Siren

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Blonde curls whipped on the breeze, lifting up over her head and swirling about delicate shoulders. The woman wore a simple gown that billowed behind her like a veil, exposing a length of smooth, bare legs. Bare feet sank into the damp sand with each step, and the waves curling along the beach stretched over the shore, reaching—begging—to kiss the pale, ivory flesh gliding by just out of reach. Wind tugged the garments snug against her lush curves, revealing a waist so delicately tiny it begged a man to circle his hands around it. James ached with the thought of doing just that. The woman gazed out over the sea, expression wistful… serene... adding to the ethereal air she exuded.

  Entranced, James could do naught but stare.

  The woman drew closer, but rather than deter from the haunting quality of her beauty, it intensified. James’s throat dried. An angel indeed… a superstitious man might believe her an otherworldly being, a spirit drifting between worlds.

  James fully believed the girl to be flesh and blood. He stood, unable to tear his gaze from her inappropriate dress—namely the hint of arched thigh peaking from beneath her skirts with every step.

  She gave no indication of noticing him, and did not waver from her solitary sojourn along the shoreline.

  “I never would have thought to find a mermaid so far from Cornwall,” he called out, compelled by a rare moment of chivalry to alert her to his presence.

  The woman startled, turning to face him completely. Thick lashes framed wide, deep-set pale eyes and a heated flush bloomed in her cheeks. Hair of the most peculiar silvery blonde tumbled in messy ringlets around her heart shaped face, and her skin shone with ivory perfection. His gaze shifted to her mouth. Oh, her mouth… words did not exist to describe the exquisitely carved flesh. The corners swirled up into perfectly delectable dimples and rolled into luscious pouty waves all but begging to be kissed.

  He clapped a hand over his heart. “Are you here to drag unsuspecting fools like myself into a watery grave with your siren’s beauty? But say the word, my lady, and I will follow you into the depths.”

  She regarded him warily, obviously unsure what to make of his teasing, and swept an assessing gaze the length of his disheveled frame.

  “If you wish for a watery grave, sir. Finish the contents of your bottle and swim out to yonder rock.”

  James stumbled backward, feigning a strong blow. “You wound me, beautiful lady.” He flashed his most devastating grin, one that never failed to turn women to mush in his arms. “Might I beg a name?”

  She shook her head, but a twinkle lit those exquisite eyes, like gems, but softer… warmer. “Beautiful creature or mermaid should suffice.” She backed away.

  “Come, Siren, don’t leave me.”

  She turned and jogged a few steps down the beach before spinning back, wiping the tangle of curls from her face. A smile teased those perfect lips. “If I am a siren it would behoove you to stay clear, sir.” Once more she gave him her back and ran, disappearing behind a dune.

  James hesitated, contemplating the bizarre encounter. He glanced at the whiskey bottle, but found he’d lost any desire to lose himself in drink. His gaze drifted back down the beach. He had no idea who that woman was, but he had every intention of finding out.

  * * * *

  “Alas, Siren, I cannot let you slip so easily away!”

  Phoebe startled and whirled, heart jumping into her throat. The wind tossed her hair back into her face and she swiped it from her eyes, staring in disbelief as the disheveled officer chased her down the beach. Mortification rushed through her at being caught so scandalously alone and without her stockings or shoes. She’d never expected to encounter anyone on this part of the beach!

  The soldier shrugged the red uniform jacket from his shoulders and dropped it into the sand, leaving him dressed in naught but a thin white lawn shirt, tan breeches and knee high black hessians. Embarrassment momentarily forgotten, Phoebe froze, starting at the man’s potent physique. Thick, powerful muscles rolled across his frame, shifting with primal efficiency beneath his shirt as he jogged toward her. Her throat dried and a tremor of awareness slithered through her belly. The sudden, wicked desire to run her palms over his rippling chest possessed her. She knew she should run, but temptation rooted her to the spot. In truth, she couldn’t tear her eyes from his mighty figure. Few men of her acquaintance possessed such a virile form.

  He slowed as the distance between them drew narrower, sauntering steadily toward her. “I warned you, Siren, run and I will follow.” He fixed her with a disarming, if roguish grin, and allowed his gaze to wander freely over her.

  Heat flamed in Phoebe’s cheeks, but rather than shy from his bold flirtation she grinned, returning his daring perusal. Short clipped, sandy locks lifted on the ocean breeze, and fell half-hazard across his forehead. Eyes of the warmest golden brown bathed her in an appreciative light, leaving her light-headed and giddy in the wake of his teasing flirtation. He was very handsome, and tall, with impressively broad shoulders that tapered into a sculpted chest and trim hips. Phoebe had always been attracted to big men, and this man was most definitely big.

  “No, sir, you said, ‘Say the word and I will follow.’” She shook her head, spearing him with a glare of mild reproach. “I gave no indication that I wished to be followed.”

  He stopped just a few feet before her, his grin slipping ever so slightly as his gaze wandered her unruly figure with an air of disbelief. “Is this a dream?” he murmured. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld.”

  Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with any compliments in regard to her beauty. “You, sir, are drunk.”

  “Not that drunk.” He moved in on her again, grazing the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “Not a dream after all,” he whispered more to himself than her. “You are warm. Flesh and blood.”

  Their eyes locked and his teasing expression faltered, growing serious… sad… Phoebe’s insides clenched as the light drained from his eyes and then melted. Something in his expression broke her heart. Any desire to flee whisked away on the breeze. This man needed her. She didn’t know why or how, but she sensed it to her core.

  “What shall I call you, Siren? Give me your name.”

  Phoebe shook her head, whatever primal connection she felt for him in this moment, she could not compromise her reputation by giving him her name. He was likely in town for General Witherspoon’s funeral. Many soldiers and militiamen were. He would leave in a day or so, never to see her again, and this scandalous encounter would be but a secret for her mind alone. “I fancy Siren. Have you a name, sir?” She flashed a coquettish half-smile, wishing to pull the light back into his eyes. “Perhaps I should call you Pirate.”

  After a moment he grinned, giving her a show of white teeth, one in the front ever so slightly crooked, lending him a boyish look. “Jamie. Call me Jamie.”

  “Jamie.” She tested the name. It suited him. “Pirate Jamie?”

  “Just Jamie.” He clasped his hands behind his back, leaning toward her, squinting playfully. “Tell me, Siren, how did you come to be wandering the beachfront with no stockings and your skirts tied above your knees?”

  Phoebe flushed, keeping her arms firmly crossed across her chest. “I spent a long afternoon in the company of an exceptionally stuffy minister.”

  He laughed, eyes twinkling. “An afternoon with a clergyman sent you spiraling into this depraved behavior.” He winked. “My kind of girl. Tell me, Siren, what did the good reverend say? The conversation must have been suffocating.”

  Phoebe shrugged, the heat in her cheeks intensifying. “He’s told me on more than one occasion that I am the embodiment of sin.”

  Jamie roared with laughter. “What would prompt such wicked sentiment?”

  Sobering, Phoebe glanced down. “My looks.”

  Jamie reached out, stroking a gentle thumb across her chin, tilting her face back up to his. His gaze softened, eyes roaming her face with abandon and wonder. “Your beauty, you
mean.”

  “The reverend believes comely looks distract men from more pious endeavors.”

  Jamie quirked a brow, a combination of skepticism and amusement lined his handsome face. “I’d wager this stuffy reverend says such cruel things because he finds you very distracting.”

  “Perhaps.” Phoebe’s heart skipped as Jamie shifted even closer. His weathered palm closed around her cheek, sending sensual waves rushing along her skin.

  “I pity the man who cannot appreciate the fairer sex. I don’t know how anyone could describe your countenance as anything but heavenly,” his deep voice rumbled melodically, creating a hypnotic tune with the waves crashing lightly against the shore. “Perfectly divine. A gift.”

  The seductive words swirled through her head, and combined with the dizzying thrum of her pulse, drawing her into his passionate eyes… deeper… closer… Warm breath gusted over her mouth, tempting and tantalizing, leaving her tingly in all of her forbidden places. Phoebe sighed, sinking deeper under his spell. Is this strange meeting in fact a dream? If so, she never wanted it to end. Her gaze flicked to his lips, just inches from her own. His handsome face descended and her heart skipped an erratic tempo. Any closer and his lips would whisper over hers.

  What am I doing? This is madness.

  Cold panic eclipsed the fiery desire pumping through her veins. At the last moment Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut and spun away. If anyone else spotted her and this mysteriously charming rogue, she’d be ruined. Edward would be livid. She had to go. She darted quickly away, chancing one last glance over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Jamie,” she called.

  He made no move to follow, merely stood still as a statue—a finely chiseled Greek statue at that—and watched her go. “Today I’ll let you escape, Siren, but rest assured I will find you again.”

  Three

  Phoebe wended through the crowded spring festival beside her brother, searching for a spot close to the parade ground. The military processionals were her favorite event, and she was late by near an hour. She spotted her best friend, Sarah Hardy, waving from along the fence.

  “There is Sarah. Would you mind if I joined her?” Phoebe asked.

  “Not at all,” Edward replied, nodding to their childhood friend. “Don’t stay out too long. We have to be ready to greet the guests this evening.”

  “I won’t,” Phoebe promised. Tossing her brother a quick smile, she joined her friend. Sarah stood with Lieutenant Collins, a young cavalry officer, originally from Corsair.

  “What have I missed?” Phoebe asked, turning her attention to the field. A uniformed soldier straddled a sleek chestnut gelding, preparing to maneuver through a difficult obstacle course.

  “Nothing much,” Sarah replied. “Only the militia drills.”

  “Oh, good. The cavalry display is my favorite.”

  The rider positioned his mount at the far end of the field, holding perfectly still for several seconds. The crowd hushed, waiting with bated breath for the exhibition to begin. Without warning the horse sprang forward in a rolling canter, striding swiftly toward the first obstacle—a fence style jump. As one, the horse and rider sailed over the hurdle, a perfect picture of fluidity. Phoebe gazed upon the beautiful spectacle with rapt attention. The officer guided his mount through the course with effortless grace, a stunning example of partnership as opposed to master and beast. The pair swept past the rail and Phoebe grabbed the upper rung in shock.

  It’s Jamie! The roguish soldier from the beachfront two days ago. Heat flamed in her cheeks. Needless to say Phoebe had refrained from taking any more clandestine walks along the beach. She bit her lip, gaze drawn with magnetic force to the striking officer cantering across the parade ground. He certainly cut a different figure from the disheveled—if handsome—rogue she’d seen the other day. For two days his rakish smile and warm brown eyes had stuck firmly in her mind. Inadvertently she shivered, even now her skin prickled with memory of his close perusal.

  But it was more than his bold flirtation.

  His haggard appearance had contrasted so vividly with his wicked banter, and he’d gazed upon her as though he needed rescuing, and she was his dream come true. Phoebe couldn’t help but wonder from what did he need rescue?

  “I daresay that is impressive riding,” Sarah said, standing on tip toe, she craned her neck around to stare after the rider. Her brimmed hat blew off her head, catching on the ribbons tied beneath her chin, momentarily blocking Phoebe’s view.

  “We call him the wolf in battle,” Lieutenant Collins stated proudly. “He is a hell-raiser of the first order on and off the battlefield, but when it comes to rallying troops…” Awe touched Collins’s voice, “he has no equal.”

  “It sounds as though you admire him very much,” Sarah said.

  “I’d follow him into Purgatory and wage war upon the damned,” Lieutenant Collins affirmed.

  Phoebe’s heart skipped as her ears strained, hoping to catch a full name. She could well imagine Jamie enticing men to follow him into the fray of battle. He was charming to say the least, with an intoxicating aura that affected her even now. Perhaps she’d see him at the ball tonight. Maybe he’d ask her to dance.

  The exhibition drew to a close.

  “Sarah,” Phoebe said, flashing her friend a quick smile. “I think I’ll just go down by the castle ruins. There is a lady selling some lovely ribbons.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Sarah said.

  “No, you stay and watch.” Phoebe winked, knowing her friend wished to stay with Lieutenant Collins. Sarah had made no secret that she intended to secure a marriage proposal before Nicholas returned to duty. “I will see you at the ball tonight.”

  Sarah chewed her lip, obviously torn. “All right,” she agreed with a small smile and turned her attention back to the officer at her elbow.

  Phoebe waved and hurried back down the hill, flooded by thoughts of Jamie and the extraordinary display of horsemanship she’d just witnessed. Her mind, and insides, aflutter with the prospect of seeing him again.

  Absently, she wandered the grassy fairgrounds, keeping a weather eye out for her wayward officer. She approached the table with the ribbons displayed and absently ran the back of her hand across a buttery lavender ribbon.

  “That color will flatter your eyes beautifully, my lady.”

  Phoebe startled and then smiled at the woman sitting on a wooden stool beside the table. “Thank you.” Phoebe lifted the ribbon and paid the woman with an extra coin. She turned from the stand and stopped short.

  Not ten feet from her stood Jamie’s impressive figure. Colonel Jamie, according to the insignia on his uniform. He smiled down at a pretty young woman and had a boy of perhaps seven perched on his shoulders.

  Phoebe gulped, tempted to bolt, but curiosity got the better of her.

  The pretty woman tossed her head back and laughed, an adoring gleam in her eye as she gazed up at the colonel. A nasty sprig of jealousy mounted in Phoebe’s middle, but she quickly quashed it. She had no business growing envious, she’d scarcely met the man, and he was obviously married. Her anger flashed. What a scoundrel to have carried on with her while he had a wife and son at home!

  Smiling, Jamie turned his head and caught her close perusal. Recognition glinted immediately in his eyes, and they widened in surprise. A flicker of delight splashed across his expression.

  Phoebe flushed and backed away.

  Jamie swung the boy from his shoulders, and ruffled his tawny hair. He quickly excused himself from his companion, and strode after Phoebe.

  Phoebe spun, rushing back toward the parade ground.

  “Siren,” he called.

  Phoebe cringed at the sound of the pet name and quickened her pace.

  “Siren,” he persisted, catching up and falling into stride beside her. “Your song led me to you once again.”

  “Don’t be silly, Colonel.” She plunged forward, embarrassed and desperate to escape.

  “Whatever happened to calling me Jamie?” His f
ingers gently caught her elbow, forcing her to slow and face him. “I give you leave to use my name. I, however, am still at a disadvantage as I do not know yours, Siren.”

  Phoebe arched a brow, pinning him with a jaded glare. “Would your wife take kindly to your begging an introduction?”

  Confusion clouded his brow. “My wife? You mean… Oh!” He barked with laughter. “Judith is not my wife. She’s my sister-in-law. The boy is my nephew.”

  “Oh…” Relief fused Phoebe a bit too rapidly for comfort. “I see.” Disconcerted, she cleared her throat, searching for something else to say. “Your performance on the parade ground was most impressive.”

  Jamie simply nodded. He released her arm and rocked back on the heels of his neatly polished boots. He passed an appreciative gaze over her.

  Phoebe licked her lips, flustered by the open perusal, and once again inundated by the intense connection she felt with this man. Something base… instinctive… that kept her rooted to the spot. The colonel’s obvious intelligence and horsemanship skills intrigued her, and Lieutenant Collins’ praise rang clearly in her mind. Wildly handsome, he exuded an air of rugged nonchalance that contrasted vividly with the dangerous cut of his uniform. His amber brown eyes bathed her in a pool of interested warmth, and her skin prickled in response.

  “A name? Or shall I simply call you Siren?”

  Phoebe hesitated. Unsure if she should reveal her identity.

  “Allow me to offer a more formal introduction.” He bowed in courtly fashion. “I am Colonel Witherspoon.”

  Phoebe’s heart clenched, pumping pure ice into her veins. Jamie… Colonel Witherspoon… The words collided with devastating reality. “J-James Witherspoon?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Disappointment and devastation coiled like smoke in her belly. Patrick. She’d been but eight years old when her eldest brother’s body had been dumped in the circle drive outside of the Corsair Estate, shot square in the chest. Everyone in Corsair knew James Witherspoon had killed him, but there’d never been enough evidence to bring him to justice.