Anne Stuart (14 page)

“
Come along!” The voice that floated from down the narrow stairs sounded more like a schoolmarm’s than a housekeeper’s. With a fleeting smile in Brennan’s direction, the two sisters began to climb the narrow stairs.

By that time Jessamine had lost most of her illusions, so it came as no surprise to find the chilly, uncarpeted hallway stretching out before them.

The woman was standing outside one plain, dark door. “I’m Mrs. Jolly,” she informed them, and it was all Jessamine could
do to keep a straight face at the ill-fitting name. “Housekeeper to Mrs. Blaine. My room’s right down the hall from this one, and I’ll thank you not to disturb me. I work hard and I need my rest.” Her mean eyes narrowed. “Where are your bags?”

“
In the hallway,” Jess said serenely. “Waiting for a servant to bring them up.”

“
Saucy,” Mrs. Jolly muttered under her breath.

“
And we’ll need hot baths, and someone to help us unpack,” Jessamine continued smoothly, determined not to be cowed.

The housekeeper pushed open the door, exposing a small, cold room with one narrow bed, a washstand, and not much else. There were no hangings on the window, and the bedlinen lay folded neatly on the bare mattress. “I wouldn’t be counting on it, miss. This is a busy household this week—we don’t have time for any extra work.” She started away from them, but to Jess’s surprise, Fleur spoke up, her soft voice firm.

“
And when shall we be joining Mrs. Blaine?”

“
That’s up to her. You’ll be having dinner brought to your room for the time being. You’ll be informed when you’re needed.” Without another word she left them, sodden, angry, standing in the drafty hallway.

“
I suspect,” Fleur said quietly, “that I’m not about to meet my future husband this week.”

“
I’m going to kill Ermintrude Winters,” Jessamine said fiercely. “I’m going to strangle her with my bare hands, and then I’m going to strangle her sister as well.”

“
I’d really prefer you didn’t, darling,” Fleur said in a weak attempt at humor. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Brennan to arrest you.”

“
It would be quite convenient for him,” Jessamine replied. “The culprit would be caught red-handed, and there wouldn’t even be a need for a chase.”

“
But I wouldn’t like it. I was awake, you know, when you were talking about me.”

“
I suspected as much,” Jessamine said. “You aren’t very good at fooling me. Do you have any... feelings for Mr. Brennan?”

“
Feelings?” Fleur echoed with an airy laugh, stepping into the small, dank room. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jess.”

“
He’s very handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way,” Jessamine offered, closing the door behind them.

“
Is he? I hadn’t noticed. I’m grateful for his company, as I’m sure you are. And I have the morbid suspicion that he’s going to be the last friendly face we see all week. Nevertheless, he’s not of our world,” she said firmly. “And apart from gratitude, I have no feelings for him whatsoever.”

It was a flat-out, bald-faced lie, but Jessamine made the wise decision not to call her on it. She looked around the pitiful little bedroom. “I doubt his world can be that far removed from our current circumstances,” she said gloomily, dropping down on the bed. The mattress was thin and hard and gave off a peculiar odor. “I’m sorry I brought you here, Fleur. Sorry I got you full of hopes.”

Fleur sank down beside her and put her arm around Jessamine’s waist. “It’s not your fault, Jess,” she said fiercely. “Couldn’t we just leave? Say we were called back to London by our ailing mother?”

“
They would know we’d received no such message. And if this is any example of Sally Blaine’s hospitality, I imagine we’d be lucky to catch a ride in the back of a farmer’s wagon.”

“
You know,” Fleur confessed, “I’ve always wanted to ride in a farmer’s wagon. When I was little I wanted to be a farmer’s wife.”

And Jessamine, who thought her spirits couldn’t sink any lower, burst into tears.

The Cat was on the prowl. Not that Alistair had the slightest intention of helping himself to any of Sally Blaine’s tawdry jewels. For one thing, they were not only hideous, but second rate, the gemstones flawed and poorly hued. For another, it would have set his plan awry. He had come to this wretched little house party with the sole intention of diverting any possible suspicion away from himself.

He merely liked to know the lay of the land, so to speak, in case he was called upon to make a quick escape.

And, he had to admit, it wasn’t quite his sole purpose. He was still awaiting, with growing impatience, the arrival of Jessamine Maitland. He had every intention of whiling away his time flirting with her, of stripping her of her doubts, her wariness, her inhibitions, and her clothing in short order. He couldn’t remember when he’d last wanted a woman so badly, and her very lack of pretension to matchless beauty seemed only to fire him more.

In the meantime, though, he was restless and irritable. Sally Blaine’s guests had nothing to talk of but horses and hunting, subjects that grew stale quickly. Freddie was doing his damnedest to fix his interest with Ermintrude Winters, a task that filled Alistair with sympathetic horror, and his hostess herself had a tendency to place her hand on his knee when her husband was oblivious, which seemed to be most of the time.

If things grew any more tedious, he was tempted to say the hell with it and make his way back to London no matter how Nicodemus Bottom would scold him. Tyburn Tree was preferable to boredom any day.

Blaine Manor was singularly lacking in challenge. It was an ell-shaped building, the public and family rooms in the main section of the house, including his own ornate bedchamber, the kitchens and servants’ quarters in the ell. He’d already
managed to delve through all the main bedrooms, and the narrow, dimly lit back quarters were small, depressing, and unoccupied. Or at least, most of them were. He could hear the murmur of voices behind one narrow door, and he was ready to beat a hasty retreat, armed with an ingenuous smile and the excuse that he’d gotten lost, when the door opened into the hallway and a vision stepped out, closing it carefully behind her.

Actually,
vision
wasn’t quite the word. Jessamine Maitland looked like a drowned rat. Her hair drooped around her pale face, her plain dark dress was sodden, though he could see that it clung quite nicely to her breasts. Her eyes were red from weeping, and for the moment she didn’t realize that he stood there, watching her. When she looked up and spied him, her expression was one of such horror that it was comical.

“
Oh, God,” she cried, and he wasn’t sure if it was a curse or a cry for help. “It only needed this!”

“
This, I gather, is me?” he replied, moving closer. It was a very narrow hallway, and there was no way she could pass him. She could only turn around and run.

“
What are you doing here?” she demanded in tones of deepest loathing.

“
Here as in what am I doing outside what I presume is your bedroom, or here as in Blaine Manor?”

“
Both.” She no longer looked so woebegone, despite the general dampness of her appearance. There was color in her cheeks and a snap in her iridescent eyes, and Alistair realized with distant amusement that he was physically aroused just by her proximity.

“
Why don’t you answer my question first. Who’s in that room? Your lover?” The notion, once entertained, was decidedly unpleasant.

“
Don’t be insulting. My sister. And keep your voice down,”
she added in an angry hiss, ignoring the fact that her own tone had been charmingly strident. “We’ve had a long journey and she’s just fallen asleep. I don’t want you to wake her up.”

“
I wouldn’t think of it,” he said in a soft, low voice like a cat’s purr. “But why is she in a servant’s room?”

“
Clearly because Sally Blaine considers us to be servants,” Jessamine said bitterly. She glanced up at him, backing away slightly. It didn’t take much effort to follow her. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said in an angry undertone.

“
Like what?” he murmured, wondering which part of her body he’d touch first. He wanted to put his mouth against the damp material that covered her breast. He wanted to put his mouth between her legs.

“
Like I was a sweetmeat and you a starving man,” she snapped.

“
You have it about right,” he said. “Though I liked your cat-and-mouse analogy even better.”

“
I suppose I’m not certain whether you want to eat me or kill me,” she shot back.

“
So innocent,” he murmured. “I want to eat you, Miss Maitland. I want to put my mouth all over your body.”

She backed away from him, startled, some of her annoyance replaced by wariness. He followed her. The hall was dark and deserted, and it had been too long since he’d touched her. “My lord...” she began to say in a tight, furious voice.

“
Call me Alistair,” he said. “You remember what we did the last time we met?”

“
I remember you insulted me gravely,” she shot back, edging away.

“
Prepare yourself, Jessamine,” he whispered. “I’m about to insult you again.”

He was unprepared for her slap. It was no gentle tap—the force of her blow was impressive, whipping his head back. She
looked absolutely horrified at what she had done, and she stared at her hand as if it were an alien part of her body.

“
I beg your pardon,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean...”

“
Don’t apologize. You meant to do just that. You’ll probably hit me again. After I kiss you.”

This time he didn’t give her the opportunity to slap him. He simply pulled her against him, pinning her arms with his, and set his mouth against hers.

She didn’t struggle, but he couldn’t congratulate himself on winning her over. She was still too astonished at herself for hitting him to realize that he was, as usual, taking advantage. By the time her disordered senses could reassert themselves, he’d already managed to strip them away again simply by pulling her tightly against him and using his mouth.

She was bemused enough to open her mouth to him without protest. She was cold, shivering slightly, and the dampness of her clothing plastered against his made him want to shiver as well.

She didn’t kiss him back, but then, she hadn’t the other time. She simply stood in his arms, as if enduring the insult, and he wondered how many other kisses she’d suffered. How many other gropings in a dark hallway.

The notion was disturbing enough that he released her, and she leaned back against the wall, staring up at him. Her mouth was damp and reddened from his, and he expected to see cool hatred in her eyes.

Ah, but he’d forgotten her eyes. Bewitching, they stared up at him with reluctant longing and confusion, and it was all he could do not to push her up against the wall and pull up her full, damp skirts.

“
Come to my room,” he said, his voice husky. “You’re cold and damp. Let me warm you up.”

“
No, thank you, my lord.” She was jarringly polite despite
those vibrant eyes. “If you’ll let me pass, I’ll see to finding our baggage.”

“
The servants should be bringing them up.”

“
I’ve been informed by the housekeeper that servants don’t wait on servants,” she said stiffly.

He just looked at her. “Go back to your sister,” he said.

“
As you pointed out, I’m damp and cold, and so is she. There’s no fire in our room, and I really don’t fancy either of us getting pneumonia. We have no money for a doctor. Oh, I beg your pardon—we’re not supposed to mention anything as crass as money,” she said bitterly.

“
You’d best make your escape while I’m still inclined to let you. Go back to your room,” he said again, keeping his volatile temper under control. “Or I’ll take you to mine.”

She was wise enough not to call his bluff. He’d gone through a bewildering torrent of... he wouldn’t call them emotions, but reactions seemed a less-threatening word. Annoyance, irritation, outrage, grudging admiration. All underlaid with the worst case of lust he’d suffered since he’d first lost his virginity with a randy dairy maid.

Maybe this even outdid his passion for the buxom Rose. It took him a moment to realize Jessamine had disappeared back into her room, closing the door tightly behind her. He almost changed his mind and went after her, when he remembered the annoying presence of a sister.

First things first. He went in search of his hostess.

Fleur opened her eyes drowsily. “Did you find our baggage?” she murmured.

“
Not yet, sweeting. Go back to sleep.”

The room was dark, and Jessamine leaned against the door, grateful for the protection of the shadows. She had no idea what she looked like, but she had little doubt it would be
damning. Just as she could see through her sister’s weak attempts at subterfuge, so could Fleur see to Jessamine’s troubled heart.

Not that her heart had anything to do with it, she reminded herself fiercely, scrubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand. Despite the upheaval of the last few years, she was still a relative innocent. She had witnessed things, known things, seen things in the cards that horrified and astounded and yes, even fascinated her, but she hadn’t
done
any of those things, and she never would. Had never wanted to—until he put his hands on her.