Kissed; Christian

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  One arm encircled her waist and he drew her close against him, kissing the tip of her nose, her cheek, her closed eyelids, and her brow with a fever that could not be denied. She was so beautiful, and the feel of her warm bare flesh beneath him made his heart pound and his breath strangle. He refused to let her feel regret—refused to feel any himself.

  God’s truth, this morning he had not the stamina for foreplay, and when he found her wet and ready for him, it nearly unmanned him where he lay. He needed only to undulate into her softness and she opened to him willingly, wrapping her legs about his hips and closing her eyes.

  Sliding up, he entered her, and no sooner had he done so when she began to undulate softly of her own accord, instinctively, moaning beneath him. He held himself fast, letting her guide his strokes at first, but when her hands moved to his buttocks to urge him deeper into her sweet warmth, he at once lost his resolve.

  Driving himself into her, he loved her as though there were no tomorrow, as though in truth this were their last joining. Her nails dug painfully into his flesh and he reached back to grasp her hands, unable to bear the sweetness of it, bringing them above her head and holding them fast against the headboard. With a mindless fervor he withdrew and thrust, sweat breaking upon his brow, and still he held his own release until he felt her quiver and moan beneath him. The sweet sound of her release wrenched away the last vestiges of his restraint and he went headlong into his own climax, crying out savagely.

  The path that brought them to the stables was wide, with oaks lining both sides of it, their sweeping limbs arcing and meeting above them, forming a leafy underpass of sorts. It was fall, but the weather was so mild that the flora was still inclined to bloom.

  “’Tis lovely,” Jessie said with a sigh. “Truly lovely!”

  “Aye,” he agreed, pride in his tone. “Rose Park cannot begin to compare, though I swear there was a time when I was blind to this splendor. No more. I can see now, quite clearly, that I was not meant to make my home in England. Come now, there is more I would show you.” He took her firmly by the hand, releasing it only when they entered the stable itself.

  A youth came forth from the shadows, a straw broom in hand. “My lord, you wish to ride?” he asked, his brown eyes flashing with obvious admiration.

  “Aye, Peter, aye,” Christian replied. “Fetch my mount, if you would, and then give my lady the finest mare to be had—the bay, I think.”

  “Very well, m’lord.” When the fair-haired youth would have turned away, Christian stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “On second thought, she’ll ride with me... Leave off with the mare and simply fetch my own.” Turning to Jessie, he said, “The area is still somewhat unknown to me and I would not put you at risk.”

  Jessie nodded, though the thought of sitting so near him made her heart flutter wildly and her breath quicken painfully. Even now, in the full light of day, he affected her so.

  Peter brought forth from the stall a great black beast with a white streak blazing down its forehead. It was a beautiful specimen of a horse with eyes set wide apart and an exquisitely formed muzzle. The lad prepared the mount while they waited, and then led it outside. Its blue-black coat shone brightly in the daylight. Jessie followed them out, and Christian lifted her upon the animal without a word, mounting behind her, bringing her close against him as he urged the steed into a slow canter.

  Instead of taking her back through the tunnel of trees whence they’d come, he chose another path that led briefly through a dense thicket of pines.

  They rode in silence, and after some time, came to a clearing, a meadow so green and lush that it seemed chimerical. In the center of the grove stood the gutted remains of a brick building.

  She turned to him, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

  He kissed her temple, smiling slightly, but said nothing until they’d circled the ruins, halting abruptly at what appeared to be the front steps. “It is the remains of someone’s home,” he answered at last. “Though whose, I cannot rightly know, but this land before us was the first site of Charlestown. ’Tis private property now, but have no fear, I know the holder.” He winked at her then.

  “Yours?”

  He chuckled softly. “Nay... at least not as yet, though it borders my land and the proprietor is presently weighing my offer for purchase. If he sells to me, it will give me access to Old Town Creek as well as the Ashley.”

  “Does he live here still?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “Aye.” He pointed out a direction. “His plantation lies beyond that small copse of trees.”

  Jessie nodded, but could see nothing.

  Pointing out the river that glittered like diamonds on the horizon, he continued, “That was once known to us as St. George’s Bay, named so by the Spaniards, for the Indians themselves did not name the waters. They called this land Kayawah—all of it—after their tribe.” He hugged her as he spoke.

  He kissed her neck affectionately and then his gaze lifted to the horizon. The tall grass grazed his boots, tickled the horse’s belly. The breeze riffled through them, lifting her hair into his face. Before them, the remains of the house were only partially visible through the weeds. Most of the masonry lay in ruin. Weeds and moss worked at the rest of the structure. Before long, if not taken into hand, the wilderness would reduce it to little more than piles of mortar and stone.

  “’Tis a beautiful, wild country, still in its birth,” he mused aloud, “and I mean to be a part of it, Jessie.”

  Jessie turned to him, hearing the note of pride in his voice, and saw that his eyes were glittering strangely with his words.

  Christian looked down into her face and smiled warmly, his harsh features softening into a wry grin as he scrutinized her. With his hair so dark and long, falling unbound behind him, Jessie thought he seemed as primitive as the very natives of whom he spoke.

  “’Tis an incredible feeling,” he admitted, “to be involved in the shaping of this wilderness—an experience I might never have known had I clung so stubbornly to Rose Park and to England. And that, mon amour, is the truth of it. I fear I’ve grown to love this savage place, for it suits me better than any I’ve known.”

  “I can well believe it.” Her tone held a smile.

  Unable to keep himself from it, Christian lowered his head and touched his whiskered jaw to her cheek, savoring the feel of her within his arms. He closed his eyes, hugging her, remembering her fire, and felt again that stirring of his blood. If he lived an eternity, he doubted he would ever have his fill of her. She was as beautiful and unmanageable as the wilds before them.

  He savored this moment with her. It was such blissful torment to hold her so close and not be able to love her as he yearned to do. It was just as well... for there was that which needed to be said between them, and he could not bear to delay the inevitable any longer.

  Closing her eyes, Jessie leaned back against him. In his arms she felt so alive, so cherished, so loved. As she recalled what she’d said to him during their lovemaking, a small pang tugged at her heart, for he’d never returned her love words. True, he was kinder now, more attentive, but the fact remained that she loved alone. Unrequited love. And yet, so long as he would give her this incredible tenderness, she told herself she cared not whether he reciprocated ever.

  So long as he held her thus always.

  Christian’s hand slipped down suddenly, pressing at her belly firmly as though he would draw her within himself somehow and never let her go. The moment was excruciating in its tenderness. Breathing deeply, he moved his hand up to rest just beneath her breast. And then, as though he could not help himself, his other hand came around her as well and slid down to the apex of her thighs, caressing her there softly, boldly, kindling her inner fires once more.

  Jessie arched backward against him, moaning at the unexpected assault upon her senses, but he halted suddenly, inhaling a breath, shuddering as though only just recalling their surroundings. He stilled his hands, bringing them abou
t her waist, locking them there to keep them from roaming, though his body remained taut.

  “Jessie, love... I’ve something to tell you... though you might despise me for it after.”

  Jolted by his declaration, Jessie turned to look at him. Though his lips were smiling slightly, his eyes held no mirth at all.

  She smiled sweetly, teasing him. “Are you so certain I do not still?’“

  He stiffened, though his hands never left her middle, and his smile disappeared wholly. “Do you, Jessamine?”

  She shook her head slowly. “How could you think so, after all?”

  He laughed then, the sound hollow, and shook his head. A chill traveled her spine. “How could I think so? ’Tis God’s own truth, you only said so a hundred times,” he reminded her.

  “Aye... but I did not mean it,” she confessed, her eyes misting. “I truly did not mean it.”

  “Jessamine,” he began again, his tone grave now. “Listen to me, love, and do not speak until I’ve finished... ’Tis a difficult thing I must say.”

  She wanted to tell him that nothing could be so terrible as what they had already endured. “Christian—”

  “Hush, my love, listen... know that I do not wish to lose you, ma belle vie. Yet there is that part of me that would have you know everything, for I wish no more deceit between us—not ever!”

  Christian fought the almost irresistible urge to tell her that he loved her and then to plead with her not to detest him for what he was about to reveal, but he could not find a way past his accursed pride. If she despised him, then he wanted at least that small part of him left intact.

  He sighed then. “It has to do with your father. You see...” There was no gentle way to put it. The truth was damning and there was no way around it. “It may be my fault that your father killed himself.” She stiffened before him suddenly, and he knew his fears had not been unfounded.

  “Aye, I know that he did; ’tis no secret, love.”

  He forced Jessie to look at him then, turning her face gently to his. Her eyes were wide with shock... and then revulsion, he thought, but she remained silent just as he’d asked, and so he knew nothing for certain of her thoughts.

  “I impoverished him Jessamine, thwarted him at every bend in the road, all in the name of vengeance. I drove him to his death,” he admitted bluntly, regretting his retaliation in whole for Jessie’s sake. The silence lengthened between them and her face lost all color.

  “I see,” she said finally, her tone devoid of emotion, her green eyes vacant and unseeing.

  “Jessie...”

  “I don’t think I wish to hear any more.” She turned suddenly away from him, as though she could not bear to look upon him.

  “I... am... sorry,” he said, his voice catching. His apology seeming inadequate.

  Unable to prolong the torture, for her sake, he clicked the reins, urging his mount away from the glade.

  Not another word was spoken between them.

  Hours later, Jessie found herself pacing the length of the woven carpet that graced the master’s chamber.

  Not even the distant muddle of voices from below stairs distracted her from her deliberation. And her musing was interrupted only once, when Quincy came to deliver the trunk she’d left in the unfinished wing.

  After a while, she wandered out onto the balcony and she watched, barely noticing a small boat paddling away from the pier. Briefly she wondered who it might have been. But in truth, she thought little more of it, for Christian’s confession weighed heavily upon her heart. At last she came to the conclusion that Christian might have, in fact, been partly responsible for her father’s death. Though still, the blame fell to her father, and her father alone, for it certainly was not as though they’d been left completely destitute. Nay, it was none other than her father’s decision to end his miserable life—if, in fact, he had.

  And she was certain now that he had. It was that realization more than aught else that had kept her tongue tied all the way back. The truth was that her father had been a weak man, cold and mean on the exterior to conceal his feebleness within—she could see that now.

  Having thought it over, she washed herself, splashing her face with the cool water for courage. Opening her trunk, she drew out the green silk dress Christian seemed so fond of and dressed carefully, brushing her hair, and in her haste, not even bothering to fix it properly. She left it down instead, the length of it reaching her hips. And then she sought out Christian.

  He was nowhere to be found. The house was intensely quiet, as though forsaken of all life. At long last, on the way back to the master’s room, she spied Quincy in the chamber across the corridor, the one her cousin and Jean Paul had used for their own. He started at seeing her, both of his brows lifting in surprise.

  “Where is everyone?” Jessie asked without preamble. “I need to speak with Christian.”

  “They’ve gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes, mum, gone.”

  Jessie bristled at his uninformative response. “Where? I saw a boat leaving the dock, but I thought it might be some of the men returning to the Mistral and I thought nothing more of it.” Worry furrowed her brow as she asked, “Is that where they’ve gone? Back to the Mistral?”

  “Well,” Quincy hedged. He looked heavenward, one eye closing slightly, as though to consider an answer, and Jessie knew to doubt his next words. He surprised her by speaking what sounded to be the truth. “They’ve gone to Charlestown,” he confessed. “M’lord said I should stay here wit’ ye and see to ye—didn’t want to worry ye none.”

  Confused, Jessie said, “I don’t understand. I should think he’d have wanted Ben to remain as well. After all, he and I were to have sailed for England together. He shouldn’t risk being seen, should he?”

  “Aye, mum,” Quincy yielded, “but yer cousin wouldn’t hear of it. He went and there was no keeping him from it. God’s truth!”

  Jessie sighed. “I see, and what, pray tell, could have been so urgent as to draw him into such dangerous folly?” She didn’t truly expect an answer because of the frown that appeared upon the old man’s face, but to her surprise, she received one, despite Quincy’s tortured expression. It was obvious he didn’t want to say.

  “Well, mum... y’see... ’tis the Mistral,” he revealed. “While you were away this morn... news came that it was arrested last night. M’lord was summoned to appear before Daniel Moore straightaway.”

  Jessie felt suddenly ill. “My God! What for? What on earth could he want with Christian?”

  Quincy’s eyes held hers. “Well, you see, mum... the Mistral’s been accused of bearing unauthorized goods into Charlestown harbor. They said—”

  “Absurd!” Jessie exclaimed. “’Tis ridiculous—why?”

  “Because, mum... we set anchor in the dead o’ night, nor did we report to the customs house straightaway, that’s why.”

  Jessie’s head reeled as she recalled that they’d departed late in the night, as well. Then, too, they’d sailed into the Dutch West Indies, reportedly a smugglers’ and pirates’ haven. And they had, in fact, returned in the deepest hours of the night. Heaven help her, but all at once it came clear to her. How could she not have suspected before? Lord, she hadn’t dreamed he would conduct his business while she was aboard. Even knowing who he was—what he was. Placing a hand to her brow, Jessie leaned back against the doorframe, feeling weak of a sudden. The Mistral... Dear God, she’d sailed all that time aboard a smuggler’s vessel—one carrying an illegal cargo, no less! She felt sick with the shock of it all.

  Quincy advanced upon her suddenly. “Nay, mum,” he said, as though he’d read her thoughts and meant to acquit his master of her silent accusations.

  Jessie backed away from him, out into the corridor, as though to escape his knowing gaze. Had everyone known, save her? Ben, too? Aye, even as she asked herself that question, she knew it was so.

  “M’lady,” Quincy protested, “It is not what it seems, at all! M’lor
d did sail into St. Christopher to clear his cargo with the authorities, and he has his papers to prove it!” He nodded fervently. “Aye, he does, an’ he’s carryin’ ’em with him to see Daniel Moore—told me to tell ye ’e’d be back before eventide. He didn’t wish to worry ye, is all.”

  Relief swept over Jessie like a flood tide, dizzying her. Her knees buckled slightly and her eyes shimmered with tears. “Thank God!” she whispered fiercely. “But what of Ben? Why need he have gone? Why should he have risked himself if Christian bears proof?”

  Quincy shrugged. “There was no one to stop ’im. Yer cousin is a fierce one, he is, and loyal to m’lord, besides.”

  “I see. As you are?”

  “Yes, mum.”

  She took a deep breath and asked, “How long have they been gone?”

  “Little more’n an hour,” he declared.

  “Very well, then. Thank you, Quincy.” Still somewhat dazed by his disclosure, Jessie left him staring after her and made her way down the corridor quickly, down the spiral steps to the entrance hall. She intended to await Christian at the docks, so anxious was she to see him. She hurried, though halfway down the steps she halted abruptly.

  Jessie was momentarily stunned by St. John’s unexpected appearance. “H-How did you manage to find me?”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “McCarney, of course. The man is a veritable font of information... quite helpful.”

  Jessie bristled at his smug tone. “Well, sirrah! Now that you’ve discovered what you came to, you should leave,” she apprised him, straightening her spine. “Lord Christian should be down any moment,” she bluffed. “I don’t believe he would relish your presence unbidden in his home. Indeed, I should loathe to see you—”

  “Please, Jessamine,” he interposed, “spare me the duplicity. I know perfectly well where Haukinge has gone, as I also know you’re alone in this”—he glanced about, waving a hand in disgust—”place.” He took another step forward, removing his tricorne and clasping it to his chest.