And then he'd stood around on the beach in the dark, to make sure she got up that damned cliff in one piece. Not that she'd needed his help. She was as capable of handling herself as any man and besides, the moon had made things bright as day.
And why had he done it? What was Kathryn to him?
Nothing but a damned reminder of everything he had lost.
Before she had invaded this place, he had been alone in the darkness with only his bitterness and his pain as companions. There'd been no past, no present, no future, no hope.
Now, because of her unwanted intrusion, he'd begun to remember things, not just the treacherous perfidy of a woman he'd thought he'd loved, of innocent lives sacrificed for his own stinking ego, but things that brought just as much pain and even more anguish.
He remembered what life and the sound of laughter could be outside this place. He remembered the feel of a ship's deck creaking beneath his feet and the sweetness of the wind in his face as he looked out over a limitless sea from the masthead of a sailing ship. He remembered the crisp bite of snow and the uneasy stench of the Boston docks.
But God, most of all he remembered what it meant to want a woman with such fierce need that a fire seemed to burn in his belly each time he was near her.
No. Not just a woman. It was Kathryn he wanted, Kathryn he burned for.
"Damn," he snarled again, and he kicked out, hard at the rocker.
Muttering under his breath, he slammed down the trunk lid and sat down on top of it, his hands fisted on his thighs, his mouth grim with self-contempt.
Of course, he wanted her, he thought cruelly. She had breasts and the proper equipment between her legs. What more did she need to satisfy him? He wasn't going to be particular, not after almost two centimes of celibacy.
The realization steadied his nerves, but not for long.
"Hell," he said, and shot to his feet.
Something was making an incredible racket outside. Glowering, he threw open the shutters and peered out.
Now what?
One of those ridiculous horseless carriages was coming up the drive, leaving noise and black smoke in its wake. The thing shuddered to a halt and the rear door swung open. A man stepped out, carrying a small valise. He was tall and dark-haired. Though he was lean, there was a look of softness about him.
Matthew's frown deepened.
Who was this?
The stranger handed some notes to the driver. The carriage pulled away and, as it did, the man turned and looked up at the house.
Matthew heard the front door slap open. Kathryn came flying down the steps. The man put down his valise, held out his arms, and she flung herself into them.
The muscle in Matthew's jaw contracted. First pirates, then this fop. Kathryn did not seem to be a woman of discriminating taste when it came to men.
The embrace seemed to go on for a long time. Kathryn did nothing to shorten it, nor to prevent the stranger's passionate kiss. God, but it was disgraceful to watch, especially since she was dressed in one of her usual immodest outfits. Surely, the man who held her would feel each soft, curving inch of her body.
At last, she placed her palms flat against the man's chest and leaned back in his arms, her lovely face bright with laughter as the man spoke to her.
She had never laughed that way for him, Matthew thought, his fists clenching.
Kathryn said something in return and the man grinned. He picked up his valise and she looped her arm through his and drew him up the steps and into the house.
Matthew turned his back to the window and folded his arms. From the looks of things, the visitor intended to stay for a while. Good. If Kathryn were kept busy, she'd have no time to get underfoot as she had done all this past week.
"Fine," Matthew said.
He upended the rocker and sat down.
He tapped his fingers against the rocker's arms.
He counted to ten.