Kissed; Christian

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  There was a long, impenetrable silence, then Jean Paul’s voice rang out clearly. “Come in, come in, ma petite. Come in!”

  She opened the door to find Jean Paul at the port window, facing her, looking drawn, but well enough.

  Ben, on the other hand, sat upon his pallet, propped against the wall, his expression grim. The coverlet had been hastily tossed over his limbs, and his shirt was agape. In his hand he held a long, slim piece of oak, and he pretended to study the length of it, ignoring her.

  Jessie’s first thought was that Jean Paul should not have risen so soon. But then, unable to help herself, she quickly returned her gaze to Ben. She’d never seen a man unclad before, and couldn’t help but stare. She found herself wondering if that were the way Christian looked without his shirt. They were similar in build, after all. As though suddenly realizing the direction of her gaze, Ben clasped his shirt together, turning a shade of crimson as he concealed himself from her scrutiny. Chagrined by her brazenness, Jessie managed a hasty apology, and before either of them could protest her leaving, she turned and left them, closing the door swiftly behind her.

  Going in search of Christian, for she fully intended to demand he take her home, she made her way above deck, only to discover it bustling with activity. The one detail in particular that caught her immediate notice was that the mainsail was being hoisted. As understanding dawned, it took mere seconds for her anger to resurface.

  Christian, the cur, stood upon the foredeck, his legs set imposingly apart as he overlooked the preparations for sail, barking orders to his men. Enraged, she marched toward him, fists clenched. “Just what do you think you’re doing? And why have you brought so many of my belongings aboard this—this smuggler’s den of yours? I do not intend to remain!”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. For a long moment it seemed he wouldn’t reply at all, and then when he did, his tone mocked her. “It seems to be obvious, m’mselle, I am readying the ship for sail.” He eyed her gown and lifted the corners of his mouth. “As for your belongings,” he told her somewhat scathingly, “I believe you’ll find that you will indeed need them”—his brow rose—”unless, of course, you prefer to wear your nightwear instead.”

  “Oh yes! Of course,” she replied in an acid tone. “I love to parade about in my nightgown! More than that, even, I love to be abducted in the middle of the night and brought against my will to a den of thieves! Indeed I do!” God help her, she wanted to slap the self-satisfied smirk from his face.

  He gave her a quelling look, narrowed his eyes, then glanced away as though to remind her that his men were listening, as well. “Watch your tongue,” he warned. “I’d loathe to have to—”

  “Cut it out?” she demanded indignantly. “Famous! Smuggler, traitor, ravisher of innocents—and butcher now, as well! You would, wouldn’t you?”

  “Kiss you?” he murmured low. His lips curved slightly, taunting her. “What do you think, mon amour?” His smiled deepened, though it never reached his eyes. “Wouldn’t I love to, indeed?”

  Jessie shuddered at his veiled warning. “Nay!” she said quickly, “I-I meant that you would cut out my tongue!”

  “Don’t tempt me,” he said drolly, lifting a brow, and cocking his head.

  “You! I insist you take me back to Charlestown at once! Now! You don’t need me here! Nor do I wish to remain.”

  “Nay.”

  “Nay?” she repeated incredulously.

  He nodded. “I believe that is what I said.”

  “But you cannot keep me here!”

  “Can I not?” Once again he cocked his head and lifted a brow in challenge.

  “Nay, you cannot!” she countered, bristling. “I can do no more for Ben—or Jean Paul—than anyone else aboard this accursed ship—and I will not remain to be abused by you!”

  He eyed her sharply. “M’mselle, I’ve not so much as lifted a finger against you, but I warn you, I’m sorely tempted this moment to put you over my knee and paddle that delightfully tempting derriere of yours, audience or nay.” He lifted his chin, indicating the scrutiny of his men. By now, all had suspended their chores in order to watch them with unconcealed interest.

  Jessie followed his gaze, mortified to have been threatened in such an intimate manner before so many watchful pairs of eyes—and ears! “Oh!” she gasped. “You just bloody well try!”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Threats, m’mselle?” He actually laughed then.

  Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not completely at your mercy, you realize,” she reminded him, chafing at his arrogance. “Ben remains below deck.” In an angry whisper, she confided, “I would need but tell him what you did to me back in your cabin, and he would surely find cause enough to call you out!” In truth, it was the very last thing Jessie intended for her cousin to do—particularly in his present state—but it seemed the only thing with which to threaten the incorrigible beast.

  Christian never blinked an eye at her dire proclamation, but said quite amiably, “That would be a rather unfortunate mistake on his part.” Though his tone was casual, his eyes seemed to bore through her with brilliant intensity. And then he said soberly, “If you care at all for his life... you’ll do no such thing. Ben’s a good man—a bit green about the edges perhaps, but even so, I’d like to see him live long enough to get over loving you. You see, my love, he doesn’t realize it yet, but you’re unequivocally the worst thing that could ever have happened to him.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened at his cruel words.

  “Aye,” he said low. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” His arms crossed, his legs set arrogantly apart, he challenged her to deny it.

  She couldn’t—not with what she’d heard below—and her face heated under his scrutiny.

  He turned from her long enough to order his men back to work, and he was revealed to her fully in that moment, for he was within his element at last, feral and magnificent. Despite herself, the sight of him stole her breath away; his features hard and hawk like, and with his dark, unbound hair flowing, he was the Hawk. With his snug black breeches and loose white shirt billowing in the breeze, he’d never appeared more ominous than he did at the moment. Evidently his men thought so as well, for without him having said a word, all eyes turned from them at once.

  Satisfied that their conversation would no longer be overheard, he returned his gaze to her. “In future,” he told her, “I would suggest you refrain from bedeviling Ben—trust me, love, a man can only take so much.”

  There was nothing of the man she’d thought she’d known in him now, nothing. She truly didn’t know him. Had she ever? she wondered bitterly. “How dare you speak to me so rudely?”

  “Had he been himself last night,” he continued coldly, ignoring her angry objection, “and not beset with fever and pain, you’d no longer be virgin—I assure you, cousin or nay. Or,” he suggested, his tone fierce, “perhaps that isn’t a concern any longer.” He narrowed his eyes, and asked softly, “Is it, Jessamine?”

  Jessie’s face flushed a bright crimson. “Oh! That is none of your concern—though I assure you my cousin is a gentleman through and through—unlike you!”

  “Is that so,” he replied evenly, giving her a ruthless smile,

  Christian had to suppress the urge to grin outright.

  He’d managed to discover what he’d needed to know, and the truth was that he was well pleased with the answer. Ben hadn’t touched her, he was certain of it, and neither had anyone else for that matter; for she wore a virgin’s blush.

  “I really must insist you take me back to Charlestown!”

  Christian shook his head, sighing. “Nay, Jess. The fact is that your uncle has already bandied word that you and Ben have sailed for England.” He grinned at her then, unable to suppress his glee. “It seems you have developed a nasty case of homesickness. As you see... I cannot allow you to go back, for in doing so you’d raise suspicions now, and I will not permit you to do that, my love. After all, ’tis my f
ather’s life you would endanger, as well.”

  Christian could see the fierce determination leave her features, though it was immediately replaced by resentment.

  Was his company so disagreeable to her?

  Did she truly loathe him so much?

  He couldn’t allow himself to believe it, for if he did, a part of him would shrivel and die. He thought to put the issue of her leaving at rest once and for all, and he said, “We’ll be gone only as long as necessary, and if you endeavor to stay out of the way, ’twill pass all the easier for you. Rest assured, Jessie. I am no more thrilled for your company than you are for mine.”

  Her expression became mutinous suddenly, her green eyes reflecting the depths of her animosity, buffeting him as surely as though she’d struck his cheek with her palm. “I—well—and—truly—despise—you!”

  His jaw grew taut, and his chest tightened, but he managed a nod. “Despise me all you wish,” he allowed, “only stay the hell out of my sight.”

  He felt little satisfaction when she stiffened as though she’d been cuffed, and less when she turned and stalked away. He forced himself to let her go, telling himself that her anger was a welcome barrier between them.

  Without it, he was lost.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sweating from his labors, Christian made his way back to his cabin. He’d not intended for the Mistral to set sail again so soon, and so there had been a number of things he’d had to see to before leaving Charlestown harbor. It had been a near miraculous feat to resupply his ship in the course of a day, without earning suspicion, and he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the task at all without the generous help he’d received from the men of the Wilkes club. Ben was obviously well thought of among them, for they’d rallied together without thought for their own safety, procuring supplies and hauling them aboard.

  His intent now was simply to sail down the coast to the West Indies, collect a payload, then return to Charlestown, arriving in the dead of night. Fortunately, because it was hurricane season, they wouldn’t be the only ones departing the harbor, and his only true concern was that he was sailing directly into hurricane territory, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d have to take his chances.

  And then there was the matter of their return...

  They would be back long before the harbor became congested once more, and because Jessie and Ben were to have sailed for England, he’d need to steal them down the Ashley to Shadow Moss as quietly and covertly as possible.

  He chuckled suddenly, for it would likely mean muzzling Jessie until they arrived at his plantation house—impudent wench that she was. And then again, he reconsidered, for Shadow Moss was nowhere near to completion, and Jessie would likely squawk all the louder when she discovered that fact—most females would, he didn’t doubt—so perhaps he would consider leaving her gagged until Ben healed...

  He turned the knob to his cabin door, gave a little shove, and then again to be certain before slamming his fist upon it. Locked!

  Damn it all! “Jess! Open the blasted door!”

  The deafening crack startled Jessie, rousing her at once, though she remained disoriented, having awakened to foreign surroundings. It took her a full moment to regain her faculties. The room swayed gently and swells of water could be heard smacking the side of the ship. They were no doubt at sea by now.

  “Jessie!”

  Recognizing Christian’s thunderous voice, Jessie smiled triumphantly and stretched lazily, refusing to be cowed merely by the sound of his voice. Raking her hair from her face with her fingers, she rose and went to the door as quietly as she was able, smiling at her ingenuity. She’d used Christian’s very own sea chests against him, piling them against the door, and then further braced them with her own hefty trunks. It had taken much time and toil to accomplish the master-work, but now she was certain the only door to the cabin was truly impenetrable. To her mind, it was a fine job... and this was precisely the moment she’d been awaiting. She fully intended to savor it.

  Using the bottommost trunk as a step, she carefully climbed the stack to place her ear against the wooden door. Christian pounded the door unexpectedly, ringing her ears with the unholy vibration, and Jessie leapt away, nearly tumbling from her carefully laid mountain to the floor.

  “Damn you, Jess! I demand you open this door! I’m not in the mood for games,” he warned.

  She gave him no response.

  “Jessamine? Do you hear me? I desire my bed!”

  God forgive her, but she couldn’t resist baiting him. “I suggest you seek it elsewhere, then,” she told him flippantly, “for I’ll not be giving this one up! Nor will I share!” And that was that, she swore to herself, slapping her hands in a definitive manner, smiling with self-satisfaction.

  “The devil you say, woman! That is my cabin you would have me give up, and I’ll not do so,” he apprised her.

  “Oh, but you will,” she demurred sweetly, “for I doubt I shall ever allow you entrance. I did not ask to be brought aboard this thieves’ den, and because you seem to have so little regard for my wishes, nor will I for yours, my nefarious Prince of Smugglers—Lord Christian, hah! What a farce!”

  Her words brought a smile to Christian’s lips.

  It was the my that settled him so quickly.

  His grin was smug as he disclosed, “Perhaps you don’t realize, as yet, but you’ll need come out of that cabin sooner or later, love. You’ll need to eat sometime, and when you do—”

  “Camp by the door then,” she suggested. “Though I fear you’ll have quite a long wait. Your cabin boy—Peter, I believe is his name—was quite accommodating, you see.”

  Christian shook his head, disbelieving his ears.

  “I simply told the dear boy that I was feeling under the weather,” Jessie told him, “and that I preferred to take my meals in my cabin. He understood perfectly and gave me enough provisions to last, well... a few days at least.” She giggled suddenly, and added, laughter in her tone, “How very tired of waiting you shall grow!”

  Christian was no longer amused; the thought of waiting days for his bed was wholly unpalatable. “Damn you!” he bellowed. “You little hoyden!”

  Losing his patience all over again, he slammed his boot against the door. She had it bolted from within, he was certain, but it seemed too solid a barrier to be simply barred. It was as though she’d placed something before it... His brows furrowed. What the devil could she have moved to bar it with? he wondered. Most everything was nailed firmly to the floor in protection against the movement of the sea. And damn her, for she sounded so very self-satisfied; it rankled to the bone.

  Releasing the full magnitude of his temper, he agitated the doorknob, nearly detaching it in his fury, and shook the cabin door so violently that Jessie had to wonder whether her barricade would even hold against him—yet hold, it did, even if the trunks seemed somewhat the worse for wear.

  Another string of vile curses stung the air, and then utter silence fell between them.

  Had he given up at last?

  Jessie doubted it; somehow she had the distinct impression Hawk, odious Prince of Smugglers, never simply gave up at anything.

  But then... where had he gone to suddenly?

  It was entirely too quiet on the other side of the door.

  More important... what was he planning?

  When there was no more sound from behind the door, Jessie had to assume victory. Yet it had come too easily...

  Her brow furrowed. Unsure of what to do next, she paced the cabin floor, clasping her hands at her back to stop them from quaking. After a long interval, when there was still no sign of him forthcoming, she decided to pour herself a goblet of Christian’s fine Madeira to calm herself. God’s truth, but her nerves had never been more frazzled than they were this instant, and were becoming more so by the second.

  Finishing it quickly, she gave a choked little cough. God knew, all she needed now was to drown herself in his good wine—probably stolen
or smuggled! she reflected resentfully. With a ragged sigh, she poured herself another brimming goblet-full and then wandered to the cheval glass. The woman staring back at her was haggard looking; hair mussed from slumber, and faint shadows darkening the hollows beneath her eyes. And the neck of her gown choked her, strangled her breath. She drew at the neckline irritably, and gave a derisive little laugh, for the gown had surely had its desired effect above deck; Christian had not so much as glanced at her untowardly. He was quite obviously unaffected by her.

  He didn’t care.

  He’d never cared.

  Yes, his threats had been lecherous, but there had been no heat to them, no feeling. No intent. God, what was wrong with her? Surely she wasn’t thinking... that she wanted...

  She shook her head vehemently, and took another sip, refusing to continue her present vein of thought.

  Stay out of his way indeed.

  So she had won this round, after all. Against whom? a little voice niggled. She raised her goblet in silent acclaim clinking it gently to the silver mirror—against herself, it would seem, for if she could be honest... it was not Christian she feared at all... but her own wicked yearnings.

  Standing before him there upon the foredeck, she had found herself wishing he would silence her raving with his soul-weakening kisses—that he would take her into his arms and tell her he loved her, beg her forgiveness. God help her, she had baited him, wanting only that he would lift her up into his arms and sweep her back to his cabin—she shuddered—in truth, back to that day beneath the elm tree...

  How long could he possibly be kept at bay?

  She glanced back at the door...

  It was not made of iron, after all. If he truly wished to come after her... She shook her head, for then again... he was quite obviously not trying overly hard. Perhaps he would leave her be, after all.

  With a very unladylike snort, she lifted her goblet and quaffed down the rest of her wine, then set the crystal gently down upon a small table beside the looking glass. With a sigh, she unbuttoned the topmost button of her gown, and then the next, and the next.