Kissed; Christian

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Christian choked upon his Madeira, nearly spitting it upon the white linen table cloth.

  Amos puffed with impotent rage.

  Jessie choked back a swallow of Madeira.

  Amos coughed indiscreetly.

  It was evident Eliza had forced her brother beyond his limits. He rose abruptly, raking his chair backward as he stood, and went directly to his wife. He lifted her perforce from her chair, and didn’t bother to excuse himself; rather, he simply dragged Eliza from the room. Their snarling voices trailed them all the way down the corridor, and up the spiraled stairwell. Jessie was both relieved and mortified.

  Risking a glance at Christian, she found him smiling charitably. “Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed at once. “Truly! I never thought it would turn out so disastrously.” And then her face fell, for who did she think she was fooling? How else could the evening have ended, considering Amos’ animosity toward Christian? “I’m sorry,” she said once more, feeling guilty.

  But his smile deepened, putting her at ease. “No need.” His eyes sparkled with good humor. “I rather suspect your brother’s wife is in dire need of whatever it is he is about to give her.”

  Jessie laughed quietly. “I assure you, Eliza can be quite difficult, but Amos would never harm her. He’s not a brutal man. In truth, I sometimes wonder if he feels anything at all. He’s so—”

  “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” he broke in. “In fact, I would venture to say he’s feeling a wealth of emotions just now.”

  Lifting his goblet of Madeira, he swirled the contents, raising it casually to his lips and Jessie found herself staring as he drank the last of it.

  Her gaze returned to his eyes; they were so dark a blue and fairly twinkled with devilment. And then again, her gaze fell to his lips and she found her breath strangled. His mouth curved into a devastating smile, and something fluttered deep in her breast—a feeling not wholly unfamiliar to her these days.

  “At any rate, I believe your sister-in-law has a little surprise in store,” he said softly, his tone hinting at something... something, though she had no idea what. And yet, that same something inside her quivered at his words.

  Suddenly she didn’t know what to say. After conversing about everything, from philosophy to freckles, she found herself dumbstruck in his presence.

  “Are you, er, finished, my lord?”

  “Finished?”

  “With your meal?”

  “Ah... yes, thank you. I believe I am. And you?”

  Jessie nodded, her heart pummeling against her ribs. The richness and depth of his voice never failed to affect her. He rose abruptly and came about the table, halting at her side to proffer his aid. “Allow me to assist you,” he offered gallantly.

  Her heart was vanquished so easily.

  She gave him a shy smile and then her hand, her gaze never wavering from his magnificent face. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. She stood, grateful for his assistance, for she felt disconcertingly giddy this moment—and it was not the Madeira, she was certain, for her goblet remained filled to the brim.

  “M’lady?”

  Startled by the maid’s diffident inquiry, Jessie spun toward the door. At her despondent expression, Jessie’s brows collided. “What is it, Hildie?”

  “Well... ’tis like this, mum.” Hildie’s eyes skidded uncertainly to Christian’s imposing form, then again to Jessie. Seeming to have mustered her courage, she stated more firmly, “His lordship won’t be returnin’ to the table; he bade me tell you... well, you see, ’e’s requested Lord Christian...” Her gaze shifted once more to their guest. “Well, mum, that ’e’s to leave straightaway. But that’s not exactly how he said so.”

  Jessie’s spirits sank. “So early?”

  “Sorry, mum, but that’s what ’e said.”

  “I know, Hildie, I didn’t mean—thank you.” Instead of leaving them, Hildie lingered in the doorway, waiting nervously. “You may go now, Hildie,” Jessie directed, though not unkindly.

  Hildie shook her head. “Oh, no, mum, I can’t! His lordship also said I was to stay with ye until the—er, ah...” She glanced discreetly at Christian, looking quite anxious. “Until he was off and away.” She nodded with meaning.

  “Jessamine,” Christian interjected, “’tis past time for me to leave.”

  He squeezed her fingers tenderly, and it was only then that Jessie realized he was still holding her hand.

  She stood there, gaping stupidly. What must he think of her to be so bold?

  He bent to whisper in her ear. “Don’t look so glum, love... I assure you I am not so easily offended.” And then he winked at her, and Jessie’s heart turned over.

  More than anything, she wanted him to stay, but she had little choice in the matter. Amos had requested he leave, and Jessie had absolutely no say in her brother’s home.

  Reluctantly, and without another word, she escorted him to the door, opened it, and leaned into it as Christian moved past her. He stepped out into the balmy night, and there, on the topmost step, he paused, and turned to face her. The intense look in his deep blue eyes snatched her breath away.

  What if she asked him to stay? to meet her in the garden? Would he agree? Lord forgive her, but she wanted to ask that more than anything.

  Was she mad?

  Truly she had to consider the possibility, for she was certainly not herself these days.

  “My lord,” she began, disheartened to see him go so soon.

  He placed a finger to her lips, shushing her, as though he knew what she would ask and sought to save her from herself. She swallowed the rest of her words as he leaned forward, brushing her mouth with his warm, velvety lips. He kissed her, and the world ceased to exist for the space of an instant.

  He kissed her sweetly, and with affection.

  Closing her eyes, Jessie inhaled sharply at the intimate contact, moaning softly.

  Sweet heaven, he’d kissed her… and then he moved away.

  If she thought her heart was racing before, it pounded fiercely now. Lord, how she longed to draw him back... to feel that quickening within her breast... to breathe in the heady, masculine scent of him.

  Her eyes remained closed long after his lips left her.

  “Good-bye, Jessamine.”

  She opened her eyes and blinked to find he was standing apart from her now, regarding her with heavy-lidded eyes and a somewhat rueful smile.

  “Good... night,” she whispered, her voice catching strangely. Something about the way he’d spoken his farewell made it seem so final, and her heart twisted a little.

  Giving her a brief salutory nod, he turned, and she watched him disappear into the shadows.

  Not until he was gone did she close the door to face her indignant maid.

  Chapter Six

  When Jessie woke the next morning it was raining, scarcely more than a cooling mist, but enough to cast a pall over the entire day. It didn’t matter.

  She was too happy to care.

  Dressing carefully in anticipation of Lord Christian’s daily attendance, she chose a deep forest green gown, one adorned with stark white lace at the neckline and sleeves. It seemed he was partial to green, for he complimented her grandly every time she wore the color. He said it made her eyes look all the brighter.

  Much too anxious to eat, she breakfasted on tea and a mere scrap of a biscuit, then made her way into the library to find herself a book to read while she waited. Because it was still raining, she remained in the library as it was nearest to the front door. That way she’d be certain to hear the knocker when Christian called.

  Never in her life had she bestowed so much hope upon one person.

  Oddly enough, this morning Amos seemed resigned to Lord Christian’s attendance at Westmoor... though truthfully, that gave her pause for thought. She could only attribute it to the fact that he and Eliza seemed to be reconciling themselves to one another after last night. Really, the two seemed a pair of ridiculous lovebirds—to go from one e
xtreme to the blessed other? Jessie could scarcely fathom the difference between them this morn. She shook her head in utter bewilderment. Merely a week ago, neither of them would have spoken so much as a civil word to the other, yet the two were making sheep’s eyes together all throughout breakfast. Who would have imagined? It really didn’t matter how they’d achieved it, Jessie was delighted for them—more so for herself.

  By late afternoon, however, her joy had diminished somewhat. She’d managed to read full half her book before growing weary of it. When the print began to blur before her eyes, she snapped it shut, unable to concentrate upon a single letter, let alone make out the words. In truth, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she’d been reading the volume upside down, so little did she recall of what she’d perused. She looked then, just to be certain, and was relieved to find it right side up.

  Halfheartedly she skimmed another, but the truth was that she was bored silly, anxious, and a little bit disappointed he was coming so late.

  What if he didn’t come back at all?

  What if he’d changed his mind about courting her?

  After last night, she would hardly blame him.

  Sighing wistfully, she turned her thoughts to the kiss Christian had bestowed upon her last eve; she was at once encouraged by the memory. As though to savor it still, her fingers brushed her lips, caressing them absently in remembrance. His warmth somehow lingered there. She closed her eyes, and her heart thumped wildly.

  She hoped, dear Lord, she hoped.

  She wanted this so very much.

  She started guiltily when the door to the library creaked open, and her hand flew from her mouth.

  Eliza entered, her expression somewhat smug. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it. “Still waiting?” she said with an affectation of a sigh.

  Jessie’s stomach turned, for she recognized Eliza’s mood.

  “Really,” Eliza carried on. “Even should Lord Christian wish to wed you, I should think you’d desire better for yourself, Jessamine. The man is a miscreant, after all.”

  Jessie bristled. “Why? Because he’s a younger son?”

  God’s truth, she’d never been anything but sympathetic to Eliza’s plight, but of late her brother’s wife had become implacable in her resentment. “What sin is there in that? Amos, too, was a younger son once upon a time,” she pointed out. “Though how convenient for him—and for you—that Thomas perished when he did.” It was rude, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself, Eliza’s condescension grated upon her nerves.

  Eliza’s face flushed as she came forward, angry now. Jessie could see it in her eyes. “Lord Christian is naught but a debaucher of women!” she maintained. “Mark my words, Jessamine!”

  Something in Eliza’s expression gave Jessie pause. “Perhaps you know something I do not?”

  Her stomach floated a little, for Eliza seemed to think on the question a minute too long. And then she narrowed her eyes, and her expression lost all trace of pretense. “I came to advise you, Jessie, so listen well... You’re fair enough, it is true, but Amos isn’t foolish enough to give you a dowry to wed the likes of that man. Penniless, you’ll be nothing to Lord Christian. Your brother knows it, too. Why else do you think he’d agree to such a farce, if not in hopes that once you discover the truth, you’ll wed Lord St. John without further ado? I came to tell you that you’re making a blessed fool of yourself!”

  Jesse blanched. “I don’t believe you. Amos would never withdraw my dowry!”

  “Who do you think sent me here?” Eliza asked, lifting her brows. “Amos would see Westmoor prosper, dear. If you truly must, then go ask him.”

  The ensuing silence was excruciating, for the truth weighed heavily upon Jessie’s heart. Amos would do anything it took to win, she knew. Even as a lad, he’d fought his battles ruthlessly. Good Lord! She should have realized when she’d managed to convince him to reinstate the betrothal that he’d only done so because he’d never intended to play fair. Her brother never gave anything willingly. She should have known, and yet she’d been blinded by hope.

  As though she’d not already said enough, Eliza broke in once more. “Do what you will, say what you must, my dear. Charm Lord Christian to your heart’s content. Though I fear I must caution you...” She glanced pointedly at Jessie. “You must endeavor to keep your virtue intact.”

  Jessie’s intake of breath was audible. “How dare you!”

  Eliza offered a self-satisfied smile. “I see you take my meaning. You see,” she continued coldly, “Lord Christian will not have you without a dowry, and I doubt even Lord St. John, who is silly with lust for you, would embrace a soiled wife. Unlike the others, he’ll take you penniless, but not despoiled. He’s much too proud a man.”

  Jessie rose from the chair. Her eyes stung with tears. “You above all should understand! Good Lord! Were it such a simple matter as a mere lack of affection, I might wed Lord St. John without a backward thought, but I can barely tolerate that man! He’s old enough to be my father!” she added, somewhat hysterically.

  Eliza simply shrugged. “As I’ve said before, love has little to do with anything. ’Tis a simple task to lie back and think of”—she offered a long-suffering smile—”more pleasant diversions. Really, I’ve no idea why you persist in this, Jessamine. Marriage is a contract, nothing more.” She met Jessie’s gaze. “Take Amos and me for instance... We’ve no affection between us at all, and yet we suit perfectly well.”

  Jessie’s heart twisted. “Do you?”

  “Now, dear,” Eliza advised balefully, her hand going to her breast in supplication, “you might go into this union willingly, with your brother’s blessing... or with his fury upon your head. But he shall prevail. Best you realize, at last, that he’ll not be swayed in this matter. He needs this affiliation with St. John. We need this affiliation.”

  “He cannot make me wed if I am not here for him to command! Now, can he?” Jessie countered, feeling trapped, panicking. She hadn’t meant to say it, but it was out now, and she found she meant it fiercely.

  Eliza’s brows lifted in amusement. “No?” She laughed softly. “Where else would you be if not here? Really, dear! Don’t be addlepated!”

  Jessie sat a little straighter. “Charlestown! I shall appeal to Uncle Robert!” If she could but send a missive to the colonies, alerting her uncle of her arrival, he would surely give her refuge. There was little love lost between the two, after all.

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “Really, and how do you presume to accomplish such a feat? How would you go?” she asked. “Fly with the wind, perhaps?”

  It was a very good question, though Jessie wasn’t about to admit as much to Eliza. At the moment, she almost resented Lord Christian for leaving her to worry so. God’s truth, she didn’t know what she’d do without him. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Jessie composed herself and said with as much aplomb as she was able, “I’m sorry you were forced into wedding my brother, Eliza.” Her limbs felt liquid as she moved toward the door. “Though why you seem to fault me for it, I shall never know.”

  Eliza blinked at the accusation.

  “You might inform my brother,” Jessie added smartly, once she reached the door, “that if he persists with this—this—travesty of a union, he shall, indeed, have earned my enmity! As to Lord Christian, he will return, I assure you! I will not marry that vile Lord St. John!” She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her, praying to God she spoke the truth.

  Jessie was blameless.

  For two miserable weeks Christian kept himself otherwise occupied so as not to call at Westmoor. He’d rebuffed every attempt Amos had made to contact him.

  This morning he’d saddled one of his brother’s Arabians, telling himself he meant only to ride.

  The one blessing of this ill-begotten sojourn was that Philip and his nagging wife were not in residence. He’d made it a point to learn his brother’s schedule and had bristled to hear that the place that had once meant so
much to him was used so bloody little. It burned his gut, and only served to prove that Philip had taken his one and only bequest simply because he could.

  God, what was he doing here?

  Damned if he didn’t have more important things to do.

  Such as securing a base port for his orphaned ships.

  He clenched his teeth at the thought.

  Word had arrived from Le Havre that one of his ships, the Belle Terre, had come into port there, and that the authorities had come aboard. While he’d been assured everything had been found in proper order, the officers of the vessel were now being interrogated. Procedure, he’d been told. Yet the thought of his men in the hands of the haughty French officials unsettled him—despite that he trusted his crew implicitly—mostly because after this incident, his ships would need to stay clear of France. At least until he discovered the cause behind this surprise inspection. Doubtless someone had pointed the finger at him, though who it was, he couldn’t fathom.

  The list of possibilities was endless.

  Fortunately France supplied very little of his illicit trade. Most of what he procured there was transported quite legitimately—as was the case with his English wares, but it was an inconvenience at least.

  At worst it was treachery.

  The drizzle that had plagued him most of the day had subsided, and the scent of wet loam rose with the heat-mist, lingering in the air, filling the senses. It was a familiar odor, though not a comforting one, for it forced Christian to consider his losses. Soothing to him was the scent of the sea; salt-mist so thick, it could be tasted upon the wind. Aye, he could nearly smell it now. He lapped at his lips and could almost taste the spray.

  He closed his eyes, diverting his thoughts.

  Soon enough, he’d be back aboard the Mistral. Even now, the ship was being prepared for his return. His lips curved as he thought of his newest acquisition. She was, by far, the largest of his vessels, a beautiful but costly ship made of sturdy live oak, and he counted himself fortunate to have her. The demand for well-crafted vessels was high, and Carolina-wrought ships were sought most of all for their exceptional durability. Their workmanship was unsurpassable. The Mistral was one such prize.