Whispers at Midnight (21 page)

“Keep still a little longer,” he said,
pressing his palm to her forehead.

“I am better,” she protested as she stirred
slightly.

“You are too warm,” he said as he moved his
hand to her cheek and then to rest on the curve of her neck. She
did not doubt that she was. He made her so, holding and caressing
her in such a loving manner. And the way he looked with his shirt
open fully on his chest, the warm smooth skin of his belly so near
her face. She ached to touch him, to feel the hard flesh and silky
dark path of hair that trailed down from his chest. Had he no idea
her shallow breathing and trembling could be attributed to his
presence and not the shock in the stable?

“I’ll want to see the color back in your
cheeks before you get up,” he said softly.

She was struck by the anguish in his face
and the way it made his features even more enticing. She smiled
tenuously.

“Why would Groom do such a thing to me?” She
could feel the blood flowing back to her brain, and with it a
hundred questions. What could Groom have against her? Why had he
suspended that ghastly creature from the rafters? She shuddered.
“That horrible rat tied there where I would stumble into it.”

“Dear Amanda . . .” Ryne lifted her to a
sitting position so that her face rested against his bare
shoulder.

Amanda felt an internal jolt. His nearness
overpowered her with its sweetness. She could feel the sinews of
his chest crushing the softness of her breast. She could feel a
tingling in her loins that puzzled and delighted her. She was so
caught up in the sensations his body gave to hers that she barely
heard his next words.

“You truly are fixed on the idea someone is
subjecting you to persecution.” He took each of her hands and in
turn rubbed her wrists to bolster her circulation. “Try to think
clearly,” he said. But how could she with those strange sensations
flooding her body? “Groom could not have known you would come to
the stable.”

“Then why?” she asked, her mind floundering
in a maelstrom of confusion.

‘“In all innocence,” he explained, letting
go her hands and wrapping his arms around her. “Groom has taken on
the job of raising a litter of motherless kittens. Vile as it
seems, he tied the rat there to train the creatures to hunt. He
never thought his mistress would wander into the stable.” His lips
brushed lightly against her hair as he talked. “The old fellow will
be in a stew when he learns what has happened.”

Amanda did try to get her mind thinking
clearly. For a frantic minute she stared at him. If what he said
were true, she was a victim of her own paranoia and had no one but
herself to blame for what had occurred in the stable. Yet as in
other such instances when she had been frightened, here was Ryne
close at hand, protesting his innocence of the deed and offering
her comfort. Could she believe him?

At least this time it seemed she could. Even
if someone had seen her coming to the stable, there would not have
been time to arrange such a horrific trick.

She sought Ryne’s face, searching for the
truth in the line of his mouth or the fathomless blue of his eyes,
so darkly alert. Surely no malice could be harbored behind the
caring, worried expression she saw. Surely those portals which were
said to be windows to the soul could not be so cunningly deceptive.
And if they were, she did not think she could bring herself to
care. Not while he held her, not while his warm breath caressed her
face.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said softly. “I
should have called out before going in.”

Breathing deeply, Amanda settled blissfully
into his embrace. Folded in his arms, she felt warmed against an
inner chill, and the last vestige of apprehension cleared from her
mind. If only everything could be so easily solved.

After a few moments of silence and stillness
Amanda felt quite normal and told him so, but still he would not
allow her to move from the spot where she rested. His hands were
stroking her shoulders, making her relax more and more. She felt an
odd little flutter in her chest. She had not been wrong to believe
he could feel compassion or could let it be known he could care for
someone other than himself.

He was infinitely attractive, infinitely
arousing with his face creased in a smile. Amanda sighed and
dropped her eyes from his. She hoped he could not tell how her body
was responding to him.

“I feel very foolish . . .”

“Hush now, hush,” he said in the mild,
melodic voice that had drawn her through the darkness of the
stable. His arms tightened around her and she could feel a tautness
in his muscles. “Rest a little longer and I’ll take you to the
house.”

“It was you singing,” she said softly. “And
beautifully.”

“Aye,” he said. “And with my own voice in my
ear I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It was a lovely melody. I didn’t want you
to stop.”

“Flattery?” He laughed. “Take care, Amanda—I
am not unmoved by it.” One hand was at her waist, the other toyed
with the deep pink ribbons that laced the bodice of her
rose-colored silk gown. The last glow of sunset lit his smiling
face, while hers was cast in shadow. She wondered briefly if he had
seen the spots of color which had risen to her cheeks.

“Ryne,” she asked, trying to speak lightly.
“Who is Libelia?”

He laughed. His fingers slipped behind her
neck to untie a matching ribbon she wore around her throat. “Only
the fairest lass ever to sail out of Ireland. A spirited beauty
like yourself.” He pulled the ribbon free and then his fingers
brushed the honey-brown coils she had pulled to one side and let
fall in a tumble of curls.

“The sweetest little mare in Virginia,” he
added. “The best of the lot I’ve brought in.”

The touch of his hand stoked a slowly
growing fire. She could not repress a small shiver that he must
have felt as his hand lingered on her hair.

“You were singing to a horse?” She felt a
disconcerting tremor in her voice as well.

“Not just a horse,” he said. “Libelia is the
beginning of the finest bloodlines in the colonies. I’ll be taking
her back to my stable tomorrow. Old Groom has been tending her for
a time—he is the best I know with horses. He assures me she is
sound as any he has ever seen.” Ryne’s face showed his pleasure. “I
wanted nothing to go wrong with this one. I have tied my future to
the foals she will produce.”

Amanda was fascinated by this dimension of
him and his evident affection for the mare. Perhaps this was where
he had staked his fortune. He had put his money in breeding stock
and expected it would return his investment and more. It was a
relief to learn that he had not squandered away all of his
inheritance. Still, it seemed to her a risky endeavor and she hoped
he would not be disappointed.

“I should like to see Libelia,” she said, in
her enthusiasm pressing her hand firmly against his knee.

“Another time,” he said quickly, and his
voice lost some of its mellow quality. “You two can get acquainted
later. But not this day.” He shook his head and the tone of his
voice altered. “Let’s be getting you inside and to bed.”

Amanda was startled at the change in him and
felt the intense disappointment flare through her. Until this
moment he had seemed content to hold her as she had wanted to be
held. But now his face showed a sudden restlessness. She was
learning quickly that Ryne Sullivan’s moods were as changeable as
the wind, and could be as devastating. He hastened to stand and she
was left on the ground at his feet to look up at a pair of shapely
calves encased in high black boots.

He stared down at her, the mocking look back
and his mouth set in a wry smile that made her suspect he found it
amusing to have her at his feet.

“I am perfectly well now,” she said flatly,
rising, though not without his assistance.

“You have suffered a shock whether you admit
it or not.” He gripped her about the shoulders—to be sure she was
steady on her feet, she had thought, but that would not account for
the brilliance she saw in his eyes. “I insist that you rest.” A
huskiness crept into his tone.

Amanda’s pulse pounded at a tenuous and
puzzling pace. She was shocked at the awareness she felt as her
breasts again touched gently against his chest. Unable to speak or
pull away, she stared at his lean dark face, baffled that she could
want him to hold her ever closer, that she should want to feel the
heat of his mouth upon hers.

Ryne followed the play of emotions in her
eyes, though he could make no more sense of it than he could his
own battling thoughts. Always she took him by surprise. When he
wished to push her away he found it impossible not to take her in
his arms. He wanted to explore those lips, soft and pink as rose
petals. He wanted to loosen her hair and breathe in the jasmine
fragrance that lingered in the tawny, luminous curls. And this when
he had promised himself and her he would not touch her again.

She quivered in anticipation as his lips
descended to meet hers, as he drew her so tightly against him that
she felt his strong corded thighs and rigid manhood through her
silken skirts. He kissed her with a hunger that sent spirals of
ecstasy spinning through her. He had not been unaffected by having
her in his arms. She knew it as he ground his hips against her and
as his tongue plunged hotly into her mouth. No, sweet heaven, his
body was as full with desire as was her own.

She had wanted him to kiss her like this.
She knew it as his hand slipped inside the neckline of her gown.
She had wanted it since the first time his lips had teased hers.
His fingers, rough and warm, found the tight nipple and began to
squeeze and tug it to ever greater arousal. Amanda moaned and lent
her mouth more fully to the savage ecstasy of his kiss.

She could think of nothing beyond it for a
blinding moment. Ryne’s kiss, Ryne’s fire, Ryne’s lovemaking. It
had been those things she desired when she had been locked in
Gardner’s embrace, when she had kissed him and wished he were Ryne.
The memory shamed her, made her stiffen in his arms. As his mouth
crushed harder against hers, she pulled his hand from her
breast.

“No,” she said unsteadily. “Please
don’t.”

His body went rigid against her. He drew
back, his eyes glaring and almost completely black with anger. “As
you wish,” he said flatly.

They spoke no more as he escorted her to the
house and up the stairs to the door of her bedroom. There he issued
a crisp good night and left with a promise to send Gussie to
her.

An hour and a half later Amanda had finished
with a supper tray in her room, and having bathed, prepared herself
for bed. She felt no more distress over the incident in the stable.
She could at least content herself that one frightful experience
had a logical explanation.

The experience with Ryne was another matter.
She had disgraced herself with a man who cared little more for her
than for a tavern doxy. Indeed, why should he? She had behaved as
one. Somehow it saddened her immensely to know she had so little
resistance to him.

Still she must overcome the weakness she
felt whenever he was near. She was a practical woman and she must
not weaken and let Ryne worm his way beneath that practicality as
he was so capable of doing. How could she justify throwing herself
at a man like Ryne? Even though he had been kind to her for a
moment today, she must not forget his reputation with women, nor
the accusations he had flung at her.

It was not surprising that she had been
susceptible to him when he had shown so much empathy. He had not
ridiculed her for fainting at the sight of a rat. Instead he had
rescued her from her fears and sought to bring her back to rational
thought. And that had led to a burst of passion. In truth Amanda
admitted she could not solely blame him for what had happened.

But just what sort of man was Ryne? A rogue?
A man embittered by his mother’s death? Yet try as she would, she
could not help thinking a man who would sing a lullaby to an Irish
mare must have other redeeming qualities, however well they might
be concealed.

Such thoughts troubled her until she fell
asleep. But fortunately she slept untroubled that night, and for
the several days that followed. Gardner came each morning to
inquire of her health. She allowed it only because she knew he made
the trip partly to survey the crops on his land. Otherwise the long
ride each morning would have been out of the question.

She saw little of Ryne for the next two
days. But late one evening in midweek he rode up on a frisky bay
mare and invited her to walk in the gardens. He behaved as if
nothing strange had taken place between them. Except for the little
trill of excitement she felt at seeing him, she could almost
believe it too. It seemed, in fact, as if everything had changed
since her last visit to Williamsburg. Not one odd occurrence had
taken place at Wicklow. Gussie was friendlier. Groom had apologized
for causing her a fright, and she had spent many happy hours
exploring her new home. But for the stolen chess set, she decided,
everything had been set right.

“I have not forgotten my promise to have my
laborers put the grounds back in good form,” Ryne assured her. “But
the work in the fields is taking longer than I thought, and until
then they have no time to spare.”

She listened intently as they walked side by
side along the stone paths laid out intricately inside a large
circle. Her mind was not so much on the weed-choked garden as on
the change in his manner. Since the incident at the stables, his
treatment of her had undergone an odd change. There seemed no
remnant of resentment left. Yet she thought she detected a coolness
and formality in his actions and words that brought some
regret.

“I am grateful even with the wait,” she
said, pausing in the center of the garden where all the paths met.
She could be as formal and distant as he. It was, after all, what
she wanted, was it not? “I believe once they are well-worked and
weeded, I will be able to keep them properly cared for.”