Her Defiant Heart (21 page)

"As if Beth would have let me do that. And Christian knew it. That was really too bad of him, Scott." There was more bemusement in her voice than sting.

Scott chuckled and patted the space beside him in bed. "Over here, wife. I'll play the lady's maid."

There was a distinct gleam in Scott's eye that made Susan's heart skip a beat. Smiling coyly, she ignored his outstretched hands and sat at the vanity. Beyond her reflection in the mirror, she intercepted her husband's exaggerated expression of hurt. She pushed out her lower lip in a beautifully sulky pout that told him precisely what she thought of his tactics to make her feel guilty. "All in all it was a lovely day," she said, plucking pins from her auburn hair.

"Lovely," he replied absently as the heavy coil of Susan's thick hair fell away from the crown of her head. Her slender fingers deftly undid the braid, and in a matter of moments her shiny hair lay like a silky shawl across her back and shoulders. In Scott's opinion, Susan's hair was her finest feature. Not that he wasn't full of admiration for the almond-shaped eyes and winged brows that gave her a vaguely mysterious air. That secretive aura would have driven him mad if it weren't for the fact that Susan's green eyes were so frank and honest. She wasn't capable of real deception. Prevarication inevitably brought a flush of color to her cheeks and made the spray of light freckles on her nose darken.

Scott's eyes dropped to the choker of pearls that Susan was fingering lightly. He didn't blame her for admiring them. They were beautifully matched and a perfect accent to the slender stem of her neck. Christian's extravagance had surprised them both. "Someday I'll buy you earrings to go with that necklace," he said.

Susan's fingers instantly fell away from the choker. She picked up a brush, drew her hair over her shoulder, and began untangling the curling tips. The eyes she raised to Scott were vaguely troubled. "You know I don't care about things like that," she said. "Should I give the pearls back to Christian? I will, if you want me to. I wouldn't have kept them in the first place if you hadn't said it would be all right. I cannot even imagine where I might be able to wear them. People would talk if they knew how I came by the choker."

"Christian wants you to have them," Scott said. "We both know why. He doesn't know any other way to say thank you."

"But he's not thanking me, he's thanking you."

"Yes, but I don't have the neck for pearls."

Susan gave Scott a sassy glimpse of the tip of her tongue. "Still, it was excessive of him."

"They were his mother's."

"Then it was excessive
and
sentimental."

"One day they'll be Beth's. That was Christian's real intent. He means to repay me by providing for her. It would have been churlish not to accept, and until Beth's old enough to appreciate them, I don't know why you shouldn't have the enjoyment of his gesture."

Susan remained doubtful but wanting to be convinced. The pearls
were
astonishingly lovely, and she believed Christian had meant well. She felt compelled to make one last protest. "These should go to his wife."

That raised Scott's brows. "Do you really see Christian marrying? I always thought he seemed quite content with his bachelor existence. No obligations or responsibilities to a single other person. He has his choice of female partners from debutantes to fallen women, and if you'll pardon my frankness, he makes use of them with a fair amount of frequency. I can't imagine that he'll ever settle down."

"Are you really so obtuse?" Susan shook her head and gave her hair a half-dozen crackling strokes with the stiff-bristled brush. "I think he's terribly lonely. Oh, he enjoys pointing out that you dance to my tune, but he knows that is not so. And even if it were, I think there are times when Christian would like to waltz, so to speak. Don't look at me that way," she said to Scott's reflection. "I didn't say that he wanted me for a partner."

Scott snorted. "He'd better not."

"Christian likes to goad me," she said, "and I don't doubt that it's done with a certain amount of affection. By all accounts, his parents had a very happy marriage. It makes sense to me that someday he'll want the same thing for himself." She set down the brush and swiveled in her seat, facing her husband. "I can't help but believe that he's envious of what you and I share. If I didn't think that were true I could not tolerate his needling."

"He needles you because you rise so beautifully to the bait."

"I rise to the bait because it gives Christian one of his few pleasures. It's the least I can do for a man who gives me pearls."

Scott laughed. "If only he knew how easily you see through him. He'd hate it."

Susan rose from her chair and approached the bed. "Help me with the buttons, darling, will you?" Above her, the snowy white canopy billowed slightly as she sat down and gave Scott her back. "Did you notice that Christian was particularly attentive to Beth this evening? I could hardly credit my eyes when he got down on his hands and knees and helped her corral the kitten."

"Mmm-hmm." Scott leaned forward and kissed the back of Susan's bowed neck just above the gold clasp of her choker. His fingers fiddled with the cloth buttons of her gown. "He did seem to enjoy himself tonight. I would not have predicted that after Miss Holland's accident. He was more than a little troubled by it." In truth, 'troubled' did not begin to describe the state of Christian's mind when he had arrived at the house to seek help, yet all Scott had been able to learn was that Jenny had had a nightmare and that she had hurt herself. He had followed Christian back to Marshall House and taken care of Jenny's feet, but the sense that many things were being left unsaid never left him. Jenny was withdrawn. Christian was morose. Only Mrs. Brandywine talked, and she did quite a lot of it without saying anything. Little more than twenty-four hours had passed since then, making Christian's mood this evening more difficult to explain. Scott shrugged. "Perhaps even Christian can be moved by the spirit of the holiday."

"He should have children," said Susan. "Lots of them. It's clear to the meanest intelligence that he enjoys them. He would be an attentive father, Scott."

"When did you become Christian's advocate? And don't say it's the pearls because I know better. A few weeks ago you were cautioning me that he might not be worth saving."

Frowning, she glanced at her husband over her shoulder. "I hope I did not make him sound as hopeless as that. And if I did, I suppose it's because I was jealous."

"Jealous? But why?"

Susan blushed, embarrassed. She left the bed and drew her gown over her shoulders as she disappeared into the dressing room. Some things were easier to answer when there was distance. "Between the hospital and all the hours you were spending with Christian, it seemed as if Beth and I never saw you. I suppose I resented him for occupying so much of your time."

"But—"

"I did not like feeling that way," she said. "After all, I was aware of the demands that being a doctor was going to place on you... on us. I always understood that I would have to share you. Most often I can accept it, just as I did with Papa when he was alive. Growing up with a doctor for a father, well, you become accustomed to certain aspects of the calling." Susan hung her gown in the chiffonier and unlaced her corsets and petticoats. "Or at least you think you do. So... if I sound as if I'm put out with Christian, it's because I'd like to see as much of you as he does." She peeked into the bedroom to see if Scott was listening to her or if he had fallen asleep. His nearness brought her up short. He was standing in the open doorway, one naked shoulder resting against the jamb. Her eyes followed the tapering of his chest hair to where his drawers were resting low on his hips. She smiled. "When I said I wanted to see more of you, this isn't quite what I—"

Scott pressed a finger to her lips. "Happy Christmas," he said, drawing off her chemise. He knelt and removed Susan's shoes. Pressing a light kiss to each knee, he rolled her stockings down the gently curving length of her calves. He stood and took a step backward, admiring the turn of his wife's waist, the swell of her hips, and the lustrous fall of hair that covered her breasts. He brushed aside her hair and smiled wickedly as his gaze lifted to her throat. "Come to bed, darling... and wear the pearls."

* * *

"Will you be up much longer, Mr. Marshall?" Mrs. Brandywine asked. She tightened the sash on her robe as she poked her head in the study. Christian was sitting in his favorite leather armchair, his feet propped on the ottoman. He had a book in his lap, but it was closed. Mrs. Brandywine did not think he had ever had it opened. His head was resting heavily against the high back of the chair and his eyelids were at half-mast. "I could stoke the fire for you. It's going to go out shortly."

Christian's faint smile indicated that he was indeed awake. "I'll see to it," he said, waving her on. "You take yourself off to bed. It's been a long day." Indeed, he thought, there were moments when he believed it would never end. Only during the war had he known a day to drag on so interminably as this one. Then it was the anticipation of battle that slowed time to a crawl. Now it was the anticipation of... nothing. "A long day."

"But a merry one," she said, watching him closely. He looked exhausted, much the way he had looked yesterday morning, his complexion gray, his skin drawn taut over the bones of his face.

"Yes," he lied, forcing a deeper smile for her benefit. "Quite merry."

"You were very generous," she said, referring to the gifts of money Christian had given to the household staff. "They would want me to thank you again."

"It's well deserved. I know I haven't... well, I haven't been the easiest person to work for."

"No one's complaining."

"Not where I can hear them anyway." Christian lowered his head, picked up his book and opened it. "Good night, Mrs. B. I'll see you in the morning."

When her footsteps receded in the hallway, Christian set the book aside and stoked the fire. He had no intention of returning to his room any time soon. He hadn't slept there last night and thought he wouldn't sleep there again tonight. Although Jenny had returned to her room, her presence seemed to linger in his, and with it, the memory of what he had done to her. She could not be gone from his house quickly enough to suit him.

Yet he shied away from simply turning her out. Scott and Susan would end up taking her to live with them, and he could not allow Susan to accept that burden. There was Beth to think of as well. Jenny could hurt the child in the throes of one of her nightmares. He had seen the proof of that with Mrs. Brandywine.

There was also his staff to consider. They liked Jenny Holland and nothing would sow discontent more quickly than if he were to dismiss her without cause. It did not seem likely that she was going to give him cause. According to Mrs. Brandywine, Jenny was diligent in her duties.

And what of Jenny herself? She was not fit to go anywhere without a keeper. That was not a position Christian relished for himself. When he'd told Scott he would allow Jenny remain at Marshall House, it had never occurred to him that he might come to regret his words.

Christian's musings were interrupted as the pocket doors to the study opened behind him. He turned, leaning on the fireplace poker as if it were a cane. When he saw who was standing between the parted doors, he scowled. It was nonsense to believe that her presence had anything to do with his ruminations, but then again... "What the hell do you want?"

Jenny was already losing color in her face before Christian spoke. She had gone out of her way to avoid him yesterday and today, and he was the last person she wanted to see. She immediately retreated a step, pulling the doors together as she went.

"Come back here."

Jenny froze until Christian rapped the iron poker hard against the floor. She slipped though the opening still left to her and entered the room.

"What's that you have in your hand?" He lifted the poker and used it to gesture to the envelope she was holding.

"It's... it's my Christmas money," she said, regarding the envelope rather than him.

"For God's sake," he said, impatient with her diffidence, "are you afraid someone's going to take it from you? Does that explain the death grip?"

It was then that Jenny realized her fingers had folded tightly around the envelope. She was indeed clutching it as though she expected it would be snatched away. "I... no... that is, I don't think anyone will take it." Her intention had been to place it on his desk and leave. Jenny nervously smoothed the envelope and slipped it into her apron pocket. "I came for a book," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

He came close to saying that she could not help but disturb him. Instead, he confronted the obvious lie. "You didn't come for a book. I don't know why you trouble yourself to prevaricate when you are so very bad at it. You were going to return the money."

"I don't..." Jenny sighed, done in by the impressive cynical lift of one of his eyebrows. "Yes, I was going to return your gift."

Christian tapped the poker again. "Why?"

"I haven't been here long enough to earn this."

"It's not meant to be earned. That is the very nature of a gift."

She looked down at the floor. "It is too generous. I, um, I know what some of the other employees received and you gave me far too much."