by Cheryl Bolen
Her older brother, Thomas, who’d been two years Amos’ senior, had been their father’s indisputable favorite. Poor Amos had lived in the shadow of that fact, trying so very hard to measure up, even unto the end. All for naught; after word had arrived of Thomas’ death, their father had simply lost the will to live. She and Amos had not been enough to keep him happy and healthy. It had happened so quickly that Jessie sometimes wondered whether her father’s death had, indeed, been a natural passing. But then, just as quickly, she discarded the ugly notion. His physician had declared it to be his heart, and that’s what Jessie wished to believe.
But it confounded her that her father had worried Amos would never measure up to the title, for Jessie thought Amos was more like their father than any of his three children—Thomas included. Like their father, Amos would take great pains to insure his victory, she knew. But in this matter of her life, Jessie vowed to fight him unto the bitter end. He didn’t like to lose, she knew, but perhaps in time he would come to forgive her.
If he saw that she was happy...
* * *
She was miserable.
God forgive her, but she had the most overwhelming desire to turn her goblet of good Madeira over Eliza’s gaping bosom. There was absolutely no denying it, the evening was a miserable disaster. Jessie had hoped her brother would come to admire Lord Christian as she had, but sadly that was not to be.
Eliza, to the contrary, seemed to have taken to him quite well, she thought sullenly, and if she continued to admire him so openly, she’d cause Amos’ antipathy to wax irreversible tonight!
Amos sat in resolute silence, regarding—or rather, disregarding—their guest with an air of disaffected aloofness, while Eliza never averted her eyes from him, even for an instant. Understandably, it was becoming more and more difficult for Amos to retain his air of indifference. Jessie’s sole comfort was the fact that Christian seemed not to note any of the tumult surrounding him. That, or he simply could not be offended.
“M’lord,” Eliza purred, taking a dainty sip from the finely etched crystal goblet she held in her hand. She waved the glass beneath her nostrils, sniffing deeply of its sweet contents, her breasts rising with the effort. “You haven’t said what it is, precisely, you plan to do with your newly acquired estate.” She leaned further, swinging her goblet airily. “You will refurbish it, of course, but have you decided upon a particular architect as yet?”
“I’m afraid I have not, Countess, though tell me...” Christian’s gaze shifted from Amos’ choleric face to that of his beautiful, simpering wife. “Have you an interest in that sort of thing?”
If he truly wished to avenge himself upon Westmoor, Amos’ flirty little wife was extending him the perfect opportunity. Though he found her golden good looks and rehearsed elegance quite irksome at the moment. God’s teeth, for the pained expression upon Jessie’s face, he wanted to strike her dumb—he who had never laid a finger upon any woman in anger.
“Oh, yes!” Eliza assured. “Perhaps, my lord, you might even find me”—She smiled prettily, puckering her lips in blatant invitation—”of some assistance when the time comes?” She cocked her head suggestively. “We are neighbors, after all?”
“Perhaps,” Christian yielded, his lips curving ruefully. “Perhaps I shall, madame.”
His gaze returned to Jessie, and he found her expression apologetic. He smiled, reassuring her and her features softened in response. His heart squeezed a little. it was inconceivable that she should look at him so adoringly. Incomprehensible, and God help him, he found himself reluctant to tear his gaze away.
“What I would like to know,” Amos interjected, his tone frothing with rancor, “is how you intend to finance such a venture. Correct me if I am mistaken, sirrah, but you haven’t the first resource from which to draw the necessary funds in order to undertake such a monumental task—much less to complete it.” Provoked by Christian’s inattention, he persisted, “It was my understanding that Rose Park is just short of desolation, a miserable estate, if ever I’ve seen one.”
Tearing his gaze away from Jessie, Christian arched a brow. Rose Park might not be the grandest estate, but it was his now, regardless that some would say he’d gained it by disreputable means. His lips turned faintly at the corners. “So then, you have seen the estate?” He smiled, knowing bloody well Westmoor had not personally set eyes upon the property—his whoreson agent had.
“Well,” Amos dissembled, glancing at his sister and taking a deliberately casual bite of his lemon-seasoned sole. “Not precisely... Let us simply say I have it from a very reliable source—but you have yet to answer my question, Haukinge.”
“Amos,” Jessie interjected. “Perhaps it is none of our concern?”
Back to the business of championing him, was she?
Christian watched as Amos turned to pierce his sister with a glare. Bastard. His gut wrenched. Perhaps this time she might appreciate reinforcement. Christian, for certain, had digested more than enough for one evening. He waited until Amos was finished berating his sister and then met and held his gaze. It was curious how similar in color his eyes appeared to Jessie’s... and how very different. Hers fairly sparkled with life and warmth, while Amos’ were cold and removed. Wholly devoid of compassion.
“I’m afraid I must disappoint you,” he said. “While ’tis certainly true I’ve no real English assets—”
“Of course you do!” Jessie argued in defense of him. She glared at her brother. “You have Rose Park!” She gave him a fleeting nod and then turned once more to glower at her brother, daring to rebuke him on Christian’s behalf.
Christian nearly laughed outright at her militant expression—the vixen. He found himself wishing, not for the first time this night, that she were sitting beside him, not across the blasted table. What he wouldn’t give breathe the essence of her beside him, inhale it into his soul. The thought alone aroused him.
“So I do,” he relented, chuckling low. “Though as your brother can attest, Jessamine, Rose Park cannot as yet be considered an asset, per se. It is, in fact, a liability at present, though rest assured. Simply because I’ve no English land to speak of is not to say I’ve no assets at all. Rose Park shall not remain a liability for long.’’
“Truly?” Eliza asked, intrigued now in earnest. “How exciting!” She cast Amos a tight little smile, and then turned to regard Christian with slitted eyes. “I doubt my husband was aware of that fact, m’lord. Do tell us more. I so enjoy discussing one’s…” Her gaze slid to her husband as she emphasized with raised brows. “... assets.” Leaning seductively forward, she managed to display a sight more of her abundant cleavage.
Christian choked upon his Madeira, nearly spitting it upon the white linen table cloth.
Amos puffed with impotent rage.
Jessie choked back a swallow of Madeira.
Amos coughed indiscreetly.
It was evident Eliza had forced her brother beyond his limits. He rose abruptly, raking his chair backward as he stood, and went directly to his wife. He lifted her perforce from her chair, and didn’t bother to excuse himself; rather, he simply dragged Eliza from the room. Their snarling voices trailed them all the way down the corridor, and up the spiraled stairwell. Jessie was both relieved and mortified.
Risking a glance at Christian, she found him smiling charitably. “Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed at once. “Truly! I never thought it would turn out so disastrously.” And then her face fell, for who did she think she was fooling? How else could the evening have ended, considering Amos’ animosity toward Christian? “I’m sorry,” she said once more, feeling guilty.
But his smile deepened, putting her at ease. “No need.” His eyes sparkled with good humor. “I rather suspect your brother’s wife is in dire need of whatever it is he is about to give her.”
Jessie laughed quietly. “I assure you, Eliza can be quite difficult, but Amos would never harm her. He’s not a brutal man. In truth, I sometimes wonder if he feels
anything at all. He’s so—”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” he broke in. “In fact, I would venture to say he’s feeling a wealth of emotions just now.”
Lifting his goblet of Madeira, he swirled the contents, raising it casually to his lips and Jessie found herself staring as he drank the last of it.
Her gaze returned to his eyes; they were so dark a blue and fairly twinkled with devilment. And then again, her gaze fell to his lips and she found her breath strangled. His mouth curved into a devastating smile, and something fluttered deep in her breast—a feeling not wholly unfamiliar to her these days.
“At any rate, I believe your sister-in-law has a little surprise in store,” he said softly, his tone hinting at something... something, though she had no idea what. And yet, that same something inside her quivered at his words.
Suddenly she didn’t know what to say. After conversing about everything, from philosophy to freckles, she found herself dumbstruck in his presence.
“Are you, er, finished, my lord?”
“Finished?”
“With your meal?”
“Ah... yes, thank you. I believe I am. And you?”
Jessie nodded, her heart pummeling against her ribs. The richness and depth of his voice never failed to affect her. He rose abruptly and came about the table, halting at her side to proffer his aid. “Allow me to assist you,” he offered gallantly.
Her heart was vanquished so easily.
She gave him a shy smile and then her hand, her gaze never wavering from his magnificent face. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. She stood, grateful for his assistance, for she felt disconcertingly giddy this moment—and it was not the Madeira, she was certain, for her goblet remained filled to the brim.
“M’lady?”
Startled by the maid’s diffident inquiry, Jessie spun toward the door. At her despondent expression, Jessie’s brows collided. “What is it, Hildie?”
“Well... ’tis like this, mum.” Hildie’s eyes skidded uncertainly to Christian’s imposing form, then again to Jessie. Seeming to have mustered her courage, she stated more firmly, “His lordship won’t be returnin’ to the table; he bade me tell you... well, you see, ’e’s requested Lord Christian...” Her gaze shifted once more to their guest. “Well, mum, that ’e’s to leave straightaway. But that’s not exactly how he said so.”
Jessie’s spirits sank. “So early?”
“Sorry, mum, but that’s what ’e said.”
“I know, Hildie, I didn’t mean—thank you.” Instead of leaving them, Hildie lingered in the doorway, waiting nervously. “You may go now, Hildie,” Jessie directed, though not unkindly.
Hildie shook her head. “Oh, no, mum, I can’t! His lordship also said I was to stay with ye until the—er, ah...” She glanced discreetly at Christian, looking quite anxious. “Until he was off and away.” She nodded with meaning.
“Jessamine,” Christian interjected, “’tis past time for me to leave.”
He squeezed her fingers tenderly, and it was only then that Jessie realized he was still holding her hand.
She stood there, gaping stupidly. What must he think of her to be so bold?
He bent to whisper in her ear. “Don’t look so glum, love... I assure you I am not so easily offended.” And then he winked at her, and Jessie’s heart turned over.
More than anything, she wanted him to stay, but she had little choice in the matter. Amos had requested he leave, and Jessie had absolutely no say in her brother’s home.
Reluctantly, and without another word, she escorted him to the door, opened it, and leaned into it as Christian moved past her. He stepped out into the balmy night, and there, on the topmost step, he paused, and turned to face her. The intense look in his deep blue eyes snatched her breath away.
What if she asked him to stay? to meet her in the garden? Would he agree? Lord forgive her, but she wanted to ask that more than anything.
Was she mad?
Truly she had to consider the possibility, for she was certainly not herself these days.
“My lord,” she began, disheartened to see him go so soon.
He placed a finger to her lips, shushing her, as though he knew what she would ask and sought to save her from herself. She swallowed the rest of her words as he leaned forward, brushing her mouth with his warm, velvety lips. He kissed her, and the world ceased to exist for the space of an instant.
He kissed her sweetly, and with affection.
Closing her eyes, Jessie inhaled sharply at the intimate contact, moaning softly.
Sweet heaven, he’d kissed her… and then he moved away.
If she thought her heart was racing before, it pounded fiercely now. Lord, how she longed to draw him back... to feel that quickening within her breast... to breathe in the heady, masculine scent of him.
Her eyes remained closed long after his lips left her.
“Good-bye, Jessamine.”
She opened her eyes and blinked to find he was standing apart from her now, regarding her with heavy-lidded eyes and a somewhat rueful smile.
“Good... night,” she whispered, her voice catching strangely. Something about the way he’d spoken his farewell made it seem so final, and her heart twisted a little.
Giving her a brief salutory nod, he turned, and she watched him disappear into the shadows.
Not until he was gone did she close the door to face her indignant maid.
Chapter 6
When Jessie woke the next morning it was raining, scarcely more than a cooling mist, but enough to cast a pall over the entire day. It didn’t matter.
She was too happy to care.
Dressing carefully in anticipation of Lord Christian’s daily attendance, she chose a deep forest green gown, one adorned with stark white lace at the neckline and sleeves. It seemed he was partial to green, for he complimented her grandly every time she wore the color. He said it made her eyes look all the brighter.
Much too anxious to eat, she breakfasted on tea and a mere scrap of a biscuit, then made her way into the library to find herself a book to read while she waited. Because it was still raining, she remained in the library as it was nearest to the front door. That way she’d be certain to hear the knocker when Christian called.
Never in her life had she bestowed so much hope upon one person.
Oddly enough, this morning Amos seemed resigned to Lord Christian’s attendance at Westmoor... though truthfully, that gave her pause for thought. She could only attribute it to the fact that he and Eliza seemed to be reconciling themselves to one another after last night. Really, the two seemed a pair of ridiculous lovebirds—to go from one extreme to the blessed other? Jessie could scarcely fathom the difference between them this morn. She shook her head in utter bewilderment. Merely a week ago, neither of them would have spoken so much as a civil word to the other, yet the two were making sheep’s eyes together all throughout breakfast. Who would have imagined? It really didn’t matter how they’d achieved it, Jessie was delighted for them—more so for herself.
By late afternoon, however, her joy had diminished somewhat. She’d managed to read full half her book before growing weary of it. When the print began to blur before her eyes, she snapped it shut, unable to concentrate upon a single letter, let alone make out the words. In truth, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she’d been reading the volume upside down, so little did she recall of what she’d perused. She looked then, just to be certain, and was relieved to find it right side up.
Halfheartedly she skimmed another, but the truth was that she was bored silly, anxious, and a little bit disappointed he was coming so late.
What if he didn’t come back at all?
What if he’d changed his mind about courting her?
After last night, she would hardly blame him.
Sighing wistfully, she turned her thoughts to the kiss Christian had bestowed upon her last eve; she was at once encouraged by the memory. As though to savor it still, her fingers brus
hed her lips, caressing them absently in remembrance. His warmth somehow lingered there. She closed her eyes, and her heart thumped wildly.
She hoped, dear Lord, she hoped.
She wanted this so very much.
She started guiltily when the door to the library creaked open, and her hand flew from her mouth.
Eliza entered, her expression somewhat smug. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it. “Still waiting?” she said with an affectation of a sigh.
Jessie’s stomach turned, for she recognized Eliza’s mood.
“Really,” Eliza carried on. “Even should Lord Christian wish to wed you, I should think you’d desire better for yourself, Jessamine. The man is a miscreant, after all.”
Jessie bristled. “Why? Because he’s a younger son?”
God’s truth, she’d never been anything but sympathetic to Eliza’s plight, but of late her brother’s wife had become implacable in her resentment. “What sin is there in that? Amos, too, was a younger son once upon a time,” she pointed out. “Though how convenient for him—and for you—that Thomas perished when he did.” It was rude, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself, Eliza’s condescension grated upon her nerves.
Eliza’s face flushed as she came forward, angry now. Jessie could see it in her eyes. “Lord Christian is naught but a debaucher of women!” she maintained. “Mark my words, Jessamine!”
Something in Eliza’s expression gave Jessie pause. “Perhaps you know something I do not?”
Her stomach floated a little, for Eliza seemed to think on the question a minute too long. And then she narrowed her eyes, and her expression lost all trace of pretense. “I came to advise you, Jessie, so listen well... You’re fair enough, it is true, but Amos isn’t foolish enough to give you a dowry to wed the likes of that man. Penniless, you’ll be nothing to Lord Christian. Your brother knows it, too. Why else do you think he’d agree to such a farce, if not in hopes that once you discover the truth, you’ll wed Lord St. John without further ado? I came to tell you that you’re making a blessed fool of yourself!”
