Moonlight Lover

by Ferrarella, Marie

  She nodded and smiled, playing along. "Forever."

  He sighed dramatically, placing his hand over his heart. "My loss."

  Krystyna drew him over to the daughter of a thriving planter. "We shall see."

  Sin-Jin shook his head as he watched Krystyna meld into the crowd. To listen to her, one would have never known that she had cut her teeth on political arguments and had had to flee for her life because she was as outspoken as her father was. There were those who feared that a section of the oppressed populace in Poland would rally and side with her in an insurrection. She sounded now as if she hadn't a thought in the world other than making a success of her party.

  Looking away, Sin-Jin turned his head only to be met by a scowl on the face of the fiery redhead who stood next to him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even angry, she was magnificent. Perhaps she was even more so that way.

  But Sin-Jin longed to see her smile at him. Not docilely. He didn't think she possessed a docile bone in her entire body. But perhaps with something other than animosity coursing through her veins.

  Taking her arm lightly, but firmly, he guided Rachel toward the crystal punch bowl on the table in the center of the room. "Is something wrong?"

  His face, most especially the uninvited touch of his mouth, had haunted her days and endlessly echoed through her nights. Yet now that she was here, standing next to him, all she could feel was indignant anger. Anger at his presumption that he could so easily kiss her. And anger at the fact that she was attracted to someone who was British.

  How could she feel something so intimate for a race of people she had sworn to loath to her last dying breath?

  Being next to him only made the dilemma that much more vivid for her. She called forth her haughtiest expression and directed it toward him. "Having you watch over my virtue is akin to handing a helpless chick to a cunning, hungry fox and then instructing him to guard it."

  He laughed at her analogy. Dipping the ladle into the well-filled punch bowl, he filled a cup, then handed it to Rachel.

  "You are hardly what I would term a helpless chick and I am far from a hungry fox." Although she did stir his appetite, Sin-Jin thought as he filled a cup for himself.

  Rachel held the delicate cup in both hands, afraid of dropping it. Everything in the ballroom, in the mansion itself, looked so beautiful, so fragile. She felt like a bull in a shop of breakables.

  "That is true." Her admission surprised him, until she added, "a fox can be regarded as a noble creature."

  He studied her for a moment, wondering what it was that set his heart beating so fast at the very sight of her. Each feature could be isolated and, though pleasing, was not enough to make him endure such a tongue. Somehow, there was more. He decided that the whole was somehow greater than the sum of the parts. It was that which had captivated him so.

  He placed his hand on hers. "Why is it that you dislike me?”

  She felt her fingers tighten and had to remember that the glass would shatter if she wasn't careful. "Because you are arrogant, you laugh at me and you're British."

  Moving her hand away from his, she took a drink of the punch. It was tangy, stinging her mouth, exciting her tongue. Like his kiss. It had felt much the same, except that kissing him was like drinking raw whiskey on a winter's morn. Her father had given her some once when she was ill. He had done it to bring the color back in her cheeks. It had brought flames to her insides as well.

  Just the way he had.

  Undeterred, Sin-Jin took her hand in his again. When she tried to pull it free, he closed his fingers over it tightly, holding her prisoner. "You are only partially right. I am British."

  Her very glance challenged him. She hated everything that was British. She had cause to. "You could hardly deny that."

  "By birth," he persisted, still holding her fingers firmly in his. "There is nothing I can do that would change that. But I have changed my affiliations."

  She sniffed. What else could he say? It was dangerous to be associated with the British these days. The war was over in everything but name. And that would come soon enough. "You could be lying."

  "Yes," he nodded agreeably. "I could be lying. I could be a spy." He watched her eyes grow wide as the horror of the thought set in. It pleased him that it hadn't occurred to her before this. It was a small comfort, but at least it was something. "And so could you."

  Now a frown blossomed where doubt had been a moment before. This time, she yanked her hand free. "Are you crazy?" She realized that she had attracted the attention of several people standing close to them.

  Annoyed, Rachel lowered her voice. "I'm not a spy," she hissed. There couldn't have been an assumption more ludicrous than that.

  Sin-Jin shrugged innocently. He enjoyed baiting her, enjoyed watching her mind work as she struggled out of the maze he cast her in.

  "How do I know that?" he asked.

  Anyone who knew her knew that was a ridiculous suggestion. She, a spy for the British? She'd just as soon cut out a Tory's heart than do anything at all for them, much less spy for them. Words almost failed her. "Because I'm saying so."

  Sin-Jin spread his hands wide, making his point. "And I say that I'm on the side of the Americans."

  The insufferable fool. Did he think to trap her with a little wordplay? "It's not that easy."

  "Why not?" he pressed.

  He was pleasing to the eye. But so had Lancaster been. And he had taken that as his right to do whatever he would with his tenants's wives and daughters. "Because I hate the British."

  With that, she turned her back on him and walked away, looking for her brother. Or, if nothing else, escape from Sin-Jin.

  This, Sin-Jin mused, watching her, was not going to be easy. But neither was it impossible.

  As they were seated for dinner, to her dismay, Rachel discovered that Sin-Jin had been placed in the position to her right.

  It was more than just a coincidence. On that she would stake her immortal soul. But Rachel couldn't quite find it in her heart to condemn the woman. There was too much about Krystyna that she discovered she admired.

  Still, she resisted the quagmire of emotions that she found herself slipping into. The man was a Brit and thus the man was hateful. There was no room for any feelings beyond that. If there were other feelings, unfamiliar feelings, beating their wings within her like trapped humming birds, searching for freedom, they were of no consequence and couldn't be noted.

  She despised the ground he walked on and nothing could change that. If she allowed it to change, she'd be disloyal to her mother, her father and all the members of her family who had died at the hands of British bastards.

  "It seems that fate insists on throwing us together," Sin-Jin commented as they sat down.

  "It seems that fate has dark hair and very becoming clothing." As she spread out the fine linen upon her lap, she glanced in Krystyna's direction. The woman was in the center of a heated discussion that sounded far more interesting than anything that was going on at her side of the table.

  "You mean Krystyna?" Sin-Jin guessed.

  She gestured at the place setting. "Did you tell her to do this?"

  He laughed. "You don't know Krystyna very well yet or you'd know that no one tells Krystyna to do anything. She does what she pleases."

  "And so shall I." Rachel turned her attention to the older man on her left.

  Rather than argue, Sin-Jin said nothing further to her. Instead, he directed his conversation to the well-endowed woman seated on his right.

  Rachel had absolutely no idea why that bothered her. She should have been relieved that he was annoying someone else rather than her. Instead, the ease with which he transferred his attention to the simpering woman at his side annoyed her.

  As Rachel listened involuntarily, the voluptuous, brainless twit, obviously well into child-bearing years, giggled into her napkin every time Sin-Jin said anything to her that could have feebly qualified as a witticism.

  She c
ertainly didn't find him witty, she thought contemptuously as the man next to her droned on about the proper way to raise tobacco. She found Sin-Jin tiresome. Irritating. Insufferable. And she could find no way to rid him from her mind.

  It was customary, after the meal was done, for the ladies to retire, leaving the gentlemen to their conversation. It was a custom Rachel had heard of and thought immensely unfair. She waited, as the dishes were cleared away, for some subtle announcement that would signal the separation, She saw Morgan McKinley glance expectantly at his daughter-in-law.

  To Rachel's surprise, Krystyna merely smiled back. She slowly looked up and down the long table. "Would anyone care for some after dinner brandy?"

  Morgan cleared his throat. "Countess." There was a note of warning mingled with exasperation in the senior McKinley's voice.

  The old bear had long since learned that he could not intimidate her, Krystyna thought fondly. This was her party, hers and Jason's, and she would run it the way she chose. "Ladies can drink brandy too, Mr. McKinley."

  Morgan opened his mouth, then closed it again like a carp circling a fish hook and deciding against taking the bait. He knew that there was no use in expecting the traditional from her. She had always been everything but.

  With a grunt, he rose, leaning on his silver cane. "Those who wish to be part of the rabble, remain here. The others who crave a bit of relief from this chatter, follow me." He waved them on to another part of the spacious room. Several men joined him.

  Morgan knew that most of the women would cluster together like brooding chicken out of habit, no matter what Krystyna tried to orchestrate. She had nerve and he admired her innovative spirit and courage. But it was hard to him to let go of ways that had been passed on from father to son since the beginning, and at times he found himself short with her.

  Jeremiah, the tall, stately house servant who was as integral part of the household as Morgan himself, appeared. Spotless white gloves on his large hands, he held a tray with a decanter of brandy before him. Moving slowly, he approached first Morgan, and then the male members of his household. When the last had taken his fill, Jeremiah approached Krystyna at the table. Conversation faded to an intermittent exchange as everyone turned to watch.

  Krystyna poured herself a glass and thanked the man, then brought the glass to her lips. She sipped it with reverent appreciation.

  "I would like to be having a drop as well."

  Riley turned to look at Rachel down the length of the table. "Rachel?" he mouthed in surprise. She never partook of spirits. What was she about?

  "If it's good enough for our hostess," Rachel answered the inquiring look in her brother's eyes as she accepted a glass from Jeremiah, "It is good enough for me."

  Krystyna sipped her brandy, watching the younger woman. She was aware of the disapproving frowns that graced some of the other women's faces. But she was used to that, used to censure for what she thought, for the way she behaved. It neither stopped her nor drove her. She could only be the way she was.

  With a brave smile, Rachel drew a sustaining breath and swallowed a healthy mouthful. Her eyes instantly clouded as the alcohol rolled down her throat, taking a whirling, cylindrical path down to her stomach. It burned as it settled.

  Watching her, Sin-Jin bit his lower lip to suppress his laughter. Instead, he pressed a glass of water into her hand. "Here, drink this," he whispered.

  Barely able to raise her voice to her throat, she eyed the glass with suspicion. "What is it?" She coughed as she felt each one of the words vibrate against her windpipe.

  "Water."

  She could hear the laughter in his voice. With very little encouragement, she would have returned the water to him, sans glass. But she was in too much discomfort to give in to a childish whim. She drained her glass. Slowly, the fire within her subsided to a dull burn.

  Rachel took a long, shuddering breath. She eyed the glass of brandy. "Why do men drink?"

  Sin-Jin shrugged. He had never wondered about it himself. It was just something a man did, like breathe. "It is an acquired taste."

  It made no sense to her. This tasted even worse than the whiskey her father had poured for her. "Why bother to acquire a taste for something so dreadful as that?" She nodded at the empty glass.

  Had it suddenly gotten warmer in the room? Heat began to bedevil her, climbing up her neck, filling her limbs. Her head felt a little strange as well, as if the room had tilted just a little.

  He thought her question over for a moment. He remembered the reason for his visit to Sam's a fortnight ago. "Because sometimes they need their senses dulled. They need to forget, to separate themselves from a world that has grown too harsh, too cruel for them to live in. It's only temporary, but it helps."

  He spoke as if he understood the need firsthand. Was there something that he was running from? No. She shut out the spark of sympathy that had begun to ignite. His kind inflicted the wounds. They didn't receive them. She looked at him coldly, trying to remember that she hated him. "Then drinking would be the cowardly way out."

  "I am tempted to agree with you, but I see no harm in it once in a while. It's when a man chooses to live in that state permanently that the problem occurs." His eyes skimmed over her face, trying desperately to ignore the inviting decolletage. Her cheeks were flushed and pink. She looked incredibly appealing and he wanted to have her. Perhaps, in time.

  He leaned forward and whispered, "Would you like a little fresh air?"

  The room had grown smaller and at the same time a great deal brighter as well as warmer since she had taken her drink. The voices around her had been reduced to an annoying slurred buzzing. She couldn't make out any of the words. Except for his. Maybe a breath of air was just what she needed.

  "Yes, I think I do need some air."

  Without waiting for him, Rachel rose to her feet and found them somewhat shaky. Drawing herself up with dignity, she managed to leave the table. She was vaguely aware that he was hardly half a step behind her.

  What she wasn't aware of was that she didn't mind the fact that he was.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The early evening air was crisp, as if it had been washed clean by last week's rains. The dank smell of wet wood was gone. There was nothing to interfere with the scent of Rachel's skin as it wafted to Sin-Jin—sweet, inviting, undermining his senses until he thought of himself as a lovesick fool instead of man who had been to war. A man who had wived and been widowed and lived close to a score and ten upon the earth.

  Beyond the balcony denuded trees raised long, scrawny fingers, scratching away at the layers of darkness, searching for the absent sun. Sin-Jin felt as if he had found his.

  If only she could be made aware of that.

  Rachel leaned against the railing that ran the length of the long balcony. She wrapped her fingers around it, grasping the sturdy wood as if it could somehow help her to strengthen her resolve. With her back to Sin-Jin, she looked out across the darkened lawn and saw nothing. Her mind was too full of him.

  She tried desperately to focus, to shake herself free of this unsteadiness that was simmering inside of her—this unsteadiness that made her so aware of him. She had been a fool to drink the brandy so quickly, she thought. And now she worried about becoming an even bigger fool and possibly embarrassing herself. Her stomach churned.

  Slowly, she filled her lungs with air. It helped to brace her a bit, but not nearly enough. Rachel caught her breath as she felt Sin-Jin's hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, then shrugged him off, moving aside before turning to face him.

  Her facial expression, no, her entire body, her very stance, exhibited defiance. Defiance that was always there, he thought, as if she expected him to murder her family in their beds. It should have put him off.

  And yet it was difficult to think of anything else except that he wanted her. How had she managed to cast such a spell on him? Was it only loneliness that propelled him toward her? Was he being a fool? No, he didn't think so.

  I
t wasn't just loneliness. He knew he could have any available woman in the county with ease. It wasn't just a matter of wanting his sheets warmed by Rachel. There was more. There was the lure of her eyes, the temptation of her mouth. And the haunting memory of the single kiss they had shared. For no matter how she thought of it later, or what she said, they had shared that kiss. The passion had been mutual. The feelings that churned between them had been mutual.

  Sin-Jin dropped his hands to his sides and contented himself with looking at her. "You know, you shouldn't have consumed that brandy so quickly. Brandy is to be savored."

  She shivered just at the very thought of it. Rachel ran her hands along her arms. "How can that awful taste be savored?"

  He longed to warm her, but kept his distance. "Why did you do it?"

  She shrugged. The reason seemed silly now. It hadn't then. "Because she did. Krystyna."

  It wasn't enough of a motive. He studied her face closely. "You don't strike me as a woman who does things because someone else does."

  Rachel turned her face toward the shadows. She hated to be thought of as a fool, especially by him, though why that should matter so much wasn't clear to her.

  Nothing was clear to her anymore. Right now she felt as if her brain was lodged beneath the platen on her printing press, with the platen grinding against the chase with every passing moment.

  Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. Rachel involuntarily moved a step closer to Sin-Jin. Sin-Jin knew it wasn't out of choice but out of uneasiness. He took what he could and was grateful for it.

  She shook her head, not in reply to his question, but to clear her mind. It didn't help. She turned to look at him. Instantly she knew that it was the wrong thing to do. Aided by the brandy, her inhibitions had loosened. There was such a cauldron of feelings shifting through her that Rachel was startled by it and at a complete loss as to what to do about it, about them.

  About him.

  She clutched the thought that the brandy and moonlight were responsible for this feeling. But that didn't change the way she felt. Her limbs suddenly turned to liquid. He looked so incredibly handsome in his stark white shirt and dark blue evening coat. The coat was opened and she could see the way his fawn-colored breeches adhered to his every movement.