"This distinguished gentleman is my intended's uncle," Brant said in a fawning tone. The older man nodded his head and grunted. "And this, Mr. Marlowe, is Captain Levi North of the Virginia militia, better known in the colonies as Hawk North."
"Why do they call you Hawk, sir?" Mr. Marlowe asked, raising an unruly, gray brow.
Brant answered for him. "If you'd seen his predatory skills in battle, you wouldn't need to ask."
Brant took two glasses from the cabinet and poured brandy from a crystal decanter. "I daresay, those Frogs are unscrupulous in war, but damned if they don't make a bloody fine liquor," he said, handing the drinks to Katherine and Levi. "Now, I want you to meet the future Mrs. Mansfield."
Levi jammed his hand into his pocket, fighting the urge to plow it into Mansfield's smug face.
The parlor was crowded with people, yet he spotted her immediately. She was dressed in a cream-colored satin gown trimmed with tiny, pink roses at the neckline, her tiny waist cinched with a pale pink ribbon, her luscious breasts peeping above the daring décolletage. He swallowed hard, remembering what it felt like to have them smoothing over the skin of his chest.
Taking up a position by the mahogany mantle, he waited for her to notice him. When she did, she reared back, stumbling into a nearby table, upturning a game of chess. Her face was the color of the ivory pieces she tried unsuccessfully to set upright. He lifted his glass in a mock toast.
She spun around toward the exit and landed right in Brant's arms. "What's gotten into you? I've never seen you so clumsy." Brant slid his hand around her waist and whisked her forward.
As they approached him, Brant hauled her closer to his side. Levi set the glass on the mantle, worried that he might crush it in his fist.
"Mr. North, I'd like you to meet my bride-to-be, Miss Jensen Marlowe." Jensen shot Levi a warning look as she extended her trembling hand to him. "North got me out of a bit of trouble on the battlefield."
"Really?" was all she said in reply, her voice barely audible.
His eyes locked with Jensen's. "My compliments, Mansfield."
Brant lifted her hand to his lips, and Levi caught the greed that glinted in the shallow depths of his eyes. "Where is Miss Dukane?" Brant asked.
"Around here somewhere," Levi replied. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Katherine Dukane joined him.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment, there's someone I need to speak with," Brant said with a nod to his guests.
With Brant's absence, Jensen didn't waste anytime confronting him. "What the devil brings you here?"
"Business."
"Oh, of course," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground.
Katherine Dukane shifted, obviously uneasy with the turn in conversation. She took possessive hold of his arm. "So, you're the lucky girl who landed Brant Mansfield?" she asked.
"Lucky doesn't even begin to describe it." Jensen knew her laugh verged on hysteria, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "And, he especially endeared himself to me, when he forced me to leave my ailing aunt while she was still in her sick-bed."
Levi stepped closer to Jensen and then glanced down at Katherine's restraining hand. "Maybe you should get a cup of tea." Katherine rustled her skirts loudly as she stalked off.
"Before I sailed, I visited Culpeper, thinking to bring you back home."
"Home? You mean Moss Rose?"
"Where else?"
"But you were both in the same battle. Seems Brant was more eager."
"Something held me up." Unconsciously, he rubbed the fresh scar in his side. "Your aunt, she died not long after you left."
For an endless second, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, before dropping them back to her side. "Of course she died." Her pale, moist eyes reflected the candlelight. "She was dreadfully ill." With his thumb, he caught the tear that trembled on her lashes.
"How about a game of whist?" Brant called in an overloud voice as he crossed the room to them. He inclined his head in the direction of an empty card table. "Do you like your stakes high?" he asked Levi as he escorted Jensen to the table.
"I do not have much taste for gambling if there is little at stake." Levi quirked an eyebrow at Jensen.
Katherine flitted over to them, and Levi helped her to a seat. The wood creaked as he situated himself on one of the delicate chairs.
"How did you find Virginia, Miss Marlowe?"
"I found it beautiful, Mr. North," she replied simply.
Katherine rested a hand on Levi's sleeve. "How many acres do you have, Mr. North?"
"Enough."
Undeterred by his curt response, Katherine regarded him coyly over the top of her cards and spoke again. "I suppose you have a legion of slaves tending all that land."
"Actually, I haven't any. I find there is still plenty of profit to be made by hiring on paid hands. Besides, I haven't the stomach for it."
Brant laughed. "After witnessing your ruthless ways in battle, I never would have taken you for a soft-heart."
"I think it's admirable that Mr. North finds slavery reprehensible." Jensen placed her hand on the table so their fingers lightly touched.
Suppressing the impulse to yank her across the table and into his lap, he satisfied himself by placing his hand atop hers. He ignored Brant's all too obvious throat clearing.
"But, I don't suppose your ethical principals extend to indentured or convict labor," Jensen said with the tiniest smile playing on her lips.
"In the years since I've taken on the plantation, I've only found it necessary to bind one, uncooperative servant. The wench caused me no small trouble." Jensen tried to take her hand from beneath his, but he squeezed it for a moment. "She was always moaning about wanting her freedom. In the end, I released her from her written contract, and although she gave me her word she would stay at Moss Rose, as soon as the opportunity presented, she was gone."
Levi fingered the jagged white scar that ran under his jawline, an ugly reminder of the time he'd saved her from certain rape. "At any rate, I shall have her back."
"Why would you bother with her? She sounds like a bloody nuisance," Brant said. "Unless of course, she has a particular talent." He gave Levi an exaggerated wink.
Levi's eyes never left Jensen's face. He stretched out his leg, forcing the toe of his boot between her feet. He saw the tiny tremor run through her body and smiled with satisfaction.
The strained silence was broken when a boisterous young man and his equally boisterous friend burst into the parlor. The tallest one, lean and muscular, swept Jensen from her seat before she had a chance to protest. Jensen whooped in delight as the man swung her in an arc while Brant swore under his breath.
"Who the devil is that?" Levi tried to keep his voice calm.
"Her brother, Cyril." Brant gritted his teeth. "He is a reckless bastard. I swear, Jensen would follow him to hell and back if he asked. I'm determined to break his influence on her."
Levi watched as Jensen's face lost its melancholy cast. She threw back her head and laughed. It pained him to know that he had not heard that sultry, alluring sound all evening. When her brother finally set her on her feet, she threw her arms around the other young man, the smile never leaving her face. Levi clenched his fists and wondered if she realized that the dark-haired youth was in love with her.
"Wilkes, you overstep yourself." Brant had risen from the table and stood glaring at the intruders.
Jensen quickly drew away. Wilkes's gaze shifted from Jensen's worried face to Brant, and then he strode over and extended his hand.
Brant looked at Wilkes's hand with distaste before giving it a weak shake.
"Mansfield, you lucky bastard, you can't begrudge me one small hug."
A cruel smile played on Brant's lips. "Did they finally have the good sense to kick you two rogues out of Cambridge?"
"Just taking a break from our studies. Wanted to see my little sister again." Cyril slung his arm around Jensen, pinning her to his side.
Jense
n pinched him. "I'm not your little sister. I'm a year older than you."
Cyril rested his chin on her head and laughed. "If you say so." Cyril's green eyes, so like his sister's, swept across Brant and settled on Levi. Levi got to his feet and met Cyril's gaze. "North, Levi North, right?" Releasing Jensen, he leaned across the table to shake Levi's proffered hand. "I've heard so much about you."
Levi did not fail to notice the murderous look that Jensen gave her brother. Changing the subject, Jensen hastily introduced Katherine Dukane to her brother and Gregory Wilkes
"I don't recall ever describing Mr. North to you." Brant's eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Sure you did old man, mayhap your memory is failing you," Cyril lied smoothly.
The wariness did not leave Brant's eyes as he looked again from Jensen to Levi. "Well, Brant, I won't disturb your little soiree any longer. I'll just collect my sister and bid you goodnight." Cyril brushed unrestrained brown curls from his face.
"What the devil are you on about, Cyril?"
Cyril ignored Brant's question and turned his attention to Jensen. "The moon's full. Thought you might like to go for a ride."
Jensen's eyes, veiled by lowered lashes, shifted to Levi. Her gaze lingered on his face as if memorizing it before responding to her brother with a nod.
"The hell you will." Brant reached out to take hold of Jensen's arm, but Cyril moved faster and positioned her out of reach.
Cyril's expression turned serious. He no longer resembled a carefree youth as he addressed Brant. "She will be shackled to you soon enough. In the meantime, let go the reins, Brant. We'll only be taking a spin 'round the park."
Brant's eyes swept the room. He was not about to start an argument in front of his influential guests. He seethed in silence.
Cyril turned his attention back to Levi. "Join us, North. I've room enough in my carriage."
"He's already committed to another game of cards, Cyril," Brant quickly answered for him.
"Thank you for the offer," Levi said as he resumed his seat. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the table, he watched Cyril and Gregory escort Jensen out the door. "Do you mind if I bow out of this hand?" He did not wait for Brant's reply before rising. "I think I'll have a smoke in the drawing room."
***
Jensen returned to Shadwell well past midnight. She tensed in anticipation of finding Brant pacing the entryway in a fury. Even her brother and Gregory seemed a bit subdued as they walked up the steps.
The door flew open with a suddenness that made her breath catch in her throat.
"Where the hell have you been?" The words weren't a surprise, but the person delivering them was. Levi stood, glowering down at her from his great height. "Never mind. I've had your maid pack your things."
"Am I going somewhere?" she asked, her eyes darting to the valises that were piled against a wall of the foyer.
Cyril and Gregory stood, as if thunderstruck, in the open doorway, watching the colonial snatch up the leather cases. "With me, darlin'. Hurry up now." Without looking back, he headed to the waiting hackney cab. He swung the valises up to the driver who secured them to the top of the carriage.
She followed him, feeling like a dolt, and yet knowing that she'd follow him to the ends of the earth if he so much as crooked a finger. She could swear she heard Brant's curses echoing through the mansion.
Cyril, finally finding his tongue, called to Levi as he strode toward the carriage. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"
Levi scooped Jensen up and tossed her onto the tufted leather bench before replying to her brother's question. "She belongs with me."
Cyril's head whipped around as the front door was sent crashing against the wall, shattering the diamond pane of stained glass. Brant's face was purple with rage as he bounded down the stairs.
"Levi, watch out!" Jensen screamed as she jumped out of the carriage.
"How touching, Jensen, protecting the bastard like that. I'm going to shoot him like I did your damned horse. Right between the eyes."
Gregory, catching sight of the pistol Brant wielded with deadly intent, slammed a foot into his back, sending him flying face first against the slate pavement.
Brant scrambled within reach of the fallen weapon, only to be intercepted by a heavy, black boot, which sent the pistol skittering into the underbrush. He froze as Levi's figure cast a menacing shadow over the ground where he lay sprawled.
Cyril and Gregory moved to flank Levi on either side. "Seems to me you are outnumbered. Accept your losses and take your leave while you still have some dignity left you." Levi looked down at the man prostrate at his feet and smiled wickedly. "Well, I guess it's a little too late for that, but if I were you, I would walk away while that pretty face of yours is still intact."
With athletic ease, Brant sprang to his feet. "Why you lecherous, barbaric, goddamn . . . ."
Brant's curses were cut short by a shattering blow to his face. The fist came at him with such speed, he hadn't even time to blink. He was hurled back several feet before his body crumpled to the ground. Crimson trickles began trailing from his nose, puddling onto the slick gray-blue stone beneath his face. His hands were still clenched in fists, but color was slowly returning to the whitened knuckles.
"Poor bugger, for a moment there I even felt a twinge of pity for him," Cyril said with an exaggerated shake of his head.
Levi cocked a surprised brow at Cyril.
"Oh, believe me, the moment passed very quickly," Cyril quipped.
Levi turned to Gregory. "Wilkes, I believe I'm in your debt."
"Don't be too grateful. It was merely instinct. You were unarmed, sir," Gregory said as he strode purposefully to where Jensen stood.
"Please tell me you haven't killed him. You'd hang for it, surely," Jensen cried.
"No, unfortunately." Levi's narrowed eyes seemed to scrutinize her reaction. "Bid your farewells, Jensen, we need to be on our way."
Before she could respond, Gregory pushed himself between them, thrusting his chest out like a bantam cock. "Do not think for one moment that I will allow you to leave with her." His gaze remaining fixed on Levi, as he pleaded with his friend. "Cyril, you cannot think to sacrifice your sister to this man you know nothing about."
"Wilkes is right. How could I, in good conscience, allow you to drag my sister across an ocean, so far from my protection."
"May I remind you that the bastard over there is still breathing. She would be in far more danger here in England, even under your watchful eye, than on my plantation." With growing impatience to be done and gone, he pressed home his last point. "Listen, I have more than met your uncle's brideprice. There is no point in arguing this further."
Though not certain herself of Levi's intentions, Jensen smoothed Cyril's brown curls back from his furrowed brow and assured him in a whisper that she wished to return to Virginia, that England held no future for her, and that she trusted Mr. North with her life. When she finally received his assent, she made a move toward Gregory hoping to mollify him as well, only to find Levi's arm snatch her possessively around the waist.
"We've tarried long enough." Banging open the carriage door, he scooped her up and deposited her, again, none too softly, on the upholstered bench.
Mansfield stood up slowly, propping himself against a huge stone urn. He staunched the flow of blood with his handkerchief. "This is not over, North. I will have satisfaction. St. James's Park at dawn."
"Mansfield, you're a bit out of sorts. Dawn is only a few hours away. I'll meet you there at dusk."
"I hope he won't cause you any problems," Levi said to Cyril as he stepped into the carriage.
"Don't worry about us. We've been antagonizing Brant Mansfield since boyhood. It's an amusing diversion, eh Gregory? Nearly as rousing as a good game of cricket." Cyril's attempt at humor warmed Jensen's heart.
As Levi settled his huge frame on the seat, he offered in a rather gruff yet conciliatory tone, "Cyril, if you ever tire of this rain-sodden countr
y, you're welcome to visit."
Cyril's lips tipped into a half-hearted smile, "Mayhap I will. Take care little sister." As Cyril shut the door, Jensen worried that she may never see his dear face again. Levi rapped his knuckles hard on the roof, and the driver obeyed with a snap of his reins.
Jensen lifted the leather shade and ducked her head out the window, waving until Cyril and Gregory were well out of sight. She turned her attention to the dark figure across from her. The weak lantern light cast him in satanic shadows. It suddenly struck her that she may have just made the most foolish choice of her life. She had let him plop her into the carriage with hardly a second thought.
"So, you are taking me back to Virginia?"
"Yes."
"I refuse to be at your beck and call," she blurted out.
His far too appealing dimple gave away his devilish thoughts. "Beck and call . . . that could work." He held his palm up to forestall a well-deserved tongue-lashing. "However, that was not my intent."
"I won't be your mistress."
"I do not want you for my mistress."
That reply should have brought her comfort, but it didn't, and she knew why, although she hated to admit it, even to herself. The wicked truth was, she would rather be this man's whore than any other man's wife.
His expression was wary when he spoke again. "You will marry me."
Squelching a shriek of delight, she responded in a tone she hoped sounded completely blase. "You certainly have a way with words, Mr. North."
"So my brother tells me." He leaned his head back against the cushion and watched her beneath his lowered lids.
"That must have been quite a substantial marriage settlement you offered my uncle," she said, shyly turning to meet his eyes. She couldn't help remarking that he looked well pleased with himself.
"Let's just say that old mausoleum of his won't be falling down around his ankles any day soon." He leaned forward, his arms resting on his spread thighs. "I've some matters to see to in France. We'll be wed upon my return."
"Is that your idea of a proposal?"
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