Kissed; Christian (35 page)

She struggled a moment longer, and then as his words penetrated, she stopped abruptly and threw her arms about his neck and began to cry. Her hands slipping from his shoulders to clutch at his shirtfront, she set her wet face against his chest. She was soaking him to the bone, but he didn’t give a bloody damn. She was alive, and he loved her—and God help him, he would strangle the life from her if she ever did something so witless again!

“That’s it, love,” he soothed, his voice choked with emotion. “ ‘Tis over now...”

“S-St. John!”

“He’s gone, love,” Christian told her, grimacing as he searched the river over the top of her head. There was no sign of St. John anywhere. As much as he loathed the man, he couldn’t help but feel for him; he wouldn’t have wished such an end for his worst enemy—and St. John, though far from being a saint, had never been his worst. He knew instinctively that a search would prove futile—and yet he would search, despite the incredible sense of justice he was feeling this moment. The bastard might have killed her.

“H-He w-wouldn’t l-let me g-go! I couldn’t b-breathe!” she wailed, and then her words were jumbled and incoherent as she hauled herself up and buried her wet lips against his neck. He sat there upon his knees, stroking her soggy mop of hair, pressing his lips to her forehead. Clasping her cold, damp body tightly against him, he thanked God and vowed never again to let her out of his sight.

T
he cool breeze brought Jessie awake shivering.

The nightmares had been horrid and so very real, but when she opened her eyes, it was to find bright morning light streaming past her face. Shadow Moss. Christian. She was alone as far as she could tell, but she could sense his presence still... like a comforting heat in the chill of the room. His musky male scent lingered, and she knew he’d not been gone long.

In the peaceful morning surroundings, with the birds chirping merrily outside, she could almost believe it had all been no more than a gruesome dream, but her ruined gown, the one Christian had liked so well, sat drying upon a wooden chair in the sunlight, providing indisputable evidence. She shivered at the memory. And then she noticed the balcony door was left ajar, and she rose. Wrapping herself within the dressing gown Christian had left for her, she walked toward the open door.

She found him outside, gazing silently down upon the crush of new workers who were busy this morning laboring over the unfinished wing. Sensing her presence, he turned to her, a lit cheroot in hand.

“Jessie?”

Her eyes focused upon the smoking cigar, for she’d never seen him smoke before now, and yet when the odor reached her, she recognized the rich scent at once. It was part of him, part of his mystique and part of his person.

“Should you be up?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “Truly.” The way he stared made her heart trip painfully, for he seemed so lost somehow, so sad. “How long have I slept?” Self-consciously she wrapped the robe more tightly about her.

His face was more deeply stubbled than usual this morn, giving his swarthy complexion an even darker shadow. Smoke-colored stains rimmed his deep blue eyes. He was carelessly dressed in snug black breeches and a white shirt that was properly buttoned while left untucked, and it appeared to Jessie as though he’d not slept in an age. Indeed, he seemed vanquished somehow, and yet never more hardened.

“Since yester eve,” he disclosed, smiling slightly. He shrugged. “If you might call it sleep. You tossed and turned more’n a boulder down a mountainside.”

“I was dreaming.”

“Aye,” Christian acknowledged, averting his gaze. He’d tried his damnedest to soothe her, but she’d begun to prattle... about him... about her father... Ben. He’d understood mere fragments; had to go... hang you... Ben .. .father’s murderer... Christian. Yet those fragments had been more than enough. They twisted his gut. Even now.

“You stayed with me?”

“I wouldn’t have left you,” he said without turning. And he wouldn’t have. He didn’t wish to even now, but he would if it was her wish. He couldn’t bear to hurt her any more than he had already.

“What came of your meeting with Daniel Moore? Quincy said you had papers ..

“I did. St. John’s accusations were dismissed with the proof I brought before him. He had no grounds to hold me, or Ben either; no matter that he might have suspected us. Your cousin has gone back to the city, and I was returning to tell you that you were free to go, as well.”

The moment of silence lengthened.

“Christian,” she began, and he winced at the solemn tone of her voice. “There is something I wish to say to you—something I meant to say before you left for Charlestown...” He turned to face her, hurling the smoking cheroot upon the balcony floor. He tamped it down with his boot and mentally braced himself for her pain... her disdain.

“You see... I was looking for you when St. John—oh, God, this is so difficult!” She shook her head, averting her gaze. “I’ve no idea how to say this, so I shall simply do so and be done with it.”

Christian’s chest constricted painfully.

Her gaze returned to him. “I refuse to allow you to blame yourself for my father’s death! If in fact he...” She swallowed and hugged herself, holding his gaze with her lucid green eyes. “If he ended his own life... then it was his own decision to do so, his alone. That would be his sin to bear, not yours, not mine, not Amos’—though I very much doubt my brother will ever be free of the guilt!”

Christian swallowed, shook his head. He wanted to stop her before she said something she would regret. “Jessie...” He took a shuddering breath, moved as he was by her generosity. “You need not absolve me... I am what I am. I did what I did.” He shook his head. “Much as I wish it, I cannot, in truth, be judged innocent.”

“Please,” she said, holding up her hand in protest. “I listened to you when you confessed yourself to me. Now... please, do me the courtesy. Aye, ’tis the truth you bear some responsibility, but even still, the burden of his death falls solely upon my father. It was not as though we were left completely destitute, after all,” she reasoned. “Nay, for my father had resources to draw on—myself, for one—had it suited him to do so. Amos certainly had no qualms over using me,” she added somewhat bitterly. “The truth is that my father chose not to do so.” She sighed heavily before continuing.

“It seems to me that when my brother Thomas died, a part of my father died as well. You see, he was of the mind that Thomas was the perfect one; Thomas was his hope; Thomas was the wise one; he was courageous and diligent. And yet... Amos was the one most like him. I never understood why my father seemed so displeased by him, nor why he thought him unsuited to the dukedom.”

Christian’s jaw clenched visibly. “And so you would have me believe he would end his life because he lost his best son, and thus give the dukedom all the sooner to his most unworthy? I find that hard to credit, Jessamine.”

“So do I,” she agreed. “But you didn’t know him as I did, and I tell you true that when my eldest brother died, so, too, did my father’s will to live. I saw the change in him from the very instant he was apprised of Thomas’ death—not even my mother’s passing affected him so.”

“Still...”

“Nay! You did only what you felt you must, and the truth is that I might well have done the same given your circumstances. None of it matters anymore.”

“The devil it doesn’t.”

Jessie stood there before him, her hands clasping and unclasping at her sides, angry tears glistening in her eyes. “What do you wish me to say? Do you wish to hear that I despise you, after all? Do you truly wish to know my hatred when you can know my love instead? Nay, but I can lie to myself no longer—nor to you! I cannot!” she cried with feeling. “’Tis impossible! Sweet Lord—do not ask me to deny what I feel, because I cannot! I love you, Christian,” she told him, her eyes misting.

He stared at her a long moment, and then said, as though he’d not heard a word she’d spoken, “The unfinished wing...” His voice broke. He turned from her, staring down below, leaning against the railing as he watched the men work. “No sooner had it been constructed when it was destroyed by fire. Did you know that, Jess?”

Jessie blinked at his words, staring at his back as though he were mad. Her heart felt as though it were wrenching. How could he change the subject so completely, all but ignoring her declaration of love? “Fire?” she repeated. Good God, what did she care about that now? “I... I didn’t know,” she relented, discomposed now. “Th-There are no signs... The walls are not—Good Lord, Christian!” she cried, shaking her head at the absurdity of their conversation. “Whatever has this to do—”

“Originally,” he said, without bothering even to glimpse over his shoulder at her, “my chamber was in that burned wing.” He continued to watch the workmen below, and Jessie felt like flying at him and striking her fist upon his back, screaming like a madwoman.

She swallowed, dosing her eyes. He didn’t love her... couldn’t... “Really?” she replied, and choked down a sob.

“I learned yesterday that it was burned apurpose. McCarney admitted to it.” There was a moment of silence as Jessie weighed his words before he continued. “He was somewhat emboldened by my arrest, I assume. He confessed to starting the blaze while I slept in revenge for something I’d done to his brother. It was an accident Jessamine; flash fire. I didn’t kill him, though I might as well have. I didn’t stop it, either. He was no more than a boy. I should have put a halt to it at once. You see, he was afraid of the cannons, and I thought I was doing him a favor by allowing the crew to force him into firing a volley. He had to learn—he wanted to. God’s truth, he needed to learn. But the men were more drunk than I realized; they misloaded the gun.” He was silent a long moment. “I didn’t realize McCarney still held me responsible, but I might have known, for it took me a long time to acquit myself.”

He shook his head. “’Tis been more than three months since the fire and I’ve had the bricks scrubbed. I’d had it in mind to leave them their natural color, you see, but they had to be whitewashed. It doesn’t really look so bad as I thought it might.” He turned to face her, his eyes gleaming strangely. “What do you think?”

She thought he must be daft! Her brows collided. “I’m sorry. ‘Tis beautiful, Christian—did you not hear me?”

“Tell me, Jess,” he broke in once more, smiling slightly now.

“Did you not hear me?”

“Can you see yourself as mistress here?”

Jessie’s temper rose. “Can I—” And then his question penetrated, and her jaw dropped. She clamped her mouth shut, not entirely certain she’d heard correctly. Gazing skeptically into his face, at his lopsided grin, she ceased to breathe entirely. She was terrified to voice the question, but forced herself. “Did you... did you just ask me to marry you?”

He nodded, and her heart tripped. “Not for the first time, I fear. I only hope you’ll reply more positively than did your brother.” He smiled at her then.

Jessie was momentarily stunned by his disclosure. Her brows rose and her heart soared. “You asked Amos for my—”

“I did.”

“He... he told me you had not! He said you’d come only because he’d paid you!”

“To begin with, it was true,” he confessed, his tone soft and laden with guilt. “But after having met you, Jessie, nay.” He shook his head. “In truth, I never intended to follow through with it... Curiosity, and curiosity alone, prompted me to accept when I wanted nothing more than to batter your brother’s agent to a bloody nub instead. But you see, I never considered I would fall in love with you,” he admitted, coming forward. He closed the distance between them. Jessie’s heart lurched as he reached out to brush her hair back from her face. He cupped her chin, lifting it to his gaze. “Do you remember that I did not return for some time... and you wondered that I had gone?” His eyes glistened suspiciously. “The truth is that I never intended to see you again, only I was drawn back... even against my will—God, you were so beautiful... so very beautiful...” He bent his head to brush her lips with his own.

Jessie closed her eyes. “Christian,” she murmured, and he kissed her again, gently, his tongue coaxing her lips, and delving within as he lifted her up into his arms. He carried her within his chamber. Jessie clung to him, her heart beating fiercely.

Halting before the bed, holding her possessively, he whispered against her hair, “Jessamine Stone, will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

Unable to speak, Jessie nodded, burying her face into his shirt, drenching it with her joyful tears.

“I love you,” he swore. “Always have, always will...”

God only knew—how long had she waited to hear those words? How much grief had she suffered and caused for them? Her eyes were liquid with tears as she gazed up into his face. At last she was unafraid to face the truth, unafraid to give her love, and her heart swelled with joy unlike any she’d ever known. “And I,” she whispered fiercely, “have always, always, loved you, too!”

He lifted a brow. “Always?”

She wrapped her arms about his neck and drew his face down to hers. “I love you, Christian... and yes,” she murmured, “always.”