A Kiss of Lies (12 page)

“You think it might help? The muscles have tightened terribly.”

“I’ll go fetch some and we can try it out.” Before he could argue, Sarah fled to her stateroom to retrieve the liniment. Never in all her life had she so strongly wished to help someone. He had wanted to end her pain, but she couldn’t allow that. However, she could help ease his.

He was pacing the main cabin on her return and swung to face her when she entered.

She indicated the chair by the open window. “Please sit and remove your cravat, waistcoat, and shirt.”

He did not move. “I—that is, perhaps Gareth would be more suited to applying the liniment.”

Christian never before had had any qualms about his nudity in front of a desirable woman. He’d stripped and bared his body numerous times, proud of his physique. But the thought of his twisted, disfigured body being bared before such a perfect woman, whose skin was like soft velvet beneath his touch, made him as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.

She had her back to him and was already opening the jar. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m perfectly capable of administering liniment.”

When he still hadn’t moved, she glanced over at him and straightened. “What on earth is the matter? I have seen men without their shirts before.”

“Not with wounds like these.”

“I assure you, it’s nothing I have not seen before.”

Christian gave a wan smile. She was right, of course. He reluctantly moved to the chair. “I warn you. I’m not a pretty sight.”

“I think you’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen,
even
with the scars.”

He swallowed hard. He’d love to believe her, but most women in England appeared to disagree with her. Not that he blamed them.

He slowly and carefully removed his upper clothes, while not daring to look at Sarah. He didn’t want to see revulsion or pity on her face.

He heard her indrawn breath as he pulled his shirt over his head, then felt her fingers gently trace the puckered flesh on his shoulder down to his torso.

“You must have suffered greatly. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He had suffered. But he’d refused to die and give his enemies the victory of his death.

For months he had relived the pain over and over nightly in his nightmares. But now, with Sarah in his life, instead of the pain he had something beautiful to focus on. And it made him even more determined to make her his lover.

He felt the coolness of the balm on his skin, and his nose wrinkled at its obnoxious smell. But it was the feel of her small hands roaming over his skin that had him gripping the sides of the chair.

Her touch wasn’t hesitant. Her strokes were firm and her fingers dug deep into the knots in his shoulders and arms. She didn’t go easy on him. Yet it was a very pleasant pain. She worked silently, and he finally stole a look at her face. Her lips were pursed in a determined line. Her blue, blue eyes weren’t filled with pity; they simply calmly checked over his scarred form, seeking out the most affected areas.

Soon both hands were working over the painfully taut muscles in his shoulders and upper torso. He watched her tiny fingers dig into his scarred flesh and couldn’t help but wish they were exploring more of his body.

What would her fingers feel like trailing down his chest, caressing his cock, cupping his sac, before moving up to grip his shaft tightly and sliding up and down? She’d need both her hands to wrap around his member, and to stroke him faster and faster, while edging him ever nearer to the brink of orgasm. He instantly hardened at the thought.

He shifted painfully in the chair, his hardness pushing at the opening in his breeches. If she looked down, she’d see her powerful effect on him.

Her hands stilled, and she looked at him in concern. “Am I hurting you? Is it too much?”

“No. It hurts just to look at you. You’re so beautiful.”

She ignored his comment, working her fingers deep into the muscles. “How did it happen?”

Memories assailed him. He almost gagged remembering the smell of his burnt flesh. She noted his reaction.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s silly, I know, but sometimes I can still hear the crackle of the flames, feel their heat on my skin, and smell my own flesh burning.”

She placed her fingers over his lips to hush him.

He pulled away. “No one has ever asked me about this before. Perhaps I
should
talk
about it. It might chase away the ghosts.” She stood waiting expectantly. “A band of us were trying to take out a French cannon. The wagon on which it sat collapsed, and I was trapped under it.”

With a puzzled expression, Sarah said, “At my interview, you mentioned a woman had set fire to you.”

He briefly closed his eyes. He could still remember exactly what she looked like—young, pretty, deadly.

“When the wagon collapsed, a Frenchman fell from it and broke his neck. Maybe he was her lover. She decided to vent her anger on me. She walked to the fire, picked up a burning stick, and lit the gunpowder around the wagon. Then she stood back to watch me die an agonizing death. Thankfully, my friend and fellow soldier, Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, was there to save me. It took him longer than I’d have wished,” he added with a sad smile.

Sarah gaped in horror. “What cowardice! What a dishonorable thing to do! She lit it deliberately, knowing that you were trapped? How could she be that cruel? How could any woman?” She shivered despite the heat. “I could never do that to another human being.”

He gave a wry smile. “I’ve learned that gender is no indication of the cruelty a person is capable of.”

“But to destroy something so beautiful …” She stood quite still. A blush swamped her cheeks, and her eyes traveled over the rest of him, starting at his face and moving down his neck, over his torso, then down past his stomach to his groin. There they stopped. There they rested—like a caress.

One of her hands unconsciously followed the pathway of her eyes, running over his chest—until she snatched it away, horrified at what she’d just done. She dropped her hands from his body and stepped back.

The room filled with tension, and the air crackled like the moments before a thunderstorm.

Hope flared in his soul as she took a step nearer. He could read the confusion on her face. She was tempted. She was afraid. She desperately wanted to touch him.

He almost reached up and pulled her into his lap, but that wasn’t the way to win her. Good things come to those who wait. He had a sea voyage of several weeks in which to seduce her. She wanted to learn about passion. He sensed she needed it like a healing balm. On board
this ship he’d have no competition for her affections from other men.

No. He shook his head to clear it of her intoxicating scent. He’d not ruin it all with a callow, rushed attempt. Time was what was needed, and he had plenty of it.

He rotated his shoulder. “Thank you, Sarah. That does indeed feel much better.” He gathered up his shirt and pulled it over his head.

She quickly collected herself. “I’m pleased to have helped. I’ll administer the liniment each night, and I’d advise you to keep the arm and shoulder active during the day so the muscles don’t stiffen up so much.”

With that she bid him goodnight and hurried to her stateroom.

Christian sat in the chair for several minutes trying to get his rioting heart and hardened body under control.

How ironic to finally find a woman who desired him, burns and all, but who was afraid of passion.

He wondered what her husband had done to her. He hated to think of her being abused in any way whatsoever. Curiosity was eating at him. He had to know.

If her husband had been a plantation owner, then perhaps someone in Jamaica would know of him. He made a decision. He would stay long enough on the island to ascertain her husband’s true nature. Then he’d know exactly what he was dealing with and how to proceed with his seduction. Sarah Cooper was more skittish than a yearling colt, and given his lack of looks and his long abstinence from any other attempted seductions, he needed all the help he could get.

The
Doreen
arrived in Kingston, Jamaica, in the middle of the night. Christian awoke early, the noise of the docks and the heat making it impossible to sleep longer. He dressed quickly, refreshed because once again the nightmares had been held at bay.

He looked forward to seeing Sebastian, his fellow Libertine Scholar. He’d left instructions that word be sent to the Marquis the minute the
Doreen
docked, and he looked forward to a few nights under Sebastian’s roof. He wanted news from home—unbiased news. He knew his friend would not try to soften the gossip about Christian’s disappearance from England. He wondered what story Grayson was feeding the hungry
ton
. He also briefly wondered what escapade had brought Sebastian to the tropics.

He partook of a coffee in the main cabin and then made his way up out on deck. It was already stifling hot, in spite of it being early morning. He needed something to do in order to burn off his restless energy.

Sebastian, forever the consummate rake, would be unlikely to arise before midday. Christian leaned against the rails, staring at the busy port. The sun glinted off the turquoise sea, and the glare from the white sand bordering the sweeping shoreline hurt his eyes.

Paradise!

As he marveled at such beauty, it was hard to remember this was not a trip he was taking for pleasure. He was returning to his home, to face an unknown enemy determined to destroy him and his reputation.

Why?

The question burned in his brain, and yet he could think of no one who’d take such umbrage with him that they’d deliberately destroy an innocent man, or rape a young woman in order to dishonor him.

He lowered his eyes against the glare and ran a hand over his nape. It wasn’t as if he were a saint; he’d had his differences and confrontations with various men, usually over women. Sometimes he wondered if it could be a woman who’d set him up, perhaps a jealous lover. God only knew he’d broken enough hearts in his time. But once the extent of his injuries became
common knowledge, all his discarded lovers counted themselves lucky.

He sighed into the breeze. No, it wouldn’t have been a former lover.

He pulled his pocket watch from his breast pocket. He realized he was impatient to see Sebastian. Perhaps he’d heard more of what had occurred. What news would he bring from Grayson?

He stood straight and froze in his tracks. What if his friends thought him capable of such a crime? Would they think he’d finally succumbed to the evil of his father’s influence? After all, his father’s blood flowed through his veins.

He scowled down at the gently lapping waves. Suddenly his impending meeting with Sebastian assumed a different urgency. What reception would he receive? Would Sebastian’s reaction be to advise him to stay in Canada?

He then caught Sarah’s scent on the humid breeze a moment before she appeared beside him. He could recognize her scent in his dreams. The fresh scent of flowers—lilies—always announced her presence.

She stopped several feet away from the rail. The bonnet on her head was tied tightly under her chin, obscuring most of her face and hiding her fair hair.

“Good morning, Sarah,” he said softly. “It’s a hot day in paradise.”

She gave a small smile. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Christian,” he uttered in exasperation.

“I agreed to such informal address when we are alone, but in company I would prefer formality. I don’t wish your friend to get the wrong impression.”

Christian laughed. “Lord Coldhurst is one of England’s finest rakes, so I’m afraid he’ll take one look at you and form the wrong impression anyway.” He shook his head. “Unlike me, if he were ever in the position of hiring a governess, your beauty would be the only qualification he’d be seeking.”

He watched her luscious lips tighten. “I see. Then perhaps Lily and I should stay on board the ship,” she replied in steely tones. “I’d rather not expose her to such behavior.”

He raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he should think about her suggestion. Sebastian’s blood would without a doubt rise upon seeing the beautiful, widowed Sarah Cooper, and he would definitely want her for himself. There was an unwritten rule among the Libertine Scholars: a woman was fair game no matter whom she supposedly belonged to—unless, of course, one of
them was married to her. Wives, like sisters, would be safe from their seductive intentions. But lovers, mistresses—were all to be wooed and won away from their original masters. It was the fun of the game.

“Perhaps that would be a wise idea.” He noted her surprise at his agreement. “I’m not even sure what type of accommodation Lord Coldhurst has here, or even what he is doing in Jamaica.”

Sarah hesitated for a second before saying resignedly, “No. Lily will be disappointed not to get off the ship. It’s hot and stuffy. Plus it’s going to be a long voyage, and perhaps it would be fairer to let her disembark.”

Their conversation was halted abruptly by a commotion on the dock below. Christian moved to the railing on the other side of the ship and peered down. A carriage sat on the dock at the bottom of the
Doreen
’s gangway, and a man with rich mahogany hair was striding up it, yelling for Christian.

Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, had arrived.

Sebastian spied him as soon as he reached the deck and moved forward to hug him tightly. “Christian, you old sod, how are you?” Sebastian pushed him back and held him at arm’s length. “I must say, you’re looking very well for a man sent to purgatory.”

Relief swept over Christian. Sebastian was the same old lovable, nonjudgmental rogue he’d always been.

“Come, I’ve brought some of my servants. They can organize your trunks. I thought we’d go to the local tavern and drink our sorrows away.” He dug his elbow into Christian’s ribs. “And see if we can get the scarred war hero bedded without being accused of rape.”

Although the words were spoken in jest, there was an underlying tone of anxiety. Sebastian looked tired. There were fine lines around his eyes, and his mouth showed hints of strain.