Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

Christina watched Rosarn look at Aggie and both women looked terribly frightened of something. "What about?" Christina asked for Rosarn.

  "Didn't say, ma'am, but he called Chessy in too."

  Christina couldn't comprehend Rosarn's apprehension. "Do you want me to stand by you, Rosarn?"

  "No, no." Rosarn shook her head. "I didn't do anything. I know he'll understand." And with that, she left.

  "Understand what?" Christina asked Aggie as the door shut.

  "Oh dear. 'Tisn't my place to say. You must ask Rosarn herself." Then, almost apologetically, "Do you mind if I take leave now?"

  "No," Christina sighed softly. "I think I'll retire too." She looked down at her sixteen carefully created shades of black and gray and began sealing the paint. Aggie left quickly. It took half an hour just to seal the paints and put her things away. This was only because she moved so listlessly, like an aging and frail person who moved beneath the heavy weight of an unkind life—and this despite her resolve that all would be well again.

  Undressed and in her bedchambers, Christina began the arduous task of brushing out her hair while sitting at the vanity. Her door was open a crack, and from the hallway, she overheard the curious conversation between Aggie and Rosarn.

  "Well?" This was Aggie's hushed voice.

  "You wouldn't believe!" Rosarn cried in a whisper. "He thanked me! He said it meant a lot to him to have people like me working for him and he was so sincere too! Gave me a lift just listening to him. And look! Look what he gave me."

  "Oh my. A twenty-dollar gold piece!" Aggie said excitedly.

  "But that's not all. He told me to send my James to him."

  James, Christina knew, was Rosarn's oldest son.

  "Said he'd sponsor him as an apprentice either as crew on board one of his ships or as a printer. Whichever the boy wants. And all because I refused to do that man's bidding. I told Mr. Phillips what I had said to the man was all—that he could tell folks whatever he wanted about me. Everyone knows James was born well before the nine months after my wedding anyway and heavens! 'Tis such old news by now, can't think of a soul who'd care. Then, I told Mr. Phillips the rest. I said that no amount of money could convince me to turn on the good fortune of my master."

  "Ohhh! And what did Mr. Phillips say to that?"

  "He wanted me to tell him how much the man offered me and I did. Mr. Phillips laughed when I told him, I don't know why, and then, then—this is the best part, he promised to add the sum on to my wages spread over the next year! Chessy got the same too! Can you believe how generous he is..."

  The voices drifted down the stairs. With her brows drawn together, Christina tried to comprehend what she had just heard. Apparently Rosarn did something to earn Justin's gratitude. His very generous gratitude. And Chessy as well. She'd have to get the details tomorrow.

  Christina slipped beneath the thick covers on her bed. She would not think of those times anymore. She would not think of any of it anymore, she vowed unrealistically, and with a great upheaval of pillows and covers, she turned on her side.

  Perhaps because of her vow, she found herself staring at the lantern she always left on in the event of one of her awful nightmares. She had not suffered one in ever so long, not since leaving England and coming here, but just in case...

  Don't think of that, anything but that.

  The last thing she felt before dropping off to sleep was a small twinge of fear, The fear of a lizardlike alligator with unmerciful razor-sharp jaws.

  Late at night, working in his bedchambers, Justin signed his name to the letter to his father. It would leave with the first of his ships that would boldly break the embargo and sail to its fortune this week. Remembering Charles Paton and Christina, he added a postscript asking for the paints and canvases to return with the ship. Then he folded it into an envelope, poured the candle wax into his gold seal, and the envelope was properly sealed.

  He leaned back and poured himself a brandy, watching the wax dry. In the wrong hands, the letter could see him hanged. It contained the dates and places in which his father's men would meet each ship, along with rough approximations of what cargo to expect on each ship. Tomorrow he would see the letter to Jacob, the only person in the world he could trust with it, also—not coincidentally—the captain of the first run. Once dried, he rose to bring it downstairs to his study. If only he could carry the letter to England itself.

  He stopped halfway down the stairs.

  The letter might not be safe in his study. Rosarn and Chessy were obviously trustworthy but who knew what other servants those French idiots might approach? He cursed softly, thinking he ought to just shoot the bothersome bastards. He certainly had just cause but even that seemed more trouble than they were worth.

  Abruptly Justin decided to play it safe and carry the letter as well as the final log plans into town himself. At first light.

  He slipped the letter into the pocket of his loose black robe and turned back up the stairs. He stopped outside Christina's door and paused with indecision. Unable to resist, he quietly opened the door and stepped into her room.

  How many other countless times had he found himself like this? Standing over her bed to watch her sleep, using every ounce of control to stop himself from waking her, but still agonized by the ever-so-pleasant fantasy that she would wake on her own, find him there, and want him just half as much as he wanted her. How many times? A dozen? Fifty? A hundred?

  He chuckled lightly. How thoroughly lust took a man's sanity!

  Tonight her beauty was concealed from him. Only her head showed above the covers and she slept with her face turned into the pillow. As always before bed, she had pinned her hair into a loose pile on top of her head. She must have been sleeping restlessly, for long tendrils had already fallen and covered her face.

  What he did next made him think he had drunk one too many brandies. Expecting to find her in one of the nightgowns that teased him so, or perhaps one of his silk shirts, he lifted the covers from her. What he discovered was just so much worse.

  He just stared. She wore not a stitch of clothing; her beauty beckoned innocently. He felt his body's quick response. He quickly enumerated every bloody reason why he should not wake her. Not tonight, after the afternoon's misfortune, especially not tonight...

  And still he hesitated.

  Sensing a sudden loss of warmth, Christina stirred in her sleep. Stretching, she arched her back and turned over, seeking to find the warmth again. No temptress could have contrived a more seductive movement and Justin half groaned, and gently lowered the covers back. He was playing with fire. The right moment to leave had long passed.

  His hand touched the door handle when he heard a muted cry and he turned back unwillingly. She began tossing and turning, lost to the throes of some dream. He started to leave again, but her arms and legs started thrashing with what he suddenly knew was the desperate effort to get the creature off. She bolted up, as a scream broke through the nightmare and into the cold night.

  But this time he was there. Somehow, long before the reality of where she was could break through the terror, he was already there, knowing exactly what to do. He pulled her into his arms and lay back against the bed, holding her so tight it forced the thrashing to stop. So tight he would have sworn he was hurting her if experience hadn't taught him differently.

  She fell into choked gasps of relief. Then that voice, his voice and those words whispered softly against her ear. The terror melted, dissipating with his each breath, each gentle push of his hand through her hair, each swift beat of his heart. Until finally she could speak and she said what she always said: "Don't let me go."

  Justin knew his part. "Never."

  Time slipped into another sphere. She had no thoughts, but gradually, ever so gradually, she became aware of him. His hand still gently combed through her hair. She was enclosed in his arms, surrounded by his warmth. The ever-so-pleasant scent of him filled her—brandy, the faint aroma of candle wax, and ink, all blending with the c
lean masculine scent that was just him. His long length pressed against her so and—

  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Justin had been suffering a similar, though far more maddening, assault on his senses. Either he lowered her beneath him and took those lips or he was going to meet with the ice cold water of the lake. One or the other, and soon.

  "Christina," he whispered as his hand strayed behind her ear and lower, reluctantly stopping at her shoulder. He would not force her. "I can't comfort you any longer. Not without—I... I have to leave."

  "No. Please don't leave me."

  He searched her face to see if she understood what that meant. He found plenty of emotion in the soft gray eyes, none of it fear. "Say it. I want to hear you say it."

  "I love you," she whispered. "I want you to love me. Please."

  She did not have to ask twice.

  Justin's pleasure found no limits that night. He could not get enough of her, he wondered if he ever could. Soft morning light filled the room as—not for the first time—they lay spent in each other's arms and still he wanted her again.

  His lips brushed her forehead as his hands ran lovingly over her back. She brushed her face against his chest and closed her eyes, lost to that warm feeling of not being able to get close enough. The insatiable fuel of desire. "I love you," she said simply and again.

  He smiled and moved to find her lips. He would ride her again and again until she finally begged for release and then he'd let her sleep only to wake in his arms and start their love again.

  A soft rap sounded at the door.

  His lips left hers but briefly. "Go away."

  "Sorry, sir," Rosarn called through the closed door, her voice sounding muted and nervous both. " 'Tis your man, Jacob. Says it's urgent."

  Justin rose with soft curses. He found his robe on the floor beneath the headboard where it had once been flung. He lifted it and swung it over his shoulders. He was about to tell her he would be back in minutes when, just that quickly, he saw she was asleep. He smiled, kissed her lightly, and left the room.

  He met Jacob in his study and immediately perceived his friend's agitation. Jacob paced the floor, muttering to himself as he did so. He was so agitated he did not at first notice Justin. "Jacob, what is it?"

  Jacob stopped and looked up. "It's the entire crew of the Independence in the jailhouse, that's what!"

  "What?" Justin pulled the servant's bell to get some coffee.

  "Aye. The bloody fools got into some tither at the Boar's Inn where they were drinking last night. I've spent all night trying to get them out, but what with all the unemployed sailors since the embargo swarming the streets, fights breakin' out every hour, the magistrate decided to make an example of them."

  Justin immediately perceived the problem. The Independence was being loaded at the very moment in a hidden cove some twenty miles down the coast. Once loaded, the ship had to set sail; it could not sit around waiting to get caught.

  "Who's the magistrate?"

  "Judge Claighborne."

  "We're in luck." Justin smiled, remembering the man, remembering how he had been particularly enchanted by Christina at some or another dinner last week. "I'll run into town and speak with him."

  "Good, 'cause I offered to pay both damages and fines and still the old goat wouldn't budge. Well." He looked at Justin, still in a robe. "Time's a wastin'. We got to have them out by nightfall."

  "Yes. Right." He shook his head and chuckled, realizing he had left his thoughts upstairs. "I'll get dressed."

  "A fine idea!" Jacob nearly shouted.

  The two men left in haste within the half hour. They were halfway to town when Justin reached into his saddlebag for a water cask. The movement abruptly reminded him of another pocket, then his letter.

  He cursed out loud. Cursing was beginning to become a habit. It was simply not like him to forget, forget anything. He did not have to search long for his excuse; she lay sound asleep in an upstairs bedroom of his house, several miles back.

  "What's wrong?" Jacob asked.

  "I forgot my letter."

  "What letter?"

  "To my father."

  Jacob knew what this meant. He stopped his mount. "Want me to go back?"

  "No, it's probably safe, but when we get to town, I want you to put some men on those French agents. They're beginning to make me, ah, nervous."

  "Aye, probably wise," Jacob replied as he spurred his horse on. He would handle it himself. After all, the French agents had tried to get through Mr. Lowell and two house servants already. No telling who they'd try next.

  "Nothing serious," Justin decided. "Just have them watched so I know what moves they're making."

  A wry smile lifted on Jacob's tanned face. "You're going to set them up, aren't you?"

  "Might as well let them bury themselves and save us the trouble." He discussed his plan as they rode, and after finally settling on the details, Justin saw a gray dove suddenly lift from a tree as they passed. "Another thing," he said after slowing his mount.

  "Yes?"

  "It's time to forgive her. I want you to speak to Hanna."

  Jacob smiled and surprised Justin with "I already have. I left Hanna's note at the house."

  * * * * *

  Justin returned the next day at dawn and the first thing he did was climb the stairs to Christina's bedroom. An empty room greeted him. She was not there, nor were her things. Her closets had been emptied and her vanity cleared.

  A smile lifted through his confusion. He went to his bedchambers and, sure enough, looking small in the large bed and buried in the covers, there she slept. His son fitted happily in her arms.

  The sight quickened his heart and brought another smile. He placed a thick log into the fire to bite back the morning chill and then sat on the bed and, like so many times before, he contented himself to just watch them sleep.

  A sound sleeper but by no means a late sleeper, dawn awakened Christina as the soft click of his heavy black boots on the polished wood floor could not. She stirred, turned, and opened her eyes.

  "Justin! You're back!" and hardly expecting her reaction, he chuckled as she fell into his arms. It was predictable. He lay back against the bed, pulling her over him. Watching his gaze rake over her, she became conscious of how she must look. She arched her back to lift partially from him as she brushed a long lock of her tousled hair back, then tried to keep the thin string of her flimsy nightgown from falling off her shoulder. "Oh I look a sight," she began apologetically, but a sudden awareness of his quick arousal brought her lips to form a perfect "Oh!"

  Justin chuckled as his calloused hands toyed with the silk strings of a nightgown he'd see in hell. "You look a sight all right," he agreed, pulling a pin to have the long hair spill over his arms. His hands felt over her shoulders to the thrusts of her breasts beneath the gown. She bit her lip and held her breath, her eyes shining with excitement. The feel of her small body, still warm with sleep and somehow softer than he had imagined, made him sigh in sudden inexplicable frustration. He suddenly lay back to look at the ceiling, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm tired, Christina. Do me the favor of unbuttoning my shirt."

  "Oh." Understandably, confusion spread over her face. Exhaustion never stopped him before! He was hard with desire and she was acutely conscious of this. Consciousness somehow connected to her heart, its pace was racing.

  Trying to conceal her disappointment, she undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it out from his breeches, so lost to the display of chest, muscle, and bronzed skin, she failed to notice the telling laughter in his eyes.

  "My belt buckle and breeches please," he said with a convincing yawn, adding, "My breeches feel suddenly tight." She sat up on him and unfastened the thick black belt but paused with the buttons that would require intimate contact with his thriving, vital parts, parts that seemed disconnected from his intent or manner.

  "Would my wife deny me such small service?" he asked innocently enough.

 
; She shook her head and giggled.

  "Good. Then on with it, girl."

  The task caused him no small agony and she seemed to be taking her time about it, her laughter telling him he was creating a tease. He chuckled and reached out to lift the nightdress above her waist, immediately perceiving the convenient fact she wore nothing beneath. "This is bothering me," he said and tugged once at the nightdress, freeing her breasts.

  He pulled her back over his long length while her hands braced on his shoulders. The arresting position brought excited giggles, giggles interrupted by small gasps as his hands wasted no time in exploring the objects of his fascination.

  "It occurs to me I've neglected your education."

  "Oh?" She gasped again as his mouth teased where his hands had just left. Those hands finally wandered to her buttocks, where he began moving her back and forth.

  "I've not taught you to mount or ride yet, have I?" She could not now reply, though the rosy flush told him he was on the right path, and he chuckled as he slipped his shaft into the moist recess awaiting him.

  "Ah you've handled the mounting like a trouper," he told her. "Let's see about the riding. One starts slow." His hand on her hips determined the pace. Her eyes widened and a giggle escaped from the hot passion quickly overwhelming her. "Quiet," he warned in a husky whisper, "our son would ruin this lesson."

  She could not stop laughing though, even as his hot length fanned heated fires through her.

  "Where was I?" he asked after fighting a pleasurable battle for some control.

  "The pace!" she reminded him in an excited though hushed whisper.

  "Ah yes, the pace! A good rider will gradually increase his mount's pace. Should I demonstrate?"

  "Please!"

  The point was made as Justin, using his impressive expertise, brought the lesson to a wondrous climax for both of them. When she finally fell on top of him, dazed and exhausted, she could only wonder at him. She had laughed many times before and many times after but never during his lovemaking. The thought made her giggle again and the sound was as happy and sweet as the warm afterglow that surrounded them.