Virgin Star (18 page)

"Aye." Butcher nodded.

The horse started off again. Shalyn looked back to where Butcher stood on his horse talking to the woman. "What will he do to her?"

"He will pay her for the child."

Astonishment changed her face as she watched Butcher and the beggar woman disappear through the dark trees. "I don't understand. She'll take his money for her child?"

"Aye. A drunkard, Shalyn, All she knows is hell's own unquenched and endless thirst for a cup."

The thought brought a sudden memory of an opium den hidden down narrow alleys where pitiful addicts drowned their sorrows in the sweet mercy of opium smoke. She remembered the image of a woman crouched in one of those narrow alleys outside, wearing only a ragged transparent kimono, worse than naked as every ounce of worn flesh lay bare for the indifferent inspection of the passersby. She could still see the hopelessness written in dull eyes that no longer saw the world around her.

"What will he do with the child?"

"He will bring it to my sister-in-law's poorhouse, Chester House, where a dozen hardworking women will fuss over and care for and pray for the little orphan unto death. Which will—pitifully—be a mercy. Those precious few children who do survive their mothers' drunkenness inevitably are cursed to a life

of dullness and apathy, and all the great misery that brings."

"Why does he do it? If it is so hopeless?"

"Why?" Seanessy repeated. They passed under another gold lantern, and she looked up to see a profound sadness in his hazel eyes. "Because of a young woman named Kenzie, the black rift she tore in his soul, and his desperate attempt to mend it."

She twisted around so that she might stare up at Seanessy's face, her eyes searching as she consulted her intuition. Without even realizing it, he drew back on the reins to stop his horse again and meet the intimate probe of these dark and mysterious eyes. Like a brush against his soul that let him feel the startling depth of her own heart. So he was not surprised when she whispered, "’Twas Butcher whom you saved from the church ledge."

"Aye..."

A soft light filled his eyes as he looked down at the lovely upturned face. He could not comprehend how it was that she had no idea of her effect on him; an innocence and utter guilelessness surrounded her every movement and gesture and word. As if she had been isolated from the compliments, flattery, and attention her beauty would have gotten from men. The spirit of a gutsy boy packaged in the most unlikely feminine form ... He studied the mystery in her eyes for a moment, then her slightly parted mouth, wide and more sensual than he knew wise to contemplate. He traced a line over the paper-thin velvet of her black brows, feeling the irresistible pull brought by the softness so intimately pressed against him. All the girl's trouble vanished in his mind as he thought of kissing those lips.

She turned back around, the spell breaking as he pressed the horse forward again. Another memory surfaced of the dark pleading eyes of hungry children, a hundred or more, all desperate with want of food. She stared out at the sea of faces from a rickshaw and, how strange! A young voice, her voice, said, "God save them!"

"These do not deserve the mercy."

"Oh, but it is so sad, the suffering of children—"

"They are paying the price in this life for their wickedness in another. See them not as starving children but as prisoners of their own foolishness, vulgarity, and greed."

She could not; she did not even try. "My mother's master was said to love the hungry and the poor more than all others; He said the meek shall inherit the kingdom of heaven—"

"The Lord Christ? He was a foolish wise man ..."

She shook her head, trying without success to put a face to that strange Chinese voice in her mind--

Her palm rubbed her forehead as she struggled. Yet no name or face emerged. The voice without a name...

She had to remember, she had to!

The quick clip of hooves sounded loud against the cobblestone as Seanessy stared down at her. Shadows hid the lovely dark eyes, but he knew her distress by the hand on her forehead beneath the ridiculous hat. "Are you remembering something?"

She shook her head. "There is a strange voice in my mind .... Chinese, someone I know, but—"

Seanessy hid his alarm. "And what does this voice say, Shalyn?"

"Just now? Things about the Buddhist belief in karmic retribution, things I don't believe—-the idea that the poor woman Butcher seeks to help is not deserving, as her suffering is punishment for long-ago sins from another life."

The answer startled him, hinting at the surprising inclination of her mind. "Aye," he said in response. "The minds of our miserly species are full of such rubbish. Recently a number of prominent members of British society have been courting so-call spiritualists and mediums who propose these absurd notions." The horse fought the bit again, and Seanessy sighed. "Here, I am tired of fighting this beast. We can walk the rest of the way."

He swung off, brushed his pants before turning around to help her down. Only to find she had leaped agilely down as he had and now stood poised, apparently waiting for him. "So you think they are false beliefs as well?"

"Indeed," he said, holding the reins and moving to the side as a carriage raced toward them. "The idea is too fanciful and more self-serving than a murderer's plea of innocence. People use it to justify all manner of atrocities, especially the present injustice of the world."

"Then is it a Christian death that you believe in?"

"A Christian death is just as self-serving. With the indifference of happiness and the contempt of bliss, heaven is just as blind to the miseries of earth—"

A carriage stopped at their side.

"Seanessy!"

A feminine voice called from inside the carriage. Seanessy greeted the driver as a comely lady leaned out the window, two others waving and smiling behind her.

"Melissa!"

A jeweled band brushed back rich dark curls from a pretty, round face. The woman leaned halfway out the carriage window, her bare breast pressing against the pale green fabric of her gown. She did not seem to know that the edge of a nipple escaped the skimpy confines of her gown as, laughing, she reached her chubby arms out to Seanessy.

Stepping to the window, Seanessy kissed her mouth.

Shalyn’s eyes widened with shock. This was scandalous! Her mouth opened as if to protest, but no sound came out. Two other women appeared on either side of Melissa, each vying for a spot in the small window looking onto Seanessy.

"Can you meet us at the Fitzroy for a late supper tonight?" The wanton creature added, "Everyone is going—"

Seanessy asked a question about the menu. With girlish giggles, the women raved about an appetizer, a main course, and a dessert; a furious debate ensued about which course Seanessy would enjoy the most; Seanessy enthusiastically expressed a desire to devour each one, especially making a point of "a fondly remembered English tart."

The women laughed as if it were wildly amusing, and with promises and adieux, the carriage took off. Shalyn felt her heartbeat escalate as her breaths came quick and shallow. She was suddenly remembering his large hands on her bottom, the feel of their bodies pressed together, the heat of it, and then, then his kiss.

She felt her face grow hot.

"You're blushing, child. Is something wrong?"

"Who was that woman?"

"Melissa? An old acquaintance."

"Do you kiss all acquaintances you meet on the street?"

"Well, no!" He appeared quite shocked by the idea. "Only those that I've bedded or intend to bed."

The look on her face made him laugh. "Oh, Lord," Seanessy said. "I might have guessed you were prudish to boot."

"Me? Prudish? Why, you ... you—"

"Unless, why Shalyn." He stopped to stare down at her, and in a pretense of alarm, said, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were jealous!"

"Jealous? Me?" She pointed as if he might need a visual aid. "Of, of her?"

"You are right," he admitted easily. "An absurd idea. Why on earth would you be jealous of her?"

Shalyn nodded, though she still felt quite peeved. The whole conversation annoyed her no end.

"You were jealous of the kiss."

Her eyes widened as if to encompass the outrage.

"You no doubt secretly want me to kiss you again."

"I what?!" For a moment her throat constricted with horror, which had the unfortunate effect of delaying her protest. The emotional intensity of her objection grew when she saw the absolutely wicked amusement in his gaze as he stared down at her. "Oh no." She shook her head adamantly. "Oh no, Seanessy!" She all but pointed at him. "You get the idea out of your mind! I would remind you my arms are free. I would not be the victim of your mauling again."

"Mauling?" Seanessy tossed his head back and laughed like a werewolf at the moon. "You are as ripe as late summer fruit! And methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"You haven't even begun to see my protest!"

Seanessy let go of the reins. The horse took off, but he didn't care. He laughed meanly. "You are full to bursting with false bravado, child." He leaned over, his cape tossed about his shoulders. "I say I'll have your backside to the wet ground for my mauling inside of three minutes."

Her gaze narrowed menacingly, but this was a trick, a stall. Because he could, she knew he could. Why did he have to be so tall and strong and quick?

Oh, he loved this! He relished it! She bit her lip, wondering if she could outrun him. Probably not.

She glanced into the surrounding darkness, and noticed, "The grass does look very wet ..."

"Beggar's luck," he said and announced. "For I intend to be on top."

Stifling the nervous rush of sensation, she tried to look cross instead. "If I forfeit, will you at least put your cape under me? I truly do not want to be against the wet grass."

"Oh, very well," he relented. "I'll even do the business standing up, if you hold still."

"You will be quick about it?"

"I might want to, but if experience has taught me any one thing, it's that it's best if one takes one's sweet time."

"Not too slow," she said hopefully, then added crossly. "Oh, very well. Get on with it."

She stood very still. He approached. Her heart began a slow escalation as he came to stand in front of her. She desperately tried not to think of the taste of apples and spice and what it was like to be kissed by him. He first brushed stray wisps of her hair over and around her ear. Tiny shivers raced from the spot and she gasped.

Warm amusement filled his gaze as he stared down at her, his large hands gently circling her wrists as he brought them behind her back, the .movement arching her toward him. Her hat fluttered to the ground.

She searched his face and saw the mad pleasure of an ogre tormenting his vassal. "Just because I forfeit doesn't mean I really want you to," she said, trying to give it conviction, sounding so queerly breathless again. How did he do this to her? She felt certain he should be boxing her ears instead of kissing her. "I'd really rather not suffer your kisses again!"

"Shalyn, has anyone ever mentioned that your

eyes darken dramatically every time you tell a falsehood? And they are so dark now ..."

She was shaking her head and he was laughing, his amusement a tickle against her ear. She felt large warm fingers on the back of her neck beneath the weight of her hair, his other hand gently pressing into her back, aligning her against his body. She gasped with the strange rush of heady sensations. "Oh, I think I made a terrible mistake!"

He laughed. "Let me rectify it, child."

The black cloak surrounding them, she felt the enticing heat of his body growing. She went very still, mesmerized by his darkening gaze as he leaned even closer. "You know, Shalyn," he began obliquely, his mouth so close, his voice sounding rich and deep and distracted as if he was now thinking of something far, far away, "I don't understand why I want to kiss you, but I do. There's a part of me that is quite certain it is the very last thing I want to do too, that I would be much happier hanging myself, and yet ... yet ..."

The sentence was never finished. Panic tumbled into confusion as his hand gently reached around to her chin and he leaned over. Trembling slightly, she forgot to breathe. He first kissed her closed lids before letting his mouth lightly graze her forehead where he drank the lingering trace of a sweet lavender scent—the soap Tilly had used on her hair. She felt another rush of tiny shivers, a feverish trail where his moist lips touched her skin before the curve of his fingers gently parted her lips for his kiss.