by Laura Landon
“You have nothing to fear,” he said with a slight lift to the corners of his mouth. “I intend to keep the promise I made. In the morning I shall pretend this conversation never took place.” His simmering eyes gave lie to his words.
She shifted.
“As will I,” Jenna said, knowing they were both telling a lie. How could one forget sitting in the candlelight with a man who set her skin aquiver? How could one ignore the special closeness that developed from hushed conversations in the middle of the night?
While she was still pondering such questions he stood and extended his hand to help her rise.
“Are you ready to retire, then?” he asked with the concern of a loyal household staff.
Or as someone who’d been taught proper decorum from his youth.
The thought struck her with its sheer immensity. She didn’t take his proffered hand.
“In a moment, Mr. Hawkins. But first I’d like to ask you the question you promised you’d answer.”
He greeted her demand with a nonchalant nod. “Of course. I did agree to one question.”
“Yes you did. But before I ask it, I’d like your promise to answer it truthfully.”
“You think I’d lie to you?”
He wore a look of surprise that almost made her laugh. “Of course I think you’d lie. In fact, I think you’d tell me whatever you thought I was most likely to believe.”
“I’m wounded, Miss Kingston.”
“I’m sure you are.” Jenna sat back in the settee and watched him closer. “Nevertheless, I’d like your promise.”
He hesitated and Jenna knew he was close to refusing her.
“Very well, I promise I will answer your question to the point of incrimination.”
“Incrimination?”
He sat back down—this time in a large wing chair opposite her—and stretched his long, muscular legs out in front of him. He looked calm. Too calm. As if this were a practiced pose he’d used often to conceal an inner alertness.
“Surely you know,” he said, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his index fingers, “that every man—and even some women, I’m told—have certain secrets they will go to great lengths to make sure are never revealed? Or perhaps there are no skeletons in any Society closets.”
“Any house with a closet is guaranteed to contain a skeleton or two.”
“Even yours?”
Jenna narrowed her gaze and he hurriedly offered an apology.
“I’m sorry. I seem to have forgotten myself again.”
“Perhaps that is because you are trying to distract me,” she said, knowing that was exactly what he was attempting.
“Ah. I can see my ploy isn’t working.”
“No.”
“Ask your question then, Miss Kingston. And I will answer it to the best of my ability.”
Jenna didn’t give him time to think, but asked her question before he could set his usual mask firmly in place.
“Who are you, Mr. Jack Hawkins—really? For you are no more who you say you are than I would be the Queen if that’s who I claimed to be.”
. . .
Jack tried not to react. He tried not to let his features show a hint of guilt.
Bloody hell. Why couldn’t Miss Jenevieve Kingston be as naïve as he thought her to be upon meeting her? Why couldn’t she be as dimwitted as every Society miss he’d met his whole life? Instead, she was...
Jack searched for the right word to finish his sentence but the only thing that came to mind was—formidable.
The one word that overshadowed all the descriptions stumbling over each other to find answers was a puzzle that shook him to his core. Why did the woman whose father was undoubtedly involved in Sheridan’s death have to be one of the most desirable women he’d ever met? Why was it that the only thought that entered his mind when he looked at her was that he wanted to kiss her?
“Please, do not try to come up with a lie you think I’ll believe.”
“I already promised I would answer your question to the point of incrimination.”
“Then perhaps you would begin with your name.”
“Jack. That’s the name I was born with.”
“And Hawkins?”
Jack’s heart raced. “Not exactly a name I was born with. But rather one that seemed to fit my place.”
Jack didn’t want to tell her Hawkins was the name of his orderly, the lad who had died in his arms in the muck of war.
“It’s a name I used during the war.”
“Why?”
“It seemed to fit. Besides, no one cared what your name was until they had to bury you.”
Jack noticed her reaction and wished he hadn’t been so truthful.
“Was it as bad as the reports that reached us?”
“War is always bad.”
He hoped the answer he gave didn’t come out as rife with pain as it sounded to his own ears. He didn’t want anyone to know about the nightmares that still lingered.
He brushed the memories away with a shrug of his shoulders. “The war is over now and hopefully we’ve learned a lesson from our ignorance and mistakes.”
She tilted her head just the slightest bit and Jack knew there was another question brewing inside her sharp mind—a question he undoubtedly couldn’t afford to answer. The less she knew about him the better.
“Were you an officer?”
“I think, Miss Kingston, I’ve answered far more than the one question I promised to answer.”
“But you haven’t answered my original question.”
“But I have—to the point of incrimination.”
Jack bolted to his feet. “The hour grows late—or rather, early,” he said extending his hand to assist her in standing. “If we don’t return to our rooms, we might be observed by one of the servants. That would create more problems than either of us cares to handle.”
The quick glance she took at the clock on the mantel indicated she agreed with him. She held out her hand and placed it in his.
The earth tilted on its axis. Time seemed to stand still as her flesh rested against his, as her palm burned an imprint into his palm.
Jack wanted to pull his hand away before her mark burned deep enough to last a lifetime. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around her dainty hand and pulled her to her feet.
She rose willingly, although her hand seemed to tremble against his. Heaven help them both if he affected her as deeply as she affected him.
Jack took several long steps toward the door and she kept pace with him as if she were anxious to escape. She paused a moment while he reached for the knob but he knew she intended to bolt the minute he opened the door.
“Are you sure your arm doesn’t pain you?”
“My arm is fine. It was nothing.”
“Do you need me to see you to your room?” he asked, not quite understanding why it was important to make sure she reached her destination.
“No. I’ll be fine. I need to hurry, though. The servants will be up shortly.”
She started to rush through the narrow crack as he held the door slightly ajar, but Jack stopped her and peeked through the opening to make sure the hallway was clear. It wasn’t.
A yawning footman slowly made his way toward them, his eyes not yet open wide.
Jack pushed Jenna back into the room and silently closed the door. To keep her from alerting the footman to their presence, Jack placed his finger over her lips and pulled her against him.
She stiffened as if afraid, then quieted when he whispered a warning in her ear. The second she realized their danger, she relaxed in his arms and let him hold her.
Jack waited for the footman to make his way past the door, wishing the lad would hurry so he could release her and end the torture, and at the same time praying the listless footman would take forever so the ecstasy of having her in his arms would never end.
They waited. At last the soft scuffing sounds of a sleepy servant faded as he walked away from them.<
br />
They were safe. It was a near call, but they hadn’t been discovered.
Jack looked down to whisper how fortunate they were that the footman hadn’t been completely awake or he might have noticed the faint light from the candle beneath the door, but any word he might have said escaped him the second he saw her face.
She looked up at him in wondered awe, as if she realized the same as he that something monumental had happened between them.
Perhaps she heard the thundering of his heart inside his chest. Perhaps she felt the desperation with which he held her. Whatever the reason, he knew she was equally as confused by their attraction to each other as was he.
She looked at him with a pleading in her eyes and opened her mouth as if intending to speak.
Jack didn’t want to talk. They’d talked enough already tonight.
Before any sound she made could break the charged atmosphere in the candlelit room, Jack lowered his head and kissed her.
Their kiss didn’t last long. In fact, it was a very short kiss in comparison to some of the others he’d shared with women he’d been known to favor. But he’d never experienced such an explosive kiss. He’d never experienced a kiss that had shaken him to his very core as this kiss did.
Bloody hell! What was happening to him?
Jack pulled away from Miss Kingston and warned himself not to look at her. He knew better than to look into her eyes, to see the expression on her face. But he did it anyway.
He absorbed her confused expression, studied the dazed look in her eyes. Was struck by an emotion that contained the power of a lightning bolt when he considered the ramifications of what he’d done.
Without a word of explanation, or an excuse to explain his actions, he opened the door, made sure the hallway was clear, then escorted Miss Kingston to the stairs.
He waited to make sure she made it up the first flight. Then listened for the soft sound of her bedroom door closing.
Then he mentally kicked himself in the head.
THE DEVIL’S GIFT by Laura Landon
Chapter 7
Jenna didn’t know how she’d survived the past week. Each time she’d met with Jack Hawkins she relived the kiss they’d shared that morning a handful of days ago.
Since she’d never been kissed before, she had no one with whom to compare it. But she couldn’t imagine that anyone could kiss better than he did. Nor could she imagine that any man’s kiss could leave her feeling so... so...
Jenna struggled to find just the right word and couldn’t.
She didn’t think his kiss had lasted all that long, but perhaps it had. Or perhaps time had simply stopped while his lips were pressed to hers. The effect had certainly been profound. Even mystifying. When he’d lifted his mouth from hers he’d seemed to take every whisper of breath with him.
Kissing him had been maddening in the way it left her utterly flustered. The pressure of his lips against hers hadn’t required all that much exertion, yet when their kiss ended, her legs refused to support her, and her lungs couldn’t find enough air to breathe. It was as if she’d put in a hard day’s work without resting.
Even now, a week later, her cheeks burned at the thought of how weak and helpless his kiss had left her. If he hadn’t wrapped his arms around her...
If he hadn’t pulled her close to him...
If she hadn’t clung to him...
Jenna tried to convince herself that his kiss had been nothing significant, but she was only lying to herself. His kiss had shaken her to her very core. His nearness still made her flesh burn. Simply looking at him caused a swirling deep inside her she feared would bring her to her knees.
Surely this reaction wasn’t normal. Surely other women were not affected by a man the way she had been moved by Jack Hawkins.
Jenna walked down the back hallway toward the kitchen. From there she would go to the locked stairway door that led to the wine cellar. She felt safe being near him today because Benton was with him, instructing him on the various wines and how to make a selection.
Since keeping a well-stocked wine cellar was one of the butler’s most important duties, today’s instruction was essential. Jenna had intended to tutor Jack herself, but after the kiss they’d shared, she didn’t trust herself to be alone with him. Benton would make a perfect protector.
Jenna greeted the staff as she made her way through the kitchen. Her stepmother’s absence left everyone at Kingston Manor in a much happier state. It was as though they knew they had to take advantage of the short time they’d been given to enjoy themselves. Even Bertha Crumbly wore a smile as she peeled potatoes for the evening meal.
Bertha had been employed at Kingston Manor longer than anyone and had taken Jenna’s mother’s death the hardest of any of the staff. She’d also resented the Baron’s sudden decision to remarry more than anyone except perhaps Jenna herself. But today, even Bertha seemed a happier person.
The startling truth of how much joy had been snuffed out when Jenna’s father married Eleanor had never been more evident than it was this afternoon.
“Can you smell what Cook’s bakin’ for dessert?” the young kitchen maid Liza asked with a wide grin on her face.
Jenna took a deep whiff, then groaned with delight. “Is that peach cobbler I smell?”
“Yes! And Paddy picked enough peaches so there’d even be enough for an extra dish. Cook says we can each have a bit of it if we do all our work and clean the kitchen good.”
“Cook’s very wise,” Jenna said smiling at their long-time employee. “That peach cobbler will taste ever so much better if eaten in a clean kitchen.”
“That’s what I told the lasses,” Cook said, going back to her baking.
Liza didn’t dawdle then, but filled a bucket with clean water and went back to scrubbing the tiles by the hearth.
The jubilance Jenna felt listening to young Liza diminished as she resumed her mission to face Jack Hawkins in the wine cellar. She took a deep breath and descended the planked stairway.
Two lanterns hung from pegs fastened to the ends of the bottle bins. Jenna had found the cellar to be a refuge of sorts. It was cool and quiet here, but even more important, it was far enough away that her stepmother never thought to look for her here.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened. A shuffling sound led her to the end of the second aisle where she expected to see Benton and Hawkins busily working. Instead, Jack Hawkins stood alone, inspecting the bottles in each slot.
At first he didn’t realize she was behind him. When he did, he spun around with a graceful ease that was beginning to feel familiar to Jenna, and put the bottle he’d been inspecting back in its place.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kingston.”
His voice was soft and smooth, so deep and velvety Jenna’s heart did a gentle summersault. She tried to speak but for several long seconds her voice refused to work.
“Where is Benton?” she asked when she recovered.
“One of the stable lads came for him.”
Jenna lifted her eyebrows. “He was called to the stable?”
“Do you find that impossible? Perhaps there was a question concerning one of the horses. Or concerning one of the carriages.”
She braced her fists on her hips. “That’s hardly possible.”
“Why?” he asked taking a step toward her. “Isn’t the butler informed when a certain carriage is unavailable? What if you’d by chance need to have one of the carriages readied to take you some place?”
Jenna lifted her shoulders to make a physical show of authority. “There are no carriages left for which to ask.”
A perplexed expression crossed his face. “There are no carriages at Kingston stables?”
“Not at the moment,” she answered, wishing she hadn’t admitted that to him.
“What if you would need to travel?”
“There is nowhere I would need to go,” she admitted, struggling to keep a defiant tone in her voice.
“What about L
ady Rutherford? She’s your aunt. What if you would want to visit her?”
“I won’t.”
“But I thought you were quite close?”
“We are.”
“Then why wouldn’t you choose to visit her?”
“Because...I can’t!”
Damn! She hadn’t meant to say that.
“You can’t?”
Jenna stopped and took several deep breaths. “You’ve asked enough questions, Mr. Hawkins. Where I intend to go or…or not go is…is none of your concern.”
He paused for an uncomfortable moment, then said, “You are right, of course.”
Jenna knew it had been a mistake to stay down here when she realized Hawkins was alone. She always said more than she intended.
“If you will excuse me,” she said turning to leave, “I’ll return when—”
“Running away from me won’t help.”
“Being alone with you won’t either.”
She heard him laugh and lost control of the fragile hold she had on her emotions. Her reaction came out as anger and she spun around. “You find my statement humorous?”
“I see you aren’t going to let me keep my promise to pretend our conversation the other night never took place.” One eyebrow arched as he looked at her. “Or perhaps it isn’t our conversation you can’t forget.”
Jenna drew her shoulders up as she took a step toward him. “It’s quite improper for you to remind me of the monumental mistake I made. Just as it was quite improper for you to... to...”
“I kissed you.”
“I know what you did,” she said, fisting her hands in frustration. “And it was quite improper for you to manhandle me so.”
“Manhandle?”
“What else would you call what you did?”
“I’d say I was extremely gentle when I—”
“Stop,” she whispered, her hushed tones still loud enough to echo against the cellar walls.
“Is that why you ran away from me? You were afraid?”
“Of course I was afraid. Any woman in her right mind would have been—”