that much a
rogue. She gathered her courage and turned to face those mocking
blue eyes. Instead she met emptiness and silence.

A moment later she heard his light laughter
and the clack of his footsteps on the stairs. Maggie’s shrill voice
joined the deep, mellow tones of Ryne’s. Amanda heard him say a few
words of appeasement and heard them both laughing until their
voices faded away. Then abruptly they were gone, and an odd
emptiness descended with the heavy silence that once again filled
Wicklow.

Amanda went quietly to the hall window when
she heard a loose shutter rattle and pound against the outer brick
wall of the house. She welcomed the disturbance; it brought back a
sound of life to the house. From below, the anxious neighing of a
horse joined the sudden howling of the wind as heavy drops of rain
began to fall.

She peered out in time to see Ryne hook a
lantern to the side of his carriage. He had tied his team close to
the house rather than sheltering them in the stable, making it
clear his visit to Wicklow was not meant to be a long one.

Ryne, a dark, lean figure in his black garb,
took a moment to stroke the arched neck of each horse before he
sprang into the carriage and took up the reins of the handsome pair
of dappled grays. Amanda saw Maggie’s pale arm slip from beneath
her cloak and wrap familiarly about Ryne’s thigh. She looked away
as he snapped the reins, and without cracking his whip over the
horses’ backs, started the team down the sloping lane that led to
the main road.

The carriage was out of sight when Amanda
looked out again, a bit sadly. She had hoped they could all be
friends, but that seemed an impossibility with Ryne. Perhaps
Gardner would be more civil.

She left the window as the drops grew
heavier. All day the rain had been threatening and now that the
downpour had come, her elation vanished. But no, that had happened
when she saw Ryne. What a joke he would be sharing with that Maggie
at her expense. Why had the scoundrel come along to spoil her mood?
Amanda held the blanket firmly around her shoulders. She could
still feel those dark, flaming eyes skimming her body.

Nerves stretched beyond endurance, Amanda
returned to the bedroom and drew back the covers on the narrow bed.
Ryne’s bed, she thought, discarding her blanket and climbing
between the crisp linen sheets. She couldn’t fault him for coming
here. He must have expected the house to be his. Or his to share
with Gardner. And she had come much earlier than she had told them
she would.