Her Defiant Heart (26 page)

"Jenny? Did I hear you right?" Maggie gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Is this a joke? Did Christian put you up to this?"

Jenny shook her head. "Should I go now?" she asked, trying to be helpful.

Maggie turned thoughtful. If she was any judge, then this slip of a girl wasn't precisely to Christian's tastes, but her name did fit the bill. Maggie smiled, thinking that she was about to get a little of her own back. "Oh, yes. You should definitely go now. And please make certain Mr. Marshall knows your name. Tell him Maggie sent you specially for him."

"But..." Jenny was going to say that Mr. Marshall already knew her name but swallowed the words. "I'll tell him."

Maggie placed her hands on Jenny's shoulders and helped her complete her turn. "That way," she said, giving Jenny a little shove to start her in the right direction.

"Thank you," Jenny said. She gave Maggie a careless grin as she balanced the tray in one hand and twisted the doorknob to Christian's room with the other. Stepping over the threshold, she missed the smug smile Maggie gave her in return.

Christian rolled on his side and propped himself on one elbow as the door opened and closed. He realized he had fallen asleep during the time Maggie had been gone, but he was not feeling particularly rested. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "You took your sweet time getting here," he said. The sole light in the room came from the fireplace. Maggie's face and figure were wreathed in shadows.

Looking down at the tray in her hands, Jenny frowned. She searched her memory to find some reason that she should be in Christian Marshall's bedroom. The room itself disoriented her. The ivory curtains she had selected had been replaced by heavy velvet drapes in a deep shade of sapphire. They framed the windows and the French doors that led to a small balcony. Gold fringe weighted them down even further. She glanced at the fireplace. The colorful tobacco tins were gone from the mantel and a row of photographic tintypes and a gilt-edged clock had taken their place.

Jenny shook her head, trying to clear it. Her frown deepened as her eyes wandered toward the bed. When had Christian discarded the tester in favor of a brass bed? And why was there a mirror suspended from the ceiling? She had rather liked his canopy.

"This is all very strange," she said finally, walking toward the bed on legs that were no steadier than a newborn colt's. "I think I've brought you breakfast."

"What in God's name are you doing here?"

That growl had the effect of collapsing Jenny's legs. She teetered a few seconds before the tray tilted forward and everything slid to the floor. The immediate crash was followed by the tray and finally by Jenny herself. She went down with a surprising amount of grace. Her legs folded under her tailor-fashion, and her skirt spread like spilled ink around her. Incredibly, the contents of the tray missed her dress. "Oh, my!" she said, quite unable to manage better than a lopsided smile. "You're angry, aren't you?"

Words failed Christian. He threw back the comforter. With no thought for his modesty or Jenny's sensibilities, he strode naked from the bed. Hooking one hand under her elbow, he jerked her upright, dragged her toward the door, locked it, then swung her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. All of this was accomplished without any resistance from Jenny—a fact that Christian put down to her being drunk as a sailor in a Bowery saloon. He dropped her on the bed and found there was a measure of perverse satisfaction in hearing her grunt softly. Grabbing the sheet from under her, Christian yanked it out and wrapped it around his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed, decided he was likely to strangle her if he remained there, got up again, and moved to the chair by the fireplace. He sat on the wide arm and folded his arms across his chest.

"I cannot begin to imagine what you're doing here," he said, a muscle working in his cheek. "I hope your explanation has the ring of truth, Miss Holland, because I'm of a mind to throttle you if it doesn't."

His threat had no impact on Jenny. She was staring at her reflection in the overhead mirror. Her eyes were sleepy, her cheeks flushed. The neat coil she had made in her hair was gone. She put one hand to her face, brushing back several strands that lay across her cheek and her neck, and wondered what had happened to her pins. The hem of her black wool gown was hitched almost as high as her knees, but Jenny felt too deliciously lethargic to push it down. She turned this way and that, critically viewing the length of her calves and the curve of her ankles. Nothing there to turn a man's head, she decided. "It is a very odd place to put a looking glass, don't you think? What was wrong with the canopy? Didn't you like it?"

If Christian thought it would have mattered, he might have glowered at her. For now he simply stared. "Where in the hell do you think you are?"

"Your room, of course," she said, stretching lazily, still captivated by her reflection. "And don't swear at me, please." When Christian responded with a string of gutter curses she simply sighed. "Are you quite finished?"

"No," he said, leaving the chair for the bed. He sat down on the edge and took Jenny by the upper arms, raising her until she was sitting up. "Look at me, Jenny Holland. Look at me." Once he saw what was in her eyes, or rather what wasn't, Christian released her abruptly. She fell back on the mattress. He bent over her and held her wide, confounded stare with one that was infinitely more alert. "This is not my room," he said. "Do you understand? We are not in my house any longer."

Jenny tried to focus. Worrying the inside of her cheek helped. It could be a trick. That sort of thing had been done to her before. "But you're here... and so am I. Didn't I just bring you breakfast?"

Christian shook his head. "No, you did not just bring me breakfast."

"But the tray..." She leaned to one side and pointed to the contents that were dashed across the floor. "It is not kind of you to try to confuse me."

Rolling his eyes, Christian said, "Why did you follow me to Amalie's, and how much did you have to drink to work up the courage?"

Jenny barely heard the question. She regarded herself in the mirror again and saw that her face was accurately reflecting what she felt. "Amalie's," she said on a thread of sound. "I had forgotten about that. I met her downstairs. I am not certain I like her, Mr. Marshall. She was kind enough, I suppose, but not very helpful. Not really. She kept staring at me." Jenny's frown deepened. "Why do you think she did that? Stare at me, I mean. It was terribly rude."

"Oh, God," Christian said. He sighed. "She was probably taking measure of your potential."

"My potential?"

Christian nodded. Placing one hand on either side of Jenny's shoulders, he leaned forward so that he blocked her view of her reflection. "Hmm," he murmured. "Your potential." He bent his head lower. "For this."

Surprise was Christian's advantage. Jenny was so startled by the pressure of his mouth against her lips that she did not struggle. Neither did she offer any encouragement. She held herself very still and let Christian sip and taste the corners of her mouth and draw in her lower lip between his teeth. He bit down very gently. An alien surge of heat blossomed in her middle as his tongue flicked along the soft underside of her lip, bathing the wound he had only pretended to inflict.

Christian raised his head and studied Jenny's serene expression. Her eyes were closed. There was a pale wash of rosy color in her cheeks, and her lips were damp and slightly parted. She could have been asleep. "Amalie will want to know that she probably misjudged," he said, sitting up again. "You cannot work in this house and not know how to please a man." Christian's words were at odds with the hot tongues of flame licking at his skin. He tried not to think about the unreciprocated ache he felt for Jenny Holland. "Why did you follow me here?" he repeated, wearily raking his fingers through his hair.

Jenny's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. She was rather sorry the kiss was over. It didn't seem as if she ought to feel that way, but it was an undeniable truth that Christian's kiss had been something more than pleasant. She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue. They were so sensitive she had to press them together hard. She teetered on the edge of a shiver. "I don't want to work for Amalie," she said. "I like working for you. Aren't you pleased with my work?"

Christian groaned. There was virtually no hope of getting straight answers. Jenny was a beat behind his every question. "Yes, Jenny, I am pleased with your work."

Jenny's smile was uneven but triumphant. "There! You see? You are a man and I've pleased you. Amalie did not misjudge."

Christian bit back a frustrated retort and tried to indulge her drunken logic. "I must have mistaken the matter then. You are very good at what you do, but can we forget that now? Tell me about coming here. Were you already three sheets to the wind when you arrived?"

"Three sheets? I don't know what—"

"Were you drunk when you got here?"

Jenny shook her head, moaning softly as the movement made her dizzy. "I'm not drunk," she said. "I only had one glass of... I don't remember what it was."

"Brandy. Your mouth tastes like brandy." It was sweet, he wanted to tell her. Her mouth was smooth and silky and sweet. He had enjoyed that kiss even if she hadn't. "But I think you had more than one drink."

"I didn't." She saw his skeptical look. "Really, I didn't. Amalie gave me the drink. We were in her office, you see, and I wanted to see you but she wanted to talk and..." Jenny's voice trailed off momentarily as she became fascinated by what she saw in the mirror. She watched her mouth as she carefully formed more words. "Oh, it's all very confusing. My head feels so... so thick. I don't think I'll drink anymore, Mr. Marshall. I used to feel like this before they put me in the hospital. I didn't like it then and..." She grew silent, worried now. "Are you going to make me go back to the hospital?"

"No, not if you don't want to go."

"I don't want to," she said. "Ever. I couldn't go back there. I would never be able to stand it... the screaming... the hands... the touching. I didn't like it. I was always afraid that..." She stirred restlessly, stretching again. She was not tired, yet her body felt heavy, and her skin felt too tight for her frame. Collecting her thoughts was difficult. "What's wrong with me?" she asked plaintively. "Why can't I remember things? Why do I feel this way?"

"What way, Jenny?" Christian was beginning to have a very good idea what was wrong with her. This was Amalie's doing, and he cursed her under his breath. Jenny may very well have had only one brandy. Christian could only guess what Amalie might have put in it. He leaned closer. "Tell me what you feel."

Jenny caught her lower lip and worried it between her teeth. "Light," she said after a moment's thought. "And heavy... aching. I feel empty. I want... I want
something."

Christian had no difficulty identifying the something Jenny could not. He'd heard rumors about the drugs Amalie made available for men who made extraordinary demands on themselves and their female partners. Until now he had never believed it. He cupped Jenny's face, holding her still. "Did Amalie send you up here after she gave you the brandy?"

"No." Jenny's eyes dropped to Christian's mouth. It was a beautiful mouth, she thought. She sighed softly, wishing he would kiss her again. "Someone came to the door and she left her office. I decided to look for you. I didn't want to be alone with her again. Did I tell you I didn't like her?"

"You mentioned that." Christian breathed in sharply as Jenny twisted and rubbed her hip against his thigh. "Don't, Jenny. Don't do that."

Jenny was not certain what she had done, but she was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry." She puckered her lips and blew away a strand of hair that had fallen across her mouth. "It's hot in here, don't you think? We could do without the fire. I will be sure to tell Mrs. B. that you do not require such a large fire."

"Jenny, we're not in my room," he reminded her.

"Oh." She giggled. "That's right. Mrs. B. asked me to come and fetch you home. And I said I would. Oh, dear. You are glowering again. It is no good to be out of sorts with Mrs. Brandywine."

"I'll take it up with her later." Christian believed that he could cheerfully strangle his housekeeper for her interference. Just because she did not approve of his plans for New Year's Eve, it was no reason for her to send Jenny after him. He made an effort to stop looking at Jenny as if she were his intended victim. "If Amalie didn't send you to my room, who did?"

"I told you. Mrs. Brandywine. She—"

"That's not what I meant," he said, interrupting. "How did you get up here? How did you find me?"

"Why didn't you say so?" she asked, her tone accusing. "You have to be clear, Mr. Marshall. It's not easy for me to understand things right now."

Christian marveled at her ability to understate the situation. "Jenny, please answer my question. How did you find me?"

"Maggie showed me your room," she said, making it sound as if it were the most natural explanation in the world. "She told me to take the tray and make sure you know my name is Jenny. But you already know that, don't you? I can't think why it was important her. She said I should tell you that she sent me specially to you. Isn't that something?" Jenny drew in a deep breath and spoke in a rush when she exhaled. "Will you kiss me, Mr. Marshall? Unless you'd rather not. I wouldn't ask except that... well, I don't know why I'm asking. I'm sure I will be embarrassed once I think about it. If you are afraid I'll get sick again, I will understand. Only, I don't think I will. I'm not sure how I know that. It just occurred to me, and I think it's true. But if you don't want to... why are you looking at me like—"