Crimson Rapture (50 page)

The
dogs were forgotten. Breathing hard, she went limp, like a lifeless doll.
"Let me go," she said slowly in a voice intense with the pain of her
memory.

Justin
instinctively released her. With neither pause nor a word, she took flight.
Leaving the dogs and little Justin. Leaving him. Running as though from a world
turned suddenly into a nightmare.

Justin
did not move to stop her. "All beginnings are fragile," he whispered
to no one but himself, hoping against hope that a beginning had not just ended.

Christina
skipped dinner. She had not seen Justin since it happened. After finally seeing
her son to bed, she sat in the upstairs sitting room lost to her art work.
Aggie and Rosarn sat quietly with her. Aggie knitted a loose blanket for her
charge, while Rosarn busied herself darning the socks.

Christina
tried to keep her mind on task but her thoughts kept spinning with unpleasant
memories. She kept shoving them out of her mind's eye. Unlike Justin, she
refused to even consider that the afternoon's unpleasantness could ruin their
new beginning. Something so grand and wonderful could not be shattered like
glass. They were bound to have setbacks, and while tonight she struggled to
escape the past, tomorrow would be yet another new day. She would wake early,
ask Hope to fix a special morning meal, and she would greet Justin at the table
and with a smile. A smile that said all was well again. A smile that asked for
another chance.

Aggie
and Rosarn had mutually agreed to keep their mistress company for the night.
The house had been suddenly filled with happiness ever since the success of the
ball. The master and mistress were on terms now and a fine lovely pair they
made. Now something was amiss. They were not only curious, hoping Christina
would confide in them, but they were caring as well.

A
knock sounded softly at the door and Mary, the downstairs maid, popped her head
inside. "The master wants to see you." She was looking at Rosarn.

Christina
set her paints down to rise.

"No,
ma'am. He wants to see you, Rosarn. Right off."

Christina
watched Rosarn look at Aggie and both women looked terribly frightened of
something. "What about?" Christina asked for Rosarn.

"Didn't
say, ma'am, but he called Chessy in too."

Christina
couldn't comprehend Rosarn's apprehension. "Do you want me to stand by
you, Rosarn?"

"No,
no." Rosarn shook her head. "I didn't do anything. I know he'll
understand." And with that, she left.

"Understand
what?" Christina asked Aggie as the door shut.

"Oh
dear. 'Tisn't my place to say. You must ask Rosarn herself." Then, almost
apologetically, "Do you mind if I take leave now?"

"No,"
Christina sighed softly. "I think I'll retire too." She looked down
at her sixteen carefully created shades of black and gray and began sealing the
paint. Aggie left quickly. It took half an hour just to seal the paints and put
her things away. This was only because she moved so listlessly, like an aging
and frail person who moved beneath the heavy weight of an unkind life—and this
despite her resolve that all would be well again.

Undressed
and in her bedchambers, Christina began the arduous task of brushing out her
hair while sitting at the vanity. Her door was open a crack, and from the
hallway, she overheard the curious conversation between Aggie and Rosarn.

"Well?"
This was Aggie's hushed voice.

"You
wouldn't believe!" Rosarn cried in a whisper. "He thanked me! He said
it meant a lot to him to have people like me working for him and he was so
sincere too! Gave me a lift just listening to him. And look! Look what he gave
me."

"Oh
my. A twenty-dollar gold piece!" Aggie said excitedly.

"But
that's not all. He told me to send my James to him."

James,
Christina knew, was Rosarn's oldest son.

"Said
he'd sponsor him as an apprentice either as crew on board one of his ships or
as a printer. Whichever the boy wants. And all because I refused to do that
man's bidding. I told Mr. Phillips what I had said to the man was all—that he
could tell folks whatever he wanted about me. Everyone knows James was born
well before the nine months after my wedding anyway and heavens! 'Tis such old
news by now, can't think of a soul who'd care. Then, I told Mr. Phillips the
rest. I said that no amount of money could convince me to turn on the good
fortune of my master."

"Ohhh!
And what did Mr. Phillips say to that?"

"He
wanted me to tell him how much the man offered me and I did. Mr. Phillips
laughed when I told him, I don't know why, and then, then—this is the best
part, he promised to add the sum on to my wages spread over the next year!
Chessy got the same too! Can you believe how generous he is..."

The
voices drifted down the stairs. With her brows drawn together, Christina tried
to comprehend what she had just heard. Apparently Rosarn did something to earn
Justin's gratitude. His very generous gratitude. And Chessy as well. She'd have
to get the details tomorrow.

Christina
slipped beneath the thick covers on her bed. She would not think of those times
anymore. She would not think of any of it anymore, she vowed unrealistically,
and with a great upheaval of pillows and covers, she turned on her side.

Perhaps
because of her vow, she found herself staring at the lantern she always left on
in the event of one of her awful nightmares. She had not suffered one in ever
so long, not since leaving England and coming here, but just in case...

Don't
think of that, anything but that.

The
last thing she felt before dropping off to sleep was a small twinge of fear,
The fear of a lizardlike alligator with unmerciful razor-sharp jaws.

Late
at night, working in his bedchambers, Justin signed his name to the letter to
his father. It would leave with the first of his ships that would boldly break
the embargo and sail to its fortune this week. Remembering Charles Paton and
Christina, he added a postscript asking for the paints and canvases to return
with the ship. Then he folded it into an envelope, poured the candle wax into
his gold seal, and the envelope was properly sealed.

He
leaned back and poured himself a brandy, watching the wax dry. In the wrong
hands, the letter could see him hanged. It contained the dates and places in
which his father's men would meet each ship, along with rough approximations of
what cargo to expect on each ship. Tomorrow he would see the letter to Jacob,
the only person in the world he could trust with it, also—not
coincidentally—the captain of the first run. Once dried, he rose to bring it
downstairs to his study. If only he could carry the letter to England itself.

He
stopped halfway down the stairs.

The
letter might not be safe in his study. Rosarn and Chessy were obviously
trustworthy but who knew what other servants those French idiots might
approach? He cursed softly, thinking he ought to just shoot the bothersome
bastards. He certainly had just cause but even that seemed more trouble than
they were worth.

Abruptly
Justin decided to play it safe and carry the letter as well as the final log
plans into town himself. At first light.

He
slipped the letter into the pocket of his loose black robe and turned back up
the stairs. He stopped outside Christina's door and paused with indecision.
Unable to resist, he quietly opened the door and stepped into her room.

How
many other countless times had he found himself like this? Standing over her
bed to watch her sleep, using every ounce of control to stop himself from
waking her, but still agonized by the ever-so-pleasant fantasy that she would
wake on her own, find him there, and want him just half as much as he wanted
her. How many times? A dozen? Fifty? A hundred?

He
chuckled lightly. How thoroughly lust took a man's sanity!

Tonight
her beauty was concealed from him. Only her head showed above the covers and
she slept with her face turned into the pillow. As always before bed, she had
pinned her hair into a loose pile on top of her head. She must have been
sleeping restlessly, for long tendrils had already fallen and covered her face.

What
he did next made him think he had drunk one too many brandies. Expecting to
find her in one of the nightgowns that teased him so, or perhaps one of his
silk shirts, he lifted the covers from her. What he discovered was just so much
worse.

He
just stared. She wore not a stitch of clothing; her beauty beckoned innocently.
He felt his body's quick response. He quickly enumerated every bloody reason
why he should not wake her. Not tonight, after the afternoon's misfortune,
especially not tonight...

And
still he hesitated.

Sensing
a sudden loss of warmth, Christina stirred in her sleep. Stretching, she arched
her back and turned over, seeking to find the warmth again. No temptress could
have contrived a more seductive movement and Justin half groaned, and gently
lowered the covers back. He was playing with fire. The right moment to leave
had long passed.

His
hand touched the door handle when he heard a muted cry and he turned back
unwillingly. She began tossing and turning, lost to the throes of some dream.
He started to leave again, but her arms and legs started thrashing with what he
suddenly knew was the desperate effort to get the creature off. She bolted up,
as a scream broke through the nightmare and into the cold night.

But
this time he was there. Somehow, long before the reality of where she was could
break through the terror, he was already there, knowing exactly what to do. He
pulled her into his arms and lay back against the bed, holding her so tight it
forced the thrashing to stop. So tight he would have sworn he was hurting her
if experience hadn't taught him differently.

She
fell into choked gasps of relief. Then that voice, his voice and those words
whispered softly against her ear. The terror melted, dissipating with his each
breath, each gentle push of his hand through her hair, each swift beat of his
heart. Until finally she could speak and she said what she always said:
"Don't let me go."

Justin
knew his part. "Never."

Time
slipped into another sphere. She had no thoughts, but gradually, ever so
gradually, she became aware of him. His hand still gently combed through her
hair. She was enclosed in his arms, surrounded by his warmth. The
ever-so-pleasant scent of him filled her—brandy, the faint aroma of candle wax,
and ink, all blending with the clean masculine scent that was just him. His
long length pressed against her so and—

She
opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Justin had been suffering a
similar, though far more maddening, assault on his senses. Either he lowered
her beneath him and took those lips or he was going to meet with the ice cold
water of the lake. One or the other, and soon.

"Christina,"
he whispered as his hand strayed behind her ear and lower, reluctantly stopping
at her shoulder. He would not force her. "I can't comfort you any longer.
Not without—I... I have to leave."

"No.
Please don't leave me."

He
searched her face to see if she understood what that meant. He found plenty of
emotion in the soft gray eyes, none of it fear. "Say it. I want to hear
you say it."

"I
love you," she whispered. "I want you to love me. Please."

She
did not have to ask twice.

Justin's
pleasure found no limits that night. He could not get enough of her, he
wondered if he ever could. Soft morning light filled the room as—not for the
first time—they lay spent in each other's arms and still he wanted her again.

His
lips brushed her forehead as his hands ran lovingly over her back. She brushed
her face against his chest and closed her eyes, lost to that warm feeling of
not being able to get close enough. The insatiable fuel of desire. "I love
you," she said simply and again.

He
smiled and moved to find her lips. He would ride her again and again until she
finally begged for release and then he'd let her sleep only to wake in his arms
and start their love again.

A
soft rap sounded at the door.

His
lips left hers but briefly. "Go away."

"Sorry,
sir," Rosarn called through the closed door, her voice sounding muted and
nervous both. " 'Tis your man, Jacob. Says it's urgent."

Justin
rose with soft curses. He found his robe on the floor beneath the headboard
where it had once been flung. He lifted it and swung it over his shoulders. He
was about to tell her he would be back in minutes when, just that quickly, he
saw she was asleep. He smiled, kissed her lightly, and left the room.

He
met Jacob in his study and immediately perceived his friend's agitation. Jacob
paced the floor, muttering to himself as he did so. He was so agitated he did
not at first notice Justin. "Jacob, what is it?"

Jacob
stopped and looked up. "It's the entire crew of the
Independence
in
the jailhouse, that's what!"

"What?"
Justin pulled the servant's bell to get some coffee.