Rebels, Rakes & Rogues

by Cheryl Bolen

  Good God... she couldn’t help herself...

  He jerked away suddenly, his look satisfied, yet furious still... so very furious. Jessie’s breath came in labored gasps as she stared numbly up at him.

  “Now,” he said through clenched teeth, “tell me again how much you despise me, Jess.”

  Jessie was struck dumb, unable to think clearly, much less open her mouth to speak. Her hand went to her throat as she gasped for breath.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said smugly, and spun on his heels, leaving her so dazed that she had to wonder what it was he’d even said. Always he had to have the last word! When it finally dawned on her what he’d said to her, her cheeks flamed in anger.

  “Blackguard!” she screamed. She reached back and seized the first thing she encountered—a pillow—hurling it at his back. It bounced off him to the floor, and he halted in midstride.

  His hand clenching at his sides, he addressed her with controlled deliberation. “I suggest you get some rest, lest you desire more of what I have to offer.” He turned to face her then, his blue eyes glinting dangerously, letting her see the evidence of his arousal.

  Her eyes widened.

  “I see we understand one another,” he said sharply, pivoting once more. “I’ll send McCarney to Charlestown for your possessions in the meantime.” He opened the door and stepped out.

  “Nay—wait, please!” He hesitated in closing the door, and Jessie scrambled from the bed after him. “Ben...”

  He turned to face her, and his anger seemed to flare at the mention of her cousin. She forced herself to speak, stepping forward, clutching her gown together.

  “B-Ben and I shall go with him,” she suggested, her eyes pleading. “Please... he needs a physician.”

  “You’re a fool, Jess!” he swore softly. “He cannot go back!”

  “Nay, nay, but listen to me! I shall simply explain—”

  “Christ!” he exploded. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He gave her an incredulous look. “What will you explain, Jessamine?”

  Her heart leapt. “I’ll think of something... surely... something...” Her voice sounded weak and defeated even to her own ears.

  He shook his head. “I’ve news for you, love... After last night, they would as soon hang Ben as listen to explanations.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want for your beloved cousin? To see him hang?”

  Jessie shook her head, angry tears of frustration stinging her eyes.

  “I didn’t think so,” he snarled. “Now, get some sleep! You’ll bloody well need it!”

  Jessie nodded in resignation and sat upon the bed, her eyes misting. God help her, she absolutely refused to weep before him. Again he turned to leave. “Wait,” she pleaded still, more softly this time. “Wh-What will you tell Ben’s father?”

  “What would you have me tell him?”

  “The truth,” she appealed, her green eyes brimming with tears. “Perhaps he can help?”

  He shook his head, his expression softening somewhat. “I doubt it,” he told her. “But if ’tis your wish, then aye, I shall tell him.”

  “Do you not think my uncle deserves to know of his son’s condition?” she returned, her outrage returning tenfold. “What if Ben were to die?”

  “I’ve seen worse injuries,” Christian informed her curtly. “I rather doubt he’ll expire any time soon—but yes, you’ve a point, and as I said, I shall tell him. Now, get some sleep; ’tis been a long night.” He left then, slamming the door after him.

  * * *

  When Jessie awoke, she was startled to find her trunks littering the cabin floor. Lord, she must have slept like the dead, for she’d not so much as heard anyone enter. At second glance, it appeared as though Christian had brought every last article she owned, and she wondered irately why he would have done so.

  Surely she wouldn’t be away so long—couldn’t bear to be!

  In one corner of the cabin, there was a large cheval glass that had not been there previously. Under normal circumstances she might have recognized the gesture as thoughtful, but she refused to be grateful to the likes of Hawk—damnable Prince of Smugglers! Traitor to the Crown. Her face screwed, for she loved a man she should not even like. Again she wondered how she could have been so witless that she hadn’t known. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, lifting it out of her face, and then rose with a weary sigh.

  Her green silk dress lay sprawled over one of her trunks. It was more than obvious that Christian had taken the liberty of rifling through her belongings—well, she wasn’t about to dress to please the wretched mongrel, and so she ignored it. Searching indignantly through the largest of her trunks, noting with some relief that he’d neglected to bring her petticoats, she found the most unbecoming gown she owned—a blue one, almost the shade of his eyes. She frowned at the comparison, then irately tossed the gown aside. Again she searched, smiling with satisfaction as she spotted another more suitable one.

  It took Jessie little time to dress. She braided her hair into one thick braid, and with a quick glimpse into the cheval glass, decided she looked unappealing enough. God’s truth, she couldn’t bear any more of his heated glances—nor, for that matter, any more of his kisses. The last had nearly undone her.

  Opening the door, she drew in a breath and stepped out of the cabin, making her way to the room where Ben and Jean Paul slept. The door was closed, but Ben and Jean Paul were awake, bickering ceaselessly with one another like cantankerous old men.

  “Damnation, Jean Paul,” she heard Ben grumble, “he needn’t have brought her into this.”

  “Non,” came Jean Paul’s curt reply, “but he did what he thought was best. You cannot fault him for trying to help us.”

  Neither could Jessie for that matter, and some of her anger left her with that realization.

  “He knew not where else to turn—nor could he have known we would fare so well.”

  “Good God, man! You might have fared well enough, but I? I cannot even rise upon these useless limbs!”

  Jessie’s heart twisted painfully at his disclosure, and she closed her eyes, placing her cheek against the door.

  “Oui, mon fils, but you will given time.”

  There was a strained silence between them, and she thought to use it to her advantage, to make her presence known, but even as she made to open the door, Jean Paul spoke again. “You think I do not know what makes you so angry, but I do. You love her, do you not?”

  Jessie held her breath for his reply, but there was none.

  “I thought so,” Jean Paul answered low, almost too low for her to hear. “In that case... allow me to point out to you a fact that you are doubtless already aware of. She’s your kinswoman.”

  “We’re cousins.”

  Another long interval of silence before Ben gave his grudging reply. “Damn you, Jean Paul, you’re getting on my nerves—shut up, already!”

  Having heard enough, Jessie knocked faintly upon the door, somewhat shaken. “’Tis me,” she called out, trying to sound nonchalant.

  There was a long, impenetrable silence, then Jean Paul’s voice rang out clearly. “Come in, come in, ma petite. Come in!”

  She opened the door to find Jean Paul at the port window, facing her, looking drawn, but well enough.

  Ben, on the other hand, sat upon his pallet, propped against the wall, his expression grim. The coverlet had been hastily tossed over his limbs, and his shirt was agape. In his hand he held a long, slim piece of oak, and he pretended to study the length of it, ignoring her.

  Jessie’s first thought was that Jean Paul should not have risen so soon. But then, unable to help herself, she quickly returned her gaze to Ben. She’d never seen a man unclad before, and couldn’t help but stare. She found herself wondering if that were the way Christian looked without his shirt. They were similar in build, after all. As though suddenly realizing the direction of her gaze, Ben clasped his shirt together, turning a shade of crimson as he concealed himself from her scrutin
y. Chagrined by her brazenness, Jessie managed a hasty apology, and before either of them could protest her leaving, she turned and left them, closing the door swiftly behind her.

  Going in search of Christian, for she fully intended to demand he take her home, she made her way above deck, only to discover it bustling with activity. The one detail in particular that caught her immediate notice was that the mainsail was being hoisted. As understanding dawned, it took mere seconds for her anger to resurface.

  Christian, the cur, stood upon the foredeck, his legs set imposingly apart as he overlooked the preparations for sail, barking orders to his men. Enraged, she marched toward him, fists clenched. “Just what do you think you’re doing? And why have you brought so many of my belongings aboard this—this smuggler’s den of yours? I do not intend to remain!”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. For a long moment it seemed he wouldn’t reply at all, and then when he did, his tone mocked her. “It seems to be obvious, m’mselle, I am readying the ship for sail.” He eyed her gown and lifted the corners of his mouth. “As for your belongings,” he told her somewhat scathingly, “I believe you’ll find that you will indeed need them”—his brow rose—”unless, of course, you prefer to wear your nightwear instead.”

  “Oh yes! Of course,” she replied in an acid tone. “I love to parade about in my nightgown! More than that, even, I love to be abducted in the middle of the night and brought against my will to a den of thieves! Indeed I do!” God help her, she wanted to slap the self-satisfied smirk from his face.

  He gave her a quelling look, narrowed his eyes, then glanced away as though to remind her that his men were listening, as well. “Watch your tongue,” he warned. “I’d loathe to have to—”

  “Cut it out?” she demanded indignantly. “Famous! Smuggler, traitor, ravisher of innocents—and butcher now, as well! You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Kiss you?” he murmured low. His lips curved slightly, taunting her. “What do you think, mon amour?” His smiled deepened, though it never reached his eyes. “Wouldn’t I love to, indeed?”

  Jessie shuddered at his veiled warning. “Nay!” she said quickly, “I-I meant that you would cut out my tongue!”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said drolly, lifting a brow, and cocking his head.

  “You! I insist you take me back to Charlestown at once! Now! You don’t need me here! Nor do I wish to remain.”

  “Nay.”

  “Nay?” she repeated incredulously.

  He nodded. “I believe that is what I said.”

  “But you cannot keep me here!”

  “Can I not?” Once again he cocked his head and lifted a brow in challenge.

  “Nay, you cannot!” she countered, bristling. “I can do no more for Ben—or Jean Paul—than anyone else aboard this accursed ship—and I will not remain to be abused by you!”

  He eyed her sharply. “M’mselle, I’ve not so much as lifted a finger against you, but I warn you, I’m sorely tempted this moment to put you over my knee and paddle that delightfully tempting derriere of yours, audience or nay.” He lifted his chin, indicating the scrutiny of his men. By now, all had suspended their chores in order to watch them with unconcealed interest.

  Jessie followed his gaze, mortified to have been threatened in such an intimate manner before so many watchful pairs of eyes—and ears! “Oh!” she gasped. “You just bloody well try!”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Threats, m’mselle?” He actually laughed then.

  Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not completely at your mercy, you realize,” she reminded him, chafing at his arrogance. “Ben remains below deck.” In an angry whisper, she confided, “I would need but tell him what you did to me back in your cabin, and he would surely find cause enough to call you out!” In truth, it was the very last thing Jessie intended for her cousin to do—particularly in his present state—but it seemed the only thing with which to threaten the incorrigible beast.

  Christian never blinked an eye at her dire proclamation, but said quite amiably, “That would be a rather unfortunate mistake on his part.” Though his tone was casual, his eyes seemed to bore through her with brilliant intensity. And then he said soberly, “If you care at all for his life... you’ll do no such thing. Ben’s a good man—a bit green about the edges perhaps, but even so, I’d like to see him live long enough to get over loving you. You see, my love, he doesn’t realize it yet, but you’re unequivocally the worst thing that could ever have happened to him.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened at his cruel words.

  “Aye,” he said low. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” His arms crossed, his legs set arrogantly apart, he challenged her to deny it.

  She couldn’t—not with what she’d heard below—and her face heated under his scrutiny.

  He turned from her long enough to order his men back to work, and he was revealed to her fully in that moment, for he was within his element at last, feral and magnificent. Despite herself, the sight of him stole her breath away; his features hard and hawk like, and with his dark, unbound hair flowing, he was the Hawk. With his snug black breeches and loose white shirt billowing in the breeze, he’d never appeared more ominous than he did at the moment. Evidently his men thought so as well, for without him having said a word, all eyes turned from them at once.

  Satisfied that their conversation would no longer be overheard, he returned his gaze to her. “In future,” he told her, “I would suggest you refrain from bedeviling Ben—trust me, love, a man can only take so much.”

  There was nothing of the man she’d thought she’d known in him now, nothing. She truly didn’t know him. Had she ever? she wondered bitterly. “How dare you speak to me so rudely?”

  “Had he been himself last night,” he continued coldly, ignoring her angry objection, “and not beset with fever and pain, you’d no longer be virgin—I assure you, cousin or nay. Or,” he suggested, his tone fierce, “perhaps that isn’t a concern any longer.” He narrowed his eyes, and asked softly, “Is it, Jessamine?”

  Jessie’s face flushed a bright crimson. “Oh! That is none of your concern—though I assure you my cousin is a gentleman through and through—unlike you!”

  “Is that so,” he replied evenly, giving her a ruthless smile,

  Christian had to suppress the urge to grin outright.

  He’d managed to discover what he’d needed to know, and the truth was that he was well pleased with the answer. Ben hadn’t touched her, he was certain of it, and neither had anyone else for that matter; for she wore a virgin’s blush.

  “I really must insist you take me back to Charlestown!”

  Christian shook his head, sighing. “Nay, Jess. The fact is that your uncle has already bandied word that you and Ben have sailed for England.” He grinned at her then, unable to suppress his glee. “It seems you have developed a nasty case of homesickness. As you see... I cannot allow you to go back, for in doing so you’d raise suspicions now, and I will not permit you to do that, my love. After all, ’tis my father’s life you would endanger, as well.”

  Christian could see the fierce determination leave her features, though it was immediately replaced by resentment.

  Was his company so disagreeable to her?

  Did she truly loathe him so much?

  He couldn’t allow himself to believe it, for if he did, a part of him would shrivel and die. He thought to put the issue of her leaving at rest once and for all, and he said, “We’ll be gone only as long as necessary, and if you endeavor to stay out of the way, ’twill pass all the easier for you. Rest assured, Jessie. I am no more thrilled for your company than you are for mine.”

  Her expression became mutinous suddenly, her green eyes reflecting the depths of her animosity, buffeting him as surely as though she’d struck his cheek with her palm. “I—well—and—truly—despise—you!”

  His jaw grew taut, and his chest tightened, but he managed a nod. “Despise me all you wish,” he allowed, “only sta
y the hell out of my sight.”

  He felt little satisfaction when she stiffened as though she’d been cuffed, and less when she turned and stalked away. He forced himself to let her go, telling himself that her anger was a welcome barrier between them.

  Without it, he was lost.

  Chapter 19

  Sweating from his labors, Christian made his way back to his cabin. He’d not intended for the Mistral to set sail again so soon, and so there had been a number of things he’d had to see to before leaving Charlestown harbor. It had been a near miraculous feat to resupply his ship in the course of a day, without earning suspicion, and he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the task at all without the generous help he’d received from the men of the Wilkes club. Ben was obviously well thought of among them, for they’d rallied together without thought for their own safety, procuring supplies and hauling them aboard.

  His intent now was simply to sail down the coast to the West Indies, collect a payload, then return to Charlestown, arriving in the dead of night. Fortunately, because it was hurricane season, they wouldn’t be the only ones departing the harbor, and his only true concern was that he was sailing directly into hurricane territory, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d have to take his chances.

  And then there was the matter of their return...

  They would be back long before the harbor became congested once more, and because Jessie and Ben were to have sailed for England, he’d need to steal them down the Ashley to Shadow Moss as quietly and covertly as possible.

  He chuckled suddenly, for it would likely mean muzzling Jessie until they arrived at his plantation house—impudent wench that she was. And then again, he reconsidered, for Shadow Moss was nowhere near to completion, and Jessie would likely squawk all the louder when she discovered that fact—most females would, he didn’t doubt—so perhaps he would consider leaving her gagged until Ben healed...