Vanessa was calculating. He had been too young and too infatuated to notice it at the time. There was only gentleness in this woman's face.
To his regret, she was wearing her day clothes. He thought it would be nice to see her with only a nightgown on. Perhaps he would have gotten to know her even better then. Even in his weakened state, the thought brought a smile to his face. His arm ached, and there was still that wretched throbbing in his head; but he wasn't dead, and he could certainly appreciate having someone the likes of Krystyna between the sheets.
Krystyna woke with a start. Looking around quickly, the echo of his words vaguely resounding in her brain. Since she had taken the soldier in, she had slept lightly, always on the alert against hearing someone approaching the cabin.
"Oh, you are awake." She stretched and brushed her hair from her face. Rising, she glanced out the window.
Dawn was just beginning to nudge aside the darkness.
The fire had long since died, and it was cold in the room. Krystyna began to poke at the embers in the hearth.
"It would not do for you to catch a chill on top of everything else," she murmured. "Ah." The flames had caught. The fire was beginning to grow, its warmth spreading. "There, that is better." She returned the poker to the side of the fireplace.
Straightening, she rubbed her arms, then turned toward her patient, concerned. "Are you cold?"
He was about to say no, for she had buried him under three blankets. But he thought better of it. "Yes." He raised his eyes to her face. "But I'm afraid I can't rub my arms the way you can."
"Here, let me." Bending over, she massaged his good arm, trying to get his blood circulating. As she worked, her breasts moved up and down a scant two inches from his face.
Any nearer, he thought, and I could kiss them. The urge was a good deal stronger than he would have assumed in his weakened state. But he repressed it. He wasn't about to repay her kindness by acting like a rutting pig. It was easy to see, despite her surroundings, that she was a lady and as such, deserved his respect.
"What was it you said to me when I woke up?" She rubbed his arm harder.
He forced himself to look only into her eyes. "I asked if you wanted to know my name."
Yes, she did. But she would understand if he didn't tell her. It was wartime. "Only if you want to tell it to me."
"God, no curiosity? Are you sure you're not an angel?" he asked with a smile.
"Very sure."
"My name's Saint John Lawrence." He gave a little bow of his head, though it cost him. "Lieutenant."
"No bowing for a while," she reprimanded, noting his momentarily disoriented expression. "That is a very strange name."
He laughed at her polite assessment. "I hated it as a child. My mother's maiden name was Saint John, so they just passed it along to me."
She considered that for a brief moment, then shook her head. "I do not think I can call anyone Saint John."
She is delightful, he thought. What is someone like this doing here? "I quite agree. My friends call me Sin-Jin."
She frowned. That was even stranger. "Sin?"
The grin on his face was teasingly wicked. "Yes."
She couldn't manage that either. It seemed too silly. "How would it be if I called you John?"
On her lips, it sounded melodious. "It would be fine." He sat up. Immediately, she tucked the pillow behind him. I could get used to her fussing over me like this, he reflected. "Now then, lovely keeper, what is on our agenda?"
The word was unfamiliar to her, and she frowned as she tried to discern its meaning.
He realized that she didn't understand him. Though it wasn't pronounced, Sin-Jin realized she had an accent. "You're foreign, aren't you?"
She smiled. "So are you, here."
He shrugged philosophically and regretted the move instantly. Pain shot from his shoulder down to his fingers. "That's true. But I thought I heard an accent in your voice, although you do better justice to the King's English than most I've heard around here."
"I am Polish," she said simply.
From her tone, he knew he was not to press for more information. But he didn't need to know her full family tree, and he told himself his curiosity would be satisfied by and by. What he did want to know at the moment, though, was where he was. He asked her.
"I am told that this is twenty miles from a place called Norfolk, Virginia. You are on a plantation," she said.
"And the owner is a rebel sympathizer?" He had assumed this from what she had already told him.
She took a deep breath. Though she couldn't have left him to die, she also hadn't wanted to give him any information that might be harmful to the McKinleys. "It is best you do not know anything about the people who live here."
Then they are rebel sympathizers, he thought. He studied her face, looking for a telltale sign that would let him know if he had guessed correctly or not. "And they don't know that I'm here?" I wonder how she manages that, he thought.
"No, no one knows except for three of the slaves." She saw more questions in his eyes and said hurriedly, "Please do not ask me anything else. It is enough for you to know that no one will harm you and that you are alive."
There had to be more to it than that. "Why did you save me?" He was nothing to her. Worse, he could put her in danger.
Marwilda would be coming with breakfast soon. And Krystyna had to get ready to go to the house or there might be questions. "You were hurt. I did not need more of a reason than that." She rose from the chair. "Now, that is enough talk. I must go have breakfast before," she stopped, then casually said, "before there is none left for me."
She fixed her hair, combing her long tresses until they fell smooth and straight, a river of black down her back. Satisfied, she affixed two combs to hold her hair in place.
Sin-Jin had watched the procedure as if he were seeing an artist paint. Her movements were utterly fluid.
"You will be all right here," she promised before she left. She threw a shawl about her shoulders. If she hurried, the chill would not seep through before she reached the house. "Please trust me. Now get some rest."
And then she was gone, leaving him to his thoughts, which were many.
Chapter Twenty
Krystyna arrived at the breakfast table only a few minutes before Morgan appeared. It had been several days since Sin-Jin's fever had broken, and still he remained in her cabin undetected. She would let him stay there until he grew strong enough to travel, but Krystyna couldn't help thinking that her luck would soon run out.
Savannah gave her a curious look as she took her place at the table. Krystyna could tell by her expression that Savannah wondered at her being out of breath. She took up her linen napkin and carefully spread it on her lap, pretending not to notice the other woman's scrutiny.
The number of holiday guests had thinned out. There were only a handful left now, and those would stay on until the end of January. Or perhaps even longer.
Krystyna noted that Charity remained, though her brother had departed for home. It confirmed her feelings about Jason's motives where she was concerned. Evidently the secret times they had shared meant nothing to him.
Charity had taken great care in arranging herself before she had come down to breakfast. Her brother was returning for her in a week, and she was determined that by that time, she would have Jason setting a date for the wedding. Thus far, however, her efforts had failed. In fact she was beginning to doubt the event would ever take place.
When she had first coaxed Jason into the engagement, it hadn't bothered her that there had been no date set. He had asked for her hand in marriage after she had plied him with a good deal of libation — and after they had made love in her room. It had been one of those rare opportunities when everyone had been somewhere else, and she had lured Jason into being alone with her. At the time, she had been overjoyed at winning the most eligible man in the county. But now the vagueness of the arrangement annoyed her.
In her own self-center
ed way, she was in love with Jason. Having him made her the envy of the other women in the county. And he was rich. But there was more to it than that. The way he had pleasured her in bed was beyond description. She had no intention of losing him.
Since this wretched so-called countess had descended upon them, Charity was beginning to feel as if the slight hold she had on Jason was slipping further and further away. His lusty appetite had taken him to tavern girls and who-knew-what-all-else, but she had always believed that was harmless enough. Men were men, and none of them were faithful. Still, he would marry her. Or so she had believed until Krystyna came.
This was something else again. Her competitor was, if one were to believe her, a woman of breeding. And there was nothing casual in the way Jason looked at her. This could be a serious obstacle. Charity could have scratched the woman's eyes out —or poisoned her —without giving the matter a second thought if an opportunity had presented itself.
Charity's possessiveness flared when she saw Krystyna look toward Jason. Coyly, she took his hand, drawing it almost to her breast. "Jason, it's such a beautiful day for a ride. Why don't we go and explore a little?" A sly smile played on her lips. "Explore" was the word Jason had used to describe learning the secrets of her body. To Charity's dismay, he hadn't gone "exploring" with her in quite some time.
Jason knew that although Krystyna appeared oblivious to the conversation, she was absorbing every word. He feared Charity's stupid prattling would turn her against him.
He looked at Charity, annoyed. "Perhaps later." He finished the last of his biscuit. "I have a few supply reports to prepare for Aaron."
Charity pouted prettily, but Jason was oblivious to her machinations. All he cared about was Krystyna's reaction to this exchange. Since the day after Christmas, she had been almost completely uncommunicative. If he didn't know better; he would have sworn that he had imagined that wonderful morning in the field so long ago.
"Krystyna," Lucinda's voice was low, as if she was afraid to intrude on any other conversation. Krystyna turned in her direction, grateful for someone to talk to. "Would it be too much trouble for you to leave some lessons for Christopher to go over? He's finished the ones you gave him." Lucinda's expression warmed as she spoke of her son. "He's really progressing so well, and I thought that while the iron is hot and he is willing to learn—even though it is still the holidays . . ." Lucinda's voice trailed off. She hoped that she wasn't interfering with Krystyna's afternoon plans.
"Oh." Lucinda's request caught Krystyna by surprise. "Of course, I shall do that right after breakfast," she promised. Her lips curved into a smile as she looked toward Christopher. As always, he sat at his grandfather's right hand. The two were now animatedly carrying on a conversation. Morgan ignored the others in deference to his grandson.
"He is doing well, is he not?" There was a touch of pride in Krystyna's voice. Here, at least, was something she had accomplished. She had unlocked his budding mind and sent him on the right path.
"I’m surprised at that." Krystyna stiffened slightly as she heard Savannah's taunt. It was safe to assume another ugly scene was in the making. "You seem to be filling his head with so-called 'patriotic' nonsense." Savannah pursed her lips disapprovingly.
Morgan looked up sharply. Conversation died away at the table as the storm clouds gathered. "Which she is doing at my invitation, miss!"
Savannah pretended to busy herself with the contents of the marmalade jar before her. He would come to her defense, she thought angrily. He is my father, not that upstart's! When will this horrid woman be gone from my life?
"He is responding rather well at that," Aaron agreed, though he knew his father didn't care what he thought. He smiled at Christopher, who looked a little uncertain about this show of parental interest. "I have never seen him so eager for knowledge."
Finally, safe ground for all, Krystyna thought. "Knowledge is a wonderful thing to have." She couldn't help turning toward Jason and looking directly into his eyes. "It allows you to know how to proceed in a situation."
Jason returned her gaze, though puzzled by the meaning behind her words. She was an enigma, but one he fully intended to unravel by and by.
After breakfast, Krystyna disappeared into the nursery before Jason had a chance to say anything to her. I can wait, he thought. She will tire of this game, whatever it is. And when she does, I will be there. Shrugging, he went to his room at the end of the hall.
Restless, he forced himself to sit in the armchair that stood facing the fireplace. A book of Shakespeare's sonnets was on the seat. Picking it up, he paged through it. His mind, of late, had taken a far more romantic bent. It is all her fault, he mused. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Or his blood. There was a sweet, persistent craving within him to have her again. To hold her and drink in the sweetness of her body. God, he was acting like a schoolboy. No other woman had ever made him feel so frustrated.
His back to the door, Jason felt rather than heard someone come in. Turning in his chair, he found Charity in the room, her back against the door she had closed behind her.
She loosened the ribbon from her long coppery hair as she walked toward him. "No one knows I'm here," she assured him, her voice low. There was a hunger in her eyes.
She's a pretty girl, he thought. But he was no longer moved by that prettiness. Her presence in his room irritated him. What if Krystyna were to knock? How would he explain having Charity there? He knew he owed Krystyna no explanation. He was blameless in this. Still, how could he hope to win her trust when she believed he was deceitful?
As he searched for a way to rid himself of Charity, she slipped the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders. He realized, in horror, that she had already unlaced the back of her garment and meant to undress completely. He was on his feet instantly, his hands on her shoulders to keep the dress from sliding down any further.
"Do you want to do it yourself?" she asked hopefully.
"No. I'm busy right now."
She pouted. "I thought you said you were going to work on some silly reports."
"That's later, and they're hardly silly." It was a struggle to keep the irritation from his voice. He turned her around roughly and pulled her dress lacings tight, tying them.
She stamped her foot, bitterness tingeing her words. "You always seem to be busy these days." She turned and looked at him accusingly. "Are you too busy for your foreign trollop as well?" she challenged.
A dark look entered his eyes, warning her to stop. "What did you say?"
Charity picked up the book he had been paging through and threw it on the floor. "You think I haven't noticed, do you?" she demanded. "The way you look at her. Savannah says you saved her at the docks. What did she do to repay you?" Anger colored her face. "How many times have you ridden her?"
"Whether there is anything between Krystyna and me is none of your damned business, Charity. Try living up to your name for a change." His temper was dangerously close to the breaking point.
"It is my dammed business!" she spat out, grabbing his arm. "Don't forget you're mine, Jason McKinley. Papa announced our engagement before everyone in the county!" He couldn't humiliate her in this fashion.
He saw her for what she was. A calculating, conniving, petty young woman, far better suited to the likes of Winthrop than to him. He must have been daft to have agreed to any of this. Even drunk, he should have had more sense. His tolerant nature had allowed the situation to go on far too long. "Your father could have had God inscribe it on a rock, my dear girl. That doesn't make me yours." He shrugged her off. "The engagement was a mistake. I've let it continue because I hadn't the heart to hurt you." He laughed at his own foolishness for being kind to her. "But it seems that you have no heart to hurt, so you can consider our engagement at an end right now."
Charity turned pale. "Oh, Jason, you can't mean that. Jason, I'm sorry." She began speaking rapidly, her thoughts scurrying as she sought a way to make him recant his words. "I was too rash. It's just that I want yo
u so badly." She tried to take his hand. "I . . . Oh please, Jason, don't do this to me. What will I say? What will people think? I shall die of shame."
It was too late for pleading. He felt sorry for her, but it was done. He had created the rift, and he meant to make it stick. Gently, he put an arm around her, turning her toward the door. He searched for words to ease her pain.
"Charity, I'm not the type of man to be bound up by a formal contract. I'm not ready to be anyone's husband, and it would be wrong to keep you tied to my side. Tell them that you broke the engagement — and find yourself someone who can give you what you seek." She turned her eyes up to him, silently pleading for him to relent. "It won't be me," he said with a finality that she knew she couldn't shake.
The unhappiness she felt was genuine. She had lost him, just as she had feared she would. Now she had to find a way to rally, to save face. "All right, I'll tell them that you were a bounder and a cad, that I couldn't marry a man like that."
He nodded, opening the door. "Fine."
But she wasn't finished. She wasn't going to let him go scot-free that lightly. "I'll tell them that I caught you and that trollop-''
His hand went around her wrist, an iron band holding her prisoner. He knew she was capable of that and more. "You tell them that, my sweet, and I shall break every bone in your vain little body."
His voice was not above a whisper against her ear, but she knew better than to doubt him.
She yanked her hand free and stormed out of the room, walking right into Krystyna, who was leaving the nursery. Charity's eyes flashed angrily as she took in Krystyna's unguarded expression of surprise.
She had a parting gift for her. "Your turn with him, my dear. Try not to get him too tired. Poor man's exhausted as it is." A smirk crossed her lips. As Jason came out into the hall, Charity whirled on her heel, rushing toward the stairs.
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