by Cheryl Bolen
“Never have I known you to take an insult so lightly! Non, the Hawk I know would ’ave taken what was his due! Jesu Christ! I have seen you seize even that which was not your own! If they took something from you, why do you not just take it back and cease all this brooding?”
Christian’s head snapped up. “I am not brooding, devil hang you!” His eyes narrowed in warning. He’d be damned if he’d have his personal affairs questioned by anyone—not even Jean Paul! “Enough to say we didn’t suit—we’re cut of different cloth, she and I. Now... give it up, Jean Paul.”
“Humph!”
Slamming the lid back into place, Christian muttered an oath. “Damn, not here either!” Raking his fingers through his hair, he mused aloud, “They must’ve somehow been unloaded back on Adger’s wharf.”
Jean Paul’s heavy brows lifted.
Christian was at once resigned to what must be done. “We’ll have to go into the warehouse tonight, retrieve them before customs realizes ‘tis there under their bloody noses.”
“Just so?”
“What choice have we?”
“I suppose, not much,” Jean Paul ceded. “But you have an obligation to attend the gala tonight—the oaf knows you’re here. If you make no appearance, St. John will likely suspect and come searching. There have been rumors, Christian.”
“I know, damn it all, I know!” Christian considered his options. “I suppose I shall have to pay a visit to the Wilkes club to see if Ben can’t round up some of his boys. I’ll head to the tavern just as soon as we finish here.” His gaze returned to Jean Paul. “The two of you can handle it from there, can you not?”
Jean Paul considered a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Oui... but there is no need to go searching.” He nodded in the direction of Oyster Point. “Stone is there. His men too. I can see them from here.”
Christian turned and went to the ship’s railing to gaze out over the expanse of blue-gray water that separated the Anastasie from the Charlestown battery. “What the bloody hell would have them congregating so damned conspicuously?”
Jean Paul came up behind him, clapping a cautioning hand upon his shoulder. “Daniel Moore, the new stamp collector has arrested two of Laurens’ vessels. So have a care now... the situation grows grave.”
* * *
From her vantage point along the bay, Jessie could see clear to Oyster Point. In the harbor itself, hundreds of vessels were at anchor—the breathtaking sight never ceased to awe her. All about, people scurried to and fro. Children played. Merchants peddled their wares, while elegantly dressed women walked simply to be seen—perhaps chattering about tonight’s gala?
Glancing down at the envelope she held within her hand, she smiled knowingly. Kathryn Sinclair was anxious for Jessie to invite her cousin to attend the masquerade, and Jessie had promised she would attempt to persuade him. To that end, she’d gone to her cousin’s wharf to inquire over Ben’s whereabouts and had been told to seek him out at Oyster Point, though what he was up to away from the wharf so early, she just couldn’t fathom. Nibbling her lip fretfully, she considered the rumors... but nay, she refused to believe them. Ben would never place himself at risk.
Shuddering, she glanced up, gauging the sky. Even through the lingering storm clouds, the sun shone brightly, warming her. She hoped it wouldn’t rain again tonight—more than that, she wished she wouldn’t cease to breathe every time she passed this blessed street!
As so many times before, when she passed the brick facade town house she’d discovered belonged to him, she couldn’t resist a glimpse. She was startled to find that today its black protective shutters were open wide to the fresh air.
Was he here? In Charlestown? After all these months? Her heart lurched at the possibility.
God curse the rotten scoundrel that he could do this to her even now! What was wrong with her? she wondered peevishly.
Well, she knew what was wrong with her, of course! Now, at last, when she was able to walk the shell-paved streets without searching for his face in the crowd, he came to torment her once more!
Yes, she knew Christian had holdings in Charlestown. She had dreaded meeting with him—but he might have given her more time! Not that he would have concerned himself with her preferences. Rotten, deceiving wretch!
Perhaps it wasn’t him at all, she reasoned. He might have loaned the house, after all.
She certainly didn’t want it to be him...
Did she?
Seagulls dotted the clear blue sky above, wailing as they swooped to the streets in search of scraps. Pigeons wobbled carelessly, dodging carriages and rushing feet, all oblivious to her sinking mood. She walked faster, no longer in the frame of mind to tarry. She intended to deliver the envelope to Ben, and then hurry home and lock herself within her room for the rest of her natural life!
And then perhaps not...
Why should she? she thought crossly, resisting the childish urge to stomp her foot and scream. Why should she allow him to terrorize her into hiding away?
Well, she wasn’t about to!
Ben would likely scold her for delivering the invitation by hand when she could have easily sent a messenger instead, but she’d needed the walk and the fresh air—if it could be called fresh. Her nostrils flared slightly at the odor that rose to accost her. Many of Charlestown’s streets were paved with crushed oyster shells, effecting a rather distinct odor that was saved from being fetid only by the sweet breeze of the sea. Once passed it, she glanced over her shoulder, at the brick-facade town house.
Were the servants merely preparing for his arrival?
For her peace of mind, she prayed it wasn’t so. She forced her thoughts away from the town house and away from Lord Christian Haukinge.
A carriage rolled slowly by, crackling noisily over the delicate shells. A white-gloved hand, followed by a shrill female voice, caught Jessie’s attention.
Waving in greeting, Jessie continued on her way. Despite her fears to the contrary, Charlestown had, in truth, proven to be precisely the haven she’d sought. She’d worried that Lord St. John would sully her name here, and that she would be labeled an outcast upon arriving in the city, but for whatever reason, he’d not so much as breathed a word of the incident to a soul. There were some, in truth, who still believed her betrothed to him... which led her to wonder that perhaps Lord St. John was as humiliated by the ordeal as was she.
She smiled softly then, with grim satisfaction, for Amos would likely curse himself to Jericho did he know that this penance of his was no penance at all. Her father’s brother and wife had been so good to her. For the first time since her mother’s death, Jessie felt part of a true family. Her cousin Ben was more like a brother to her than Amos could ever have thought to be—even if he was a mite too accommodating at times.
Ben, who was merely two years Jessie’s senior, had been her Uncle Robert’s sole child. Uncle Robert, Aunt Claire, and Ben had all afforded her such a warm welcome that she couldn’t help but love them all dearly already.
Love.
She couldn’t help it, she wondered if he would present himself at the masquerade tonight, and then cursed herself for her weakness to the blackguard.
“Jessamine!”
Hearing her name, Jessie turned to see that the carriage that had only just passed her by had circled and now drew up behind her once more. Kathryn Sinclair nearly toppled from it, and Jessie smiled as she greeted her newly found friend. “I should have thought you’d be home, diligently preparing for this eve.”
Kathryn’s smile was brilliant. “I’m to pick up my gown from Madame Legare,” she announced, snatching off one of her gloves and toying with it nervously, betraying her anxiousness. “And I was... looking,” she confessed.
For Ben.
Jessie’s smile deepened. “I wish I’d known. I might have asked you to join me.” She lifted the small envelope and displayed it to Kathryn’s inquiring eyes.
Kathryn nibbled her lower lip, suppressing her glee. “Do you think
he will come? Oh, how I do hope so! My heart positively aches for it!”
Jessie laughed softly, shrugging noncommittally. “You know my cousin,” she cautioned. “One can never tell, but I shall endeavor to convince him.”
“And I know you will succeed!”
Suddenly inspired, Jessie glanced over her shoulder, toward Oyster Point. “Tell me, Kathryn, are you expected home very soon?” She smiled mischievously.
Kathryn’s gaze followed hers to the Point, and she admitted, “I saw him from the carriage! And nay! God’s truth, I was requested not to return directly, for it seems I’ve frazzled just about everyone’s nerves.” She smiled unrepentantly. “And poor Thom,” she added with a grievous sigh. She waved a hand in the direction of her waiting coach. “I’ve dragged the wretched soul to every last boutique in this city and now I am left with no choice but to return and plague my mother.” She sighed airily. “Unless, of course... someone should take pity upon me, and take me with them to the Point...” She smiled coyly, and Jessie laughed.
“Well, then...” Jessie gave her friend a shrewd smile. “Why not accompany me while I deliver this urgent missive to Ben?”
Kathryn’s eyes lit with merriment. “Truly? You’d not mind if I tagged along?”
“Of course not,” Jessie insisted. “In fact, I’d be quite grateful for the company.”
Chapter 13
“Both, you say?”
Ben Stone nodded glumly. “Seized.”
“Devil plague that man!”
Christian shook his head in bewilderment. “Whatever possessed Moore to seize them, anyway? Charlestown has never been a smugglers’ haven; why would he suspect?”
The vessels in question had made the usual voyage between Charlestown and Laurens’ property in Georgia, and though it was intended that trade between territories be cleared with customs first, there was no customs house near Laurens’ plantation and so he’d not been able to comply with the requirement. Customarily such cases were overlooked, but Moore had for some reason refused to do so, and Christian was nonplussed as to why.
“Perhaps he simply intends to make an example of him?” Ben suggested.
“Or perhaps it is a warning?” Jean Paul interjected.
“Perhaps,” Christian conceded. “Then again, I suspect St. John may have had a hand in this matter, as well. He and Moore have been thick as thieves, and St. John and Laurens have little regard for one another.”
“Nor does St. John care for you, Hawk,” added one of Ben’s cronies. “He’s determined to snatch you.”
“Yes,” Ben agreed, chuckling, “though I’d like to see him try.”
“Never underestim—” Christian broke off suddenly, and froze.
Turning to see what had captured his attention, Ben chuckled and said, “My cousin... she seems to have that effect quite regularly, I’d say.”
His cronies all murmured an agreement.
Christian eyed him pointedly and scowled at the rest of the men. “Your cousin?”
Christian knew the instant Ben detected his interest in her, for his brows slanted to a frown. His stance grew as rigid as his own. “Hawk,” he said, his voice low in warning.
Devil hang him!
Even now the sight of her stole his breath away. He loathed himself for his weakness toward her. Stone. Damn, but why hadn’t he put the two together? His jaw clenched. Even now, it was impossible not to want her. His gut wrenched with remembrance, even as he hardened his heart against her.
“She’s my cousin, Hawk,” Ben said again, responding to something in Christian’s gaze.
Lifting her skirts, Jessie hurried across the sand-filled street into the clearing, smiling with delight at Kathryn’s bubbling excitement. And then at once her heart lurched to a halt. She froze, her breath strangling in her throat as the tallest man in the gathering turned to face them.
Their gazes met and held.
Jessie’s knees buckled a little at the baleful glare he gave her. Unknowingly she crushed the envelope she’d been carrying. If she weren’t such a blessed coward, she told herself, she’d walk directly to him and slap the self-righteous expression from his face!
But she was a coward, and the truth of the matter was that if she didn’t turn now, and go, this instant, she’d surely shame herself.
She felt Kathryn’s hand upon her arm and was grateful for her steadying presence. “What is it, Jessamine? What’s wrong?”
He continued to stare, his smoldering blue eyes narrowing in condemnation, but he said not a word, nor did he move to address her. What had she expected? A greeting? I’m sorry? How’ve you been, my love? She expected nothing! she told herself. She expected nothing—and received less. It would serve her best to simply walk away now. She spun on her heels and hastened away, with no answer for Kathryn’s anxious inquiry.
Kathryn hurried after her. “Jessamine! Wait! What is it?”
Ben caught her as she crossed the street, his expression sober as he asked, “Is it him?”
Jessie couldn’t find her voice to speak.
“Confound it!” Ben exploded.
“Who?” Kathryn asked, trying in vain to keep up with their hurried steps and fragmented conversation. There was only concern evident in her tone as she demanded, “Oh, please tell me, Jessamine! What has happened to upset you so?”
Still unable to speak, lest she burst into tears, Jessie shook her head. Ben was the only one person in Charlestown, aside from Lord Christian and Lord St. John, who knew the truth about what had happened all those months ago in England. Only Ben hadn’t known everything—he hadn’t known precisely who was responsible for her misery. Even Ben’s parents had been spared the awful truth. It was the one thing for which she had Amos to thank, he’d spared her that much—more for his own sake than for hers, she was certain. But she’d grown so close to Ben these past months that confiding in him had seemed a natural thing to do, but she could never bear for Kathryn to know her shame. Her cheeks colored even as she remembered that fateful afternoon beneath the elm tree, and her eyes misted, though she refused to weep.
Too many tears had been wasted already.
Ben seized her by the shoulders and spun her about to face him, gripping her harder than she knew he meant to. “It was he?”
Lifting her face to him, Jessie forced a nod, and leaned into his embrace, wanting him to shield her from so many prying eyes. She knew people were staring, though she couldn’t see them through the blur of her tears.
“Ah, Jessie…” He enfolded her within his arms, and for a long moment there was only the comfort of his silence. “Are you well enough to make it home?” He cast a dubious glance at Kathryn.
“I have my carriage,” Kathryn offered.
“Please… I... I am fine…” Jessie forced a smile for Ben’s sake, for Kathryn’s sake. “I-I have no idea what came over me,” she swore, mindful of Kathryn’s critical regard, “but I-I... I’m fine now.”
“Are you certain, Jessie?” Turning to Kathryn, Ben appealed, “Would you mind terribly excusing us? I should like to speak to my cousin privately.”
Kathryn nodded, flustered. “Certainly,” she said, sounding wounded, though she tried not to show it. “I shall go on, then.” She turned to Jessie. “Are you certain you will be all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Kathryn. I truly am fine.”
Kathryn managed a nod. “Very well, then... if you’re certain...”
“Perhaps I shall see you this eve, Kathryn,” Ben suggested, dismissing her once and for all.
Kathryn’s expression softened at once and she smiled brightly. “Why, yes—yes, of course! That would be truly wonderful!” Her face aglow once more, she turned to Jessie. “Goodbye, Jessamine. Feel better.” Leaning closer, she whispered a fervent, “Please!”
Jessie smiled weakly. “I shall,” she assured, trying to sound cheerful, though her heart was breaking into tiny wretched pieces. With a farewell wave for her friend, she turned to Ben, her eyes blurring with
tears. “I had no idea that you and Lord Christian—that man—were so well acquainted!”
He frowned at her. “More importantly, I didn’t realize you knew him so well, Jessie.” His voice held no condemnation, only sorrow on her behalf. “He is not a man to be trifled with.”
Shame suffused her, and she averted her eyes. “I only wish I did not!”
“You should have told me,” he said, his jaw tautening. Peering up at him, she could see the fury flashing in his eyes. “Haw—” He broke off, glanced away, toward the point, and then back. “Christian will not trouble you. I swear it.”
Jessie gave him a doubtful look. If Ben only knew what misery the man could invoke with only a glance... if only he knew... but he couldn’t possibly.
He smiled down at her, giving her a playful chuck beneath the chin. And then, as though he scarcely could help himself, his fingers slid up and he stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Sweet, sweet, Jess... how they’ve hurt you—Christ, if only you weren’t my cousin,” he said, and smiled down at her then. He said lightly, “I believe I would marry you myself and tuck you safely away from all the world.” His expression sobered suddenly, his gaze shuttering. “If you weren’t my cousin,” he added.
Something in his expression made Jessie uneasy suddenly. She peeled herself away from him. “And yet you are,” she reminded him firmly. She didn’t wish to hurt Ben’s feelings, but it seemed of late he made more and more such declarations. Didn’t he realize? Cousin or no, she could never love another man as long as she lived!
“Come,” she told him, taking his hand and leading him away. “Your mother will worry.”
* * *
The noise was unbearable.
And the stench.
For the fifth time in as many moments, St. John glanced over his shoulder at the door, readjusting his tricorne. He’d forgone his powdered peruke for this meeting in hopes of blending more easily with the rabble of Dillon’s tavern, but he felt exposed without it. His tricorne was much too large for his unclad head, as it had been made to fit a gentleman’s peruke, an item of dress he was rarely without. He only hoped he wasn’t too conspicuous... that this meeting would mete itself well.