by Goodman, Jo
"No," she whispered. She couldn't look away from him. Her body burned where he touched her. "No, I didn't... I don't want—"
Christian's head dipped quickly, without warning, and his lips moved over hers. Surprise was on his side, and Jenny's startled gasp gave him an unexpected opening to the sweetly warm recesses of her mouth. The pressure of his lips increased so the kiss held more in the way of punishment than passion. His mouth slanted across hers hard. His tongue darted between her lips, searching deeply, ravaging her senses.
Jenny twisted as panic replaced those first inklings of heat and desire. The weight of his body on hers was like being held underwater, and his kiss took her breath away. She was drowning. There was no screaming this time. Christian's mouth swallowed the sounds she made, and even to her own ears her protests sounded like the throaty erratic murmurs of wanting.
Christian felt her hip press sharply into his groin. He groaned, but not from pain. His cock swelled and hardened, and his hips rocked forward.
It was when she felt the intimate press of his erection that Jenny knew she was going to be sick. She clamped her mouth shut the moment Christian's head lifted and kept it that way when he bent to kiss her again. She felt his tongue darting, probing, but she offered him no opportunity to take more. When she jerked her head sideways, she had to tolerate his lips against her cheek.
"No," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. "Where is your pity now? Give me your mouth, Jenny Holland."
She shook her head and tried to wriggle free.
Christian held her wrists fast. His lips nuzzled the curve of her jaw just below her ear. "Your mouth," he said again. "Open it for me."
Agitated, Jenny made a tight sound of rejection.
"What's this?" he asked. "Have you already forgotten what I told you before?"
No sound escaped Jenny's lips this time. She continued to stare in the direction of the fireplace and wished she could cover her legs. She did not want to feel him against her bare skin. His trousers were no barrier at all. They only served to remind her that she was the one exposed and vulnerable. Male strength and predatory power were all on Christian's side. Her breasts ached from the crushing pressure of his weight.
Christian's own breathing was harsh. He watched Jenny's nostrils flare slightly as she sucked in air through her nose. So determined was she not to surrender her mouth, she would not even part her lips to take a breath. Her heart was thumping against his chest like a racehorse's and she was still holding her own. Admiration warred with annoyance. He was damned if she was going to best him or use him or pity him. He had warned her to stay out of his way, and that she was under him now was the proof of how well she listened.
Changing tactics, Christian released her wrists and plunged his fingers into the thick, sable richness of Jenny's hair. His forearms still rested heavily on her upper arms, making it difficult for her to attack with her fists.
"Why is it that you never answer my questions?" He waited. He applied gentle pressure with his fingertips until she turned her head. "No? Still not speaking? Well then, I'll say what needs to be said. You ignored my warning to stay away from me. Perhaps you heard a challenge I never meant to issue, but whatever the reason, you as good as invited me into this bed last night. I was clear regarding what you could expect if you found yourself in this position again... beneath me. Do you still feel sorry for me? Do you still want to comfort me?"
Jenny blinked up at him then. Her eyes were wide, still, and wary. She felt her stomach heave. She tasted bile. What she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice was enough to keep her insides roiling.
"You can, you know," he said. "You can comfort me in a way I can appreciate." His head dipped again and he touched the corner of her mouth with his lips. "Hmm? Does the little virgin from the Five Points want to show Christian Marshall what she doesn't know?"
To maintain her silence, Jenny bit the underside of her lip until she tasted blood. She was not the demented soul. He was.
"Perhaps she isn't a virgin any longer," he said. He moved his mouth across hers and traced the full line of her lower lip with his tongue. He felt her shiver. "Is that it, Jenny?" He laughed shortly, softly, without humor. "It's more likely that Scott made some sort of mistake, isn't it? I've heard that whores from the Five Points have all manner of ways to make a man think he is the first. I should have suspected that you could fool a doctor, too. Of course, you're not from the Five Points, are you? Or is it just that working for Alice Vanderstell gave you airs?"
He kissed the tip of her chin, and when her neck arched as she tried to avoid his touch, Christian's mouth slid along the smooth, taut flesh of her throat. "Who are you, Jenny Holland? Virgin? Whore? Nursemaid?" Each question was punctuated by a tiny nibble on the sensitive cord of her neck. After he had pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, he raised his head. "Still want to comfort me?" he asked again. His hips moved against the cradle of her thighs, forcing her to feel the pressure and heat of wanting her.
Jenny's hoarse cry rent the air. "Bastard! Let me up, you great, hulking son of a whore!"
It was Christian's turn to be startled into silence. These words from the priggish little maid who prettily begged him not to swear in front of her?
"If you want comfort, go find it in a bottle! That's where you usually go, isn't it? That's what you wanted last night. I saw you searching for your whiskey bottle." Her eyes accused him, dared him to call her a liar now. "And when you couldn't find it here, you started to dress to go out and find it somewhere else. There!" she said, tilting her chin upward. "That's what else I saw you do last night! You were going to get drunk, and I thought I owed you the benefit of my good sense when you had none at all. I believed I could stop you. I believed I should. Well, I did, but I wish I hadn't. I wish you would go drown yourself in the stuff. You are pathetic, Mr. Marshall, and I cannot think of a single reason that you shouldn't drink yourself to death."
Christian squeezed his fingers around thick masses of Jenny's hair. It kept him from circling her neck. "You do not know me at all, and you would do well to remember that the next time you try to interpret my actions." He could hardly believe the tight leash on his temper held. He was straining against it with every word. "I was going downstairs for warm milk, not whiskey."
Jenny laughed incredulously. "Your lies are even pathetic."
The leash snapped. He'd been bent on frightening her before, teaching her that her interference was unnecessary and unwelcome. She may have thought he had lost control of his actions, but he knew differently. He had known what he was doing, how far he could push. That was true even now, except that one thing had changed. Now he wanted to hurt her. "Sweet Jesus," he said. "Enough is enough."
Christian silenced Jenny's cry with his mouth. He released her hair and caught her by the shoulders. He was met by renewed struggling, but her energy was sorely tapped, and her blows fell against him harmlessly. His hands moved to the collar of her nightshirt. He raised himself up and yanked hard. The material gave way as easily as if he had been using scissors.
Throwing up her arms, Jenny tried to cover herself. He stopped her by taking her wrists in one hand and pressing them into the mattress directly above her head.
His gaze dropped to her chest. Her breasts were thrust forward and offered up to him. They were as beautifully formed as he remembered, and he was not embarrassed to be looking at her now or to be aroused by what he saw. She was awake, alert, and she knew what he was about. He had not forgotten those times when she had placed his hand on her breast and begged him to touch her. "Why aren't you asking me to touch you now?" he said. He dragged his fingertips lightly between her sweetly curved breasts, paused, and then continued making a trail down the midline of her abdomen. Her skin retracted in anticipation of his touch. "Do you remember begging me to touch you?"
Jenny turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. "I don't want this," she said. Her husky voice was barely audible.
"I could change that," he sa
id. "Shall I, Jenny Holland? Shall I make you want me?" As he spoke, Christian's palm cupped the curve of her hip. He ran his hand back and forth, raising the hem of her nightshirt with each pass. "I can do it, you know." He lowered his head long enough to run his tongue along her collarbone. When he reached the base of her throat he felt the vibration of her bitter invective.
"Bastard."
"No," he said, lifting his head. "Not that." His voice and his eyes were equally cool. His fingers slipped under the nightshirt and traced the line of her hipbone. "Women appreciate men who can give them pleasure. I am an appreciated man."
"Whores will say what you want to hear." Jenny's entire body went rigid as Christian's hand slid between her thighs. "Oh, God! No!" She pressed her legs together to stop his probing, stroking fingers and merely succeeded in trapping his hand.
Christian countered by insinuating his knee between her legs, forcing her thighs apart. "Say yes," he whispered. "Say yes, Jenny Holland?" His touch was light, exploring, and he felt her hips lift. "Like that." His palm rested against the curve of her inner thigh. His thumb passed back and forth over her skin. She moved again, restless. "Exactly like that."
Watching her closely, Christian saw her quick, indrawn breath as he continued to stroke her. His eyes were once again drawn to her breasts. The coral tips were only a shade darker than the flush that drew blood to the surface of her skin. He lowered his mouth. His tongue flicked across her nipple, raising the tip to a perfect little bud. She was moaning by the time he treated her to the hot suck of his mouth, and oh, Jesus, he thought, she tasted fine.
Between her thighs, the heel of his hand pressed her mons and cupped her. Her hips jerked in response, her thighs parted under the pressure, and Christian's fingers stroked more deeply. She was hot and tight. She would close around him like a velvet fist, and she would know surrender.
Only Christian knew it would be his surrender, not hers. She had glimpsed his damaged soul. She would have all of it.
Tears gathered behind Jenny's eyelids and her insides continued to turn over. "I don't want this," she told him in her ruined voice. His mouth had begun a slow, hot trail to her other breast. His teeth tugged at the hard nub of her nipple while his tongue made it wet. She went very still. "I am going to be sick. I swear, I'm going to be..." She choked as she tasted bile again. Her throat burned. Gagging, she made yet another attempt to wrench free.
Christian released her instantly. At first he thought he had fallen for some new trick and remained guarded as he hovered over her. Stunned by what he saw, what he clearly saw, he heaved himself away. He watched her scramble out of bed, covering her mouth with her hand. She was careless of her feet, oblivious to the pain, as she ran into his dressing room. Moments later he heard the sounds of her being sick.
Christian closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples. Slowly, still dazed by the enormity of what he had been doing to Jenny, Christian rose from the bed, tucked his loose shirt into his trousers, and followed her into the dressing room. She was sitting on the floor, her head bent over the chamber pot. "I'll get you a glass of water," he said wearily, raking back his hair with his fingers.
Jenny would have liked to tell him that she didn't want anything from him, but as soon as she opened her mouth she retched again.
Christian poured her a glass of fresh water from the porcelain pitcher on the washstand. He set it aside while he looked for a cloth. Behind him, the continuing noises of Jenny being sick were like a succession of blows to his gut. He swallowed hard and closed his ears to the sounds of her distress. Wetting the cloth, he knelt beside her and waited. "Here," he said when he thought she had emptied her stomach. "Take this."
Jenny nodded weakly and took the cloth without looking at Christian. When she was done, she folded it neatly, concentrating on the task because it gave her something to do with her hands. He eventually took it from her and substituted it with the glass of water. Jenny rinsed out her mouth, spat, and drank enough to wash the acid from her throat.
Christian held out his hand to help her to her feet. Jenny recoiled, clutching the gaping collar of her shift. Christian stood and searched the chest of drawers until he found another of his nightshirts. "Put this on," he said. "I'll wait in the other room. Call me when you're done and I'll carry you back to bed." He sensed her objection before she had time to say it aloud. "I'm ringing for Mrs. Brandywine right now. I think you'll feel safer once she's with you. I'd like you back in bed by the time she gets here."
Jenny was tucked in bed only moments before Mrs. Brandywine answered Christian's summons. Her face was still flushed unnaturally, but she managed a shaky, welcoming smile when the housekeeper swept into the room.
"Jenny's been sick," Christian told the housekeeper. His tone was matter of fact. "I'm going for Scott myself. Her feet need attending. Just let me get some fresh clothes and I'll be out of your way."
Mrs. Brandywine acknowledged Christian with a brief nod as she bent over Jenny. "Poor dear," she clucked, laying the back of her hand against Jenny's forehead. "You feel a trifle hot. I can't say that I'm surprised after your ordeal last night. You were fair to frozen when Mr. Marshall plucked you out of your room." The housekeeper spoke over her shoulder to Christian. "Before you leave, would you ask Mrs. Morrisey to brew some tea?" Her eyes made a quick study of her employer. "You look as if you could do with a cup, too. Your face is as gray as ash. Are you certain you should be going after Dr. Turner yourself?"
"I'm certain."
"Then have a care. There's three inches of new snow out there, and Joe tells me there's a good quarter inch of ice beneath it. Bundle up." Mrs. Brandywine frowned when Christian merely nodded and disappeared into the dressing room to get his clothes. "He's surely sick," she murmured to herself. "He is usually quick to take exception to remarks from this mother hen." Her attention returned to Jenny, and her frown deepened as she observed the young woman avoiding her gaze.
Mrs. Brandywine sought Jenny's hand and squeezed it gently. "We'll have you feeling more the thing in no time," she promised, forcing a smile. "Mrs. B. cares for all her chicks."
Chapter 6
Scott Turner put aside the medical journal he was reading and looked up expectantly as his wife entered their bedchamber. "Has she finally exhausted herself?" he asked.
The look Susan slid her husband was frankly disbelieving. "Beth's asleep because Christian exhausted her, not because she did it to herself. I thought we were going to have to leave her at Marshall House this evening. That would have set Chris back on his heels for spoiling her the way he did. What was he thinking giving her that kitten?"
"I was as surprised as you were," he said in his defense. Then he defended Christian. "He did say he would keep it for her if you didn't want it here."
"As if Beth would have let me do that. And Christian knew it. That was really too bad of him, Scott." There was more bemusement in her voice than sting.
Scott chuckled and patted the space beside him in bed. "Over here, wife. I'll play the lady's maid."
There was a distinct gleam in Scott's eye that made Susan's heart skip a beat. Smiling coyly, she ignored his outstretched hands and sat at the vanity. Beyond her reflection in the mirror, she intercepted her husband's exaggerated expression of hurt. She pushed out her lower lip in a beautifully sulky pout that told him precisely what she thought of his tactics to make her feel guilty. "All in all it was a lovely day," she said, plucking pins from her auburn hair.
"Lovely," he replied absently as the heavy coil of Susan's thick hair fell away from the crown of her head. Her slender fingers deftly undid the braid, and in a matter of moments her shiny hair lay like a silky shawl across her back and shoulders. In Scott's opinion, Susan's hair was her finest feature. Not that he wasn't full of admiration for the almond-shaped eyes and winged brows that gave her a vaguely mysterious air. That secretive aura would have driven him mad if it weren't for the fact that Susan's green eyes were so frank and honest. She wasn't capa
ble of real deception. Prevarication inevitably brought a flush of color to her cheeks and made the spray of light freckles on her nose darken.
Scott's eyes dropped to the choker of pearls that Susan was fingering lightly. He didn't blame her for admiring them. They were beautifully matched and a perfect accent to the slender stem of her neck. Christian's extravagance had surprised them both. "Someday I'll buy you earrings to go with that necklace," he said.
Susan's fingers instantly fell away from the choker. She picked up a brush, drew her hair over her shoulder, and began untangling the curling tips. The eyes she raised to Scott were vaguely troubled. "You know I don't care about things like that," she said. "Should I give the pearls back to Christian? I will, if you want me to. I wouldn't have kept them in the first place if you hadn't said it would be all right. I cannot even imagine where I might be able to wear them. People would talk if they knew how I came by the choker."
"Christian wants you to have them," Scott said. "We both know why. He doesn't know any other way to say thank you."
"But he's not thanking me, he's thanking you."
"Yes, but I don't have the neck for pearls."
Susan gave Scott a sassy glimpse of the tip of her tongue. "Still, it was excessive of him."
"They were his mother's."
"Then it was excessive and sentimental."
"One day they'll be Beth's. That was Christian's real intent. He means to repay me by providing for her. It would have been churlish not to accept, and until Beth's old enough to appreciate them, I don't know why you shouldn't have the enjoyment of his gesture."
Susan remained doubtful but wanting to be convinced. The pearls were astonishingly lovely, and she believed Christian had meant well. She felt compelled to make one last protest. "These should go to his wife."
That raised Scott's brows. "Do you really see Christian marrying? I always thought he seemed quite content with his bachelor existence. No obligations or responsibilities to a single other person. He has his choice of female partners from debutantes to fallen women, and if you'll pardon my frankness, he makes use of them with a fair amount of frequency. I can't imagine that he'll ever settle down."