Charity paused at the foot of the stairs to gather up a black linen cape. Her fingers closed on a heavy object, and she smiled. Trust John to have his own way in the end. She pushed the little pistol into a wide pocket of her coarse apron.
"It isn't safe," he'd protested when she'd told him what she wanted. "Let me carry a message to him."
"No. It will be this way or not at all. I've waited long enough for him to come. We have... business to discuss." Neither had believed the lie.
She unlatched the back door and moved across the moonlit garden. Far off, an owl hooted. Charity shivered. Hadn't Nan said owls were bad luck? The pistol banged reassuringly against her hipbone. She was armed, and she could use the weapon if she had to. A tavern wench's education wasn't all that lacking, she decided with a grim smile.
The grass was soft beneath her feet, the boxwood living shadows. The air was so still she could hear breathing. Breathing? The hair rose in prickles on the back of her neck. Foolishly she realized it was the horse she'd asked for.
"Whoa, boy," she soothed, wishing the animal didn't look so big. John had refused to have Duchess brought about. With her coloring, she could be seen too easily.
"A black horse is what you want, my lady. I have just the one for you. His name is Devil."
"Whoa, Devil." She patted his neck, more to reassure herself than the animal. "Why couldn't you have been named Dobbin or Sugar?" Awkwardly she struggled up into the saddle, wondering all the while if Jamie were worth it. Bravely she gathered the reins in both hands and clicked to the horse. "Riding this devil black beast, in this black cape, anyone who does see me will think me a witch or a ghost," she muttered, and turned the animal's head in the direction of Bold Venture.
Chapter 25
The journey to Jamie's plantation took far longer than she'd expected. No wonder most of the travel on the Eastern Shore was done by water. But a boat would have meant men to sail it—witnesses. For what she meant to do this night, she wanted no onlookers.
She didn't pass another living soul on the road. Most honest people were in their beds at this hour. And the others Charity chuckled to herself. They were undoubtedly engaged in personal pursuits of an amorous nature.
She hadn't counted on the dogs.
Before she was within a hundred yards of the house, a pack of baying hounds rushed out at her, snarling and snapping at her horse. Cursing, she fought to keep herself in the saddle and to keep control of Devil.
Men followed the dogs. "Halt! Who goes there?"
"State your business!"
"I've come to see James Drummond!" she flung back. "On private business."
"It's a wench." A burly half-dressed man beat at the dogs with a pitchfork handle. "Down! Down, I say." He moved toward Charity.
"Come no closer! I've come to see Drummond, as I said." She produced the pistol from her pocket. "I'm a friend. Tell him..." Frantically she thought for something he would recognize. "Tell him to come for sake of the Quaker's wife." A dog lunged at Devil and he half reared. Charity grabbed his mane to keep from falling and two other men ran toward the plunging animal.
She brandished the pistol. "I'll shoot to kill," she warned. "Fetch your master."
Jamie had awakened at the sound of the dogs. From his window he saw torches beyond the barn. Hastily he pulled on breeches and boots, tucking a pistol into his waist and taking a musket from over the fireplace. "Who the hell—" He took the steps two at a time.
"Viscount Braemar!" a stableboy shouted. "I was comin' to get ye. There's a witch-woman yonder. She says she must see ye. Somethin' about a Quaker."
Jamie strode past him. Whoever it wasn't, it wasn't the sheriff. "What business do you have with me?" he called as he approached the dark figure on horseback. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Charity's heart caught in her throat as Jamie stepped into the circle of torchlight. He was bare to the waist and his thin linen breeches clung to lean thighs. "Be you Drummond?" She kept her voice low, concealing her identity. "If so, my message is for you alone, not these." She waved the pistol to indicate the men gathered about.
He grinned arrogantly. "Come to the house, witch. No one will harm you." He reached for the bridle of her horse.
She slid from the animal, keeping the cloak tight about her, and walked through the circle of retainers without looking to the-left or right. A dog growled, then yipped as someone yanked it back. Jamie walked beside her, curbing his long stride to match her own. A bleary-eyed servant opened the front door for them.
Jamie indicated the stairs. "We can speak privately in my chambers." The housemaid twittered; he turned a fierce look in her direction as she fled.
Mouth dry, trembling, Charity ascended the steps with Jamie close behind. At the landing, he led the way to the master's chamber and closed the door behind them.
"Now, little witch." He chuckled. "Why have you disturbed a man's sleep?" He was standing dangerously close. In the light of the single candle that burned on the mantel, his eyes gleamed like a wolf's.
Her heart was pounding so hard he must surely hear it. For once, words failed her. What if he truly rejected her? Her fingers felt like blocks of wood as she fumbled with the tie at her throat. "Why didn't you come, Jamie?" She threw back the hood. "I waited, but you didn't come." The cloak dropped to the floor. "Jamie... I love you," she said huskily.
"There's more to love than words," he parried. His features hardened in the flickering candlelight. "You've got everything you've ever wanted, Charity. You don't need me."
The bitterness in his voice struck her with the full force of a blow, and tears welled up in the green eyes. "Lord DunCannon's overseer told us that you weren't coming back. I thought you'd deserted me."
"And so you married the closest available man," he taunted, "who just happened to be an earl." His hands clenched into fists. "Have you thought about me, sweet? About how I must have felt when I came back to find you in that old man's bed?"
"That old man as you call him was more man than you'll ever be!" she lashed. Anger rose in her. "I came here to ask your forgiveness... to see if we could make a new beginning." She turned away. "I can see I was wrong. I'll go and trouble you no more."
His hand clamped on her shoulder and he spun her around. "Damn you, Charity. Will you leave me no peace? What do you want of me?"
"Nothing!"
He caught her in his arms and tried to kiss her, but she twisted her head away and hit out at him with her fists. The pistol fell from her waist and clattered across the floor. He pinned her wrists to her sides, holding her against him so tightly she could feel the beat of his heart.
"No! Let me go!" He released her and she backed away. "You knew it was me in the yard, didn't you?" She wiped at the hateful tears with the back of her hand like a child.
"On John's horse? Who else could it be?"
"Amusing, wasn't it?" She retrieved the pistol and the cape. "I wanted to try... to see if there was anything left between us." Her voice cracked. "There's never been anyone else but you, Jamie."
"You forget I found you with child," he accused. "Another man's child."
"I will answer to God for Kat and no other."
"I'm sorry." Jamie sighed loudly in the still room. "We're no good for each other, Charity. We just keep ripping each other apart."
She took a step toward the door.
"Stay."
"For what? A few hours..." Her voice dropped away. The tears spilled down her cheeks. "It's not enough, Jamie. I want you... but not just for a night."
He took her in his arms and kissed the salt-streaked cheeks. "It's a start, isn't it?" His lips found hers, and he kissed her tenderly. Weakly, she lay against his chest as his fingers stroked her hair. "We have to begin somewhere," he murmured.
Her arms went about his neck, and she rose to meet his next kiss. "Oh, Jamie, I love you. I've always loved you." A languid tide spread upward from her knees as she nestled her face in the dark mat of his chest. His aims tightened an
d held her. "Jamie," she repeated. Her hand slid down his neck to trace the curve of his shoulder and then to caress his throat and chest. "I've loved only you. I swear it." If he knew Kat was his, the voice in her head cried, he would forgive me. But I can't tell... I can't. I swore on her immortal soul.
Jamie's arm caught her behind the knees, and he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. "I make you no promises," he said hoarsely. She reached up to draw him down beside her.
"Love me," Charity whispered huskily, staring deeply into his dark eyes, heavy-lidded now with undisguised passion. "Oh, Jamie, I've missed you so."
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her, hesitantly at first, and then with a growing passion. "Charity, sweet," he moaned as his hands stroked her body, kindling desire in them both.
The heat in her loins grew to an overpowering ache as Jamie unlaced the bodice of her coarse gown and took one love-swollen bud between his lips and sucked gently. She cried out and thrust her hips against him, her hand slipping down to stroke him.
The knowledge of his hunger heightened hers, and she felt a gathering moistness at the core of her womanhood. Trembling, she fumbled with the ties at the back of his breeches.
Jamie chuckled deep in his throat as he left her breasts to lay a trail of hot, wet kisses up her throat to her ear. "Not so fast, darling," he soothed. "I know many ways to please you." He kissed her mouth, his tongue plunging deep within to make her one with him, to savor the sweet, dark softness. "And we have all night," he finished. "Hours and hours, sweet."
She moaned as he moved away to strip off his breeches and kick away the boots. "Jamie... don't leave me." How long had it been since she'd been kissed like that? Touched?
The candle flickered and went out. Then his hands were on her, undressing her... caressing. The tip of his tongue found the curve of her breast, and he circled it with teasing flicks, sending shivers of excitement through her veins. Catching his hand, she guided it down to the softness of her curling hair and then deeper to tantalize the bittersweet burning that threatened to engulf her.
"Jamie, I want you now! Please... darling... now."
She rose to meet him as he entered her, crying out with the joy of their union. And they moved together in the age-old dance of love, giving and taking, becoming one, until Charity's mind exploded in a shower of stars, falling slowly back to earth, one by one, to glow and then to flicker out.
They lay in silence for what seemed forever, then he began to kiss her eyelids. "You're too impatient. You'll never learn anything if you can't have patience." He kissed her lips sweetly, gently. A finger traced the arch of her brows.
She burrowed into his chest, reveling in the tickle of his curling hair against her face and lips. Her teeth found the button of his male nipple and nipped lightly.
"Ow," he cried in mock pain. "Would you torture me, wench?" His hands cupped her full breast; one finger stroked the nipple. "Or do you want some of the same?"
She giggled, then began to suck the swelling nub.
"Stop that!" He rolled and pulled her atop him. She leaned back against his legs, moving suggestively. "Have you no shame?" he teased. His hands cupped her buttocks; her skin was like silk.
"None." They both dissolved in laughter.
"What am I to do with you?" he asked weakly after they had made love a second time. "You are a most unseemly woman."
She curled against him and sighed. "And foolish. But"—she giggled—"very rich." Her fingers entwined in his hair.
He rose on one elbow to stare down at her in the darkness. "And do I look a man to choose a wife for her dowry?"
"Yes. Once a rogue always a rogue."
"Hmmm." Jamie rose and crossed the room. In a few seconds he struck a spark to light a new candle and sat it on the table near the bed. "This bears serious thought." He brought a bottle of wine and two cups.
"If you didn't leave me alone, you wouldn't have to worry about me bringing other men to your bed," she said sassily. "I could make you very happy, Jamie." Her words were light, but he caught the sparkle of tears in her green eyes.
"And what of your child?"
"Kat?" Charity sat bolt upright, letting the sheet fall away from her full, proud figure. "You must learn to love her, Jamie, or I won't marry you. You take us both or not at all." Her voice softened. "I love you both, can you understand that? But I'm all she has. Lord Beauford made you her guardian by law. Can you give her more than that? Can you truly be a father to her?"
Jamie poured a cup of red wine and handed it to her. "Honestly, I don't know. But I'll try."
She curled her legs under her and perched on the edge of the bed. "I'll never give you cause to distrust me again," she promised, sipping at the sweet wine. "But we must be courted openly, Kat and I. So there will be no gossip on the Tidewater." She grinned at him. "And it must be Jamie Drummond who comes, not another of the imps you keep in your box."
He laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, Lady Beauford. But have you considered? If I should be persuaded to sue for your hand, and you should accept, do you realize you would lose rank in marrying me? My father may well choose to disown me. I've had a letter from my mother. She is expecting another child. If it is a son..." He shrugged. "You could well become Mistress Drummond."
The tip of her tongue caught a drop of the red wine on her bottom lip as Charity held out the cup. "I can be well satisfied to be Mistress Drummond if you are content to be a tobacco farmer. No more smuggling," she threatened. "A married man and father has too many responsibilities to play at that game."
"Not so fast," he answered softly. "I have promised nothing yet. I said I would try." He set down the cup and returned to the bed. Laughing, Charity retreated to the far end.
"Come back," he dared. "I promised you lessons."
The thick beeswax candle spread a pool of light across the bed; around it the darkness wrapped them in a velvet cocoon, shutting out the world and making a magic place for them alone. Through the open windows came the smell of the bay, salt-tinged and brisk, borne on a cool breeze.
The green eyes beckoned as Charity sank down against the pillows, her white-gold hair spread about her like a silken mantle. "As you will, my lord," she whispered. "I place myself entirely in your hands."
* * *
On Tuesday, William Goldsboro of the Choptank came to pay suit to Lady Beauford. To John's surprise, she rode out with him to a gathering at Sweetwater. Jane, expecting her third child, welcomed Charity and included her in her circle of friends. No one made mention of the fact that Lady Beauford was so newly widowed. On the Tidewater, life was still hard and gentlewomen scarce. Extended periods of mourning were better suited for England. The wealthy and beautiful Caroline Eames would not remain unmarried long if the eligible men of the Eastern Shore had any say in the matter.
On Sunday, Lady Beauford rode to services in Oxford with Philip Miles, a widower from Easton. Philip's dashing dark looks and matched team of black thoroughbreds were a perfect foil for Charity's flaxen hair and sparkling green eyes. Twenty pounds was bet in Oxford churchyard that Philip would wed the widow within a year.
Dawn had barely stirred Avalon into motion when Nan came to awaken Charity from a sound sleep. "My lady," she called. "My lady, Viscount Braemar is here to see you. I told him that you didn't rise for hours yet—but he insisted. Shall I send him away?"
Charity sat up, yawned, and rubbed her bleary eyes. Philip had stayed until half-past two, playing the harpsichord and singing silly love songs. "Jamie? Jamie's here? At this hour?"
There was a loud crack, and a stone landed in the center of her bedroom floor. Splinters of glass showered down around it. Charity vaulted out of the bed and ran to the window, then ducked as another stone hit the glass. "What are you doing?" she shrieked.
"Good morning!"
Charity's eyes widened foolishly and her mouth dropped open. A black and white mule was standing in her flower bed with James Drummond in the saddle. The mule wore a floppy fe
lt hat with a wide tattered brim; Jamie wore a gray wig that had seen far better days. His feet were bare, and his breeches ■ were coarse homespun. "What are you doing?" she repeated.
"Throwing stones at your window! Wake up! It's a beautiful day and the fish are biting!" He grinned boyishly and waved a fishing pole. "I'm going fishing. Want to come along?"
"You threw a rock through my window!" She leaned out and threw the stone back, just missing the mule's head. The animal kept munching the flowers. "Get out of my flower bed! Are you out of..." A wave of giggles smothered her protests. "Out of your mind?"
"Are you coming or not? If you're not, I know a tavern wench who'll come with me in a minute," he threatened.
"Wait! I'm coming," she yelled back. Turning to a bewildered Nan, she ordered her to take off her gown.
"My dress, your ladyship?" The girl stared at her in disbelief.
"Yes. I need it. I can't go fishing on a mule in my satin ones, can I? Wait, fetch Kat first. And ask the nurse for that wool thing she carries her baby in. Hurry!" Grabbing a hairbrush, Charity began to smooth the tangles from her hair. "And bring me a leather tie," she shouted after Nan. "And a pair of moccasins. Get them from Mary in the kitchen. She has little feet."
In five minutes, Charity joined Jamie in the garden wearing a linsey-woolsey gown, battered moccasins, and a misshapen, man's tricorn hat. She had a bundle of bread and cheese in her hands and Kat slung on her back like a papoose.
"Did you bring me a pole?" The green eyes danced. "I'm not going if I don't get to fish."
Solemnly Jamie dismounted, bowed, tossed the wretched wig into a bush, and lifted Charity and the baby onto the mule. "I don't have one yet, Lady Beauford," he said, "but I'll find you one somewhere." Chuckling, he swung up behind them. The baby cooed and batted at his face. "Nice child you have here," he said. "Very nice."
"I'm pleased you like her, Viscount Braemar." Charity took a firm hold on the mule's stiff mane. "Because you're going to be seeing a lot of her."
"And do you always take your babe with you when gentlemen come courting?" Barely concealed laughter framed the formal tone of his affected speech.
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