Chapter 13
Ignoring Maggie's admonitions to keep the dress pristine, Jensen did not change after the party. Instead, she left the house with a small hurricane lamp and Celia's old, woolen shawl and headed straight for the stables. She told herself it was to check on the new colt, but really she needed the comfort of the horses.
There were still guests taking their leave in the cool night air. A few glistening carriages with drivers in immaculate livery waited on the drive.
As she cornered the plantation office, the sound of uneven breathing stopped her dead in her tracks. Squinting in the dark, she saw two tall figures intertwined in a passionate embrace. She stood with her mouth agape, an icy chill running up her spine. Sensing her presence, Levi lifted his head and peered at her through the dark, seeming to see her with perfect clarity as though he possessed the keen senses of a wolf. His lips twitched at the corners, and she felt as though he'd read her thoughts. Her face hot with embarrassment, Jensen raced haphazardly over the lawn to the stables.
As she reached the paddock, the comforting sounds of the stables eased her distress. Her feet crushed the clover, releasing its sweet perfume. She lit the lamp before releasing the bolt on the heavy door. The smell of hay and horses struck her as she entered. The flame flickered for a moment as the door creaked closed behind her.
"Mystic, your head is far too big for your body. You look like you could topple over," she laughed gently at the sight of the colt. In the dim light, she found the brush and began to smooth his soft, baby fur.
She heard what she thought was the rattle of a bridle, but since all the horses were stabled, she decided that her imagination was getting the better of her.
Taking her light to the last stall, she began filing down the overgrown hoof of the old mare, when someone grabbed her waist. Kicking and screaming, she was carried into an empty stall and thrown to the ground. She heard the metal door latch fall into place. Someone kneeled heavily behind her and a large hand smothered her screams, the metal of rings clinking against her teeth. She saw the approaching flicker of a candle flame through the seams in the door's slats.
"Open the door, Fitch, I want a piece of her," came the indignant voice, and the door was kicked forcefully from the outside splintering the wood.
"Hold your horses, Wat," Fitch said, dragging Jensen with him, his hand pressing hard against her mouth.
The door was thrown open. The light reflected off Wat's pomaded brown waves and diamond encrusted stickpin. Particles of hay were plastered to his face with sweat, and his eyes shone with excitement.
"A servant does what they're told, no questions asked. Am I understood?" said the taunting voice from behind her.
Jensen bit his fingers hard, drawing blood.
"Damn it, you bitch! Wat, this one's no pussy-cat, more like a wildcat, grab her arms."
Wat violently yanked her arms behind her back while Fitch began slicing away at her bodice lacings with his dagger. As the silky green fabric fell away from the chemise, he rent the sheer fabric in two with his hands. She kicked his legs in a fury, but he only became more insistent. His fingers pinched and pulled at her nipples. She writhed and choked back the bile that rose in her throat. Tears streamed down her face.
"Stop your whimpering. This is the best you'll ever get," he groaned as he fumbled with the laces of his breeches.
"I'm the oldest, why do you get first crack at her?"
"Because I'm bigger than you, and I can pound you into the ground, you stupid jackanapes."
An inhuman roar echoed through the stables. Fitch pulled his dagger, his eyes searching the dark. "Wat, find out what the hell that was?"
"Hell, no! Do I look like your whipping boy?"
"It must be North's damn she-wolf. Did you bolt the stable door?"
"I told you I did."
Jensen watched as Fitch's silver buckled shoe kicked over the candle, and the flame guttered and died out.
For a moment, there seemed to be no sound, just an unnatural quiet before something large and black dropped into the stall. A thin stream of moonlight pierced the shuttered window, and Jensen glimpsed the shimmer of Levi's earring. The glint of the dagger could be seen as it slashed the air. Jensen caught the shadow of Levi's fist as it plowed through the window covering, creating a gaping hole in the wood. The glow of the moon settled eerily into the dark space.
Seizing Fitch by the throat, he slammed him against the wall with a sickening thud. Levi grabbed for Fitch's wrist and shattered his hand against the stall partition. The knife landed soundlessly in the straw, but not before Fitch had taken an effectively bloody swipe at Levi's neck.
Levi turned toward Jensen. Immobilized, her arms numbed by her attacker's tight grip, she looked into Levi's face. She recoiled at the hurt she saw mirrored in his eyes.
"Coverley, if you do not release the lady this instant, I will choke the life out of your friend," he thundered.
"Bloody Christ, North! All this for a serving girl," whined Wat as he dropped Jensen in a heap at his feet. Jensen crawled, taking refuge in a corner, barely holding her shredded clothing together.
"Badge of honor, more like, to dispose of worthless vermin like you two." Levi released his strangling grip, and Fitch fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air.
"Hands off, we understand now. She's your property, Mr. North. You only had to tell us the way it lay," he said in a hoarse voice as he sat up and rubbed his throat.
Levi hauled him to his feet by the scruff of his ruffled neckcloth and splattered his nose across his face with his fist and then threw him into the wall with a dull whack. He removed his long black jacket and tossed it to Jensen.
"Christ, bloody Christ!" Wat repeated, swallowing loudly. "We were just having some fun."
"If you kill us, it'd be a disgrace to the North name. The Burgesses will spit on Matthias. Imagine electing a representative whose brother killed, avenging the honor of some insignificant, little slut." Fitch spoke in a voice that was considerably more nasal. His delicate linen handkerchief was dark with blood.
"Miss Hawthorne, it's up to you, what do you want me to do with these two bastards?"
I'd like you to cut their throats, she thought, but didn't say. Instead she shrugged and said, "Let them go."
Levi gave her a knowing look and pulled the bejeweled hilt from the straw. He actually believes I'm letting them go for Matthias's sake, she thought in astonishment.
"The lady is far more forgiving than I. But understand this, you worthless, sniveling, little worms, if I ever see your ugly faces again near the Moss Rose, I will not be disposed to be so generous. You would both make very fine ornaments for my great oak, if you follow," he said, his voice deadly calm.
Coverley scrambled for the door, and Fitch was on his heels cradling his nose in his handkerchief.
"Not so fast," Levi said.
They stumbled into each other and stood watching Levi from the door, their eyes wide with fear.
"If I so much as hear that you have maligned Miss Hawthorne's reputation in any way, I will personally hunt you down and kill you, is that understood?"
"Yes sir," they blubbered in unison and bolted for the exit.
Levi pocketed the blade, walked over and wordlessly lifted Jensen from the corner. He wrapped his coat more snuggly around her and hugged her shivering body tight to his chest. She could feel the heavy hammer beat of his heart through the crisp white shirt.
She reached up to touch the gash at the side of his neck. It was wet with blood. As she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her with his fingers
"I know, I know, you could have handled it yourself," he sighed, taking his fingers from her lips.
"No, I was just going to say thank you. I've never felt such terror in my life." She stood on tiptoes and gently kissed his jaw.
He took hold of her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "In the future, I suggest you do not give your regard so freely, unless of course you are prepared to act on it."
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Infuriated, she slapped him hard across his cheek. He caught her wrist, a dangerous look in his narrowed eyes.
"You know very well I wanted nothing to do with those simpering twits."
"Is that so? In the parlor you led me to believe you welcomed their attentions."
"Sarcasm, sir. Or have you never heard of it." She struggled to free her wrist, but he held her with an iron grip. "What am I saying, you're the king of sarcasm," she laughed humorlessly.
His eyes blazed into hers as he released her arm roughly.
She ran toward the manor as though Satan were at her back. She thought wryly that he was, in a way.
Half-expecting to find all the residents of the plantation waiting for her, ready to judge her shame, she hitched the collar of his jacket up to hide her face. But the carriages had departed, and only a few windows in the manor still glowed with candlelight. Even the redhead had gone, more likely she was just waiting for Levi in the office, she thought, which made her mood all the blacker.
She tossed and turned for hours, but sleep never came. She shuddered, if only she could wash away the feel of their hands from her skin.
Knowing it was foolish to walk alone on the dark path to the bathhouse did not deter her. Once inside the damp, musty chamber, she lit a couple of thick tallow candles to chase away the shadows and lit the fire in the hearth. She filled the large cast iron pot with water and set it to heat.
After scrubbing her skin nearly raw, she put on her soft chemise, and Levi's comforting long coat. Blowing out one candle, she took the other to light her way. Still not wanting to face the loneliness of her bed, she headed for the small drawing room in the east wing of the house, far from the bedrooms. There she found what she'd been looking for, the ornately carved pianoforte with the odd keys, all of ebony.
She sat down and played softly, barely stroking the keys, taking comfort in the instruments rich tones. At least there was one thing she could be grateful to her uncle for. He had insisted that she learn to play, considering it an essential for any proper young lady.
"Interesting, an English servant who can play Bach," remarked a deep voice from the high-backed chair.
Jensen let out a startled shriek and turned to find Levi's long legs stretched out in front of him as he slouched in the chair.
"You frightened me."
"Sorry. Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, pushing himself up to stand. He stood swaying a little, using the back of the chair for support.
She could see that he hadn't changed his clothes. He'd shed his frilly jabot and cleansed the wound on his neck, but the collar of his shirt was crusted with dried blood. Strands of his hair had come loose from the bow and hung in his face. His jaw was shadowed with dark stubble. He lumbered over to the piano. The bench creaked as he sat on it with a thud.
"King of sarcasm, eh?" he said rubbing his jaw.
She shrugged. She couldn't help feeling a little contrite, after all he had rescued her.
He offered Jensen a drink from his glass. "Go on--it will help you sleep," he urged.
"It hasn't seemed to have helped you any," she quipped, but took a generous gulp of the drink anyway. She tried to hand it back to him.
He made a clumsy movement with his hands, nearly spilling the contents into her lap. "No, you keep it. I think I've had enough."
"I think you're right," she giggled and slowly sipped some more.
"Now, tell me what kind of servant plays like that." He rested his elbows on the keys and seemed completely unaware of the discordant clamor of notes.
"I never told you I was a servant in England," she said obliquely and stroked the smooth keys with her fingers. The liquor was beginning to flood her body with warmth.
"On the way to the plantation, you mentioned that you were the pawn of some domineering man, I just assumed . . . ."
"So judging by my appearance, you naturally assumed I would be the man's maid." She couldn't help feeling a little insulted by his assumption. Obviously, he didn't think it was possible for a man to want her for something other than cleaning his house or stabling his horses. "I meant a pawn of a different sort." She took an unladylike gulp of whiskey and found herself staring at his profile. His handsome features seemed to come in and out of focus.
His brows furrowed in confusion. "Clearly, I am too foxed to make sense of your riddle, Miss Hawthorne." He heaved himself off the bench. "I'm going to bed, I suggest you do the same."
"I don't think I can sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see their faces." Her pale eyes pooled with tears. She made a move to take off his coat.
"No, you keep it, it looks better on you."
She heard his staggering steps retreat, and then she heard them returning. He steadied himself on the doorframe.
"Have you ever tried ice cream?" he asked with a mischievous smile, his eyes were vague and unfocused.
"I don't believe I have."
"Come with me. I'm sure Cook has some saved in the kitchen." He lit a branch of candles and led her out the glass door into the misty early morning air.
At the kitchen, he fumbled with the door latch. "May I?" she laughed and easily opened the door.
He managed to overturn a chair and a few kettles on the way to the cupboard. "Ah-ha, it's still cold," he said in triumph as he pulled out a heavy ceramic bowl. He snatched a stirring spoon from the shelf and plunked himself down at the table. She took a seat across from him.
He offered her a scoop of the pale, creamy confection. She shut her eyes, enjoying its cool sweetness. "It's wonderful. It tastes like peaches and brandy." She licked a stray drop from her lips. "Aren't you having any?"
"I don't think it would mix well with all the whiskey."
She took another taste from the spoon he held to her mouth. She couldn't help noticing that his eyes never left her lips.
"You're shivering. Come." Still clumsy from drink, he ushered her back to the house and into his study, bringing with him the bowl of ice cream.
Jensen helped him light the fire in the hearth. "I probably shouldn't be here."
"Don't worry little mouse, you're perfectly safe with me." He collapsed onto the couch, flinging his long legs onto the coffee table with a thud. He patted the seat beside him and once she was seated, he covered her legs with a wool throw.
He propped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. In moments, his breathing became slow and steady with the rhythm of sleep. She thought jealously that he would never have fallen asleep so easily if he'd had the charming Miss Trent keeping him company in front of a cozy fire, even if he was drunk as a lord.
Tucked in between his warm body and the comforting heat of the fire, she could almost forget about the night's wretched events. After slipping out of his jacket, she pulled the wool coverlet up to her chin, thinking to enjoy just a few more minutes of this bliss before returning to her room.
Chapter 14
Levi squinted in pain as the gray morning light filtered through the tassels of the damask curtain. To his surprise, he found himself sprawled upon his study's leather sofa. His head throbbed painfully and his left side was peculiarly stiff.
He raised his head slightly, and his neck was tickled by a mass of soft hair. Curled atop his body, her face buried in his chest, her hands clutching his shirt, was his sassy little stable hand.
The evening came back to him, part dream, part nightmare, through a haze of alcohol. She shifted her thigh, rubbing it over his groin, and he felt himself grow hard. She smelled of jasmine and her own intoxicating scent. He wondered if he had not only been drunk but half-mad to have promised her that she would be safe with him.
His body thrummed at the exquisite feel of her nuzzling into him. He said her name, softly at first, reluctant to wake her. Instead of rousing, she snuggled closer, uttering a soft contented noise, like a purr. She shifted again, her hip resting atop his throbbing arousal. His hand slid to her rump thinking to move her, groaning as his fingers found bare flesh. He rapidly pull
ed his hand away as though it had been stroking fire. He didn't think he could bear the exquisite torture much longer.
Jensen felt so secure and warm, she certainly did not want to attend to Brant's boring guests, she just wanted to stay snuggled in her uncle's parlor chair, by the cozy fire. Brant was such a nuisance really, she thought, as she tried to bat his hand away. "Sweetheart, please not now," she muttered hoping that he would be appeased by the endearment and leave her be.
Sweetheart, Levi thought with a self-satisfied smirk. Well, she doesn't resent me half so much as she pretends. He stroked the sweat-dampened curls from her cheeks.
She stirred in his arms, made a grumpy sound and then said, "Brant, please."
The gentle little nudges hadn't woken her from her dream, but the stinging slap to her bottom certainly did. She reared up, her small hands splayed on his broad chest.
"What the devil?" she asked scowling down at the man that lay beneath her. Aghast at her near state of undress and the compromising position she found herself in, she scrambled to the floor. She shivered as her feet hit the cold oak planks.
Levi sat up too suddenly, causing his head to pound ferociously. He dragged his hand through his hair, and it felt like he was running a rake across his scalp. He lifted his squinting gaze to Jensen. He had woken her with a sharp slap to her bottom, but what he had really wanted to do was wring her skinny little neck.
Levi's mouth pulled down at the corners, giving him a sulky appearance. Confused by the anger she saw in his face, she wrapped herself in the blanket and began heading toward the door.
"Must you make such an infernal racket?" he said cradling his head in his hands. The sight of the melted ice cream clinging to the wooden bowl made his stomach lurch, and he shoved the coffee table away with his foot.
As far as Jensen was concerned, she'd barely made a sound. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"Christ, woman, lower your voice, it's enough to split my head open." He waved imperiously over to his liquor cabinet. "Fetch me a glass of brandy."
Jensen sighed, deliberately crossing the room with heavy feet. She made a lot of noise pulling the stopper from the decanter and clanking glasses as she filled the crystal tumbler to the brim. She thrust it into his hands, splashing some of the contents onto his wool breeches. She rewarded his sneer with a cunning smile. This time when she turned to leave, he grabbed a fistful of the blanket and held her fast. With amazement, she watched as he threw the liquor back in one swallow before hurling the glass into the fireplace. She saw him cringe at the sound of the breaking glass and thought it served him right, the insolent bastard.
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