He turned away, staring in the direction of the harbor. “Give her my best regards,” he said somewhat absently.
Had Jessie not had her gaze centered on the harbor, as well, she might have missed the sudden flash of light that piercedthe darkness. Even as she stared, there was another. And then another.
“I wonder what that was.”
“Hmmm?” Following the direction of her gaze, Ben assured her, “Nothing, I’m certain ’tis nothing, sweet coz.” He untied his stock and slid it off, looping it gently about her neck, drawing her close. “I’d best be going, at any rate. Go inside and enjoy yourself. Kathryn will be waiting, and I shall return to collect you soon.” With a wink, he added, “You’ll save me a dance, won’t you?” Jessie nodded, and he bent to kiss her forehead, abandoning the stock about her shoulders.
Leaving her with another wink, he leapt down from the veranda; shells crackled noisily as his boots lit upon the street. Jessie stood, watching with a frown as he slipped into the shadows. He’d left behind his snow white cravat, and his garments blended consummately with the night.
A feeling of unease swept through her as she watched him go, but she ignored it, telling herself there was nothing to be concerned with—perhaps he was meeting a woman...
Removing his cravat from her shoulders, she gazed at it pensively, and then deciding that must be so, she shoved it within her reticule and made her way past the servants, into the festively decorated hall.
14
Moonlight spilled over the open veranda, lighting most of its length, but within the garden, beneath the oaks, there was only blissful darkness. It was precisely the haven Jessie sought, and she quickly made her way into the shadows, grateful for having escaped the crush without having gained anyone’s notice.
Beguiled by the peace of her surroundings, she stood gazing wistfully into the lantern lit gardens as the soothing strains of a familiar ballad drifted through the air. For an instant she was lost in reverie.
If only things had been different.
Perhaps she, too, would be within... dancing gaily under the dazzling chandeliers... in his arms... gazing lovingly into his remarkable eyes.
But it was not to be.
And she was no child to muse away her life on shattered dreams.
Sighing wistfully, she drew the domino mask from her head and stared at it. Most of the guests wore one in lieu of a full costume, for fine cloth was not so easily procured here. Her ownwas gold and silver to match her gown, and though it was truly a work of art, it looked rather dismal with its pouty mouth and exotic eyes. No matter, it matched her mood.
Lord Christian Haukinge was a contemptible blackguard, a swine, a lecher. He was every woman’s nightmare.
The problem was she loved him still.
The music faded and she came aware of another sound in the distance—the gentle rushing of water from a garden fountain. It was such a peaceful, lulling sound that when the music recommenced, a minuet, seemingly louder than before, it grated on her nerves and she went in search of the font. Following the well-worn garden path, she left behind the sounds of the masquerade and entered the serenity of the central garden. The font was there in the heart of the hedged enclosure, water spouting from its moonlit core, cascading into an illuminated pool. The scent of wild honeysuckle and roses wafted sweetly upon the air, filling her senses—making her forget, if only for the instant.
Hidden in shadow, Christian watched as she passed him. At the font, she removed her glove and like some bloody seductress, slid her bare fingers into the curtain of water. She sighed softly as she brought the moisture to her skin, cooling her wonderfully soft flesh.
Damn him, but he couldn’t seem to forget the feel of her.
Her performance was such a seductive one that he found himself at once aroused. And then again, he thought ruefully, it didn’t seem to take much. He needed only remember the day they’d lain together under the elm tree... the way she’d trembled at his touch... the expression upon her face as she’d come to completion...
It haunted him still.
He clenched his jaw and thrust the image away.
It served no purpose to remember now.
He glanced away, unable to bear the sight of her. The image of Ben Stone, the way he’d held her this afternoon, twisted his gut. He shouldn’t care—didn’t want to care—but devil hang him if he didn’t. Like metal to a lodestone, his gaze returned to the font, drawn despite his resolve against it. He watched her sway seductively against the cement monstrosity, her face upturned to the inky sky as she caressed her neck with the moistened tips of her fingers. Inexplicable anger surged within him. Did she know he was watching?
He thought it likely so—no doubt another devilish form of torture she’d devised. All evening she’d danced so light-heartedly, smiled so brilliantly with all her beaux—as though nothing in the world troubled her.
And aye, she’d managed to make his heart bleed all over again.
Before he could be tempted to go to her, he sat upon the ironwork bench, watching. God help him, he was drawn to her like a drunkard to wine, knowing she was no good for him, and yet... craving her with a need that was too painful to deny.
This time he would resist.
Closing her eyes, Jessie wished herself away from the smiling faces and blissful couples she envied so.
