Chapter 14 #2
Her shoulders slumped in defeat as his lips descended once more. “Nay,” she beseeched him, trying in vain to avert her face; he held her imprisoned. “Don’t... don’t... please...” She whimpered.
“Jessie,” said with a groan, urging her to face him, forcing her to acknowledge him.
The sound of his voice was low and tormented, undoing her completely, and then his mouth met hers with savage determination, coaxing her trembling lips.
Like liquid fire, his tongue slipped within to brush hotly against her own, and a jolt of almost painful pleasure surged through her.
His other hand slid down to splay across her back.
.. pressing firmly, forcing her to acknowledge the rest of him as well.
God help her, she responded wantonly to his tender coercion, letting him take whatever he would in that instant.
He tasted of brandy, his mouth so warm and sweet with the taste that she could almost feel the burning liquor gliding down her own throat.
He smelled of it, too... the scent heady to her senses.
Her hands dropped helplessly at her sides, and the mask and glove slipped forgotten from her fingers.
“Jessie,” he murmured. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie…”
She shook her head, some last vestige of her pride clinging to reality.
What was wrong with her that she would weaken so?
Even after all that he’d done to her? A sob caught in her throat as she acknowledged the truth.
She was in love with him—would always be in love with him—regardless of what he was, regardless of what he’d done to her.
And she loathed him for it—herself even more!
With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she broke free. “Get away from me!”
With trembling fingers, she swiped his kiss from her lips.
Glaring at him, she bent to pick up the discarded mask at her feet, overlooking the satin glove that lay just beneath it.
He stepped forward, and she raised her face to look into his eyes.
“Stay away from me!” Her eyes misted traitorously.
He reached for her and she twisted away. “I loathe it when you touch me!”
It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it.
He arched a brow. “Really?”
Her heart pounded.
“It seemed to me you wanted that kiss as much as I,” he taunted. He reached out to place a finger beneath her chin, raising it slightly. “Don’t dare deny it, love.”
She slapped his hand away from her face. “I am not your love!” she hissed. “You don’t know the meaning of the word!”
He stiffened. “And you perchance do?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and she backed away another pace, ready to bolt if he advanced upon her again, but he merely stood, glaring at her with that soul-searing gaze.
Six months ago, that very same blaze in his eyes had broken her heart. Now it only infuriated her. And fury gave her the courage to ask the one thing she needed to know of him. “What sort of man are you, that you would accept payment for breaking a woman’s heart?”
For a long instant he merely stared at her, his jaw working, and then he answered, “What kind of man is your brother that he would invite me to do so?”
“I am not asking you to defend my brother’s honor!” she countered. “Merely your own! And I ask you again—what kind of man are you that you would take payment for such an ignoble deed? Certainly no gentleman!”
Again he stiffened. “If you find me no gentleman, m’mselle... it is because you are no lady.”
He laughed then, the sound harsh, and stooped to retrieve her glove from the ground.
His accusation wrenched at her soul, for she very much feared it was so.
He brought the glove to his lips for a heartless kiss, and tossed it angrily at her breast. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him in mute rage.
With trembling hands, she replaced her hood and mask, and after a moment followed him into the house, hoping he intended to leave, because she, as yet, could not. She cursed Ben to perdition for leaving her here at his mercy. Her heart continued to pound traitorously.
She found Kathryn still on the dance floor, laughing gaily, and so she stood aside, watching the shimmering silk and satin dresses promenade by.
After a moment—or it might have been a lifetime—Lord St. John appeared at her side.
Silently she wished him to blazes, as well, but managed to give him a pleasant smile, nevertheless.
“Jessamine, m’dear,” he crooned. “You look absolutely ravishing this eve.”
She resisted the urge to kick him squarely in the shin.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said sweetly. “However did you know it was me?” She extended her hand in greeting, and he brought it to his lips.
Behind her mask, she recoiled at his touch.
Only after everyone else in Charlestown had given her such a warm welcome had Lord St. John even bothered to call upon her, fickle fool that he was—not that she wished him to, mind you, but he seemed to flow with the tide of public opinion, wanting her one moment, despising her the next.
Much like someone else she knew.
Her gaze searched the room.
“You,” he murmured, kissing her proffered hand, “are simply unmistakable, m’dear.”
She sighed. “And why is that, my lord?” she asked through clenched teeth, thankful for the mask that concealed her expression of disgust.
“Why, your eyes, of course,” he declared. “They are the rarest of jewels, you see...”
At his declaration, Jessie fought to hold back the tears.
Christian had once said the very same thing to her, and she wondered irately just how many women had been privy to such disingenuous drivel.
How many others had Christian whispered such endearments to?
The very thought left her bereft, furious too.
Once again her gaze swept the room, this time meeting his over a snifter of brandy.
He raised the glass in silent tribute. She could scarcely read his face from the distance, but she suspected he was congratulating her upon Lord St. John’s renewed quest for her hand.
The man was becoming a boor in his pursuit of her.
This week alone, St. John had called upon her near a dozen times, and each time she’d claimed an attack of the vapors.
Nothing seemed to dissuade him. He simply came again, and again, and again.
She averted her gaze, pretending interest in Lord St. John’s one-sided discussion. It was insufferable that both men who had caused her so much anguish all those many months ago in England should be here now, so many miles away, making her miserable once more. God was surely punishing her!
“And where is Ben tonight?” St. John asked, his gaze turning with unconcealed disgust toward Christian. “Jessamine? Are you listening, m’dear?”