“Do excuse me,” Christina replied, whispering despite her best attempts to speak with confidence. “I— I simply—” Compose yourself, Christina. She straightened her shoulders as she strengthened her voice. “I needed to speak with you. To tell you how horribly you behaved yourself when you hit me on the path. However….”
He stepped closer until he was standing but a foot from her, and Christina could not bring herself to look up into his face, feeling herself begin to tremble. She clenched her hands together to stop.
“You witnessed that?” The gentleman asked, calmer now, still looking down at her. Christina was a tall woman, but this man towered above her. “It is not what you think, my lady. We had a gentleman’s quarrel, but of a very serious nature.”
Christina swallowed hard, wishing he would leave. “I am sure it is none of my business.”
“Then why did you not go inside?”
Christina felt her skin prickle with tension, her throat working hard as she battled to keep her composure. “As I said, I needed to speak with you, and was … shocked by what I saw.”
She refused to tell him that part of the reason was that her limbs were too weak to move, and her fingers tightened together as she fought to remain calm.
“Then allow me to now escort you back inside.”
“No!”
She jerked away from him as he bent down, resisting his touch. She had stayed far enough in the dark that she hoped he hadn’t seen her face, that she wouldn’t have to admit knowing him were she to ever see him again.
“Please,” he said, firmly, his face now just as swathed in shadow. “You cannot stay here alone.”
“I will do as I please,” Christina replied, her voice now hoarse and rasping. “I have no need for your company.”
To her horror, the gentleman suddenly grasped her arm tightly and, despite her unwillingness, she found herself walking alongside him, over the path and away from it.
“Be silent, please,” he whispered, as he led her into the deeper shadows of the trees surrounding the path, hiding them both entirely. “You must not say a word.”
Christina fought her fear, her eyes wide as he pressed her back against the trunk of a very large tree, her breathing now ragged. She could sense that his face was but inches from hers now as he held close.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised, as a small whimper left her lips. “I just cannot allow you — nor I, for that matter — to be seen.”
“And why is that?” Christina whispered, her hands tightening together again as he stepped back slightly now, leaving only one hand on her arm. “Because you do not want the ton to know that you are a cruel man with a penchant for dealing out punishment where there has been no crime?”
He growled, his hand tightening on her arm, and Christina flinched as though he might strike her.
“I have done nothing wrong,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder than a whisper. “That gentleman has got only the very first taste of what I have planned. He deserves far worse.”
Christina swallowed hard, feeling tears prick at her eyes as she tried her best to understand what this man was saying. “What has he done to deserve this?” she whispered, feeling the bark of the tree rub against her skin. “Stolen a lady from under your nose? Beaten you at cards one too many times?” Her tone became mocking, as her fear was replaced by anger at the way he was treating her, and her eyes filled with the memory of what she had seen. “A gentleman’s quarrel, I believe you said.”
Strong hands grasped her shoulders, and she flinched as he held her firmly.
“Do not mock me,” he commanded, and she felt the puff of air brush across her cheek. She smelled the mixture of sweetness and spice that was likely port on his breath. “And do not speak of what you do not know. That man took a life.”
She froze for a moment, looking up at the shadowy figure who held her. She gasped suddenly as his face came into focus, the intensity of his crystal blue eyes bearing off into the distance. She studied him intently and found she was trapped now not by his arms, nor his body, but by the haunted look she saw in his eyes. Her attention was snapped, however, when she saw figures moving near them on the path, and she opened her mouth to call out to them for help.
And then, out of nowhere, before she could make a sound, his lips were on hers, catching her cry in his mouth. She was shocked by the softness of his kiss, so unlike the hardness of his face. Initially, it was apparent that he simply pressed his mouth to hers to keep her silent, but then, somehow, it all changed.
Christina did not know how it happened, or what to do once it did.
Her body was reacting in a way she’d never expected. It was growing warm, the icy fear beginning to fade away as she was kissed by a stranger, by the very man she’d been trying to escape from.
His lips were firm yet gentle, his arms coming around her waist as he pulled her tightly against him. She could feel the hard planes of his body as they pressed against the softness of hers, and she wondered at the fire beginning to burn deep within her. She had never been kissed before, had not entirely known what to expect, but this was far more than she could have ever imagined.
His tongue brushed against her lips, and she jumped, startled by the intimate intrusion. She should push him away, but instead, her body acted of its own will, her mouth opening up to his probing, allowing him inside. A whimper slipped out, only this time with passion as his tongue swept over hers, exploring, teasing. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and she found herself clinging to his shoulders, pulling him in, wanting more of the forbidden fruit.
And then, just as quickly, she was standing on her own again, the stranger now a little away from her, having ripped their lips apart. She sagged back against the tree in order to remain upright, as she could hardly seem to stand for a moment. Her heart pounded a staccato beat.
“They’re gone now,” he said, with just a curl of distaste touching his words. “You can go.”
Christina remained rooted against the tree, realizing what he’d done. He’d kissed her so that she wouldn’t draw attention to them. There had been others walking nearby that he’d heard and, to silence her, he’d done the only thing he could — covered her lips with his own. She had not only allowed it, but she had welcomed it, had asked for more from him.
Shame leeched into her pores as she stumbled away from him, making her way through the gray darkness back to the path, hurrying up toward the house, patting at her hair and her clothing as she went to ensure all was in order.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the gentleman had followed her, although he now stood entirely motionless as she continued on her way. He cut an imposing figure, and she could still see his square jaw jutting out as he watched her go with something like frustration in his gaze.
She turned away, not caring who saw her as she climbed the steps and entered the ballroom once more.
“Christina!”
Lady Beatrice grasped her arm at once, pulling her away from the rest of the crowd to the side of the dance floor.
“I’ve been waiting for you for an age!” Lady Beatrice exclaimed as Christina tried her best to appear as though nothing had disconcerted her. “Are you quite all right?”
“Quite,” Christina replied, in a voice she realized didn’t quite match the false smile she plastered on her face. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Lady Beatrice frowned as they walked, leading Christina toward a few empty chairs near one side of the ballroom. “Sit down, please. Are you sure you are all right? You look very pale.”
Christina shrugged. “I should have listened to you. Being alone in the dark with a less than amiable gentleman was not my wisest idea.”
Lady Beatrice gasped at Christina’s admission, her blue-green eyes wide as could be. Christina tried to smile at her. Beatrice seemed to truly care about her well-being, despite the fact they had only recently become acquainted. “Never say he was rude to you
!” she exclaimed.
Still feeling the imprint of his lips upon hers, Christina froze the half-smile on her face. “More than rude,” she replied, softly. “Needless to say, I shall be very glad to never see him again.”
7
It took Christina a good hour to feel more like herself, although she did not say anything further of the encounter to Lady Beatrice. It was not worth speaking out loud, she thought, aware that she would be bringing as much shame onto herself as onto the gentleman who had placed his mouth on hers.
She should never have gone to speak with him alone. Lady Beatrice had tried to warn her but she had been so angry with how he’d treated her that she’d ignored the good advice entirely.
Thank goodness no one had seen them in the gardens, for that would have made things all the more difficult for her, particularly since she was supposed to be nearly engaged. Her stomach dropped to her toes at the thought of what might have happened should they have been discovered, and a sheen of sweat broke out on her brow.
“I think your father is approaching, Christina,” Lady Beatrice whispered, passing her a delicate lace handkerchief. “Dab your forehead and try to smile. He does look somewhat fierce.”
Christina accepted the handkerchief and did as her friend instructed, although not for the reasons Lady Beatrice thought. “My father always looks that way, Lady Beatrice, but thank you. Do excuse me.”
She rose to her feet and made her way toward her father, fully aware of what was to come. She had not spoken to Lady Beatrice about her engagement since it was not yet meant to reach the ears of the ton. She enjoyed Beatrice’s company, but she couldn’t be sure yet if she could trust her to keep such things to herself.
Now it seemed, she was to meet her betrothed for the first time. They would greet one another, talk for a few minutes, dance together, and then be on their way. It would not be overwhelming; her father had promised. She would have time afterward to consider all that had happened, to think about the gentleman before their next meeting the following evening at dinner. It sounded so simple, but this was truly monumental.
“You actually look quite nice this evening, my dear,” the marquess boomed, as he offered her his arm. “We have a small room to the left, away from the other guests. Best to do this sort of thing quietly, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Father,” Christina replied, automatically.
“This way.”
He led her through one door which opened to a long corridor, walking down it quickly as the sound of voices reached her ears. Christina’s nerves jangled as they rounded the corner, only to see an older, distinguished couple standing there waiting. The gentleman was somewhat portly and had a rather jovial look about him, while the woman maintained a regal air, her dark locks streaked with a bit of gray, yet her beauty holding firm.
“Ah, your grace,” her father said at once, giving the gentleman a small bow. “How good to see you.” He led Christina forward, dropped her arm, and stretched his out toward her as if presenting a gift. “This is my daughter, Lady Christina Jamieson. Christina, this is the Duke and Duchess of Ware.”
Christina executed the perfect curtsy, despite the hammering of her heart. “How very nice to meet you both,” she said quietly, lifting her head and then, finally, her eyes toward them. They were both smiling at her, their faces kind. The Duke of Ware appeared to be the same age as her father and, while Christina knew her father had been friends with the duke for a long time, she had never met him before and he did not appear as she had pictured him. There was no arrogance written on his face, no lift of his chin as his gaze looked her up and down. Instead, his eyes were kind, and he wore a gentle smile on his face as he took his wife’s arm. The Duchess also made Christina feel at ease, her face holding nothing but sweetness. Despite her age, she seemed to exude youthfulness, her blue eyes bright as a warm smile settled on her face. What was it about those eyes that seemed so familiar?
“How very good to meet you at last, Lady Christina,” the Duchess said, kindly. “My goodness, it seems my husband is able to make a good decision after all! I should not have doubted you, my love,” she continued, glancing over at her husband before turning back to Christina. “You, young lady, are the picture of perfection.”
Not quite sure whether to be embarrassed or complimented, Christina chose to remain silent, her eyes flicking from one person to the next as she her cheeks warmed.
“Our son will be here to meet you in but a few moments. He is quite … eager,” the duke continued quietly. “Just in here, my dear. We thought to allow you a few minutes alone so that there is no awkwardness.”
“It is always strange to be introduced to one’s betrothed in the company of others,” the Duchess replied, with a quiet laugh. “I remember it well.”
Christina, feeling as though her limbs had turned to blocks of wood, thanked them all and stepped through the open door. She took a few steadying breaths and then chose to sit in a mahogany elbow chair facing the door, her back straight as she worked to maintain her composure. This was not what she had expected but perhaps it was for the best. To meet one’s future husband in front of her father and his parents would have, indeed, been somewhat awkward.
She did not have time to think any longer, for another voice joined the others, snaking in through the open door toward her.
Christina felt her breath catch, her mind scrambling to place the voice as she stood and took a step toward the door in order to hear better. She knew it already. How was that possible? Had she met the duke’s heir before?
“In here, Ravenhall,” she heard the duke say. “Just a few minutes, mind you.”
Christina lowered her head and curtsied the moment the door closed tightly, hardly daring to look up. When she did so, she saw standing before her a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman with a shock of chestnut hair and a slight curl to his lips, as though he were amused by the situation.
The gentleman in the garden.
“Lady Christina,” he said, bowing before coming toward her. “How good to meet you.”
She could not say anything, half falling back into her seat as he came toward her. She saw the flicker of a frown on his brow, as he stared at her now in confusion as he drew near.
“You,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt to keep herself calm. “It cannot be you.”
He frowned, taking the seat opposite, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “What do you mean, Lady Christina? Have we met before?”
For a moment, doubts assailed her. Perhaps she had been wrong to think that it was the same man. Perhaps, in the darkness of the gardens, she had made a mistake.
But if his crystal blue eyes were not memorable enough, his hands were. Her gaze fell to the bloodied, bruised knuckles he’d sustained from punching the other gentleman full in the face — and her whole world collapsed. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing the truth away.
“Lady Christina,” Lord Ravenhall said again, sounding a little frustrated. “Whatever is the matter? This is not what I expected from our first meeting. My father assured me that you were a well-bred woman who was more than interested in becoming a future duchess.”
A burst of anger forced her eyes open, and she saw her glare surprised him. She knew she should be upset that she was now betrothed to a violent man. She should be shocked at his behavior. But that was not what caused her blood to boil now.
“This is not our first meeting,” she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and upset. “Have you already forgotten how you kissed me in the gardens only an hour ago? Is it that you have been with so many women that one more was nothing to you? Or is it that I am so forgettable you hardly noticed me at all?”
She watched as his eyes widened, the irritation disappearing from his features almost at once. His skin paled, his blue eyes filling with shock.
“I am sorry, Lord Ravenhall, but there will be no courtship, no betrothal, no marriage,” Christina continued, her arms
slowly loosening about her waist as she drew in a few deep breaths. “I cannot, Lord Ravenhall, not after what I have seen. Not with you being the kind of man I know you to be.”
He did not say anything for a long time, and Christina found she could not hold his stare any longer and turned her eyes away.
“I am afraid you must.” His words were hard and sharp, piercing her very soul. “Your father will insist upon it.”
She swallowed hard, knowing that he spoke the truth yet hoping desperately that, should she explain her reluctance to her father, he would allow her the opportunity to step back from the engagement.
“I can make up my own mind, Lord Ravenhall,” she lied, turning back to face him as a strength she did not know she had begun to weave its way through her. “Our betrothal is not yet official, and I have no intention of making it so.” She shook her head, her heart bursting with a sudden, fierce determination to protect herself. “I will not marry a gentleman such as you.”
A small groan escaped him, and Christina glanced over to find him running one hand through his hair, sitting back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. She felt no sympathy for him, her mind firmly fixed in her decision. He had brought this upon himself.
“Lady Christina, that was not the best first impression I could have made, I realize that,” he said in a firm voice, and she snorted a bit at the understatement. “But what you saw — that is not the kind of gentleman I am. I do not go around threatening other gentlemen, nor kissing ladies without their consent.”
“And I am to just believe this?” Christina exclaimed as he looked back at her steadily. She gave a skeptical laugh. “Words mean only so much, Lord Ravenhall. Actions tell all.”
He got to his feet and paced the length of the room and back, stopping in front of her. “You know nothing of my situation, of what caused the quarrel between me and Lord Northcliffe. Do not dare question my character, Lady Christina, when you know nothing at all about me.”
Promise of Redemption Page 6
