Well, then... still she might find a way to prevail upon him to assist her in finding safe passage to her father’s brother in the colonies. She had her mother’s jewels to persuade him, after all. And they had once been affianced. He owed her something for that, did he not?
Yes, indeed, she determined, and refused to be disheartened. One way or the other, her greatest chance to escape Lord St. John lay with Lord Christian—and he had come at last.
Her mood lighter than it had been in ages, she set the age-blackened volume down upon the grass to peer at the brook below. An old stone packhorse bridge spanned its shallow width. It had been there as long as Jessie could recall—put there by druids, her mother had claimed. Bathed in misty sunlightbeneath the lush oaks and elms, this had always been her favorite place to come, whether to brood or shout huzzahs.
This instant she felt like dancing wildly.
The water seemed so cool and tempting...
Surely no one would spy her if she removed her slippers and stockings to soak her feet…
How long had it been since she’d risked such a thing? It seemed a lifetime ago she’d dared be so carefree.
Closing her eyes, she called to mind the day so long ago when her mother had caught her wading in nothing more than her pristine white shift. If she remembered very hard... she could still see it... almost hear her mother’s sweet voice...
“Jessie love! ’Tis no place for a young lady to cavort by her lonesome!”
She’d caught sight of Jessie’s gown cast away upon the grass. “Good heavens!” she’d exclaimed. “What would your papa say!”
Bursting into fits of giggles, Jessie had flopped upon her belly in the water, splashing everywhere.
“Whatever shall I do with you?” her mother had asked, but Jessie had spied the smile she tried so hard to conceal.
“Watch, Mother!” Sucking in a mouthful of water, Jessie held it dammed within her mouth as she watched her mother remove her silk shoes and wade in after her. When her mother stood before her at last, she popped her cheeks with her palms, spewing water all over her mother’s fine gown.
Her mother had peered down incredulously at her ruined gown, and seeing the flustered expression upon her face, Jessie feared to have angered her at last, but suddenly her mother had lunged after her, a peal of raucous laughter bursting from her lovely lips.
Looking back upon it now, Jessie thought it might have been the disheartened expression on her face, for she couldn’t begin to imagine what could be so funny about an impish child anda ruined gown. And yet, how they’d laughed and frolicked that day.
Tilting her head back, she sighed, feeling the gentle warmth of the sun upon her face. She was six years old that day... the year before her mother had died. More than a lifetime had passed since then.
Her brother ruled like a dreary little monarch. As her father would, he’d turn choleric with rage to spy her at such merrymaking. And truth to tell, she couldn’t help but giggle at the expression she imagined he’d wear. A spark of mischief ignited. The birds twittered nervously in the treetops. What could he say, after all? He couldn’t possibly be more callous toward her than he already was. What harm could come of it?
Impulsively she tossed off her slippers and stood, flinging up her skirts. Rolling down her stockings, she removed them, and cast them away with an impish giggle. And then drawing up her skirts, she knotted them firmly to keep from soaking the lacy hem, more than pleased with herself for forsaking her petticoat this morn. She’d had to sneak to get out of the house, but the freedom it now gave her was well worth the undignified duck behind the server.
She wasn’t fool enough to run about in her shift at her advanced age, but she could see nothing wrong with wetting her feet—to blazes with Amos!
She started down the incline, humming cheerily.
Christian found himself reluctant to intrude upon her delightful diversions and so he sat, admiring her unheeded as she whirled and frolicked like a doe in the fields. Kicking up a slim leg, she showered water into the air, laughing huskily when it rained down upon her face.
He smiled despite himself.
She made quite the charming picture.
Too charming.
He frowned.
He didn’t want her to be refreshingly sincere and guileless. He wanted her to be coy and artificial... so that he could loathe her as he did her father and her brother.
Christ, why the hell was he doing this?
There was too much to be dealt with to be engaged in paltry revenge.
So what if he’d been betrothed to the green-eyed witch? So what if the betrothal had been wrenched from him solely because he’d been disinherited?
God’s teeth, she wore no petticoat.
