Amanda Rose (20 page)

“My head aches, Matt.” The words sounded so forlorn that Amanda nearly congratulated herself on her acting ability. Then it occurred to her that she wasn’t acting. She felt just as forlorn as she sounded—and she craved his comfort.

“No wonder, after that brutal slap.” He reached up to touch the braided coronet of her hair. “But these probably don’t help, either. Let me take them down for you.” His hands were busy removing the pins that held her braids in place as he spoke.

“I can do it.” Absurdly, the feel of his hands in her hair was making her feel shy. She reached up to remove the rest of the pins herself, only to find that her arms were too weak to allow her to do so. That scene with Edward had drained her more than she had realized.

“Can you?” The question was dry. “Just lie there and let me take care of you for once, Amanda. After all, you’ve done as much for me.”

At the memories his words conjured up, she smiled. When he had first ordered her to bandage his hip, she had been terrified—but that seemed very long ago now. “I have, haven’t I?” she murmured.

“Mmm.” He continued to take the pins from her hair, dropping them onto the bedside table one by one. When at last they were all out, she drew her braids down over her shoulders and began to loosen them, running his fingers through the strands until at last her hair lay smooth and gleaming in thick waves.

“You have beautiful hair,” he murmured, picking up a lock and studying it as if it were a rare and curious specimen. The moonlight streaming in through the window fell in love with the vibrant ruby color and shimmered it with hundreds of hidden lights that glittered like diamonds. Matt turned the lock of hair this way and that, absorbed as he watched the bright silk reflecting and refracting the light. Amanda watched him, her eyes taking on a warm, almost secret glow as she traced the planes and angles of his face. Even two days’ growth of beard could not disguise the masculine splendor of his features. A man had no right to be so outrageously handsome, she thought, and wondered how she had failed to recognize his beauty from the moment she had laid eyes on him. Even a full beard would no longer be able to hide from her the lean strength of his jaw and square, determined chin, or the classic cut of hard masculine lips that were tender now as he examined her hair with grave attention. His nose was classic, too, straight as a blade and arrogant, while the harsh curves of his proud cheekbones and wide brow could have been carved by a master sculptor. His lashes lay like thick, stubby black fans against cheeks that had regained much of their natural bronze, veiling eyes that she knew were as silver as coins within a darker ring of smoke. Even his eyebrows were beautiful, thick and black with a faint sardonic arch, and very expressive in conveying his moods without words. Just now one was lifted fractionally, as if he were curious about something. His hair was as black as his brows, so black that it shone with faint blue highlights under the wooing influence of the moon, curling as it fell down over his forehead and skirted around his ears to nestle at the nape of that strong brown neck.

“So is yours—your hair, I mean. It’s beautiful.” The words sneaked out of her mouth before Amanda was aware that they were there. The first three were spoken dreamily, but the rest were rushed as she realized what she had said. If Matt even guessed at the warm, tingly feeling she got from just looking at him, she had no doubt that he would move away from her—and she didn’t want that.

“Thank you.” Incredibly, he smiled. The amused curve of his lips and the gleam of white teeth lent a rakish charm to his face that threatened to render Amanda speechless. “It’s nice to receive a compliment for once. Usually we poor gentlemen have to bestow them all day long, with nary a one in return.”

“You’re welcome.” Suddenly shy, more from her thoughts than from anything he had said or done, she let her lashes droop down over her eyes. He replaced the lock of hair on her breast and lifted his hand to touch the length of her lashes with an experimental finger.

“Soft as silk, black as sin, and long as the devil’s tongue,” he murmured caressingly. Startled at some indefinable note in his voice, the lashes that he had described fluttered up again. Her eyes looked almost purple as she stared up at him. His hand slid away from her lashes to rest warmly against her uninjured cheek. Abruptly his expression changed to a forbidding scowl. Amanda blinked at him, bewildered.

“Your skin is like ice,” he said, his tone completely different from the gentle murmur of just seconds before. His hand dropped from her cheek to pick up one of hers. It lay small and defenseless in his large palm, her slender fingers dwarfed by the length and strength of his. Amanda stared down at their joined hands, hers white and slender with delicate fingers and buffed oval nails, his brown and strong, a blatantly masculine hand with a calloused palm that was clearly no stranger to physical labor. She could sense the warm vitality of him flowing to her through his palm.

“Your hand is cold, too,” he continued. “You’ve had a shock—you need to be in bed. If you’ll tell me where it is, I’ll get your nightdress for you and we’ll get you tucked up.”

He stood up as he spoke, letting her hand drop back onto the bed. Amanda felt bereft as she stared up at him, suddenly becoming aware of how very cold she was. Without his presence beside her to warm and comfort her, she was beginning to shiver.

“In the wardrobe, the second drawer.” It was all she could do to keep her teeth from chattering. Matt turned away as she spoke and crossed to the wardrobe to rummage among its contents with masculine disregard for the neatness of the items within. In a moment he was back, towering over her as he stood beside the bed, one of her prim white night rails dangling incongruously from his hand. He dropped it onto the bed beside her, and before she quite knew what he was about, he caught her by the ankles and deftly slid the black slippers from her feet.

“Beautiful feet, too—small and slender and most definitely female.” He held one foot in his hand as he spoke. Amanda felt a tingle surge through her body as he caressed the white-stockinged instep with teasing fingers. Her toes curled involuntarily. Before he could see her reaction, she pulled her foot from his grasp and burrowed it down against the blanket.

“Turn over and I’ll undo your dress buttons,” he instructed, apparently unaware that he had caused every cell of her body to be aware of him. At the thought of those large hands on the legions of tiny buttons on the back of her dress, Amanda shivered. She hoped that he mistook the chill of the room as the cause of the convulsive little movement.

Apparently he did. Without waiting for her response, he gently rolled her over so that she was lying on her stomach and, after brushing the waving mass of her hair out of the way, proceeded to unbutton her dress. Amanda felt the warmth of his hand against the cool skin at the nape of her neck, and couldn’t suppress another shiver as it traced down between her shoulder blades before the thin muslin of her chemise afforded her vulnerable senses some protection. By the time he had unlooped the last button somewhere in the vicinity of her hips, she was lying rigid, her teeth clenched as she fought the sensations his touch aroused in her.

“Finished,” he said, straightening. His hands slid up her sides to grasp her under the armpits, and then he was lifting her from the bed and setting her on her feet on the floor. Amanda caught at his arms to steady herself as he bent to catch the hem of her dress and lift it around her waist. She had no time to register anything before he coolly instructed her to raise her arms, then eased the dress over her head. She was left standing in her chemise and single petticoat, a figure all in white except for the dark fire of her hair and the amethyst glow of her eyes. As much from embarrassment as from cold, she wrapped her arms around herself, hoping desperately that he had not noticed her body’s humiliating reaction to standing before him clad only in her underclothes. Her breasts seemed to swell, and her nipples hardened until they stood out like tiny pebbles against the thin muslin of her chemise. This unprecedented response shamed her so much that she could feel hot color creeping up her neck to wash over her face like a tidal wave. Mutely she thanked the Lord for the darkness that masked her shame. No matter what Matt had said about the virtues of possessing a warm and loving nature, she was convinced that such an intense longing for him to look at her with those silvery eyes, touch her with those long fingers, and kiss her with that hard mouth was incontrovertible proof of the wantonness she had suspected in herself since he had first kissed her.

“I can manage the rest myself,” Amanda said hurriedly as Matt turned back to her after dropping her dress negligently over the single straight chair.

“All right.” His answer was agreeable, but Amanda thought he gave her a rather comprehensive look before he obligingly crossed the room to stare out the window. Amanda clenched her teeth at the thought that he might have seen and correctly interpreted her response to him. He would be very kind about it, she knew, but she also knew that kindness and forbearance were the last things she wanted from him at the moment.

Her fingers were clumsy as she struggled with buttons and ribbons and ties, but at last she managed to get her underclothes off and her night rail on. She left her stockings for last, slipping off her garters and then rolling down the flimsy cotton stockings. When she straightened after removing the second stocking, she was taken aback to find that Matt had turned his back on the window and was watching her. His face was deep in shadow; only the glint of his eyes was visible to her.

“Get into bed. You’re cold.” The words were abrupt, the tone almost harsh. Amanda looked down at herself, at her breasts neatly covered by the prim, pin-tucked white muslin night rail with its demure high collar and long sleeves, and saw to her dismay that her nipples were as visible through the thin garment as they had been through her chemise moments before. Quickly she crossed her arms across her chest, then blushed again as she realized that this would only call Matt’s attention to her difficulties—if he hadn’t noticed already.

“Matt, I …” Too late, she realized that one should never attempt to explain the unexplainable, but mercifully he interrupted, saving her from floundering in a morass of deepening embarrassment.

“Get into bed, Amanda.”

Thankful, she did as he said, so grateful to be safely hidden from his eyes as she crawled beneath the covers that she barely noticed that his tone was even harsher than before. When she was lying back against the pillow with the covers pulled up to her chin, she dared to look at him. His gaze was on the slim outline of her body beneath the blanket. Then, as if aware of her attention, he abruptly turned and stared across the room at the dark hearth.

“We need a fire. It’s cold as be-Jesus in here.”

“We’re not allowed to have a fire in our bedrooms in the spring. Only in winter.”

Amanda realized they were both talking at random; Matt didn’t seem to have his mind on what he was saying, and she certainly did not. She was far too busy considering the almost hungry look in his eyes as he had stared at her body beneath the bedclothes.

“Damned barn of a place,” he muttered, and his eyes shifted so that he was looking at her again. His hands slid into his pockets and his feet moved restlessly. “How do you feel now?”

“Much better,” Amanda answered, returning his gaze reluctantly and then finding that she was quite unable to tear her eyes away. His eyes smoldered at her in the darkness, making her burn with a heat that made a mockery of the chilled room.

“You will have quite a bruise. How are you going to explain that to Lord Robert tomorrow?” Amanda thought she detected a trace of a sneer in his voice when he said the name.

“I … don’t know. I suppose I shall say that I bumped into something in the dark.”

His lips compressed. “You won’t tell him the truth? That your bastard of a brother hit you to persuade you to marry him?”

“No.” Her voice was low.

“Of course not.” He moved toward the door. Amanda sat up in bed, her eyes widening.

“Where are you going?”

His hand was on the latch as he turned to look at her.

“I think it would be better if I found somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

“But why?” There was shock in her voice.

“Because if I stay here another minute, I’m going to have to choose between strangling you and kissing you, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do either.”

He sounded almost angry, and his stance was rigid as his eyes raked over her. Amanda felt her heart speed up at the suppressed violence in his voice. She wanted his hands on her, she realized with an odd, sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, whether in anger or in passion. But he was clearly determined not to touch her.

“Would you do me a favor before you go?” The meekness of her tone contrasted sharply with her pounding heart. “There’s another blanket at the bottom of the wardrobe. Would you fetch it for me? I’m cold.”

She met his eyes with beguiling innocence. As she had thought, he could not resist such an appeal to the protectiveness he seemed to feel for her. The twitching of a muscle in his jaw was the only sign of protest he made as he did as she asked. Amanda subsided against the pillow as he shook the blanket over her bed. Her lashes veiled her eyes as she admired the rippling muscles in his arms and shoulders through the thin white shirt as he performed the simple task; then, as he bent over her to smooth the blanket about her shoulders, she lifted her lashes to look frankly at the starkly beautiful face so close to her own. Her eyes met his. Dark embers glowing in those silver-gray eyes seemed to sear her. The sudden blast of heat made her mouth go dry. Unconsciously she wet her lower lip with her tongue. Matt’s eyes were riveted on the tiny movement.

“Dear God, Amanda …”

The hoarseness of his tone and the tormented blaze in his eyes provided the impetus she needed. Swallowing, she eased one hand from beneath the piled covers to catch his. His skin was burning hot—and not with fever.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” she reminded him in a voice grown suddenly husky. Impulsively she lifted his hand and pressed it against her uninjured cheek. His skin felt hard and hot and abrasive against the softness of her face.