And he had wanted to assure himself that their child grew well in her womb. “Is all well?”
Amy Lawton seemed distressed, and so he moved to the fire with a frown, warming his hands. “Is all well?”
“Well enough, milord. But …”
“But? Speak up.”
“Lady Cameron had some horrid dreams, I think, while you were gone. One night I awoke and came to her, but she did not need me, for her brother-in-law was already with her. The poor lady! I was heartily sorry, for she seemed so distressed.”
“Really?” He did not want to feel it, but the dark anger cascaded over him again. Robert! Always she was reaching to Robert!
He gritted his teeth. He reminded himself of the anguish he had endured, wanting her through the long nights. He tried to remind himself that his jealousy was invalid, for though she might still feel some draw to Robert, she would not act upon it. Surely she would not.
But no logic worked upon him. Robert Maxwell had soothed Jassy in the bed she shared with him, and the thought of it infuriated him. What else had happened there?
“Milord, shall I get you something?” Amy said.
“No, I think that I will see to my wife.”
“Oh, she slept peacefully and well last night, milord, I do believe. She bathed late in the outhouse and drank warm milk before bed, and I am certain that she did not awake distressed. Oh, and, milord, the Lady Destiny arrived with your gifts, and your lady was quite pleased.”
“Was she?” Aye, Jassy would be pleased. She was like a child with a present. She had married him for his wealth and position, he reminded himself. The lady could be bought.
“Thank you, Amy,” he told his servant, and headed for the stairs. “See that Sir William is informed that I will speak with him later. And tell Captain Stewart that I will see him too. I am sure that he is anxious to sail southward before winter comes upon us any more viciously.”
“Yes, milord,” Amy told him, but he barely heard her, for his attention was already upon the door at the top of the stairs. Still, when he reached it, he paused again. He stood there, his palms growing damp, his heart beating too quickly and too hard. She was a harlot, he reminded himself. She had sold herself into marriage, but it had been a payment, nonetheless. She was his wife and was honor-bound to obey him. He did not need to tremble like a lad in the schoolroom.
He pushed open the door and stepped into his room.
She slept, and she slept as sweetly and as innocently as a child. He could smell the soft rose scent of French perfumed soap upon her body even as he stood over her. She was clad from head to toe in a soft white gown, laced and beribboned on the bodice, entirely chaste. The covers were swept over her to her waist, but her gown dipped precariously from her shoulder, exposing a fascinating expanse of clear ivory flesh. Her hair was a profusion of sunshine splayed upon the pillow, and her lips were as he had so often dreamed of them, softly parted as she breathed evenly with her sleep. He ached to touch her; he burned to touch her. His loins ached, and only the tightness of his buckskin breeches kept his naked desire from showing as clearly as the king’s flag upon a pinnace.
He reached to touch her naked shoulder, and then he drew away. He ground down hard on his teeth and walked around to his desk. He sat and plopped his feet upon it. He stared at her, then searched for the jug of rum in the bottom drawer of his desk. It was early morning, and he did not need his mind fogged. He drew deeply on the rum, anyway.
In a matter of moments she began to stir. Like a cherished child, she stretched, and a soft, smug smile touched her lips. And well she should be pleased, Jamie decided sardonically, for she thought him still gone, while his gifts lined her trunks. Robert slept across the hall and could come at her first call of distress. Robert, who she had planned to trap in her matrimonial web.…
Robert would sleep across the hall no longer, Jamie determined. The Maxwell house would be hurried along. He did not wish to fight the urge to smash his friend’s pleasant features every time they chanced to meet.
Her eyes opened suddenly, falling full upon him. Then they widened and she sat up, and to his chagrin he thought that she was about to scream.
“Is my appearance so distressing, then?” he said harshly.
“Jamie!”
“Yes, my love, returned alive and well,” he said.
“Oh!” She placed her hand over her heart. Her gown spilled farther down, and her breasts rose and fell in tempting agitation. Her hair, tousled by sleep, was a wild glory about her. He fought to remain still at his desk. “Who were you expecting?”
She pointed to him, indicating his clothing. She smiled ruefully and beautifully, and it did seem that her face was alive with welcome. “I—I—your outfit. It frightened me.”
“Oh?” He stared down blankly at the buckskins. “Forgive me, love. Were you about to scream for Robert?”
The welcoming smile quickly faded from her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He wished that he hadn’t spoken, but he couldn’t take the words back now. He leaned deep into his chair, watching her through a bare slit in his eyes. “I have heard, madame, that your distress in the night is eased by Robert Maxwell.”
She stiffened and did not reply. She sat there like a queen, entirely regal and disdainful in her silence. His throat grew dry, and again he longed to take back his words, but they had already been spoken and could not be taken back. More than ever, he ached to touch her, to slide his trembling fingers over the naked expanse of her shoulder so displayed to him. He wanted to move but could not. At last she did so. With her head proudly carried and her hair tumbling about her, she slipped her legs over the side of the bed, discreetly adjusting her gown to stand. But when she stood, he saw the startling change in her, and a hoarse sound of surprise escaped him. She whirled to him in alarm.
His boots landed on the floor and he was upon his feet. She was back toward the wall, her eyes wide with sudden alarm, her hands splayed protectively over the swell in her abdomen.
“Come here!” he whispered. She ignored him, and he swore vehemently. “Do you think that I would harm you, madame?” Impatiently he strode to her, and she backed away again.
“You have threatened grave harm!” she reminded him.
“Only under damning circumstances, madame, and you’ve done nothing damning, have you?” His strides brought him to her. She choked back a gasp and seemed to brace herself, but he offered her no force or violence. He came down upon one knee before her and cast his hands upon the swell of her belly. Fascinated, he felt the hardness of the child growing within her. He swept his palms slowly over the swell again and again. He reached higher and encompassed her breasts with tenderness, then he rose, pulling the gown up and over her head.
“No!” she protested in distress.
“I have ached for the sight of you,” he said.
She tried to elude his arms. “I am large and awkward of a sudden, and not much to see,” she murmured.
He could not see her eyes or her face, for she had lowered her lashes and her head against him, and since she could not escape his hold, she had pressed against him. He caught her chin, and when he lifted it, there was the slightest glaze of tears touching the exquisite sapphire of her eyes. He felt suddenly as if they had never parted. Tension filled him, and he wondered what was truth about her, and what was pretense and lies.
“Give me the gown!” she implored him.
“No.”
“Please. I am so … fat!”
He had expected anger or denial, and not this. A smile touched his lips, and he whispered, “To me, madame, you are more exquisitely beautiful than ever.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face to his. He kissed her deeply, the fire in his loins exploding again with the searing hot contact of their lips. He lay hold upon the ache that plagued him, for he had determined that he would be gentle now, and so he would. He knelt before her and explored again the hard curve of
her belly where his child found life. Her fingers curled into his hair. Distressed, she tugged upon him, but he ignored that pain and pressed his cheek against her flesh.
“Jamie …” she said, tugging upon him. But then she ceased the effort, and her knees began to tremble, and when he looked up at her, she had her head cast back, her lips were slightly parted, and her breath came in ragged pants. He rose and swept her into his arms and then onto the bed. He tugged off his boots and hose and buckskin breeches and jerked his leather doublet over his head. He shook with the fever to have her, but even as hunger swamped him he took a tender care with her, greater than any he had exercised before. And still, when it was over, he knew a satisfaction like nothing he had ever known before. She reached for the sheet, and he stopped her, lethargically propping himself up on an elbow and running his fingers with idle abandon over her belly. He paused, his heart slamming against his chest, for he felt a sudden movement. He looked to her. She was flushed with embarrassment, and he laughed with sudden joy. “The babe?”
She nodded.
Holding his weight upon his knees, he straggled over her. He cupped her abdomen again with his hands and smiled as he felt the sudden power of a kick against his hand. “He is strong.”
“She is not so fond of you this morning either.”
“Alas, did you not miss me?” he said tauntingly.
Her lashes fell quickly over her eyss. “Milord, I had Robert Maxwell, don’t you recall?”
His jaw tightened, and the movement of his hands ceased. “This is a wound into which you rub salt, my love. Take care.”
Her lashes flew open, and her eyes met his again. She was so achingly beautiful that he wanted to shake her. He wanted her to swear that she was loyal, that she had been a fool … that she loved him.
She did not do so, but she swallowed and answered softly with an admirable dignity. “I have done nothing but suffer your slings and arrows, milord, for what is a friendship with the man who is my sister’s husband—and your dear companion, or so the past has claimed. If you would taunt me, milord, than you must expect my ridicule on the subject.”
He lowered his face, taut with emotion, until it hovered over hers. “Did you miss me, madame?”
She hesitated a long time, then her dignity was lost in an angry cry, and she tried to wrest him from her person. “Aye! My Lord Cameron, I have missed you. I have felt the snow of winter and the chill of frost coming upon us, and I have ached for the searing fire that you can bring against the cold.”
His breath caught; he had not expected such an admission from her. Slowly, slowly, he lowered himself beside her, his eyes locked upon hers. She swallowed again, nervously lowering her lashes. “Have you missed me, milord?”
“More than I have ever yearned for water to drink, or air to breathe. With every fiber and drop of blood within me, milady, I ached to hold you in my arms again.”
A smile touched her lips. He pulled her close, and he pulled the covers over them both. It was good to be home.
In seconds he was sleeping.
When he awoke that afternoon, Molly was in the room straightening up, and his wife was nowhere to be seen. He frowned to Molly, who was painfully cheerful. He had a splitting headache from the rum he had drunk with the dawn.
“Where is Jassy?”
“Why, milord!” Molly said innocently, “Jassy is about business. One cannot sleep late and tarry here, sir. This is the New World. Nay, milord, not even nobility and gentry can while away precious time here.”
“Molly, where is my wife?”
“Why, she is seeing that the meat in the smoke shed is coming along properly. The game has been slim of late, as you can imagine, I am certain. But Powan and his men were by recently. Jassy made him a satin shirt from some of the fabric that arrived upon the Lady Destiny, and he was quite pleased with it. He has brought up many rabbits, and a great deal of pumpkin bread in turn.”
Jamie shot up, then remembered that he was naked, and jerked the covers up. “Powan?” he demanded.
“Oh, yes, the chief has been around often, as have many of the Indians. Lord Newbury was in from Jamestown, and everyone seems to be getting along very well. The Indians are often helping the settlers these days. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Wonderful,” Jamie murmured. Powan was an old friend, but he had not expected to see him this far south upon the peninsula at this time of the year.
And he had certainly never expected Jassy to make the Indian a shirt. Wryly he realized that he had not expected Jassy ever to speak to an Indian, much less form the facsimile of a friendship. He would be curious to hear more about the affair.
A man could never fathom what might happen in his absence, he determined.
“Has anything else happened which I should know about?” he asked Molly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, milord.”
“Did you know that Jassy has distressing nightmares?”
Molly’s eyes lowered quickly. “We are all plagued by dreams now and then.”
Molly wasn’t going to say any more. Jamie grunted. He noted the warm, luxurious fox fur that stretched out at the foot of the bed. “So the Lady Destiny arrived with her cargo.”
“Oh, yes!” Molly was all animation again. “Jassy—Lady Cameron—was so pleased with the things!”
So pleased … oh, yes, his wife could be purchased.
“Milord, is there anything else?”
Jamie scowled. “Yes, Mistress Molly, I would like you out of my room so that I might dress. Now!”
Molly jumped and fled. Jamie rose and folded his buckskins and sought out his good Englishwear. In satin breeches, silk shirt, and a woolen doublet he set out for the day, anxious for the business at hand.
He met with Sir William, and William told him about the day when Powan had come and first met Jassy. William grinned. “He told her that he thought she was a good choice for you—she would work hard in your fields and bear you many children.”
“That must have gone over well,” Jamie murmured.
Sir William was amused.
“She handled herself most admirably.”
“I am sure that she did,” Jamie said. Then he told William about his visit to Opechancanough, warning Sir William that he was worried, though he could not pinpoint the danger. “We must keep up a careful eye,” Jamie warned, and Sir William agreed.
Later that day he met with Captain Stewart and gave him his sailing orders. The captain’s cargo of tobacco for England was loaded. He chewed on his pipe, enjoying the Virginia tobacco himself while he watched the loading with Jamie on the dock. He would return in the spring with the supplies ordered from the mother country.
Late in the afternoon Elizabeth found him, and she proudly showed him that she had not only learned to carry one of the heavy muskets but to load and fire it, and actually to hit a tree as well. “Jassy taught me,” she told him proudly.
Jamie wasn’t sure why, but he was further irritated.
Then Jassy did not appear at the dinner table—she was still engaged in some task or another, Lenore told him. Jamie liked Lenore well enough, and he was very fond of Elizabeth, and Robert was his friend. But they needed to be in their own home, and he would see that they moved quickly, he vowed to himself.
Still weary from his all-night ride to reach home, he climbed the stairs to his room, his temper seething as he wondered about the whereabouts of his wife.
He was not to wonder long.
She was seated upon the foot of the bed, her legs curled beneath her. She was dressed in a diaphanous gown that clearly delineated every full, sensual, and sexual curve of her body. She brushed her hair into silky strands. Her movements were slow and sensual, and the mere sight of her sent him floundering into a stream of desire. He took care, though, walking to his desk, sitting behind it and folding his hands and watching her thoughtfully.
He wondered at her motive.
He did not see the hurt in her eyes as he ignored her; he
only saw that she was playing at seduction, the actress again. He did not want an act, and he did not want a game.
“Why weren’t you at dinner?” he asked her.
She stretched, graceful, entirely feline, feminine, and exciting. The deep rouge crests of her swelling breasts strained against the silk gauze of her gown, and she smiled lazily. “I looked after the meat we are still preparing for the winter today. I seemed to be filled with the scent of smoke, and so I bathed and washed my hair, and then I needed to dry before the fire.
The fire … the firelight played all over her. It enhanced the curves that teased him beneath the evocative gown. It made her hair gleam like goldleaf, and her skin, too, seemed to gleam golden. He gritted his teeth and watched her from narrowed, suspicious eyes.
She yawned deliciously, and stretched again. Graceful, unbearably sensual. He rose and walked over to her. He took the brush from her fingers and leaned over her with twisted tension that forced her back upon the bed. He planted his palms on either side of her head. “What is this display, madame?”
Her eyelashes flickered uncertainly. “I did not get to thank you this morning for the many gifts you sent aboard the Lady Destiny—”
She did not finish speaking; he swore with a startling violence and pushed away from her. “You really are a whore, milady, aren’t you? Determined to pay your debts.”
Shock registered on her features, a look of naked pain that passed by so quickly that he might have imagined it, and then a look of raw fury and hatred. She lashed out in rage, railing against him, trying to strike him. He caught her wrists, and to his astonishment she fought on, kneeing him curtly in the groin. Stunned and in agony, he fell from her.
She leapt up and swept her new furred cloak around her and stared down at him scathingly. “You needn’t worry, milord, you haven’t the price to pay any more, ever!”
“Jasmine …” he began in a growl. He meant to catch her. He was in pain and his temper was seething, and he meant to have it out then and there. She was too quick for him. She was gone. In her sheer gown and her furred cloak, she was gone.
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