Bewitching Kissing

by Rainy Kirkland

  Sarah shook her head, but refused to meet his gaze. She’d not give him the satisfaction of knowing her heart was being torn asunder. “I’ve never wanted the land, and its ownership has caused me nothing but heartache.” She managed to keep her voice calm and sure. “My stepbrother Samuel covets that ground and so I’ve come to the conclusion it must be his. He and Elizabeth will put it to good use.” For several moments she remained silent, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “Samuel has never come right out and asked me, you realize, but in my heart I know this will bring him peace.”

  “That land was meant as a gift for your husband,” Nick argued, uneasy with the quiet determination of her voice.

  “That is not to be.”

  “You could still take a husband.” Nick leaned forward. “Remember, I promised to settle five hundred pounds on you when I return you to your home.”

  “I can’t take your money.” Her eyes grew dark from the insult of his words. Did he really think his coin could ease the burden of their parting?

  Nick smiled. “But you must. It is the answer to your needs, and I would think a very tempting dowry indeed.” He watched her delicate brow arch in dispute. “Just consider it a gift,” he added quickly. “A gift from me to you for services rendered.”

  Sarah felt the pain of his words slice through her like a cut that for a heartbeat refuses to bleed. He considered her a harlot, a woman with no pride, someone to be paid for her favors.

  “Surely,” Nick continued, “there is some gentleman who you would consider.”

  Sarah shook her head, determined he would never know the source of her pain. “There was a man once . . .” Her words were soft and strained. “I imagined myself his wife and cared for him greatly in my mind . . . but he did not return my feelings.” She looked up and found Nick’s eyes cold and angry. Not understanding why, she shrugged her shoulders and then stared down at her hands. “I could never be married and know that my heart would always belong to another.”

  Nick frowned at her quiet stance. Had she been thinking of someone else when their lips had met? Had she allowed his caress so she could pretend it belonged to another? He looked down at his plate and had the sudden wish to throw it, food and all, into the river.

  “Mr. Beaumont,” her voice stammered.

  “Nick!” he shouted. “Why do you find it so impossible to say my name? It’s Nick!”

  Sarah felt the tremors that had lingered just under the surface begin to rise again. “Nick . . .” she hesitated. “How long does a picnic have to last?”

  He jerked to his feet with angry motions. “If you’re finished,” he gestured to her full plate, “we could go back now.”

  Sarah nodded gratefully and, dumping the food Mrs. Hempsted had so carefully prepared, handed back the empty plate. With quick, efficient motions Nick repacked the hamper. The blanket was clenched into a bundle against his chest and he motioned her to the carriage.

  Sarah struggled to maintain her composure. He can’t wait to be rid of me, she thought, watching him carelessly toss the blanket into the back of the carriage. He can’t wait to get home and have me off his hands.

  They rode in stormy silence and with each rock of the carriage Sarah felt shame wash over her in huge, consuming waves. No wonder he thinks of me as a harlot. She struggled not to cry. I played the part well. But the worst, she realized as Nick left her at his grandmother’s front door, was that given the chance, she’d let him do it again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Irate that the picnic had not produced the desired results, Agatha stewed in her bed. She had questioned Sarah at length but had learned nothing. The girl would go on forever with descriptions of southern wildflowers and then conclude that the afternoon had been most wonderful. But to Agatha any fool with one good eye could see that Sarah was miserable. Her face no longer sparkled when Nick’s name was mentioned. And as the afternoon drew to a close each day, Agatha watched Sarah watch the clock. Always, just before Nick was due to arrive, she would suddenly remember some urgent task and beg her leave.

  Agatha folded her arms across her flat chest. They think that because my legs don’t work I’m a senile old woman, she grumbled. Well, there’s more than one way to gain information.

  Mrs. Hempsted was only too happy to vent her frustration that none of her good food had been touched. “What’s wrong with those two young people?” she demanded of Agatha. “The weather was perfect, they had a feast fit for a king, yet they come high-tailing back home before a body even realizes they’re gone? I tell you, Mrs. Beaumont. In our day, you wouldn’t find two youngsters that didn’t know what to do with an afternoon of privacy and a basket of good food.” Giving a huff and muttering about how youth was wasted on the young, the cook left the bedroom.

  As Agatha assimilated this new information her determination intensified. “Luther!” Her bellow belied the fragile body that emitted it. Within moments the butler was standing at the foot of her bed. “I want you to fetch Michael Danvers for me.”

  “Again, Miss Agatha?” Luther shifted nervously. “Miss Agatha, you know that man ain’t no good.”

  Agatha narrowed her eyes and set her jaw. “Luther, everyone is good for something. You go and see Michael Danvers. Tell him to call on me tomorrow, and to be here before noon.”

  Luther shook his head, but he’s been with Miss Agatha too long to miss the steely determination in her eye. He’d do what she asked, like it or not, but he was going to keep a close watch on the man.

  * * *

  Sarah paced near the side of the house and waited for Nick to finish with his grandmother. Her heart raced within her chest and her nerves urged her to flee, but she was determined to see it through. ‘Tis not fair to Mrs. Beaumont, she concluded. I am the cause and I must take the responsibility.

  She heard the door open, then Nick was standing on the top step. Clad completely in black, with tight breeches and a long, fitted coat, the image he presented took her breath away. For a long moment she could only stare as he spoke with Luther, then the door closed and he was bounding down the steps to his horse. It would have been so easy not to move, hidden as she was by a massive juniper bush, but as Nick turned his horse to go, Sarah stepped forward and called his name.

  Nick smiled, delighting in the sight of her as she rounded the bush. But his smile faded with the memory of how carefully she had avoided him during the past week.

  His black stallion sidestepped nervously as Sarah approached and Nick tightened the rein. “Well, to what do I owe this honor?” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable and Sarah felt her legs begin to tremble.

  Gathering the last of her shredded pride, she stepped closer to the imposing horse. “I wish to apologize to you.” She took a deep breath and looked directly into Nick’s dark-sapphire eyes.

  He quirked a brow. “Really? For what?”

  She had known it wouldn’t be easy, but then things of value rarely were. Squaring her shoulders, she refused to lower her gaze. “My behavior on the day of our picnic was inexcusable. I was forward and wanton. For that I humbly beg your pardon.”

  Weary of their game of cat and mouse, Nick looked up toward the gathering clouds and wondered if he would ever come to understand her. He was tired, tired of trying to replace her face in his thoughts with that of another, tired of trying to find the taste of her on the lips of other. Feeling far older than his years, Nick swung down from the saddle.

  For a long, silent moment he stared. Like a man too long without water he let his senses drink in the sight of her. The midnight hair, porcelain skin, even the smudges under her eyes. He reached out with his thumb to gently caress the discolored skin.

  “Did I cause this?” he whispered, bringing his lips down to touch her brow. “For if your lack of sleep is over me, then ‘tis I who must beg pardon.”

  “But I . . .”

  Nick placed his finger across her lips. “I did the unforgivable,” he said gently. “You are so enchanting that for a space of
time, I actually forgot who you were.”

  Sarah stepped back as the pain of his words sliced through her. “I see.” She struggled to keep her voice calm and, determined to say her piece, she held her ground. “Regardless of your thoughts of me, I implore you not to forget your grandmother.”

  This time Nick stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

  Sarah took a deep breath, refusing to be cowed by his towering form. “Before our . . .” she stammered, unsure of what to call their fiasco, “before . . . you came to see Mrs. Beaumont every day.”

  Nick placed his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “And?”

  “And since that afternoon, you’ve only been to see your grandmother three times.” Cautiously, she placed her hand on his arm. “She misses you desperately when you don’t come, Mr. Beaumont. Please don’t let the embarrassment I’ve created cause you to forgo your visits.”

  Impatiently, Nick’s boot began to tap on the lowest step. “Has my grandmother put this ridiculous notion in your head or did you manage to discover it all by yourself?”

  Sarah drew herself erect. She’d made her apology, but she wasn’t going to let him throw it back in her face. He had been just as eager on that blanket as she herself. “I’m simply asking you not to let my presence influence your visits to your grandmother.”

  Nick laughed out loud, caught her close in a fierce hug, and swung her about in a circle. Still laughing, he put her on the step so they stood almost eye to eye. “First,” he brushed his fingertips over her cheek, “you did nothing wrong at the picnic. I took advantage of your gentle nature, and that was unforgivable. Second,” again he touched his finger to her lips, “I’ve had urgent business in Jamestown this week.” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a long, appraising stare. “Did you really think that I had stayed away because of you?”

  Sarah blushed to the roots of her hair. “I wasn’t sure,” she stammered, wishing she understood his moods better. “You were so angry on our return.”

  He tied his horse back to the post, then turned and extended his hand. “Walk with me.” Sarah reached for his hand without a second thought and let Nick direct her around the side of the house toward the winding paths that led to the gardens. For a long while they walked in silence, but when he turned toward the maze, Sarah hesitated.

  Nick stopped at the entrance. “You’ve never been inside before.” His voice was warm and coaxing. “There is a fountain at the center I’d like you to see.”

  Still, Sarah hung back. “I’ve seen it from the parlor window. It’s lovely, but I think I should return to Mrs. Beaumont.”

  “Nonsense,” Nick gave her an impatient look. “My grandmother has you all the time. Grant me these few more minutes. I would speak with you about something of importance and wish to do so in private.”

  “Then we should go back into the house.” Sarah tried to turn, but Nick refused to release her hand.

  “Are you afraid of the hedge?” he asked with sudden insight.

  Sarah looked up at the green wall of leaves that towered over her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why should I be afraid of a bush?” She reached out and rubbed one of the waxy leaves between her fingers.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Her eyes darted to his face. The gentle understanding that radiated from his smile wrapped her in warmth.

  Nick’s smile bloomed fully. “You have nothing to fear,” he said gently. “I’ve played in this maze since I was a child and could walk its paths blindfolded. Won’t you come with me?”

  Sarah could only nod. The heat that ran from his hand into hers had traveled straight to her heart. And as they started off into the maze there was no longer any hesitation to her step.

  When they reached the center, Sarah was delighted to find the fountain was even grander than it appeared from the window.

  “This has always been a special place for me.” Nick dropped her hand and moved to sit on the structure’s outer stone ring. “After my parents died and I came here to live, Gran and I had more than our share of unpleasant moments.” He looked around at the walls of green that surrounded them. “I used to run away and hide here.” A fleeting smile crossed his lips. “I used to imagine Gran would think I had been captured by a press gang in search of able-bodied seamen to complete their crew. I would be gone and then she’d be sorry. Other times I’d pretend I’d run away with a fierce band of pirates.” Glancing to the ground, he spied a branch to his liking and within a blink had scooped it up, stripped it clean, and leaped to the fountain’s edge. Removing his coat, he tossed it in her direction. “En garde,” he challenged.

  Amazed by his agile moves and playful stance, Sarah caught the garment and laughed aloud. “You do cut a dashing image, but why-ever would you want to be a pirate? Are they not evil creatures who steal?”

  Nick hopped down from the fountain to stand before her. “Where is your imagination? I would have been brave and strong and only a little wicked.” He gave her a lecherous grin.

  Sarah studied him carefully. His breeches fit like a second skin and his waistcoat hugged his lean middle. His shoulders were wide, his muscles obvious, and his smile had turned more than a little tempting.

  “Is it possible for a pirate to be good?” She smiled up at him. “I would have thought that if you weren’t completely evil, then you wouldn’t be a true pirate.”

  Nick flopped down on the bench next to her. “Have you no imagination at all?” he challenged. “Did you never play as a child?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m sure I must have, but there was always so much to do.”

  “Surely in your leisure time you did something.”

  Sarah gave a faint smile. “Mr. Beaumont . . .” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Nick,” she corrected. “I have had more leisure time since I’ve been in Virginia than I have had in my entire life.”

  Nick thought of the countless hours she spent tending to his grandmother and wondered how that could possibly be true. He watched shadows briefly cloud her eyes and knew she thought of her family. Determined to return her good mood, he glanced about and spied what he needed. Placing the stick firmly in her hand, he pulled her to her feet and then was off to pluck another weapon from the ground. Again, he hopped up to balance on the edge of the fountain.

  “I’ve had enough of your insolence, wench,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “And when I’ve finished with you, you’re going to walk the plank.”

  Sarah, stick dangling limply from her hand, laughed again. But her laughter stopped abruptly as Nick advanced one measured step at a time. She felt her heartbeat quicken. “What am I to do?” she asked. Unable to stand the intensity of his stare, she began to edge away.

  “Defend yourself, you land lover.”

  Sarah looked from Nick’s menacing form to the branch in her hand and back again as her violet eyes grew round. “You want me to hit you with a stick?”

  Tis a well-honed sword, m’lady, and you’d better learn how to use it or you’re going to become my prisoner.”

  Growing more nervous by the moment, Sarah continued to retreat step for step as Nick advanced. Suddenly she looked past his shoulder and her eyes filled with fear. “Mr. Beaumont." she cried. “Quick, behind you.”

  Responding to the panic in her voice, Nick spun about with his branch at the ready only to face a wall of green. Nothing was there. Stunned, he turned back to see a glimpse of Sarah’s skirts as she darted into the maze. A deep smile touched his lips. “You’ll never best me,” he called. And when I capture you, there’ll be a stiff penance to pay.” Then with a leap, he, too, was off into the maze.

  From her chair beside the upstairs parlor window, Agatha watched their game for only a moment before turning back to her guest.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Danvers,” she said sharply. “But when I give instructions, I expect you to arrive at the appointed time.”

  Danvers shifted to the edge of his seat.
“But Mrs. Beaumont . . .”

  Agatha silenced him with a glare. “Don’t make me lose my patience, young man,” she cautioned.

  “No, madam,” Danvers stammered, hating the very sight of her. How dare she speak to him like some errant child. He was an attorney!

  “Now, do you understand what I require of you this time?” she pressed.

  “Yes, madam, as you wish, Mrs. Beaumont.” Danvers nodded his head and swallowed bitterly. He needed the money and the old hag knew it.

  “Good, now leave quickly. And Danvers . . .” she proclaimed as he reached the door. “Don’t ever think you can outwit me.”

  Michael Danvers wiped the perspiration from his face with a stained handkerchief as he descended the wide staircase. Since word had gotten about that he was no longer employed by Beaumont Shipping, he had lost his three largest clients. Angrily, he shoved the cloth into his pocket. Did the old woman think that he was so hard on his luck that he’d be grateful to become her lackey? Ignoring Luther, he stormed out the front door. The old hag might pay well, but since she wouldn’t allow him to say that he worked for her, he still couldn’t regain his former standing.

  Jerking his reins from the post, Danvers yanked his horse closer to the step. Nick’s black stallion tossed back his head and whinnied. Danvers paused. Beaumont was still on the property. Maybe he’d just stay long enough to let the man see him. He chuckled to himself. That would certainly give Mrs. Beaumont something to explain. But even as the idea came, Danvers looked back to see Luther standing on the porch. His burly arms were folded across his wide chest and his scowl was more than threatening.

  “You have a good day, Mr. Danvers,” the servant called.

  Danvers swallowed hard. Don’t do anything rush, he counseled himself silently. Your time and place will come. Just be patient.

  He tried to mount, but the horse, sensing its rider’s nerves, shied and sidestepped. Danvers muttered under his breath and yanked the horse close again. Again he missed. Sweat dripped from his pale face as he swore in humiliation, for he was sure he could hear Luther’s low chuckle from the step. Finally he managed to mount and, giving the horse a vicious crack with his crop, they were gone.