The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2)

by Amalie Vantana

  He stepped closer, and his large palms wrapped around my arms. “I want you to leave with me now. Marry me.” He pulled me against him, his lips crushing mine painfully.

  I pushed against his chest, and when that did nothing but make him roughen his kiss, I kicked his shin. His mouth released mine, and I slapped his cheek as hard as I could. It sent his head to the side.

  “You chose what you wanted to believe, and now you must accept the consequences.”

  His hand was on his cheek as he stared at me a moment before stalking toward the house. When he reached the terrace, he turned back toward me.

  “I will deny any mention of what has occurred.”

  Disgust strengthened my tone as I said, “You need have no fear. I do not choose to slander your name.”

  Andrew went back into the house. When he was out of my view, I doubled over but not from the pain of heart ache. In relief.

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up my throat and out of my mouth. Since it was laugh or cry angry, disgusted tears, I laughed. I was well rid of him. My hands and legs were shaking, but I made it back to the stone bench, sitting before my legs gave out.

  My heart and dreams had been set on his delivering me from the life of a Phantom, but finally, I understood. I did not require deliverance. I could not wrap my dreams on someone else. Freedom had always been mine, but I had not been able to see it, because it was not bundled the way I thought it should be.

  Half an hour passed before anyone else came to find me. I saw Sam the moment he stepped through the window, but I did not call out to him. There was no need. He knew where I was.

  When he reached me I moved over so he could sit. My anger was no longer as strong, but the pain, well I was not sure it would ever leave me.

  We each leaned against the brick wall neither speaking. My arm was against his, and the soft fabric of his coat against my skin sent warmth into me. We stayed silent for a few minutes, until I could take it no longer.

  “How could you? You knew about Andrew—the scandal—so how could you place me in such a...predicament?”

  “Is it so horrendous a fate?” he asked softly.

  Tears filled my eyes and slowly fell, but he could not see them, could not see how much he had hurt me. “Scandal is one of the worst fates that can befall a woman in our society.”

  Sam leaned forward, trying to look at my face. “Though that is not what I meant, Bess, no man of honor would call off an engagement,” he paused, then said, “not that I would know what a man of honor looks like.”

  “You have more honor in your smallest finger than any other man in that ballroom, Samuel Mason, and please forgive me for saying otherwise,” I replied, feeling warring emotions. He should not have said what he had in the ballroom, but I understood what had compelled him to do so.

  Sam leaned back, but his head was still facing me. “Do you still love him?”

  “I was never in love with Andrew. I saw him as my way out of the Phantoms, and since I respected him, I thought we could have a tolerable life together.”

  His gloved fingers slipped under my chin, and he raised my face until I was looking at him. “You deserve so much more than ‘tolerable,’ Bess. Which returns me to our...predicament.”

  My breathing stilled, before rushing forward. “What do you propose we do?” There was no malice, no contempt in either my words or my emotions. A ridiculous part of my heart and mind wished that it were true that we did belong to each other, so it was with an aching head and heart that I waited for his reply.

  “We do nothing yet. It is my earnest wish that you will allow the idea to ruminate for the time being. Once we have dealt with the Holy Order, we will discuss the subject again.”

  The moon had burst through the clouds and was shining down on us, illuminating us as if we were actors on a stage. His gloved hand cupped my jaw, his thumb rubbing circles on my cheek. My breath caught in my throat; desire held me hostage, demanding me to do something as payment, something I had never done before.

  Before I could reconsider the forward action, I pressed my lips against his. My cheeks burned from embarrassment, but I held my mouth against his, waiting, hoping that he would not push me away. I needed him to kiss me back.

  His other hand came up to hold my face and his mouth pressed hard against mine; his lips parted, parting mine with them. His kisses were masterful, filled with desire that sent a thrill of want through me. My arms moved until they were wrapped around his neck. I allowed my fingers to delve deep into his curls. It was something I had wanted to do since the first time he kissed me, nearly nine months ago.

  A groan came from deep in his throat. His hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer until our legs were touching, my chest against his. I was possibly losing my mind, or dreaming, though my dreams had never been this wonderful. He kissed the edge of my mouth and then my chin. He made his way up my jaw from my chin to my ear. His hot breath against my ear caused a shiver to course through me. When his lips touched my earlobe as his hand spread against the small of my back, I needed his mouth on mine. I wrapped my hand against the back of his neck, directing his mouth back to mine. He smiled as his lips met mine again, but the smile faded in the roving of his mouth against mine, playing, nipping, drawing me out until I was nothing but a fiery ball of passion and want. I think I may have moaned, or it could have been him, I was not sure. His lips pulled away from mine, but he still touched me resting his forehead against mine, our heavy breaths intertwining.

  “Bess, we must stop this,” he said in a deep whisper, “now.”

  “What if I do not want to stop?” I was as breathless as he. Thankfully he could not see my scorched cheeks.

  “Darling Bess, I would be a cad to take advantage of the situation,” he paused and I felt his jaw working, “more so than I have.” His hand came up, resting against my cheek. “Your kisses are to be treasured, not taken advantage of.”

  No one had ever referred to a kiss from me that way. The only men I had ever kissed were Jericho, Ben, and Andrew. Jericho’s kiss had been a ploy; Ben’s kisses were innocent and filled with promise, and Andrew’s were duty. When Andrew had kissed me for the first time, I had compared it to Sam, finding it lacking. I never had the desire for his kisses that I was feeling for Sam. Nor had I longed to be around him the way I did with Sam. I loved the way Sam made me laugh, the way we argued, the way we fought side by side; his intensity that only came out with me. I loved his need for justice and his caring treatment of his sister.

  Andrew had crushed my pride and my dreams, but Sam filled me with new dreams.

  “What are you thinking, Bess?”

  I even loved the way he called me Bess, instead of Elizabeth like Andrew did.

  “You are noble.”

  I meant it as a compliment, but he gave a harsh laugh, running his hand through his curls.

  “I am not noble, Bess. Far from it. I have wanted to kiss you like that since the moment I saw you again.” He leaned close and kissed my cheek; his whiskers brushing against my skin and leaving an imprint for life.

  “Come, I will escort you home.”

  He was trying to protect me. I did not want to go back into the ballroom and pretend like Andrew’s presence did not affect me, to answer questions about our supposed betrothal, to act like I had not been sharing a wonderful embrace with Sam. Sam understood me like Jack did, without my having to say a word. As we rose, he took my hand, lacing our fingers together.

  “You do not have to go with me. Surely you are needed here.”

  Sam pulled our hands up, kissing the back of my gloved hand. “They may need me, but I need you.”

  My heart fluttered in my chest like a butterfly trying its wings for the first time. For a moment, I thought about my brother; where he could be and what his feelings would be upon hearing the news of my betrothal to Sam, but it was only a moment before Sam consumed my thoughts again.

  Chapter 14

  Jack

  Arriving late for S
am’s ball was something that could not be helped. Leo and I had gone to meet Gideon and a man he thought could lead us to the Holy Order. The man never arrived, and by the time we returned and cleaned up, the house was stuffed to overflowing. Leo had been invited to attend the ball, and though he was reluctant, I brought him around.

  As we made our way downstairs, I did not see Sam anywhere, or anyone else that I recognized. When Leo and I were passing the dining parlor, Leo halted, glancing from the ballroom to the dining parlor. He looked in need of strong refreshment that of which he would not receive at a ball. It was his first time attending a party as anything other than a servant, so I could not fault him when he excused himself saying he would find me.

  Sam had shown me around his house my first night staying with him, so I had seen the ballroom. Sam had said that Charlotte saw to the decorating of the ballroom, transforming it into a garden to match the paintings on the wall. It was light, happy, and elegant.

  As I was not a tall man, seeing over the heads of people was not possible, so I made slow work around the room until I came upon Rose seated on a chair against the south wall.

  “Why, Mr. Martin, you arrive at last.”

  I sat on the chair beside her, smiling. I liked Rose Eldridge. She was kind and beautiful and knew how to put people at ease. She reminded me of my mother, though I would never tell her so. I did not know her age, but she could not be many years my senior.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Eldridge, and may I say you outshine the garden in which you are sitting.”

  Rose looked behind her at the wall then smiled. “If you are searching for your sister, Sam escorted her home.” Rose looked away from me, fanning herself slowly.

  “Allow me.” Taking her fan, I waved it before her. “Was Bess all right?”

  Rose’s eyes rested on something across the ballroom. “Tell me, Mr. Martin, does that gentleman know your sister?”

  I followed her gaze, and my hand immediately stilled. Andrew Madison. What the devil was he doing in Charleston and Sam’s house? “Unfortunately so.”

  “One does overhear so many whispers, but, am I in the right that he is the man formerly betrothed to your sister?”

  “Yes. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Eldridge, I believe I will go renew our acquaintance.” I snapped her fan shut and handed it back to her.

  Rose raised her eyebrows at me and placed her hand on my arm. “Murder in a ballroom is not of our class, Mr. Martin.”

  “It is fortunate then that I am not contemplating murder.” I stood, but before I could take a step, Charlotte was upon me.

  “You, sir, are late.”

  “Fashionably,” I said, bowing before her.

  “Fashionably would have been an hour late, not three.” She flashed me a coy smile.

  “I am touched to know that my absence was marked in such a crowd.” Charlotte was staring at me with a smile tilting up her lovely lips. I glanced toward Andrew, but he was leading a brunette into the next set of dances. “Will you dance with me, Miss Mason?”

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped open a moment before she smiled radiantly and agreed. I made sure that I stood right in Andrew’s line of sight. When he saw me, he winced.

  The dance was a reel, so conversation was impossible, but I enjoyed it immensely. Charlotte was not the least out of breath when the dance ended. She looked as if she thrived on dancing, and the pink staining her cheeks added to her beauty. She was universally beautiful and had an allure that attracted men young and old, but I was not among the ranks. My taste ran to women with red hair and striking purple eyes.

  Charlotte led me toward Andrew and the brunette who was clutching his arm possessively.

  “Anne, I want to present someone to you. This is Mr. John Martin. Mr. Martin, this is my cousin Anne Crawford and her betrothed Mr. Madison.”

  My gaze shot up to Andrew’s, but he was looking anywhere but at me. So that was what had Bess upset enough that Sam had to take her home. At least Sam had been there for her. Both Anne Crawford and Charlotte were staring at me, and I apologized before greeting Anne, then telling them that Andrew and I knew each other well. Anne looked expectantly at Andrew.

  “The Martins were acquaintances of mine in Philadelphia,” Andrew said.

  Andrew’s eyes warned me not to say anything to contradict his words. I wanted to choke him, but I refrained as Rose’s words came back to me.

  “Wait,” Charlotte said, “are you that Mr. Madison—”

  Stifling a chuckle I interrupted her, saying, “Miss Mason, I do believe they are beginning a country dance, will you do me the honor?”

  Charlotte agreed happily, and as I whisked her away, I glanced over my shoulder. Miss Anne Crawford was speaking to Andrew, and he did not look pleased in the least.

  As we danced, I told Charlotte that he was the man that Bess had been engaged to. She said that she and Rose had heard rumors, but Bess had never said anything to them about Andrew, so she thought it all a misunderstanding.

  “He deserves to be horsewhipped,” Charlotte said angrily, shooting dagger glances at Andrew, “and now he is marrying my cousin. What nerve!”

  I would have agreed, but my attention had been captured. Leo had not only braved the ballroom, but he had asked a woman to dance. At the end of the line of dancers were Leo and Rose. When he glanced at me, I raised my eyebrows. Leo was as impassive as ever.

  “Sam is not here, correct?” Charlotte asked suddenly.

  “No, he has kindly escorted my sister home.”

  “Good,” Charlotte said in a satisfied voice, her eyes on something over my shoulder, “then Miss White cannot sink her claws into him, not that she could any longer.”

  “Who is Miss White?”

  “Her,” Charlotte said.

  As I looked in the direction Charlotte was motioning, surprise covered me a moment before desire slammed against my chest.

  Leo had escorted Guinevere to a house on Queen Street after the fight at the race, but when I went there to see her, the house had been deserted.

  Guinevere was standing in the doorway, and her hair was yellow, giving her the appearance of someone else, but I could never mistake those eyes, lips. They haunted my dreams.

  After the dance ended and Charlotte had been handed over to her next partner, I moved toward Guinevere, staying behind taller men and larger women and keeping as close to the wall as I could. Guinevere’s attention was focused on someone. Following her gaze, her eyes were locked on Rose, and Rose was staring back. A rather curious look passed between the two, but my attention was pulled back to Guinevere. I reached her a moment after a group of young men surrounded her.

  At the back of the group and hidden by taller men, I heard one sharp voice say, “Mason’s inattention is our gain, Miss White.”

  “We all know who now holds his attention,” claimed another.

  “I heard that they are betrothed. Announced it in this very room.”

  Some men gossiped worse than women, though what they were saying intrigued me.

  “Who, pray tell, is that, Mr. Adams?” Guinevere asked with a sharp note to her voice.

  “Why, the new heiress in our midst. Miss Martin.”

  Sam...and Bess? Betrothed? The likelihood was small. Though, Andrew was here. Would Bess be so reckless as to commit herself in such a way all for revenge against Andrew? The truth was; there was little Bess would not do when in a fit of rage. Surely Sam had more sense.

  Then again Bess had said that Guinevere was playing a deep game using Sam as her pawn. It had caused me great annoyance to hear it, and even more to see it, but it would cease immediately.

  I tapped on the back of one of the men, and when he turned to look down at me, I edged my way through the group. Guinevere’s eyes met mine, and I saw panic, longing, love, and then panic again flash through her eyes.

  “Miss White, I believe this is our dance.”

  One man, a Mr. Adams, stared at me in potent dislike. “And who are you to approach Miss White?
”

  Guinevere’s voice squeaked, “This is Mr. John Martin, the brother of the new heiress.” Her eyes remained locked on mine, and it was evident that she was trying to decide whether to try to run or to stay and face me.

  “I am Miss White’s betrothed, so if you gentlemen will excuse us, we are going to dance,” I said, without pulling my eyes away from Guinevere’s face. I took Guinevere’s hand in mine and held it firmly. She gave the men a tight smile as I led her away. She tried to pull her hand away, but I would not release her.

  “Why did you do that?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “Now everyone, including your sister, will know.”

  We stopped at the edge of the floor, facing each other. “I spoke only the truth, though your name remains a mystery to me. First you are Miss Clark, and now you are Miss White. By which name should I call you?”

  “It does not signify,” she snapped, her shoulders squaring.

  “I would infinitely prefer to call you Mrs. Martin.”

  She pulled on her hand again, taking a step away from me, but I pulled her back to my side.

  “Well, my heart, do you prefer to dance, or shall we go somewhere to talk?”

  “Dancing,” she said quickly.

  Seeing her obvious discomfort brought me a small amount of relief. Inside, I was a mess of insecurity and alarm. She had escaped me numerous times, but only once had I allowed her of my own free will to escape. It would not happen again.

  God help me, but I loved the woman with everything inside me. Perhaps it was because we were so similar, though we fought for opposing sides. Perhaps it was because we were two people searching for a way to be free from the chains that held us bound.

  As our hands came together in the dance, she was watching me intently, and I could only stare at her, drinking in every feature. Though she was the most beautiful woman in the room, the blonde hair was not to my liking. Her red hair was my preference, but there was a desire inside me to see her with ebony hair that was her true coloring. The woman changed hair colors as often as she changed names. Another reason I loved her. She could adapt to any situation. She was like the chameleons I had read about in one of my books; she changed her looks to blend in to her surroundings. The woman would have made an excellent Phantom, but that would never happen, even if James Monroe had not demanded that the Phantoms be dissolved. I wanted her out of danger, not thrust into the thick of it.