Her Defiant Heart (20 page)

Changing tactics, Christian released her wrists and plunged his fingers into the thick, sable richness of Jenny's hair. His forearms still rested heavily on her upper arms, making it difficult for her to attack with her fists.

"Why is it that you never answer my questions?" He waited. He applied gentle pressure with his fingertips until she turned her head. "No? Still not speaking? Well then, I'll say what needs to be said. You ignored my warning to stay away from me. Perhaps you heard a challenge I never meant to issue, but whatever the reason, you as good as invited me into this bed last night. I was clear regarding what you could expect if you found yourself in this position again... beneath me. Do you still feel sorry for me? Do you still want to comfort me?"

Jenny blinked up at him then. Her eyes were wide, still, and wary. She felt her stomach heave. She tasted bile. What she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice was enough to keep her insides roiling.

"You can, you know," he said. "You can comfort me in a way I can appreciate." His head dipped again and he touched the corner of her mouth with his lips. "Hmm? Does the little virgin from the Five Points want to show Christian Marshall what she
doesn't
know?"

To maintain her silence, Jenny bit the underside of her lip until she tasted blood. She was not the demented soul. He was.

"Perhaps she isn't a virgin any longer," he said. He moved his mouth across hers and traced the full line of her lower lip with his tongue. He felt her shiver. "Is that it, Jenny?" He laughed shortly, softly, without humor. "It's more likely that Scott made some sort of mistake, isn't it? I've heard that whores from the Five Points have all manner of ways to make a man think he is the first. I should have suspected that you could fool a doctor, too. Of course, you're not from the Five Points, are you? Or is it just that working for Alice Vanderstell gave you airs?"

He kissed the tip of her chin, and when her neck arched as she tried to avoid his touch, Christian's mouth slid along the smooth, taut flesh of her throat. "Who are you, Jenny Holland? Virgin? Whore? Nursemaid?" Each question was punctuated by a tiny nibble on the sensitive cord of her neck. After he had pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, he raised his head. "Still want to comfort me?" he asked again. His hips moved against the cradle of her thighs, forcing her to feel the pressure and heat of wanting her.

Jenny's hoarse cry rent the air. "Bastard! Let me up, you great, hulking son of a whore!"

It was Christian's turn to be startled into silence. These words from the priggish little maid who prettily begged him not to swear in front of her?

"If you want comfort, go find it in a bottle! That's where you usually go, isn't it? That's what you wanted last night. I saw you searching for your whiskey bottle." Her eyes accused him, dared him to call her a liar now. "And when you couldn't find it here, you started to dress to go out and find it somewhere else. There!" she said, tilting her chin upward. "
That's
what else I saw you do last night! You were going to get drunk, and I thought I owed you the benefit of my good sense when you had none at all. I believed I could stop you. I believed I
should
. Well, I did, but I wish I hadn't. I wish you would go drown yourself in the stuff. You are pathetic, Mr. Marshall, and I cannot think of a single reason that you shouldn't drink yourself to death."

Christian squeezed his fingers around thick masses of Jenny's hair. It kept him from circling her neck. "You do not know me at all, and you would do well to remember that the next time you try to interpret my actions." He could hardly believe the tight leash on his temper held. He was straining against it with every word. "I was going downstairs for warm milk, not whiskey."

Jenny laughed incredulously. "Your lies are even pathetic."

The leash snapped. He'd been bent on frightening her before, teaching her that her interference was unnecessary and unwelcome. She may have thought he had lost control of his actions, but he knew differently. He had known what he was doing, how far he could push. That was true even now, except that one thing had changed. Now he wanted to hurt her. "Sweet Jesus," he said. "Enough is enough."

Christian silenced Jenny's cry with his mouth. He released her hair and caught her by the shoulders. He was met by renewed struggling, but her energy was sorely tapped, and her blows fell against him harmlessly. His hands moved to the collar of her nightshirt. He raised himself up and yanked hard. The material gave way as easily as if he had been using scissors.

Throwing up her arms, Jenny tried to cover herself. He stopped her by taking her wrists in one hand and pressing them into the mattress directly above her head.

His gaze dropped to her chest. Her breasts were thrust forward and offered up to him. They were as beautifully formed as he remembered, and he was not embarrassed to be looking at her now or to be aroused by what he saw. She was awake, alert, and she knew what he was about. He had not forgotten those times when she had placed his hand on her breast and begged him to touch her. "Why aren't you asking me to touch you now?" he said. He dragged his fingertips lightly between her sweetly curved breasts, paused, and then continued making a trail down the midline of her abdomen. Her skin retracted in anticipation of his touch. "Do you remember begging me to touch you?"

Jenny turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. "I don't want this," she said. Her husky voice was barely audible.

"I could change that," he said. "Shall I, Jenny Holland? Shall I make you want me?" As he spoke, Christian's palm cupped the curve of her hip. He ran his hand back and forth, raising the hem of her nightshirt with each pass. "I can do it, you know." He lowered his head long enough to run his tongue along her collarbone. When he reached the base of her throat he felt the vibration of her bitter invective.

"Bastard."

"No," he said, lifting his head. "Not that." His voice and his eyes were equally cool. His fingers slipped under the nightshirt and traced the line of her hipbone. "Women appreciate men who can give them pleasure. I am an appreciated man."

"Whores will say what you want to hear." Jenny's entire body went rigid as Christian's hand slid between her thighs. "Oh, God! No!" She pressed her legs together to stop his probing, stroking fingers and merely succeeded in trapping his hand.

Christian countered by insinuating his knee between her legs, forcing her thighs apart. "Say yes," he whispered. "Say yes, Jenny Holland?" His touch was light, exploring, and he felt her hips lift. "Like that." His palm rested against the curve of her inner thigh. His thumb passed back and forth over her skin. She moved again, restless. "Exactly like that."

Watching her closely, Christian saw her quick, indrawn breath as he continued to stroke her. His eyes were once again drawn to her breasts. The coral tips were only a shade darker than the flush that drew blood to the surface of her skin. He lowered his mouth. His tongue flicked across her nipple, raising the tip to a perfect little bud. She was moaning by the time he treated her to the hot suck of his mouth, and oh, Jesus, he thought, she tasted fine.

Between her thighs, the heel of his hand pressed her mons and cupped her. Her hips jerked in response, her thighs parted under the pressure, and Christian's fingers stroked more deeply. She was hot and tight. She would close around him like a velvet fist, and she would know surrender.

Only Christian knew it would be his surrender, not hers. She had glimpsed his damaged soul. She would have all of it.

Tears gathered behind Jenny's eyelids and her insides continued to turn over. "I don't want this," she told him in her ruined voice. His mouth had begun a slow, hot trail to her other breast. His teeth tugged at the hard nub of her nipple while his tongue made it wet. She went very still. "I am going to be sick. I swear, I'm going to be..." She choked as she tasted bile again. Her throat burned. Gagging, she made yet another attempt to wrench free.

Christian released her instantly. At first he thought he had fallen for some new trick and remained guarded as he hovered over her. Stunned by what he saw, what he
clearly
saw, he heaved himself away. He watched her scramble out of bed, covering her mouth with her hand. She was careless of her feet, oblivious to the pain, as she ran into his dressing room. Moments later he heard the sounds of her being sick.

Christian closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples. Slowly, still dazed by the enormity of what he had been doing to Jenny, Christian rose from the bed, tucked his loose shirt into his trousers, and followed her into the dressing room. She was sitting on the floor, her head bent over the chamber pot. "I'll get you a glass of water," he said wearily, raking back his hair with his fingers.

Jenny would have liked to tell him that she didn't want anything from him, but as soon as she opened her mouth she retched again.

Christian poured her a glass of fresh water from the porcelain pitcher on the washstand. He set it aside while he looked for a cloth. Behind him, the continuing noises of Jenny being sick were like a succession of blows to his gut. He swallowed hard and closed his ears to the sounds of her distress. Wetting the cloth, he knelt beside her and waited. "Here," he said when he thought she had emptied her stomach. "Take this."

Jenny nodded weakly and took the cloth without looking at Christian. When she was done, she folded it neatly, concentrating on the task because it gave her something to do with her hands. He eventually took it from her and substituted it with the glass of water. Jenny rinsed out her mouth, spat, and drank enough to wash the acid from her throat.

Christian held out his hand to help her to her feet. Jenny recoiled, clutching the gaping collar of her shift. Christian stood and searched the chest of drawers until he found another of his nightshirts. "Put this on," he said. "I'll wait in the other room. Call me when you're done and I'll carry you back to bed." He sensed her objection before she had time to say it aloud. "I'm ringing for Mrs. Brandywine right now. I think you'll feel safer once she's with you. I'd like you back in bed by the time she gets here."

Jenny was tucked in bed only moments before Mrs. Brandywine answered Christian's summons. Her face was still flushed unnaturally, but she managed a shaky, welcoming smile when the housekeeper swept into the room.

"Jenny's been sick," Christian told the housekeeper. His tone was matter of fact. "I'm going for Scott myself. Her feet need attending. Just let me get some fresh clothes and I'll be out of your way."

Mrs. Brandywine acknowledged Christian with a brief nod as she bent over Jenny. "Poor dear," she clucked, laying the back of her hand against Jenny's forehead. "You feel a trifle hot. I can't say that I'm surprised after your ordeal last night. You were fair to frozen when Mr. Marshall plucked you out of your room." The housekeeper spoke over her shoulder to Christian. "Before you leave, would you ask Mrs. Morrisey to brew some tea?" Her eyes made a quick study of her employer. "You look as if you could do with a cup, too. Your face is as gray as ash. Are you certain you should be going after Dr. Turner yourself?"

"I'm certain."

"Then have a care. There's three inches of new snow out there, and Joe tells me there's a good quarter inch of ice beneath it. Bundle up." Mrs. Brandywine frowned when Christian merely nodded and disappeared into the dressing room to get his clothes. "He's surely sick," she murmured to herself. "He is usually quick to take exception to remarks from this mother hen." Her attention returned to Jenny, and her frown deepened as she observed the young woman avoiding her gaze.

Mrs. Brandywine sought Jenny's hand and squeezed it gently. "We'll have you feeling more the thing in no time," she promised, forcing a smile. "Mrs. B. cares for all her chicks."

Chapter 6

Scott Turner put aside the medical journal he was reading and looked up expectantly as his wife entered their bedchamber. "Has she finally exhausted herself?" he asked.

The look Susan slid her husband was frankly disbelieving. "Beth's asleep because Christian exhausted her, not because she did it to herself. I thought we were going to have to leave her at Marshall House this evening. That would have set Chris back on his heels for spoiling her the way he did. What was he thinking giving her that kitten?"

"I was as surprised as you were," he said in his defense. Then he defended Christian. "He did say he would keep it for her if you didn't want it here."