Chapter 16
Pacing the confines of her room, Jessie was torn between fury and fear—and then she heard the cry and fear won.
“Fire!”
A chill swept down her spine.
Racing to the window, she peered down below just in time to hear the man call out once more.
“Fire! Fire at the warehouse!” He scurried down the street, bellowing at the top of his lungs; one by one, windows lit along the shadowy lane.
Across the alley, a man came stumbling out in his nightwear.
Sprinting into the middle of the street, he snatched off his nightcap as he ran, waving it wildly, hailing the crier, who was even now turning the corner to Church Street.
More doors burst open. Within moments the narrow lane became congested with the curious and alarmed.
A loud rapping at Jessie’s bedroom door startled her away from the window.
“Miss Jessie! Miss Jessie!” cried the voice behind it.
Jessie hurried to the door, thrusting it open to reveal a pudgy, sweet-faced black woman.
“Miss Jessie!” the maid squawked. “They’s a man downstairs, waitin’ fo ya at the back doe—he says that Mastah Ben’s in trouble!
He tole me to fetch you and only you, not Mastah Robert!
He says you is the only one who can help him! Should I wake Mastah Robert?”
Fear clutched at Jessie’s heart; she shook her head. It might be Christian! “Not yet; let me see what the man wants.”
Leaving the door open for the maid to enter, Jessie turned to snatch up her cloak from the wooden peg upon the wall. Too distraught to worry over her appearance, she flung the cape over her shoulders and slipped her feet into the soft blue leather slippers she’d discarded earlier in the eve.
Immogene appeared scandalized. “Oh, Miss Jessie! Ain’t you gonna dress?”
“Once I’ve discovered what the man has to say, I shall.”
Jessie hurried past the fretting maid, into the corridor and down the elegantly carpeted stairwell.
“Well, then I’m comin’ with you!” Immogene hurried down after her, adding, “Ain’t fittin’ fo a lady to be runnin’ round wit’ nothin’ on but her nightie!”
“I’ll be fine,” Jessie swore. “Just see that Aunt Claire and Uncle Robert are told about the fire.”
“Fire?” Immogene halted behind her upon the stairwell. “Lawdy, Miss Jessie, what fire?”
“The warehouse—though I don’t know which one as yet! Please go tell them!”
Immogene turned, hurrying back up the stairs, and Jessie raced through the corridor, into the dark kitchen. Pushing open the back door, she found a man standing upon the back steps.
It wasn’t Christian.
The look he gave her made her wrap her cloak more firmly about her.
“Ma’am. Name’s McCarney,” he told her, his thick brogue made more prominent by drink. She could smell his fetid breath even from where she stood. “I’ve come ta fetch ye for Ben, lass. He’s hurt.”
“What do you mean hurt? How?”
The man’s gaze shifted nervously.
“Has it something to do with the fire?”
He seemed to hesitate a moment, then nodded. “Aye,” he yielded at once. “The fire.”
“Dear God!” Jessie exclaimed, turning and starting back into the house. “Please, Mister McCarney, wait while I fetch my Uncle.”
“Nae, lass!” Without warning, he seized her by the cloak, jerking her backward. He pressed a whiskey-steeped hand against her lips and nostrils.
Jessie choked, and opened her mouth to scream, but he shoved his fingers down her throat, gagging her as he forced her into the concealing shadows.
The door slammed shut as she struggled free of him.
Twisting away from him, she ran back toward the safety of the house, opening her mouth to cry out for help, but suddenly the sound of shattering glass rang in her ears.
Something wet and sticky trickled down the side of her face.
Jolted by the blow, she wavered and fell back into his arms. The last she heard was an indecipherable Irish curse.
“McCarney, you whoreson! What the blue blazes have you done to her?”
“She wouldna come,” he said without remorse. “She was aboot t’ go and tell her uncle—couldna let her do that, now could I?”
“You didn’t have to strike her so damned hard!” Taking Jessie into his arms, Christian shoved McCarney away.
“I dinna draw blood!”
“God’s teeth!” Christian snarled. “She’s dead to the world. What’d you hit her with?”
McCarney frowned. “Ma whiskey flask, and y’ can well believe I was no’ too pleased o’er wastin’ good whiskey, either—paid good coin fer it, damn it all!”
“You’d bloody well better pray she wakes up!”
“She’s breathin’, ain’t she?”
Christian eyed him speculatively as he placed Jessie gently down within the skiff. Her cloak was twisted wildly about her—damned, if she didn’t look like an Indian corpse being readied for a burning. Untying the cloak, he carefully unraveled it, and removed it.
“Christ!” he muttered, dropping the cloak over her at once to shield her from McCarney’s greedy eyes. He turned to fix McCarney with another glare as he came to his haunches beside her. “What the devil did you do, McCarney, take her from her goddamned bed?”
McCarney shook his head, his eyes flashing insolently. “Nay! She came t’ the door just so!”
Damn her, Christian cursed silently. “Let’s get out of here.” It was a wonder they’d escaped at all. He shook his head in disgust. Someone had cost him dearly this night—damned if he wouldn’t find out exactly who. First Jean Paul—Christ, if his father died...
He forced his thoughts away from that possibility.
And then Ben.
Now Jessie?
He couldn’t bear it.
Within moments the boat was launched and gliding soundlessly down the Cooper River, toward the shadowy harbor.
Jessie groaned, placing a hand to her head, and relief surged through him as he watched her revive. And then she lifted that beautiful green gaze to his, and he had the sudden urge to toss her overboard, so much revulsion was evident there.
“You!” she hissed, scooting away from him as though he were a slug in her bed. She drew herself up, glaring fiercely at him. “I should have known! God, I should have known! You’re a despicable liar, Mister Haukinge!”
Mister, was it?
He’d fallen that far from grace, had he?
Again she scooted backward, and stood, rocking the boat with her hysterics.
Her cloak slid away, revealing the dark tips of her breasts through the pristine white nightrail she wore.
His jaw tautened. He glanced over his shoulder, scowling.
“Turn around, McCarney!” Turning again to Jessie, he apprised her, “Be still, or you’ll topple the boat. ”
“You’re a liar!” she shrieked. “Where is Ben? God, he’s not even hurt, is he? What a paperskull I am! God—oh, God, where are you taking me?”
Christian frowned. Why wasn’t there more ruching, or lacing, or bows—or some other goddamned thing on the bodice of her nightrail to conceal her from view?
A memory besieged him; the day he’d pulled her from the fence... how he’d wanted to taste her then. He shuddered, thrusting the sultry image away. “Cover yourself, Jess.”
She didn’t seem to have heard him. “Where are you taking me!”
“Goddamn it, Jess!”
“Where are you taking me?”
He reached for the cloak that lay pooled at her feet. “Cover—”
Thinking he meant to grab her, she recoiled, shrieking her hands flailing as she lost her balance.
The boat tipped precariously. Christian reached for her, snatching her down before she could tumble overboard.
He brought her safely to her knees. She fought him, shoving wildly, and when that didn’t work, pounded his shoulder with the butt of her hand.
“Be still, damn it—you’ll topple the goddamned boat!”
Her eyes burned with green ire. “I can swim, Mister Haukinge—can you?”
A faint smile quirked at Christian’s lips. Impertinent wench! She ceased her struggles at last and glared at him as though she could will him to burst into flames—the irony of it all was that she could. He burned for her even now. “Aye,” he told her, “I can, though I’d prefer not to.”
“I don’t much care for what you prefer! I demand you return me to my home this very instant!”
Christian shook his head regretfully. “I cannot, I’m afraid.” He smiled slightly as he suggested, “Though you might always hitch a ride with the gators, if you like.”
“Gators!”
As Christian intended, she went perfectly still within his embrace. He nodded. “Out there.” He nodded toward the darkness.
She immediately searched the shadows. “You lie! I see no gators!”
“Ah,” he said, “but are you willing to chance it?”
He released her then, to prove his point.
For a moment she peered hard into the blackness, into the moon’s reflection upon the water, as though to discern whether or not he spoke the truth.
There was an ominous splash in the distance, a swish of water, but nothing was discernible through the darkness.
Assuming Jessie had heard it as well, he was unprepared for what she did next.
He caught her once again as she lunged toward the water, forcing her flat upon her back.
He had to lie full upon her in order to still her completely.
Anger clouding her judgment, Jessie fought him, pummeling him with her fists and shoving with all her strength.
He seemed as heavy as a mountain—indestructible as one, as well—and the only thing she seemed to accomplish was to rock the boat.
Feeling utterly helpless, she boxed his left ear with an open palm.
“Ayyee! Devil hang you, woman!”
Christian caught her wrists, pinning them ruthlessly to the planks.
“Damn you! Didn’t you hear me? There are gators in these waters! Do you really loathe me so much that you’d prefer their company to mine?”
“Yes!” she spat. “At least with them, I know what to expect! You, Mister Haukinge, are an impostor of the worst sort!”