by Cheryl Bolen
Not another word was spoken between them.
* * *
Hours later, Jessie found herself pacing the length of the woven carpet that graced the master’s chamber.
Not even the distant muddle of voices from below stairs distracted her from her deliberation. And her musing was interrupted only once, when Quincy came to deliver the trunk she’d left in the unfinished wing.
After a while, she wandered out onto the balcony and she watched, barely noticing a small boat paddling away from the pier. Briefly she wondered who it might have been. But in truth, she thought little more of it, for Christian’s confession weighed heavily upon her heart. At last she came to the conclusion that Christian might have, in fact, been partly responsible for her father’s death. Though still, the blame fell to her father, and her father alone, for it certainly was not as though they’d been left completely destitute. Nay, it was none other than her father’s decision to end his miserable life—if, in fact, he had.
And she was certain now that he had. It was that realization more than aught else that had kept her tongue tied all the way back. The truth was that her father had been a weak man, cold and mean on the exterior to conceal his feebleness within—she could see that now.
Having thought it over, she washed herself, splashing her face with the cool water for courage. Opening her trunk, she drew out the green silk dress Christian seemed so fond of and dressed carefully, brushing her hair, and in her haste, not even bothering to fix it properly. She left it down instead, the length of it reaching her hips. And then she sought out Christian.
He was nowhere to be found. The house was intensely quiet, as though forsaken of all life. At long last, on the way back to the master’s room, she spied Quincy in the chamber across the corridor, the one her cousin and Jean Paul had used for their own. He started at seeing her, both of his brows lifting in surprise.
“Where is everyone?” Jessie asked without preamble. “I need to speak with Christian.”
“They’ve gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, mum, gone.”
Jessie bristled at his uninformative response. “Where? I saw a boat leaving the dock, but I thought it might be some of the men returning to the Mistral and I thought nothing more of it.” Worry furrowed her brow as she asked, “Is that where they’ve gone? Back to the Mistral?”
“Well,” Quincy hedged. He looked heavenward, one eye closing slightly, as though to consider an answer, and Jessie knew to doubt his next words. He surprised her by speaking what sounded to be the truth. “They’ve gone to Charlestown,” he confessed. “M’lord said I should stay here wit’ ye and see to ye—didn’t want to worry ye none.”
Confused, Jessie said, “I don’t understand. I should think he’d have wanted Ben to remain as well. After all, he and I were to have sailed for England together. He shouldn’t risk being seen, should he?”
“Aye, mum,” Quincy yielded, “but yer cousin wouldn’t hear of it. He went and there was no keeping him from it. God’s truth!”
Jessie sighed. “I see, and what, pray tell, could have been so urgent as to draw him into such dangerous folly?” She didn’t truly expect an answer because of the frown that appeared upon the old man’s face, but to her surprise, she received one, despite Quincy’s tortured expression. It was obvious he didn’t want to say.
“Well, mum... y’see... ’tis the Mistral,” he revealed. “While you were away this morn... news came that it was arrested last night. M’lord was summoned to appear before Daniel Moore straightaway.”
Jessie felt suddenly ill. “My God! What for? What on earth could he want with Christian?”
Quincy’s eyes held hers. “Well, you see, mum... the Mistral’s been accused of bearing unauthorized goods into Charlestown harbor. They said—”
“Absurd!” Jessie exclaimed. “’Tis ridiculous—why?”
“Because, mum... we set anchor in the dead o’ night, nor did we report to the customs house straightaway, that’s why.”
Jessie’s head reeled as she recalled that they’d departed late in the night, as well. Then, too, they’d sailed into the Dutch West Indies, reportedly a smugglers’ and pirates’ haven. And they had, in fact, returned in the deepest hours of the night. Heaven help her, but all at once it came clear to her. How could she not have suspected before? Lord, she hadn’t dreamed he would conduct his business while she was aboard. Even knowing who he was—what he was. Placing a hand to her brow, Jessie leaned back against the doorframe, feeling weak of a sudden. The Mistral... Dear God, she’d sailed all that time aboard a smuggler’s vessel—one carrying an illegal cargo, no less! She felt sick with the shock of it all.
Quincy advanced upon her suddenly. “Nay, mum,” he said, as though he’d read her thoughts and meant to acquit his master of her silent accusations.
Jessie backed away from him, out into the corridor, as though to escape his knowing gaze. Had everyone known, save her? Ben, too? Aye, even as she asked herself that question, she knew it was so.
“M’lady,” Quincy protested, “It is not what it seems, at all! M’lord did sail into St. Christopher to clear his cargo with the authorities, and he has his papers to prove it!” He nodded fervently. “Aye, he does, an’ he’s carryin’ ’em with him to see Daniel Moore—told me to tell ye ’e’d be back before eventide. He didn’t wish to worry ye, is all.”
Relief swept over Jessie like a flood tide, dizzying her. Her knees buckled slightly and her eyes shimmered with tears. “Thank God!” she whispered fiercely. “But what of Ben? Why need he have gone? Why should he have risked himself if Christian bears proof?”
Quincy shrugged. “There was no one to stop ’im. Yer cousin is a fierce one, he is, and loyal to m’lord, besides.”
“I see. As you are?”
“Yes, mum.”
She took a deep breath and asked, “How long have they been gone?”
“Little more’n an hour,” he declared.
“Very well, then. Thank you, Quincy.” Still somewhat dazed by his disclosure, Jessie left him staring after her and made her way down the corridor quickly, down the spiral steps to the entrance hall. She intended to await Christian at the docks, so anxious was she to see him. She hurried, though halfway down the steps she halted abruptly.
Jessie was momentarily stunned by St. John’s unexpected appearance. “H-How did you manage to find me?”
Chapter 27
“McCarney, of course. The man is a veritable font of information... quite helpful.”
Jessie bristled at his smug tone. “Well, sirrah! Now that you’ve discovered what you came to, you should leave,” she apprised him, straightening her spine. “Lord Christian should be down any moment,” she bluffed. “I don’t believe he would relish your presence unbidden in his home. Indeed, I should loathe to see you—”
“Please, Jessamine,” he interposed, “spare me the duplicity. I know perfectly well where Haukinge has gone, as I also know you’re alone in this”—he glanced about, waving a hand in disgust—”place.” He took another step forward, removing his tricorne and clasping it to his chest.
Jessie was on the verge of informing him that she was, in fact, not alone, but something in his expression suggested she should hold her tongue. Quincy was no match for him, and she certainly didn’t want the faithful servant to be hurt.
“How would you know such a thing?” she asked instead, stalling, knowing the answer before it was given. Instinct told her he was up to no good, but beyond that, she was at a loss. It would help if she knew what she was up against.
“McCarney,” he disclosed, smiling a thin-lipped smile. “Actually, he made certain of the fact for me. Oh, and of course, I should thank my good friend Moore, as well, for it was his writ that McCarney delivered unto him.”
Jessie shook her head in disbelief. “But why, my lord? Why would you do such a thing?”
His jaw turned taut and he answered her inquiry with one of his own. “The question is, I fear, w
here will you go once it is known that you’ve not gone to England as Robert claimed? Aye, I kept your dirty little secret once, m’dear, but I’ll not do so again. It cost me my pride—dreadfully high price, that was.” He shook his head musingly, thumping his tricorne as he spoke. “To become the object of pity, the laughingstock...” He cocked his head at her, his eyes gleaming strangely. “Do you realize they are all spinning tales that you spurned me?”
Jessie shook her head in denial, thinking him mad suddenly. “I hardly think you’re any of those things, my lord. If so, then ‘tis only in your own mind, for I’ve heard nothing to that effect at all.”
“If only it were so,” he demurred. “At any rate, I’ll not under any circumstance be made to look the fool again—leastways not alone! Too many times before has your lover—aye, Jessamine spare me your words of denial—your lover succeeded in doing just so. I’ll not allow you to do so, either—never again!” he swore, his anger rising. His dark eyes narrowed, and for an instant Jessie thought she could see the hurt he was feeling, and she felt for him.
“By God!” he bellowed suddenly, startling her enough that she retreated upward a step. “I would have thought better of you, Jessamine! Aye, to my mind ‘tis mighty poor thanks you would give me for all that I have done for you!”
He shook his head, and Jessie remained silent, watching him warily as he approached her.
She hesitated to speak, but her curiosity won the best of her. “Why did you keep silent, then? If ‘tis the truth that you speak, my lord, then you need only have revealed the facts, and it would have been me they would have scorned, instead. Why do you not simply tell them and be done?”
“Nay, m’dear,” he said, smiling coldly. “Either way, I’d be the object of pity, for it would be said then that you desired another over me... even at the expense of your own ruination. I might have suffered that well enough had it been any other man but Lord Christian Haukinge. You had to choose a man such as that!”
“I did not choose him! My father did. I can no more help that than I can commit who my heart should love!”
His shout reverberated through the hall. “You chose him!”
She was taken aback by his fury. “How can you say such a thing? My father chose him, not I.”
“Your father repudiated the contract! I gave him choices, damn it all! And then the bastard went and cocked up his toes! All that money I lost, but I was willing to pay again, and it was you who chose him then, even against your brother’s will!”
Jessie’s expression was incredulous. “You paid my father to repudiate the contract?”
He gave her a self-satisfied smirk and replaced his tricorne to his head.
“Why, pray tell?” He didn’t respond and she moved down a step in her fury to confront him. “This isn’t about us at all, is it, my lord? This is about your hatred for Lord Christian. Why? Why should you despise him so?”
He ignored her question. “Of course, you might come back with me now,” he proposed, “leave Shadow Moss... and return to Charlestown with me. If so, I should be more than willing to keep your confidence in such case.” He eyed the empty hall meaningfully. “I daresay your life would be a sight better if you did. I can guarantee as much.”
“Why would you wish me to, my lord? What good could come of it now?”
He guffawed at her, the sound bitter and hard. “Apart from the fact that I might get a decent little tumble now and again? Why, absolutely nothing, of course. Except that perhaps I need not lose face entirely.”
Truly, St. John was not an unattractive man, but at the moment the sight of him literally made Jessie ill. How could she have thought to feel sorry for him? Bile rose in her throat and her fingers tightened upon the bare wood rail. “My lord, you may go and tell people anything you so desire. There is nothing you can give me that is worth my becoming your wife.”
He burst into laughter. “Wife!” he said, aghast. “Why, whoever said I wished you to become my wife, Jessamine dear?”
Jessie chafed at his words. “You were, in fact, courting me, my lord, only a short time ago. Does your memory fail you so? Surely you might ask anyone in Charlestown and they would be very pleased to refresh your memory.”
Her dart had been expertly pitched, and his face suddenly became flushed, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. When he laughed again, it sent chills down her spine.
“Perhaps ’tis you who needs enlightening, my dear girl. Didn’t you realize? The wife, you simply buy; ’tis the mistress you woo.” He laughed then and Jessie cringed at the hateful sound of it.
“I’d as soon be drowned in the Ashley as to become your mistress, my lord!”
He shook his head, smiling still, though his lip suddenly curled contemptuously. “Very well... have it your way.” He sounded bored now. He started away, and then stopped abruptly, turning once more. “Though perhaps I might still persuade you as yet... You didn’t happen to wonder how Daniel Moore knew to arrest the Mistral, did you? Or why he would think to suspect Christian? Did you wonder if he knew of Hawk? Aye,” he replied to his own question when her eyes widened. He rubbed his chin pensively. “I see that perhaps you have contemplated such things.” He smiled benevolently. “Well, then, you might be interested in knowing that I also know about Ben. Tell me, how is his limp now? Does he fare well?”
Jessie’s face paled.
“Improved, I hope.” He lifted a brow. “I’d like to see him walk tall and proud to the gibbet, m’dear.” He turned from her once more, leaving Jessie confused and speechless. “Oh,” he said, turning to address her yet again. “And you will give my felicitations to Hawk, will you not? that is, if you ever happen to see him again.” With a dirty little laugh, he turned and strode confidently to the door.
“Wait!” Jessie implored. She could not simply stand by and see Christian hanged—and Ben! She shuddered to think what punishment would be meted them both. “I’ll go with you.”
“I rather thought you would,” he said with little surprise, and laughed hideously.
* * *
Despite the way things had been left between them, Christian found himself eager to return to Shadow Moss—to see Jessie.
While her silence had not been promising, he realized, neither was it hopeless, and bearing that in mind, he made his way quickly up the staircase, his footfalls echoing throughout.
“M’lord!” Quincy exclaimed, appearing in the landing above, his face contorting miserably. Christian halted in his step, sensing something was wrong.
“’Tis Miss Jessie!”
Christian took a step upward, then another, staring expectantly at Quincy as he ascended the stairwell. The hair at his nape prickled.
“St. John was here, my lord.”
Christian’s jaw grew taut and his eyes began to burn with fury.
“He took her with him, my lord.”
Christian halted in his step. “What the hell do you mean he took her with him?”
“She didn’t go willingly,” he said, and then, as quickly as he was able, related all that he’d overheard.
“When?”
“Not long ago, m’lord—just before you arrived.”
Even before Quincy was finished speaking, Christian had turned and was bolting down the stairwell, racing for the docks.
* * *
“I hope you’re not overly attached to him,” St. John said, lifting an imperious brow as he rowed. “I cannot simply allow him to go free.”
Cold prickles swept down Jessie’s spine.
She knew precisely to whom he was referring, but asked nevertheless, “Him?”
His smile was forbearing. “Hawk, of course.”
“But you swore you’d leave him be if I returned with you, my lord—you gave me your word! Would you break it now?”
“I know what I said, Jessamine... but it is out of my hands, m’dear. Hawk is a traitor to the Crown and he’ll hang for his crimes. ’Tis as simple as that—Moore would never set him free. Certainly not now that
he has proof against him at last.” He shrugged noncommittally. “Ben, on the other hand, is another matter...”
Jessie resisted the sudden uncontrollable urge to fly at him and thrust him overboard—lying, misbegotten cur that he was! She wanted to tell him that Christian had proof of his innocence—at least this time he did—but what if St. John had already named him as Hawk? She had to know. “Have you accused him as yet?”
“Not as yet,” he admitted. “There was no one to come forward till now... not with Hawk free to wreak his vengeance upon them. Now, of course, with him in gaol, it shouldn’t take much to convince McCarney to step forward. He wants revenge, you see, because Hawk killed his brother. Still”—he smiled coldly—”you must take comfort in the fact that your dear cousin is free... for now,” he added in cautioning tones. “Though perhaps he shan’t be for long if you don’t prove worthy of my troubles. Perhaps you should remember that,” he taunted, his face flushing slightly. “Perhaps you should remember that tonight.”
Jessie shuddered with revulsion. Panic burst through her, for in that instant she knew Ben would never be safe. St. John had lied to her. And Christian—she couldn’t bear to stand aside and see him hanged. Well, she wasn’t about to! She had to warn them. Her mind raced. But how?
She glanced around wildly, and to her surprise, she spotted a small boat approaching swiftly from behind them. Her heart leapt, for somehow she knew it was Christian. Her gaze reverted to St. John, and she wondered if he’d spied the skiff as well, but when he continued with his crowing, she decided he was too full of self-admiration to be aware of anything but his own voice as he spoke. If only she could catch him unawares... jump into the river... but her clothing would make it impossible to out swim him should he decide to come after her...
She worried her lip, for jumping seemed her only option. She forced herself to inhale slowly and calm her ragged nerves.
