Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  To her wonder, it seemed he truly enjoyed her company, as well as her conversation. Unlike Amos, he seemed to encourage her to speak her mind at every turn, and never took sport in ridiculing her for some perspective he did not happen to share. Instead, he made it a point to ask why she’d come to such a conclusion, and then he’d weigh her explanation before offering his own, thus leading her into refreshingly direct discussions. She found she so enjoyed his company—respected him, too, for he had such noble views.

  She was nearly certain now that he was courting her—nearly because she truly had no idea how one went about a courtship—a true courtship, that was. Not one the likes of which Lord St. John had embarked upon. That, she thought grimly, had been little more than a business proposal, with herself as the article of trade. She was heartily thankful Christian had responded to her brother’s missive, for she could never have borne Lord St. John as a husband.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t have to.

  Hope surged, and she smiled, releasing the drapery. She made her way back to the bed, slipping beneath the cool blankets, and closed her eyes, unable to think of anything other than Christian. He was everything she’d imagined he would be and more: gentle but strong, thoughtful yet amusing. God had surely favored her, she reflected happily, for he was as noble a soul as ever had existed upon the face of the earth. More so than the heroes of legend, for Christian was flesh and blood, and he had come to her rescue even after having been so wronged by her father.

  Yes, indeed, he was her knight in shining armor... and she... she was the damsel in distress for whom he would battle friend and foe in the name of love.

  Love.

  Perhaps it was possible after all.

  Sighing wistfully at the fanciful notion, she sent a hasty thank you heavenward and snuggled deeply within the blankets.

  If this is a dream, don’t let me wake, she prayed.

  Sleep discovered her smiling serenely.

  “Please! Oh, please!”

  A harried sigh was Amos’ response, together with a most disapproving scowl as he rifled through the morning’s correspondence. He chose a particularly large envelope, tossing the rest aside, and sprawled backward within his chair, hiding behind the envelope, as though to escape her.

  Jessie wasn’t about to give up. “Please,” she begged.

  Still he sat, peering over the top of the envelope, his green eyes, so like her own, glittering with annoyance. Jessie suppressed a shudder at the cold feeling that swept over her. “Just this once,” she swore. “I’ll not ask again!”

  He tore open the envelope with a vengeance, sighing a masterful reproduction of their father’s disapproving lament. “Very well, Jessamine. Do as you wish. Extend our invitation to the miscreant.” He didn’t bother glancing up. “Tomorrow eve, if you must.”

  Jessie stepped away from the desk in surprise, eyeing her brother with disbelief. “Yes?” Her voice caught. “You said... yes?”

  Amos gave her his full regard at last, though his expression was liberally laced with discontentment. “Can you not hear, girl? Yes! Do! Invite the cur to dine with us, if ’tis your wish, but leave me be now!” Unfolding the doubled parchment he’d extracted from the envelope, he apprised her, “And I shall, indeed, hold you to your word; do not ask this of me again.”

  Wide-eyed with disbelief and too delirious to stop herself, Jessie hurried around the desk to give her brother an affectionate hug, the first such embrace between them in years.

  Amos recoiled from her at once. Grasping her upper arms, he peeled her from his person. “Jessamine! Please! Recall yourself at once!”

  Jessie retreated, stung. “Yes, of course. I... thank you, Amos. I-I don’t know what came over me,” she said as stoically as she was able, and then turned to go, her eyes misting.

  She didn’t know why it should surprise her so each time he rebuffed her, but it never failed to do so. And yet, this once, she had a concession from him, at least. She refused to feel dispirited.

  He’d not always been so heartless, and she couldn’t help but ponder what could have changed him so—though she had a very good idea. Their father. Always it came back to their father. His Grace the Duke of Westmoor had lived the most unapproachable of lives, and Amos, in trying to prove his worthiness, was fast becoming a perfect replica of him.

  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 inten
d 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, h
e 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.