Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Jessie’s face flushed a bright crimson. “Oh! That is none of your concern—though I assure you my cousin is a gentleman through and through—unlike you!”

  “Is that so,” he replied evenly, giving her a ruthless smile.

  Christian had to suppress the urge to grin outright.

  He’d managed to discover what he’d needed to know, and the truth was that he was well pleased with the answer. Ben hadn’t touched her, he was certain of it, and neither had anyone else for that matter; for she wore a virgin’s blush.

  “I really must insist you take me back to Charlestown!”

  Christian shook his head, sighing. “Nay, Jess. The fact is that your uncle has already bandied word that you and Ben have sailed for England.” He grinned at her then, unable to suppress his glee. “It seems you have developed a nasty case of homesickness. As you see... I cannot allow you to go back, for in doing so you’d raise suspicions now, and I will not permit you to do that, my love. After all, ’tis my father’s life you would endanger, as well.”

  Christian could see the fierce determination leave her features, though it was immediately replaced by resentment.

  Was his company so disagreeable to her?

  Did she truly loathe him so much?

  He couldn’t allow himself to believe it, for if he did, a part of him would shrivel and die. He thought to put the issue of her leaving at rest once and for all, and he said, “We’ll be gone only as long as necessary, and if you endeavor to stay out of the way, ’twill pass all the easier for you. Rest assured, Jessie. I am no more thrilled for your company than you are for mine.”

  Her expression became mutinous suddenly, her green eyes reflecting the depths of her animosity, buffeting him as surely as though she’d struck his cheek with her palm. “I—well—and—truly—despise—you!”

  His jaw grew taut, and his chest tightened, but he managed a nod. “Despise me all you wish,” he allowed, “only stay the hell out of my sight.”

  He felt little satisfaction when she stiffened as though she’d been cuffed, and less when she turned and stalked away. He forced himself to let her go, telling himself that her anger was a welcome barrier between them.

  Without it, he was lost.

  Chapter 19

  Sweating from his labors, Christian made his way back to his cabin. He’d not intended for the Mistral to set sail again so soon, and so there had been a number of things he’d had to see to before leaving Charlestown harbor. It had been a near miraculous feat to resupply his ship in the course of a day, without earning suspicion, and he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the task at all without the generous help he’d received from the men of the Wilkes club. Ben was obviously well thought of among them, for they’d rallied together without thought for their own safety, procuring supplies and hauling them aboard.

  His intent now was simply to sail down the coast to the West Indies, collect a payload, then return to Charlestown, arriving in the dead of night. Fortunately, because it was hurricane season, they wouldn’t be the only ones departing the harbor, and his only true concern was that he was sailing directly into hurricane territory, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d have to take his chances.

  And then there was the matter of their return...

  They would be back long before the harbor became congested once more, and because Jessie and Ben were to have sailed for England, he’d need to steal them down the Ashley to Shadow Moss as quietly and covertly as possible.

  He chuckled suddenly, for it would likely mean muzzling Jessie until they arrived at his plantation house—impudent wench that she was. And then again, he reconsidered, for Shadow Moss was nowhere near to completion, and Jessie would likely squawk all the louder when she discovered that fact—most females would, he didn’t doubt—so perhaps he would consider leaving her gagged until Ben healed...

  He turned the knob to his cabin door, gave a little shove, and then again to be certain before slamming his fist upon it. Locked!

  Damn it all! “Jess! Open the blasted door!”

  The deafening crack startled Jessie, rousing her at once, though she remained disoriented, having awakened to foreign surroundings. It took her a full moment to regain her faculties. The room swayed gently and swells of water could be heard smacking the side of the ship. They were no doubt at sea by now.

  “Jessie!”

  Recognizing Christian’s thunderous voice, Jessie smiled triumphantly and stretched lazily, refusing to be cowed merely by the sound of his voice. Raking her hair from her face with her fingers, she rose and went to the door as quietly as she was able, smiling at her ingenuity. She’d used Christian’s very own sea chests against him, piling them against the door, and then further braced them with her own hefty trunks. It had taken much time and toil to accomplish the master-work, but now she was certain the only door to the cabin was truly impenetrable. To her mind, it was a fine job... and this was precisely the moment she’d been awaiting. She fully intended to savor it.

  Using the bottommost trunk as a step, she carefully climbed the stack to place her ear against the wooden door. Christian pounded the door unexpectedly, ringing her ears with the unholy vibration, and Jessie leapt away, nearly tumbling from her carefully laid mountain to the floor.

  “Damn you, Jess! I demand you open this door! I’m not in the mood for games,” he warned.

  She gave him no response.

  “Jessamine? Do you hear me? I desire my bed!”

  God forgive her, but she couldn’t resist baiting him. “I suggest you seek it elsewhere, then,” she told him flippantly, “for I’ll not be giving this one up! Nor will I share!” And that was that, she swore to herself, slapping her hands in a definitive manner, smiling with self-satisfaction.

  “The devil you say, woman! That is my cabin you would have me give up, and I’ll not do so,” he apprised her.

  “Oh, but you will,” she demurred sweetly, “for I doubt I shall ever allow you entrance. I did not ask to be brought aboard this thieves’ den, and because you seem to have so little regard for my wishes, nor will I for yours, my nefarious Prince of Smugglers—Lord Christian, hah! What a farce!”

  Her words brought a smile to Christian’s lips.

  It was the my that settled him so quickly.

  His grin was smug as he disclosed, “Perhaps you don’t realize, as yet, but you’ll need come out of that cabin sooner or later, love. You’ll need to eat sometime, and when you do—”

  “Camp by the door then,” she suggested. “Though I fear you’ll have quite a long wait. Your cabin boy—Peter, I believe is his name—was quite accommodating, you see.”

  Christian shook his head, disbelieving his ears.

  “I simply told the dear boy that I was feeling under the weather,” Jessie told him, “and that I preferred to take my meals in my cabin. He understood perfectly and gave me enough provisions to last, well... a few days at least.” She giggled suddenly, and added, laughter in her tone, “How very tired of waiting you shall grow!”

  Christian was no longer amused; the thought of waiting days for his bed was wholly unpalatable. “Damn you!” he bellowed. “You little hoyden!”

  Losing his patience all over again, he slammed his boot against the door. She had it bolted from within, he was certain, but it seemed too solid a barrier to be simply barred. It was as though she’d placed something before it... His brows furrowed. What the devil could she have moved to bar it with? he wondered. Most everything was nailed firmly to the floor in protection against the movement of the sea. And damn her, for she sounded so very self-satisfied; it rankled to the bone.

  Releasing the full magnitude of his temper, he agitated the doorknob, nearly detaching it in his fury, and shook the cabin door so violently that Jessie had to wonder whether her barricade would even hold against him—yet hold, it did, even if the trunks seemed somewhat the worse for wear.

  Another string of vile curses stung the air, and then utter silence fell between them
.

  Had he given up at last?

  Jessie doubted it; somehow she had the distinct impression Hawk, odious Prince of Smugglers, never simply gave up at anything.

  But then... where had he gone to suddenly?

  It was entirely too quiet on the other side of the door.

  More important... what was he planning?

  When there was no more sound from behind the door, Jessie had to assume victory. Yet it had come too easily...

  Her brow furrowed. Unsure of what to do next, she paced the cabin floor, clasping her hands at her back to stop them from quaking. After a long interval, when there was still no sign of him forthcoming, she decided to pour herself a goblet of Christian’s fine Madeira to calm herself. God’s truth, but her nerves had never been more frazzled than they were this instant, and were becoming more so by the second.

  Finishing it quickly, she gave a choked little cough. God knew, all she needed now was to drown herself in his good wine—probably stolen or smuggled! she reflected resentfully. With a ragged sigh, she poured herself another brimming goblet-full and then wandered to the cheval glass. The woman staring back at her was haggard looking; hair mussed from slumber, and faint shadows darkening the hollows beneath her eyes. And the neck of her gown choked her, strangled her breath. She drew at the neckline irritably, and gave a derisive little laugh, for the gown had surely had its desired effect above deck; Christian had not so much as glanced at her untowardly. He was quite obviously unaffected by her.

  He didn’t care.

  He’d never cared.

  Yes, his threats had been lecherous, but there had been no heat to them, no feeling. No intent. God, what was wrong with her? Surely she wasn’t thinking... that she wanted...

  She shook her head vehemently, and took another sip, refusing to continue her present vein of thought.

  Stay out of his way indeed.

  So she had won this round, after all. Against whom? a little voice niggled. She raised her goblet in silent acclaim clinking it gently to the silver mirror—against herself, it would seem, for if she could be honest... it was not Christian she feared at all... but her own wicked yearnings.

  Standing before him there upon the foredeck, she had found herself wishing he would silence her raving with his soul-weakening kisses—that he would take her into his arms and tell her he loved her, beg her forgiveness. God help her, she had baited him, wanting only that he would lift her up into his arms and sweep her back to his cabin—she shuddered—in truth, back to that day beneath the elm tree...

  How long could he possibly be kept at bay?

  She glanced back at the door...

  It was not made of iron, after all. If he truly wished to come after her... She shook her head, for then again... he was quite obviously not trying overly hard. Perhaps he would leave her be, after all.

  With a very unladylike snort, she lifted her goblet and quaffed down the rest of her wine, then set the crystal gently down upon a small table beside the looking glass. With a sigh, she unbuttoned the topmost button of her gown, and then the next, and the next.

  She stared at her image, trying to see herself as he might, and then irritably turned from the mirror. She wandered to the drapery-covered window with the intent of drawing it open to the fading daylight, and then it dawned on her suddenly that she’d forgotten to procure flints with which to light the lanterns tonight. She sincerely hoped she could find some within the cabin itself, for she had no desire to remain in total darkness. Shuddering at the thought, she tugged open the blasphemously dark window coverings, and gasped aloud at what lay beneath.

  The most beautiful stained-glass window she had ever beheld stood in all its grandeur before her—three full-length panels! The left and right were wholly painted in colorful biblical scenes, but it was the double-wide center pane that caught her attention and held it fast.

  There in the middle of the depiction stood a grand apple tree, its limbs outstretched, forming a beautiful green shelter. Beneath it lay the figure of Eve, her dark hair unbound and spread gloriously beneath her like a carpet of black silk. In her proffered hand, she held a shining ruby apple, offering it up to... Adam?

  The resemblance between the figure of Adam in the depiction and Christian was striking—and good Lord, he was nude as the day he was born! So was Eve for that matter, beckoning to Adam with the apple like some seductress straight from a preacher’s fire- and-brimstone sermon. Her green eyes were brilliant, haunting in their intensity.

  Her gaze was drawn upward. The sky of the depiction was clear glass, a masterpiece, utilizing the blue of the true sky as its color—if it was dark outside, the painting would be as somber as midnight; if it was bright and sunny, Adam and Eve’s world would be as blue as sapphires; and if the weather was foul, then it would draw them both into the stormy tempest. This moment, it was faded a blue-gray, with orange and pink hues streaking as far as the eye could behold. The sun in the horizon was rapidly sinking from view, plummeting into the murky darkness of the sea.

  Jessie’s gaze reverted to the nude form of Adam, and she swallowed convulsively as her eyes settled upon that very male part of his anatomy. Such an odd, odd member... and so very, very... erect! She scrunched her nose. And then suddenly, her eyes widened as she recalled a certain something she’d said to Christian.

  It boggles the mind to consider why men were not born with horns or other weapons on their person. Do you not agree, my lord? Her heart leapt at the recollection.

  Are you quite certain of that fact? he’d asked her.

  She couldn’t have known. Her eyes narrowed in outrage and her lips trembled with misery. The cad, he’d been mocking her, even then... How he must have laughed at her naïveté—how he must have rejoiced in her stupidity!

  She was a fool.

  She was still a fool.

  Unable to keep herself from it, she reached out for him, her breath becoming labored and her body stirring wickedly, heating with the Madeira... and something else; as she smoothed her fingers over Adam’s full body. She stopped abruptly at his groin—couldn’t help herself, brazen as it was—feeling with wonder the almost indiscernible raised lines where one color met another. She was awestruck by the artfulness of the glass, by the beauty of the man depicted. Shuddering with the desire that burst to life within her, she caressed the cold glass before her... her heart thundering...

  Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, remembering...

  Christian’s heart began to hammer.

  From his precarious perch just outside the window, he felt the bold caress as though it were on his own body. Heat surged through his veins, its potency just short of heart-stopping.

  Christ, how he wanted her, ached and burned for her. His body shuddered at the sight she presented, head back and her face flushed with desire, her bodice undone and exposing her throat. Making certain his feet were secure within the toehold he’d fashioned within the rope, he shifted so the knot he was perched upon wouldn’t cut quite so sharply into his groin.

  How many times had he dreamed of that caress? So soft and innocent, and yet lustful too.

  Whatever else she was, the woman was passionate—that much he had to give her. The wistful look on her face made him burn all the more fiercely. He tried to ignore her. While she was otherwise occupied with Adam, he used it to his advantage, peering in at the door through the distorted glass. Damnation, but he couldn’t begin to imagine what she’d barred it with.

  He muttered an oath when his eyes finally focused upon the objects before the door. There were what appeared to be five trunks stacked before it, not one, not two, but five. His own two, which were by far the largest, were doubled at the bottom, and three of hers, one large, two small, sat directly above them, braced against the door. How the devil had she managed it?

  He knew the very instant she spotted him, for she suddenly leapt away from the glass, shrieking. She fell back upon the floor. Now that she was aware of his presence, he swung into plain view. He peere
d through the clear glass into the cabin, knocked on the window and smiled.

  Jessie seemed to recover quickly enough, scrambling to her feet at once. She stood staring, that hideous gown of hers gaping at the neckline, and he had the sudden urge to shatter his precious stained-glass window—to hell with the cost of it—throw her upon the bed and climb atop her, lift up her skirts without preamble and rut like a blood-maddened bull. He was that badly in need. That provoked. He willed her to open the door, so that he could have McCarney and Tibbs haul him up—so he could go to her and slake his insane need for her, and only her. In all the many months he’d been away from her, he’d not touched a woman. None of them had been Jessie.

  “God,” he croaked, his voice hoarse with restraint, and something more as he recalled her cozy familiarity with her damnable cousin. “Jessie... open the door...”

  Spurred to life by his request, Jessie suddenly tugged the drapery closed. “Really!” she shouted. “Sleep there upon your bloody rope, for all I care! Or loop it about your neck,” she added flippantly. “I care not which!”

  “Jessie! Open the goddamned door!” Now that he knew what was before it, he could quite possibly open it himself, for he’d noted that a few of the trunks were already tilting precariously, but Jessie had placed them there and Jessie would remove them, he vowed.

  Having blocked his smug face from view, Jessie went to his massive dark-curtained bed and plopped herself down upon it, trying desperately to ignore him—good Lord, he had caught her fondling his window! Her face heated with mortification.

  Such a deep hush prevailed from beyond the curtains that she found herself feeling uneasy as she surveyed the room in its unholy darkness. Why was everything so... so black? she wondered irately. His bed, more suited to a sultan, was curtained in dark midnight blue silks. A beautifully carved armoire in dark wood graced the wall by the door, and a table with wicked claws for legs hunched in the middle of the cabin, its fearful talons gripping the bare wood floor. There were paintings of indescribable value and beauty, bookcases built into the wall with dozens of leather-bound volumes housed within them. And then of course, there were the stained-glass windows...