Love.
She couldn’t help it, she wondered if he would present himself at the masquerade tonight, and then cursed herself for her weakness to the blackguard.
“Jessamine!”
Hearing her name, Jessie turned to see that the carriage that had only just passed her by had circled and now drew up behind her once more. Kathryn Sinclair nearly toppled from it, and Jessie smiled as she greeted her newly found friend. “I should have thought you’d be home, diligently preparing for this eve.”
Kathryn’s smile was brilliant. “I’m to pick up my gown from Madame Legare,” she announced, snatching off one of her gloves and toying with it nervously, betraying her anxiousness. “And I was... looking,” she confessed.
For Ben.
Jessie’s smile deepened. “I wish I’d known. I might have asked you to join me.” She lifted the small envelope and displayed it to Kathryn’s inquiring eyes.
Kathryn nibbled her lower lip, suppressing her glee. “Do you think he will come? Oh, how I do hope so! My heart positively aches for it!”
Jessie laughed softly, shrugging noncommittally. “You know my cousin,” she cautioned. “One can never tell, but I shall endeavor to convince him.”
“And I know you will succeed!”
Suddenly inspired, Jessie glanced over her shoulder, toward Oyster Point. “Tell me, Kathryn, are you expected home very soon?” She smiled mischievously.
Kathryn’s gaze followed hers to the Point, and she admitted, “I saw him from the carriage! And nay! God’s truth, I was requested not to return directly, for it seems I’ve frazzled just about everyone’s nerves.” She smiled unrepentantly. “And poor Thom,” she added with a grievous sigh. She waved a hand in the direction of her waiting coach. “I’ve dragged the wretched soul to every last boutique in this city and now I am left with no choice but to return and plague my mother.” She sighed airily. “Unless, of course... someone should take pity upon me, and take me with them to the Point...” She smiled coyly, and Jessie laughed.
“Well, then...” Jessie gave her friend a shrewd smile. “Why not accompany me while I deliver this urgent missive to Ben?”
Kathryn’s eyes lit with merriment. “Truly? You’d not mind if I tagged along?”
“Of course not,” Jessie insisted. “In fact, I’d be quite grateful for the company.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Both, you say?”
Ben Stone nodded glumly. “Seized.”
“Devil plague that man!”
Christian shook his head in bewilderment. “Whatever possessed Moore to seize them, anyway? Charlestown has never been a smugglers’ haven; why would he suspect?”
The vessels in question had made the usual voyage between Charlestown and Laurens’ property in Georgia, and though it was intended that trade between territories be cleared with customs first, there was no customs house near Laurens’ plantation and so he’d not been able to comply with the requirement. Customarily such cases were overlooked, but Moore had for some reason refused to do so, and Christian was nonplussed as to why.
“Perhaps he simply intends to make an example of him?” Ben suggested.
“Or perhaps it is a warning?” Jean Paul interjected.
“Perhaps,” Christian conceded. “Then again, I suspect St. John may have had a hand in this matter, as well. He and Moore have been thick as thieves, and St. John and Laurens have little regard for one another.”
“Nor does St. John care for you, Hawk,” added one of Ben’s cronies. “He’s determined to snatch you.”
“Yes,” Ben agreed, chuckling, “though I’d like to see him try.”
“Never underestim—” Christian broke off suddenly, and froze.
Turning to see what had captured his attention, Ben chuckled and said, “My cousin... she seems to have that effect quite regularly, I’d say.”
His cronies all murmured an agreement.
Christian eyed him pointedly and scowled at the rest of the men. “Your cousin?”
Christian knew the instant Ben detected his interest in her, for his brows slanted to a frown. His stance grew as rigid as his own. “Hawk,” he said, his voice low in warning.
Devil hang him!
Even now the sight of her stole his breath away. He loathed himself for his weakness toward her. Stone. Damn, but why hadn’t he put the two together? His jaw clenched. Even now, it was impossible not to want her. His gut wrenched with remembrance, even as he hardened his heart against her.
“She’s my cousin, Hawk,” Ben said again, responding to something in Christian’s gaze.
Lifting her skirts, Jessie hurried across the sand-filled street into the clearing, smiling with delight at Kathryn’s bubbling excitement. And then at once her heart lurched to a halt. She froze, her breath strangling in her throat as the tallest man in the gathering turned to face them.
Their gazes met and held.
Jessie’s knees buckled a little at the baleful glare he gave her. Unknowingly she crushed the envelope she’d been carrying. If she weren’t such a blessed coward, she told herself, she’d walk directly to him and slap the self-righteous expression from his face!
But she was a coward, and the truth of the matter was that if she didn’t turn now, and go, this instant, she’d surely shame herself.
She felt Kathryn’s hand upon her arm and was grateful for her steadying presence. “What is it, Jessamine? What’s wrong?”
He continued to stare, his smoldering blue eyes narrowing in condemnation, but he said not a word, nor did he move to address her. What had she expected? A greeting? I’m sorry? How’ve you been, my love? She expected nothing! she told herself. She expected nothing—and received less. It would serve her best to simply walk away now. She spun on her heels and hastened away, with no answer for Kathryn’s anxious inquiry.
Kathryn hurried after her. “Jessamine! Wait! What is it?”
Ben caught her as she crossed the street, his expression sober as he asked, “Is it him?”
Jessie couldn’t find her voice to speak.
“Confound it!” Ben exploded.
“Who?” Kathryn asked, trying in vain to keep up with their hurried steps and fragmented conversation. There was only concern evident in her tone as she demanded, “Oh, please tell me, Jessamine! What has happened to upset you so?”
Still unable to speak, lest she burst into tears, Jessie shook her head. Ben was the only one person in Charlestown, aside from Lord Christian and Lord St. John, who knew the truth about what had happened all those months ago in England. Only Ben hadn’t known everything—he hadn’t known precisely who was responsible for her misery. Even Ben’s parents had been spared the awful truth. It was the one thing for which she had Amos to thank, he’d spared her that much—more for his own sake than for hers, she was certain. But she’d grown so close to Ben these past months that confiding in him had seemed a natural thing to do, but she could never bear for Kathryn to know her shame. Her cheeks colored even as she remembered that fateful afternoon beneath the elm tree, and her eyes misted, though she refused to weep.
Too many tears had been wasted already.
Ben seized her by the shoulders and spun her about to face him, gripping her harder than she knew he meant to. “It was he?”
Lifting her face to him, Jessie forced a nod, and leaned into his embrace, wanting him to shield her from so many prying eyes. She knew people were staring, though she couldn’t see them through the blur of her tears.
“Ah, Jessie…” He enfolded her within his arms, and for a long moment there was only the comfort of his silence. “Are you well enough to make it home?” He cast a dubious glance at Kathryn.
“I have my carriage,” Kathryn offered.
“Please… I... I am fine…” Jessie forced a smile for Ben’s sake, for Kathryn’s sake. “I-I have no idea what came over me,” she swore, mindful of Kathryn’s critical regard, “but I-I... I’m fine now.”
“Are you certain, Jessie?” Turning to
Kathryn, Ben appealed, “Would you mind terribly excusing us? I should like to speak to my cousin privately.”
Kathryn nodded, flustered. “Certainly,” she said, sounding wounded, though she tried not to show it. “I shall go on, then.” She turned to Jessie. “Are you certain you will be all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Kathryn. I truly am fine.”
Kathryn managed a nod. “Very well, then... if you’re certain...”
“Perhaps I shall see you this eve, Kathryn,” Ben suggested, dismissing her once and for all.
Kathryn’s expression softened at once and she smiled brightly. “Why, yes—yes, of course! That would be truly wonderful!” Her face aglow once more, she turned to Jessie. “Goodbye, Jessamine. Feel better.” Leaning closer, she whispered a fervent, “Please!”
Jessie smiled weakly. “I shall,” she assured, trying to sound cheerful, though her heart was breaking into tiny wretched pieces. With a farewell wave for her friend, she turned to Ben, her eyes blurring with tears. “I had no idea that you and Lord Christian—that man—were so well acquainted!”
He frowned at her. “More importantly, I didn’t realize you knew him so well, Jessie.” His voice held no condemnation, only sorrow on her behalf. “He is not a man to be trifled with.”
Shame suffused her, and she averted her eyes. “I only wish I did not!”
“You should have told me,” he said, his jaw tautening. Peering up at him, she could see the fury flashing in his eyes. “Haw—” He broke off, glanced away, toward the point, and then back. “Christian will not trouble you. I swear it.”
Jessie gave him a doubtful look. If Ben only knew what misery the man could invoke with only a glance... if only he knew... but he couldn’t possibly.
He smiled down at her, giving her a playful chuck beneath the chin. And then, as though he scarcely could help himself, his fingers slid up and he stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Sweet, sweet, Jess... how they’ve hurt you—Christ, if only you weren’t my cousin,” he said, and smiled down at her then. He said lightly, “I believe I would marry you myself and tuck you safely away from all the world.” His expression sobered suddenly, his gaze shuttering. “If you weren’t my cousin,” he added.
Something in his expression made Jessie uneasy suddenly. She peeled herself away from him. “And yet you are,” she reminded him firmly. She didn’t wish to hurt Ben’s feelings, but it seemed of late he made more and more such declarations. Didn’t he realize? Cousin or no, she could never love another man as long as she lived!
“Come,” she told him, taking his hand and leading him away. “Your mother will worry.”
The noise was unbearable.
And the stench.
For the fifth time in as many moments, St. John glanced over his shoulder at the door, readjusting his tricorne. He’d forgone his powdered peruke for this meeting in hopes of blending more easily with the rabble of Dillon’s tavern, but he felt exposed without it. His tricorne was much too large for his unclad head, as it had been made to fit a gentleman’s peruke, an item of dress he was rarely without. He only hoped he wasn’t too conspicuous... that this meeting would mete itself well.
A barmaid came to him and he shook his head, sending her away without a word. It seemed to him that everyone was staring in his direction, and he fidgeted uneasily under the scrutiny, ignoring them as best he could. Thankful for the dim light of the tavern, he seized up his full tankard, lifting it up to his lips, sipping hastily before stopping to glance once more over his shoulder at the door.
Filthy, the place was filthy!
He loathed the thought of drinking after all these stinking mouths—wouldn’t be surprised to find they didn’t even wash their cups. He eyed the tankard with unveiled disgust.
Again he glanced over his shoulder.
A dark-haired man entered and peered his way, nodding politely before turning away, but it was not the man he awaited, and he cursed softly as a nervous spasm shot through the cords of his neck. Wincing, he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and set his tankard down, resisting the urge to slam it, for fear of drawing unwanted attention.
Where the devil was McCarney?
Haukinge—damn his hide to hell—he and Hawk were one in the same, and St. John intended to prove it, once and for all. By God! The blackguard had managed to make him look the fool one too many times, and he intended to make him pay, at long last. He gritted his teeth in frustration.
The problem was that Haukinge was much too cunning... his men too loyal—or terrified one.
Still, it was merely a matter of time before he exposed himself. Merely a matter of time... and St. John intended to be there when he did.
Damn it, where was McCarney?
“Ye look like a damned fool!” commented a voice at his back.
St. John leapt from his seat in startle. He swung about, dislodging his tricorne in the process. One hand flew out to catch it.
“About time! I’ve been waiting for over an hour! What have you brought for me, McCarney?” he demanded. “I expect you’ve summoned me for a better reason than to simply admire my dress!”
McCarney adjusted his own tricorne under St. John’s watchful eye, then lifted St. John’s tankard from the table, quaffing the last of his ale without bothering to ask.
“God’s teeth, man! What have you brought? I cannot stand this accursed place!” He glanced about. “Come outside before I suffocate in this filthy pigeonhole!”
With a brief glance about and a shrug, McCarney followed St. John from the tavern. Once outside, St. John made his way to where a groom held his mount, pausing a good fifteen feet away. There, he turned to McCarney expectantly.
“Ye want Hawk?”
Removing his tricorne, St. John crushed it to his chest, thumping an anxious finger against the brim of it. His lips slowly curved into a triumphant grin. “You know I do.”
McCarney paused long enough to create a moment of anticipation, and then revealed, “He’s raidin’ the warehouse at Adger’s wharf tonight... ten, or thereaboots. Seems ’is men mistakenly unloaded somethin’ of consequence late this morn... somethin’ that must be removed by first light... Do ye take my meaning?”
“I do,” St. John said. “How did you discover this?”
McCarney’s eyes gleamed by the light of the moon. “Stone. He’s roundin’ up men for the job even as we speak.”
St. John eyed the man suspiciously. “Why are you telling me this, McCarney? I know you’re in league with them.”
McCarney sneered. “You ain’t the only one with a grudge against the man. Anyhoo,” he added, “I’ve heard ye’re offerin’ coin—might as well do fer money what I’d like tae do fer free.”
St. John’s curiosity was piqued. “Aye? What’s he done to you, McCarney?”
McCarney eyed him balefully. “Not that ’tis any o’ yer concern, mind ye, but the jackal kilt my brother—ain’t aboot to forget a thing like that!”
St. John smiled, satisfied. “How touching... brotherly devotion... but tell me, how do I know you’re not making this up? I can’t say I trust you.”
“I don’t give a brass farthing if you don’t,” McCarney said, his lip curling. “I’ll get ’im on me own someday—tried once already, don’t ye doubt it.” He snorted and spat upon the ground at St. John’s feet.
“You’ll have to stand in line, I’m afraid,” St. John said, producing a silver piece.
McCarney shook his head. “That’s not enough,” he announced, eyeing the coin.
“But it’ll do,” St. John told him coolly. “’Tis a good thing for the crown there are still men like you about, McCarney, unfettered as you are by noble sentiments.” He flung the coin into the air and caught it, balancing the silver piece upon the tip of his thumb as he gauged McCarney’s expression. “Tenish, you say?”
“Aye,” McCarney answered, eyeing the coin greedily.
St. John laughed, flipped him the silver piece, then turned and walked away.
Jessie was grateful for Ben’s company, for the alley seemed strange. The lanterns, which were usually brightly lit at this hour, had for some odd reason all been gutted already. Only the full, luminous moon lit their path, and even that light was minimal, for the buildings along the narrow lane cast shadows that were untouched by the moon’s glow. She recalled the tales Aunt Claire had related to her last eve, and a shiver coursed down her spine, making her shudder.
Sensing her unease, and the cause for it, Ben thought to console her. “Mother worries for naught.”
“I don’t believe that, at all,” Jessie countered. “If what she says is true, we have much to fear with those turncoats wreaking havoc about. I wonder why the lights have been gutted,” she added uneasily.
Ben’s hold tightened upon her hand. “They might be dissenters, Jessie, but turncoats, nay.”
Jessie twisted her fingers out of his painful grip, flexing them. She rubbed her hand, peering up at him. “Dissenters? I rather doubt I would put it quite so mildly,” she told him. “Your mother told me they threatened to hang British officials! ’Tis treachery, plain and simple!”
“My mother embellishes. They wouldn’t have hung the man. They simply intended to make a point—that and nothing more.”
“By building gallows and hanging effigies of stamp collectors upon them? That, Ben Stone, is a threat if ever I have heard one. At any rate, why are you defending them?” She peered warily up at her fair-haired cousin. His golden locks reflected the moonlight and seemed to glow. In contrast, his sun-darkened face was almost invisible to her, so deeply was it cast in shadow. “You’re not in league with them, are you?”
“Me?” He chuckled. “Dear coz, do I look like a turncoat to you?”
She scrutinized him a long moment as they walked. In the darkness she couldn’t quite make out the color of his coat, but she knew it to be a midnight blue; only his crisp white stock stood out, reflecting the moonlight.
He and Christian had so much in common, she considered suddenly, for they both seemed to flaunt fashion. Nor was that all they had in common. Smiling wanly into the shadows, she recalled that Christian, too, had teased her as easily as Ben did now, and the memory brought a sting to her eyes.
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