“Jessamine, m’dear,” he crooned. “You look absolutely ravishing this eve.”
She resisted the urge to kick him squarely in the shin. “Thank you, my lord,” she said sweetly. “However did you know it was me?” She extended her hand in greeting, and he brought it to his lips. Behind her mask, she recoiled at his touch. Only after everyone else in Charlestown had given her such a warm welcome had Lord St. John even bothered to call upon her, fickle fool that he was—not that she wished him to, mind you, but he seemed to flow with the tide of public opinion, wanting her one moment, despising her the next.
Much like someone else she knew.
Her gaze searched the room.
“You,” he murmured, kissing her proffered hand, “are simply unmistakable, m’dear.”
She sighed. “And why is that, my lord?” she asked through clenched teeth, thankful for the mask that concealed her expression of disgust.
“Why, your eyes, of course,” he declared. “They are the rarest of jewels, you see...”
At his declaration, Jessie fought to hold back the tears. Christian had once said the very same thing to her, and she wondered irately just how many women had been privy to such disingenuous drivel. How many others had Christian whispered such endearments to? The very thought left her bereft, furious too.
Once again her gaze swept the room, this time meeting his over a snifter of brandy. He raised the glass in silent tribute. She could scarcely read his face from the distance, but she suspected he was congratulating her upon Lord St. John’s renewed quest for her hand. The man was becoming a boor in his pursuit of her. This week alone, St. John had called upon her near a dozen times, and each time she’d claimed an attack of the vapors. Nothing seemed to dissuade him. He simply came again, and again, and again.
She averted her gaze, pretending interest in Lord St. John’s one-sided discussion. It was insufferable that both men who had caused her so much anguish all those many months ago in England should be here now, so many miles away, making her miserable once more. God was surely punishing her!
“And where is Ben tonight?” St. John asked, his gaze turning with unconcealed disgust toward Christian. “Jessamine? Are you listening, m’dear?”
15
“Ibeg your pardon, my lord,” she answered sweetly. “What did you say?”
“I was inquiring over your cousin,” St. John said, silently cursing her. It had not escaped him the way their eyes continued to meet across the room—never mind that their expressions were full of veiled contempt. The woman could barely listen to him for his presence. How many times must he forfeit to Haukinge?
“I really don’t know, my lord,” she replied, sounding bored.
St. John gritted his teeth, wanting to smack her for her cut of him once again. He forced himself to remain calm and shook his head gravely. “Well... I daresay... I do hope he doesn’t find himself near the docks this eve...”
He’d come to believe in her innocence, and that as much as anything had kept his tongue stilled about the incident, but with the way Haukinge watched her now, as though she were a coveted lost possession, he had to consider her part in the affair all over again. He smiled then, for what sweet justice it would be to woo Jessamine from under his very nose.
“Oh? Why is that, my lord?”
If she would only cooperate.
Why, he pondered irately, was Haukinge not with his men tonight?
His eyes widened with feigned disbelief as he bent to whisper low, “You mean to say you’ve not heard?” He glanced at Haukinge. The man was rabid, he could see. St. John could feel his tension, even with the distance between them. His gaze returned to Jessamine. Perhaps he wouldn’t lose this round after all...
Perhaps he could use their mutual attraction to his advantage...
Jessie shook her head, her brow furrowing.
“Well, m’dear, they’ve seized two of Laurens’ vessels! It seems Daniel Moore—who is a very, very good friend of mine, incidentally—had reason to suspect him of smuggling. And that is not all! Moore has also received word that the infamous Hawk will attempt to smuggle in arms this very night—perhaps as we speak—to those rebel traitors he abets. Imagine that!”
Watching her expression, he continued, “I daresay it would serve those devils right if each and every one was assigned the gibbet tonight!” Gazing at Jessie speculatively, he then added suggestively, “I do hope your cousin is wise enough to keep his distance from those rabble-rousers... and, of course, the docks... at least for the night...”
Jessie’s heart began to race wildly.
“Yes, of course, my lord! Ben would never!” She tried to mask her concern from St. John, smiling and saying, “In truth, I expect him any instant.”
“Do you?” He smiled softly, his expression oddly triumphant.
Jessie smiled wanly in return, though her blood ran cold. If Lord St. John spoke the truth... then Ben could very well be with them now—she just couldn’t bear to think of the price he might pay. Recalling the lights flickering at the dock, she rememberedBen’s rapt attention upon them... as though he were watching... a signal? She shuddered at the notion.
“Very good,” St. John said, “Because I daresay Adger’s wharf is no place to be tonight.”
