“Ah, but ‘tis the truth,” Christian asserted. And then he had to chuckle because she looked so absolutely horrified at the prospect. She didn’t seem to realize they weren’t so far from those times even now.
“Simply imagine!” Her eyes were wide with incredulity. “Women without souls!” She shook her head despairingly, and shuddered. “Whatever could they have been thinking, my lord?”
Christian chuckled, and shook his head. “I’ve no idea,” he told her. “It does seem a rather ludicrous notion, does it not?”
“Indeed!”
She said the word with such impudence that his shoulders at once shook with mirth. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she was delightful, but at the temptation, he sobered. It wouldn’t serve him to be losing his head over the winsome chit... something he was beginning to suspect would be quite easily done.
She was beautiful, aye... but she was something more that he’d not anticipated...
5
Kindred spirits, that’s what they were.
Jessie lay fidgeting upon her bed, thinking that they saw so much through the same eyes. Uncanny was what it was. But comfortable, too. She sighed dreamily, for Lord Christian seemed simply too wonderful to be true.
And monstrously wicked, too.
Her maid had long since retired for the eve; eager for the day to end and the morning to arrive, Jessie had dismissed her even before her hasty bath was complete. Only now that she lay within the darkness of her room, sleep stubbornly eluded her.
Exhausted, but too exhilarated to be frustrated by it, she resigned herself to her wakeful state, sat up, and tossed the coverlets aside. She rose and made her way to the window, drawing open the draperies just enough to allow her to survey the night sky, so full of brilliant, winking stars. Perhaps he was… too good to be true.
She peered down into the garden below, at the little bench she’d occupied so regularly this past week. Christian had called upon her every day. They’d done little more than sit, chaperoned by Hildie, and converse.
To her wonder, it seemed he truly enjoyed her company, as well as her conversation. Unlike Amos, he seemed to encourage her to speak her mind at every turn, and never took sport in ridiculing her for some perspective he did not happen to share. Instead, he made it a point to ask why she’d come to such a conclusion, and then he’d weigh her explanation before offering his own, thus leading her into refreshingly direct discussions. She found she so enjoyed his company—respected him, too, for he had such noble views.
She was nearly certain now that he was courting her—nearly because she truly had no idea how one went about a courtship—a true courtship, that was. Not one the likes of which Lord St. John had embarked upon. That, she thought grimly, had been little more than a business proposal, with herself as the article of trade. She was heartily thankful Christian had responded to her brother’s missive, for she could never have borne Lord St. John as a husband.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have to.
Hope surged, and she smiled, releasing the drapery. She made her way back to the bed, slipping beneath the cool blankets, and closed her eyes, unable to think of anything other than Christian. He was everything she’d imagined he would be and more: gentle but strong, thoughtful yet amusing. God had surely favored her, she reflected happily, for he was as noble a soul as ever had existed upon the face of the earth. More so than the heroes of legend, for Christian was flesh and blood, and he had come to her rescue even after having been so wronged by her father.
Yes, indeed, he was her knight in shining armor... and she... she was the damsel in distress for whom he would battle friend and foe in the name of love.
Love.
Perhaps it was possible after all.
Sighing wistfully at the fanciful notion, she sent a hasty thank you heavenward and snuggled deeply within the blankets.
If this is a dream, don’t let me wake, she prayed.
Sleep discovered her smiling serenely.
“Please! Oh, please!”
A harried sigh was Amos’ response, together with a most disapproving scowl as he rifled through the morning’s correspondence. He chose a particularly large envelope, tossing the rest aside, and sprawled backward within his chair, hiding behind the envelope, as though to escape her.
Jessie wasn’t about to give up. “Please,” she begged.
Still he sat, peering over the top of the envelope, his green eyes, so like her own, glittering with annoyance. Jessie suppressed a shudder at the cold feeling that swept over her. “Just this once,” she swore. “I’ll not ask again!”
He tore open the envelope with a vengeance, sighing a masterful reproduction of their father’s disapproving lament. “Very well, Jessamine. Do as you wish. Extend our invitation to the miscreant.” He didn’t bother glancing up. “Tomorrow eve, if you must.”
Jessie stepped away from the desk in surprise, eyeing her brother with disbelief. “Yes?” Her voice caught. “You said... yes?”
Amos gave her his full regard at last, though his expression was liberally laced with discontentment. “Can you not hear, girl? Yes! Do! Invite the cur to dine with us, if ’tis your wish, but leave me be now!” Unfolding the doubled parchment he’d extracted from the envelope, he apprised her, “And I shall, indeed, hold you to your word; do not ask this of me again.”
