“You must think what you will, milord.”
“And you may think what you will, but I have determined that I will find the woman with the sparkling eyes tonight. When the company has gone, when we are alone.”
“She is the same woman you’re standing beside.”
“She is not. But so help me, lady, I will meet her, in my bed, this very night.”
“This is a crude conversation. We’ve guests.”
“I will crush those airs, lady, mind you.” He did not lead her into the dining room but propelled her there with a hard shove upon the back. No one noticed them, though, for Lenore was busy chuckling, demanding to know what clothing was worn in the wilds.
“Oh, it’s all very civilized,” Captain Hornby assured her. “Men wear what is proper, as prescribed by Parliament in the days of good Queen Bess. For laborers, homespun linen or canvas jerkins, breeches, and hose. On Sundays they wear their best, with their flat caps, while the gentry, and nobility, milady, deck themselves out in their finest, in their taffetas and satins, decorated with embroidery and slashes and pinking. You needn’t fear. None has forgotten that it is a God-fearing, English community! There are some concessions, of course, to the wilderness. But I believe you will be heartily pleased with the goodness of the colonial manners and ways.”
“Well, that is encouraging, isn’t it, Jassy?” Lenore said. Jassy offered her a halfhearted smile and wondered how Lenore could be so cheerful about the prospects of their lives. Lenore had never known anything but comfort. She knew very little about the lives of the common man in England, much less across the distance of an ocean. She didn’t know that people starved. She didn’t know that there were game laws, that men could be hanged for stealing a loaf of bread because they starved. She had no true conception of dirt, let alone a life of hardship and travail. No matter what Captain Hornby said, Jassy was certain that Virginia must be a grim place indeed.
Jassy took her place at the head of the table, her husband seating her. And when the lord himself was seated, the meal was served: soft, flaky founder; baby eels; roasted pheasants; new potatoes; and fresh summer vegetables. It was a wonderful and elegant feast.
Tears pricked her eyes. There was so very much! The cost of this meal alone might have saved her mother’s life. It could have spared her two months of scrubbing floors.
She realized that Josh, one of the kitchen lads, all decked out in Cameron livery, was standing beside her with the steaming platter of fish. She smiled, took a helping, and thanked him softly. She could not eat the fish. She looked down the table, her beautiful table, with its chandeliers and cloth and crystal and silver. The Duke of Carlyle was engaged in heavy conversation with Captain Hornby. Elizabeth laughed at something Henry said, and Jane, smiling bemusedly, paid them both heed. Robert whispered to Lenore, and Lenore smiled radiantly.
She felt Jamie’s eyes upon her long before she met his gaze. He had noted the way that she watched Lenore and Robert.
He lifted his glass to her. She lowered her eyes.
Later that afternoon they danced. The grand hallway was cleared, and musicians sat up in the minstrel’s gallery and played. Even Jane, so very pregnant, joined in the fun, for though she had protested that it was entirely improper, Jamie insisted that they were all related by blood or marriage, except for Captain Hornby, of course, and the good captain promised not to notice. The Duke of Carlyle brought his daughter out on the floor. Henry danced with his sister, Lenore. Elizabeth turned to Jamie, and he escorted her to the floor, leaving Jassy alone for Robert. And while they whirled around the floor, Robert, who knew her misgivings, made her laugh about the trials and tribulations of a long sea voyage. He told her cheerfully that they would chew upon plenty of lemon peel and thus avoid scurvy. “And we shall hang a ring of sachets about our necks, and thus avoid the odor of those who have not chewed upon their lemon peel!”
He spun her about, and she was laughing again, but her laughter faded and the light fled her eyes, for he spun her into her husband’s arms, and the dark brooding she discovered in Jamie’s eyes was grim, foreboding worse to come.
“May I take my wife, Robert?”
“Aye, but of course!”
And so she was swept away into rigid arms of steel, and his eyes pierced into her. “Where is it, milady? Where is the laughter? Where is the smile that animates, the glow that comes to you so seldom?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said sullenly.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“We are being rude. Captain Hornby is standing alone.”
“Don’t play the grande dame with me. I want to know. Where is the girl with the laughter, with the sparkling eyes?”
“She does not exist for you!” Jassy snapped, and thankfully the Duke of Carlyle chose that moment to claim her, and Jamie cordially acquiesced to his father.
But he watched her still.
Jassy avoided her husband for the rest of the afternoon, but when night fell, their company left them. Thankfully Captain Hornby was the last to leave. He required a few moments business with Lord Cameron, and Jassy was given a certain respite. She was certain that he had not forgotten his irritating determination to plague her.
She stood in the hallway while the men entered Jamie’s study to the left of the hall, behind the dining room. She could hear their voices droning on and on, as Jamie gave the captain requisitions for supplies. Four more cannon, twenty-five muskets, a thousand feet of match, barrels of black powder, ramrods, balls, twenty-five suits of half-armor, breast- and backplates, and helmets. Captain Hornby should also bring five more ewes, five good Hereford cows, twenty chickens, and a rooster.
“The weapons are necessary,” Captain Hornby said. “But bear in mind, the muskets will stand you well in hunting, milord, but they are not much good against the Pamunkee. You will need swords and knives. Not even pikes are much good against a Pamunkee lying in wait in the grass.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Jamie said. There was a rustling sound; she heard the clink of glass and she knew that the men were pouring drinks.
“You know them better than most men,” Captain Hornby said.
“Yes, I know them, and we should be at peace. Powhatan’s brothers are not as powerful as he was; the confederacy has loosened. Many of the Indians are interested in trade with the white men. And still …”
“Still?”
“They can be a savage lot. I traveled with Captain Smith often when I was a lad, when Father decided that a third son must see the world and seek his place. I have been to their camps. I have seen them prepare for their torture rites. They are renowned cooks among the Indians. The women prepare great feasts. They cover themselves with tattoos, and they eagerly await their entertainment. When a man is not dismembered and disemboweled, he is beaten to death. So was the case, Smith told me, when Pocahontas saved his life. She was just a child, but the great Powhatan’s favorite, though the lord alone knows how many children he sired, for he had many, many wives. The girl laid her head over Smith’s so that none would beat him.”
“But you seem to like them, Lord Cameron.”
“Call me Jamie, we are alone. I like the Indians, yes.
They have a sense of honor, and many of them are peaceful. I simply never forget that our cultures differ. That they worship first Okeus, a dark demon, and that they sacrifice their own children to this god.”
“Well, the Carlyle Hundred will be well prepared to meet with any threat,” Hornby promised. “Now tell me, Jamie, is there anything else you would have brought aboard the Sweet Eden?”
Jamie seemed to hesitate. “Aye, Captain. Buy me a fine bed, with a good down mattress, in London.”
“And shall I see to the silks and draperies for it?”
“In the colony?” Jamie said, and laughed. Then he hesitated again. “Aye. See to it. Women like that sort of thing, don’t they?”
“Her ladyship will surely appreciate it, aye.”
“Will she?�
� Jamie mused, and Jassy sensed the bitterness in his words.
“You married wisely, milord. She is a beautiful lady, and sure to do you proud in the New World. She has the spirit for it.”
“So I had thought,” Jamie said.
“She does not wish to come?”
“She does not, but she will do so.”
“Ah, milord, can you be sure?”
“If she does not willingly step aboard the pinnace, then you will have your orders to see that she comes aboard it trussed in a canvas bag. I care not how you bring her. Perhaps I shall send her back in time.” He suddenly sounded weary, very weary. “Perhaps life will prove more palatable without her. Time alone will tell.”
Jassy stood in the hallway, her face burning. She had frozen when they spoke of the Indians. She had frozen, and then felt ill. Then they had spoken of her, and the burning glow had slowly come to her cheeks. She still could not move.
The men spoke for a few more minutes, then the captain took his departure. Jasmine, aware then that she had been eavesdropping, shrank against the wall. The captain did not notice her. He walked on out the entrance.
Lymon closed the door, bidding the captain good night.
She heard Jamie’s glass clink down upon his desk, and she realized that he would soon be up to the bedroom—to join her. To finish what he had begun during the day.
She turned in a sudden panic and fled up the steps. She dared not be in the room, and yet she still clung to the belief that she might one day convince him that she slept, and slept too deeply to disturb, when he arrived.
She had difficulty with the fasteners upon her dress. She kicked off her shoes and thought of calling for Molly, then decided that it would take too much time, and she had so little left. She tried to calm herself and find the hooks, but she could not. She was trembling fiercely. She grasped the bedpost and tried to breathe slowly, but she could not, for all that she could see was a horde of Indians before her, naked and tattooed and leaping before a fire and dismembering some poor captive.…
The door opened. She whirled in dismay and stared across the room to it. Jamie was there. He arched a brow to her, and his slow, mocking smile as he looked from her to the bed indicated his surprise that she was not already in it.
“You are still up?”
“My hooks have caught—”
“You should have sent for Molly.”
“Yes, perhaps. I shall do so now.”
“Never mind.” He strode across the room. She tried to turn away from him.
“I can manage.”
“No, you cannot. Stand still.”
Quickly he unhooked her dress. Then he walked over to his desk and poured himself a snifter of amber liquid, propping his feet up on the desk and watching her. Jassy stared at him awkwardly.
“Please,” he told her, “do go on.”
“If you were in the least the cavalier, you would exit the room until I—”
“I am not the least bit cavalier, and you are my wife.
If you need more assistance, I am eager and willing to oblige.”
She wondered what it was about him that could make her temper flare so quickly. She swore softly and turned her back on him, and still she felt his eyes, and still she felt awkward, and her fingers trembled. At last she drew her fine dress over her shoulders and tossed it carelessly on the floor. She stepped from her petticoat and saw that Molly had laid out one of her nightgowns, but one of Molly’s choosing, of course, in peach silk with satin ribands at the sleeves and at the low-cut bodice and hem. She grabbed the gown, aware that there was no other she could find easily, and then tried to hold it as she struggled with the ties of the corset she wore. It was then that Jamie moved. He came behind her and deftly worked the strings, and the garment fell free. She muttered a curt “Thank you,” and he returned to his desk and his drink, and she felt his burning gaze again as he continued to watch her. She halfway dropped her shift and slipped into the nightgown, then let the shift fall. She forgot her garters and hose and got into the bed, drawing to her own side of it, her heart pounding in a fury. She was there for several seconds before she heard him rise. His fine doublet and shoes hit the floor, and she tried not to listen; she tried to close her eyes and feign sleep.
She heard nothing more. Cautiously she opened her eyes. He was standing above her, staring down at her, waiting for her to do so. He smiled, and his hand fell upon the valley of her breast, and they both felt the frantic beat of her heart. “Sleeping?” he inquired pleasantly enough. He carried his drink in his hand. He was barefoot and bare-chested, and clad only in his breeches.
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t like his mood at all that evening. It was cynical, and he had been consuming a great deal of liquor.
He touched her chin. He moved it backward and forward, studying her eyes. “Where is she?” he whispered.
“I think that you are drunk,” she said haughtily.
“The brandy? My love, it helps to make life palatable. You must have some.”
“I don’t want any.”
“You are refusing to drink with me?”
If he poured her a brandy, he would go away, she decided. “I will drink with you.”
“Good.” He walked back to the desk and poured her drink. Warily she kept her eyes upon him. She leapt out of bed then, thinking that it was a dangerous place to be. But her movement might have been more dangerous, she realized too late, for her gown was far more revealing than concealing, and as soon as Jamie turned to her and his eyes moved over her, she saw her mistake.
But he did not touch her. He handed her the snifter. Still, he studied her eyes. She turned away from him and walked to the window seat. The windows were open to the warm summer breeze. It wafted in upon her, touching her hair, lifting it.
She didn’t hear or feel him coming up behind her. She cried out, startled, when he touched her. He lifted her from the waist and set her upon the window seat. She clenched her teeth, for his hands moved upon her calf to her thigh, discovering her garter and loosening it and her stocking. He peeled the silk stocking from her leg, the rough pads of his fingers brushing over the soft tender skin of her inner thigh, and she was shocked by the strength of the sensation it evoked. Her eyes met his, and the indigo depths within them burned.
“Where is she?” he murmured tensely. “Can I reach her?”
Frightened, she tensed. He ignored her, his hands slipped up the length of her other leg, and his fingers tarried upon the flesh of her inner thigh again. She bit into her lip and swallowed fiercely, but his eyes were keenly upon her, and his touch did not cease when he reached the height of the garter upon her leg. His fingers moved higher and higher, teasing her. She swallowed down the brandy in a single instant. It burned down her throat and into her belly, and then lower, where the sensation met with his fingers and seemed to explode in aching heat.
“Stop,” she whispered, but he paid her no heed.
He studied her eyes. “Where is the spirit, the passion, the life? The fire … I saw it today again but only briefly.”
“Perhaps you haven’t the fuel to ignite it!” she cried out.
He shook his head slowly. “No, no, I do not believe that, and so help me, lady, this evening we will discover it, no matter what it takes.”
“No …”
He plucked the brandy glass from her hand and pressed her back against the enclosure. His lips met hers, and they were fierce and hungry and demanding. His one hand rounded the curve of her breast while he held the other beneath the silk of her gown, between her thighs, teasing, probing.
His tongue entered her mouth again and again. She wanted to twist away. She could not. The pressure of his naked arms and chest were too much.
Suddenly he pulled her down, and she lay across the window seat. She stared up at him, at the dark, demanding passion in his eyes. She gasped when he tore open the soft peach gown, and she lifted a hand to draw the gaping sides together.
“No,” he told her f
irmly.
“It was one of my favorites,” she complained.
“You may buy another.” Their eyes met, and she remained silent. He caught her hands and drew them high above her, and he kissed her lips again. He drew his lips and the tip of his tongue down the valley of her breasts, and then he circled each nipple. Then he touched her with that wet fire again, down to her navel and below. The June breeze came in the window and brushed over her naked flesh where the dampness of his lips and tongue remained, and she quivered. The heat of the brandy seemed to touch her everywhere, and the feel of the air upon her was curiously fascinating … delicious. His lips traveled to her belly, below her navel. His breath was warm. His dark head moved upward again. His lips seared her, and his tongue laved her flesh. He came to her breasts, and he played with one while he sucked lightly, then passionately, upon the other. She caught her breath, swallowed, and held rigid, and then his mouth wandered upon her again, and his tongue plundered into her navel, and then below. He caught her thighs, spread them apart, then bit lightly upon their inner flesh, rising higher and higher to the tender, intimate flesh at her apex.
And it was then that the fire bit fiercely into her, seeming to explode throughout her. Her body trembled, she gasped, and she thought to stop him while the myriad sensations cascaded down upon her. The feeling was so good and so sweet that it was unbearable. She arched and she twisted, and the steaming, sweet ache and hunger remained with her, and to her astonishment she did not seek to escape him but to avail herself more fully to him. Starlight and the black velvet of the night and the June breeze all played over her, and she burned, sizzled, and craved from the inside out. She was barely aware of the intimacy between them; she desired the wet, encompassing hunger of him, and the rugged feel of his hands upon her body. She cried out, twisted, and yearned. She trembled and arched to him mindlessly. Sensations exploded and burst inside of her again, and she reached a curious peak of ecstasy and splendor, and she felt her body shudder and convulse and give. In awe, she gasped out, and felt the honeyed liquid inside of her flow like a river, and she was washed again in little spasms of ecstasy and delight.
Sweet Savage Eden Page 18