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Rogue in the Regency Ballroom: Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence
Helen Dickson


ROGUE'S WINDOW, GENTLEMAN'S WIFEAmanda O’Connell is in a scrape. If she doesn’t find a husband while she’s in America, her father will marry her off against her will. Then Christopher Claybourne, a dark, mysterious rogue, inspires a daring plan…A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCEWilliam Lampard, a distinguished and dangerous military captain, keeps London abuzz with scandal. When he meets the innocently provocative Miss Cassandra Greenwood, the infamous captain’s interest is spiced. He makes a wager: he will seduce her!












About the Author


HELEN DICKSON was born and still lives in south Yorkshire, with her husband on a busy arable farm, where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.




Rogue

in the

Regency

Ballroom

Rogue’s Widow, Gentleman’s Wife

A Scoundrel of Consequence

Helen Dickson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In The Regency Ballroom Collection

Scandal in the Regency Ballroom April 2013

Innocent in the Regency Ballroom May 2013

Wicked in the Regency Ballroom June 2013

Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom July 2013

Rogue in the Regency Ballroom August 2013

Debutante in the Regency Ballroom September 2013

Rumours in the Regency Ballroom October 2013

Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom November 2013

Mistress in the Regency Ballroom December 2013

Courtship in the Regency Ballroom January 2014

Rake in the Regency Ballroom February 2014

Secrets in the Regency Ballroom March 2014



Rogue’s Widow, Gentleman’s Wife




Chapter One


Charleston, South Carolina—1880

A long column of sullen-looking convicts—black and white—moved slowly and painfully down the sun-baked street. Ragged and barefooted, they were fettered together like beasts of burden, their heavy iron ankle chains rubbing pitilessly against their skin, tearing and making it bleed. The men guarding them walked alongside, thick canes in their hands, urging them along with curses and threats. Others rode in front and behind, the harnesses jingling on their horses.

The traffic was heavy, the pavements swarming with people of all colours, passing through every shade of brown to black. Their clothes were gaily coloured, and the soft blur of the southern speech fell pleasantly on a stranger’s ears.

Having become stuck in a mass of horses and traps and fine carriages of the well-to-do to let the convicts shuffle past, Amanda sat beside Nan, her maid. With the sun beating down on them the heat was intense, the humidity making it feel even hotter. Amos, Aunt Lucy’s faithful old retainer, was sitting with an air of dignified authority, loosely holding the reins. He was content to wait it out, but the horses shifted restlessly, eager to be on the move.

Beneath her pretty parasol, which shielded her from the harsh glare, Amanda, too, was restless and impatient to continue, her frustration and temper simmering in the increasing heat. She spared no thought to the wretched prisoners. Her whole focus was on her low spirits. What she did care about was the fact that she was to leave Charleston five days hence for her home in England.

Feeling uncomfortable in the heat, Nan swatted an irritating fly from her cheek. Tipping her bonnet back, she wiped her damp forehead. ‘This heat is getting me down. God willing we won’t have to endure it much longer and we’ll soon be back in England. Never again will you hear me complain about the cold and rain.’

‘Trust you to say that, Nan,’ Amanda exclaimed impatiently. Coming to America had been a whole new experience for her, and, without her father’s domineering presence, she had been enjoying herself far too much to think of leaving just yet. But circumstances had turned against her. ‘Oh, why did Aunt Lucy have to die—just when life held such promise. It has all turned out so different from what I had planned. I have failed dismally, Nan.’

Despite her own discomfort, Nan smiled across at her young mistress, thinking how pretty she looked, how cool and elegant in her sky-blue-gingham sprigged gown and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet that hid much of her wealth of burgundy-coloured hair. And yet despite Amanda’s sweet and charming look, she was, in reality, stubborn, touchy, intransigent and independent, rebellious of all discipline, truculent when denied her own way, and with passions that were easily stirred, like her father, with nothing of her cousin Charlotte’s mild-tempered, forbearing nature. In Nan’s opinion, who was ten years her mistress’s senior, she called for firm handling. She had been indulged by an adoring father and allowed to go her own way for too long.

‘It isn’t your fault. You weren’t to know your aunt would die and your father order you back home.’

A touch of anger came to add to the bitterness of Amanda’s disappointment. She knew, as she had always known, that her father, having made a fortune out of his various business enterprises, had wanted to move in higher circles of society, and that she was the key to help him attain this.

‘Since I have failed to find a suitable husband, he will marry me off without delay the minute I get off the ship. He’s eager for me to marry and give him an heir, and he’s got someone in mind, I know it—some titled old man whose name and position will be Father’s entry into the world of blue-blooded aristocrats.’

‘Come now. Stop tormenting yourself. If that is so, then I am sure the man he has chosen for you will not give you any cause for reproach. Your father loves you and will take your wishes into account.’

‘Father’s not like that. Oh, if only I could find someone I wanted to marry, Nan. Aunt Lucy was sympathetic to my plight. I’ve lost count of the eligible men she’s paraded before me—but there wasn’t one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with me.’

Nan sighed. Having had this conversation with Amanda many times over the past weeks, she was beginning to tire of it. ‘Then maybe you should marry a man who is senile, who won’t last the year. Your father would have to respect a year of mourning and by then you would be twenty-one and independent of him.’

Amanda looked at her sharply, calculating. Now why hadn’t she thought of that? Mulling over what Nan had said with sudden interest, she paid no attention to the carriage edging alongside until its occupant spoke.

‘Why, my dear Miss O’Connell. I am so happy to see you. I was terribly sorry to hear about dear Lucy—quite a surprise, I must say. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t attend the funeral, but my husband and I have been out of town for a while, visiting our daughter in Wilmington. And what of you, dear?’

Amanda turned to look at Mrs Hewitt, an elderly, statuesque, full-bosomed lady. An acquaintance of her Aunt Lucy’s, despite being something of a busybody, she was a likeable, well-meaning woman.

‘I am well, thank you, Mrs Hewitt. Aunt Lucy’s death was all rather sudden. She took a turn for the worst following a chill and sadly never recovered.’

‘Well, what a good thing she had you to take care of her. At last she’ll be with her beloved Edward. I imagine there is much to do at the house?’

‘Cousin Charlotte and her husband stayed on at Magnolia Grove after the funeral to take charge of everything.’

‘And you? Are you to remain in Charleston?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’m going back to England in a few days’ time—although I shall be sorry to leave.’ She shifted her eyes to look at the convicts, closer to them now. She was appalled at the pallid, unshaven faces. The heat and moistness of their unwashed bodies released a sickly stench.

Mrs Hewitt followed her gaze, raising her perfumed handkerchief to her nose to blot out the vile odours. ‘Look at them—gallows meat, the lot of them. Probably been working at the docks—been some kind of accident as a ship was being unloaded, apparently—some of the cargo tipped into the sea and every available man was needed to retrieve it. I see one of the prisoners is that vile man Claybourne—the one in the middle—the one responsible for that ghastly crime.’

Wishing the prisoners would walk faster so that they could move on, Amanda looked at the man Mrs Hewitt pointed out with scant interest, and then with a growing curiosity. She hardly noticed anyone else—her attention was entirely focused on him. With his mouth set in a thin, hard line, he walked with his head held high, with a kind of arrogance, which, in the midst of so much wretchedness that clung to his fellow prisoners, had its own kind of greatness. She could see that his clothes were of fine quality, but badly stained. The rags of his once-white shirt gave little protection to his broad shoulders and bronzed skin, which showed through in many places, but he did not seem conscious of the hot sun. His overwhelming masculinity stirred some deeply rooted feminine instinct that she acknowledged.

‘What did he do?’

Mrs Hewitt turned to look at her, plying her fan with verve. ‘Why, don’t you remember? He’s the man who killed poor Carmen Rider.’

Amanda recalled the scandal that had torn through Charleston. The town had reeled with horrified fascination of the murder. Carmen was a thirty-year-old wealthy widow, a Spanish woman, who had been brutally murdered in her home two months or so ago. It was her maid who had found her. The room had been ransacked and she had died from vicious wounds, having clearly put up a fierce struggle against her attacker.

‘I was in Savannah with Aunt Lucy, visiting her sister-in-law at the time, so I do not know the details of the case.’ Besides, she thought, she had been enjoying the delightful company of some of the charming bucks belonging to Savannah’s elite too much to dwell on a depressing murder case taking place in Charleston. ‘What do you know about Mr Claybourne, Mrs Hewitt?’

‘Not much, only that he lived out of town—in a wooden cabin in the cypress swamp—by the river. Bit of a loner, if you ask me. At one time he spent some time in the Smoky Mountains—with the Indians, some say, where he improved his skill with horses. Carmen hired him to break in some of her mounts. Since her husband died she had had a host of admirers but she quite shamelessly threw herself at Mr Claybourne—proclaiming her love for the man to anyone who would care to listen. From what I’ve heard he was not as enamoured of her as she was of him, but he stayed anyway. Whether or not they had a full-blown affair is open to speculation.’

‘He might have fared better had he stayed in the swamp with the alligators,’ Amanda murmured. ‘I seem to recall there are Claybournes in England—aristocrats, I believe.’

‘As to that I wouldn’t know, but I shouldn’t think there is any connection. I cannot see a peer of the realm coming to America to work with horses.’

‘No, I suppose not. Why do you think he killed her?’

‘It was known that they quarrelled and he left her the day before she was killed. When she was found, it was believed that he was the murderer—her brother was certain of it, though he’s a rogue if ever there was. There are those who know Mr Claybourne that say his behaviour was most out of character, that he is a man of considerable intelligence, and that a man of that stamp does not commit such acts of madness without good reason. But everything seemed to point to him. He was the prime suspect and arrested and taken to gaol.’

‘Was there no one else who could have killed her?’

‘Opinion was unanimous that he was the only one with a motive strong enough, and in a final quarrel he murdered her. Owing to the seriousness of the case and the social prominence of Carmen—her husband was a well-known and respected attorney in Charleston, you know—the jury found him guilty and he was sentenced to hang.’

‘And what did Mr Claybourne have to say for himself?’

‘All the time he stuck to his statement that he was nowhere near her home at the time—and there were many who believed him innocent but none who could substantiate his alibi. The servants gave accounts of constant discord between their mistress and Mr Claybourne and testified that a man of his description let himself into the house and went to Carmen’s room on the night she was killed.’

As Mr Claybourne passed in front of the carriage, Amanda was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. He was close enough now for her to see his face more clearly. Beneath his facial growth she could see he was attractive. His jaw was roughly carved, his forehead was high, his eyebrows heavy, his cheeks lean and his hair, though dull and lank, was thick and dark brown.

As if he felt her scrutiny, he turned and met her eyes. She knew instinctively that he was just as aware of her as she was of him. Her heart skipped a beat as she met those eyes steadily, and she saw amber flames ignite within their depths.

His eyes assessed her frankly, taking in her cool, quiet beauty. She was vividly conscious of him, and she felt the unfamiliar rush of blood humming through her veins, which she had never experienced before. Instantly she felt resentful towards him. He had made too much of an impact on her, and she was afraid that if he looked at her much longer he would read her thoughts with those clever eyes of his.

And then he was gone, oblivious to the cane which at that instant the guard thudded on to his back. Amanda watched the convicts become swallowed up by the crowd, her eyes fixed on the tall man until the last.

‘When will the sentence be carried out?’ she asked Mrs Hewitt.

‘In about a week.’

When the congestion began to clear, and after bidding Mrs Hewitt farewell, all the way to Magnolia Grove Amanda turned her thoughts once more to her predicament, trying to find a way to circumvent her father. There must be some way to escape marrying a man of his choosing, there must be something she could do. And then the words of Nan came back to her—that perhaps she should marry a senile old man who wouldn’t last the year.

Nan was right—but instead of a man in his dotage, why not a man who was to end his life on the gallows one week hence, a man with the name of Claybourne who could well be a relative of the aristocratic Claybournes in England? Then she could go home and truthfully tell her father she was a widow—whilst keeping the manner of her husband’s death to herself—and he would have no choice but to respect a year of mourning. By then she would be twenty-one and independent of him.

But suppose he wouldn’t marry her? Suppose, despite all her promises of enough food and comforts to make his last days bearable, he still refused to marry her? Then what would she do?

Amanda clenched her hands, her eyes taking on a determined gleam. I’ll make him marry me. I’ll make him want to marry me, she vowed, with the goad of desperation. Headstrong and tempestuous, she was so accustomed to having her own way that she did not pause to consider that any other way might exist.

She wasn’t fool enough to think it would be easy. She would have to evaluate various approaches. Somehow she would have to prevent Mr Quinn from finding out what she was about to do until it was too late for him to do anything about it. He had been in her father’s employ for many years, and when she had come to America her father had insisted that Mr Quinn act as her guardian, giving him the authorisation to vet the suitability of the man she might want to marry—her father being of the opinion that, as a mere girl, how could she possibly tell a true gentleman from a rogue? Her only hope was Amos. Amos was an important man at Magnolia Grove; he knew everything there was to know about Charleston, and he could be relied on for his discretion.

Sheltered by massive oaks, palmetto and shimmering beech trees, Magnolia Grove stood on the outskirts of Charleston, basking in the sun like a jewel. It was a house of considerable proportions. Shaded arches, brightened by cascades of blood-purple bougainvillea, yellow cassia and the scarlet cry of frangipani, supported a first-floor gallery that stretched the full length of the house. It was surrounded by an array of formal gardens meticulously sculpted, with statues that stood in their own beds of flowers. The house was spacious and light inside, the furnishings simple yet tasteful.

Aunt Lucy’s husband, Edward Cummings, who had died shortly after the Civil War, had been a brilliant businessman. He had made his fortune trading rum, sugar, rice and cotton. A financier of blockade runners during the Civil War, he was one of the few people in Charleston who had not gone under and had kept his grand town house, although following the devastation of the war and with the emancipation of the slaves, he had been forced to sell his cotton plantation on the Cooper River.

Amanda had soon become accustomed to the rhythm of life at Magnolia Grove and the bustle of servants. Having grown extremely fond of Aunt Lucy in the twelve months she had been in Charleston, her sudden death had affected Amanda profoundly and she missed her terribly. Charlotte, Aunt Lucy’s only child, and her husband, Mark, had taken care of all the formalities. Unable to bear the thought of selling the old family home, Charlotte and her husband had decided to leave Atlanta in Georgia and make Magnolia Grove their own.

On entering the house, Amanda found Charlotte arranging fragrant white roses in a glass vase on a circular rosewood table in the centre of the hall. She turned to look at Amanda and smiled.

‘Ah, you’re back! How was your visit to the shops?’

‘Fruitful,’ Amanda replied, indicating the packages Nan was carrying, ‘though terribly hot. Can I help?’ she asked, removing her bonnet and leaving Nan to take her burden up to her room.

‘Thank you, but I’m almost done.’ Adding the final rose into her arrangement, Charlotte stood back to survey her handiwork, a wistful expression on her face. ‘These roses were Mother’s favourites. She grew them herself—had them sent out from England.’

‘I know,’ Amanda said quietly, remembering how Aunt Lucy had patiently shown her how to prune them. ‘I’m sorry she’s no longer with us. The house isn’t the same without her.’

‘I take comfort knowing she’s with Father now, that she will be content. She always believed in heaven and an eternal life, so I have no doubt that that is where she will be.’ Charlotte put out a hand and touched Amanda’s arm affectionately. ‘Mother grew very fond of you, Amanda. She was so happy when you came to stay with her.’

Charlotte, a quiet, tolerant being, was a petite, rosy-cheeked brunette and eight years older than Amanda. Her grief, Amanda thought, made her look pretty. She had the sort of kind, caring face that didn’t need smiles to enhance it.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go back to England,’ Charlotte said, ‘but I know you must. Still, you can always come again. I do hope so.’

‘If it was anyone else other than Father telling me I must go home, I wouldn’t leave—and I’m so glad you’ve decided to live here. It wouldn’t seem right to part with this lovely old house, for strangers to move in. What about Mark? Will he miss Atlanta?’

‘He’s looking forward to it, and already seeking premises to set up his law practice. He was born in Charleston. He’s always wanted to come back.’

‘I can understand why. I’ve grown terribly fond of Charleston myself.’

‘But you miss your father.’

‘Of course I do. I love him dearly and I’m so proud of what he’s accomplished throughout his life—not many men could have achieved what he has unaided—but how I wish he wouldn’t press me so hard to wed. Why is it that men should think that marriage should be every woman’s goal in life?’

‘When you return to England, perhaps he’ll be so happy to have you back in the fold and realise just how much he’s missed you that it will no longer seem important to him.’

‘Oh, no, Charlotte. In this his mind is made up. In the matter of my marrying he will have his way. He grows impatient. By the time I get home he will have endeavoured to find a husband for me. In fact, I think it’s safe to say he will have gone to extraordinary lengths to accomplish that.’

‘It could have been different, you know,’ Charlotte said gently and without reproach. ‘As soon as Mama launched you on to South Carolina’s social scene you became an instant success, with offers for your hand made in record numbers.’

This was true; no matter what event Amanda attended, she was always the belle of the ball. Immediately she was surrounded by a crowd of besotted swains and in no time at all had them eating out of her hand. Impulsive, witty and intelligent—and with a zest for life that left Charlotte breathless—Amanda was desired by all and, with her pink cheeks and lush deep-red hair, she glowed like a jewel against white silk. But her popularity wasn’t due primarily to her loveliness and wit, or to the fact that she was heiress to a huge fortune; it was because she kept so much of herself hidden that no one really knew the true Amanda. She possessed an aura of pride that warned a man not to come too close. She had become an exciting enigma that intrigued everyone who met her.

‘If you had chosen one of them, and the formidable Mr Quinn approved, then he would have been returning to England alone.’

Amanda sighed, bending over the table to smell the roses. ‘It’s my own fault, I know. Most of the men of marriageable age I found amusing and charming enough, but there hasn’t been one that inspired anything stronger than that—and certainly not one I would choose to spend the rest of my life with. Besides, I know the true reason why they seek my company. The contact isn’t friendship, so it has to be that they are drawn by the smell of power and money.’

She became despondent. ‘I suppose, if I’m honest, I don’t want to get married to anyone, because all the pleasures I enjoy so much will be denied me with a husband in tow. Since coming to Charleston I’ve had a wonderful time. Everyone has been so friendly, hospitable and courteous. I’ve been invited everywhere—to parties and picnics. I don’t want it to end, Charlotte. Where is he, by the way?’ she asked, straightening up and doing a quick sweep of the hall, half-expecting her formidable guardian to materialise from one of the rooms leading off.

‘Who—Mr Quinn? I have no idea. He comes and goes as he pleases. Of late he’s been noticeably quiet—as if something weighs heavy on his mind. In fact, he really is a man of mystery and many secrets. I do wonder what he finds to do half the time. Come, we’ll go and sit on the porch. It’s the one place that offers a cool and shady place to sit and chat. I’ll just go and find one of the servants and have them bring us some lemonade.’

‘Let me go—there’s something I wish to speak to Amos about.’ For a moment Amanda felt regret that she was about to deceive her cousin, but it was gone as soon as she saw Aunt Lucy’s old retainer crossing the yard to the stables. Amos had been a part of the Cummings family for years, and with a great sense of pride and full of his own importance, he lorded it over all the other servants and could galvanise the most shiftless into action. Aunt Lucy had come to depend on him a great deal since the death of her husband, and she had always said how he was her mainstay, and that his loyalty was something money couldn’t buy.

When Amanda had arrived at Magnolia Grove, Amos had fallen under her spell the first time he had received the full impact of her dimpled smile, and from that moment on had become her most devoted servant.

Amos paused in his stride when Amanda called his name, waiting with proper respect for her to reach him as she ran across the yard, holding her skirts off the ground, her tiny feet moving as though they had wings.

The friendliness Amos had shown Amanda since she had come to Magnolia Grove gave her confidence. ‘Amos, I know I can trust you and that you’ll do almost anything I ask you to.’

Amos looked at her with ardent curiosity and deep suspicion; despite his devotion, he was under no illusions about her. And when she looked at him as she did now—demure and sweet-talking, knowing such methods always worked with him when she was planning some new escapade—he found himself saying cautiously, ‘Yo’ can always depend’ pon my complete, unquestioning loyalty, yo’ sure know that, Miss Amanda.’

‘What I am about to ask of you I don’t want to go any further. You do understand that, don’t you, Amos?’

‘Very well, miss. Ah woan breathe a word,’ he said in hushed tones, entering into the conspiracy, unaware of where that conspiracy was to lead him.

Amanda paused to steal a furtive glance about the empty yard; then, moving closer, she looked at him and confided, ‘Amos, is it difficult obtaining admittance to the City Goal?’

Stepping back, he stared at her as though her senses had deserted her. There was a gleam of such intense excitement in the young miss’s eyes that it aroused sudden distrust in Amos. ‘The City Goal? But why’d yo’ want to go there? God fo’saken place—sho is, and no respectable young lady should be seen near it.’

‘Never mind that. Please, please say you’ll help me, Amos,’ she pleaded, determined to get her own way in this.

‘Not in a ’undred years, I woan,’ he stated adamantly, shaking his grizzled head, seeing the scowling expression on her face pass into a smile that would have charmed a fox out of its hole, a smile she knew was difficult for him to resist. ‘Ah ain’t never been in that place, an don’ think yo’ can get round me by lookin’ like that.’

‘Now, Amos, don’t be mean,’ she wheedled.

‘What fo’ you want to go there anyhow?’ He looked at her piercingly. ‘This don’ sound right to me—an’ are you not tellin’ Miss Charlotte?’

‘No. Charlotte mustn’t know—at least, not just yet. Please, Amos. There’s a man I want to see as soon as possible—tomorrow if it can be arranged. I’ve got to see him. I’ve simply got to, and I can’t do it by myself. If you won’t help me, then I will find some other way. It is extremely important to me. Please, please say you will,’ she entreated, feigning helplessness.

Amos shifted from one foot to the other like a restive horse. ‘What fo’ are yo’ fixin’ to see this man—a gentlemun, I hope?’

‘Of course he is, and what I want to see him about is my business,’ Amanda replied indignantly, growing impatient. ‘Well? Are you going to help me or not?’

‘Well … yes, miss—but I don’ approve. I want to know what you’re up to—so don’ you go askin’ no one else.’

His capitulation brought a sigh of relief from Amanda. ‘Thank goodness. I knew I could rely on you.’

‘Only if I go in wid you. Dat prison’s full o’ dangerous varmints an’ ’tis no place for yo’ to be alone. What would Miss Charlotte say if she finds out? Flay me alive she would.’

‘No, she won’t and you know it. You can drive me there but I must go in by myself. I will not have you glowering at me while I converse with the man I want to see. Are the prisoners allowed visitors?’

‘Most of ’em.’

‘If the person I want to speak to is not, can any of the gaolers be bribed?’

Amos’s black brow wrinkled in thoughtful lines. ‘One of the turnkeys is a man called Hennesey—though he’s a hard, mean character, he’s also greedy and gold sings right sweet in his ears. But it shouldn’t come to that.’

‘Good. That’s what I hoped you’d say.’ Amanda faced him squarely, the light of decision in her eyes. ‘The man I want to see is Mr Claybourne, the horse breaker found guilty of murdering Carmen Rider.’ Sensing fresh disapproval, she said quickly, ‘I am sure a resourceful man of your position could arrange it for me, Amos. Will you go and see Mr Hennesey and ask him if I can see Mr Claybourne alone? For such considerations he will be well rewarded for his trouble.’

In no way did Amos approve of what she was asking him to do, but he nodded nevertheless, knowing she was capable of going to the prison alone if she took it into her head. ‘Ah’ll do my best.’

‘Thank you. Oh, and, Amos, not a word to Mr Quinn or cousin Charlotte. Remember.’

And so it was arranged. Amos had a word with her before she went in to dinner, quietly informing her that Mr Hennesey would expect her at the City Gaol the following morning at ten o’clock.

The next day there was no sign that Amanda had spent a sleepless night pacing her room with single-mindedness of purpose. Her sights were centred on one goal, her mind bolstering the courage to carry out the wild plan she had conceived with Amos’s help. She had everything to gain and nothing to lose—and neither had Mr Claybourne. Her heart and jaw were set with determination, her mind made up. Thank God she wasn’t afraid.

However, certain practicalities had to be taken into consideration. She must wear something Mr Claybourne would be unable to ignore, and yet something that would not attract too much attention. Spending several minutes in a frenzy of worry and indecision, she finally decided on a rather modest saffron silk gown and matching bonnet with a veil that would conceal her features until she was in his presence. Hopefully she would succeed in entering and leaving the prison without anyone being any the wiser as to her identity.

Travelling into town, Amanda paid little attention to her surroundings. Her mind was focused one hundred percent on her meeting with Mr Claybourne.

Believing they were going on another shopping expedition, Nan was as absorbed as she always was by this fine city. Despite her aversion to the sultry, tropical heat, she found it a compelling place.

The houses with their shaded porches and galleries, shredding the sunlight through the delicate traceries of their iron balustrades, were tall and narrow and of multicoloured stucco, adorned with wooden shutters that would be opened when darkness came. The streets, ablaze with azalea and wisteria and shaded by tall trees dripping with wispy tendrils of Spanish moss, were a delight.

The old Charlestonians were a proud, close-knit community and strong in their determination to preserve the old way of life as they had known it before the war. Their traditions were a precious inheritance which no one could take from them. This inner circle was for Charlestonians only, and foreigners were kept out.

Nan was drawn out of her reverie when Amos suddenly stopped the carriage in Magazine Street, across from the City Gaol, and Amanda climbed out quickly. Four storeys high and topped with a two-storey octagonal tower, it was an ugly prison, as prisons always are. Casting Amos a meaningful, conspiratorial look before pulling her veil down over her face, she told Nan that she wouldn’t be long. Nan was reduced to a state of shock as she watched her mistress enter that frightful building. She was about to get up and follow her, to demand to know what she was playing at and return to the carriage at once, when Amos turned and halted her with a stern look.

‘Leave her be, Miss Nan.’

‘Leave her be? How can I leave her be? Can you not see where she’s going?’

‘Miss Amanda knows what she’s ‘bout and will be quite safe.’

‘Safe? In that place? She’s up to something. I can always tell. But, in God’s name, what is it this time?’

‘I’m sho she’ll tell yo’ all about it later, Miss Nan.’

With that Nan had to be content to wait—not that she wanted to enter that dreadful place anyway—but what wouldn’t she say to that wilful, disobedient girl when she returned.

With her heart beating fast, Amanda spoke to the desk sergeant and a moment later Mr Hennesey materialised out of the shadows. He was a distasteful individual, untidy and with sly eyes, which lit up with a greedy light at the sight of the leather purse.

‘This is for your silence, Mr Hennesey. No one must know of my visit. Do you understand?’

He nodded, taking the purse from her gruffly and telling her to follow him. The prisoner was expecting her. Under the bombardment of many curious glances and trying to close her ears to an assortment of crude noises made by the dangerous portion of humanity incarcerated within the walls of the City Gaol, she followed Mr Hennesey along corridors between iron-barred doors to the rear of the building.

The prisoner occupied an individual cell, so they could talk privately. It was quite small. Directly opposite the door, high in the wall, was a barred aperture that let in air and daylight. The stench was appalling and Amanda had to resist the temptation to take the scented handkerchief from her pocket and put it to her nose.

She glanced at the turnkey. ‘I wish to speak to Mr Claybourne alone.’

Hennesey shrugged. ‘Suit yerself. It’s not the usual practice, but you’ve paid for it. But I’ll be just outside and will hear if he gets up to any funny business.’ Before he went out he threw the prisoner a warning glance. ‘Treat the lady with respect now, you hear—or ’twill be the worse for you.’

A voice from the shadows gave a derisive laugh. ‘Your threats are useless, Hennesey. Do you forget that I have only one life to lose and that it’s already forfeit?’

With a grunt, Hennesey went out, closing the door with a bang. Amanda examined her surroundings and Christopher Claybourne. His feet were shackled together. He was exactly as she remembered him, except that he was fresh shaven and his dark eyes were alert, watching her. His clothes were ragged and soiled, his uncombed hair hanging loose about his face, but even in his wretched state his strength of character shone through.

Kit—the shortened version of Christopher, which was how he had been addressed all his life—had been told to expect a visitor and nothing more. Recognition widened his eyes when the woman lifted her veil back over her bonnet. Miss O’Connell’s appearance had taken him unawares—although what she was doing swanning it through this hell hole, like a lure to a pond full of piranhas, he could not conceive. He recalled seeing her the day before, recalled the way she had looked at him, had seen the interest kindle in her eyes, and he was bewildered as to why she had come to see him. He moved forward, watching her, speculative, admiring, alert. She looked magnificent—like a gilded statue.

The rich vibrancy of her hair was neatly coiffed beneath her bonnet, and as she stared up at him he felt himself momentarily fixed on her strong gaze. Her eyes were olive green, incisive and clear, and tilted slightly at the corners. She had a healthy and unblemished beauty that radiated a striking personal confidence. There was about her a kind of warm sensuality, something instantly suggestive to him of pleasurable fulfilment. It was something she could not help, something that was an inherent part of her, but of which she was acutely aware.

To Kit, starved of a woman’s beauty—of any kind of beauty—for so long to behold so much loveliness, to find himself alone with her, a woman forbidden, inaccessible to him, to be surrounded by the sweet scent of her, was torture indeed.

Alone with Mr Claybourne at last—alarmingly, nerve-rackingly alone. Amanda stood looking at him by the light slanting through the small window. With his wide shoulders and lean waist, there was no concealing that here was a man alive and virile in every fibre of his being. He had far and beyond the most handsome face she had seen in her life.

However, she felt a moment of unease. It might have been the way his eyes were looking at her, touching her everywhere, an inexplicable lazy smile sweeping over his lean face as he surveyed her from head to foot, that suddenly made her feel as if she had walked into a seduction scene, which momentarily threw her off balance.

She averted her gaze and casually widened the distance between them, stalling for time, steadying her confused senses, while he stood several feet away, towering over her. When she looked at him again his broad shoulders blocked out her view of anything but him. She tried to turn away, but his extraordinary eyes drew her back. She had never met anyone quite like him, and she felt conscious of nothing except the lingering riot in her own body and mind. Despite his deprivations, his manner bore an odd touch of threatening boldness, and she was beginning to regret insisting that she be left alone with him.

Forgetful for the moment of why she was there, with hard-won poise she coldly remarked, ‘Do you always look at a woman in that way, sir?’

His broad, impudent smile showed strong white teeth. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. I suppose I could find several things to occupy my attention, but nothing that’s nearly as enjoyable as looking at you. So much loveliness in my prison cell certainly is a wondrous sight for eyes deprived of feminine beauty for so long that it is not easily borne.’

His smiling eyes were studying her closely and Amanda was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. There was a pink flush on her cheekbones, much to her increasing annoyance. His direct, masculine assurance disconcerted her. She was vividly conscious of his close proximity to her. She felt the crazy, unfamiliar rush of blood singing through her veins, which she had never experienced before. Instantly she felt resentful towards him. He had made too much of an impact on her.

‘You are conceited, sir. Despite your deprivations, you do not appear to have forgotten how to flatter a woman, and I don’t doubt you have used it on a good many.’

‘There have been some along the way, but I never lie, and you are unsurpassed. For what reason does a lady come visiting a condemned man in his cell—and looking as grand as a Southern belle going to a ball?’

Forcing herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach on hearing the rich, deep timbre of his voice, Amanda raised her chin. ‘My name is Amanda O’Connell.’

‘And I am Christopher Benedict Henry Claybourne,’ he replied, bowing his head respectfully, yet without removing his gaze from her face.

‘My …’ she breathed, impressed ‘… such a grand array of names for a convict.’

He grinned. ‘My father always did have aspirations of grandeur. However, most people call me Kit. And what of you, Miss O’Connell? You are from England?’

‘Yes. I’ve been staying with my aunt, Mrs Lucy Cummings, at Magnolia Grove for the past twelve months.’

‘I have heard of Mrs Cummings.’ There were few who hadn’t, Kit thought. Her husband had been an important, influential man among Charleston’s elite, with some rather high connections in the county and beyond.

‘She died recently, and as a result I have to return to England.’

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Kit tilted his head on one side and looked at her quizzically. ‘Miss O’Connell, forgive me, but I am bewildered as to why you should seek me out. You seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble. I do not believe you would brave the City Gaol merely to pass the time of day.’

‘I have a proposition to put to you.’

‘Yes?’ Kit prompted.

Straightening her back and raising her head imperiously, she met his gaze direct. ‘I—I want you to marry me.’




Chapter Two


Kit uncrossed his arms. ‘Good Lord!’ The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise he simply stared at her, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, wondering if he had heard correctly. ‘You don’t mince your words.’

‘Before you say anything, I should tell you that my father, Henry O’Connell, is extremely rich and I have a fortune at my disposal.’

He gave a derisive laugh, his easy manner of a moment before forgotten. The absolute arrogance of the woman! ‘You are charming, of course, Miss O’Connell, and as a man I cannot help but admire you—want you—but not as a wife. Your oh so delectable backside might be sitting on a gold mine, but what possible good can it be to me in this hell hole?’

Amanda flinched. He was laughing at her, looking her up and down with those casual, derisive eyes. Giving him a speculative look, she was deeply conscious that his easy, mocking exterior hid the inner man. There was a withheld power to command in him that was as impressive as it was irritating, and despite her reason for being there, she was determined he would not get the better of her.

‘How dare you mock me?’

‘Mock you? Good God, woman, have you taken leave of your senses?’

At any other time Amanda would have snubbed the man for his impertinence, but she remained cautiously alert. ‘I understand what you might think, but I am neither dim-witted nor crazy.’

‘You do overwhelm a man, Miss O’Connell. Am I supposed to take your proposal seriously?’

Once again his gaze fell on her and narrowed, half-shaded by his lids as he coolly stared at her. Amanda was immediately angry with him. She straightened her back, her chin thrust forward a notch in an effort to break the spell he wove about her with his eyes. ‘I assure you, Mr Claybourne, that I am very serious.’

‘Tell me your reason for wanting to marry me.’

‘That’s easy. I need a husband—a temporary husband.’

‘Just what, exactly, makes you so desperate for a husband that any man will do?’

‘Desperation makes a person do queer things.’

‘Why me? The City Gaol is full of rogues. Surely any one of them would suit your purpose.’

‘I want your name,’ she said quite simply. ‘Claybourne—a name that is the same as the aristocratic Claybournes in England—a name that is not uncommon and a coincidence, I am sure—a name that will satisfy my father. I want a rogue I can guarantee won’t bother me once the knot has been tied.’ Her lips quirked. ‘In a manner of speaking, of course.’

He cocked a brow and nodded slightly as he began to understand. ‘Guarantee! Now there’s a controversial word if ever there was.’

‘Not the way I see it.’ His eyes never left her, glimmering and changing with his thoughts. Amanda thought, here is a man who reveals nothing of himself, and he rules himself like steel. And yet, she must win him over, she must make him do what she wanted. She must force him to marry her and give her his name.

‘And do you mind telling me what’s in it for me?’

‘I could offer you ease and comfort for the time you have left. I will ensure that, before they hang you, you will want for nothing.’

‘Only my freedom—and my new wife.’ He raised one thick, well-defined eyebrow, watching her for every shade of thought and emotion in her. ‘Would you be prepared to spend a night with me in my prison cell, Miss O’Connell, and perform the duties of a wife?’

Startlingly aware of the wifely duties to which he referred, Amanda stared at him aghast, unable to stem her expression of repugnance as she cast a swift glance at her surroundings and then at the man himself. ‘Of course not. I couldn’t possibly.’

Kit’s face was inscrutable as he watched her pert nose wrinkle as her gaze swept over his shabby garb. Briefly anger flickered behind his eyes, but then it was gone. ‘Then, under the circumstances, I must respectfully decline your offer.’

‘You cannot possibly ask that of me. You are, after all, a common criminal and far below my own social level,’ Amanda burst out before she could stop herself. Shaken to the core by the bewildering array of sensations racing through her body that his question had aroused, she tried to fight the power of his charm. For a second the intensity of his dark eyes seemed to explode and an expression she could not comprehend flashed through them, then it was gone. His eyes met hers in fearless, half-challenging amusement, saying things she dared not think about.

Kit smiled sardonically. ‘We are not all as fortunate as you, Miss O’Connell. However, it is not for the want of trying on my part.’ His deep voice was thickly edged with irony. ‘How pathetic I must seem to you if you could believe I would agree to your outrageous request. Marriage is the last thing I need right now.’

Automatically Amanda took a step closer to him. ‘Please—I ask you to reconsider.’

‘Give me one good reason why I should sacrifice myself on the altar of matrimony for your sake—a woman unknown to me until now?’

‘Have you no dependants I could take care of—?’

Kit’s eyes turned positively glacial. ‘Now you really do insult me, Miss O’Connell,’ he retorted, his voice scoffingly incredulous. ‘What family members I have are not charity cases and are more than capable of taking care of themselves. As for myself, I have everything I need. Why should I want more? You could have saved yourself the embarrassment of this unnecessary visit—but, since you are here, perhaps you should tell me why you are so intent on marrying me, a murderer sentenced to hang any day.’

‘I came to America to find a husband, Mr Claybourne,’ she told him coolly, ‘a husband of my own choosing. My father gave me eighteen months to do so, informing me that if I didn’t find a man he would be proud to receive in the allotted time, a man worthy of his only child, he would find one for me. Since titles are paramount to my father, he will choose the man of the highest rank who offers for me—and he will have a choice to make,’ she said, unable to suppress the bitterness that crept into her voice, ‘since his bottomless income will be like a beacon to every impoverished aristocrat in England. Unfortunately, my aunt’s demise means that I have to return to England sooner than expected, and marry a man my father has chosen for me.’

‘And isn’t that how most marriages in upper-class families in England come about? Although I always did find it distasteful the way British aristocrats see marriage as a cold-blooded business arrangement.’

‘So do I. Such a marriage is not for me.’

‘So, you do not run with the pack, Miss O’Connell?’

‘I have a mind of my own, if that is what you mean,’ she replied.

‘So you have. And how will marrying me solve your dilemma, should I agree to your offer? As I see it, when you return to England you will still be minus a husband.’

‘If I return a widow, then Father must respect the customary year of mourning. By the end of it I shall be twenty-one and able to do as I please.’

Kit looked at her hard. Despite her delicate features and feminine beauty, Amanda O’Connell was apparently a woman made of steel, a woman who put her own interests first. If nothing else, Kit decided as he appraised her, they certainly had that in common. And he had to give her credit. At least she was honest about what mattered to her. In retrospect, he rather admired her courage, if not her standards.

‘And how would you explain the demise of your unfortunate husband to your father, Miss O’Connell?’

Amanda lowered her head, feeling that her courage and control were beginning to slip. ‘I would tell him that you became ill on the voyage and died. After all, it’s not uncommon for people to die of fevers and all manner of things on board ships.’

Kit contemplated her bowed head. ‘Look at me,’ he said. His voice was very quiet. Unwillingly she met his eyes. ‘You must want to marry extremely badly—have you not had the good fortune to entrap the wealthy bucks of South Carolina’s society? Wasn’t there one who could cause your maidenly heart to beat to the strains of love?’

Amanda’s green eyes snapped with disdain, and for one brief instant Kit glimpsed the proud, spirited young woman behind the carefully controlled façade. ‘Love—what has love got to do with anything? The answer to your question is no, I am desperate, Mr Claybourne—had I been given any other choice I would not be here.’

‘It is kind of you to consider me the lesser of two evils,’ Kit remarked with smiling sarcasm. ‘But my answer is no.’

A deadly calm came over Amanda, banishing everything but her regret that she had been foolish to come to the gaol and humiliate herself before this common horse breaker. She knew with rising dread that no one could push Mr Claybourne into any decision not of his own making. For the first time since she had devised this wild scheme, she knew the real meaning of failure. Her small chin lifted primly, her spine stiffened, and before his eyes Kit saw her put up a valiant struggle for control—a struggle she won.

‘It’s the best I can do at this time. However, since you refuse to marry me, then I shall have to reconsider my options. Good day to you, sir. I am sorry to have wasted your time.’

Kit watched her move towards the door with her head raised haughtily. His stomach quivered and he felt the blood run warm in his veins as he observed her trim waist, the gentle sway of her hips and the train of her skirts stirring up the filth on the floor of the cell. He was a man well used to the charms of women—hadn’t he burned his fingers with Carmen? Preferring more honest, uncomplicated relationships, he regretted ever becoming entangled with her. He should have refused her request to break her horses, for hadn’t he been warned that Carmen Rider represented the worst kind of danger to a freedom-loving single male like himself?

Continuing to watch Miss O’Connell, he suspected her of being a quick-tempered, calculating vixen, but at that moment he perceived an air of seriousness about her. She must be pretty desperate for him to marry her to go to all this trouble, and somehow she had let herself hope that he would comply with her wishes. The thought that she wanted to marry him to secure her position and the use of his name was acutely distasteful to him. In truth he didn’t want to think of her, of her actions and desire, at all. She was not for him and never would be. He’d left her world long since. And yet she had created a situation that could prove useful to him.

‘Miss O’Connell, wait.’

She looked back. His tall, broad-shouldered figure seemed to fill the whole cell. Despite his shabby garb, never had any man looked so attractive or so distant, and never had her heart called out so strongly to anyone. His eyes were unfathomable, and at once she knew she must fight her attraction for him. Christopher Claybourne was out of her class, a social inferior. His standards were not hers, and the smell of scandal clung strongly about him.

Slowly she came back to him. Her senses felt dazed, snared by dark eyes that roamed leisurely over her features, pausing at length on her lips and then moving back to capture her gaze. They glowed with a warmth that brought colour to her cheeks, making her want to forget what his crime might be. Compared to the numerous suitors who had come her way, despite his deprivations, Christopher Claybourne was as near to perfect as she had ever met.

Mentally chiding herself for lacking the poise and behaviour of the lady she had been brought up to be, she reminded herself harshly that he was a condemned murderer and stepped back a pace, preferring to keep a secure distance between them.

‘Maybe I have been a trifle hasty in dismissing your offer,’ he said. ‘It could work out to be beneficial for us both. However, I do believe this to be the most outrageous proposal of marriage I have ever heard of. You really are the most unprincipled young woman, Amanda O’Connell, and you do seem to be in something of a fix,’ he said with a wayward smile.

‘Which you obviously find amusing.’

‘You have to admit it’s a little unusual.’

‘At the very least,’ she agreed.

‘Do you not think that by solving one problem you might be creating another?’

‘I hope not, but it’s a risk I’m prepared to take. The truth is that I don’t want to marry anyone, Mr Claybourne, just yet. I value my freedom and independence too much to let it go.’

‘So, your goal in life is self-indulgence—to fill your head with nothing except gowns, parties and beaux, to break gentlemen’s hearts, gentlemen who will swear their undying love for you and promise you the earth and jewels and the like.’

‘If you want to think so.’

‘Well, Miss O’Connell, I’m afraid that at this time I’m unable to profess my undying love for you and I appear to be fresh out of expensive jewels right now.’

‘That’s not what I want from you. Your name will suffice.’

‘Then you can have it—but not for prison comforts or fine clothes in which to meet my maker.’

‘Then what do you want?’

Taking a step back, he gave her a hard look, his jaw tightening as he stared into her bewitching eyes. She might look fragile, but he was beginning to suspect she was as strong as steel inside, and that he could trust her with the one thing that mattered to him most in life. She was also so stunningly beautiful he could feel himself responding to her with a fierceness that took his breath away. And she was offering herself to him, knowing, if he married her, that he could never take her as a husband should.

With eyes intense with purpose, he moved closer to her. ‘If your cause is really so desperate, then a bargain we will make. You could be useful to me after all.’

Amanda stared at him, already feeling the trap that was closing about her. Had her cause been less dire, she would have turned away in disgust at the thought of bargaining with the likes of a criminal, but there was too much at stake and so no limit to her patience. She tilted her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. ‘A bargain? I hardly think you are in a position to make bargains, Mr Claybourne.’

‘I’m not dead yet.’

‘You very soon will be.’

He stared at her, the lean, hard planes of his cheeks looking forbidding in the dull light. ‘A bargain we will have or there will be no marriage. However, it will be a bargain that will have a high price for you.’

‘I am listening. What is it you want?’

‘The first part of our bargain is that our marriage will be legal and binding for the time I have left to live, with papers to prove you are my lawful wife. If I manage to secure my freedom, you will acknowledge me as your husband and become my wife in truth.’

Alarm sprang to her eyes. ‘Why, is there some doubt that you will hang? Is there any chance of a reprieve?’

‘Don’t look so worried, my dear,’ he drawled. ‘Already I feel my neck straining at the noose. The second part of our bargain is another matter entirely. There is something you can do for me in return for my name—something that will make my mind easier when they hang me.’

Amanda wouldn’t like what he was going to say, she could see it on his face. ‘What is it?’ she asked quietly.

He turned from her, raking a hand through his hair in agitation, and when he turned back she had difficulty reading his expression, but she could see his features were taut with some kind of emotional struggle.

‘If it’s so bad, perhaps you should tell me outright,’ she said.

‘I was not being truthful when I said that what relatives I have are capable of taking care of themselves. There is one member of my family who is too young and vulnerable to care for herself.’

Somehow Amanda knew from the look of pain and despair that slashed across his taut features that the person he spoke of meant a great deal to him. ‘Who is it?’ she asked softly. The pain vanished and his features were already perfectly composed when he looked at her and quietly answered.

‘I have a child, Miss O’Connell, a three-year-old daughter. Will you take her with you to England, when you go?’

Amanda stared at him, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her. A child! Mrs Hewitt had said nothing about a child—and if there was a child, then surely there must be a mother. A wife? Suddenly she was confronted by a stumbling block the size of an unconquerable mountain.

‘A—a child? But—I know nothing about looking after children.’

He grinned. ‘Take it from me, it’s easy. There’s nothing to it—and you have a maid to help, don’t you? You seem to be a sensible young woman. Look after her. Take her to my cousin in London. Is that too much to ask?’

He was looking at her hard, studying her features for her reaction. ‘But—what would happen to her if I didn’t? Where is she now? What about her mother? Who is caring for her?’

‘Her mother—my wife, who was a Cherokee—is dead. She died in childbirth. My daughter is called Sky and she is being cared for by a good family. The mother, Agatha, has a loving heart, but life is a struggle, with five children of her own to raise and precious little money.’

‘But I could give her money,’ Amanda was quick to offer, anything to avoid admitting a strange child into her life, a child she would have difficulty explaining.

‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘That—is not what I want.’ His voice became strangely hesitant and Amanda thought he wouldn’t go on, and when he did it was almost as if he was testing his ability to talk about it. ‘I have nightmares when I think what might happen to Sky when I am no longer here to take care of her. And now you appear as an answer to my prayers. Can I give my daughter into your keeping, for you to take her to my cousin?’

Amanda heard the appeal behind his words, sensed the desperation he must feel for his daughter’s well-being, and how much he must miss not being with her. ‘H-h-have you not seen her since you were arrested?’ she asked, not yet ready to give him her answer.

He shook his head. Even now he marvelled at how profoundly he could be affected by one dimpled smile from a raven-haired child, how it felt to hold her, feeling the bond between them growing stronger and deeper than anything he had ever known. ‘I love her, and she knows it. She is the child of my heart, and I would not have her see me like this.’

All the sympathy Amanda felt was mirrored in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, feeling a lump of constricting sorrow in her chest. ‘I realise how hard this must be for you.’

‘Best that she remembers me when we were together—happier times. I wish there had been some way to spare her this. What happens to me cannot be kept from her. She will not always be a child, and will hear the rumours sooner or later. So—what do you say? Do we have a bargain—or does marriage to me not seem such a good idea after all?’

‘A bargain is a bargain, I suppose.’

‘And do you pledge yourself to honour this one? Do you promise to look after my daughter until you have placed her in my cousin’s care?’

Amanda hesitated as she thought of the enormity of what she was committing herself to. Dazed by confusing messages racing through her brain, driven by the need to help his child and by something less sensible and completely inexplicable, she conceded. Whether he agreed to marry her or not, this request was made from the heart and she could not—would not—refuse him.

‘I will make your daughter my responsibility and I will not fail you.’

‘Thank you. It means a great deal to me. You have no idea just how much.’

Amanda would have to deal with the consequences. And yet what did it matter? she thought. Mr Claybourne’s crime was proved and he would hang for sure. This time next week she would be on the ship homeward bound, and her husband nothing to her but a name. And yet there would be his child to remind her.

‘When the ceremony has been performed, you can tell me where I can find her. Do you wish to see her before …?’

‘No.’ His word was final.

‘Very well. I will leave you now. Mr Hennesey will let you know about the arrangements. Are you a Catholic, by the way?’

‘Why?’

‘It could complicate matters.’

He grinned. ‘With a good Irish name as you have, Miss O’Connell, are you not of that persuasion?’

‘No. My father was an Ulsterman.’

‘And I adhere to any form of Protestant denomination, so that should not be a problem.’

Amanda turned to go. At the door she paused and looked back at him. ‘There is one thing I will ask you before I go—and I would appreciate the truth.’

‘And that is?’

‘Did you really murder Mrs Rider?’ With a mixture of dread and helpless anticipation, Amanda met his steady, dark gaze.

‘No, I did not. I’d like you at least to believe there is a possibility I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Then if you are indeed innocent, surely there are ways to help you—someone with influence and means.’

‘If you are suggesting there is someone out there to redress the wrongs done to me, then sadly the source is exhausted. However, your concern touches me deeply, Miss O’Connell.’

His voice was casual and his face was serious, but Amanda distrusted the gleaming, mocking humour lurking in his gaze. He did not believe for one minute that she or anyone else cared one iota what happened to those in his position.

‘Then if you did not kill her—where were you?’

‘Fishing.’

Amanda stared at him and then slowly her lips curved in a smile. ‘You were fishing? Oh, I see. Well, good day, Mr Claybourne.’

Kit watched her go. For the time they had been together her beauty had fed his gaze, creating inside him an ache that could neither be set aside nor sated. When the door had shut, at that moment the prison walls closed round him with a ferocious pressure. His filthy and torn clothing, the roughness of his unwashed skin, the stink of himself, his absolute hopelessness, stirred a rage in him that was almost overpowering.

As Amanda followed Mr Hennesey, a treacherous seed of doubt about Mr Claybourne’s guilt planted itself in her mind, and before she had left the prison that seed was taking root, nourished by her horror at the possibility that an innocent man would hang. Her mind argued that she was being a fool to think like this, but every instinct she possessed shouted that he was innocent. She knew it. She could feel it. And if he was, then she could hardly bear the thought of what he was to go through.

Of course the worst thing that could happen for her would be for Mr Claybourne to be released; yet, though she bore no feelings for him one way or the other, she could only admire his courage as he faced imminent death. He had impressed her, and the idea of such a fine-looking man, in his prime and full of life, dying in such a cruel manner, depriving a child of its father, was repugnant to her. Surprised to find her eyes were wet with tears, she raised her hand and wiped them away.

‘Mr Hennesey, if you please, may I have a quiet word?’

Hennesey stopped and turned to look at her. His pace had quickened and he was studying her with a keen eye. ‘Aye, a quiet word is it? And would I be right in thinkin’ it concerns Claybourne?’

His tone gave Amanda confidence—although she did wonder if he had had his ear to the door of the cell. In a low voice, not wishing what she had to say to be overheard, she said, ‘Yes, it does. Mr Claybourne and I wish to be married—before …’

‘He hangs.’

‘Yes.’

Hennesey gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a serious matter.’

‘I agree, but it is what we want—and I would like it carried out with the utmost secrecy. Time is of the essence. Can you help me?’

Hennesey rubbed his chin as he thought about her request. ‘Well, now—the governor has to know about such things happenin’ in his prison.’

‘Is that necessary, Mr Hennesey? Can’t we keep this between ourselves?’ Amanda knew that if she confronted the governor of the prison all kinds of embarrassing questions would be asked—and he might even be acquainted with Charlotte and inform her, which would dash all her hopes.

Mr Hennesey rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, now, we could—but it will cost you.’

‘Money is not a problem, Mr Hennesey.’ Amanda’s relief was so great she almost sank to her knees. ‘Do you know of a minister who will agree to perform the ceremony?’

‘There is one I know of, although the gaol has its own chaplain, and ministers come and go all the time to visit prisoners, especially the condemned—hoping to save their souls,’ he said scathingly.

A sudden instinctive caution made Amanda add, ‘I will give you half the money before and half afterwards. I ask for the utmost secrecy for the present. No one must get wind of it—no one. Do you understand me, Mr Hennesey? And we must act quickly. I will leave you to make the arrangements—to appoint the time. Oh, and one more thing. See to it that Mr Claybourne is made decent—a wash and a change of clothes wouldn’t go amiss.’

On reaching the carriage, she lost no time in telling a shocked Nan of what she intended and that she would appreciate it if she agreed to be one of the witnesses at her marriage, along with Amos. Nan was so appalled she was momentarily rendered speechless, but when she recovered herself she lost no time in telling Amanda what she thought of the whole dreadful affair. As usual, however, the words of reproach went in one ear and out the other.

‘It’s unfair of you to make me a part of this,’ Nan persisted, ‘to ask this of me. What you’re doing is wrong and your father will probably disown you.’ But Nan could see from the stubborn set of Amanda’s jaw and the determined gleam in her eyes that nothing would change her mind. No one could stop Amanda O’Connell doing what she wanted once she’d got the bit between her teeth—and she’d had the bit between her teeth from the moment her father had summoned her back to England to marry the man he had chosen for her.

And so, when the prison governor was away from the prison and there was no danger of him walking in on them, with Nan and Amos standing like statues behind her to bear witness to her bizarre wedding, Amanda moved to stand beside Kit, impatient for the affair to be done.

She had told herself that when they next met he would seem less attractive, and that the image she held of him would vanish, but it was scored into her mind and there it would remain. And as she waited for the moment when she would become his wife, she felt the delight of secrecy and a dizzying madness at what she was about to do.

She was relieved to see Mr Hennesey had done what she had paid him to do and found Kit some decent clothes—a white shirt and dark blue trousers—and that he was clean. And now, as she stood beside him, he was more attractive than ever, more desirable. He turned to look at her, and she saw his deep, black eyes, and the long, silken lashes and well-defined brows. She felt an urgency to reach out and touch him, to be even closer to him, and suddenly, standing there beside him, she felt that when she walked out of that prison cell there would be an emptiness in her life that she didn’t want to admit to, a solace that would not be appeased no matter where she was, and her arms would be achingly empty.

As the ceremony was conducted, Amanda replied to the droning questions the minister presented to her, and Kit’s voice rang out in the stillness of the cell as he, too, gave his troth towards the marriage, looking deep into her eyes as he promised to love and cherish her. The minister presented a ring, a ring Amanda had bought and given to him when she had arrived. Taking her hand in his own, a hand that was warm and alive, Kit placed it on her finger.

In that brief time Amanda had become the wife of Christopher Claybourne.

The day was hot and sunny, but in the prison it was cool, and when, still holding her hand, Kit bent his head and gently kissed her mouth, his lips warmly touched hers. A part of Amanda’s mind warned that to return his kiss was insane. It would complicate everything, and she didn’t need any more complications, but the need to taste his lips was too strong for her to resist.

The moment she yielded her lips to his, Kit sensed her capitulation. Unaware of the others present or Nan’s gasp of shocked disgust, Amanda let him part her lips and of their own volition her fingers curled around his. She felt his swift, indrawn breath when she tentatively returned his kiss, and suddenly everything began to change when his kiss deepened.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Amanda knew this was only a formality, she knew that as clearly as she knew she had no choice but to participate, but if this was true, then why did her heart beat faster, and why couldn’t she open her eyes?

Kit’s head lifted just enough to break contact with her mouth, and when he spoke his voice was husky and soft. ‘You will belong to me until I die, but for now I guess I’ll have to be content with that.’

It took an unnatural effort for Amanda to move, but she pulled her hand from his grip. Panicked by her inexplicable lethargy she stepped back.

Stunned by the hint of tears in her eyes, Kit stared down at her creamy skin and soft mouth with a hunger that he was finding almost impossible to control. The exquisite sweetness of her lips, the way it felt to have her close, to feel the gentleness of her fingers holding his, almost made the notion of making love to her in his prison cell seem plausible—a notion she demolished when he automatically reached out to take her hand once more and she snatched it back.

‘Don’t think you can repeat kissing me just because of our altered circumstances,’ she warned him indignantly, angry with herself for having actually enjoyed his kiss. No matter how hard he protested his innocence, he was still a convicted murderer and she must not, dared not, ever forget that.

Kit was too preoccupied with the results of their kiss to rise to her anger—anger she had bidden to conceal her sudden vulnerability. Her cheeks were tinted an adorable pink, and her dark-lashed eyes were lustrous.

The documents that made their union legal were signed and handed to her, and the minister, being unable to wish the couple a long and happy life as was usually the case, quickly departed.

The closing of the door reverberated around the cell.

‘For goodness’ sake, hurry up and say your goodbyes,’ Nan whispered, shrinking towards Amos and the door. ‘I hate this place and want to be out of it. No good will come of this. What will Mr Quinn say—and your cousin Charlotte?’

Taking her arm, Kit drew Amanda aside. Rousing to awareness, she looked at her husband. Despite her angry words of a moment before, she felt an aching dread as to his fate. Her despair must have shown, for he said, ‘Take heart. In no time at all you will leave Charleston and you can put all this behind you. You will be a free woman, Amanda, and able to do what you want with your life.’

Amanda struggled impotently for the last vestiges of control, feeling it beginning to crack under the strain as his eyes looked down into hers. She had a strange sensation of falling. ‘I don’t think I shall ever be able to do that,’ she whispered, swallowing down the hard lump that had risen in her throat.

Seeing the distress in her eyes, Kit placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Do not look so sorrowful, Amanda. Congratulate yourself. Your plans have gone according to your wishes. When you return to Magnolia Grove you must raise a toast to your success.’

‘When I think of what is to happen to you I can summon no feelings of satisfaction.’

‘Nothing can be done to save me now. All I ask is that you take care of my daughter.’

From his pocket Kit withdrew two sealed envelopes. Amanda watched him, noting the authority, the strength held in check as he handed them to her. So many conflicting emotions swirled inside her, fighting for ascendancy.

‘When you reach England go to my cousin in London and give her this letter,’ Kit said, indicating the letter addressed to Mrs Victoria Hardy with her address in Chelsea written on the envelope. ‘I have explained everything. Victoria has children of her own and will take good care of Sky.’

‘Where is your daughter? Where can I find her?’

‘Take a boat up river—the steamer, if you prefer. Tell the boatman who you want—Samuel Blake, and his wife is called Agatha. Sam is a fisherman and well known on the river. Their home is close to the water—the boatman will point it out. Give this letter to Agatha and you’ll have no problem obtaining custody of Sky.’

‘Have you no message for your daughter?’ Amanda asked, wondering how the child would feel, dispossessed of her father’s love and protection, and cast adrift in an alien world.

‘Tell her—tell her that I’m thinking of her,’ he said tremulously, a great and tender pain bursting within his heart when he thought of his beautiful daughter, ‘that I love her, and to remember me in her prayers. After that go home and have a good life, Amanda Claybourne, and I thank you for this.’

Amanda walked towards the door, feeling the words of farewell sticking in her throat. The remorse that gripped her was powerful and sudden, the injustice of Kit’s fate filled her. On the threshold she turned back. She saw his eyes fixed upon her with an expression of such sadness in them that it wrenched her heart.

‘Farewell, Kit,’ she whispered, with tears in her eyes.

‘Farewell, Amanda.’

As she followed Nan and Amos out of the gaol, a gust of chill air broke into her solitary world, bringing cold reality with it. She was appalled to think Kit’s end was so close, that he was going to be hanged by the neck until he was dead. It all seemed so monstrously unjust. She genuinely forgot that only a short while before she had given no thought to his fate, only what he could do for her.

Dashing away a tear, she quickened her pace. The sooner she was gone from this place, the better she would feel. She tried telling herself that Christopher Claybourne’s misfortune was of his own making, but there was a voice in her head telling her that none of this was right and that they would hang an innocent man.

Never again, she vowed as she emerged into the light of day and felt the sun on her face, would she put herself in such a fraught situation. She had succeeded in her plan, but she had the suspicion that she was only storing up trouble for later.

As the carriage carried her back to Magnolia Grove, she rested her head against the soft upholstery, closed her eyes and allowed the memory of the kiss to invade her mind—the kiss, vibrant and alive, soft, insistent and sensual—the kiss she’d been forced to participate in. When Kit had bowed his head to place his lips on hers, she’d understood instinctively that it was a common practice between a newly wedded couple, but her reaction to it terrified her. She’d wanted more—much more. She’d wanted it to go on and on and to kiss him back with soul-destroying passion, to feel his hands on her bare flesh and his body driving into hers.

Dear, sweet Lord! How could she have felt like that? she thought with bitter self-revulsion. Was it not bad enough that she had allowed him to kiss her—and, worse, to revel in it? The truth was that she’d believed Kit’s assertions because she’d wanted to, and because the nauseating reality was that she was disgustingly attracted to Christopher Claybourne, who’d fascinated her from the moment she had seen him in the street.

Amanda realised that any attempt to keep what she had done secret was useless. She was in deep trouble and knew it. First she sought out Mr Quinn. He was in the study, pacing the floor as he read through some correspondence from her father that had just arrived.

Mr Quinn was a quiet, private man—secretive, even. Where he went and what he did Amanda had no idea and nor did she care, providing he left her alone to do as she pleased. As her father’s employee of two decades or more—more than she could remember—she had respect for the man, but she could not like him. His past was a mystery to Amanda, and she had not enquired into it. He had served her father well, which was why he had entrusted the care of his daughter to him for the time she was in Charleston.

Now his features were set in a stern, unsmiling expression. With the width of the desk between them, Amanda raised her chin with a touch of defiance, steeling herself for Mr Quinn’s wrath that would descend on her like an axe when she told what she had done.

As quickly as she could, she told him everything there was to tell about her marriage to Mr Claybourne. All the while her eyes never left his furious face. Such a transformation came over him as he listened to what she had to say that she recoiled before the change. All that had been calm and controlled had given way to fury and positive revulsion. They stood facing each other, but before Amanda could utter one more word, Mr Quinn erupted with fury.

‘By all the saints, have you taken leave of your senses? You foolish, stupid, reckless girl. You have brought shame on your good name and will break your father’s heart because of it.’

Amanda stood her ground, her face as stubborn and angry as his. ‘Do calm yourself, Mr Quinn. I know how greatly disappointed you must be—’

‘And what did you expect? For me to raise a toast and congratulate you and that—that horse breaker—that murderer—on your new-found happiness? I can only think your youth and thoughtlessness prompted such irresponsible conduct. And what of your cousin? Was Charlotte in on this—this escapade?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not. She has more sense. And this is how you repay her kindness—and your Aunt Lucy’s.’ He gave her a withering look. ‘Your father placed you in my care. What do you think he will say when he hears of this—this farce of a marriage? This is one time you won’t be able to wheedle and sweet-talk him. His punishment will be severe—on both of us. One thing is certain—my dismissal from his service will be immediate. He does not deserve to be deceived, and there will be hell to pay when he finds out.’

Amanda flinched at the harsh words. She had no doubt that the shock on his face was genuine, and yet she sensed another emotion there too, as if a distant fear that had nothing to do with her father’s finding out were suddenly shimmering in the older man’s eyes. There was a fierce, almost frightening anger about him, but there was not a thing Mr Quinn could do about her marriage now. She was Mrs Christopher Claybourne and she had the papers to prove it.

‘Then all the more reason not to tell him. We can spare him the details. It can be our secret.’

He stared at her in appalled amazement. ‘You are asking me to become your co-conspirator? You were not brought up to be devious,’ he snapped.

‘It’s too late for recriminations, Mr Quinn. It’s done. I am Mrs Claybourne now. There is no need for my father to know my husband was a murderer hanged for his crime. He will be told Mr Claybourne died on board ship.’

‘I do not like conspiracies.’

‘To bring this matter to his ears will hurt him, Mr Quinn, you must see that, and nothing will induce me to wound him.’

‘It’s a little late for that. My congratulations on your deceit. Your visits to the shops had me completely fooled. You must be the cleverest young woman this side of the Atlantic. I demand to know why you did not see fit to tell me.’

‘You know why. You would have prevented me.’

‘Damn right I would.’ His expression was set and hard. ‘To plan this—to enter the City Gaol and to tie yourself to a murderer—is nothing less than outrageous … scandalous. And to try to use his name … Has it not entered your head that your father will question you about the family you have married into, that he will want to know to which branch of Claybournes your husband belonged to, and that he may well communicate with them to offer his condolences for their relative’s loss?’ When Amanda blanched, a coldness closed on his face. ‘No, I thought not.’

‘I confess that I haven’t given it a deal of thought and I shall face it if it happens. However, because I shall be a widow, Father will have to respect one year of mourning, by which time I shall be independent of his authority and able to choose myself a husband in my own good time. At this particular moment I am impatient to leave for England. I have no wish to be in Charleston when they hang Mr Claybourne.’

Cursing Amanda to hell and back, Mr Quinn seethed as he paced the carpet. He had reasons of his own to quit Charleston at the earliest opportunity, and when Henry O’Connell had ordered their return he had looked on it as a Godsend. However, if he valued his position, he had no choice but to take part in Amanda’s subterfuge.

‘Mark my words, this spells trouble. If it is ever known what you have done, it will bring disrepute on your family—and all because of a moment of intense madness. May God help you—and me—should your father ever find out the truth. It was badly done, Amanda—badly done indeed.’

Amanda looked at the letter he was holding. ‘Is there a message for me in Father’s letter?’

‘Only that he’s arranged what he considers to be a suitable match for you—but I suppose he will have to explain to the gentleman that you are no longer available.’

‘What gentleman?’

‘It is Lord Prendergast he has in mind.’

Amanda’s mouth dropped open and her face lost all vestige of colour. ‘Lord Prendergast!’ she gasped. ‘That man is nothing but an old bag of bones. To marry him would be a fate worse than death.’

‘You might wish you had when your father gets wind of what you’ve done. You haven’t a care in the world beyond getting whatever you want out of life, have you?’

‘Which certainly isn’t Lord Prendergast.’

Faced with Mr Quinn’s wrath, for once Amanda felt afraid. She did not feel reckless or defiant now. She felt young and guilty and conscious of the seriousness of what she had done—and fear, should her father ever learn of his daughter’s deceit and scandalous marriage. But she took heart that England was an ocean away and he would never find out the true nature of her husband. Because Mr Quinn would face instant dismissal, he wouldn’t tell. Besides, it would put him in such a bad light as a chaperon.

‘There’s—something else you should know,’ he said hesitantly, ‘something that will affect you. You father’s getting married—to a Lady Caroline Brocket. She comes from a Coventry family who were loosely connected to the aristocracy. She married a baronet who died after fifteen years of marriage. There was no issue.’

Amanda froze and stared at him. ‘Married? I don’t believe it.’ She had never entertained the idea that her father would marry again, and she’d never even heard of Lady Caroline Brocket.

‘It’s true. He is also selling the house in Rochdale and moving to the country, where he has purchased a large property—Eden Park. He fancies his hand at breeding horses. Lady Brocket is in favour of this and has given him a good deal of encouragement. By the time we arrive in England the move will be complete.’ Meeting her eyes, which were dark with worry, he frowned. ‘Your reaction tells me that you disapprove of your father’s actions.’

‘That I am surprised is putting it mildly. Business has always come first with Father. He’s never listened to me when I’ve told him he works too hard. This—Lady Brocket must be quite exceptional to have succeeded in finding the chink in his armour when everyone else has failed,’ Amanda said, feeling a stab of resentment towards this unknown woman. ‘While he plays the country squire, who will be running his business empire?’

‘He is employing others to do it for him.’

‘I suppose it will take some getting used to.’

‘Change always does. Be happy for him—and perhaps then, if he discovers the disgraceful facts of your own marriage, he will not be so hard on you.’




Chapter Three


Mr Quinn’s chilling expression was bad enough, but the worst part of it all was that Charlotte was disappointed in her and shaken and stricken by her deceit. Her painful attempt to reprimand her formed more of a punishment than any violent demonstration of anger, and in an agony of mortification Amanda begged her forgiveness. On this edifying note of repentance she hoped the conversation would be concluded, but Charlotte had to have her say.

‘When Mr Quinn told me what you had done I could not believe it of you, Amanda. What can I say? I knew how much you wanted to avoid an arranged marriage, but—well, I never thought you would go to such lengths—and to go inside that dreadful place … Oh, I shudder when I think about it. Still, it is done now, so it’s no use getting all emotional about it and indulging in petty displays of hysterics. But I have to say that I’m disappointed in you, and what your father will have to say I dread to think.’

Amanda could see the expression of shock on Charlotte’s face, and yet she was confident that soon she would understand the desperation that had made her do it. ‘Charlotte, I am so sorry if I’ve upset you.’

Charlotte looked at her sharply. ‘But you’re not sorry you married Mr Claybourne, are you?’

‘No.’

‘At least it will stop your father marrying you off in a hurry.’

Amanda brightened. ‘Yes, it will all be changed—especially now he is to wed himself—and a lady, too. So at least there is one good result from today’s events.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Charlotte said drily. ‘Well, in no time at all you’ll be a widow. No doubt your father will hold me responsible for all this. What you do in England is, of course, entirely your own concern, Amanda, but here Mother had her standards—and so have I, and I wish you had observed the proprieties.’ Since her mother had died, Charlotte felt responsible—certainly morally accountable—for Amanda’s brazen behaviour and her restless, dissatisfied state. ‘I suppose I had better write to your father and explain everything.’

‘Please don’t,’ Amanda said quickly. ‘I’ll tell him, Charlotte, I promise I will.’

‘He has a right to know. You cannot conceal the fact that you married a convicted murderer.’

‘He is innocent, Charlotte, I know it.’

‘The judge who sentenced him does not think so.’

‘There are many who do not believe it and never will accept his guilt.’

‘And if he is innocent, will you devote your life to saving him from the undeserved penalty awaiting him? Because, if so, imagine what it will mean to you.’ She put her hands to her flushed cheeks. ‘Oh my goodness, what a muddle all this is. I’ll talk it over with Mr Quinn. Perhaps by now he will have calmed down and will be in a more logical frame of mind.’

‘There—there is more, Charlotte.’ Charlotte looked at her, waiting for her to continue with absolute dread as to what might be coming next. ‘Mr Claybourne has a child. I have promised him I will take her to England—to her cousin.’

Shaken by this latest piece of news, Charlotte listened in an appalled silence as Amanda told her of the promise she had made to Kit. ‘I am his wife, even if only in name. I promised I would take care of his child, and I will honour that promise.’

Charlotte took a moment to assess the situation. At length she sighed with resignation and said, ‘Very well. You and I will see to it in the morning. I can only hope that none of this gets out. A scandal is the last thing we want. Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re to return to England.’

The scene was one of tranquillity and sparkling water snaking inland. The surface of the river tumbled and tossed its white foam on either side of the river steamer as it ploughed its way through. Gulls screeched overhead and an assortment of waterfowl swam in the shaded reaches. They passed several plantation houses, some lived in, some still nothing but empty shells—the scars of the Civil War. It was a beautiful day. Nature was at its grandest, with the landscape wrapped in a warm, golden haze as Amanda and Charlotte sat in the boat beneath their parasols.

When the steamer neared a small landing the whistle bellowed. A flock of alarmed egrets exploded into flight, their plumage snowy white against the black water and sombre trees. The boatman pointed to them the house where Samuel Blake lived. Tall shrubs allowed only a glimpse of the roof of the timber-framed house, and several others. Walking up a dusty lane, they stopped outside the house as a motherly woman, robust and with a kindly face, came out, wiping her flour-coated hands on her wide pinafore. There was a warm light in her eyes as she introduced herself as Agatha Blake. A small child of three came up behind her, peering round her skirts at them curiously.

‘I do hope we are not putting you to too much trouble, Mrs Blake, descending on you at such short notice. I am Amanda O’Connell,’ she said, having decided not to tell anyone about her marriage to Christopher Claybourne, ‘and this is my cousin Charlotte. It was Mr Claybourne who told us where you lived. We—we’ve come to see you about the child—Sky. He gave me a letter for you.’

Agatha looked at them both, assessing them carefully, and then a large smile broadened her lips as she took the letter. ‘Of course you are no trouble. Come inside and have some tea. It’s rare enough I have visitors—and please call me Agatha. A friend of Kit’s is a friend of ours. You are fortunate to find Sky and me the only ones at home just now. I have a large brood and usually there are children all over the place, but my husband has taken them fishing to give me some peace.’

Amanda smiled at the little girl, realising for the first time that this child was her stepdaughter. She was a startlingly attractive child, her Cherokee ancestry evident in her features. Her mane of jet black hair was loosely caught by a thin ribbon so that its length hung down between her shoulder blades. What entrapped Amanda was the compelling blackness of her eyes. They were large and widely spaced, set above prominent cheekbones and heavily fringed by glossy lashes. The incredible black eyes regarded her with interest.

Having heard her father’s name mentioned, she tugged on Agatha’s skirts to gain her attention and said, ‘Is Papa coming home, Agi?’

‘No, child, but he has sent these ladies with a message.’

Charlotte held back when Agatha turned to go inside. Holding out her hand to the child, she smiled. ‘Would you like to come with me and show me the pretty flowers in the garden, Sky? I’d love to see them.’ Sky nodded and took her hand trustingly.

Amanda looked at her cousin gratefully. It would be easier talking to Agatha without the child. She watched the two of them go into the small garden, feeling her throat tighten. Poor little mite, she thought. Wasn’t it bad enough being without her father, without being taken away from those she loved by strangers? She followed Agatha inside the house. It smelled lovely—of baking and polish and all the other smells that mingle together to smell of comfort and home.

‘Have you known Mr Claybourne long?’ Amanda asked as Agatha busied herself making tea.

‘Sam and me have known Kit for five years. I know all about what they say he’s done, but don’t you believe it. He’s a good man. We like him—and I would trust him with my life if I had to—and our five children adore him. Kit never killed that woman. I’d swear it on my life.’

‘And what of Sky? What shall I tell her?’

Agatha glanced at her sharply, alert. ‘Tell her? What do you mean?’

‘Mr Claybourne has asked me to take her back to England with me—to be looked after by his cousin. She will be well looked after, you can depend on that. Read the letter, Agatha,’ she said, handing it over. ‘He explains everything in that.’

Agatha read what Christopher had to say, then she nodded, her eyes moist and her face set in sombre lines. ‘It will sadden my heart to part with her, but I can see it’s for the best that she goes. She’s a bright child who learns quickly. When she begins to hear the rumours about her pa, she’s bound to find out what happened. It cannot be kept from her and the stigma will always be with her. When do you go to England?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

Pain slashed across Agatha’s features. ‘So soon. And you want to take her with you today?’

‘Yes,’ Amanda said softly.

Agatha nodded, resigned to letting Sky go. ‘I’ll get her things together. She never knew her mother—a lovely little thing she was, Cherokee. Sky has come to accept me in that role and we all love her dearly. But I always knew the day would come when she would have to go, that Kit would take her to his own people in England. How is he?’

‘Bearing up, I’d say.’

‘And will they really hang him?’

‘I don’t see how it can be avoided. He continues to reiterate his denials of guilt—even though there does not seem to be anyone else who could have done it.’

‘What kind of justice is it that will hang a man like him?’ There was anger in Agatha’s voice as she wiped away a tear with the corner of her apron.

‘What kind of man is he?’ Amanda asked gently.

‘Kit? Why, he’s a man of the open, an active man, and I know how much he must hate being confined. He’s his own man is Kit. Often he would disappear into the woods following trails made by the Indians with nothing but his rifle. He would be gone for days and return to lead Sam back to a freshly killed and skinned deer. The mountains became his mentor. He learned to read the signs of the sky and forest like an Indian. He became a hunter and a trapper—shooting a deer or trapping possum.’

Amanda could imagine Kit, striding towering and unafraid through the Smoky Mountains, as controlled and silent as a great cat. ‘Then I can imagine how difficult his imprisonment must be for him.’

‘I will never believe he’s guilty. The attorney who conducted the legal proceedings against Kit was a friend of the Riders. The jury listened to him and Kit didn’t stand a chance. He swayed them with his clever talk and worked on them with his sympathies, portraying Mrs Rider as some kind of poor, defenceless widow, when in truth she was anything but. The jury was out less than ten minutes when they filed back with the verdict of guilty.’

‘He told me he was fishing at the time Mrs Rider was killed.’

Agatha nodded. ‘And so he was—with Judd Freeman. They often went off for days and weeks at a time. Kit would always leave Sky with me. On that last trip, as soon as they reached Charleston Judd went off again and he’s not been back since. He could be anywhere between here and Boston. He won’t know anything about this, otherwise he’d be back to save his friend.’

‘Hasn’t anyone tried to contact him?’

‘Sam has—and others—but no one’s seen hide nor hair of him. The trouble is that he lives on his boat. Our only hope is that he puts into port somewhere and hears about it.’

At that moment Charlotte appeared with Sky. The child was clutching a little bunch of flowers in her hands, which she handed to Agatha.

‘What does Papa say, Agi?’

Placing the flowers on the table, Agatha gently touched her dark head. ‘I know this is a big surprise for you, sweetheart, but your papa wants you to be very brave and grown up. He says you are to go with this lady on a journey across the sea.’

The look of happiness on Sky’s face fled and a kind of bewildered worry took its place. ‘Are you coming, too, Agi?’

Tears sparkled in Agatha’s eyes. ‘No, love. I have to stay and look after Sam and the children. You know what they’re like. Just think what they might get up to if I wasn’t here to keep them straight.’ Agatha saw Sky’s constricted throat swallow with difficulty.

‘I don’t want to be sent away,’ she whispered.

‘No one is sending you away. It’s just that your papa has to go away for a while—and thinks it best that you go to England.’

‘Will Papa find me there? He will, won’t he, Agi?’ she said, her face full of hope.

Dragging their eyes away from the forlorn little face, wet with silent tears, Agatha and Amanda looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking. How hard it would be when the time came telling this three-year-old child that her papa was in heaven.

Knowing how much Sky was going to need her in the weeks ahead, for her sake as well as her own, Amanda had to be strong and clear-headed. But how small she was. It seemed ridiculous to be sending such a tiny thing away to the remote unknown. On impulse she knelt beside her and took her hand.

‘I know this will be hard for you to get used to, Sky, but your papa really has asked me to take care of you. He told me he loves you very much, and that you are to remember him in your prayers every night.’

‘I’ll always pray for Papa.’

‘We’ll have lots of time to get to know each other and perhaps I can show you Charleston and the shops before we leave on the enormous ship. Is there anything you would like to take with you?’

‘Only Papa, but I know he can’t be with me just now,’ she said in a quaintly philosophical way for one so young. ‘I like ponies, too—like Papa. He said he would get me a fine pony of my very own when he got back.’

‘When we get to England—which is where I am taking you—lots of young ladies have ponies of their own, and so will you. But since we can’t very well take a pony on the ship, is there anything else you would like?’

Suddenly her eyes brightened. ‘I would like a doll of my very own, one I can dress in nice clothes.’

‘Then I shall see to it that you have the prettiest doll in the whole of Charleston,’ Amanda told her soothingly, relieved to see the stiffness ease from Sky’s small body. ‘Now that is settled, would you like to help Agatha put your things together? My name is Amanda, and I am sure we are going to be good friends, Sky.’

‘You have a way with children,’ Agatha said as she straightened up.

‘I haven’t had any experience, so I have a lot to learn.’

This was true. Many times over the next two days Amanda had to fight back an impulse to take her back to Agatha. Sky cried all the way back to Charleston. Her parting from Agatha and all that was familiar upset her, but, arriving at Magnolia Grove and with all the attention showered on her, and doting on the doll and other toys Amanda bought for her, she soon brightened up. It was when she went to bed that she suffered moments of homesickness and cried for Agatha and her papa. Finding herself drawn to the child in a way that surprised her, Amanda would hold her tenderly and soothe her with words of comfort until she fell to sleep.

The ship bound for England via New York sailed out of Charleston’s harbour with playful dolphins swimming alongside. At the same time a small fishing boat, with its sun-bleached sail bellied out and curls of white foam on each side of the bow, sailed in, with Judd Freeman at the tiller. It was after he’d put into Wilmington to take on fresh water that he had heard what Kit had been accused of and that he was to pay the ultimate penalty for his crime. Immediately he had set sail for Charleston, praying he would not be too late to save his friend.

Back in England, as the train sped northwards, carrying Amanda to her new home, she had time to dwell on her parting from Sky. It had been difficult to say goodbye, more difficult than she had imagined. During the two weeks’ voyage from America she had become extremely fond of the child and found pleasure in her company. When the ship had docked at Southampton, they had taken the train for London. Victoria Hardy lived in Chelsea with her husband and two children. Leaving Mr Quinn and Nan at the hotel—where they were to spend the night before taking the train north the following morning—Amanda went to see her with Sky.

Kit’s cousin was a tall, attractive, dark-haired woman who welcomed Amanda warmly. The minute she laid eyes on Sky she knew who she was. The moment was an emotional one for her; scooping the wide-eyed child up into her arms, she hugged her tightly. ‘So you are Kit’s little girl,’ she said when she had composed herself, setting Sky on her feet once more and tracing her cheek with her finger. ‘I have waited a long time to meet you. I have heard all about you in the letters your dear papa sent to me from America.’

Sky’s dark eyes did not flinch from the older woman’s touch. She was gazing up at her with interest, for, like Amanda, she, too, noted the similarities in Victoria’s features that likened her to her dear papa. Becoming distracted when a fair-haired little girl entered the room, no bigger than herself, she went to her to introduce her to her doll, the one Amanda had bought for her in Charleston and from which she refused to be parted.

‘She’s a delightful child—quite adorable,’ Victoria said. ‘So like Kit in her mannerisms, but her Indian ancestry is evident in her features.’

‘She’s been so good and brave, poor lamb. Everything has been so confusing for her of late.’ Taking Kit’s letter from her reticule, she handed it to Victoria. Amanda had no knowledge of what the letter contained, but she knew it would bring Victoria pain. ‘Kit asked me to give you this. He explains everything. Although—I must tell you that the news will be upsetting for you.’

Victoria looked hard at this lovely, rather solemn young woman she didn’t know, and then turned and moved away to read her cousin’s letter. Amanda went to the nurse who had accompanied the little girl into the room. Telling her that Mrs Hardy had just received some distressing news, she asked her to take the children to play in the nursery for a while.

After Victoria had read the letter, wiping the tears of grief from her eyes, she slowly folded it and turned to Amanda, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘How could this happen? Kit never hurt anyone in his life—and to accuse him of murder … I will never believe it.’ Her voice was raw with pain. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. ‘Does Sky know that her papa will not be coming back?’

‘No. When we left Charleston the—the execution had not been carried out, and I have heard nothing since. I—asked some friends of his—Agatha and her husband—to write to you, to let you know when …’

Victoria swallowed hard, trying to contain her grief. ‘Thank you. Do—do you think he did it?’

‘No, I don’t—and I’m not alone in that. Unfortunately, proving his innocence is another matter. There isn’t a whisper of proof to support his side of things. The one man able to bear him witness has disappeared.’

‘How can I tell Sky that she’ll never see her papa again, that he’s dead? I won’t say anything to her—until I know more. Poor Kit. He didn’t deserve this. If he is dead, then may he rest in peace, and, wherever he is, let him be assured that I shall do my best in raising his daughter, that she will be like one of my own.’

Amanda hadn’t stayed long after that. She had been deeply anxious about her meeting with Victoria Hardy and how Sky would react when the time came for them to part, but now she had met Kit’s cousin she realised that there had been no need. Sky had taken to her at once, and the fact that her new cousin had two children would help her settle in. In fact, when Amanda had left, the two little girls had been playing happily together in the nursery.

And now, on the train heading north, thinking of Kit—about how angry and unhappy he must have been, worrying about how his daughter would be taken care of—she asked herself if there was anything more she could have done, and finally decided that there was not. She had done everything he had asked of her and now she must put it behind her. It was over and she must look to the future. A year of widowhood would soon pass and then she could do exactly as she pleased. She looked out of the window, watching the landscape fly past, and wondered why her heart felt so heavy and why she should feel so despondent when she had finally got what she wanted.

It was because now she could see that what she had done had been no more than a spoiled desire to thwart and outwit her father. What a fool I’ve been, she thought bitterly. And now I’ve got to pay for it. She’d wanted a temporary husband; now that he was dead, she was filled with remorse over the manner of it, and to add to that she missed Sky more than she could have imagined.

She looked at Nan dozing across from her. She, too, was sad to be parted from Sky. The little girl’s constant chatter and laughter had lightened the voyage. As for Mr Quinn, who also had his eyes closed, he had hardly uttered a word since leaving London, and no amount of casual banter seemed to be able to break his grim mood, so Amanda had given up.

At last they reached their destination—Sheffield. Amanda saw that her father had sent his coach to meet them. She climbed in with Nan while Mr Quinn and the driver saw to the luggage. It was a brilliant summer’s day, when the hedgerows were full. Travelling the six miles to Eden Park, after leaving the industrial city behind, Amanda watched the countryside unfold in a rich patchwork of field and meadow and undulating moor land.

Her thoughts turned to her father, to how much she had missed him and how impatient she was to be reunited. Henry O’Connell was the son of an Irish navvy who had come from Ireland to work on the Liverpool and Manchester railway. When Henry had been old enough to join him, he had soon seen that navvying wasn’t for him and he’d struck out on his own, starting at the bottom. After that all directions led upwards. Driven to succeed, money became everything to him—it made everything possible and his driving energies and ambitions had made him one of the richest men in England.

Amanda was proud of all he had achieved. They had always been close, and the only stumbling block in their relationship was the issue of her marriage. He had planned great things for his only child. Wealth, power and social prestige would be hers. But, as he had soon discovered, it took more than money to gain entry to the exclusive inner world of Victorian respectability. He was not a boastful man and rarely offended anybody, but the fact remained that he was a parvenu. In his early days he had not been accepted in established society, but his burgeoning wealth gradually became so prodigious that it overwhelmed class.

After leaving the village of Thurlow behind and skirting the edge of a lake, the coach approached a long drive of limes. Eden Park loomed ever closer. Seeing the house, Amanda blinked her eyes, staring. On that first encounter she was touched by the opulent splendour.

Eden Park was an architectural gem on the edge of the Derbyshire moors. It stood in four hundred acres, thirty of which were given over to gently undulating parkland and beautiful terraced gardens—with short, velvety green lawns, clipped yew hedges, statues and fountains—the rest to the home farm. To the west the land rose steeply to the Derbyshire peaks, and eastward was Sherwood Forest and all its legendary tales of Robin Hood. Over the Derbyshire hills lay the sprawling metropolis of Manchester, which was where Amanda had lived all her life.

Her father must have been watching out for her because, the moment the carriage came to a halt, he came hurrying down the steps with a restless vitality, beaming broadly and as fast as his short, barrel-chested frame allowed. Despite having a brilliant head for business there was something coarse and earthy about Henry O’Connell that most people found appealing, especially Amanda—although she did not realise that this was because she possessed some of those same qualities, despite twenty years of effort on the part of her nanny and governess to eradicate them.

With a happy smile and carrying her veiled black bonnet, Amanda hurried to meet him, throwing her arms about his neck and hugging him, the smell of brandy and cigars on his warm breath fanning her cheeks.

‘Here, now, let me look at you,’ he said, holding her at arm’s length and examining her face with his piercing grey eyes. ‘Aye, you’ve grown lovelier than ever. You get more like your mother every day. You’ve enjoyed your year in Charleston—Quinn kept me informed. Though you made a spectacle of yourself on occasion, you’ve done nothing to bring shame on us. But why did you go all the way to Southampton? Why not Liverpool?’

Amanda laughed awkwardly, unable to look him in the eyes as she avoided mentioning the real reason that had taken her to London. ‘I—I wanted to spend a few days in London, do some quality shopping—you know how it is with us females, Father.’

‘Aye, I do that. Spent more of my money, I don’t doubt,’ he said, tweaking her cheek with mock reproach, ‘but to my mind there’s nothing wrong with the shops in Manchester.’

Amanda laughed lightly. ‘Since you know absolutely nothing about ladies’ fashions, Father, that is exactly the sort of remark I would expect from you.’

‘And where were all the letters you promised to write? No doubt your head was too full of nonsensical matters and you were too occupied to read letters from your old da that you considered to be monstrously dull, eh?’ he reproached her good humouredly, his eyes all of a twinkle.

Amanda laughed, looking fondly at his round face with its ruddy features and his mutton-chop whiskers, which, like his hair, were vividly white. ‘You’re not old and I did read them—I just never got round to writing back as often as I should, that’s all.’

‘’Tis sorry I am to hear about Lucy, and ’tis sad I am that I never got to see her before she died,’ he said on a more sombre note, the brogue of his native Ireland still heavy on his tongue despite his thirty years in England. ‘But what’s this?’ Detecting an air of dejection about his daughter, he tipped her chin and peered sharply into her face. ‘Where’s the sparkle I remember in those bonny green eyes, eh—and when did you take to wearing black?’ he remarked, eyeing her sombre garb with distaste.

‘When Aunt Lucy died,’ Amanda replied, feeling that now was not the time to tell him of her widowed state. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she smiled to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry, Father, I’m perfectly fine. It’s been a long journey and I swear I can still feel the wretched motion of the ship. I never was a good sailor. There—is something I have to tell you, but it can wait until later.’

‘So it will—and cheer up. What with all the parties and such we’ve got planned to be having here at the house, you’ll be forgetting all about Charleston in a month.’

Amanda looked up at the towering edifice. Built in golden yellow stone enriched by splendid carving, with its long front and central Ionic portico, and three storeys high, Eden Park was quite remarkable. ‘You’ve been busy while I’ve been away. I never dreamed you’d be so extravagant as to buy a house of such grand proportions. I swear there must be enough rooms to house an army.’

‘So there is—so there is,’ he agreed, puffing out his chest and looking at his new domain with pride. ‘I told Quinn what you could expect. Did I exaggerate?’

‘Not at all. I am impressed, although I can’t help feeling a certain sadness at not returning to Rochdale. It has always been my home.’

‘Aye, lass, I know, but you’ll find this place is like a tonic. You’ll soon forget about Rochdale and agree that Eden Park is a desirable retreat from the engine and factory fumes and noise of Manchester.’

Amanda’s brows lifted over knowing green eyes. ‘Maybe so, but not too far away so you can’t keep your finger on the pulse, eh, Father?’

Henry’s lips quirked and, reaching out, he brushed his fingers against her cheek. ‘You know me too well.’

‘Will you be able to stand being a gentleman of leisure, Father?’

‘The company is as vigorous and healthy as it always has been so I’ve no worries there.’

Amanda smiled at him. ‘Which is a striking endorsement to your skill in selecting the people who work for you.’

‘Aye, well, I pay them well enough for it. I only wish I’d bought something like this years back. You wait until you see the stables. Splendid, they are, splendid, and I intend filling every box with only the finest horseflesh. I’ll have the best in the district, you see if I don’t. What I need is someone who knows a good horse when he sees one. But come and meet your new stepmother—and don’t be saying anything untoward now,’ he warned, seeing her eyes cloud over, ‘because it’s been a long time since your mother died and you won’t be with me for ever.’

‘So you thought it was time to consolidate your gains and get married,’ Amanda remarked, unable to hide the anxiety this had caused her.

‘Caroline married me for myself, not my money, if that’s what you are thinking—she has plenty of her own without mine. She’s good for me—a true lady she is, too—none finer.’

Amanda stiffened when a woman came to stand by his side and linked an arm through his. It was a casual gesture, as if it were the most natural thing to do. Her father beamed down at her, patting her hand.

‘This is Caroline. Caroline, my dear, this is my daughter, Amanda.’

‘I know.’ She laughed. ‘Your father has told me so much about you that I feel I already know you. Welcome home, Amanda—to your new home, that is. I’m so pleased to meet you at last. I do so hope you will be happy living at Eden Park.’

There was such an air of kindliness about her that Amanda felt herself begin to relax. ‘Well, it’s certainly a change from where we lived before.’

‘I’ve been urging your father for months to move to the country. To get him away from the office,’ she said, looking meaningfully at her husband.

Henry patted her hand affectionately. ‘Aye—you’ll find Caroline gets her own way in most things.’

‘I am also selfish, self-centred and inclined to say and do things without thinking and Henry gets furious with me, but it does no good,’ she told Amanda with a twinkle in her eye for her husband. ‘But come, let’s go inside. I’ll show you around later. I’m sure you’re in need of refreshment after your long journey. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged what rooms you shall have. I’ll take you there now and we can have a quiet gossip as we go.’

Warming to the older woman, Amanda decided there and then that Caroline would be good for her father. In her late forties, she was still attractive. Independent and tough-minded, too, Amanda supposed. Undoubtedly someone who could persuade her father to pay less attention to his work that had been his life, and move away from Manchester, which had been the hub of his empire, had to have those qualities to be successful. It was not going to be as hard accepting her as she had thought.

Upon entering the house, Amanda looked dazedly about her, wondering if she had come to a royal palace by mistake. Everything about this eighteenth-century house was light, graceful and elegant. It was filled with paintings, delicate, gilded scrollwork and thick carpets, softer than the smoothest lawns. Her own rooms were furnished with an eye to luxurious comfort and fashionable elegance. The ivory and white, pale green and gold theme was reflected in the heavy curtains screening long windows, and the bed and its hangings. Clearly Caroline had excellent taste and her father had spared no expense.

It was after dinner that same evening when Henry brought Lord Prendergast into the conversation. He was seated in the elegant drawing room beside his wife, swirling his brandy around the bowl of his glass and smiling a trifle fatuously upon his only child, glad to have her home again. However, there was an air of certainty about him that Amanda found disquieting and reminded her that now was the time to tell him about her marriage and put that particular subject to rest once and for all. Taking a deep breath, she plunged in.

‘Mr Quinn told me you have aspirations for me to marry that gentleman, Father. Unfortunately, it’s quite out of the question. Besides, he’s an old fool and a dead bore. I cannot believe you could imagine him to be an eligible suitor for anyone, let alone your only daughter. I have something to tell you that may come as something of a shock. If so, I apologise, but it is done and there is no going back.’

‘And what is that, may I ask?’ Henry’s face lost its relaxed amiability and became cold, hard and wary; he sensed she was about to divulge something that would not be to his liking.

Amanda’s eyes met his, suddenly sharp, questioning, and she quailed inside as she began to explain calmly and reasonably about her marriage to Christopher Claybourne. ‘Before I left Charleston, I—I met someone and married him.’

Henry’s face took on the look of a bright red apple and his eyes almost protruded from their sockets. ‘Married! Did I hear you aright? Like hell you did. What is the meaning of this?’ he bellowed, a vast disapproval in his tone, which asked what the devil she had been playing at.

‘The meaning? Why—I got married, that is all,’ Amanda said in defiance of his thunderous glower, his quick-to-anger attitude reminding her of why she had taken the reckless step of marrying Christopher Claybourne. ‘You agreed that I could do so—should the right man come along,’ she reminded him pointedly.

‘Aye, I did that, but I also remember insisting that I must be informed before you entered into any marriage contract. Married? And you did not consider it important enough to inform me—your father—first?’

Sensing that her husband’s temper was straining at the leash and knowing she was the only one who could soothe it to manageable proportions, Caroline put a soothing hand on his arm, taking his glass and placing it on a side table. ‘Listen to what Amanda has to say, Henry,’ she voiced mildly, for there was something about her stepdaughter’s manner that alerted her to a state of affairs unknown to either of them. She smiled reassuringly at the young woman opposite, who returned her smile, grateful for her support.

‘Who is he?’ Henry demanded, hoisting himself to his feet and glaring at his daughter.

‘Christopher Claybourne.’

‘Do I know him?’

‘No, you couldn’t possibly.’

‘What sort of man is he—a gold-digger?’ he bellowed, holding on to his anger until he knew what the devil was going on. Amanda’s impulsiveness was not something he cared for.

Amanda sprang to her feet, anger flashing from her eyes, her voice harsh with tension. ‘No—far from it. That is a vile, horrible accusation and you have no right to speak that way of a man you have never met. Christopher has no use for your money, Father, and if you are to be offensive before you’ve listened to what I have to say, then there is no more to be said.’

Amanda looked ready to stride from the room, but Henry put a restraining hand on her arm, giving her a narrow, quizzical look. ‘Did you plan to outwit me by marrying this man? Is that it?’

The two faced each other in timeless attitudes of belligerence until Amanda capitulated and lowered her gaze. ‘Yes,’ she replied truthfully, knowing her father would be sure to detect a lie, ‘but I never meant to hurt you and I’m sorry if I’ve made you unhappy, but had you ever listened to me you would know that when it came to choosing a husband I would do it. When I went to Charleston, you hoped I would find a man to marry—a man you would consider suitable to be your son-in-law. Christopher was eminently suitable. Our marriage was sudden—just before I left Charleston. There was no time to write and let you know.’

She went on to explain her marriage to Christopher as best she could—the crime he had been accused of, and the sentence duly passed, she omitted. Her father looked at her, listening to what she had to say incredulously, reluctant to let go of his anger. ‘Christopher was a fine man, Father—handsome, too. You would have liked him. He also had an active interest in horses—he was a wonder with them—broke them in and trained them himself in a way you would have envied.’

Caroline stood up and went to her husband. His face was still angry. He wanted to curse, to explode with resentment, but, because he knew his wife in her own quiet way wanted him to listen to Amanda, he clamped his mouth shut.

In the space of seconds Caroline considered Amanda’s shuttered face and correctly assumed it was a façade to conceal some sort of deep hurt. ‘You speak of your husband in the past tense, Amanda,’ she remarked softly. ‘What did you mean when you said your father would have liked him? And why did he not come with you to England?’

Amanda turned her gaze on her stepmother, her eyes having taken on a pained, haunted look. ‘Christopher—he—he died.’ Her voice was soft and sad, no more than a whisper, and Caroline felt her heart go out to her.

‘Oh, my dear—I see. I’m so sorry. So your mourning is not only for your Aunt Lucy.’

‘No.’

Henry shook his head slowly as he tried to come to terms with his daughter’s situation and her loss. As suddenly as it had come, the dreadful fury vanished. ‘So—no sooner do you find a husband than he makes a widow of you. I’m sorry, lass.’ He became thoughtful. ‘He was a Claybourne, you say? One of the southern Claybournes? Not that I’m familiar with any of them.’

‘I—I believe so—although the family is large and I am uncertain as to which branch he belonged.’

‘Aye, well, he had the right pedigree and that’s what’s important. And he died, you say.’

She nodded. ‘A week after we left Charleston,’ she said, wording it to imply that Christopher had died on board ship while not actually telling an untruth. She imagined telling him the truth, and immediately cancelled the vision. Generous and loving he might be, but understanding he was not.

‘And has he left you well taken care of—financially?’

Amanda sighed. Trust her father to think of the money aspect. He might bluster his way through his social life, but when it came to business he was deadly earnest. ‘We—we were married for such a short time. Now he is dead I want to put it behind me. I don’t expect or want anything from his family.’

Henry frowned, thinking this highly irregular, but, seeing how despondent she seemed and not wishing to distress her unduly, he decided to let the matter rest for the time being. No doubt Quinn would provide him with the details.

‘Aye, well, I am sorry for your loss.’

Amanda nodded slightly, as if accepting his comfort. Inside she was full of self-disgust at deceiving her father.

‘So, you are a Claybourne now. I suppose it will take some getting used to. You’re also a widow and will be of age soon. You’re your own mistress and I can’t stop you doing what you will.’

Amanda put her arms about his rotund middle and placed her head on his shoulder. ‘I won’t disappoint you, Father, I promise.’

Peering down at her, suddenly anxious, he said, ‘It would be well for you to consider marrying again—and soon. I’m not getting any younger and I want to see you taken care of.’

‘Never fear.’ She laughed. ‘You’ll outlive us all—long enough to bounce your grandchildren on your knee.’

And so began a time of frenetic activity. Little was said of Amanda’s marriage and her dead husband—the subject was for the curious to speculate about and for her to try to forget. Casting off her mourning clothes in favour of grey and any dark colour other than black—following the precedent set by Queen Victoria after the death of her beloved Albert—Amanda relaxed and prepared to enjoy herself, trying steadfastly to keep her thoughts from wandering back to Christopher Claybourne.

She wasn’t always successful, for there were times when she recalled how his unfathomable eyes had locked on to hers as they had spoken their marriage vows, how, when he bent to kiss her lips, her own had parted and he stole her breath, taking it and more from her. She had never met anyone like him. There had been something in his eyes of another world to the one she knew—and she longed passionately to see it again, if only for a brief while.

Kit was the reason why she felt so restless and dissatisfied. All the young men she knew now seemed to her intolerably dull, contemptible, even, beside him.

Every time she found herself dwelling on Christopher Claybourne, in some peculiar way it felt as if he were trying to seduce her from beyond the grave. Angry with herself, at her own weakness, she would try to close her mind to him. It was incredibly stupid to think of her dead husband in this way, stupid and dangerous, too, for it only brought her torment and heartache.

Life was never dull at Eden Park. The house was used for entertaining on a vast scale, and whole sections had been set aside to accommodate staff, including the servants of weekend guests. Caroline had an enormous circle of friends and Amanda soon discovered that her stepmother’s energy was boundless as she concentrated on providing entertainment guaranteed to attract both friends and neighbours.

Weather permitting, there were luncheons served at a long table under the trees on the lawn and picnics on the moors, with hampers filled with every kind of delicacy to tempt the appetite, from pâté and lobster to the finest claret. There was croquet on the smooth grass, the increasingly popular game of lawn tennis, swimming for the men in the lake; then there were village fêtes to attend, and, in the evenings, dinner parties, with a string quartet playing lilting music in the background.

Amanda embraced the countryside and the countryside embraced her. Heads turned wherever she went and she was creditably besieged by young men who flocked to her side. Courted and sought after, she enjoyed herself to such an extent that her life began to resemble an obstacle course, but she allowed none of the pressing young men to come too close. Her father was right. She was her own mistress and could do as she liked. She was in no hurry to wed again.




Chapter Four


Autumn passed into winter and a jolly Christmas came and went. Henry liked things to run smoothly at Eden Park and kept a busy schedule. He always allowed himself enough time to indulge his passion for horses, travelling to horse sales near and far in his desire to buy only the finest horseflesh—hunters and Thoroughbreds alike. His search for a decent trainer wasn’t so simple. There were plenty of clever, knowledgeable men he could take on for the task, but he was determined to hold out for the best.

Amanda, an accomplished rider, shared her father’s love for the hunt, feeling there was no other thrill to compare with riding a courageous horse across fences and grass at speed, trying to keep up as close as possible to the pack of hounds hunting their fox. The challenge was manifest, the demands on her nerve clear, the test of her skill less easy to define, but the pleasure and thrill of the hunt were compounded of many other elements.

It was after one such day when they held the meet at Eden Park that Amanda went to her bed exhausted but content. A buffet had been provided for the hungry hunters of hot, spicy soup; roast beef; saddle of mutton, venison and pork and all the appropriate trimmings; cheese; jellies; tarts and pies for after. It had been a hectic day, with much hustle and bustle both above and below stairs as the servants worked feverishly to make sure everyone was replete with both food and drink.

The house was dark and totally silent when Amanda left her room. Surprised that she was unable to sleep following the day’s excitement, she padded down to the kitchens as the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, thinking a cup of hot milk might solve the problem. Sitting before the fire that Cook had banked down before going to bed, in an astonishingly tidy kitchen with no sign of the earlier chaos, she sipped her milk, feeling the hot liquid relaxing her. She took a quicker route back to her room, going quietly up the back stairs and along a narrow landing that passed through the servants’ quarters—not that many of the servants lived in at Eden Park. Most of them came from nearby Thurlow and went home after their day’s work.

Listening carefully for any small sound that might indicate that someone else was awake, she squinted in the darkness, having to be careful where she trod. She was just coming to the end of the landing when she heard a sudden cry coming from a room on her right. It was softly uttered, as if someone were in pain, but trying to stifle it. Greatly concerned, she moved towards the door, turning the knob and opening it to investigate.

She halted abruptly at the sight that confronted her. At first she could see little, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth and a single lamp at the side of the bed. But then she saw two figures so entwined they could easily have been one. Totally immersed in each other they were unaware of her presence. Her eyes saw the voluptuous nakedness of a young woman lying on the softness of the sheets. Her head was flung back, her eyes closed, her face contorted with pleasure as the man moved rhythmically between her legs.

‘My goodness, it’s Sadie Jenkins,’ Amanda gasped softly, unable to believe such wanton behaviour from a seventeen-year-old parlourmaid. The girl turned her head and half-opened her eyes. Amanda realised she must have heard her gasp. Sadie cried out in horror and began shoving at the man’s shoulders to try to push him away.

Her face flaming with embarrassment, Amanda was about to leave, but at that moment, recognising the man as none other than Mr Quinn, anger took hold of her and all she could do was stare. She knew she had no business being here, that what the servants got up to when they were off duty was their own affair, but the nausea welling inside her kept her rooted to the spot.

Only slowly did the naked man become aware that there was someone standing in the open doorway. Turning his head, he saw Amanda, his face registering neither surprise nor shame. As if he had all the time in the world he rolled away from the girl, leaving her shapely young body defenceless and exposed. Not in the least discomposed, he pulled on a long robe that fastened with a belt around the middle, covering his nakedness. Amanda could see the smugness in his eyes; he was full of conviction, not remorse, for his actions.

Wrapping a sheet around her to cover her own nakedness, Sadie slipped off the bed and stood looking at Amanda with a light of defiance gleaming in her large dark eyes.

‘Is this your room, Sadie?’ Amanda demanded, struggling to sound calm and in control.

Sadie shook her head. ‘No, mum. It’s farther down the landing.’

‘Then go to it. I will speak to Mr Quinn alone.’

Casting an indecisive glance at Mr Quinn, who indicated with a slight nod that she should do as Mrs Claybourne bade, Sadie crossed to the door, the sheet trailing behind her.

‘Just a minute, Sadie,’ Amanda said. Sadie turned and looked at her. ‘I thought you went home after work.’

‘I do as a rule, Mrs Claybourne, but today being so busy and with so much to do, I promised Cook I’d stay on and help. Besides, Ma doesn’t like me having to pass through the woods and by the lake, you see. She says there are too many scallywags roamin’ about for a decent girl to be walking home alone after dark. Why, she says anything might happen.’

‘I see. You may go.’

‘How long have you been here?’ Mr Quinn asked calmly when Sadie had closed the door behind her. ‘And by what right do you spy on me in my private rooms?’

Undaunted, Amanda lifted her head with a small but stubborn toss. ‘I have been here long enough to see the shameful thing you have done. Sadie is young enough to be your daughter. What were you thinking?’

Mr Quinn threw up his hands. ‘Amazing! A proper little prude! And you a married woman,’ he mocked. ‘Sadie is seventeen going on thirty. Did she look ashamed to you?’

Recalling the way Sadie had thrown back her shoulders and lifted her head, her action had told Amanda quite clearly that she was neither ashamed nor regretful.

Mr Quinn smiled, a smug, self-satisfied smile that infuriated Amanda. ‘She wanted it as much as I did. It was not the first time and it will not be the last. But if you must prowl around after dark, to save any embarrassment on your part, I would advise you to confine yourself to your own part of the house—unless, of course, you were looking for something that might be of more interest to your habits.’

Amanda seethed. How dare the man take the offensive by accusing her of creeping about the house and spying on the servants? ‘You forget yourself, Mr Quinn. My father will have harsh words to say to you about this.’

‘Really?’ He lowered his head, becoming thoughtful. Henry O’Connell was the only man Quinn had any regard for, and he had never told anyone the role that his employer had played in his life, or the gratitude Quinn felt for him. However, over the years since he had begun working for Henry, he had acquired a good, strong foothold both in the business and with Henry. Yes, it was a good, strong foothold and it was not a position he was prepared to relinquish because this girl could not keep her mouth shut.

‘Now listen to me,’ he said, moving closer until he towered over her. ‘Your father must never hear of this. You must never tell him what you have seen.’

‘But I have a duty to tell him what goes on beneath his roof, especially something as sordid as this. He does not condone this kind of behaviour among the servants and you, more than anyone, should know that. You hold a position of trust in this house, and you have just breached it.’

‘Have I? We shall see. Who do you think will benefit from the confession? Certainly not Sadie or her poor, misbegotten family that depends on what she earns here. If she is thrown out, there’ll be no work for her in any other house. Would you want that on your conscience—to see her family go to the workhouse? Think what it will mean. The story will become common gossip. Oh, no, Amanda, for her sake—and your own—you must say nothing.’

Amanda looked at him steadily. His words sounded like a threat. ‘What do you mean—for my sake?’

He gave a small, corrosive laugh. ‘I mean, I wonder how your father will react when he learns of your own guilty little secret—you know … about what you got up to in Charleston.’ Watching her face with idle malice, he saw it change, grow pale, then freeze.

‘You would not tell him about that?’

‘Not if you keep your mouth shut about Sadie and me. You have much to be grateful to me for on that matter; when Henry questioned me, I told him Mr Claybourne was an English gentleman, well connected, and with sufficient means to keep his daughter in the manner in which she had been raised. Since he has done nothing about that, I can only assume he has decided to let the matter of your marriage rest. So, you see, you owe me. For your silence we both stand to gain something, and you will have nothing to fear from me.’

Amanda saw a viciousness in Mr Quinn’s expression she had never seen before. She had known this man nearly all her life. She couldn’t credit what he was saying and the coldness in his eyes. She knew she was trapped. Caution alone trimmed her anger. If this was to be the price of her silence, then so be it.

Mr Quinn read her thoughts correctly. ‘I see we understand each other.’

‘Oh, yes. I understand perfectly, Mr Quinn,’ she replied tersely.

‘Good. Then if you don’t mind, my time has been disturbed quite enough for one night. But one thing before you go. I need no instructions from you on how to conduct myself in public or in private. Remember that.’

‘Oh, I will. I can see you are quite besotted with Sadie, but you’re a little long in the tooth, don’t you think, to turn lovesick over a seventeen-year-old girl with a well-rounded bosom.’

‘I assure you I am not in my dotage yet. Sadie will attest to that.’

‘I’m sure she can, but I have no intention of asking her. Goodnight.’

With an artificially subservient sweep of his arm as she left, Mr Quinn bade her goodnight.

Making her way through the house to her room, Amanda now realised that she had never given much thought to Mr Quinn as being anything other than her father’s most trusted employee who always kept himself aloof and apart from the lowlier servants, but beneath his austere mien he was nothing but a brute.

By the time she reached her room she had come to accept that the bringing of the incident to her father’s attention would do her no good. What mattered was that her marriage to Kit must not be brought into the open. She realised that she must never divulge what she had seen and must subdue her own feeling of outrage, wiping the sordid incident from her mind; but she would never forget and never, ever, forgive Mr Quinn for daring to think he could threaten her with exposure to cover his own sordid misdeed.

On a cold day in February, tired of being cooped up in the house, buttoning herself into a warm coat and heading for the stables, Amanda went in search of her father. There had been a rainstorm earlier, but now the land glinted and shone beneath the sun’s glow. Yesterday two horses he had bought at the Don-caster horse sales had arrived, and along with the animals a man to look after them. A man, her father had proclaimed excitedly, who knew more about training horses than anybody he knew.

Standing beneath the foggy green shadow of massive ancient oaks, she paused, her eyes drawn to her father. Wearing a chequered cape and hat, he was leaning on his walking stick, looking over the fence into the paddock. Amanda shifted her gaze to see what held his attention.

Two splendid horses caught her eye, one a rich chestnut and the other a glistening black stallion with a man astride its back. It was a fine, spirited beast, tossing its noble head and twitching its tail. Fighting the bit, the animal bucked and pranced sideways and then reared up. Amanda was spellbound as she watched the rider, with spontaneous talent, master that huge, half-wild horse with superb skill. Riding with the easy grace of a man in perfect harmony with his own body, he was obviously a genius. Eventually he brought the animal under control so that it became almost docile. Sliding off, he dug into his pocket and produced a tasty titbit. The horse looked at him suspiciously before curling his top lip and eating it.

When the man strode over to her father, Amanda was about to turn away, not wishing to interrupt, when something about the man, something familiar, caught her attention, causing her eyes to open wide in overwhelming disbelief.

Immobilised in the cataclysmic silence that seemed to descend on her world, her right hand pressed to her throat, she was rendered incapable of thought, speech or action. As her mind raced in wild circles, her thoughts tumbling over themselves, she thought she must be seeing things, that she must be suffering from some kind of delusion. But that rich dark brown hair, rough and tousled, his harshly angular face, the hardness that was an integral part of him, the arrogant way he held his head—surely there could be no other man like that anywhere. Suddenly and quite inexplicably, Amanda’s heart gave a joyful leap, but as quickly as a cry sprang to her lips, so it was silenced. Shock waves tingled up and down her spine and she wondered at this cruel trick of fate.

Christopher Claybourne—Kit, her husband—was alive and well. But how could this be? The shock that he was made her forgetful of the soft meanderings of her mind whenever she thought of him. Now his very name scalded her being with hot indignation, and she wanted to scream in utter rage. Of all the people her father could have hired to train his horses, why did it have to be him? She looked this way and that for a means of escape, but her father had seen her and was beckoning.

Reluctantly, her tension mounting, she walked towards them. Christopher climbed over the fence and stood beside her father, watching her approach, so sleek, so confident, so devilishly attractive in his riding jacket and breeches and tan leather boots. In fact, with his wicked smile and hair tumbling darkly about his face, all he needed was a ring in his ear to make him a handsome buccaneer. The man she had seen in prison in his shabby garb was gone for ever—metamorphosed into this taut and fine-drawn man of steel and iron.

Please, God, Amanda thought with a feeling of terror of what his appearance could mean for her, don’t let him have told Father who he is. What did he want? What was he doing here—with her father?

Wide awake to the implications of his reappearance into her life, she stopped in front of them. Her heart set up a wild beating as she looked up into her husband’s face. Something in his bold look challenged her spirit and increased her ire.

Taking her arm, her father drew her closer. ‘Amanda, it pleases me greatly to introduce to you Kit Benedict. He’s the man I told you about who’s to train my horses. Many of them are novices and need bringing on, so he’s going to have his work cut out.’

Yes, Amanda thought, he had told her how he had met someone at the sales who was more than willing to work for him, but she had only listened with half an ear. Now she looked at Kit directly, into his dark eyes set beneath sweeping brows. His look was in no way threatening, yet there was a sense of force distilled and harnessed in his stance. His lips curved as he bowed his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

To Kit at that moment, this woman, his wife, was the most ravishing beauty he had ever seen, and despite her delicate features and soft olive green eyes and the rosy softness of her full lips, there was a boldness and confidence about her look he well remembered from his prison cell. Her long hair hanging down her back was as straight as a horse’s tail and quite astonishing—a hundred different shades and dazzling lights, ever changing in the sun’s glow. He could not decide if it was wine red, claret or the deepest colour of burgundy.

‘I am honoured to meet you, Miss O’Connell.’

There was no denying the reality of that familiar deep voice. Her face expressionless, Amanda merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.

‘Nay, not O’Connell, Kit. My daughter’s Mrs Claybourne—sadly a widow, but ‘tis not a permanent state, is it, daughter? Though you seem to be in no hurry to be acquiring another husband.’

Amanda looked at her father and her eyes flared. ‘It will be as permanent as I want it to be, Father. It is not that I oppose the institution, but I am in no hurry to relinquish my single state just yet.’

‘Aye, well—’ Henry chuckled in good humour, his nose red from the cold as he winked at Kit ‘—it becomes apparent to me that you’ve an error in your way of thinking. What say you, Kit?’

Kit seemed to digest his words with a certain amount of knowing amusement. The quirk in his lips deepened as he peered at Amanda enquiringly. ‘Perhaps your daughter’s experience of marriage was not to her liking and she is reluctant to repeat it.’

Amanda responded with a feigned smile. ‘My marriage did not last long enough for me to form an opinion of it one way or another, Mr—Benedict.’

Consulting the huge turnip-size watch he carried in his waistcoat, Henry frowned. ‘I must be getting back to the house. I’ve my lawyer coming from Manchester to talk over some affairs. He should be here any time so I’ll be off.’ He glanced at the two of them. ‘Stay and let Kit show you my latest acquisitions, Amanda,’ he said, beginning to walk off, ‘and you can give me your verdict over dinner.’

Watching her father’s retreating figure, Amanda was alone with her husband for the first time in seven months, alarmingly, nerve-rackingly alone. ‘Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I truly thought I would never see you again,’ she said, determined to speak to him with a calm maturity and not to let her anger and confused emotions get the better of her. It was important that she made it absolutely clear to him that she wanted no part of him, that she was not his responsibility. ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘As you see, my dear wife, I am very much alive.’ He cocked a handsome brow as he gave her a lengthy inspection, his teeth gleaming behind a lopsided grin. ‘Even the best-laid plans go astray. My reprieve came when Judd Freeman sailed into Charleston Harbour.’ His expression became serious. ‘I want to thank you for taking care of Sky. You did an excellent job and she speaks of you with affection.’

Mention of the little girl Amanda had missed after their parting caused her heart to stir. ‘I’m surprised she remembers me after all these months. How is she? Better now she has her father, I know.’

‘She is well—and happy with Victoria. Sky is a resilient child; apart from missing me, the removal from everything and everyone familiar to her has left her with no apparent ill effects.’

‘I’m happy to hear that. So what now? What are your plans?’

‘I’ve returned to England to reclaim the life I was raised to live—and to become reacquainted with my wife. I do not expect you to fling yourself into my arms and weep tears of joy on my return, but to hear you say that you are pleased to see me would have a nice ring to it.’

Amanda stiffened. ‘You speak as if you have already decided the course of our future.’

Christopher passed his hazel, dancing eyes over her face, heedful of the wrath gathering pace in her expression. ‘I have. You are my wife, after all.’ His voice was soft, though knowingly chiding.

As dearly as Amanda wished to fling an angry denial in his face, she could not. The truth of it stung, but she was determined she would have it otherwise. ‘In name only. You did me a great service in exchanging marriage vows and so making it possible for me to escape an intolerable situation at the time. I am grateful to you for that, but that is where it must end. I did as you asked and brought your child safely to England. Be content with that and let us put an end to the charade—the pretence that there can ever be anything between us.’

Kit’s hazel eyes were suddenly cold under the dark flare of his brows. ‘Believe me, Amanda, it is no pretence. We made a pact. Part of our bargain was that our marriage would be legal and binding for the time I have left to live—and I fully intend to be around until I’m ninety. On my reprieve I hoped I wasn’t mistaken in you, and that you were the type who would keep a bargain, who wouldn’t forget important promises, whose word when given meant something, which to me was as binding as the marriage vow itself. When I came back to England and thought of you and Sky waiting, I thought I had something to come home to. You promised me that if I succeeded in securing my freedom, you would acknowledge me as your husband and become my wife in truth. All this was in return for my name—my family name, a name I honour.’

‘Then do you set so little worth on your family’s honour that you will hold me to an arrangement made in desperation?’

‘My family’s honour!’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘If you knew anything about my family’s honour, you would close your mouth rather than ask such a damning question.’

Amanda was momentarily taken aback by the ferocity of his statement. She was curious as to where the remark had come from, but quickly thrust it from her mind. ‘I know nothing of your family and care not at all. I am only interested in putting an end to the arrangement we made.’

‘So you do not deny that we made a pact?’

‘No, that I cannot do,’ she lashed out in anger, with a thrust to her chin that told him she was ready to fight. ‘I know I am bound by my word, but it is hard for me.’

‘You belong to me, Amanda.’

‘That is a matter of opinion. Yes, we had an arrangement, an arrangement that profited us both. I cannot yield to a man who, at best, is a stranger to me.’

Christopher peered at her closely and took note of her sudden uneasiness. ‘I will not always be a stranger. I delivered on our bargain, only to find you reneging on your vow. Do not imagine that you can rescript the rules to suit yourself. How do you feel now you find I am alive?’

‘Cheated,’ she spat. ‘Cheated—and I want no part of you.’

‘Come now, Amanda, why so hostile? We have a lot to discuss, you and I.’

Mutinously she glared at him. ‘I have nothing to discuss with you. Nothing at all. You were supposed to hang, leaving me a widow. This was not part of my plan. I did not want this.’

The hazel eyes sparked. ‘You mean you want me dead?’

‘Yes—I mean, no— Oh, I am so confused I don’t know what I mean. I just want you to go away—to leave me alone. I don’t want a husband.’

‘Be that as it may, Amanda,’ he said lazily, ‘but you have a husband—and he is not going to go away.’

‘He will if I have my way. I don’t want you. You will not have me. What are you doing here anyway? How have you managed to wheedle your way into my father’s favour?’

‘Our mutual interest in horses.’

‘I advise you to have a care. Father will treat you with the same courtesy he shows to anyone in his employ—as long as he has no inkling that there is anything except casual friendship between the two of us. If he so much as suspects there is anything between us, he will treat you with freezing contempt.’

‘I’ll risk it.’ Beneath a raised quizzical brow his gaze travelled over her beautifully cut coat of dark blue-coloured tweed that flared out from the waist over her high-necked grey dress. ‘I was under the impression that a period of one year’s mourning is customary after the death of one’s immediate family,’ he remarked with underlying sarcasm.

‘I am in half-mourning. I do try to observe the rules even though I can see no point in doing so. After all, I am no grieving widow. How dare you come here? You cannot stay. You must leave at once.’

‘Your father has hired me to train his horses. I aim to do just that.’

Amanda didn’t believe him. His meeting with her father had been by design rather than chance, this she was sure of—so what did he want? Could he be bribed to go away?

His face hardened, as if he had read her thoughts. ‘Do not think you can buy me off, Amanda. No amount of money you offer will tempt me to disappear now that I have found you.’

‘Why not? Your promise to stay out of my life in exchange for a few thousand pounds seems fair enough trade to me.’

‘I am not going to go away, so you’d save yourself a great deal of trouble and heartache if you got used to having me around. I will make it impossible for you to ignore me. Everywhere you go you will be aware of me, of my presence, watching you.’

‘Like a rat nibbling away at a floorboard, you mean.’

He laughed softly. ‘Aye—with flawless success.’

The olive green eyes narrowed in a glare. ‘You’re pigheaded, arrogant and impossibly conceited, Kit Benedict. I will not be your wife.’

‘There I must contradict you. Pigheaded I may be, but you are my wife.’

‘And you seem to take a special delight in reminding me,’ she remarked drily. ‘I am your wife in name only.’

‘Which I intend to rectify as soon as can be.’ His lips curled into a rakish smile as his eyes captured hers. ‘I’m already looking forward to it. I find the mere thought of marriage to you most entertaining. I think we shall do very well together. You’re looking beautiful, Amanda. Just as I remembered.’

‘And you’re looking disgustingly smug and self-righteous.’

Leaning back against the fence, he folded his arms across his broad chest, grinning leisurely as his perusal swept her. ‘I have plenty to be smug about. I am a man, Amanda,’ he assured her softly, the laughter gone from his voice, ‘with all the desires, all the needs of a man. When you came to my prison cell, when I first saw you, you were so beautiful it tortured me. You captured my thoughts, my dreams, my fancy, and when you left me I became hopelessly entangled in my desires for you. You made me want, made me yearn for things I could not have. Now I can. I want you.’

Amanda was taken aback by his blunt honesty. ‘I am surprised. I never imagined I had made so deep an impression.’

‘The very knowledge that you are here with me now makes me even more determined to find a way of breaching that barrier of thorns you have wound about yourself.’ As her husband, he could insist she kept her side of the bargain, but some inbuilt sense of chivalry prevented him from doing so, dictating that if she came to him under duress it would only increase her resentment. ‘Yet I must accept the fact that your shock of finding me alive has been great and that you are confused. I have no wish to cause you any embarrassment. I even gave your father an assumed name.’

‘How thoughtful of you, but it isn’t assumed, is it? You’ve merely omitted your surname.’

‘Which I share with you.’

‘I have no wish for my father to find out who you are. He has no idea. It would distress him terribly.’

Kit’s eyes grew warm as he gave her a lazy smile. ‘I am no black-hearted villain, and I accept there are times when it is expedient to hold back the truth—for the present. However, you, my dear Amanda—’

Her expression was mutinous. ‘I am not your dear anything.’

‘As I was saying, you, my dear Amanda, seem to have a penchant for self-destruction. Better to have told your father the truth in the first place. He will find out one day, that I promise you. We are man and wife and must live as man and wife.’ He shrugged. ‘That equation seems perfectly logical to me, though not apparently to you. You are going to be difficult?’

‘I am going to be impossible.’

He smiled at that, not in the least discouraged. ‘Then it should be interesting getting to know one another. In time I shall insist on you becoming my wife in truth.’

‘And if I don’t comply?’

‘If you don’t, then I will confront your father.’

There was a wealth of warning in the words the deep voice uttered and no drawl to soften them. Swirling round in a flurry of skirts, Amanda tossed him a cool glance askance. ‘Then for the time being don’t get any high-minded ideas that you’re any better than any other hired help.’ She was about to walk away, but whirled round when Kit’s hand suddenly shot out and gripped her arm like a vice.

‘I am trying to be patient with you, Amanda,’ he said quietly, ‘but you’re trying me sorely. Now listen to me and don’t anger me. For the present I am happy to work for your father. I shall train his horses and train them well, but I will not be treated like an underling. Rest assured that, despite my time spent in the Smoky Mountains with the Cherokee, I am quite civilised. I will not be dictated to by anybody—especially not by my own wife, whose schooling in manners appears to be somewhat lacking. I trust I’ve made myself abundantly clear?’

Amanda yanked her arm from his grasp, her eyes spitting fire. ‘Perfectly. Good day to you, Mr Benedict.’

‘And good day to you, my loving wife. A pleasure meeting you again.’ He chuckled aloud as he watched and admired the indignant sway of her hips as she left him, which, to his sceptical mind, was the most piquant of provocations. It was clear that a submissive, compliant wife Amanda was not. She was like a vixen, fierce and ready to fight, and he thanked God for it; he wanted her to match him strength for strength, as an equal, and in that, he was not going to be disappointed. But first he must show her that no matter how hard and furiously she fought against him, she was his wife.

He grinned broadly, totally assured in his arrogant masculinity that he would have his way, no matter what.

Kit’s low, mocking laughter followed Amanda all the way back to the house and for a long time after. Cursing beneath her breath, she fed her wrath as she stalked homeward with her fists clenched by her sides. Be damned if she’d discuss their marriage any further, not until she’d had time to face the rest of her emotions and consider the best way forward. The matter was complicated, but it must be resolved somehow.

The trouble was that since her marriage, which had brought her independence, she had become herself again and valued her freedom, and she was regretful and resentful that she would now have to set it all aside. She realised she wasn’t being fair to Kit—but then life wasn’t always fair, and her father had been right when he had said that to succeed in life you had to be ruthless. He might have been referring to the world of business, but Amanda would apply it to her personal life.

Still fuming silently to herself and a mass of conflicting emotions, she found her father in the hall still waiting for his lawyer to arrive. Amanda appeared before him looking for all the world like she’d like to commit murder and proceeded to speak without thinking, to act without considering the consequences.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she flared when he enquired why she was looking as cross as a bucket full of crabs, ‘but I think Mr Benedict is overbearing. He is also insufferably arrogant and I cannot see why you like him. You must dismiss him at once and find someone else.’

Henry looked at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses. His daughter seemed to be in the grip of a fury and to have lost all reasonableness. Her anger was out of all proportion to what appeared to be a perfectly normal and innocent situation.

‘Don’t be absurd, Amanda. Kit hasn’t been on the place two minutes and already you find fault with the man. What the devil has happened between the two of you? Has he offended you—made untoward suggestions?’

Amanda could feel the pull of her explosive fury dragging her into further turmoil, but somehow she must control it and be careful. ‘No, no, nothing like that,’ she hastened to assure him, softening her tone, not wishing to give away anything about her relationship with Kit and hoping she sounded convincing. ‘In fact, his manners are in order. But surely you don’t need him. You know enough about horses to train them yourself. You were doing splendidly before he arrived.’

‘Nay, lass,’ he said, his tone reproachful. ‘Kit is a man of good and able character. He also has a good mind and a deeper understanding of horses than I ever will. He’ll prove his worth to me in no time—even suggested we get one of them trained up in time for next year’s Gold Cup at Ascot,’ he said, rubbing his hands and puffing his chest out with glee at the mere thought. ‘Think about it, Amanda—me—with a runner in the Gold Cup. Aye, it’ll be a proud moment—so it will.’

‘I agree, Father, but—where is Mr Benedict to live?’

‘I’ve thought of that. I’ve put at his disposal a nice little furnished cottage in the park—close to the stables. He’ll be comfortable enough there.’

Yes, Amanda thought crossly, he would be—right on her doorstep. ‘I still think you could manage to get your horses to the standard required without Mr Benedict’s help.’

Henry looked at his daughter for a moment, his eyes piercing her through. ‘Impossible. Kit is an expert in buying, selling and management and has all the expertise to be a racehorse trainer in his own right. I want only top-class horses in my stable and to do that I need him. He also has a young daughter who is being taken care of by a cousin of his—his wife died some time ago, so he’s going to need time off occasionally to see her. Have you such a strong aversion to the man?’

Simmering in her breast, tightening with pressure, was the urge to blurt out the truth into his innocent face, that he was being deceived, but she bit her tongue and damned the truth inside her. ‘Well—no—not really, only—’

‘Then he stays—and as my daughter you will be as gracious towards him as you are to any other guest I invite to the house. Which reminds me—he will be dining with us tonight, so ask Caroline to have an extra place set at the table. It seems senseless for him to dine alone when we have food going spare.’

Having delivered that diatribe, he went to the door to greet his lawyer, who was just arriving.

Amanda received the news that Kit was to dine with them with less enthusiasm than she would a public flogging. Seeking some outlet for her indignation, she headed towards Caroline and her father’s suite of rooms, and found Caroline in her sitting room of gold leaf and pink-and-white furnishings, décor that suited her stepmother’s lavishly feminine temperament exactly. Sifting through some correspondence, she looked up and smiled, but the smile faded when she saw Amanda looking down in the mouth and her dark eyes sparking with ire.

Having become well used to and tolerant of father and daughter’s altercations, which always ended up in laughter, she said, ‘Oh, dear. What’s Henry done to upset you this time?’

‘He’s invited his new horse trainer to dinner tonight, Caroline, and has asked me to tell you to have another place set at the table. Doesn’t he realise that it’s highly irregular for an employee to join the gentleman of the house and his family for meals?’

The vehemence in Amanda’s tone quite startled Caroline. ‘Why, Amanda, you sound quite heated. I had no idea you would mind so much. I suppose it is rather unconventional; nevertheless, Henry has a high opinion of Mr Benedict, so you must be prepared to endure him without complaint as best you can—for your father’s sake.’

Seeing she wasn’t going to acquire an ally in Caroline, Amanda sighed. ‘I suppose I must, but I do hope he isn’t going to make a habit of inviting the servants to dine with us,’ she retorted ungraciously.

When Amanda entered the drawing room at seven o’clock she was disappointed to find Kit alone and was immediately put out, although she could feel his presence in her home with every fibre of her being. It was difficult to believe that this extremely handsome, fashionably dressed man was the convict Christopher Claybourne.

The rustle of her taffeta gown caught Kit’s attention. Glancing up he immediately put his drink down, for the apparition in the doorway in an amethyst gown, cut low to reveal her white shoulders, was like a jewel set against a background of unashamed opulence, wiping his mind clear of anything but sheer appreciation. His lips curving in a slow, appreciative smile, he came across to meet her while his eyes plumbed the depths of her beauty, touching her all over, giving her the sensation of being naked.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Amanda. The servant who let me in informed me that your father and his wife have been detained by a domestic matter and will join us presently. May I say how lovely you look.’

Amanda gritted her teeth and forced a smile to her lips. Never had a man looked so attractive and never had her heart called out so strongly to anyone. As she looked into his eyes, all at once she knew she must fight her attraction for him.

‘You can say what you like just so long as you stop ogling me like that.’

‘I’d be a fool to ignore the way you look,’ he answered smoothly, his grin mockingly congenial as he affectionately reached out and chucked her under the chin, which made Amanda step back, torn between giving him a kick in the shin or slapping his face.

‘You really are the most unmannerly of men,’ she hissed, thankful that her father and Caroline were not present. ‘Kindly keep your hands to yourself. Did you have to accept my father’s invitation to dine?’

‘My dear wife,’ Kit murmured. ‘It is not for inferiors like me to refuse the powers that be. That is not a right expected of underlings such as myself.’

His voice was soft, casual, but his face was serious, and Amanda mistrusted the gleam of mocking humour lurking in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you could have found an excuse if you’d wanted to. I have no doubt that you accepted just to annoy me.’

‘Not at all. I was delighted to join such gracious and delightful company.’

‘Do you have to look so pleased with yourself?’ she snapped irately. ‘You must forgive me, Mr Benedict. I don’t often find myself entertaining my father’s employees.’

‘I will not argue the point, but I scarcely suspect that my mere presence at your dinner table can disrupt the smooth running of things, however much you may wish to claim it will. But worry not, my pet. I shall not expose your most intimate secrets to the scrutiny of your father just yet. You have my word that I shall comport myself with such dignity and propriety that you need have no fear that I shall make a fool of either of us.’

‘As long as you realise this is just dinner and certainly no high affair—and as long as you don’t smell of the barn, I suppose I can tolerate you. I find it difficult coming to terms with your presence at Eden Park—or the fact that they didn’t hang you,’ she uttered scathingly. ‘Your guardian angel has a lot to answer for.’

‘She did work overtime to get me acquitted,’ Kit replied in undaunted spirits, his eyes gleaming devilishly. ‘Come, my love, stop scowling at me and try smiling. Your father will arrive at any minute and he has sharp eyes.’

Amanda obliged—albeit reluctantly. ‘I suppose there is nothing like a bright smile to confuse an adversary.’

‘Or charm a friend,’ he countered.

‘You are not my friend.’

‘No, I am much more than that, so don’t fight me, Amanda,’ he said softly, his voice a caress.

‘But I will,’ she said vehemently. ‘I will fight you with every ounce I possess.’

He smiled. ‘Then do so, my love. Torment me all you like—I may even come to enjoy it—but in the end you will be mine. It is your destiny.’

His statement was said with such certainty that Amanda chose to let him have the last word on the subject—for now. This was neither the time nor the place to become embroiled in an argument about their marriage. ‘I trust you find your accommodation to your liking. You are comfortable in your cottage?’

The sweetness of her tone did not conceal the sneer she intended. Kit smiled in the face of it. ‘Perfectly, thank you. I’m looking forward to showing you around.’

Amanda met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy’s. ‘I don’t think so. You really are conceited, Mr Benedict. I cannot think of anyone who has gained my father’s interest as you have done.’

‘Amanda!’ Overhearing his daughter’s remark as he came in with Caroline on his arm, Henry was reproachful. ‘You will watch your tongue and be gracious to Mr Benedict. Employee he might be, but he is also my guest.’

‘Of course. I apologise if I seemed rude, Mr Benedict. I did not mean to cause offence.’

As before, the sweetness of her tone did not conceal the sneer she intended. Kit smiled again. ‘None taken, Mrs Claybourne.’

Dinner was announced and they proceeded to the dining room, Caroline escorted by Kit and Amanda by her father. Once seated, Amanda demurely arranged her skirts, and when she looked up she met Kit’s amused regard across the table as he took his seat. Henry was seated at one end of the dining table and Caroline at the other, from where she nodded at the servants to pour the wine and begin serving.

Content to let Caroline carry on an animated conversation, playing the perfect hostess with a natural flare and elegance she admired, Amanda treated Kit with polite reserve. For most of the time she was distant and ignored him as best she could, but it was no easy matter, for he sat with the infuriatingly natural relaxed elegance of a gentleman born and bred.

As he conversed with her father, somewhere in the past he had obviously acquired a social polish and smooth urbanity that amazed her. He was perfectly able to converse on everything as well as equestrian matters. In fact, he was the perfect guest, with a natural manner that Amanda reluctantly admired.

‘You are certainly well informed on most subjects, Mr Benedict,’ she couldn’t help commenting when he had just finished discussing the present government and what he thought about the Prime Minister, Mr Gladstone’s, second ministry.

Kit smiled at her with bland amusement. ‘I know how to read as well as the next man—and educated woman,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘However, the fact remains that no matter how well educated a woman is she will some day have to submit to the authority of her husband.’

Amanda’s face snapped into a familiar expression of rebelliousness—familiar to her father at least. ‘Some may well do that, but I never will,’ she quipped haughtily.

‘Really?’ Kit mocked, meeting her gaze as he spooned the last of his soup into his mouth, his eyes holding a subtle challenge. ‘You may find that your husband has something to say about that.’

‘Amanda means it,’ Henry chuckled. ‘Self-willed, she is, and defiant and argumentative. Goes her own way, she does, and the devil take the rest. There are times when I wonder how I bred such a daughter. I sent her to Charleston to stay with her aunt, hoping she would meet some personable young man, marry him and settle down and present me with grandchildren. She completed the first part, but unfortunately the young man expired shortly after the wedding without my meeting him—which I regret.’

Amanda toyed with her food, not looking at the man opposite, who was watching her like a cat watching a mouse. How she wished he was back in Charleston Gaol where he belonged.

‘Your husband has been dead long, Mrs Claybourne?’ Kit enquired, placing his spoon down and lounging back in his chair.

‘Seven months,’ she answered tightly, without looking at him.

‘A tragedy it was,’ Henry remarked. ‘She’s far too young to be a widow.’

‘I’m sure Mr Benedict doesn’t want to hear about that, Father. Besides, I still find any discussion concerning my dear departed husband quite upsetting.’ Consciously feigning a sigh, smiling wistfully and dropping her eyes, she said, ‘I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Mr Benedict?’

Kit’s eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and when she fell silent he said, ‘Oh, absolutely, Mrs Claybourne. Absolutely. It is no easy matter losing someone you care for—and of course you must have loved your husband dearly,’ he said with elaborate gravity.

Seeing his mouth pulled down in mock-sympathy, Amanda felt a furious surge of indignation that he should think her such a fool as to have fallen in love with him. ‘What my feelings were for my husband are my own affair, Mr Benedict. But it would be disrespectful of me to say I wasn’t.’

Having been manoeuvred away from this particular discussion by a meaningful look from Caroline, Henry immediately launched into the subject closest to his heart and talked animatedly about his horses, so Amanda kept herself excluded, despite Kit’s frequent attempts to draw her into the conversation. Her father didn’t appear to notice how quiet she was, and if he did he would probably take it for ladylike reserve.

The meal was delicious and would have done credit to the finest chefs in the land—it must seem like a veritable feast, Amanda thought crossly, to the likes of Kit Benedict. As soon as she had spooned her last mouthful of raspberry meringue into her mouth she broke her self-imposed silence and stood up. Calmly excusing herself, she said she had letters to write that couldn’t wait.

The moment she rose, her gaze met Kit’s own—and Caroline almost saw the lightning flash that passed between them, causing a tension that held and held, teetering on the brink of—what? Catastrophe, or gathering strength for an assault on their emotions, their baser instincts?

Amanda spent the night tossing and turning in her bed, finding it impossible to dispel thoughts of Kit from her mind and unable to understand the turbulent, consuming emotions he was able to arouse in her. Just when everything was running smoothly, this arrogant man with mocking dark eyes and breezy, determined manner—and far too handsome for his own good—had forced his way back into her life.

She recalled the moment when she had risen from the table, the moment her frigid gaze had settled on his features. He had leaned back in his chair, fingering his wine glass. His gaze had raked over her with the leisure of a well-fed wolf, with an irritating smile flirting on his lips. The assured gleam in his eyes had told her he was not going to go away.




Chapter Five


During the days that followed Kit’s arrival at Eden Park, Amanda scrupulously resolved that any future contact between them would be brief and impersonal. It was a decision made calmly and without emotion. But emotion set in whenever she set eyes on him. The effect he had on her, the emotional turmoil he evoked, was nothing short of frightening. In fact her thoughts were so preoccupied with him that she could not sleep.

Kit seemed to be everywhere and perfectly gauged, appearing when she least expected him, lolling on a tree or a fence somewhere, casually striding about the place as if he owned it in search of her father, not once stepping over the line, but for ever battering at her defences.

She was beginning to feel like a fox being run to earth by a pack of hounds, for she knew he was after total submission and Kit, in his supreme arrogance, knew he would succeed. She could see the sensuality behind every look and could no longer pretend that desire did not burn just beneath the surface in them both, waiting to flare into passion. There was nothing she could do to prevent it, to deny the hold he already had over her senses. Just when she had been enjoying her freedom he had arrived to disrupt her present contentment. Suddenly her future was precarious, her life beset with tension and apprehension, like a threatening storm on a hot and humid summer’s day.

And Nan didn’t make things any easier when she learned that Christopher Claybourne had returned from the dead. Shocked and shaken, Nan had no sympathy for her whatsoever, saying she had no one to blame for her predicament but herself, and that no good would come of it.

‘The point is, Nan, what am I going to do?’

‘As to that, no one can tell you. You will do what you want in the end.’

‘Father is not going to know, Nan—at least, not yet,’ Amanda said curtly. ‘Unless you tell him.’

‘I won’t say anything,’ Nan answered with an air of injured dignity. ‘I am just warning you to have a care. I know your father has always allowed you to do much as you please, but that doesn’t mean he’s soft.’

‘Neither am I,’ Amanda said grimly.

Nan didn’t reply, although she privately thought Amanda was storing up a world of trouble for herself.

Amanda was relieved that Nan promised not to tell a soul, and in particular Mr Quinn. Amanda sincerely hoped Mr Quinn had not met Kit in Charleston; if he had, he would recognise him immediately and her secret would be out.

Kit’s feelings where Amanda was concerned, now he had seen her again, made him more determined than ever to make her fulfil her side of the bargain. Beautiful, intelligent, with a natural-born wit and as elusive as a shadow, she was a prize, a prize to be won. He tried telling himself that his growing fascination with his wife—a fascination that was becoming an obsession—was merely the result of the lust she had stirred in him in Charleston Gaol, but he knew it was more than lust that held him enthralled.

As he considered Amanda indisputably his, the days spent watching her were the ultimate in frustration. His expectations grew more definite by the day, increasingly becoming more difficult to subdue. He wanted her to be his completely, recognised as his, to openly establish the link between them as an accepted fact, but he must be patient since, contrary to what Amanda might think, she was not the only reason that had brought him to Eden Park.

However, he could not ignore the irritation and abrasion at watching other men dance attendance on her—a primitive reaction against any man casting covetous eyes on her.

Kit didn’t dine at the house again. Amanda told herself that as an employee this was as it should be, but she was unable to quell her disappointment and he was conspicuous by his absence. She avoided him for days, although she could not stop thinking about him and allowed her imagination to torment her. Unbidden, his image would enter her mind—the hazel eyes flecked with gold, his rich dark brown hair and slanting grin. Her body responded to the image with a treacherous melting, while her emotions drifted through guilt and longing to self-exasperation.

Whenever she closed her eyes, flitting between conscious moments and her dreams, he haunted her. Maybe thoughts such as these were causing her irritating preoccupation with him. Perhaps if she could just see him she would be cured of it. And so, for the first time in a week, she went to the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, intending to ride over the moors anyway.

With the addition of more and more horses, which meant employment of more grooms and stable lads to look after them, the stables were a constant hive of industry. Amanda’s gaze did a quick sweep of the yard and paddocks, hoping to see Kit’s tall figure, but he wasn’t there. When she casually enquired of a groom as to his whereabouts, he told her Mr Benedict had taken one of horses out on to the moors for some exercise. She was unprepared for the feeling of disappointment that swept through her.

In no time at all one of the lads had saddled her horse and she was cantering out of the yard. The landscape changed as she headed for the moors, scanning the unfolding hills for a horse and rider, but there was nothing, only sheep and the occasional farm with smoke curling from its chimney into a windless sky. She sighed, pointing her horse in the direction of the high peaks, still capped with winter snow. Kit could be miles away in any direction.

The sun had lifted and the day was crystal clear as Kit rode up the steep valley, the mount’s hooves striking sharp against the rocks, and crackling bracken. He felt completely at home riding among the craggy hills that lay all about him and almost touched the clouds which raced above. The Derbyshire peaks were high and cold and breathtakingly beautiful. It was a wild, spacious terrain, with patches of woodland and open lakes. Here he felt completely at peace.

Why this should be so was no mystery to him since his incarceration. Crushed by the unsupportable distress his time in Charleston Gaol had caused him, he often came to the tranquil and everlasting peaceful valleys and hills to gain relief from the empty stillness, which was quite profound. The very power and strength of the rocky peaks, their durability, gave him hope for the future.

There were times when he was exercising one or another of the mounts on the moors when he would see Amanda riding out, supple and trim in her tweed habit, and he would pause out of sight and drink in the sight of her. As she galloped over the rocky terrain, she rode like the wind, with the blind bravado of a rider who has never fallen off—and if she ever had fallen, it had been into the straw. The clash of his emotions as he watched her would leave him irritated and he had to struggle to stop himself breaking cover and riding out to meet her.

He was trying to do the right and honourable thing by keeping his distance, to give her time to get used to having him around. A lifetime of obeying the strictures of society, an exacting schooling, authoritarian grandparents and his mother, who imposed an upbringing of firm discipline, all served him well now, but fate and the adorable creature he was married to were conspiring to tease him. How much longer could he play the role of a civilised male while she tweaked and teased his baser instincts at every turn? Now, seeing her riding along the high ridge, tired of keeping out of her way until she deigned to seek him out, he rode towards her.

Having slowed her horse to a walk, the reins held loosely in her gloved hands, allowing the animal to choose the route among the raised boulders, Amanda heard the jingle of bridle and the snort of a horse before she saw him. She stopped abruptly, completely still, like a young deer aware of danger, knowing instinctively that it was Kit. Turning, she saw she was not mistaken.

He was riding a big mean hunter, a chestnut, with a rippling black mane and tail. The horse’s sleek coat gleamed. She knew the animal because it was in the box next to the horse she always chose to ride. The chestnut was always much in evidence because it was highly strung. It was known as a notorious kicker and a bucker and the stable lads refused to ride it. Now, as she saw it striding along the ridge towards her, it was plain the man on its back today didn’t mind because he could certainly ride.

She saw how Kit looked at one with the environment, as if he had been born to this untamed savagery, the rugged wildness matching his own. Attired in beige kid breeches, polished knee-length boots of brown leather and a riding jacket of green-and-brown tweed, he looked lean and hard and utterly desirable, exuding virility and a casual, lazy confidence. Sunlight burnished his thick dark brown hair flecked with gold.

Meeting his calm gaze, she felt an unfamiliar twist of her heart, an addictive mix of pleasure and discomfort. His warm, dark eyes looked at her in undisguised admiration as he drew alongside, a smile curving on his firm lips. Thinking how nice it would be to run her fingers through his wind-tousled hair and to feel those lips cover her own, Amanda could feel the colour tinting her cheeks despite all her efforts to prevent it. She did not want to feel that way—not about him.

Unaware of the thoughts his companion harboured, Kit kept his wicked stallion away from Amanda’s more sedate mare.

‘Good heavens, Kit,’ she said, seeking refuge in anger to hide her discomfort, ‘how you do love to take a person by surprise. Are you stalking me, by any chance?’ The fact that he might be yielded a glare and a pert recommendation to mind his own business. He raised a dark brow and considered her flushed cheeks and soft, trembling mouth beneath the net of her black bowler. Damn the man, Amanda thought indignantly beneath his steady regard. She was certain he could read her mind.

‘Since your mare was in the stable when I left, I could say the same of you. We do seem to be destined to meet in the most unusual places, do we not? I apologise if I startled you.’

‘You are a long way from the gallops,’ she remarked. ‘Do you frequently ride so far from the stables?’

He nodded. ‘I bring the horses on to the moors for exercise—and today I have the added bonus of meeting you. It is a pleasure to see you, Amanda—and all the better since we are quite alone and miles from anywhere.’

His tone of voice made her look more closely at him, at his dark gaze that gleamed beneath the well-defined brows. He looked back at her, a smile beginning to curve his lips. There was a withheld power to command in him that was as impressive as it was irritating. What kind of man are you, Kit Claybourne? Amanda asked herself, and realised she had no idea at all.

‘Time has a habit of passing, Amanda,’ he said, thinking how lovely she looked dressed in sapphire blue—a jacket bodice, a neat white cravat and a full-length skirt. ‘We have been man and wife these seven months past. We have to talk, so stop being evasive. You cannot go on avoiding me or the issue. It will not go away, no matter how much you might wish it.’

Amanda’s eyes narrowed and little pinpoints of fire gathered in their pupils. ‘Not now,’ she said, haughtily turning her head away from him and looking into the distance. ‘You are ruining my ride and I would like to move on.’

Kit scowled darkly at her stubbornness. ‘Then far be it from me to detain you—although on that particular matter I feel I must give you some advice and urge you to be more careful,’ he admonished firmly, showing not the slightest inclination to move out or her way and let her ride on. ‘Do not ride with such speed—especially up here on the ridge. Should you go over, ‘tis a long way down. And nor should you ride alone. It’s foolish at the best of times for a young woman to be seen riding without a groom in attendance, but up here among the crags it is highly dangerous. I’m surprised your father hasn’t raised the matter. Should you take a tumble and injure yourself, there is no one to help. You could be up here for days before anyone found you—and even then it might be too late.’

Kit knew as he spoke that it would make no difference. What he had learned about his wife, having watched her and listened to Henry’s constant appraisals of his lovely, wild young daughter, was that she railed against restrictions, that she was not pliant or submissive and was unwilling to be moulded to the whims of others, and that her actions often went well beyond the bounds of propriety.

Amanda’s eyes flared angrily at his audacity, that he thought he had the right to chastise her. ‘I find your concern rather touching, but I can do well without your advice. I am perfectly able to ride a few miles without mishap and without a man to protect me’—especially you, her expression seemed to say. It dared him to attempt to take control.

‘I’m sure you can. Indeed, I would say you are of the nature to go looking for danger among the peaks, that you thrive on the danger that exists up here. But I still say you should not be roaming about up here alone.’

‘Kit,’ she exclaimed indignantly, ignoring the judicious set of his jaw, ‘I would be obliged if you would mind your own business and stick to training my father’s horses.’

‘But you are my business, Amanda. As my wife, what you do concerns me, and when I see you doing things that are reckless and foolhardy I have every right and a responsibility to speak out. Come, I’ll ride with you back to the house.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t. I came here to seek solitude, and if you were any sort of a gentleman you would leave me in peace. Besides, I’m not ready to go back yet.’

‘Very well, but I insist on accompanying you—and I suggest we go to lower ground.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘You don’t mind, I trust?’

She shrugged, urging her mount on. ‘It would seem I have little choice.’

‘No, you haven’t.’

They followed a path that meandered down into a valley through which a river tumbled over its rocky bed. Kit paused to let his horse take a drink of the icy water. Amanda’s horse did likewise. Kit swung lightly down from the saddle and left his mount to quench his thirst.

‘What a lovely place this is,’ he said, going to Amanda and holding up his arms to help her dismount. ‘Come, let’s walk a while.’

‘Only if you are prepared to be civil and not chastise me.’

‘I shall endeavour to be as charming as my nature will allow.’

Amanda looked at him with doubt. She slid from her horse into his arms and quickly sidestepped out of them. Removing her hat and hooking it over the pommel on the saddle, she walked towards the river and sat on an accommodating boulder, gazing out across the hills surrounding the valley. The view was beautiful, wild and verdant, and the only sound to disturb the peace was the sound of the river as it hurried on its way. Kit stood with one shoulder negligently propped against a tree, close to her rock, his arms folded across his chest, watching her, wanting more than anything to go to her and snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

‘Are you still angry with me for trying to assert my authority over you up on the ridge?’ he asked.

There was a moment of silence. Amanda gazed at him. His voice was deep, throaty and seductive, a voice that made you think of dark, cosy places and highly improper things, and Amanda knew there weren’t many women who could resist a voice like that, and not if the man speaking looked like Kit Benedict. Not if he had warm hazel eyes flecked with green, not if he was over six feet tall and built like a Greek athlete of old. He was dazzling, and Amanda knew she was not as immune to that potent masculine allure as she would like to believe.

‘I am,’ she replied in answer to his question, her animosity fading as warmth seeped through her system. ‘But I realise you only said what you did out of concern. Tell me, do you like working for my father?’

‘Of course. Henry is a fine man, easy to get on with, and he has a love of horses to equal my own.’

‘Chosen by you, mostly. You have a way with them, I am told. Father says you can have the most spirited mount eating out of your hand in no time at all.’

‘How I wish it was as easy to gentle my wife,’ he murmured. ‘I think you have the loveliest eyes I have ever seen and I like the way they sparkle when you laugh, and darken with desire—as they did on the day we were wed and we were close. I remember an unbelievable softness when I kissed your lips, and a warmth the likes of which set my heart afire.’

A wicked grin highlighted his lips as he glanced at her. ‘I also like the way you look in your riding habit, and if you do not stop looking at me as you are doing at this moment, I am going to come and sit with you on that rock. Since meeting you again, I frequently see your eyes flashing with defiance and anger—now they are dark with some emotion I know I have caused.’

Amanda felt the soft caress of his gaze. Visions of him coming to sit beside her rose to alarming prominence in her mind. Hoping that by speaking in a calm, reasonable voice, rather than crossly protesting his statement, she could take the heat, the seduction out of his words, she said, ‘You are very eloquent, Kit, but please don’t go on.’

His voice took on a lighter note and his eyes twinkled with golden flecks of mischief. ‘I am a wilful, determined man, Amanda—you should know that by now. We will take our relationship a step at a time, but my feelings will neither yield nor change.’ Before she could voice another objection, he quickly switched tactics.

‘I enjoy my work with the horses. They have always been a part of my life—often a necessary part. Henry spends a good deal of time at the stables, watching them exercise and often riding out himself. I can only assume he has an understanding wife.’

‘She is—very understanding. In fact, she encourages him. Caroline doesn’t share his love of horses and doesn’t care to ride.’

‘Nevertheless, they seem happy—although most newly-weds usually are.’

Glancing at him, Amanda noted his narrowed, reproachful gaze fixed on her face and detected the underlying meaning of his words. He was silently saying something to her, in the curl of his lips and the lounging insolence of his long body. After all, they were newlyweds themselves, but their relationship was far removed from that of her father’s and Caroline’s. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she murmured, averting her gaze, determined not to be drawn into a discussion on their marriage.

‘One only has to look at them when they are together to see that.’

‘I suppose so.’ Amanda looked at him and he smiled then. It was such a wonderful smile that curled beautifully on those chiselled lips, the kind of smile that would melt any woman’s heart if she didn’t know him for the arrogant, superior being he was. Suddenly she was very much aware that they were alone and far from other civilised beings. She felt nervous, exactly like a goat must feel, tethered to a stake to lure hungry wolves. Unfortunately she couldn’t run away, so, while he continued to gaze at her with that wonderful half smile curling on his lips, she must stay where she was and keep all her wits about her.

‘Father has always immersed himself in his work,’ she said, glad that she was able to speak without her voice shaking. ‘I never thought he would marry again, after Mother, but they seem well matched. Caroline is good for him.’

‘What happened to your mother?’

‘She died when I was a child.’

‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.’

‘Yes, it was—and for my father,’ she admitted, unsure whether she wanted his sympathy, but comforted by it nevertheless.

‘Your father has only recently purchased Eden Park, I believe.’

‘Yes, while I was in America.’

‘And do you like living here?’

‘It’s an improvement on the last house we lived in—although living in the country, after living in Rochdale in a large house with extensive grounds, takes some getting used to.’

‘Yes, I can imagine it would. It must be a change for your father, too.’

‘Caroline is determined to make him take it easy and enjoy himself, but I can assure you that he still has his finger firmly on the pulse.’ Amanda looked at him, suddenly curious about his own background. ‘What about you? Is your mother still alive, Kit?’

He turned to look at her. ‘No. She died when I was a youth. It was a riding accident—nasty business.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, glad that the handsome, enigmatic man she had married was beginning to open up to her at last.

‘No need to be. You know what it’s like growing up without a mother.’

‘Nevertheless, it must have been hard for you and your father.’

He nodded, his features becoming tense. ‘He took it badly—never really got over it. I was not enough to ease his pain.’

His tone held a hint of bitterness that did not go unnoticed by Amanda, and she wondered at its cause. ‘Do you have any siblings?’

‘No.’

‘And your father? Is he still alive?’

Kit’s eyes darkened with remembrance. ‘No.’

His reply was brusque, warning Amanda to pry no further, but she pressed on. ‘Will you not tell me about him, Kit?’

‘If you don’t mind, Amanda, I do not wish to discuss it. Ever.’

‘But why?’ Recalling the bitterness she had evoked when she had touched on his family’s honour on the day he had arrived at Eden Park, she was curious to know more.

‘I am not going to give you a blow-by-blow description of what my life was like before I went to America. It was my hatred of gossip and my need for privacy that drove me there. I told you. I will not discuss it.’ Striding to the water’s edge, he stood looking down, as if trying to rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. After a moment he came back to her, the harshness of a moment earlier having gone from his expression.

Amanda gazed at him. ‘It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Talking about your family, I mean—especially your father.’

‘Nothing makes me uncomfortable,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry, Amanda. Your questions were perfectly natural, only I would appreciate it if you would not mention my father again.’

‘I won’t,’ she replied quietly. ‘Not if you don’t want me to. It’s your own affair after all.’ She wondered what could have happened between Kit and his father that had made him go all the way to America in search of peace. Kit clearly prided himself on his control of his emotions. A man’s grief and pain should be a private matter, but if, as Kit insisted, they were to have any sort of life together, she would have to know some time.

Resuming his lounging stance with his shoulder propped against the tree and looking down at her, he said, ‘Tell me about Mr Quinn. How do you get on with him?’

Amanda looked at him, surprised by his question that seemed to come out of nowhere, and having a rather peculiar suspicion that this was what the conversation had been working up to. His features were closed, giving nothing away. ‘Mr Quinn? What makes you ask about him?’

‘Because he was with you in America.’

‘Yes, that’s right, he was. Why?’

‘What do you know of him?’

‘Not very much, really. He’s been with us for years, but I have no idea what he did before that.’ She looked at Kit sharply. ‘Why do you ask?’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘No particular reason. I am merely curious. Do you like him?’

‘No, not really. He’s a man of cold pride and duty—a quiet man, hard to get along with, although Father seems to manage well enough—and he likes to keep himself to himself. Father sets him various tasks, mainly in Manchester; sometimes he sends him to London. You must have come into contact with him?’

‘No. He’s been away from Eden Park on your father’s business, I believe, and since he doesn’t appear to have any interest in horses and my work is away from the house, it’s hardly surprising that we haven’t met.’

‘Well, I am surprised. No doubt Father will introduce the two of you eventually.’

‘Yes, no doubt.’

Feeling strangely uncomfortable about Kit’s interest in Mr Quinn and not wishing to discuss him—in fact, she’d prefer to forget all about him since that sordid incident between him and Sadie—Amanda stood and smoothed down her riding skirt. ‘I think I’d better be getting back. I’ve promised Caroline to help her write invitation cards for some of her forthcoming entertainments. She’ll think I’ve forgotten.’

Kit relinquished his stance against the tree and followed her to her horse, reluctant to end their time together in this secluded place and wanting to savour the delight of her company a little longer. He could not let her go. Not yet.

‘Amanda, wait. We must meet again. There are things that must be said—soon. On your ride tomorrow I shall accompany you. We will talk then.’

She turned away. ‘I do not think that would be appropriate. I would rather not—not yet.’

He moved closer, temptation getting the better of him, and the last thing he wanted was resistance. He knew he needed to entice her if he was to make her face up to the reality of their marriage. Reaching out, he gripped her upper arm and drew her back against him.

Amanda moved as if to push his hand away, but it stilled in the air, hesitant. The unbelievable pleasure of his touch took her by surprise. The intimacy of his grip on her arm reached out to some unknown part of her, which she had not been aware she possessed. It touched and lightened some dark place she had not before now been aware of, but it was elusive and was soon gone when he removed his hand. But she did not move away from him or turn round.

Kit stood quite still, his body only inches from hers, studying the exposed flesh at the back of her neck and watching the dappled sunlight that filtered between the bare branches of a large beech tree bring out a multitude of glorious lights in her hair. Fashioned in intricate twists and curls, it was held in place by tiny, decorative tortoiseshell combs. He wanted to remove them so that her hair could fall free, so that he could run his fingers through the heavy mass. Placing his hands on both her arms, he pulled her against him.

To Amanda they were like tender manacles, drawing her back so that she could feel his body, his thighs, rock hard against her spine. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck, and then his lips trailed over her sensitive flesh to her ear, while she turned liquid inside.

‘Don’t,’ she breathed, shakily. ‘Kit, please don’t do this.’

Sliding his arms around her waist, he held her tighter, glad it was just her voice that resisted and not her body. ‘Are you certain you want me to stop?’ he murmured, blowing warm breath into her ear and flicking his tongue against her lobe.

Her body came alive with pleasure, unfolding like the petals of an exotic flower. Never in her imagination had she experienced anything so erotic as this. All her senses became heightened and focused on him and what he was doing until nothing else mattered. But she dare not turn round in his embrace—she dare not, otherwise, feeling as she did at that moment, she would submit to anything. She half-turned her face to his and he placed his lips on her cheek.

‘Yes, I want you to stop—please, you must not go on,’ she gasped, shaking her head lamely in a denial, wanting him to stop before she was consumed.

‘There will be many times in the future when I shall hold you this close—and for longer; each time you will welcome me, my sweet, I promise you.’ He smiled, content in his belief that he had measured the weakness of her character in the strength of her awakened passion.

With a soft chuckle he released her, and Amanda’s mind went spinning as he stepped back. Shaken to the core of her being, she could not turn round and meet his eyes. This sensual web he wove was insubstantial yet unbreakable. He moved to stand in front of her, his eyes roaming over her exquisite features and provocative figure, a mocking, knowing gleam in their dark depths. She could only stare at him, helplessly caught up in the web of her own desires. Nothing she could say could erase the look of wonder from her face, nor still the chaotic pounding of her heart.

Reaching out, he cupped her chin, tilting her head back to look deep into her eyes. ‘Be satisfied with your self-imposed chastity, Amanda, if you can. Or face the truth of what you really want. You will never be fulfilled, not until you become mine completely. You belong to me. From the first you have been mine. I shall try to restrain myself until you come to me of your own free will—and you will come. That I promise you also.’

Confused by her own emotions and feeling a terrible ache of vulnerability that was something quite new to her, Amanda, almost in a daze, watched him as he turned and strode towards the horses. She stared at his back, still feeling the tingle of his fingers on her chin. Slowly she followed him. After securing her hat, she placed her foot into his cupped hands and he raised her into the saddle. Arranging her skirts, she looked down at him. It was impossible not to respond to Kit as his masculine magnetism seemed to take precedence over the rugged landscape and dominate everything around him. The attraction between them was almost palpable. He stood watching her, his eyes alert, holding a challenging gleam, above the faintly smiling mouth.

‘You really are quite impossible, aren’t you, Kit? Conceited, too.’

‘Indeed I am, and you’ll see just how impossible I can be if you continue evading the issue that is important to us both.’

Uncomfortably aware of the man riding alongside her, Amanda kept her eyes directly in front of her, sitting stiff and erect. The memory of what had just happened between them made her plight more unbearable and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him. When she was with him she didn’t know herself. Dear Lord, what kind of sorcery did the man employ so that he could have this effect on her—on her of all people, who had always prided herself on being in control? She would like to believe she had not enjoyed what he had done to her, but that was not the case, and she feared that she was destined to remember his ardent embrace and would want for more.

Henry, in fine fettle as usual, beamed when the two of them rode into the stableyard together. ‘I see you’ve been taking care of my daughter, Kit.’

‘Merely looking after her welfare, Henry,’ Kit replied, swinging down from his horse and going to assist Amanda, who gracelessly shoved away his hand and slid off herself, which brought an exasperated frown to his handsome face. ‘She should not be riding about the moors alone. There are dangers aplenty, without going looking for it. Should she take a tumble, she could come to grief.’

Listening to the sense of what Kit was saying, Henry gave his daughter a reproachful glance. All her life she had been given free rein to do as she pleased, but there were times when she went too far and in this instance Kit was right. ‘I confess I haven’t given much thought to it, but I have to agree with Kit. See you take a groom with you next time—unless Kit’s exercising one of the mounts, then you can go with him.’

Amanda merely looked from one to the other, her eyes hurling daggers at Kit, the determined gleam in their olive-green depths telling him she would as soon ride with the devil as repeat today’s episode. Bidding him a haughty but polite good day, she turned on her heel.

A half smile quirked Kit’s mouth as he watched the tantalising twitch of her skirts as she stalked off. There was something so richly provocatively pagan about her—her vivid colouring, and the swift animal grace with which she tossed her head. ‘And a good day to you too, Mrs Claybourne.’ He chuckled softly. ‘You’ve bred a firebrand there, Henry. Lord, what a handful.’

Henry gave him a long-suffering look. ‘More than a handful. You’ll have to excuse my daughter, Kit. Volatile and high spirited, she has an aversion to being told what to do. Excuse me. I’ll walk with her back to the house. Maybe a few well-chosen words of tact will placate her.’

‘So, Amanda, it’s happy I am to see the two of you getting on,’ Henry said when he caught up with his daughter. ‘I knew you’d get to liking Kit when you became better acquainted.’

‘We met on the moor, Father, and he rode back with me, that’s all. It doesn’t mean to say I’ve changed my opinion of Mr Benedict in the slightest.’

‘Ah, but you will. Mark my words, you will. He’s an excellent man,’ he said, casting his daughter a twinkling look, ‘good looking, too—and don’t be telling me you haven’t noticed.’

‘It’s only because he has a knack with horses that you are biased in his favour,’ she retorted sourly.

Henry glanced at her sharply. ‘You’ve not been having a difference of opinion with him now, have you?’

‘No, of course not. What makes you say that?’

‘It was just a thought. I sense an unease whenever you are together—a constraint, as if you had quarrelled.’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I do admire his skill with horses, but you are right. There is some constraint between us which I can only put down to our being too much alike. We grind together like a couple of rusty old cogs.’

‘Aye, well, there’s no denying that he’s a catch all right and any young woman would be proud to be seen walking out with Kit Benedict. Mark my words, Amanda, he’ll not be a widower ere the year is out.’ He levelled a meaningful gaze at his offspring, reminding her of her single state, seeming to have forgotten her widowhood.

‘Don’t despair, Father. You will see me wed again, I promise you—though whether you will consider it a suitable match remains to be seen. But for the time being I shall strive to behave as a widow should—properly.’ She glanced at him as he strode beside her. His shifts of opinions were so unpredictable that Amanda had wearied of ever trying to understand him. ‘Tell me, Father, are you saying that you have changed your mind and would approve of me marrying someone of Mr Benedict’s station in life, after all your blusterings about suitability, titles and how important it is for the man to have the right connections?’

‘Aye, lass, I am that—though ‘tis not easy for a man like me to make a climb down. These past months married to Caroline have taught me what marriage is all about, and it’s about being happy with the right one. You are my darling girl and I want only the best for you, you know that. When you meet the right man you will know it, and, no matter what his station in life, accept him as a man, if not your peer.’

Amanda’s heart warmed to him and with a laugh and a lightening of her spirits, she linked her arm through his and hugged it close. ‘Now why would I be wanting a husband when I have you, Father? Have I not told you time and time again that you are the only man in my life and I want no other—besides, there is no other who could measure up to you.’

With an acute sense of pride, Henry beamed at her and patted her hand. She was the light of his life—a bonny lass, wonderful to listen to, wonderful in her laughter that made people want to look at her and to smile and want to know her better. She was alive with hope and a fervent belief that life was for living, for love, marriage and children. One day he knew all that would be hers.

Amanda kept out of Kit’s way as best she could after that incident on the moors, but, try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man before, a feeling so unexpected given the way she strove to avoid all contact between them.

At a weekend house party in March, when Amanda joined her father and Caroline and the thirty assembled guests in the long library for drinks before dinner, where a string quartet was playing Bach, she was surprised to find another visitor, one who immediately set her emotions tumbling.

When she first saw Kit standing alone by the hearth, looking at the gathering with amused indolence—tall, slender hipped and broad shouldered and so sickeningly attractive and sure of himself, he looked so much a part of some of the landed gentry present that he could be mistaken for one of them.

His manner bore an odd sense of boldness. He appeared to set himself apart from everyone in the room, and yet by his mere presence dominated the scene around him. Anger and resentment welled inside her at his audacity to appear among her father’s friends. Even though she knew her father would have invited him, he could have refused.

In an attempt to regain some of her composure that had dropped a notch on seeing Kit, exhaling a slow, steadying breath and taking a glass of wine from a salver being carried by a servant, she moved farther into the room, greeting people on her way. Resplendent in a beaded deep-rose satin gown and every inch the competent hostess, Caroline found her way to her side. Her eyes were alight with pleasure at the way the party was progressing.

‘Everything seems to be going well, don’t you think?’ she remarked quietly.

‘You’ve surpassed yourself, Caroline.’

‘With your help.’

‘I made a few suggestions, that is all.’ Amanda smiled. ‘And you look lovely, Caroline—the perfect hostess. Father must be feeling immensely proud of you tonight.’

Caroline returned her smile fondly. ‘Thank you, dear, and I must compliment you on your gown. That colour is so becoming on you,’ she said, looking with admiration at her stepdaughter’s cream watered-silk gown, its sheath-like style so in vogue. The front fitted perfectly into the waist and over the bodice, the back drawn back over a crinolette in a series of short flounces cascading down to the hem. The gown shimmered in the light and brought out the rich, deep tones in Amanda’s hair.

‘I am so glad you’ve decided to come out of mourning at last—and I know Henry is relieved. You’re far too young to be wearing such drab colours. Now come and circulate.’ Caroline took Amanda by the arm as her eyes did a quick scan of the room, coming to rest on Kit. ‘Although I think Kit could do with some company. He isn’t acquainted with many of the guests. Why don’t you go and have a word with him?’

Amanda held back, regarding Kit with a sceptical frown. ‘Must I? I really don’t know why he was invited.’

‘Why on earth shouldn’t he be? Everyone is intrigued by Henry’s new horse trainer, so your father thought it only right that he attend tonight. He is much talked about in the area—far more than anyone else. The way he keeps himself to himself, never joining the hunt or partaking of any of the social events in the neighbourhood. Yes, he is a man of great mystery is our Mr Benedict.’

‘Considering he spends all his waking hours training Father’s horses, I don’t suppose he has time for anything else. I still say he should not have been invited.’

Wide eyed, Caroline looked at her for a moment. What on earth could have prompted Amanda to speak in such a fashion? It was most unlike her. Kit had truly gotten under her skin and she wondered how this unexpected animosity had come about. Amanda had developed an unfair impression. It puzzled Caroline and one way or another she was determined to get to the bottom of it. Where she was concerned she could see nothing wrong with him. When Henry had first introduced them, she had been immediately struck by his immense personal attraction. There was a warmth about him and humour in his smile, and yet his mouth was hard and firm with a twist to his lips that said he was not a man to be trifled with.

‘Kit comports himself with as much dignity and propriety as anyone present.’ Caroline placed her head close to Amanda, speaking softly. ‘I must say that he cuts a dashing figure and is by far the most handsome man here. There is more than one unattached young lady just dying to make his acquaintance.’

‘Then perhaps you should introduce them and spare me the trouble of having to converse with him,’ Amanda suggested ungraciously, looking around and seeing the reaction of several young girls practically melting into the floor as they gazed at him. No doubt he was accustomed to this kind of feminine reaction, she thought crossly.

Caroline glanced at Amanda, puzzled as to her apparent dislike of Kit when Henry thought the sun rose and set with him, and she was utterly charmed by him. ‘I know you don’t have a very high opinion of Kit, Amanda—and heaven knows why—but I do wish you would try to get on with him—for Henry’s sake, if nothing else.’

‘I have no opinion of him one way or another, Caroline. It’s just that I hardly know him and he failed to make a favourable impression on me when we first met.’ When Caroline shot her a pleading look, she smiled and nodded in acquiescence. ‘Oh, very well. To please you I’ll go and talk to him.’

Kit was eyeing the company with a great deal of disdain. It was peculiar indeed that here, after all these years of being apart from it, surrounded by the society into which he had been born, the society he now eschewed, it was one of the few places he least wanted to be.

He had seen Amanda the instant she entered the room. Sparkling and gleaming beneath the crystal chandelier, she looked like a shimmering butterfly, bright and beguiling, the exposed flesh of her arms and shoulders soft and inviting. The effect of seeing her, the visceral tug and the sense of possessiveness surprised him. He watched her pause in the doorway, her large green eyes scanning the room before moving farther in, dispensing smiles and laughter upon the guests, her laughter reaching him with a sweet seduction. After conversing with Caroline, when she looked his way and began walking towards him, his cynically amused mask was in place.

‘Thank you for taking pity on me,’ he said when she stood in front of him.

‘Caroline told me to. I could hardly refuse now, could I? What are you doing here?’

He grinned infuriatingly. ‘Trying damned hard to seduce my wife.’ Laughing softly when she shot him a look of ire, he said, ‘Set aside your fears, my love. I would not be here if it were not to please your father and to see you. I would rather not attend these occasions, but seeing you amid so many people is better than not seeing you at all.’

‘Why? So you can remind me of our bargain?’ she snapped.

‘There is that—and stop glowering, my dear wife. Your stepmother is watching us.’

Immediately Amanda pinned a smile on her face while her eyes glared at him. ‘I am not your dear wife,’ she whispered. ‘And please keep your voice down. Someone might hear. Had I known Father had invited you, I would have pleaded a headache and stayed in my room.’

‘You mean you haven’t fallen madly in love with me yet?’ he asked with a broad grin.

‘You conceited ass. I will never do that. We are incompatible. In fact, I think you exist only to antagonise me. Why don’t you go away?’ Her rebuke only seemed to amuse him further, for his grin deepened, making her doubt if she would ever be effective in making him disappear.

‘What, and leave you to the wolves I see devouring you at every turn?’ he retorted, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the unattached males hovering on the sidelines like the aforesaid animals ready to pounce the instant they parted.

Amanda stared at him, searching his handsome visage, taken aback by his nerve. ‘What are you now? My protector—as you tried to be out on the moor?’

‘No. Your husband. You belong to me and I choose to safeguard against those who try to get too close to you.’

Irate sparks flashed in her eyes. ‘Your persistence astounds me.’

‘I simply know what I want. You are a married woman. Please behave as such.’

‘How dare you?’ she gritted.

‘And such a proud one,’ he chuckled. ‘A lovely one at that. I am happy to see you out of those dreadful mourning clothes. They were most unbecoming on you, my love.’

‘Please be quiet.’

‘I will be happy to—for the price of a kiss from your soft lips, my sweet.’

‘Never,’ she retorted. ‘I would rather kiss a rattlesnake.’

‘Guard yourself well, for no amount of armour will protect you from me—and I know just how vulnerable you can be, don’t forget.’ He raised a dark brow and considered her soft features. His gaze moved even lower to her swelling breasts and then back to her eyes, a light gleaming in his own. ‘I will have a full marriage and nothing less. You have my name and all you desired. Your part of the agreement has yet to be fulfilled. It is not going to go away—no matter how much you want it to. Don’t forget that you were the one who sought me out in my prison cell and the situation we now find ourselves in was of your making—and in part mine for agreeing to your request. You will have to face the reality of it some time.’

Amanda glanced uncertainly at him. He was watching her intently. Suddenly she felt foolish and bad tempered. What he said was perfectly true. A rueful smile lit her eyes and she regarded him with a new respect. ‘You are right. I have felt guilt about what I did, and I hoped that a moment like this would never come about. However, I accept that I must deal with it—but—I don’t know how to, and that’s the crux of the matter. I apologise for the way I’ve behaved towards you—and apologies don’t come easy for me—but—I’ve been so confused of late.’

Kit’s eyes smiled his approval at her sudden and welcome change of attitude. He perceived her disappointments and was fully aware of the reasons behind them. ‘It’s understandable. It’s not often a woman has her husband return from the dead. Do you resent me for that?’

‘I do resent you, but not for the reason you state.’

‘Then I assume your resentment stems from the disruption I have brought to your well-ordered life. You are making this very difficult for us, Amanda.’

‘Am I?’

‘You know you are.’ His gaze caressed her upturned face, and then his eyes caught and held her own. ‘I am single-minded in my pursuits—you may have noticed. I have played out my hand with patience, and I will not be satisfied until I have you.’ Raising his hand, he boldly touched her cheek, caressing it with the backs of his fingers. ‘All of you.’

The warmth of his tone caused Amanda’s heart to do strange things, and his touch brought a pink hue creeping over her face. On the edge of the crowded room, she was overwhelmingly conscious of the man facing her. Everyone else seemed to fade away. However, she was irritated by the way in which he always managed to skilfully cut through her superior attitude, and she knew she asked for it, but the magnetic attraction still remained beneath the surface.

Recollecting herself, she took a step back, glancing about her to see if anyone had noticed his caress. ‘Kit, will you mind your manners and please behave yourself.’

A low chuckle preceded his reply. ‘Behave? How would you have me behave, my love—as a gentleman? And how can I do that when I am only a hired hand unschooled in the postures of a gentleman?’

‘If you would cease currying favour with my father and stick to the stables and your cottage, it would ease matters.’

His eyes seemed to glow from deep within. ‘Ah—my cottage. Perhaps you would care to drop in some time. I will show you around if you like. The bed I can recommend—all feathers and down and large enough for two.’

Amanda flushed scarlet at what he was implying. ‘I am not the sort who goes easily, without thought or affection, to a man’s bed,’ she hissed.

‘Come now, can I not persuade you to risk your heart’s defences in one night of love? Perhaps you will find it agreeable and want more.’

‘How conceited of you to think you can make me want you. Do you really believe you can do that?’

His smile was feral as he moved closer. ‘Judge for yourself. You will come to me. I have no doubt about that.’ The light in his eyes, the subtle undertone in his voice, was a challenge—a warning.

‘And what do you think people would make of it if they saw me entering your home?’

‘It is no crime, Amanda.’

‘No—but it would be dangerous.’

‘A little danger adds spice to the excitement.’

‘I have enough excitement in my life without indulging in an illicit interlude with my father’s horse trainer.’ As Amanda was about to turn and walk away, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

‘‘Tis not an interlude I seek with you, my love. I want something deeper, more profound, more lasting than that. We have to talk, but not here. You will find me at home later. Will you come?’

Amanda took another step away from him, suddenly afraid of being alone with him in his cottage and what he could do if he set his mind to it. But they must talk if they were to resolve matters between them and in doing so move on with their lives. She nodded. ‘If I can.’

Amanda moved away from him at the same moment as Mr Quinn made his appearance. Pausing in the doorway, he looked at the chattering throng with little interest.

If Amanda had turned to look at Kit, she would have noted a hardness that infused his face as his eyes settled on her father’s most trusted employee, and would have detected a grimness in his dark eyes that boded ill for Mr Quinn.




Chapter Six


Dinner was a splendid affair—which was all down to Caroline. When she had married Henry she had brought with her that well-bred way of life she had known and been trained to from birth.

The long mahogany table had been polished to a mirror shine. Small bowls of attractive and colourful flowers marched down the centre, adding a light and graceful effect, and the white crockery with a narrow margin of gold was of the best and most expensive English china. Places were set with silver cutlery on white damask place mats edged with the finest Honiton lace, and to the right of the setting, four differently sized, cut-crystal wine glasses. The food was the best of its kind—plain and simple and cooked to perfection.

Throughout the meal, Amanda was aware of Kit seated on her father’s right hand on the opposite side to her. He was constantly within her sights. Their eyes would meet, his full of meaning and seduction. Heat would suffuse her cheeks and she would look away, trying, often without success, to appear serene and composed.

When dinner was over the ladies rose and followed Caroline to the drawing room. Fluttering and cackling like hens that have seen a fox in their coop, they plumped themselves down on cushioned sofas and chairs and began to discuss frivolous matters as freely as they would in their own homes. When the gentlemen joined them, they began drifting back into the library, where the musicians were playing a waltz. Couples began taking to the floor.

Of their own volition Amanda’s eyes sought out Kit. When she couldn’t find him, disappointment washed over her, but then he was there, standing only an inch behind her. She instantly felt his presence as if it were a tangible force. She even recognised the elusive sharp scent of his cologne. Her heart gave a leap and missed a beat. His breath, when he spoke, was warm on the back of her neck.

‘Dance with me, Amanda.’

Before she could raise a protest, he slid his hand about her slender waist, and, capturing her hand and drawing her close, swung her into the dance. The unbelievable pleasure of his touch, of being in his arms, took her completely by surprise, but, as light as his grip was, she felt the steel beneath and she knew he wasn’t going to let her go.

Caroline’s face, showing pleasant surprise on seeing her dancing with Kit, flashed by in a haze, and Amanda’s concerns were for the speculation of being seen dancing with her father’s horse trainer. After a moment everything was forgotten as she found herself being whirled around in time to the music by a man who danced with the elegance and the easy grace of a man well trained. Beginning to relax, she sank into the dance with an enjoyment that Kit couldn’t help appreciating.

‘Look at me,’ he murmured. She did as he bade, and, when he looked into her eyes, he felt his chest tighten. ‘Has anyone told you that you dance divinely, Mrs Claybourne?’

‘Yes, frequently. Thank you for the compliment. So do you, Mr Benedict. I am surprised.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why? Do you find it such a strange phenomenon for a horse trainer to be able to dance?’

‘No, and I meant no offence. Are you having a pleasant evening?’ she asked in an attempt at polite conversation, while trying to ignore her pounding heart.

‘Not really. I’m only here because of you and you know it.’

‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t be so selective,’ she remarked flippantly. ‘There are lots of attractive ladies who are dying for you to ask them to dance. I know most of them. They are the very souls of amiability. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that their hunting instincts are at fever pitch with such prime prey in sight.’

Kit’s gaze shifted over the brunettes and blondes about the room, registering heightened colour and eager gazes as they looked his way. Considering them of no consequence, he gazed down through half-closed eyes at the woman in his arms.

‘Then I am sorry to disappoint them. I am already committed to an exquisite redhead who I hope will develop a tendre for me in a very short time. What I want is to be alone with you, my love.’

‘And do you always get what you want?’

‘I got you,’ he pointed out, as if that ended the argument.

In the hazel depths of his eyes, which rested upon her as boldly as ever, Amanda saw something relentless and challenging. She looked away, trying to clear her mind of the warm, intoxicating haze his nearness inspired.

Kit’s smile was one of satisfaction when he saw the soft flush to her cheeks that his words had invoked. ‘Relax,’ he murmured.

‘I am relaxed.’

‘Your body tells me otherwise. Give yourself over to the music and enjoy yourself. I am sure you will survive to the end of the dance.’

‘It’s difficult to do that when there are people to observe and gossip.’

‘And that bothers you?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘I observe several males drooling for your attention. I can imagine their disappointment when they learn you are no longer available.’

Amanda bristled at his words, wishing he would stop reminding her at every opportunity that she was his wife. ‘Since I have no wish to argue about that particular issue on a crowded dance floor, I shall ignore that remark. I am acquainted with all of them and most of them are extremely charming.’

Kit glanced past her, eyeing the would-be competition with withering scorn. ‘I wouldn’t bother with them,’ he said drily.

For a surprised moment Amanda wondered if it was jealousy she heard in his voice, and then she dismissed it as preposterous. ‘Why, what do you see when you look at them?’

‘Envy,’ he answered, scowling suddenly when he glanced around at the hungry, expectant, hopeful male faces looking at her as they would a banquet about to be served up to a tribe of cannibals. ‘For what those scoundrels are thinking about when they look at you they ought to be horse whipped.’

‘Why, I do believe you are beginning to sound like a jealous suitor,’ Amanda remarked, slanting him an amused look from the corner of her eye. ‘And doesn’t what you’re thinking about when you look at me also merit a whipping?’

‘No. A man has a right to look at his wife any way he chooses.’

‘In the hope of attracting a husband, my father wants me to be nice to them. So unless you want to draw attention to yourself, I would advise you not to object when I dance with them.’

‘Just so long as you remember that you belong to me—and for that you can thank yourself.’ He smiled infuriatingly. ‘I blame you entirely, my love. However, you will soon come to realise that when I set my mind on having something—be it of material value or a woman—I am not easily dissuaded from that end.’

‘I am beginning to realise that you can be a mite persistent.’

‘Steadfastly so. I never waver far from my purpose.’

‘And do you always win the object of your attention?’

‘Through relentless pursuit—always,’ he said, whirling her round in the final movements of the waltz.

‘Then since I find myself the thing you propose to have, it would seem there is to be a struggle of wills ahead—mine pitted against yours.’

‘I am glad you get the picture.’

The dance ended and there was no time to say more because Henry chose that moment to claim Kit’s attention.

Deeply uneasy about the conversation she had had with Kit, and rather than dance with anyone else, Amanda had escaped to her room to sort out her thoughts and to freshen up, spending longer than she intended. When she returned to the festivities, reluctant to join the gathering, she went out on to the moonlit terrace. She stood there, near the stone balustrade, staring out over the dark shapes of the trees. She didn’t know how long she stood there, not thinking, not moving, just letting the peace wash over her, when something—not a sound, just a feeling, heightened her consciousness and caused her to turn—and she saw the end of his cigar, glowing like a firefly in the shadow of the house.

Kit came forward to meet her, out of the dark into the light of the moon.

‘Is the company not to your liking?’ he asked calmly.

‘Yes, I just wanted some air, that’s all. And you?’

‘The same—and something else.’

‘And what is this something else?’

Tossing his cigar into the flowerbed, he studied her for a long time before he spoke. ‘Do you really want me to tell you the truth—or make polite noises?’

‘The truth, naturally.’

He moved closer, capturing her eyes with his own. ‘When you came to my prison cell you took me off my guard—it’s not often anyone succeeds in doing that. To see my visitor—particularly a woman as young and attractive as you, Amanda—was, frankly, disturbing. It wasn’t the first time a woman had insinuated herself into my company, but the object was usually more of a passionate nature. But with you it was more than that.’

‘More?’ she echoed.

He nodded slowly. ‘Much more. I am a man of scruples, and I’d never met a woman as self-assured or as presumptuous as you. Until then I’d lived on the assumption that all women are sisters under the skin. You are different to any woman I have ever met. You are no fool and I believe will forgive yourself for things you condemn in others. Your father has placed you on a pedestal—you know that and I have seen it—which is why you have an air of reserve about you, which would explain your difficulty and reluctance to enter into any kind of close relationship with any of the adoring males who attempt to get too close. Maybe it would pain you to discover that you have blood in your veins and passion in your heart.’

Slightly offended by his remarks, Amanda stared at him coldly. ‘I’m flattered that you’ve taken the time to try and analyse me, Mr Benedict. In fact, I hardly know how to answer you. Perhaps I am like I am because I haven’t had the advantages of a mother’s love and rearing. You are right when you say that my father has placed me on a pedestal, but I never sought it. Indeed, I’ve shocked him no end at times, and he will be outraged if he should learn of this latest escapade of mine. It’s by far the most daring, scandalous thing I’ve ever done, but there’s little I can do about it now. However, for the time being, discretion is required.’

‘And honesty.’

‘Yes, that too. No doubt Father will lock me up with nothing to eat or drink but bread and water for a week for my shameful behaviour.’

Kit grinned. ‘As your husband, he would have to ask my permission first.’

‘Nevertheless, he will be furious with me. There are times when I don’t behave or express myself as a lady is supposed to.’




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