“Goodness, Christina!” her friend exclaimed from beside her, holding out a steadying hand. “Are you quite all right? Did you see who that brute of a man was?”
Christina took a few moments to catch her breath, holding onto Lady Beatrice’s arm.
“I have no idea, but I have no intention of letting him speak to me in such a way!” she exclaimed, fury rising as the pain abated, and she turned around to look into the darkness. “I must go and find him and tell him exactly that.”
“No, we must not!” Lady Beatrice cried, catching Christina’s hand. “It would be altogether untoward, and besides that, the waltz is starting soon, and you know how I love to dance. I have a set with Lord Heatheringhall, and Mother will be quite upset if I stand him up.”
“You are right. You must go dance, and I will return shortly,” Christina urged. “I will be but a moment.”
“I cannot leave you,” Lady Beatrice replied, shaking her head. “I hardly think that a young woman can do such a thing. What if you are found, alone, with a gentleman in the darkness? It is not done. Your reputation will be sullied.”
Christina did not care, especially since she was already engaged, and her betrothed had yet to present himself to her. He was clearly in no rush to meet her, as he had not even yet appeared this evening. Besides that, what was he going to do — break off their engagement? “I will simply take a moment to compose myself, and then I will make sure to slip back inside quietly. No one will be the wiser.”
She smiled at her friend, glad that Lady Beatrice was showing her such consideration yet determined to call out whoever it was that had knocked into her without any kind of apology. “Thank you, Beatrice. I will not be long, I assure you.”
She watched as Beatrice nodded slowly, a look of concern in her expression, before she made her way toward the door that led back into the ballroom. Even though they had only been in London for a few short days, Christina’s father, the marquess, had made every effort to find her a friend or two. Thankfully, Lady Beatrice Jamieson, daughter of the Earl of Broughton, had been warm and welcoming from the moment Christina had been introduced to her, and they had seen one another every day since their first meeting. They were as different as could be in appearance. Lady Beatrice had jet black hair, always piled high on her head, and was short of stature, but she made up for it with an exuberant character. She was always ready with a smile, a quick comment or a joke that made Christina laugh, pulling her out of the doldrums she’d found herself in ever since her father had told her she was engaged.
Moving rapidly down the path, Christina felt her heart quicken in her chest as the darkness pulled her in. This part of the garden was much dimmer, although Christina did not want to think as to why that might be. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she hoped desperately that the gentleman she was pursuing did not think she was seeking him out for some kind of liaison.
“Excuse me!” she called, seeing a shadowy figure moving quickly up ahead, dodging the light of a lone lantern. “I say, stop for a moment, if you please. I must speak with you.” Her frustration at being treated in such a rude manner began to rise all the more as the gentleman ignored her entirely, despite the fact that Christina was sure he could hear her call out to him.
“Ho, you there!” she called again, only to gasp aloud as the gentleman reached another she had not seen, and without stopping, launched himself at the man, throwing a punch at him.
“How dare you show your face!” The first gentleman shouted as Christina began to stagger back, her hands pressed to her mouth as she tried to hide. “I have been searching for you for six years. Six years! Do not think that I intend to let you get away now.”
Christina did not know what to do. She tried to get her limbs to move so that she might turn around and hurry away, but she felt as though her feet were fastened to the ground.
“I will do all I can to destroy you,” she heard the gentleman say, his voice loud yet rasping. “You do not deserve to live!”
“Then kill me,” came the second man’s voice, filled with an arrogance that made Christina wince. A man ought not to speak like that when he was being threatened, not if he wanted to get away with his life. The first gentleman was clearly in a state of furious rage for whatever reason, so surely it was best not to frustrate him further?
“Believe me, I want to,” the first gentleman continued, his hands grasping the second gentleman’s collar as he dragged him up to his tiptoes. “I want to put my hands around your throat and squeeze until the life goes out of your eyes.”
Christina gasped, horrified, wanting to move yet fixed on the scene in front of her. She grabbed hold of the back of a bench that sat just beside the path. This gentleman, whoever he was, was clearly unstable. Threatening to kill a man in cold blood — in the middle of a ball, no less? She could not quite take it in, her mind screaming at her to get away from him.
“I will do whatever I have to in order to get you to tell me the truth, to confess,” she heard the first man say, as the second man let out a groan of pain. “But it will not be a physical punishment, believe me. I will not let your crimes sully my own reputation, nor that of my father’s. Do not doubt, for one moment, that you will be able to continue with your life as though everything is just as it seems. I know what you did, and so help me I will prove it.”
Christina sank behind the bench as the sound of a punch meeting its mark reached her ears. Glancing over at them, she saw that the second man was now doubled over, his hands clutching his stomach as the first man finally let go of his quarry, striding away from him.
Stay still, Christina told herself, trying to make herself as small as possible as she crouched behind the bench. He might not see you.
Unfortunately for her, the gentleman started in surprise as he saw her at once, and she cursed her silvery white gown. As beautiful as it was, hugging her curves and then cascading in folds down her waist, it must have shimmered in the moonlight, giving her away.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, striding toward her, as though he knew who she was. As he neared, the lantern caught his face, and Christina was taken aback by the hard edges of his features, at the way his lip curled in a near snarl. He would have been good looking, with his strong jawline, high forehead, and the whisper of hair across his chin, but his anger masked it all. She stood but shrank back, as if the darkness could keep her from him. “Why are you out here, alone?” he snapped at her.
“Do excuse me,” Christina replied, whispering despite her best attempts to speak with confidence. “I— I simply—” Compose yourself, Christina. She straightened her shoulders as she strengthened her voice. “I needed to speak with you. To tell you how horribly you behaved yourself when you hit me on the path. However….”
He stepped closer until he was standing but a foot from her, and Christina could not bring herself to look up into his face, feeling herself begin to tremble. She clenched her hands together to stop.
“You witnessed that?” The gentleman asked, calmer now, still looking down at her. Christina was a tall woman, but this man towered above her. “It is not what you think, my lady. We had a gentleman’s quarrel, but of a very serious nature.”
Christina swallowed hard, wishing he would leave. “I am sure it is none of my business.”
“Then why did you not go inside?”
Christina felt her skin prickle with tension, her throat working hard as she battled to keep her composure. “As I said, I needed to speak with you, and was … shocked by what I saw.”
She refused to tell him that part of the reason was that her limbs were too weak to move, and her fingers tightened together as she fought to remain calm.
“Then allow me to now escort you back inside.”
“No!”
She jerked away from him as he bent down, resisting his touch. She had stayed far enough in the dark that she hoped he hadn’t seen her face, that she wouldn’t have to admit knowing him were she to ever see him again.
/> “Please,” he said, firmly, his face now just as swathed in shadow. “You cannot stay here alone.”
“I will do as I please,” Christina replied, her voice now hoarse and rasping. “I have no need for your company.”
To her horror, the gentleman suddenly grasped her arm tightly and, despite her unwillingness, she found herself walking alongside him, over the path and away from it.
“Be silent, please,” he whispered, as he led her into the deeper shadows of the trees surrounding the path, hiding them both entirely. “You must not say a word.”
Christina fought her fear, her eyes wide as he pressed her back against the trunk of a very large tree, her breathing now ragged. She could sense that his face was but inches from hers now as he held close.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, as a small whimper left her lips. “I just cannot allow you — nor I, for that matter — to be seen.”
“And why is that?” Christina whispered, her hands tightening together again as he stepped back slightly now, leaving only one hand on her arm. “Because you do not want the ton to know that you are a cruel man with a penchant for dealing out punishment where there has been no crime?”
He growled, his hand tightening on her arm, and Christina flinched as though he might strike her.
“I have done nothing wrong,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder than a whisper. “That gentleman has got only the very first taste of what I have planned. He deserves far worse.”
Christina swallowed hard, feeling tears prick at her eyes as she tried her best to understand what this man was saying. “What has he done to deserve this?” she whispered, feeling the bark of the tree rub against her skin. “Stolen a lady from under your nose? Beaten you at cards one too many times?” Her tone became mocking, as her fear was replaced by anger at the way he was treating her, and her eyes filled with the memory of what she had seen. “A gentleman’s quarrel, I believe you said.”
Strong hands grasped her shoulders, and she flinched as he held her firmly.
“Do not mock me,” he commanded, and she felt the puff of air brush across her cheek. She smelled the mixture of sweetness and spice that was likely port on his breath. “And do not speak of what you do not know. That man took a life.”
She froze for a moment, looking up at the shadowy figure who held her. She gasped suddenly as his face came into focus, the intensity of his crystal blue eyes bearing off into the distance. She studied him intently and found she was trapped now not by his arms, nor his body, but by the haunted look she saw in his eyes. Her attention was snapped, however, when she saw figures moving near them on the path, and she opened her mouth to call out to them for help.
And then, out of nowhere, before she could make a sound, his lips were on hers, catching her cry in his mouth. She was shocked by the softness of his kiss, so unlike the hardness of his face. Initially, it was apparent that he simply pressed his mouth to hers to keep her silent, but then, somehow, it all changed.
Christina did not know how it happened, or what to do once it did.
Her body was reacting in a way she’d never expected. It was growing warm, the icy fear beginning to fade away as she was kissed by a stranger, by the very man she’d been trying to escape from.
His lips were firm yet gentle, his arms coming around her waist as he pulled her tightly against him. She could feel the hard planes of his body as they pressed against the softness of hers, and she wondered at the fire beginning to burn deep within her. She had never been kissed before, had not entirely known what to expect, but this was far more than she could have ever imagined.
His tongue brushed against her lips, and she jumped, startled by the intimate intrusion. She should push him away, but instead, her body acted of its own will, her mouth opening up to his probing, allowing him inside. A whimper slipped out, only this time with passion as his tongue swept over hers, exploring, teasing. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and she found herself clinging to his shoulders, pulling him in, wanting more of the forbidden fruit.
And then, just as quickly, she was standing on her own again, the stranger now a little away from her, having ripped their lips apart. She sagged back against the tree in order to remain upright, as she could hardly seem to stand for a moment. Her heart pounded a staccato beat.
“They’re gone now,” he said, with just a curl of distaste touching his words. “You can go.”
Christina remained rooted against the tree, realizing what he’d done. He’d kissed her so that she wouldn’t draw attention to them. There had been others walking nearby that he’d heard and, to silence her, he’d done the only thing he could — covered her lips with his own. She had not only allowed it, but she had welcomed it, had asked for more from him.
Shame leeched into her pores as she stumbled away from him, making her way through the gray darkness back to the path, hurrying up toward the house, patting at her hair and her clothing as she went to ensure all was in order.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the gentleman had followed her, although he now stood entirely motionless as she continued on her way. He cut an imposing figure, and she could still see his square jaw jutting out as he watched her go with something like frustration in his gaze.
She turned away, not caring who saw her as she climbed the steps and entered the ballroom once more.
“Christina!”
Lady Beatrice grasped her arm at once, pulling her away from the rest of the crowd to the side of the dance floor.
“I’ve been waiting for you for an age!” Lady Beatrice exclaimed as Christina tried her best to appear as though nothing had disconcerted her. “Are you quite all right?”
“Quite,” Christina replied, in a voice she realized didn’t quite match the false smile she plastered on her face. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Lady Beatrice frowned as they walked, leading Christina toward a few empty chairs near one side of the ballroom. “Sit down, please. Are you sure you are all right? You look very pale.”
Christina shrugged. “I should have listened to you. Being alone in the dark with a less than amiable gentleman was not my wisest idea.”
Lady Beatrice gasped at Christina’s admission, her blue-green eyes wide as could be. Christina tried to smile at her. Beatrice seemed to truly care about her well-being, despite the fact they had only recently become acquainted. “Never say he was rude to you!” she exclaimed.
Still feeling the imprint of his lips upon hers, Christina froze the half-smile on her face. “More than rude,” she replied, softly. “Needless to say, I shall be very glad to never see him again.”
7
It took Christina a good hour to feel more like herself, although she did not say anything further of the encounter to Lady Beatrice. It was not worth speaking out loud, she thought, aware that she would be bringing as much shame onto herself as onto the gentleman who had placed his mouth on hers.
She should never have gone to speak with him alone. Lady Beatrice had tried to warn her but she had been so angry with how he’d treated her that she’d ignored the good advice entirely.
Thank goodness no one had seen them in the gardens, for that would have made things all the more difficult for her, particularly since she was supposed to be nearly engaged. Her stomach dropped to her toes at the thought of what might have happened should they have been discovered, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her brow.
“I think your father is approaching, Christina,” Lady Beatrice whispered, passing her a delicate lace handkerchief. “Dab your forehead and try to smile. He does look somewhat fierce.”
Christina accepted the handkerchief and did as her friend instructed, although not for the reasons Lady Beatrice thought. “My father always looks that way, Lady Beatrice, but thank you. Do excuse me.”
She rose to her feet and made her way toward her father, fully aware of what was to come. She had not spoken to Lady Beatrice about her engagement since
it was not yet meant to reach the ears of the ton. She enjoyed Beatrice’s company, but she couldn’t be sure yet if she could trust her to keep such things to herself.
Now it seemed, she was to meet her betrothed for the first time. They would greet one another, talk for a few minutes, dance together, and then be on their way. It would not be overwhelming; her father had promised. She would have time afterward to consider all that had happened, to think about the gentleman before their next meeting the following evening at dinner. It sounded so simple, but this was truly monumental.
“You actually look quite nice this evening, my dear,” the marquess boomed, as he offered her his arm. “We have a small room to the left, away from the other guests. Best to do this sort of thing quietly, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Father,” Christina replied, automatically.
“This way.”
He led her through one door which opened to a long corridor, walking down it quickly as the sound of voices reached her ears. Christina’s nerves jangled as they rounded the corner, only to see an older, distinguished couple standing there waiting. The gentleman was somewhat portly and had a rather jovial look about him, while the woman maintained a regal air, her dark locks streaked with a bit of gray, yet her beauty holding firm.
“Ah, your grace,” her father said at once, giving the gentleman a small bow. “How good to see you.” He led Christina forward, dropped her arm, and stretched his out toward her as if presenting a gift. “This is my daughter, Lady Christina Jamieson. Christina, this is the Duke and Duchess of Ware.”
Christina executed the perfect curtsy, despite the hammering of her heart. “How very nice to meet you both,” she said quietly, lifting her head and then, finally, her eyes toward them. They were both smiling at her, their faces kind. The Duke of Ware appeared to be the same age as her father and, while Christina knew her father had been friends with the duke for a long time, she had never met him before and he did not appear as she had pictured him. There was no arrogance written on his face, no lift of his chin as his gaze looked her up and down. Instead, his eyes were kind, and he wore a gentle smile on his face as he took his wife’s arm. The Duchess also made Christina feel at ease, her face holding nothing but sweetness. Despite her age, she seemed to exude youthfulness, her blue eyes bright as a warm smile settled on her face. What was it about those eyes that seemed so familiar?
Searching Hearts Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 63