“But you don’t want me!” Jessica squealed in protest. “This is just some scheme to punish me for daring to—”
“Of course I don’t….” he began scornfully, but his deep voice trailed off, and the expression in his eyes altered subtly. Since confronting the recalcitrant Andrew, Raeburn had been drinking himself into a blind fury, and when he first touched the girl, he had been intent only on subduing her, bending her to his will as easily as he arched her body over his arm. Now he seemed to become truly aware of her provocative posture. His nostrils flared as he muttered, “By God, I think I do want you,” and he lowered his head toward hers.
Like one mesmerized, Jessica watched the descent of his mouth, her green eyes wide and staring as he moved closer, closer…. But when she felt his quickening breath tickle her lips, she could almost taste the brandy scenting it, and the realization that he was more than a little in his cups revolted her. With rekindled frenzy she tried to twist away from him, yanking her hair painfully.
“Don’t fight me,” he growled impatiently, “or you’ll make me angry….”
Even as she thrashed about in his powerful embrace, she knew it was hopeless to fight him. All she was doing was exhausting herself. With a moan of despair, she relaxed, gazing up at him desolately.
When her struggles stilled, his voice softened, became cajoling. “Come now, clergyman’s daughter,” he urged, “why won’t you use your head? Be…sweet to me, give me a little of what you’ve already given my brother. If you pleases me…don’t you realize that I could set you up in far better style than Andrew ever could?”
Sick with humiliation, Jessica drooped her long lashes over her bloodless cheeks, trying to shut out the sight of Raeburn’s avid, bewildering gaze. “Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed in a voice heavy with defeat. “I didn’t know that Andrew would—”
“Damn Andrew,” Raeburn swore in an undertone, and his mouth came down brutally over hers.
She had never been kissed before, had never been touched in any way by a man, her father’s profession a thin but adequate armor against the casual flirtations of the village swains, who had considered her above them. In her dreams she had envisioned sexual passion with both lyricism and distaste, an uncomfortable compound culled from the Song of Solomon and the guttural moans she heard issuing through the wall of her parents’ bedroom at night…. Even with Andrew she had never truly imagined him caressing her. Now the earl’s mouth ravaged hers, frightening her with greedy demand as his arms pressed her slim body against the hulking mass of his own and made her intimately aware of his driving male hunger. He was hurting her badly, and although she tried to tell herself that he was inflicting this pain with calculation, that his intention was to humiliate her into submission, not degrade her, she panicked. When one of his large hands closed with shocking intimacy over the swell of her breast, Jessica again began to flail wildly, all her senses outraged, certain that if she did not escape him at once, he would soon subdue her in the most basic and irrevocable way of all….
Suddenly he released her.
His action came without warning, just when Jessica was pushing against his wall-like chest with renewed vigor, and she lost her balance, oversetting herself. Clawing at the air, she toppled backward, and before Raeburn, lunging for her with lightning reflexes, could catch her, she fell with a disgruntled splash into the puddle.
Instantly muddy water soaked the thin fabric of her dress, plastering it to her slender body, and her black hair, freed from its sedate knot during her struggles, dangled over her breast in soggy ropes. Shaking with temper and reaction, she stared down at herself, at her murky reflection on the agitated surface of the puddle, and as she watched helplessly, one tear worked its way down her smudged cheek, marking a rivulet of white against the dirt. When the tear had dripped from her chin into the puddle, a second began its course down the other cheek. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob helplessly, sick with shame and humiliation and fury at her own impotence.
A shadow fell on Jessica as something large and solid came between her and the sun, and she glanced up with red-rimmed eyes to see the earl looming tensely over her, his mouth tight, his expression inscrutable. As Jessica’s gaze moved over the towering length of him she noted with malicious satisfaction that his boots had been badly splashed when she fell; she hoped the clinging mud stained the white tops beyond repair.
While she watched, he pulled an immaculate handkerchief from the sleeve of his coat and extended it to her. “Here,” he muttered, “you can at least clean your face.”
She did not move. When he tried to press the square of fine bleached linen into her fingers, she let it fall unhindered into the mud beside her. She watched as if fascinated as the folded cloth slowly absorbed the dirty water and at last foundered until only one white corner remained aloft like the topsail of a grounded schooner. With cool deliberation she forced under that last corner as well, then she looked up at the earl again. “I hate you,” she said slowly and distinctly. “I wish you’d die.”
Raeburn’s hooded gray eyes became shuttered. “No doubt you do,” he said in a voice that matched her own. “With me out of the way, Andrew would succeed to the title, and you’d be halfway to your countess’s tiara…. How unfortunate for you that I have no intention either of dying soon or of sanctioning any union between my bird-witted brother and a cheap little guttersnipe, no matter how beautiful she is. Good day to you, madam.” He spun on his heel and stalked away to his grazing stallion….
* * * *
“Miss Jess,” Willa reproved sternly, “your broth is getting cold.”
Jessica blinked hard, jerked back to the present with dizzying abruptness. “Wh-what did you say?” she stammered in confusion, staring about the cramped, humid kitchen as if she had never seen it before.
Willa, recognizing one of her mistress’s “moods,” repeated more gently, “Your broth is getting cold, and you look as if you’re like to spill it all over yourself. Pay attention now, and drink it up quick, before all the goodness steams out of it.”
“Yes, Willa,” Jessica answered meekly, raising the thick cup to her lips. As she sipped the savory soup she admitted that its rich warmth was indeed comforting, almost—almost as comforting as Andrew’s regard and solicitude had been that day when he found her beside the road long after Raeburn had galloped away. Even as he leaped from his horse he had been ripping off his coat and he had wrapped it modestly about her wet, muddied shoulders. He had pulled her into the shelter of his embrace, touching her with an extreme tenderness that had been belied by the unusual hardness of his soft brown eyes, the edge in his young voice. “That bastard,” he had groaned fiercely, “if I had known what he—if I could have caught up with that damned great stallion of his….” He had drawn her still-trembling body closer to his, cradling and protecting her, and even as Andrew held her, Jessica had felt him begin to tremble too. When she looked up questioningly at him, his face had been glowing with a strange new light. He murmured huskily, “I’ll keep you safe, Jessica, I promise. I’ll fix it so that he can never hurt you or insult you again. You’ll be my wife. That’ll show him. All you have to do is come away with me, come away with me now….”
* * * *
“Willa,” Jessica said quietly, “I think I—I ought to go lie down for a while. I’m feeling very tired.”
The maid nodded, setting aside the pan of vegetables she had been scraping. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. You’re not completely recovered from your cold yet, and you’ve overtaxed yourself today. Shall I bring a warming pan?”
Jessica shook her head as she rose stiffly from her chair. “No,” she said, reaching up to unpin her black widow’s cap as she trudged in her stockinged feet toward her bedroom. “I’ll be all right, if only I can get some….” Slipping into the lumpy feather bed, she fell into a deep sleep troubled by dreams that she had thought were behind her, memories of the bitter arguments that had arisen when a girl in love with
love and a boy bent only on spiting his authoritarian older brother had found that their spring-fresh sexual attraction, while intense, was not adequate to bind them securely in the face of a disapproving world….
She was jolted from her restless slumber by a loud pounding on the front door of the cottage. “My God,” she choked, sitting upright, “who can that—” Her hand flew to her mouth as the realization came to her. “W-Willa,” she called tremulously, “don’t let him—” but she was too late. The loud knock came again, and from the little sitting room Jessica could hear the metallic scrape of the bolt being drawn back.
“Your Lordship!” she heard the maid exclaim, and the front door banged as if it had been pushed all the way open. Hard-soled boots strode imperiously across the uncarpeted entryway.
“Well, well, Willa Brown,” she heard Raeburn’s deep voice drawl hatefully, “I might have known I’d find you here. Now go fetch my sister-in-law and tell her I’ve come to get her.”
* * *
Chapter 2
“There’s no need to announce you, Graham,” Jessica said drily from her bedroom door, affecting a good deal more aplomb than she actually felt. “I see that you still have not learned the art of making a gracious entrance.”
She stood barefoot in the archway, masses of gleaming hair flowing like a river of ink until they curled just under the curve of her small bottom. The cold penetrating the soles of her feet was nothing compared to the chill in her heart as she gazed resignedly at the man whose image had haunted her more surely even than that of her dead husband. She had tried to exorcise him from her fevered brain, hoping that if she poured all her bitterness into her cartoons, she would at last be free of him, but each time her pen sketched his broad, compelling features, she had found she was only feeding her obsession. Sometimes she thought she would never be released from the hold he had had on her since that shocking spring afternoon by the roadside…. Now at last he had found her again. But a short year since she had fled him, thirteen brief months to relish her uncertain liberty before he tracked her down like one of the deer in the park surrounding Renard Chase, and now he was closing in for the kill. She faced him stiffly, like a doe at bay, her slanting green eyes wide and wary in her ashen face. She would show him no fear, she vowed proudly; though he threatened her and her child, she would never….
Jessica blinked hard, her heart pounding fiercely. Oh, God, her child! In that first instant of seeing him once more, of affecting cool disinterest in his sudden appearance, she had forgotten that Raeburn didn’t know about Lottie. When Jessica fled from the Raeburn estate, no one but Willa had suspected that she was pregnant, that within her she had carried a new life conceived during the last night she slept with her husband, the last night he wrapped his strong young arms around her and pretended that he cared nothing about society’s disapproval…. She had not even garnered the courage to tell Andrew. By the time he contracted the influenza that killed him, he had begun to despise both his common-born wife and himself for their misalliance, and although Jessica, nursed him tirelessly and diligently throughout his illness, she had known that even if he recovered, she had lost him forever….
Raeburn whirled around, his greatcoat fanning out from his body. “Jess—” he said unsteadily, breaking off the word as he stared at her dishevelment. He had obviously interrupted a nap or something, and he knew a moment’s irritation that while he had been scouring the cold and dreary confines of Brighton like a madman, collaring total strangers and demanding to know the whereabouts of the young woman in the long widow’s veil, she had been sleeping peacefully in her snug little cottage.
And yet, Raeburn admitted honestly, glancing about him, the cottage did not appear particularly snug, nor did Jessica look as if peace were her frequent companion. He was shocked by her pallor, her enormous green eyes the only color in a face so white and pinched that her pronounced cheekbones made her appear almost catlike. She seemed to vibrate with tension, and in her dull weeds she looked incredibly fragile, thinner, except for—except for…. Her body had altered somehow, he thought, frowning. He studied her judiciously, until after a moment he realized what seemed different about her; her breasts were larger. For a second he wondered if this change was an optical illusion caused by her unnatural slenderness, but soon his connoisseur’s eyes recognized that the bosom pressing against the worn bombazine of her short-waisted gown was indeed fuller, more rounded, than he remembered. No longer were Jessica’s the high, girlish breasts that he had felt under his hungry hands one bright afternoon less than two years before. She was a woman now, with a woman’s body, and despite her lack of color, her thinness, he thought she had never been more beautiful.
Aloud Raeburn said, “You look like hell.”
Jessica endured his infuriating appraisal with iron control, knowing she dared not let him see that he flustered her. She could never best the earl in a clash of tempers, and if he realized that his presence made her nervous and apprehensive, he might begin to wonder why.
When she remained silent, he probed again. “I’d venture to guess you’ve dropped at least a stone since last I saw you….”
Aware that her unusual silence might be as damning as a display of temperament, Jessica nodded with exaggerated courtesy and responded tartly, “And you look bigger than ever—too big to be quite natural. Are you sure your mother didn’t mate with a Minotaur or something?”
Raeburn’s mouth thinned. “Charming as ever, I see,” he muttered tightly. His gray eyes scanned the dim parlor again, noting the drab furnishings, the threadbare rug, the pathetically small fire in the grate. He could feel the chill through the thickness of his caped driving coat. Mentally he contrasted the cottage with the elegance of Renard Chase, where logs blazed continually in every room, making even the slick marble floors seem warm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jessica shiver, hugging her thin arms and rubbing her bare toes together, and he snapped harshly, “Why on earth don’t you quit hopping around and put on your—” He blanched, stricken. “Good Lord, Jess,” he choked, “don’t tell me you don’t have any—”
“Of course I have shoes,” Jessica replied impatiently. “They’re warming on the hearth in the kitchen.”
Raeburn relaxed visibly. “I’m grateful to hear that there’s a fire someplace in this house. I was beginning to think….”
He smiled, the comers of his wide mouth spreading until they almost touched his blond side-whiskers, and Jessica, watching him warily, was reminded that when Graham Foxe chose to do so, he could radiate a charm that was well-nigh irresistible. She had seen him use it on the most stickling of dowagers during those miserable weeks in London when he had tried to get the ton to accept her clandestine marriage to Andrew. In retrospect she admitted honestly that he might have succeeded in his quest had she herself not been so incredibly defensive about her position that she managed to alienate almost everyone, including her husband. But Jessica had been very young and sensitive to snubs even when none were intended, and her nature was such that when she felt herself attacked, she attacked in return. After Raeburn managed somehow to cajole one of the, patronesses of Almack’s into issuing a pair of vouchers for the errant couple, Jessica had capped her abortive introduction to society by tossing a cup of sticky-sweet orgeat into the sneering face of Lady Daphne Templeton, the Duke of Crowell’s daughter. She had lost her temper completely when that haughty young woman asked, with a significant glance toward Jessica’s waistline, whether she planned to have her children christened by a blacksmith, since she had seen fit to be married by one….
Raeburn suggested lightly, “If it’s warmer in the kitchen, Jess, why don’t we go in there? You and I have a great many things to discuss.”
Jessica stiffened with alarm, and her green eyes shot sidelong toward Willa, who was standing apart, pretending not to listen to the conversation. Both women were thinking of the cradle where little Charlotte lay sleeping serenely, as ignorant of her volatile uncle’s existence as he, thankfully, was o
f hers. Thus far, Raeburn had conducted this reunion with far more restraint than Jessica had anticipated, but if he should discover that she had kept his brother’s only child from him….
Bobbing a deferential curtsy, Willa gushed with an obsequiousness that, Jessica suspected, must have choked her, “Begging you pardon, Your Lordship, but I’ve been scrubbing the floor in the kitchen, and ‘tis all atumble in there right now. If Your Lordship would allow me, I’ll bring the scuttle in here and build up a fine fire faster than you can say—”
“All right, girl,” Raeburn said impatiently, dismissing her. “Just be quick about it. And make sure you bring your mistress’s shoes and a warm wrap.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Willa mumbled, and she fled to the kitchen. In a moment she was back with the coal and the requested garments, and as Jessica stooped to tie the ribbons of her toasty slippers, she glanced questioningly at the maid, who stood just behind Raeburn. Willa shook her head slightly and pantomimed sleep.
Jessica sighed and seated herself on the sprung settee, draping her wool shawl about her thin shoulders. With an uncertain smile she motioned to the seat beside her. “Please do sit down and make yourself comfortable, Graham,” she said archly. “Let Willa take your coat back into the kitchen with her, and it will be most pleasantly warm when you are ready to leave.”
Raeburn glanced suspiciously at Jessica and murmured enigmatically, “Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me that easily, my girl.” He shrugged the greatcoat from his broad shoulders and passed it to Willa, who had to carry it high against her chest to keep the tails from dragging the floor. When she had departed from the parlor again, Raeburn turned to Jessica and regarded her silently for a long moment, watching her fingers begin to plait her hair deftly and reshape it into the coiled knot that seemed almost too heavy for her slender neck. He commented curiously, “How do you do that? My sister needs two maids and a half a dozen mirrors….”
The Clergyman's Daughter Page 3