Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Botheration!

  And this was the man her brother would have her spend the whole of her life with? She shuddered at the thought.

  “Really,” he was saying. “You’ll love Charlestown, m’dear—so much like London.” He gave her a meaningful smile, and boldly tapped her skirt with a finger.

  Jessie started at his touch, jerking away. “Truly, m’lord?” She choked back the contempt from her voice. She loathed London! And she detested the man sitting beside her all the more! The very sound of his voice made her shudder. She hugged herself protectively, hoping he wouldn’t notice her disgust.

  “Oh yes, indeed,” he crowed, grinning with pleasure over her feigned interest. “Some like to refer to it as Little Londontown, even. It was named after old King Charles, don’t you know!”

  Jessie turned from him slightly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, my lord, so I’ve heard. In fact, I believe I heard it from you, quite recently,” she added, giving him a sweet little smile. She resisted the urge to ask him if he was addlepated. He must be, for it’d been a mere quarter of an hour since he’d last recounted that very thing to her. She peered anxiously at the door. What was her brother doing? Why wasn’t he back yet? He’d abandoned them so long ago. And where, she wondered crossly, was Eliza? Certainly she’d made herself visible enough for Christian. Jessie scooted forward impatiently, toward the edge of the settee.

  Lord St. John cast her a questioning glance, as though to discern whether or not she mocked him. Apparently resolving she did not, much to her dismay, he carried on with his incessant rambling.

  A discreet cough brought Jessie’s attention to the doorway. “Griffin!” She sprung from the settee at once, grateful for the butler’s interruption, and made her way to where he stood, leaning forward to hiss into his ear. “Where is my brother?”

  “Er, yes, m’lady,” he said, not truly answering her question. “He bade me tell you to remain here in the salon, and to assure you he and Lord St. John will return anon.” Turning to St. John, he announced, “His Lordship awaits you in the Lib’ry, if you would be so kind to oblige, m’lord.” Gesturing with a hand, he urged St. John from the room.

  “Yes, of course,” St. John replied. He turned to fix Jessie with a frightening smile. “I shall return in an instant, m’dear. Do not fret yourself over it.”

  Jessie cringed as she watched him go, and was filled suddenly with a terrible foreboding.

  Just what had Amos been up to for so long in the library when he knew full well that she was inappropriately ensconced in the salon with a man she barely knew? that her reputation might suffer because of it? True, she had managed to be alone with Christian, but never with Amos’ knowledge or approval. All but for a handful of times, Amos had been made aware of Christian’s presence, and had made certain Hildie was near to keep a watchful eye upon them.

  Something was amiss... and be damned if she didn’t intend to discover exactly what it was. She waited until she was certain the way was clear, and then headed to the library after them.

  Chapter 11

  “Bloody hell!”

  For the last hour, Christian had tried in vain to convince Westmoor of his intent to wed his sister, but the son of a bitch seemed to have turned a deaf ear to his words.

  “Damn you! I don’t want your blood money, not now—or ever!”

  “I was under the impression, Haukinge, that we’d come to an agreement concerning my dear sister already.”

  “Agreement, hell! You spoke, I listened, and you took my silence as an alliance!”

  “I see,” Amos said stiffly. “Well, then, just what is it you require of me, sirrah?”

  Christian’s jaw ticked with anger. “Jessamine,” he said with quiet menace. “I wish to have your sister’s hand in matrimony, and nothing more—as it should have been years ago!”

  “Impossible, she’s already betrothed—”

  Amos halted his explanation as the library door creaked opened, revealing a mottle-faced Lord St. John behind it.

  “Well, now, there he is!” Amos smiled broadly. “Jessamine’s intended himself!” With great satisfaction, he then decreed, “Haukinge, you may take great pleasure in making the acquaintance of Lord St. John, lately of Charlestown. It is to him I have granted my dear sister’s hand in matrimony. So, then,” he concluded, “as you now know, your request is far from a reasonable one.”

  A cool nod was Christian’s only greeting as he acknowledged his longtime adversary. His gaze swept over St. John, and his lips formed a snarl as he turned again to Westmoor. “The pleasure has already been mine, I fear.” Turning to St. John, he nodded.

  “Haukinge,” he replied disingenuously, “so very good to see you again.”

  “I’m certain,” Christian drawled.

  Shrewdly assessing the situation at hand, St. John said, “Amos is telling the truth. Dear, lovely Jessamine has agreed to become my bride.”

  When Christian looked disbelieving still, he announced, “We shall be departing two weeks hence for The Colonies and shall wed there. Unfortunately circumstances do not permit me a lengthier stay this voyage.” Casting Christian a very meaningful glance, he explained, “Much has gone awry in Charlestown, sir, much indeed—if you know what I mean—and I know you do.”

  Turning to Amos, Christian ignored St. John’s carefully worded accusation. “I don’t believe it. She would have told me she was spoken for.”

  “Now, Haukinge,” St. John interjected, his voice a sneer. He came forward to stand beside Amos. “Why should Westmoor lie to you? Why would I? I’m quite aware that you frequent”—the word was another insinuation—“Charlestown’s harbor. Wouldn’t it be a rather simple matter for you to investigate my personal affairs if you were so inclined?”

  Christian’s gut twisted.

  He had the lowering feeling St. John was telling him the truth. But why would Jessie have lied to him? Why would she have whispered of love when she knew full well she belonged to another man? Why had she so eagerly encouraged his suit? From what he knew of her, it didn’t make sense. Then again, when had anything between them ever made a lick of sense? He managed a slow nod. “I take it that Jessie knows?”

  Amos smiled victoriously. “Well, of course she knows, Haukinge. How could she not know?”

  Once again, the door creaked open and Jessie herself peered warily into the library.

  “I knocked,” she told them apologetically, glancing first at St. John, then at Amos. “Jessie knows what?” she asked quickly, and then suddenly she turned and gasped in shock as she spied Christian. “I did not realize you were here, my lord!”

  Christian merely stared, holding her gaze, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Is something wrong?”

  A shiver swept down Jessie’s spine as she scrutinized the occupants of the room. Christian’s expression told her, indubitably, that something was indeed very wrong. The look in his eyes and his rigid stance told her all she needed to know; he was raging mad.

  Botheration!

  She had no idea what Amos could have said to anger him so, but he looked positively feral, ready to pounce. She swept the room with her gaze and inquired once more, “What is it that Jessie knows?” When there was still no reply to her question, she demanded, “Will someone please speak!”

  “The fact that you are to wed Lord St. John, of course.”

  Jessie whirled on her brother. “But you said—”

  “I remember well what I said,” he returned quickly, flicking Christian a glance. “But the charade must now come to an end, I fear. I never imagined Lord St. John would come to collect you so soon.”

  Jessie’s stomach twisted. “Charade?” She swallowed convulsively. “What charade, Amos?”

  “Quite simple, sister dear. Haukinge came to court you only because I paid him to, and now I believe he’s come to collect his due.”

  Her heart lurched. Jessie turned to Christian; their gazes collided like fire and steel. “He paid you?” He didn’t reply an
d she knew. “My God!” Her fingers flew to her lips. “He paid you!”

  Eyeing her coldly, Christian answered her question with one of his own. “Have you agreed to wed this man or not?”

  Their gazes remained locked for a long, painful instant, and then Christian shook his head when Jessie couldn’t speak to deny it. Raking a hand through his hair, he hung his head backward, closing his eyes, and froze in that position when he heard Amos’ next words.

  “I’m sorry, Mister Haukinge, but you really cannot have expected Jessamine would wed a bastard. Even if she would, it would be heinous of me to allow such a mesalliance.”

  Christian’s head snapped upright, his eyes glittering coldly. He fixed his glare upon Jessie, though his question was directed at Amos. “What did you say?”

  If he’d needed proof against her, he certainly had it now.

  St. John’s eyes bulged with the declaration. His gaze sought Christian’s to verify the scandalous disclosure.

  “I said,” Amos repeated, “that it would be heinous of me to allow—”

  “Son of a—” Christian willed his temper to calm. “Did she tell you that?” He turned to Jessie, demanding, “Did you?”

  Jessie opened her mouth to deny it, but she was still reeling from Amos’ revelation. Nay, she’d not told him! But how dare he be angry with her when it was he who had committed the dishonor here!

  “Christ! Don’t answer,” he snarled. “I’ve had more than enough of your lies already! What a grand little actress you are! If ever you tire of playing the seductress, m’mselle, you might consider taking to the floorboards!”

  Jessie felt as though she’d been slapped.

  Her eyes misted, and her heart felt as though it would shatter into a thousand tiny shards. She tried desperately not to weep before him. Weeping would accomplish naught, she knew, and yet, even as she restrained herself, a sob seemed to form of its own will. “How could you?” she blurted miserably, “I... I never—”

  “Shut up, Jessamine!” Amos exploded. Closing the distance between them, he seized her forcefully by the arm, gripping her hard in warning. “You’ve absolutely nothing to explain to this—this jackal!”

  All eyes turned to Jessie, waiting.

  She couldn’t speak. Amos’ grip warned her not to—nor could she seem to form the words.

  Christian was the first to turn away.

  Shaking his head with disgust, he clenched his jaw.

  Those pale green eyes of hers had a way of piercing his very heart. Impossible not to feel when they were fixed upon him, and he didn’t want to feel just now. Outwardly his expression remained carefully bland, until he happened to spy the wounded expression she wore.

  How could he ever have thought her pure?

  Sweet? Caring? How dare she play the injured before him now? He didn’t give a bloody damn who else was present, he wasn’t about to leave this place without giving her a piece of his mind. And to think he’d nearly given her... everything—Christ, what a bloody fool he was! His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, my love, was it difficult to lie there beneath me and whisper words of love, knowing all the while you belonged to another man?” His jaw clenched.

  Her face drained of color, but he felt no satisfaction, only pain more intensely.

  “So much for love, eh?”

  St. John’s face mottled with rage.

  “Do not make intimations that can so easily be disproven, Haukinge.” Amos shot a warning glance to Jessie, urging her without words to remain silent while he attempted to acquit her name.

  Smoldering with anger, Christian taunted, one brow lifted in contempt, “Can it now?” He turned to Jessie. “Can it, I wonder, my love?”

  He was daring her to deny it.

  Jessie’s face flamed at his mortifying disclosure. It seemed all eyes were upon her again, probing, questioning, gawking. God help her, but she could not deny Christian’s insinuation, for she was, in truth, no longer innocent. Only that didn’t seem to matter just now; she only felt the pain of his betrayal. She choked on a sob. “I... “

  “You what? You do love me? Say it now, so that all may hear your tender declarations.”

  Jessie stood silent, her heart breaking, her world collapsing around her. She thought she might swoon. Her palms dampened, and she wet her lips nervously, glancing at her brother, then at St. John, then again at Christian, not knowing to whom to turn. Tears welled in her eyes, blinding her to all but Christian’s spiteful glare. His furious expression cut her as surely as a knife. Her hands began to quiver, but she could not speak. She didn’t know what to say in response to all the hurtful things he was saying to her. Oh, God! She stifled a sob. Amos had paid him! And Christian, he’d accepted without compunction.

  Her heart felt crushed beyond repair.

  She couldn’t bear it. Bile surged in her throat. It was no wonder he believed she would betray him, for he had already betrayed her. Her heart felt as though it would rend in two. And God help her, for she loved him even still. He stared, waiting, inviting her to humiliate herself further by professing an unrequited love, for he couldn’t possibly love her in return.

  Well, she wasn’t about to satisfy him.

  “You cannot say it, can you? Now, when it matters most! Christ! How witless of me to have ever believed in you!” His eyes came alive with loathing, as he turned to St. John. “My congratulations to you, St. John, on your impending nuptials. You richly deserve one another!” He started toward her. “Keep your stinking money, Westmoor, your sister has already paid me in full.” His gaze locked with hers as he passed her, and he whispered for her ears alone, “Haven’t you, love?” He left then, his footsteps echoing behind him. He opened and slammed the front door, taking with him the promise of Jessie’s future.

  If possible, St. John’s face reddened even more as he turned to face her. The whites of his eyes seemed to bulge from his face. “Is it true?”

  Even without Christian’s presence, she could not answer.

  “I shall not be the butt of every man’s joke!”

  What could she say? Nothing. There was nothing she could possibly say in her own defense.

  Silence permeated the room, damning her.

  “By God!” St. John thundered. “I shall not have that jackal’s leavings! Not this day! Nor any other! Good day to the two of you!”

  “Wait!” Amos demanded as St. John turned from him. “I can explain!”

  St. John shook his head, not bothering to look Amos’ way. “Nay, sirrah, you cannot! I shall be departing Westmoor at once. A good life to you both!” And with that, he, too, left, slamming the door in his wake.

  Jessie was certain the front door would split in two if it were slammed so violently even once more.

  “Damn, damn, bloody damn!” Amos exploded. He glared at Jessie.

  Left to themselves, the room became deathly quiet. Amos shook his powdered and peruked head, hatred and disgust leaping from his eyes.

  Jessie felt anew the condemning sting of tears.

  “Does he speak the truth, Jessamine? Tell me, now!”

  For a long moment she couldn’t say a word, and then she nodded, her lips quivering. Her hands trembling, she wiped away the blur of tears from her eyes.

  Amos gave her a contemptuous snort and shook his head. “Do you realize what you have done?” he asked gravely. “I cannot believe you would do this to me—to Westmoor!”

  His expression was frightening, his tone cold and brutal in its sharpness. She recoiled as he came toward her, raising his hand in anger. He stopped abruptly, held it in midair, as tears pooled and spilled from her eyes. Silently they coursed down her cheeks, onto her lips. She let them, not bothering to wipe the humiliating wetness away. Looking directly into her brother’s vacant eyes, she realized then that there was nothing left of him there. They revealed not a trace of warmth.

  “I thought he loved me,” she sobbed brokenly, tasting the salt of her grief. “I-I thought you—”

  His hand slammed down
upon the desk and he glared at her as though to blame her for the violent reaction she’d wrought from him. “You thought too much!”

  “Why, Amos? Why would you do such a thing? I-I don’t understand. Why would Lord Chris—” She choked on the question, unable to finish.

  “’Tis not so difficult to comprehend,” he replied balefully, his words clipped and cool. “For the good of Westmoor, Jessamine, I would sell my soul to the devil himself. And Lord Christian? That is quite the simple deduction as well; he’s the lowest of low, the scourge of society. It is only to be expected from the likes of him.”

  Once again, silence fell. Only Jessie’s sobs broke the hush. She cried softly. “What will you do?”

  Amos shrugged, his look cold, unreachable. “Precisely what I should have done to begin with. Send you to Charlestown, m’dear.”

  She blanched. “But Lord St. John said—”

  Amos eyed her coldly. “Have you no ears? Did you not hear? Nay, you’ll not go with St. John, but to Robert, instead!” He shook his head lamentably. “I can do nothing more for you here—you have seen to that well and good! Robert may fare better than I.”

  He observed the silent tears as they spilled down her cheeks and was unmoved by them.

  “You’ve disgraced us! You’ve dishonored my name. Eliza warned you that Haukinge was a debaucher of women—a penniless one at that!” he scoffed. “But nay, you would not listen. It was also made known to you that he would not stay overlong once he knew you came to him without a dowry. I can only say I told you so!”

  Jessie held her breath momentarily.

  Hope stirred despite the pain.

  “He asked after my dowry?” Pride seemed a forgone thing suddenly. If Christian had asked after her dowry, he must have asked about matrimony. And then it dawned on her suddenly what Amos had said to him and hope surged. You really cannot have expected Jessamine would wed a bastard. “Amos, did he ask to marry me?”

  “It never came to that. With no dowry, you are nothing to him, and I made that clear from the start—that you would be given none. He never bothered to ask.”