Moonstone Obsession

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Now dominated by displaced Huguenots, the borough was a cosmopolitan affair with French-style coffee houses and shops, although its glory days as a respectable part of the city were now beginning to fade against the bloom of lower rent accommodation and the bohemian social scene that was beginning to infuse the district.

  A few moments further into the walk, Selina laughed. “I’ve just realised that I’ve demanded a thorough interview and you hardly know anything about me or my family at all.”

  “Not so,” replied James. “Your brother has been most forthcoming about his business and finances. I know fortunes have been thin since the loss of your father’s second ship, the Prospect, two years ago. He adores his wife and sister…” Selina smiled at this, “and he knows that his future lies with the American trade.

  “The fact that he refuses to have anything to do with the slave trade further marks him as an honourable man.

  “I also know that you are the youngest child and that three siblings between yourself and your brother did not survive beyond infancy.”

  Selina was surprised by her brother’s candour. James continued.

  “In addition to being a very good painter, you’re also an avid reader. Unlike many other ladies, your tastes extend to political tracts and business newsletters.

  “You have the works of Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift by your bedside but are currently reading Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France which, incidentally, you must lend me when you’ve finished. I’ve not yet managed to get a copy.”

  Through the last, Selina’s sapphire blue eyes widened. “You know what I have by my bed?”

  James continued as if she had not spoken. “Also, despite your otherwise sweet nature, your irrationally stubborn insistence in refusing a modest allowance from your brother to replenish your wardrobe here in London has been the cause of a small friction.”

  She halted. “How… my brother never would…” The words died in her mouth as she saw James extract a small paper bag of chocolates from his coat pocket.

  “I have some of the same sources as you, my dear,” he grinned.

  And, with a shake, he proffered the bag, one from the very same shop from where Selina had procured the treats for Winifred.

  She shook her head to decline and watched as he popped a chocolate past his sensual lips.

  Unconsciously she licked hers and briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss him. James watched her reaction closely.

  “But your sister-in-law was right to insist that you wear her dress to the ball because no man could keep his eyes off you.”

  “You shouldn’t say such things to me,” she breathed. “I might start believing you.”

  “Would that be so bad?” he asked, his tone matching hers.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t decided.”

  To her relief, James steered the conversation to safer ground—politics—and Selina was delighted to find a ready listening ear to her thoughts on Burke’s political treatise.

  The conversation lasted several blocks until something tickled at the edge of her consciousness.

  It had taken a few more turnings across several streets before Selina was convinced that she and James were being followed.

  She looked up at him, brows slightly furrowed. As she was drawing breath to express her observation, James, without warning, pulled her around a corner and into a small alley and then engulfed her in his arms.

  Her mouth opened again, this time with another question on her lips. He shook his head and gently placed one finger to her lips to ask for silence while they waited for their pursuer.

  The smell of him was an intoxicating mix of leather, musk, and pine. She pressed herself to him as if driven by instinct. James shielded her view of the street and she realised his cloak largely hid her and her lavender sprigged muslin gown from passersby.

  Within moments, the sound of not one but two pairs of running feet rounded the corner.

  “Go down there,” the first voice commanded. “They must be only just out of sight.”

  The sound of the second pair of feet faded into the late afternoon.

  Still shielded by James, Selina could hear the owner of the first set of feet slow to a walk and head further down the street, before stopping and turning back towards them.

  * * *

  James pushed Selina away and in a swift, sure motion, he stepped out of the alley and grabbed the arm of their shadow. The man swung and landed a lucky strike on James’ cheek.

  He reeled from the blow, but kept his feet and used the momentum to deftly firm his grasp on the assailant’s arm, twist it behind his back, and shove the man bodily against the opposite red brick wall of the alley.

  “Who do you work for?” James demanded.

  The man, unremarkably dressed, was a lean, tallish individual with narrow set eyes and a thin, almost emaciated face. He did not respond, only grunting in discomfort. James shoved the man’s arm further up his back.

  “Reynold is telling you leave matters alone, Penventen,” he finally gasped.

  “And yet he’s too much of a coward to deliver his own message. Tell him that from me.”

  The man smirked and cast a glance at Selina who stood a few yards away watching with alarm.

  “Pretty girl you’ve got there,” he grunted as James tightened his grip causing the man pain.

  James leaned in menacingly. “If Miss Rosewall and her family are harassed in any way there will be no place on earth that you will be safe from me.”

  He pulled the man away from the wall and shoved him towards the cross street where the rat-faced man half walked and half staggered over the cobbles to where his companion waited on the corner. He was about the same build as his friend, but his features were obscured by a tricorn hat and high collared jacket.

  With one long last look at James and Selina, the two disappeared around the next building.

  Satisfied that they had gone, James dabbed the back of his hand at his cheek where a small cut had opened from the initial punch. He glanced at Selina who, instead of cowering in fright as he had expected, appeared to be furious.

  And she appeared to be furious at him.

  “You let that man go! Why James?”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “He hit you!”

  James merely shrugged in response. Selina gave a long-suffering sigh as she opened her drawstring purse, withdrawing a handkerchief and wetting it with a small amount of her perfume before handing the linen to him.

  He accepted the kerchief with its scent of bergamot and lavender and winced as he put it to his left cheek.

  “The alcohol in it will help clean the cut,” she explained, annoyance still plain in her voice.

  “He was just an opportunistic bag snatcher,” James offered.

  She raised an eyebrow waiting for James to account for himself.

  James sighed, knowing that Selina would not accept anything else but the truth. The problem was he didn’t know the truth for himself although he was going to get to the bottom of this tonight.

  “What if I tell you that it’s the best explanation I have for now?”

  “Then I suppose that is satisfactory… for now.”

  “You’re a jewel,” he grinned and quickly kissed Selina on the cheek, taking delight in watching the colour rise to her cheeks.

  The rest of the walk was, thankfully, uneventful and, as if to persuade each other that they really did think nothing of the startling event with their pursuer, they settled into a comfortable, companionable amble and discussed mutual interests which, to James’ delight, were many.

  * * *

  As they walked, twilight cast long shadows through the street and painted the sky in pastel hues of rose, apricot, and lilac as the sun disappeared over the tallest of London’s buildings.

  Ahead of them, bright pinpoints of light burst into life in the hands of the shadowed figures of servants tasked with the job of lighting the front of their ma
sters’ residences before full night fell.

  The front of the Rosewall’s townhouse was shrouded in shadow. It seemed her brother was not yet home and the servants were still busy in other areas of the house. James stopped Selina’s hand as she reached for the elaborate brass door knocker. She looked at him with a questioningly.

  “Before you go in…”

  James drew her further into the shadow of the porch and snaked his hands around her waist, drawing her to him. With a certainty, Selina knew he was going to kiss her. She watched his eyes before being drawn to his lips, moving ever closer to hers.

  The first contact was exquisite, soft and gentle—quite at odds with the firm muscled shoulders she found herself holding onto.

  The pressure of their kiss deepened, his mouth encouraging hers to open for a languorous exploration.

  A restless yearning only hinted at the ball ignited in Selina full force and the feeling that she recognised in herself as arousal was given its moment in the pressure of his lips, the feel of his tongue, and the rasp of late day stubble as it grazed her cheek.

  Tentatively at first, she used her own tongue to explore the contours of his mouth, eliciting from him a groan which only fuelled her own desire.

  But it was James who first pulled away.

  At first Selina thought she had done something wrong, but seeing in his eyes a naked desire, she knew it was not that. With both hands he touched her cheeks, stroking them gently.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since the night of the ball,” he confessed.

  Selina blushed and cast her face downward. An insistent finger under her chin forced her to raise her eyes to his.

  “You’re beautiful, Selina.”

  The sound of footsteps in the foyer indicated that a servant would soon appear at the front door. He leaned in to quickly but thoroughly kiss her on the lips before rapping on the front door in strong, confident strokes.

  The door opened and Selina left the dimly lit porch reluctantly.

  She turned back to find James standing there watching her with the same intense regard that stirred her at the ball.

  “Good night,” she whispered, desperate to prolong the mood, but unsure how.

  “Good night Selina,” James smiled in response. “Don’t forget.”

  Selina’s brow wrinkled, not understanding.

  “Don’t shut the door on possibilities.”

  Selina watched as James turned to leave. He raised his hand in a quick salute before disappearing into the dim London night.

  “Miss?”

  Selina knew from Winifred’s expression that it wasn’t first time the maid had tried to attract her attention.

  “The Captain an’ Mrs Rosewall have accepted Colonel Butterworth’s invitation to dinner. The children have ‘ad their supper and are in bed, Miss.”

  Selina nodded distractedly.

  The taste of his lips still lingered and a yearning welled up in her, all the stronger for his absence.

  She watched Winifred close the door and at the sound of the bolt being thrown, James’ last words resonated with her.

  What might be if she were open to possibilities? The prospect both thrilled and frightened her.

  Chapter Seven

  The Black Boar Arms on the Isle of Dogs marked the start of the ship building district of London. It had a permanent acrid smell of smoke, stale beer, unwashed bodies, and piss.

  In the back corner, two men, both dressed in cheap, shabby clothing like the rest of the patrons in the pub, sat hunched over their pints of ale seemingly disinterested in everyone and everything apart from their drinking. Despite this, their tankards emptied slowly. Not so slowly as to attract the notice of the two harried barmaids, but not so quickly as to make these two patrons drunk.

  Somewhere, as a clock struck the tenth hour of the evening, one of the men shifted in his seat.

  “Perhaps something has happened to him, James. Or perhaps he was warned off like you were…” Jackson remarked in a low voice to avoid being overheard.

  “Maybe,” muttered James into his tankard.

  Since arriving in England, Jackson had performed the role of valet to the Lord of Penventen assiduously and with all the deference the position entailed, at least in front of others. He even frowned if James lapsed before his mother into the informality with Jackson that he’d been used to in the United States. No wonder Lady Christina adored him, much to the annoyance of his employer.

  In reality, James Mitchell and Toby Jackson were two men as close as brothers, with Jackson having full authority as manager of James’ business interests.

  While the men were same age and build, there were differences. Where James had dark hair and eyes, Jackson’s hair was fair and his eyes blue. Jackson was American born and he missed the clean country air. London was loud, crowded, dirty and dank—only little better than the air in this pub—but he took his role as James’ friend and confidante seriously.

  Ten minutes later a rotund, grey-haired man entered and rolled up to the bar as if he’d been thrown out of his first three. His dress gave the impression of a gentleman who once had a fortune, but had lost it. The man slid a coin across the bar in exchange for a tankard and started looking for a spare seat. Veering across the room, he adroitly sidestepped other drunken patrons to avoid spilling his ale.

  At this, Jackson nudged James and inclined his head in the man’s direction.

  “The drunk is not a drunk.”

  James raised his eyes and watched as the man came closer to their table.

  “Seat taken?”

  And without waiting for the answer, the old man sat heavily across from them.

  “What news have you?” he asked without preamble.

  “Tell our friend that his suspicions are well founded,” murmured James. “We tracked a shipment of Exchequer gold to the Pandora that went aground in February.

  “But we won’t be able to confirm whether the cache has been dispersed in the locality or whether it has been moved on until we get to Cornwall. If it is being shipped as a single cargo, it narrows down the number of people who have cause and means.”

  The man snorted through a mouthful of ale. “That explains the interesting guests expected at Pitt’s Masquerade ball.”

  “Yes,” agreed James. “You can thank our friend for the guest list.” He took another sip from the glass. “That, and my business venture with William Rosewall gives me a good excuse to be seen places and ask questions.”

  “Can Rosewall be trusted?”

  James nodded almost imperceptibly. “I believe so, but I plan to get to know the family better.”

  The old man smirked. “Yes, so I believe,” he responded. He drained his beer and belched loudly.

  “Apparently Abigail is making everyone’s life a misery over it, so you’d better sort this quick before the woman thinks you’re serious about Rosewall’s sister. You do know Earl Canalissy’s son has taken a shine to her, don’t you?”

  James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Jackson hid a smile, but said nothing.

  The old man glanced from the young Lord to his friend and back. “If that’s all, I’ll leave you gentlemen tonight.”

  But before the man could rise, James snagged the arm of one of the passing barmaids and with a friendly leer, said, “’Ere darlin’, three more o‘em.” He slipped coins into her hand and slapped her on the bottom to send her on her way.

  When she had gone he turned to his contact.

  “Our mission’s been compromised.”

  The man’s eyes sharpened in concern and surprise, then impatience as the young Lord made him wait until after the arrival of the beer to tell the story of being followed and the message he’d been given.

  “Reynold is not a name I know,” said the man at last, “but I’ll ask around. Probably not the one pulling the strings.”

  James and Jackson both nodded in agreement. It was a conclusion they had already come to.

  The man looked thoughtful. “
Did the Rosewall girl buy your story?”

  “No, she’s too bright for that,” James admitted.

  “That’s not good,” the old man grunted. “Even if she couldn’t identify them, they’ve been keeping you under observation so they know who she is. If they suspect you’ve developed an attachment for the girl, they will use it against you.”

  James thought back to their kiss earlier that evening and wondered if they were being watched then. If so, there would be no doubt of his “attachment”.

  Oh Selina, he wondered, what had he gotten her into?

  * * *

  The couple were intertwined, the passion of their stolen kisses heightened by the urgency of their secret tryst. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy and her head tossed back to give her dark haired lover access to her neck.

  She clung to him as if this moment might be all that they would ever have.

  Night was closing in and the shadows in the landscape portended dread. With the last of the light, the wind had picked up, blowing a lock of softly curled hair away from the woman’s face, while the hem of her lover’s jacket reached towards her as if it wished to be part of the embrace.

  “Oh, Selina! It’s beautiful. I’m in love with them already,” her sister-in-law exclaimed. “I want the painting when you’re done. It will be a masterpiece!”

  The compliment might have been a little overdone, but even Selina had to concede that the canvas was one of her best.

  She had been up most of the night unable to sleep, reliving the day and James’ kiss many times before deciding rest was impossible, and reached for a couple of oil lamps and a sketch pad to capture what she felt.

  As the sun rose, Selina completed not only the sketch on which her new oil painting would be based, but also sketches of the faces of the two men who had accosted her and James. Those she kept hidden, along with the story of the afternoon’s drama.

  “There’s something compelling, almost tragic about them,” Sarah continued, “as though they were expecting her overly dutiful but lovingly heroic brother to chase him off with a sword.”

  Selina turned, bemused, but Sarah’s eyes twinkled in mischief.

  “You can tell me… before Will comes in, James did kiss you last night, didn’t he?”