Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  "Easy girl," Jamie soothed, patting the horse's neck. "Don't be afraid of her, Caroline. She's twenty-two years old, and you couldn't force her out of a walk. She's as gentle as a lamb."

  "It's not the horse that's bothering me," Charity retorted. "You look altogether too pleased with yourself this morning." She could not keep the sharpness from her tone. Elizabeth's disapproval had been heavy in the air at breakfast. Even now, she could feel the older woman's eyes boring into her back.

  "You're wasting your time with him," she'd snapped. "Remember, I warned you. You've caught the squire's eye. He even invited you to church with him on Sunday. You'd be better to cast your favors in that direction."

  "I accepted the squire's invitation, didn't I? What's wrong with a little fun? You did say my riding was atrophic."

  "Atrocious! It is. You look like a sack of potatoes going to market. I expect there's little help for it. It took me forty years to develop a good seat."

  They'd argued. And over Jamie. Again. Why couldn't Elizabeth see that if there was even the slightest chance of catching him for a husband, she'd have to attempt it. Well, she'd won. She was going riding with Jamie. But now that he was here, she found herself out of sorts with him... as usual. If only he weren't so damned smug! So sure of himself!

  Jamie swung up on the black thoroughbred, touched the brim of his tricorn in respect, and urged the horse forward. A second horse carrying a pack followed on a lead line. "I'll have her home before tea, Elizabeth. Myra's packed us some chicken and biscuits for eating on the ground. We're riding to Lost Creek."

  "It looks like rain. You'll be soaked," she warned.

  "Not a chance!" Jamie called back. "It wouldn't dare."

  Charity concentrated on guiding the mare. Her walk was easy enough, but the animal kept bobbing her head about. She fell in behind Jamie's horse and they rode out of the plantation yard in silence.

  "Why do I get the feeling you're put out with me, Caroline?" Jamie turned his head to stare at her disarmingly. "I'm not such a bad fellow, you know." He grinned boyishly. "And it's too lovely of a day to be in a snit."

  "Why do you always look at me like I was some kind of joke?" Something about his eyes disturbed her. It was as if they were somehow familiar, but didn't belong in that face. "Am I so funny-looking?"

  "I didn't think you were the kind of girl to fish for compliments." He reined in the black to ride beside her, and his voice softened. "You know you're a rare beauty. Surely men have told you that before, Caroline."

  "Some," she admitted uneasily. She watched him from the corner of her eye. What was there about him? He was the perfect gentleman from the toe of his polished boot to the feather in his hat. That had to be it! He was too perfect. A man what's got looks knows it, her mam had always said.

  "And you used your beauty to get your own way with them," Jamie continued.

  "I did not!"

  "Come now," he taunted. "A girl with a face like yours. Be honest."

  Charity's gray-green eyes darkened to smoky jade. "And if I did, it was because I had to. A girl's got few enough weapons in this life." She jerked the mare's head around. "I don't care for your attitude, Master Drummond, and I didn't ride out with you to be insulted. I'll be goin' back now."

  Jamie positioned the black in front of her mare. "No, don't. I didn't mean to insult you. I just wanted to make a point. People are never what they seem, Caroline."

  Charity's breath caught in her throat and she pulled back on the reins. "What do you mean by that?"

  "You're angry with me."

  "You're damned right I am." She sawed at the reins, but the stallion blocked her no matter which way the mare stepped.

  "You were angry with me before I said a word to you this morning. Is it because of something I've done, or because of who you think I am? Are you judging me by another's word, or by the line of my jaw and the cut of my coat?" He laid a gloved hand lightly on Charity's sleeve; his dark eyes were frank. "I like you, Caroline. I like you a lot. Can we call a truce?"

  Her indignation melted away and Charity felt laughter bubbling up in her throat. She threw back her head and laughed aloud. "You're right," she agreed. "I've been a real shrew, haven't I?"

  Jamie backed the black horse away from the dapple-gray. The old mare tossed her head coquettishly and pranced through the knee-high grass. Charity kept her eyes on the horse's flicking ears as the black and his rider fell in beside them. "Aren't you going to deny it?" she asked.

  "I'd never dispute a lady's word." His laughter joined with her own easily.

  "You're a strange one, Jamie Drummond." A shiver crept up her spine. What would it be like to call this man husband? To have him as the father of her children?

  "So my mother always said."

  "Squire Moreland..." A crimson tide crept up her cheeks. "Oh... I'm sorry."

  "He told you I'm a bastard, did he? Well, it's not a thing I've tried to hide. My mother was Megan Flynn, the dairymaid. And a lovelier woman I never laid eyes on until I saw you."

  "For a bastard, you do well for yourself." The horse alone was worth more money than passed through her stepfather's tavern in a year. Drummond's clothes, his manner, even his speech gave evidence of breeding, of belonging to a class above that of the common people... even above that of the squire.

  "My father is Gilbert Drummond, the Earl of DunCannon. The plantation belongs to him; I merely act as his agent. My half brother, Hugh Thomas, Viscount Braemar, is heir to all his titles and his estates. Maryland is too far away and too inconsequential for them to be concerned with. It was the perfect place to send an embarrassment," Jamie explained sarcastically. "In short, Mistress Caroline, I've come to the Colonies to make my fortune... and perhaps a name."

  Charity saw the flicker of pain behind the brittle surface. "Your father must care for you. He's given you a great deal, for one who has no legal rights."

  "You argue his case well. If you were a man, you could have taken up the study of law." He nodded toward her. "You remind me of my mother more and more. 'Lord DunCannon has given you an education. Lord DunCannon has offered you a position as his agent in America.'" He looked away. "My father has given me much, but it's never enough, is it?"

  "Just having a father can mean a great deal." She leaned forward to pat the mare's neck.

  "What I've been trying to tell you, little Caroline, is that as a prospective husband I'm worthless. I'm just what they told you, a penniless adventurer."

  She gave him an amused look. "An' what makes you think I'd consider you for a husband if I was looking for one?"

  The black shied sideways at a rabbit that ran between the dapple-gray's feet. Charity's heart caught in her throat and she grabbed for the mane with both hands. The old mare never missed a step, and Charity laughed at her needless panic.

  Jamie quieted the stallion, soothed the packhorse, and reclaimed his place beside Charity. "Maybe we should trade animals," he teased. "It wouldn't do for the instructor to be tossed on his backside."

  Charity eyed the black horse suspiciously. His hide shone like satin; there was no denying his fierce beauty or his spiritedness. The brown eyes were large and intelligent beneath the fringed forelock, and the coal-black nose looked as soft as velvet. Even to a novice it was evident that he was all male; the ebony hide could barely contain the compressed energy within him. Like his master. She turned her face away to hide the pink of her cheeks. "If I must ride," she said, "I'll keep this one. We seem to get on well enough."

  "Good. Consider her yours as long as you stay at Widow's Endeavor. She's getting fat for lack of exercise. Her name's Duchess. And she's very fond of apples."

  "I couldn't take such a valuable gift," Caroline protested.

  "Duchess isn't a gift, she's a loan. Actually, you'll be doing me a favor by using her. She's a lady's horse, and there's no one at the plantation to ride her."

  "It's very kind of you." Charity's eyes teared up and she blinked. "I'll... I'll take good care of her. As long
as Aunt Elizabeth approves." A shiver of guilt flashed across her brain. Jamie Drummond would never treat her this way, would never lend her a valuable horse, would never even notice her as Charity Brown. As Caroline she was cared for, fussed over, catered to. Was it fair to deceive him? To deceive him even more by trying to become his lawful wife? She bit at her lower lip as the uneasiness grew. No, by damn! Acting like a lady had made her soft! This was her chance and she'd make the most of it.

  Charity smiled at Jamie and reached out to touch his arm.

  "You're not half the devil you pretend to be," she murmured. "I think you're sweet."

  Jamie caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "Sweet, am I? I've been called a lot of things, but never sweet." He laughed wickedly. "Don't ever say, fair lady, that you weren't properly warned."

  Chapter 4

  Charity spread her skirts about her on the blanket and sighed. Lost Creek was everything she had imagined and more. Everything was so green, so lush. Towering hardwoods surrounded the small clearing, their branches a verdant canopy of rustling, wind-kissed wonder. Birds of every color and description called and hopped and flew overhead. The horses grazed contentedly in the shade of an oak that must have been old when the first Englishman stepped upon these shores.

  The sun was warm without being oppressive; the faintest of breezes ruffled her hair. Their dinner had been superb; Charity had thrown caution to the winds and eaten every last crumb. They'd laughed and talked easily of small things, of children's pranks and the weather. Now Jamie stood on the banks of the slow-moving creek, casting a line for unwary fish.

  She'd watched as he cut a sapling no thicker than his thumb and rigged a hook and line to it. Pulling up grass by the water's edge had produced some wiggling bait. He'd said she could watch if she could keep still.

  "Fishing is serious business," he admonished in mock severity.

  "No thank you, sir. I'd rather nap," she retorted.

  And she had. From the position of the sun, she must have dozed for more than an hour. He was still in the same spot.

  "Haven't you caught anything yet?" she called.

  "That's why women make rotten fishermen. No patience," he answered. He laid the pole down on the bank and sauntered back toward the blanket. "I'm thirsty anyway," he admitted, taking a flask from the saddlebag. "Will you have a sip?"

  "What is it? Rum?" She reached for a cup.

  "Hardly. I've no head for strong drink." He poured the pale wine into her cup. "Must be the Irish blood in me. If I drank rum, you'd have to carry me back across my saddle." He settled himself on the blanket beside her. He'd removed his coat before he cut the fishing pole, and his stock lay discarded on top of it. Now he loosened the top buttons of his shirt and lifted his cup in salute. "To you, Mistress Caroline. Thank you for a wonderful day."

  Charity's eyes narrowed. What game was he playing? He'd been the perfect gentleman all day. A priest could not have treated her with more respect. Was there something about her that repelled him? He'd said she was beautiful, but such words came easily to a man's lips. He'd not been so standoffish at Elizabeth's birthday party! Quite the contrary. She allowed herself a little smile and a flutter of lashes. "The wine is good," she said. It wasn't bad, a bit dry for her taste and weak as mother's milk. But then she'd been weaned on dockside rum.

  "I'm glad you approve; it's French."

  "The tax on it must be outrageous."

  "As a matter of fact"—his eyes twinkled—"this was quite reasonable. Almost nothing." He took a lock of her hair between his fingers and rubbed it gently. "It's like moonlight," he murmured. His hand slid to her neck and he tilted her face up to meet his kiss.

  About time, she thought, then she gasped. His lips were sweet from the wine. Her arms went about his body of their own accord as he pressed her back against the blanket.

  "Caroline... Caroline," Jamie whispered. "God but you're beautiful." Her lips remembered the shape of his and they blended as one.

  The world tilted and slid away. No one had ever made Charity feel like this before. Vaguely she was aware of his hand on her breast and she tried to protest.

  "Shush, shush," he soothed. "My sweet Caroline. I've wanted to hold you like this... to touch you." His mouth covered hers, and a delicious languor spread through her veins. She felt her nipples harden beneath the fabric of her gown. A girl could drown in those kisses. Charity fought to keep her brain from surrendering control. If this is sin, I was born to be damned, her mind cried.

  Her own hands began to explore the wide, muscular shoulders, the line of his face, the square jaw. Jamie fumbled with the laces of her neckline, and his kisses dropped lower.

  "No," she said weakly. He must be a devil. The pit loomed before her as Jamie's lips brushed her swollen nipple. A sweetness as deep as death seeped through her bones and she moaned with joy. Her knees went weak and a moistness warmed her secret places. "No, Jamie... don't." Jamie. Jamie. His name was honey on her lips.

  Both breasts were free now, and she brazenly allowed him to caress them, teasing the nipples until they ached with deep wanting she did not understand and yet had always known. A hand slid beneath her skirts to stroke her thigh.

  She sat bolt upright and pushed him away. "No!" Her face flamed as she clutched the cloth about her naked bosom. "It isn't right. It's a sin," she cried hoarsely. Don't stop him, her heart commanded. Don't throw away this minute of joy.

  "Don't do this," Jamie said. His face darkened with anger. "You want me as much as I want you." He reached for her and she rolled away.

  "No! My mother said—" She broke off as the words choked in her throat.

  Her mam's words came clear as crystal. "Keep yer cherry, girl. Hold it safe until ye marry. Fer many will promise. But it's all ye got—that and yer face. Hold it fer yer marriage bed or ye may well land in the gutter as I did."

  "Your mother! What has your mother to do with us?" he demanded. "Don't do this to me, Charity."

  "You don't understand," she began. "If I let you..." She trailed off as the implication of his words registered. Her eyes widened in bewilderment, then glazed as a red haze formed in her brain. "You knew!" she accused. "You let me—and all along you knew!" She threw herself on him and they fell together on the grass. Charity's fist slammed against his nose and blood sprayed over them both. "You whoring devil!" she cried. A flood of curses rolled from her lips, words she had heard but never dared to utter. All traces of the lady were lost as she pounded and scratched at his face and chest. "I hate you, you swivin' bastard!" she sobbed. "I hate you!"

  Charity's head snapped back as she was yanked to her feet. One riding boot shot forward to kick him in the knee. He howled with pain and half fell, dragging her with him, then gained his balance and shook her until her teeth rattled.

  "Stop it!" he commanded. "Get ahold of yourself! Must I knock you senseless?"

  Charity's white teeth closed on his wrist and bit until she tasted blood. Her feet left the ground, and she found herself upside down over Jamie's shoulder. Then she was in the air. She let out a scream that was quickly stifled as water closed over her head.

  Gasping for air, she tried to find the bottom with her feet. She went under again and came up swimming.

  "Maybe that will cool you off!" Jamie yelled from the bank. He knelt to splash water on his wounded face and to stop the bleeding from his wrist. "No! Stay out there!" he warned. "Come near me and I'll drown you!"

  Charity choked and gulped in air. "You deceived me," she called. "You knew all along, and you let me make a fool of myself. If I was a man, I'd kill you." She blinked back tears. "Who else knows?"

  "Nobody else. Damn it, I think you've broken my nose!" He ripped off a piece of shirt tail to stanch the bleeding. "Elizabeth is my good friend. She told me. And you're a fine one to talk about being deceived."

  "I trusted her."

  "Elizabeth and I are business partners. She told me from the start she was trying to help you find a rich husband. And she told you I wa
sn't fair game." Jamie waded into the water and extended a hand. "You can come out now, if you act like a lady and not a tavern bitch."

  "I am a tavern bitch! Why shouldn't I act like one?" Charity swam out further into the current. "Stay away from me. I'm mad enough to drown you! Why did you let me go on actin' like I was Caroline... sayin' all that stuff? You were laughin' at me all along."

  Jamie flushed. "Not at you, Charity. And I didn't lie to you. I do find you beautiful. But you are a bitch!"

  "If you lay hands on me you'll be sorry," she threatened. "I'm well used to defendin' meself!" Charity watched him intently as the tightness eased at the corners of his mouth and the brown eyes lost their anger. "We both set out to cozen each other, I guess. Truce?" She took a few steps toward him. "How will it look if you drown me?"

  "Come out then." He took her hand to help her up the slippery bank.

  The black stallion whinnied and Jamie whirled at the warning. A group of horsemen galloped toward them. "Sweet Jesus." The words slipped from him unbidden. He dragged Charity up onto the grass and began to wipe frantically at her dress. "Follow my lead," he whispered. "If you value your neck."

  Charity froze. Soldiers! A uniformed officer and four—no, five—redcoats. They'd found her out and come for her! She cast a desperate glance toward the horses. They were too far away. There would be no escape that way. Her back stiffened and her chin went up. They'd not drag her off to prison sniveling and wailing. And what in God's name was wrong with Jamie? He was dancin' about her like a half-wit!

  Jamie grabbed the hem of her skirt and began to wring out the water. "I'm so sorry," he fussed. "So sorry... all my fault."

  "What seems to be the trouble here?" The officer reined up his mount and inspected them closely. "Aren't you James Drummond? From Bold Venture?" He waved the men at his back to a halt and dismounted. "I believe we met at a ball in Annapolis last winter." His blue eyes narrowed as he took in Charity's soaking figure. "Well?"