They closed about her enthusiastically, and if he looked surprised, it was just for a moment. Then he was bending his head and kissing her heartily. Amanda hoped that Matt, standing behind him, couldn’t tell it was more the kind of kiss a brother might bestow on a beloved sister than a kiss between lovers. When Zeke let her go, stepping back from her with a lopsided grin, Amanda smiled at him, deliberately infusing as much warmth into that smile as she could.
“That was … very nice, Amanda,” Zeke said, sounding faintly regretful. Amanda’s brows began to knit at something in his tone. “But if that was a thank-you, you thanked the wrong man. It was big brother who sent Madame Duvalier to you.”
Amanda’s eyes widened and moved from Zeke’s grinning face to Matt’s dark countenance. He looked grim as he returned her stare, his eyes gleaming with mockery and something else she was afraid to try to define.
“Aren’t you going to thank me with a kiss, too, Amanda?” His voice was very soft as he stepped out from behind Zeke and looked down at her. Dressed in a dark blue superfine coat, black breeches, and a white shirt and carelessly tied cravat, he looked very big and more than a little menacing. The silvery eyes glittered at her, and the lamplight painted a gilded nimbus around the halo of thick black curls. He had not shaved since early morning, and a faint black shadow roughened the lean lines of his jaw and chin. All in all, he looked so handsome that he nearly took Amanda’s breath away—and he was holding out his arms to her as Zeke had done. Amanda could hardly think as she walked into them.
They closed about her so tightly that she feared he must crack her ribs. Then his mouth came down on hers, tasting faintly of whiskey, and she couldn’t think at all. He kissed her harshly, hungrily, as if he were starved for the taste of her mouth. He bent her back over his arm, his lips and tongue demanding and getting her total surrender. She clung to him helplessly, then, of her own volition, her arms were twining about his neck, drawing the black head closer, her nails embedding themselves in his nape. A sweet, wild trembling started somewhere deep in her belly and moved out along her limbs. She knew he had to feel it, holding her as closely as he was, just as she was totally conscious of every muscle and sinew of the hard male body enfolding hers—and of the growing arousal that he made no attempt to hide. Amanda forgot everything, their position on the open deck, where they were clearly visible to anyone who happened to glance their way, Zeke’s interested gaze, even the differences between herself and Matt. All she was aware of was that this was her man, and she was in his arms again at last. Her only wish was that he never let her go.
He did, of course. His arms dropped away from her without warning. Amanda, lost in a kiss-induced dreamworld, tried to cling to him. He detached her arms from about his neck with brutal efficiency, holding them tightly for a moment as he stared down at her with a restless glitter in eyes that had become the color of smoke. Then, without a word, he released her, swinging on his heel and striding back the way he had come and off the ship. Amanda was left staring helplessly after him, tears filling her eyes. She felt as if she had just been kicked in the stomach.
Three days later, Amanda was living in Matt’s luxurious town house in New Orleans’s exclusive Vieux Carré district. Matt and Zeke were out so much that Amanda barely set eyes on either of them. Matt had told Zeke to be ready to take another ship to England at the end of the week. The captain was ill, and the cargo—cotton destined for English mills—could not be delayed until his recovery. Amanda more than half suspected that Matt was exaggerating the urgency of the trip to remove Zeke from the scene, but if Zeke had similar suspicions, they didn’t seem to trouble him. He seemed almost glad to be going.
Amanda, on the other hand, was despondent every time she thought of being left alone with Matt. Since the night he had kissed her, his attitude toward her had changed from cold civility to a hateful, biting mockery. He seemed to take positive joy in hurting her. And if she was unhappy during this brief period in New Orleans, with the shops and colorful street markets to entertain her, what would it be like when she and Matt were alone at Belle Terre? Because as soon as Zeke was gone, that was where he intended to take her.
The servants were another source of discomfort to her. Slavery was an accepted practice in New Orleans, but it made Amanda uncomfortable to be waited on by human beings that Matt actually owned, as he did a horse or a dog or a ship. And, what was worse, they seemed to disapprove of her. Lalanni, the coffee-skinned housemaid who Matt had assigned to accompany her whenever she set foot outdoors and to act as her personal maid at home, let slip in her soft creole voice that moral outrage was the reason for the servants’ stiffness. In New Orleans, a gentleman did
not
have his mistress live with him. He bought his inamorata her own house, in a discreet section of town, and visited her at night. That was the way it was done, the way it had always been done, the right way. That Matt had set up his mistress in his own establishment was a scandalous breach of propriety.
The knowledge that all the servants considered her Matt’s mistress humiliated Amanda. Never had she imagined she would be reduced to such a state. Even the fact that it wasn’t strictly true was no consolation. Matt had given her her own room in the three-storied house, and he never entered it or laid a hand on her. But her mere presence—a young, unmarried, unprotected girl in a bachelor’s household—was enough to cause a scandal. Amanda burned with the knowledge that she was no better than a fallen woman, and sometimes, when people stared at her in the streets, she wondered if her shame was so intense that it was somehow visible in her face.
She was, of course, totally cut off from any contact with New Orleans society. Her position in Matt’s household made that inevitable. The world of afternoon barbecues and evening dances, mornings spent receiving and returning calls, elegant teas and all the other pleasant little activities that made up a lady’s life was closed to her—she feared forever. Aside from Matt, Zeke, and the scarcely friendly servants, and an occasional word exchanged with a shopgirl or tradesman, she spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her. Sometimes when she wandered through the markets with Lalanni at her heels, she would encounter ladies who, under other circumstances, would have been Lady Amanda’s social inferiors. They acted as though she didn’t exist. After her first few tentative smiles were deliberately—and rudely—ignored, Amanda learned to treat them as they treated her, as if she were invisible. But, secretly shamed and hurt by such encounters, she took to staying within doors to avoid them. Used to Susan’s easy friendship and to the camaraderie of the other girls at the convent, Amanda found it hard to be totally deprived of female companionship. She realized that until now, when it was lost to her, she had never truly appreciated the value of respectability.
One afternoon, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she gave in to a compelling urge to write to Susan. She thought it would be safe enough—the missive was carefully worded to reveal no hint of her whereabouts or whom she might be with. It said merely that she was well and happy. By the time she had sealed the envelope tears were coursing down her cheeks. She missed Susan terribly and knew that Susan must miss her just as much. It hurt to realize that, under the circumstances, she was unlikely ever to set eyes on her dearest friend again. But then she realized that, if she could choose to return to the convent, to the days before Matt had turned her life upside down, she would not. Dear as Susan was to her, Matt was far dearer. In the space of a few short weeks he had become the most important person in her world. But it was steadily being borne in upon her that she could not continue to occupy her present ignominious position in his life. Her self-respect would not permit it. Wiping her cheeks, she sniffed once and began anew to consider the alternatives.
As the days passed, and the time of Zeke’s departure drew nearer, Amanda realized that she would have to confront Matt. Things simply could not go on this way. She was grateful for his care, for the food and shelter and truly lovely clothes he had provided, but she could not continue to live off his bounty. If she was ever to hold up her head again, she had to live within the conventions that governed the behavior of a lady. And that meant, at the very least, leaving Matt’s protection and supporting herself.
She could work, Amanda thought, but what could she work at? Her needlework hardly qualified her to be a seamstress, and there was little other decent employment open to a lady. A post as a governess would probably be best, for she had had an excellent education thanks to the nuns, but to obtain such a post someone would have to recommend her, and the only people she knew in the whole of America were Matt and Zeke. And she hardly thought that a recommendation from either of those gentlemen would help her cause.
Still, there had to be something she could do. She would talk to Matt about it.
Amanda got her chance the next morning. Instead of sipping a cup of chocolate and nibbling a croissant in bed, as Lalanni seemed to expect her to do, she arose early with the intention of catching Matt at the breakfast table. She did—but only just. He was finishing a cup of coffee when she walked into the room. From the looks of the serving dishes, he had recently polished off a large plate of ham, eggs, and something the servants called johnnycakes. Amanda eyed his empty plate with some distaste, her stomach churning in revolt at the idea of consuming such a quantity of food so early in the morning. Why, the sun was barely up.
Matt’s eyebrows rose as she came into the room, and his eyes moved over her. Amanda had dressed hastily, so she wasn’t entirely comfortable under the insolent scrutiny. She didn’t know that her full-skirted, tight-waisted morning gown of palest peach cambric made her skin glow like a pearl, or that the simplicity of her hair drawn back from her face with a peach satin ribbon gave her a young, untouched look that smote Matt’s conscience. And was the reason for the sardonic curl of his lips.
“Back to impersonating an angel, I see,” was his greeting; he drained his cup and stood. “Rather wasted, under the circumstances, isn’t it?”
Amanda felt her cheeks color angrily at the derision in his tone, but she was determined to say what she had come to say and she refused to let him sidetrack her. She crossed to stand at the end of the table, clutching the back of one of the graceful rosewood chairs for support.
“I want to talk to you, Matt.”
“Oh? I was certain that all this finery so early in the morning was designed to dazzle my impressionable little brother. I’m honored that you went to so much effort for me.”
“Will you please listen to me?” she demanded fiercely. His eyebrows rose again, and he subjected her to another of those unnerving looks. Amanda bit her lip. She would not allow this discussion to degenerate into an argument before she’d said what she had to say. Accordingly, her tone was milder when she continued. “I can’t stay here, Matt.”
“I fail to see why not.” He looked over at her, sighed faintly, and pulled his chair away from the table again. “If we are going to discuss this subject, and I can see we are, I would appreciate it if you would sit down. I can hardly do so unless you do, you know.”
Amanda was impatient at this bagatelle, but she sat down. So did Matt.
“Why can’t you stay here? I am assuming you mean this house, not New Orleans in general.”
“Yes.” Now that the time had come, Amanda did not know quite how to phrase what was on her mind. “It … it isn’t proper, Matt.”
“Oh?”
He looked so unconcerned that Amanda had to restrain an urge to throw something at him. Of course the proprieties didn’t matter to him—he was a man. Men were almost totally exempt from society’s condemnation.
“Everybody thinks I’m your … your mistress. They think I’m a fallen woman.”
Matt leaned back in his chair, one hand slipping inside the pocket of his pale gray pantaloons as he looked at her.
“Quite apart from the fact that both you and I know that isn’t so—at least, not anymore—who is ‘everyone’?”
Amanda shrugged. His nonchalance was annoying. “The servants … Lalanni—”
“Lalanni
dared
to say such a thing to you?” He looked angry. Amanda retreated hastily, not wanting to cause her maid trouble. Lalanni had merely been replying, reluctantly, to her questions.
“No. No, of course not. But I can tell—”
“If the servants have been anything less than respectful, I’ll have a talk with them. That should settle the matter.”
“Matt, it isn’t only that.” Amanda was maddened by his refusal to recognize her point. “I can’t continue to live with you, and you can’t go on supporting me. You
know
you can’t.”
“Why not? I’m reasonably wealthy, and though your clothes were rather expensive, you don’t eat that much.”
“Will you be serious?” Amanda glared at him, exasperated. He was deliberately making light of her difficulties. “You
know
what I mean.”
He frowned faintly, picking up a knife from the table and toying with it. “Yes, I think I do. It bothers you that people think we’re lovers. I can see your point, but I can’t see what you expect me to do about it. Unless you’re suggesting I turn you out into the streets.”
“If you would help me find employment, I could be independent of you.” She looked at him hopefully. He looked back at her, his expression thoughtful.
“And just what sort of work do you imagine you could do?”
“I could be a governess.”
He snorted with derision. “At your age, and with your beauty? Your little charges’ papa would take one look at you and be unable to think of anything thereafter except getting under your skirts, and his wife—if she hired you, which is doubtful—would discharge you without a character as soon as she caught the gleam in her husband’s eye.”
Amanda’s cheeks burned, and her eyes were bright with indignation. “There is no need to be crude.”