Kissed; Christian Page 21
Shivering, she told him, “I believe I’ve heard quite enough, my lord. I shall suffer nightmares as it is.” She turned her gaze away, seeming suddenly bored by his presence.
“Perhaps ’tis not the most pleasant subject, but it is for that very reason you should not wander about unescorted.”
He couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to her.
Jessie turned to frown at him. “If it is such an awful place, then why did you choose to come here, my lord? I thought you were so enamored of Rose Park.”
Gazing into her eyes, he again marveled that they never lost their power to captivate him, to reach into his soul. He could never admit to her how he’d felt that day after leaving her at Westmoor—that he’d felt nothing but revulsion for anything that reminded him of her. And Rose Park reminded him of her more than he would have thought possible. He’d envisioned fathering their children there... in the bedchamber he would have eagerly shared with her. He could almost picture her there now, as he’d so often imagined her... lying thoroughly loved within his bed—their bed—her dark curls tousled and softly framing her face... a child’s voice calling to them from the hall... little feet scurrying to greet them... and Jessie... scrambling to repair herself in order to face their... son? daughter?
His tone carefully devoid of emotion, Christian told her, “I’d as soon not discuss Rose Park. Enough to say I sold the estate months ago. Shadow Moss is my home now.”
Could she love him?
Aye, she had given herself to him last night, but lust was one thing and love another entirely.
When Christian looked at her once more, his expression was solemn, his eyes questioning, and Jessie longed to ask him what he was thinking. But she had gone that route once before, and that had been her first mistake. He’d made her care so very much, and then he’d ripped her heart out from her breast. She didn’t want to know anything more about him. Didn’t want to care.
They were probably all lies anyhow.
She found herself staring at his lips, remembering how they’d felt upon her body, and her heart lurched.
“Jessamine,” he whispered. “If you don’t stop gazing at my mouth just so... as though you would devour my lips... I might have to kiss you senseless, love.”
Startled by his words, Jessie dragged her gaze from his mouth to his laughing eyes, and her face flushed crimson. “I—I wasn’t staring at your lips!”
Was it so obvious she yearned for his kisses?
Could he read in her eyes that she wanted him to touch her again? to make her feel alive once more?
Her head reeled at the possibility, and she felt a tiny thrill at the memory of his lovemaking, bitter as it might have been.
His answering grin infuriated her. “I see... and you weren’t wishing that I might lean forward... like this,” he asked. His hand slid behind her neck, though instead of drawing her toward him, he only supported her as he came the distance to her. She didn’t resist him, couldn’t, so dazed was she by his boldness and his nearness. “And you weren’t wishing that I would touch them ever so softly to yours...” His lips brushed hotly against her own. Jessie closed her eyes, helpless to answer. “Like this?”
Jessie was dizzy with wanting him, but she opened her mouth to deny it still. Her negation came out a wistful sigh that made him groan in response. Her body became suddenly liquid, her limbs lethargic and heavy. She felt as though she would die from the sheer pleasure he was offering her. Her belly fluttered nervously as his breath mingled with hers and she caught the scent of sweet brandy.
Their lips separated briefly, and then his mouth descended upon hers once more, tentatively at first, then moving urgently as he suckled her lower lip before raining more kisses upon her delicate chin, moving down ever so slowly to the heated flesh of her throat.
Lord, Jessie thought, his kiss was searing her clear unto her soul!
Had she no pride?
Had she no will?
“Jessie...” He groaned. “You taste so very sweet, my love.” His words felt like delightful caresses to her ears, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. Desire swept through her, making every inch of her body sensitive to his nearness. Heaven help her, but if the truth be known, she hoped he would never stop. Even against her will, she had dreamed of this, ached for this, wished for it—even at the high cost of her dignity.
God save her, he’d given her the sweetest taste of heaven, and it was not such an easy thing to forget.
Cupping her face within his hands, he turned her cheek, kissing it hungrily as he nibbled her face and whispered softly against her throat, “Come back to the house with me, Jess... Let me love you as I yearn to.” A shiver coursed through her.
It was a long moment before her mind registered his words. But when finally it did, she felt much as though she’d been slapped and then called a whore. He did not love her, she knew that well enough. Did he think she would lie with any man who asked it of her any time it was asked of her? Surely he did, if he thought for one moment that she would allow him to touch her again after all that had passed between them!
Anger filled her breast, and she reared back and shoved him, hard. Somehow, he managed to remain rooted to the tree limb, and it made her all the angrier. It would have served him well to break his neck, or leg—better yet, his pride. Curse the man! “You mean to ask me if I would lie with you, do you not? Unless you mean love, then do not speak of it, my lord! Say what you mean instead!”
As though he were privy to her thoughts and was now taunting her, Christian suddenly grinned, a slow, lazy grin.
Eyeing him wrathfully, Jessie scooted around him and down the stout limb, and in her haste nearly tumbled to the ground. When she was far enough away that he was no longer a threat, she turned and screamed, “I do not like you Hawk!” But his expression remained smug and it reignited her temper. “In fact, I loathe you!” she shouted and wished fervently that she were near enough to scratch his accursed eyes out. Then she turned and marched away.
Smiling still, Christian never moved from his perch within the ancient tree, only watched, chuckling softly. “I’ll bet you do,” he replied glibly, rubbing his jaw as he watched the saucy sway of her hips.
His curiosity was more than appeased.
Chapter Twenty Four
If it was the last thing Jessie did, she was going to find her way back to Charlestown!
She was not—absolutely not—about to remain in this crude hollow even one more instant! In the short time she’d been out of the room, someone had managed to unpack her trunks.
Angrily she now searched the bureaus for her personal items, and when she found them tucked neatly away into Christian’s wardrobe, she snatched them out at once, stomping across the room and shoving them wrathfully back into the trunk in which they belonged. She would not remain near that man for even one more accursed moment! Not if she could help it!
She didn’t bother to turn as the door opened, knowing very well that Christian was the only one who would dare enter while she was within without knocking. She was ready for him now, she swore. If he came near her, if he dared to touch her, if he so much as dared utter a word, she knew just what to say to the man, besides, of course, I loathe you. Good Lord! What was wrong with her that she would lose even her ability to speak coherently when in his presence?
She was startled speechless when it was Quincy who spoke behind her instead.
“Anythin’ else I can do fer ye, mum?”
She turned abruptly, her eyes wide with surprise, though she recovered enough to fix the old man with a wrathful glare. If her eyes had been pistols, Quincy would have tumbled lifeless to the oak floor. “Did—you—do—this?” she ground out fiercely, each word sharper and more hostile than the last. She waved a handful of her clothing at him, and the old man nodded warily, backing away a pace.
“Well! I never gave you permission to unpack my belongings, now did I? And it is because I do not—I repeat, do not!—intend to stay!”
Cramming the green silk dress Christian had chosen for her earlier and a pair of matching slippers into the largest trunk, she slammed it shut and fastened the tarnished brass clasp.
“Now, Jessamine,” Christian appealed as he sauntered into the room at last. “There is absolutely no cause for you to be taking your frustrations out upon poor Quince. He did only what I requested he do.” She spun about to face him, ready to do battle.
Nodding discreetly to Quincy, Christian commanded the old man to leave.
“Now,” he directed, “unpack your trunks. You’re not going anywhere.”
“You can’t keep me here!” she shouted madly. “And I won’t stay!”
“And you loathe me. So I’ve heard.” He laughed then, the mirthful sound infuriating. “Unpack your things, Jessamine,” he said again, still chuckling.
“I will not!” She turned and slammed the lid down definitively. Her breathing labored and her heart hammering, she stood an instant, weighing her options as she stared blindly at her trunks. Truly, there were no options available to her, for how would she go back? She gritted her teeth in outrage. God curse him, but she certainly didn’t have to share the cad’s bed, now did she? Nay! She didn’t! Seizing the side handle of the smallest trunk, she jerked it into movement. With some effort, she pulled it toward the door.
Christian leaned against the doorframe, watching her with unconcealed interest, eyeing her as though she were some novel curiosity. Not until she’d moved the trunk into the hall did he speak.
“Would you care to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Picking gooseberries, can’t you see!” He chuckled, and she said, “I’m not sharing your filthy bed!”
Brows raised, Christian glanced at the newly made bed, his gaze returning to her. “Actually,” he countered, grinning, “It is a perfectly clean bed.”
Jessie had made little progress back into the room since moving the one trunk into the hall, and he thought it might be because she’d managed to trap her skirt beneath the unwieldy baggage. With some difficulty, he resisted the urge to aid her, and the greater urge to laugh.
Unable to keep himself from it, he chuckled when Jessie finally discovered her skirt pinned and uttered an almost inaudible groan of mortification. He might have asked her if she needed his help, but he rather doubted she would accept it. Besides, he was thoroughly amused watching her struggles at the moment.
“You might at least tell me where you intend to go,” he said much too jovially.
She gave him a very unladylike snort, a deadly glare, and turned again to the stubborn trunk upon the bed, shoving it with all her might. She said nothing until she’d passed him by, and was in the nail.
“’Tis none of your concern where I intend to sleep!”
Christian’s smile faded and his gut twisted as she halted beside the only other door along the corridor. His tone warning her, he asked, “Surely not with Ben, my love.”
Her gaze flew to his angry blue eyes. “Oh! You would think such a despicable thing, wouldn’t you? Nay!” she shrieked. “Not with Ben! And not with you, for certain!”
She had the bloody trunk halfway to the stairs now, and shaking his head, Christian wondered just how she expected to carry the thing below. “You do recall,” he told her presently, “that there are no available rooms beyond this wing... unless, of course, you count the entrance hall.”
“I shall take my chances, my lord. Surely I would prefer to sleep outside—in the rain,” she added with a cutting smile, “to your delightful company!”
No matter that he’d braced himself against her anger, her stinging words, expertly flung, cut him to the quick. “Suit yourself, then.”
He muttered an inaudible curse and then turned his back on her hapless struggles, reentering his room and slamming the door so hard that it shook the walls.
Later that night, Jessie was forced to admit the truth of the matter: Christian had been right, and he had warned her, so she had not even the solace of blaming him for her misery.
There had, in fact, been no other rooms available for her use. Only the one wing was complete. Below stairs there was the dining hall and Christian’s study, both of them without doors or even curtains on the wretched windows. Anyone could have peered within.
The other wing, the one she now occupied, remained only partially constructed, but at least this room was windowless, because the windows were as yet boarded up. Here, at least, no one could spy her—unless, of course, the person somehow managed to climb atop the high brick walls. She shuddered at the thought.
A strong, sturdy, lockable door separated this one wing from the rest of the house. The only problem, however, was that it locked from the other side, probably to keep out prowlers, judging by the size of the bolt. She’d managed only to drag the one trunk out of his chamber, and it now sat flush against the door, barring it from any who would enter.
Striving for a comfortable position, she fidgeted upon the pallet she had made from scraps of wood in the hall and a lone blanket she’d borrowed, but try as she might, she couldn’t find relief from the stone-hard bed she had made for herself—much less sleep!
Staring despondently through the skeletal roof, she spied the half-moon peeping through a muddy night. It seemed to be eyeing her sleepily. She sighed at her fancy and shivered. The night air was much too cool for comfort. Heaven help her, she wanted desperately to close her eyes and forget where she lay, but she could not. Oh, that man, he was insufferable!
Crickets trilled softly. An owl hooted in the distance. Jessie listened intently to those peaceful night sounds, the tender music of nature, and despite the chilly November air, she felt at last the inexorable lure of sleep. Exhausted by the trials of the day, she closed her eyes, but even as she did so, an ominous roar sounded in the near distance. Her eyes flew wide to see the skies suddenly burst with light.
“Oh, dear God... don’t let it rain! Not now! Not tonight! please, please…” But He was not to hear her; a mere instant later, she felt the first tender droplets, carried all the way to her pallet by the rising wind. Staring incredulously at her hand, at the glistening moonlit raindrops, she felt suddenly like weeping.
She lay there for the longest time, wishing the rain away, telling herself that it was but a dream and mat she would awaken snug and dry and safe in her cousin’s home. “Oh, God,” she sobbed. “’Tis a bloody nightmare!”
Once the rain had thoroughly soaked her blanket, she moved onto the crude unfinished wood floor, into the far corner, but that spot was no better than the first, and she moved back to her pallet to lie there, resigned to her misery. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she remembered her pledge to Christian, that she would prefer the cold, bitter rain to his company. God was surely punishing her now for her cruel words.
And curse Christian, for he’d merely smirked at her before turning his back and leaving her in the corridor to fend with her trunks alone. By God, she would not go crawling to him now, even if it rained all blessed night, even if she sickened from it, even if she died of exposure. But she would not die! she told herself firmly. She would not!
She would live to regret this.
Chapter Twenty Five
In his chamber, Christian lay within his bed, listening to the rain pelt the roof. In his hand he held a near-empty flagon of whiskey. Bringing it to his lips, he gulped the last of it. Against his will, he found himself wondering just where Jessie had encamped for the night. He had fully intended to give her his bed, to sleep in the room across the hall, as he’d done the previous night, but her cutting words had angered him, and he’d let her go.
Damn her! A thousand times, damn her! How was it that she could rile him so easily? Tossing away the flagon, he closed his eyes, groaning. God’s teeth, but she could drive a man to drink!
Ignoring the prick of his conscience along with the increasing patter of rain, he strove for sleep. By God, he should let her suffer out the night in misery. It would serve her right. Perha
ps tomorrow she would agree to take his bed without a bloody battle of wills. He smiled ruefully then, for he had to give her her due; she had mettle enough for an army of patriots.
A bolt of lightning lit the sky, illuminating his window with a bright, ghostly light, and seconds later came an ominous rumbling.
Lightning.
What if she’d stupidly ensconced herself within the unfinished wing? Stubborn wench—it was likely exactly where she was, trying to prove a point, no doubt.
Cursing her beneath his breath, Christian rose from the bed, found his breeches, and tugged them on, buttoning the top button. With angry strides, he reached the door and threw it wide.
The corridor was dark, but he knew his way well enough by now. Thunder cracked once more, shaking the rafters, and he quickened his step. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made his way to the hall, but halfway down, lightning flashed, illuminating the entrance hall for the briefest second. And he froze, catching the silhouette of a man standing next to the temporary door to the unfinished wing. His eyes searched the impenetrable darkness. Another bolt of lightning came quickly on the heels of the first, and the figure was suddenly gone.
Had he imagined it, then?
He cursed the whiskey, then cursed himself for drinking it to dull his senses. Searching the shadows with keen eyes, he listened for any sound to alert him of danger. He could hear nothing, yet the hair on the back of his neck continued to prickle. After a long moment, he began a cautious descent down the winding staircase, his gut burning.
Reaching the hall without incident, he crossed the room and heaved a sigh of relief when he spied Quincy sprawled across the floor in front of the door. Stooping, he checked the old man’s breathing; his chest rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of sleep. Could it have been Quincy he’d spied? He shook his head. More likely, there was no one about and it was simply his overwrought imagination. He loathed to, but he had to wake Quincy in order to open the door. He shook the old man’s shoulders.