Kissed; Christian Page 6

  Seeming to recover her senses, and squirmed, trying to remove herself from his lap, but his hand tightened about her arm, stilling her movements. He groaned in pleasure and in pain and she froze, meeting his gaze.

  She tried again to rise, but with a firm hand to her back, he brought her forward for another kiss instead.

  Ah, but Christ, he couldn’t help himself.

  He thought to make it brief, just a quick peck, but when his lips touched hers, and she parted them so sweetly, he nearly lost his will. Her mouth was too warm, her breath too sweet. He kissed her hungrily, savoring the moment like a man starved.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that if he didn’t lift her from his person this very instant, she would soon discern the lump she was perched upon so unsuspectingly was no simple lump, at all. Worse, he might completely forget their surroundings and be tempted to make love to her here under the twilight sky.

  She deserved better, he reasoned desperately, searching diligently for the impostor gentleman within—the one who seemed so eager to be all that she desired.

  Perhaps the man had fled?

  He hoped, and yet, he felt inclined to seek him out once more.

  They would doubtless be discovered before the first raindrops fell—which would be any moment if he scented it right. He peered up at the darkening sky.

  If not that, then Mrs. Brown might decide to take exception to his loving her and nab his rear.

  If not Mrs. Brown... then perhaps one of the other two occupants of the enclosure. The last thing he desired were teeth marks upon his arse... or pistols at dawn.

  Or perhaps that was precisely what he hoped for.

  To face a pair of barking irons… with her brother at the other end.

  Sighing regretfully, he caught Jessie with both hands at the waist—and fought the incredible urge to slide his hands upward, cup them about the tantalizing flesh she’d only just tempted him with.

  Blast it all, he was going to sorely regret this visit tonight when he lay alone in his bed.

  “I believe I scent rain,” he said thickly, his voice sounding strangled even to his own ears. “Much as I’ve enjoyed this...” He eyed her meaningfully. “I fear I must be off before it pours, m’mselle.” And then slowly, though reluctant to do so, he lifted her from his person, cursing roundly to himself as he did so.

  Jessie nodded, though she seemed not to have heard a word he’d said. Christian knew the very instant she regained her wits because her face flushed a rosy pink. He couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize, however, for he wasn’t the least bit sorry for what little had passed between them. In truth, he might have preferred to have something of which to be repentant. Still, he didn’t wish to embarrass her more than she likely would be when she realized what liberties she’d allowed him, so he remained seated upon the ground and lifted a knee to conceal his amatory state.

  When he made no move to rise, Jessie seemed to forget her chagrin at once, eyeing him solicitously. “Oh my! Are you hurt, my lord?”

  Shaking his head at her naïveté, he chuckled ruefully.

  Christ, but he was going to suffer tonight.

  “Let me help you!” she offered and extended her hand in aid.

  He waved her away, clearing his throat. “In an instant, Jessie. I’m just a wee bit... stiff at the moment.” He peered up at her, gauging her expression, and smiled grimly when she clearly didn’t understand his meaning. “The fall,” he suggested.

  “But you’re not hurt?” she asked, her tone filled with concern.

  Enormously relieved that she’d not understood his lecherous jest, he said, “I assure you, m’mselle that I shall live.”

  To his great misfortune.

  At her doubtful expression, he rose as proof. “See.” He grinned then, seizing her by the chin, and raising her face to place a perfectly chaste kiss upon the bridge of her nose. He turned her about so that she couldn’t spy his brick hard arousal.

  She seemed reassured, though even as she turned to smile up at him, the first raindrops struck her full in the face. She mopped them away with a sleeve, and laughed softly. “I do believe it’s going to rain, my lord,” she told him, her humor restored. “I commend your unerring nose.” She bolted toward the gate. “Follow me!”

  He didn’t dare.

  He waited until she was out of the gate, racing toward the shelter of the house before bothering to move. And then reluctantly, he scaled the fence and seizing his reins, he mounted his horse.

  Realizing at last that he wasn’t following her, she halted abruptly, whirling about.

  “Don’t stop!” he shouted. “Get yourself home, lest you be caught in the downpour!”

  She stood, nevertheless, rain soaking her to the bone, reluctant to leave him, sheltering her face with her hand. Instinctively he understood why, and it warmed his heart.

  “I’ll call again tomorrow,” he swore, and then added, “I promise!”

  She smiled beautifully.

  Wheeling his mount about, he cast her a backward glance. She was still watching, despite that it was raining harder now, and he pivoted his mount to face her. His steed pranced impatiently, eager to leave.

  He advanced upon her suddenly, and said impulsively, “Meet me by the brook... noon tomorrow?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I... I don’t know…”

  “Noon,” he said again, and prayed she’d refuse him.

  She nodded and he smiled down at her, giving her a final salutory wink.

  “Till then, my love,” he said, and turned to leave before she could rethink the wisdom of what she’d agreed to.

  Before his damnable conscience could interfere yet again. With all his heart and soul, he wanted Jessie.

  Chapter Eight

  True to his word, Christian materialized by the brook precisely at noon—equipped for a picnic. Jessie was delighted that he’d taken the time to consider so much, and she chided herself for worrying over naught.

  Once again they whiled away the hours conversing, and she sighed contentedly as she listened to him. He was so wonderful, so very wonderful—magnificently handsome, too.

  Languishing in the heat of the day, he’d removed his frock coat. It lay forgotten now upon the grass. His crisp white shirt, with its perfect pristine ruffles and folds, he wore recklessly unbuttoned at the neckline, long having discarded the stock. Jessie found herself staring at him more oft than not, powerless to dispel from her mind the memory of his kiss; it kindled a strange warmth within her every time she thought of it.

  Plucking a small yellow blossom, she peered up -at him through her lashes, praying he couldn’t discern the wickedness of her thoughts. She twirled the bloom between her fingertips, wondering how long it would be before he would try to kiss her again.

  Would he?

  Did she wish him to?

  Her cheeks burned as she acknowledged the truth, impossible as it was to deny. She’d broken the rules of propriety by coming alone to this secluded place without a chaperon. Why else would she have done so, but in hopes that he would... if only once more? She cast him another surreptitious glance, and her heart fluttered wildly.

  God have mercy, she yearned for it, even, as one would hunger for food or thirst for drink, or even want for sleep. She was consumed by the desire for it. His kiss had somehow awakened some unfamiliar yearning within her, and even when she’d fallen asleep last eve, tossing and turning, it had not fled her. Lord help her, she’d dreamed of him even then.

  Seeing the adoring look in her eyes, Christian felt his stomach knot. She seemed to see in him only what she wished to and nothing more.

  What might she think if she knew him for what he truly was? If she knew what base thoughts burned through his mind, what sordid desires slithered through his veins?

  Christ, the things he wanted to do to her even now as she gazed up at him so worshipfully. He could think of little more than taking her within his arms and initiating her beautiful body into glorious womanhood.


  Only, for the first time in his life... there was something more than mere lust that compelled him. And still....

  His jaw turned taut, for it was merely a matter of time before she discovered his true nature.

  She might as well know it of him now.

  This moment.

  Before he might be tempted to lay his heart at her mercy. And God save him if that ever came to be, for if he allowed it... she had it within her power to crush him beneath those precious feet of hers.

  Suddenly he felt the need to shock her. “What might you think, Jess, if I told you I was bastard born? Would you still look at me with such reverence?” The words had come bluntly, his tone hinting at all that was loathsome about his life.

  A vision came upon him of himself as a superstitious peasant warding away evil with a makeshift cross. If it weren’t such a pathetic image, he might have been amused.

  Was he so desperate to save himself from the devotion so evident in her beautiful eyes?

  Christ... but those eyes had the power to reach so deep into his soul... the power to touch his very heart. Somehow she made him want to be all that she believed of him.

  All that he was not.

  And more.

  He couldn’t hurt her, he realized.

  He wouldn’t hurt her.

  She looked stricken by the unexpected revelation. “Is it true?” she asked, sounding horrified.

  He laughed derisively, casting her a dispassionate glance. “Aye.”

  “How—” She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “However did you discover such a thing?”

  “It doesn’t matter?”

  “Of course it matters!” Her brows drew together. “Your brother might have been lying, don’t you see!”

  Christian shook his head soberly, wondering belatedly over the wisdom in telling her such a thing. To reveal this, his darkest secret, was to open a vein for her to draw on. That someone other than himself and his mother—he refused to acknowledge the rest of his family—should possess the knowledge of his bastardy would make him vulnerable as he’d never been before.

  “Nay, Jess.”

  She seemed dumbstruck, and then sputtered, “Y-Your father?”

  He wasn’t certain what it was she was asking. “Maxwell Haukinge?”

  “Nay,” she said softly, and looked disconcerted. “Did he know?”

  He nodded, understanding. “Ah, well, yes... I believe he did.” Something in her expression compelled him to go on. “And my real father… I believe he would as soon hang himself from the tallest masthead rather than defame my mother’s good name. My captain, you see, is the man who sired me, and loved my mother.”

  For a long moment, there was silence between them. When she spoke again there was only concern in her tone, and he was warmed by it. “When did you discover the truth?”

  He inhaled sharply. “As a lad. Though I didn’t learn who until about a year ago.” Gazing at her sweet face, he wondered why he felt compelled to drive her away when he craved more than anything the sweet fulfillment he suspected she could give him.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t find the answer.

  “Please,” she entreated softly. “Tell me of it..

  He cocked his brows uncertainly.

  Inconceivably, there was no condemnation in her voice, no loathing in her eyes. God, it felt so good to reveal himself to her. A strange calm threatened to steal over him, and for the first time in his life he felt he could trust, truly trust, another human being.

  Plucking a grape from the platter before them, he pitched it at her. It fell halfway between them, and he retrieved it, pitching it again. “There’s isn’t much to the tale... nothing sensational to speak of.” He went still, remembering. “I simply looked into his eyes and knew the truth.”

  He shook his head and reached out to pluck another grape, placing it within his mouth. Plucking another, he fed it to Jessie. She accepted his offering with a sad smile, urging him, with her silence and her persuasive green gaze, to continue. Her eyes... God... how they seemed to reach into his soul and draw out the words, never mind that they’d never been spoken before now.

  Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, he lay back upon the blanket, locking his hands behind his head, and peered into the treetops as he continued, “It was the strangest thing,” he said, “but for the space of an instant, the years were stripped away... and it was as though I were left gazing into a looking glass at my own reflection, blue eyes and all. I just knew.”

  Staring past the lush greenery into the clear azure sky, Christian waited for her to speak—to say something, anything—words that would give him some small hint of how she felt about his shocking disclosure. When she said nothing for a long moment, he rolled to face her. Propping his head upon his hand, he stared into her eyes, hoping to see into her heart. What he saw there in the shimmering depth of her eyes gave root to his burgeoning sense of peace. Once again he felt compelled to go on; the need to purge himself of the blackness was strong, and it seemed that she, and she alone, had the ability to absolve him with her soul-cleansing gaze.

  “My brother has gray eyes,” he told her softly, “as did our father. My mother has beautiful brown eyes, so deep and dark, they seem almost fathomless. And I, well, I was the only one in the brood with eyes of blue—and God... at that moment, Jessie... looking into Jean Paul’s face... his eyes... so many things became comprehensible at last.”

  “What sort of things?” Taking a grape for herself, she offered another to Christian, as he had done for her. He repaid her gesture with a lopsided grin.

  “For one...” He took it, but placed it against her own lips, and smiled when she accepted it so easily. This ease between them felt good—better than anything had in all his years. “Jean Paul appointed himself guardian over my mother and me when first we took up residence with my grandparents in France—a fact that always bedeviled me, that this man, so in love with the sea, would bind himself to a woman and child not his own. It made no sense at all.”

  “Do you think, perhaps, he did so out of guilt for his part in your mother’s... predicament? She left England, I know. Only it was never known precisely why.”

  “She was banished by my father, actually—we both were.” He glanced away, uncomfortable with the emotions that surfaced in that instant. “She was glad enough to go, I think. I always believed she was in love with Jean Paul, though for my sake she masked it well.”

  His gaze returned to her, gauging her expression. Nothing. He could discern nothing.

  “For her parents, as well, of course; she would have spared them any injury.”

  He plucked another grape, squeezing it gently, anticipating her reaction; veiled disgust, revulsion perhaps.

  He was unprepared for sympathy. “How very sad. I’m so sorry for you,” she whispered.

  The grape burst, spurting juice everywhere. She cried softly, wincing as it sprayed her face. Wiping a droplet from her lip with a fingertip, she held his gaze, smiling wanly. Christian tossed the grape over his shoulder. Sympathy was not precisely the emotion he’d sought from her.

  “Don’t be. I was rendered quite speechless by the discovery at the time, but I’ve no contention in my soul over it a’tall. I welcomed the knowledge of Jean Paul as my father wholeheartedly, embraced it even, for it made so many things bearable.”

  “Truly?”

  Their gazes met and held; stark blue and healing green.

  Jessie’s look was so compassionate, her eyes so luminous with concern, that Christian experienced the sudden inexorable urge to kiss her distress away, to assure her that he’d come away from it all unscathed. Years of mistrust compelled him to say instead, “You must swear to me, Jessamine, that you will never repeat a word of what I have revealed to you. I only wanted you to understand that I’m not the exemplary man you think me.” He lifted her delicate chin with a finger. “Every time you look at me, ma belle vie, I see... I see reverence. Trust me when I tell you I’m the last so
ul upon this earth to deserve it.”

  “Nay! Never say so! You are—”

  He lifted a finger to her lips. “Hush, my love,” he commanded her.

  He brushed a wayward curl from her face. His fingers caressed her sun-flushed cheek, moving to the silky thickness of her hair, gliding through it reverently, catching finally at the blue satin binding that kept her wild curls so neat and tidy. He drew the ribbon free, releasing her glorious hair.

  Without warning, he drew her down beside him and rolled atop her, pinning her beneath him in one easy movement. She didn’t protest. Her breath caught and she cried out.

  There was no fear in her lovely eyes, none at all, and relief surged through him. God help him, he doubted he could restrain himself much longer. And this moment, he wanted more than merely to soothe his troubled spirit. He needed to appease his body’s beastly hunger. He went about each day in a semi aroused state, and in her presence it became unbearable. What manner of hold did she have upon him that he would subject himself to such monstrous torture? That he would feel driven to protect her from himself? He wanted her so desperately that he actually ached with his need of her, and still he restrained himself.

  Jessie knew she should object—indeed, knew she must! But Lord, how she wanted him to kiss her again!

  Her soul ached for it.

  Her mouth craved the feel of him.

  Would he taste again as he had yesterday? A heady mixture of brandy and musky maleness that she’d savored again last eve while she’d dreamt of him. Even her body seemed to cry out for it now.

  A knot formed in her breast, constricting painfully.

  Nay, she’d not stop him... she very much desired this—needed it. Swallowing her dutiful words of protest, she let him move atop her, and sighed...

  What a wanton she was that she would allow him such wicked liberties.

  Unbidden, Eliza’s words invaded her thoughts. Do what you will... say what you must. Charm him to your heart’s content. But I warn you... keep your virtue intact.