Page 54 of A Man for Amanda
If I had not believed before how deep and true his love is for me, I would have seen it in the portraits he painted.
Will someone buy my portrait from him? It saddens me to think of it. Yet it makes me proud. That would be one way I could at last declare my feelings. Hanging on some pretty wall, the portrait of a woman whose eyes are filled with love for the man who painted her.
I say we talked of everything and nothing. We do not mention how quickly the days fly into weeks. There are so little of those weeks left before I must leave the island, and Christian. I think something in me will die this time.
Fergus and I attended a dinner dance tonight. He was very jolly, though there was much talk of war. He said that clever men know that there will always be war, and money to be made from it. I was stunned to hear him speak so, but he only brushed aside my concern.
“It’s for you to think of how to spend the money, and for me to make it,” he told me.
It upset me because it was not for money I married him, nor is it for money I stay with him. Both were for duty. Yet I have lived under his roof, eaten his food, taken his gifts without a thought.
It scrapes at my conscience to know that I appreciated the little picnic Christian brought to me so much more than I have ever appreciated all the sumptuous dinners Fergus’s money has paid for.
Because it always pleases him, I wore the emeralds, and I have not yet put them away. They lie in the shadowed light, glinting at me, reminding me of both my grief and my joy.
If it were not for the children... but I can’t think of it. There are the children. Whatever sins I commit, I will never desert them. They have needs that neither Christian nor I have a right to ignore. I know, in the loneliness ahead of me, they will be solace. Being blessed with them, it is not right to grieve for the child Christian and I must never conceive.
Yet, I do.
Tonight when I turn off the lamp I’ll try to sleep quickly. For then it will be morning, and morning will become the golden afternoon, when I can see Christian again.
Chapter Ten
The only thing that prevented Amanda from slamming the door was the fact that Suzanna would have already put the children to bed. But she did kick it.
Limping and muttering and occasionally sending a furious look over her shoulder, she started down the hallway. At that point, she wasn’t certain if she was more angry with Sloan for taking her assent for granted, or with herself for wanting to give it to him. Marriage hadn’t been in her plans, but damn it, she was good at taking the unexpected and making it work. But if he thought she would give him the satisfaction of just hopping on board because he said so, then he didn’t know Amanda Kelly Calhoun.
Whenwe get married, she fumed. Not if, not will you or would you. And the problem, the big problem was that under the instant panic and anger had been a thrill. She paused outside of her bedroom door as her own soft sigh caught up with her. Oh, Lord, she did want to marry him. Despite all the good, solid, sensible reasons against it, marrying him was exactly what she wanted. Living with him would mean living with the constant threat of upheaval. She smiled to herself. And what more satisfying life could there be for a woman so skilled at putting things back in place?
With her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated, debating whether she would go back, give in to the urge to throw herself laughing into his arms and say... yes!
No. Resolute, Amanda pushed open the door. She wasn’t about to make it that easy for him. If he wanted her, really wanted her, then he was going to have to work a little harder. When he got it right—if he got it right, she corrected as she shut the door behind her—she would smile, slide her arms around him and say—
An arm whipped around her throat and cut off her breath. Instinctively she struggled, throwing both hands up to the barrier to yank and scratch as she fought to drag in the air to scream. Until the hard, cold barrel of a gun pressed against her temple.
“Don’t.” The voice was only a harsh whisper at her ear. “Be very still, and very quiet, and I won’t have to hurt you.”
Obediently she let her arms fall limply to her sides, but her mind was speeding. The children were just down the hall. Their safety came first. And Sloan... Sloan could come along at any moment, furiously demanding a showdown.
“That’s better.” The pressure on her windpipe eased slightly. “If you scream, people are going to get hurt—starting with you. I don’t think you want that.” She shook her head. “Good. Now—” He swore and tightened his grip again as Sloan bellowed in the corridor.
“Calhoun. I’m not finished with you.”
“Be absolutely quiet,” the man warned as he dragged her back. “Or I’ll kill him.”
Amanda shut her eyes and prayed.
Sloan shoved open the door of her room, but it was pitch-dark and silent inside. While he stood in the doorway, swearing, Amanda was pressed back into the corner, knowing the gun was now aimed in Sloan’s direction. Her stomach seemed to be packed with ice as she stood, not even daring to breathe, willing him to turn and go. And when he did, when she heard his boots clanging on the stairs, she wondered if she would ever see him again.
“Now that we have a little privacy, we can talk.” But the arm stayed around her throat and the gun at her temple. “About the emeralds.”
“I don’t know where they are.”
“Yes. Initially I had trouble believing that, but now I’m sure you don’t. So we’ll play this a different way. We’ll have to move quickly. First the storeroom. I’ll take the papers you’ve yet to sort through. Then, to add a little flare to the trip, we’ll fetch Coco’s pearls, and a few of the smaller, more portable items.”
“You’ll never get out of the house.”
“You just leave that up to me.” There was a faint lilt of pleasure in the voice now, as if he would enjoy the challenge. “Now we’re going to move quietly, and very quickly, to the storeroom. If you try anything heroic, I’ll regret shooting you.”
