She awoke with the light of a candle shining near her face. Squinting with pain, she saw Levi crouching near the tub.
"Duff, you alright?"
She gasped and brought her arms up quickly to cover her breasts. "I think so," Jensen said, very relieved that the milk bath was nearly opaque.
"If you don't get out soon, I'm afraid you will catch your death, your lips are turning blue again." He ran a callused finger along her bottom lip. Leaving, he closed the door softly behind him.
She searched the room and realized no one had taken the trouble to bring her fresh clothes. After some hesitation, she opened the door a crack. "Sir, I haven't anything clean to wear."
He slid one of his linen shirts through the crack.
In the bedchamber, Levi sat on his haunches, stoking the fire in his stone fireplace.
She was thankful that he was focusing on his task because she felt almost naked. The shirt only skimmed her calves, and her nipples, still hard from the cooled water, jutted against the soft fabric. She hoped to make a quick exit, praying she could slink down the back staircase unnoticed.
She'd made it as far as the door when his commanding voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Take a seat in front of the fire." His silver eyes glittered dangerously as they traveled the length of her. He put her in mind of a starved wolf.
"You are very kind, but I'm sure you have better things to do than play nursemaid. I'll just put a hot brick in my bed."
"Sit."
When his voice dropped to that dangerous register, she hadn't the courage to defy him. She quickly took a seat on the footstool in front of the fire. Tucking her feet beneath the shirt, she sat before the crackling flames, secretly grateful for the warmth.
"It's nice to have a fire on a stormy night."
"I'm afraid I rarely trouble with one. But, then again, I rarely have guests freeze in my tub."
He stood up and walked to his dresser. Sensing his nearness, she looked up. He dangled the beaded necklace with the locket and ring from his fingers. Crouching beside her, he opened the locket. The room was obviously too hot for him, beads of sweat were forming on his face.
"My father and mother's hair. Malaton's father made this as a gift for my mother."
Jensen touched the ring. "Is this your mother's ring?"
He nodded. "I strung it on the beads after she died." Untying the necklace, he slid the ring off and handed it to Jensen.
She held the tiny golden circlet near the flames, and the rose-cut diamond sparkled with a fiery brilliance. The band of white gold was inset with tiny emeralds. "It's exquisite."
His face creased into a lopsided grin, as though he was pleased with her compliment.
He mopped at his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his shirt. "She'd always intended for me to give it to the woman I was to marry." Taking a seat near her, he fingered the beads, gliding them on their silken rope. "I suppose it's not as splendid as the ring your betrothed gave you."
"I'm afraid, he was always one for the grand gesture." The six-carat sapphire betrothal ring had weighed down more than her finger. It seemed somehow to crush her spirit. Feeling a little sad, she handed the ring back to Levi.
"Ah, so, he was a wealthy man. I thought as much."
"And why would you have thought that?"
"Because, Duff, not many of my servants have ever been able to play the pianoforte, read complicated text, or curse in such fluent French. It is quite obvious you have grown up with privilege."
The wind slapped loudly at the leaves of the magnolia trees, and she was drawn to the window. She watched the heavy blossoms break up and fall to the ground. "This is really the first big storm I've seen since my arrival," she commented, hoping to change the subject.
He moved to the hearth and began shoveling sand to smother the fire. With fascination, she turned to watch the play of the powerful muscles across his back. The iron shovel clanged loudly as he threw it to the hearthstone. "This Englishman, you cared for him greatly, then?"
With a twinge of guilt, she turned her attention to the storm again, running her fingers along the wood frame of the lancet window. "Yes, it was terribly painful seeing him suffer those last days before he finally succumbed to his injuries."
"Funny, but it's been my observation that people don't usually die instantly over days."
Jensen cleared her throat. "'Twas my own wishful thinking that he had died instantly. You have no idea how hard it was watching him linger."
She felt him move behind her and looked down to see his boots nearly straddling her bare feet.
"Yes, a broken back must be a terrible way to go."
"Yes, terrible," she agreed.
"You're going to need a shovel to dig yourself out of this one, darlin'," he drawled, his warm breath caressing her cheek. "It must have been quite a fall, if he managed to break both his neck and back."
Her eyes, reflected in the blackened glass, seemed to feed on the dying firelight, glowing pale and feline.
"What is it, sir? Are you accusing me of lying?"
"Oh no, Duff, why would I ever think you capable of telling an untruth."
Caught in her own net of lies, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She winced as her temples began pounding again, and she pressed her forehead against the cool glass.
She stiffened as his long fingers slid beneath her hair and began to massage the nape of her neck.
"Calm down," he ordered as his fingers began to work their magic.
The feel of his work-roughened skin rubbing over her skin sent heat spiraling through her body. Feeling vulnerable, she broke the silence with small talk. "I'd heard that a summer storm could destroy tobacco crops in a matter of minutes. Yet you don't seem the least bit worried."
"There is little danger unless there is a hailstorm."
She prayed he didn't notice that her body trembled as his big hands began kneading her shoulders.
"Will you be harvesting soon?"
"In a few weeks, as soon as the leaves turn yellow." When she didn't respond with another question, he drawled insolently, "What, no more queries about farming? Perhaps you'd like me to cover the different methods we use to cure the tobacco."
She swiveled within the small space between the window and his hard body. "I'd best get back to my room," she said, peering up into his gunmetal gray eyes.
He braced his hands against the window on either side of her face. She thought, she hoped, he might kiss her, but he merely stared hard at her mouth.
Her tongue flicked nervously at the corner of her mouth. He tilted his head, and she watched his hair fall like black silk over his shoulder. His hands moved to encircle her waist, she could feel his fingers interlocking behind her back.
"You are such a lying wench, I'm hard pressed to see why any man would have entrusted his heart to you." His grip around her waist had gathered the fabric of the shirt, lifting it high enough to bare more of her legs. "There's hardly enough of you to whet a man's appetite," he sneered.
Levi slid his eyes over her thighs. His grip tightened, his thumbs rubbing sensuously in the hollow of her stomach. "Although, I can't help wondering if you've allowed my brother a taste."
"How fitting that your tattoo is patterned after a snake. Because clearly, you have the morals of one."
He merely smiled at her outrage, not even bothering to lift his eyes from her legs.
She tried with all her strength to wrench free, but he held her effortlessly. And although his hands did not move in any perceptible manner, to her dismay, she could feel the tail of her shirt inching higher.
"Well, I'll be damned, the cuffs don't match the collar," he muttered, his breath becoming ragged.
She thought the pounding she was giving his shoulders with her fists was severe enough to at least warrant his attention, but he seemed oblivious, his gaze riveted to her body.
"Leave off!" she finally resorted to screaming.
"What is it, Duff?" he asked innocently, as t
hough nothing untoward had happened. After a long moment, his long black lashes swept upward revealing his desire-darkened eyes.
Dropping his hands from her waist, he inched closer so that her nose was nearly pressed to his hard chest. She had to crane her neck all the way back to peer up into his face.
"A natural blonde, intriguing." His grin definitely had a ferocious, wolfish quality.
It was evident now, where his eyes had been focusing. Her cheeks stained pink.
"Duff, my little counterfeit jewel, when will you stop lying to me?" His fingers threaded through her hair. Holding her head firm, he searched her face for answers. "My God, who are you hiding from?"
"Now who's being theatrical. Why on earth would you think I was hiding from someone, Mr. North?"
"Hell, I don't know. The brown hair dye, the false name, traveling in the hole of a ship for well over a month . . . ."
She stood unmoving for a moment before breaking down into tears.
"I'm sorry, I really don't want you to hate me." His gray eyes held a genuine look of regret.
"'Tis too late, I already hate you, Mr. North. The sooner these years of servitude are over, the better." With the heels of her hands she gave his chest a hard shove. All she got for her trouble was sore wrists, the man was as immovable as he looked. He lifted his arms in a sort of surrender and backed away.
"You're still anxious to leave Moss Rose then?"
Her eyes widened with incredulity. "Excuse me for having higher expectations for my future than mucking out your stables and taking your bloody insults."
"It seems like you could have it worse."
Without another word, she peeled off his shirt, balled it up, and threw it at his face. He caught it easily.
He stood staring at her, his mouth agape as he watched her cross to the bathing room.
"Christ Almighty," he muttered.
She struggled into her wet clothes. He was still standing frozen to the spot as she slammed the door behind her.
Chapter 19
A mere week after the horserace, Moss Rose prepared for the arrival of a throng of militia members.
Soldiers of all ranks, many accompanied by their wives, trickled onto the plantation throughout the morning.
After a day spent indoors, the men, hoping for relief from the stench of smoke, sour whiskey, and male sweat that seemed to thicken the air, moved outdoors. They fashioned a ball from an ancient saddlebag packed stiff with hay and tentatively kicked the unwieldy ball back and forth.
Because the women were ensconced in the cool parlor sipping lemonade and cider, gossiping and embroidering, the men felt comfortable peeling off their shirts. But almost instantly, as if drawn by the scent of male flesh, the front door opened, and women began pouring from the house. They muttered to each other about the indecency of it all, and yet they came to stand along the border of the immaculately trimmed lawn, their eyes fastening on the purely male spectacle.
Jensen, seeking shelter from the white-hot sun, tethered Archer to the huge oak in the courtyard. As she clipped the horse's chin hairs, she couldn't help but cast occasional glances toward the melee of sweaty men on the grass. They played with such violent abandon that at times she could barely stomach watching. Always, she sought out the glossy black head and broad shoulders of the man that seemed to dwarf all the other players. With no small satisfaction, she noticed that he would wink at her whenever he managed to plow his way through a wall of men, still in control of the ball.
While leading Archer back to the stable, the horse pulled back stubbornly. She turned to see the reason why and found herself face to face with Levi. He picked up the ball, which had landed nearby. Swiping a trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave her a dazzling smile before returning to the game.
Jensen's throat constricted, she tugged hard at her collar. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She was in love with him. The startling thought made her head spin. In love with the black-haired devil who had indentured her. Impossible.
Wildly, she looked around hoping to find something to occupy her mind and wipe it clear of the maddening notion.
Freedom. The hot-tempered animal, muscles twitching, stood in a corner of the stable yard pawing the ground with its hoof. Certain a ride on the creature would blow the thought of loving Levi North right out of her head, she stalked toward him. It did not occur to her to saddle him. Holding him fast by the reins, she clambered up the rungs until she stood balancing on the top of the fence. Vaulting onto his back, she anticipated him, quickly shifting her thigh away just as his head swung around to take a bite. She slapped his rump to give him something else to think about. Once through the gates, one swift kick sent him off on a run. She clung to both the reins and his mane to hold herself fast. This, she thought with exhilaration, was what it felt like to fly.
***
Levi cursed rapidly under his breath as he snatched his shirt from the fence post. He was beginning to think she enjoyed defying him. Chances were more likely that she didn't even think about him at all, and that thought made him even angrier. Hell bent for leather on that fierce horse, the woman had no fear. He turned his head at the sound of thundering horse hooves thinking she'd come to her senses. English soldiers trailed by a carriage were heading toward the courtyard.
"What's your purpose?" Levi called to the soldier in the lead.
Yanking hard on his reins, the man brought his horse to a skidding halt. He touched the brim of his hat in a formal gesture before addressing Levi. "Sir, are you the owner of this property?"
"Yes, what of it?" Levi answered, his annoyance increasing. The man was keeping him from pursuing his disobedient employee.
The soldier inclined his head in the direction of the carriage. "Captain Mansfield would like a word with you, sir."
Mansfield. Likely a common enough name in England, Levi assured himself. "Would you happen to know the captain's given name, soldier?"
"Captain Mansfield is all I know, sir," And from the sour look on the man's face it was clear that was all he cared to know about his superior officer.
"I'll receive him at the house," Levi said and stalked away.
After sluicing his face with water and donning a jacket, Levi reluctantly entered the parlor. His guest had made himself quite at home. Setting his tumbler of liquor down beside his smoking cigar, the Captain rose from the angel-winged leather chair introducing himself simply as Captain Mansfield.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm on a mission, Mr. North." He sank down on the chair, crossing his highly polished boots at the ankle. "Fool's mission in my estimation." He took up his cigar and Levi waited impatiently as he took a long drag. Mansfield exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "Trying to drum up some volunteers. Doesn't seem as if you colonials are too anxious to take up arms. I suppose the French would have to be in your backyard before you make a move. . .and mayhap not even then."
Hoping to shorten the man's stay Levi remained standing. ""I wonder, if the task assigned you is so futile, why do you bother? Seems to me a more favorable commission could be purchased easily enough."
Mansfield sat forward. "Truth is," he said in far too confidential tones to Levi's liking. "the mission has just given me an excuse to pay a visit to homes in the area. You see, I'm on the hunt for someone." He stood and, with hands clasped behind his back, began to move around the room. He preened for a moment before the silver plate displayed atop the mantle. Levi grew impatient watching him smooth a tuft of his white-blond hair. "For a woman, to be more precise," he continued, "whom I was able to track to a near port."
"And who would this woman be?" Levi demanded. The unwanted notion taking hold in his mind had pushed him beyond civility.
Mansfield swiveled on his heels to face Levi, one pale brow raised in surprise at Levi's harshly stated question. "My betrothed, actually. I've been told she was masquerading as a boy. Damn useless, that. This woman is nothing but female. A true beauty. 'Tis a little game, you see."
"And her name?" Levi asked knowing full well what the answer would be.
When his ugliest thoughts were confirmed, he excused himself on urgent business. He managed to make it half way down the hall before putting his fist through the wall.
***
Returning to the stables, Jensen gave Freedom an extra helping of oats as a reward. Reward for what, she chided herself. The thought of loving Levi North had only intensified.
A high-pitched whinny coming from Eustacia's stall brought Jensen's shoulders to her ears. "Silly creature," Jensen muttered, knowing exactly what she would find behind the mare's stall door.
Bracing her feet against the stable wall, Jensen made a futile attempt to pull Eustacia free. She heard Levi's telltale footsteps behind her, but she did not turn around.
"Mr. North, I'm glad you've come. Eustacia has casted again. Wedged her hind part good and tight beneath the partition. Would you mind lending a hand?" She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded, considering she was completely unnerved by his presence.
She chanced a glance in his direction as he shrugged out of his coat. The set of his shoulders, the taut bunching of the powerful muscles of his back as he draped his coat over the stable wall, seemed to suggest anger. Obviously, he'd seen her riding Freedom. She felt him hunker down beside her.
Having done this before, she wordlessly took up her position, bringing her weight to bear on the animal's hindquarters to create a space beneath the wall, while Levi gave one heaving tug to slide the animal free.
The mare bolted to its feet, catching Jensen unawares. She stumbled against Levi, who was still crouched down, sending him rocking on his heels. He caught her around the waist and pulled her down hard on top of his chest as he fell backwards. The nervous giggle died on her lips as she peered into his stone-cold eyes.
"Christ, you are the clumsiest wench," he growled.
"You took me down with you," she cried in her defense. "And besides you're so--so huge." She emphasized her point by jabbing her finger into his chest. "A person hardly has room to put their feet."
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