Sweet Savage Eden (3 page)

“Robert! Quit ogling the lass and listen well, for this is not a matter that can be dealt with lightly.”

The blond man smiled at her with such a touch of admiration that Jassy barely heard the other man’s words and therefore could not be offended.

“Be that as it will, Jamie, we’re just setting to dinner now, and you’re telling me about the Injuns, as it were!”

“Robert!”

With that explosive sound he sent a hand waving with such energy that it caught Jassy unaware. She moved, startled, and the tankard she had not set down properly was caught in the movement. Ale spewed and then fell all around them.

“Damn, girl! Look to what you’re doing!”

It wasn’t her shining golden knight who came out with the impatient curse but the man across from him. The man that Jassy had barely even noticed as yet.

She did now, for he was on his feet, glaring at her. She had spilled ale not only over his elegant laced white shirt, but also on the documents he had been studying.

He was tall, she noted at first. Very tall, which was hard to miss, since she was slender and small. In his anger he was towering over her. Beneath the deceiving elegance of his shirt, she noted next, his shoulders were very broad, and though his hips were lean, his thighs, tightly hugged by his breeches, were as muscled and powerful as his boots were high and shiny.

His hair was as black as his boots, nearly indigo with its sheen, barely darker than his flashing eyes, cast into a rugged face that was tanned from much exposure to the sun. He was probably not much older than the handsome blond man who had been so kind; somehow
he seemed the fiercer man, alive with a striking tension and a volatile energy that seemed to exude from him. He therefore appeared older, more the hardened and arrogant man than his smiling, handsome companion.

He did not stare upon her with admiration. His dark eyes smoldered with annoyance, and something that wounded her pride even worse—a total dismissal and disregard.

Without thinking about her position, she lashed out at this man who had attacked her so unfairly.

“Sir! ’Twas your arm that jolted me! The accident was not my fault.”

“Jamie!” the golden man protested softly. “Take a care, please! ’Tis a tyrant runs this place; ’tis likely he’ll beat the girl.”

Jamie seemed to ignore him. He did not appear to care about his shirt, but he was eager to save his documents, and heedlessly he dragged Jassy to him by her skirts as he sought to use that means to dry the parchments.

“Leave me be!” Jassy cried, as indignation and rage rose within her. She pummeled against his shoulder in sudden, wild fear, for those strange, dark eyes had fallen upon her again—and lingered this time.

“Stop!”

He halted her assault simply, catching her wrists, dragging her down to the bench beside him. He might have been a devil, she thought, he was so very dark, so arrogant, so supremely confident of himself. He did not think that she would dare to fight him.

“Bastard!” she hissed in a soft, sure warning. “Let go of me!”

He laughed in amusement. She longed to move her hands, but his hold on her carried an unearthly strength, and she was suddenly quite certain that his air of total confidence had not come to him without just cause. He was a powerful man; she could feel it in the vibrant heat that passed from his thighs through her skirts; she could feel it in his very hold upon her. It meant nothing. He did not strain. But he held her fast and studied her boldly, frowning curiously as his deadly dark, satanic
eyes came to her own, fell to encompass her features, her lips … her breasts and hips.

Something warm seemed to sizzle through her. Her heart began to thunder; she tried to jerk away from him, wanting only to do battle, thinking of nothing but his touch upon her and her desperate desire to escape him.

But then her heart sank.

Master John was bearing down upon them.

“My lords, my lords! What is the problem here? Forgive the girl—she’s new. And I warrant that she will be well punished for her clumsiness!”

He was about to drag Jassy from the bench, but the beautiful golden-blond man came to her rescue. “Master John! I’d not hurt the girl.”

Master John looked at Jassy as if he’d like to beat her flat down to the floor.

“Indeed, sir,” the gallant blond man continued with a hauteur that could only belong to the nobility, “I should find myself in a position to see that all my friends and acquaintances were to avoid this place were I to believe that you chastised your servants too severely.”

The dark-haired man finally looked at John after it seemed that the blond had kicked him beneath the table.

He sighed impatiently. “Indeed, sir, I should feel compelled to warn many from this place! Alas—and I had so enjoyed the ale and the fire!”

John appeared quite near to apoplexy. For several seconds he just stood there, his face growing redder and redder.

The dark-eyed man spoke again, this time with a deadly authority. He rose to his full height again, hands on his hips, towering over them all. “Should I hear that any harm has befallen the girl, I swear I shall return and break both your legs. Do you understand?”

“Aye!” John said quickly, barely breathing.

“Good!” The man sat again, eyeing John.

“Get back to work, girl!” John commanded Jassy.

And she did so—swiftly. She was eager not just to escape her horrid master, but also longed with all her heart to escape the dark-haired stranger.

John caught up with her quickly, whispering into her ear. “You think you’re something, eh, Lady Jasmine of the Attic? Not to me, you’re not!” Her heart catapulted downward as he laughed bitterly. “So I can’t touch you! Well, I’ll tell you this! You’re docked, girl, you and her up them stairs!”

Docked! Less money when they were paid a pittance to begin with! And all over that lout of a stranger!

“Just leave me be!” she said gratingly.

“To the kitchen!” Jake ordered. “Bring out the platters of food for His Majesty’s soldiers just arrived.”

She headed for the kitchen. Molly crossed by her quickly there. “I reached yer ma, luv. She drank some broth.”

“Bless you!” Jassy murmured, and even as the cook loaded the heavy trenchers onto her shoulders, her episode with the gentlemen faded from her mind and worry came back to it. Tamsyn’s one word flooded her thoughts.

Quinine
.

Linnet needed quinine to combat the fever.

She could buy some from the chemist across the lane—if she only had the coin to do so.

The cook was gossiping with one of the newly arrived coachmen even as she burdened down Jassy’s great tray. The coachman, sealed at the big kitchen table, tipped his hat to Jassy and offered her a friendly grin. She smiled vaguely in return, balancing her tray. Cook flashed her a quick smile, too, but gave her attention to the visiting coachman.

“Lord love us, I don’t believe a word of it, Matthew!” she said, but she laughed delightedly.

“Well, ’tis true! Jassy, you should hear this one!”

“Matthew, she’s a sweet young thing!” Cook protested sternly.

“But it’s a great story! All about Joel Higgins, who worked in the London livery. He was such a handsome, strapping youth! He told me about this old woman, see, and she was willing to pay for his services—but he weren’t that hard up! So he made her think he were
willing to give when he weren’t, and when the old battle-ax had her clothing a-gone, he took her purse and disappeared, saying he just had to wash up. Imagine her—a-laying there waiting while he stole away her purse!” He laughed heartily, enjoying his own story. “A good comeuppance for the old girl, eh?”

“Ah, and Joel will meet up with the hangman, that he will!” Cook prophesied dourly. “And, Matthew, you watch your mouth around my young help. Hmmph! Jassy, I be needin’ you in here, I am, and he’s got you out on the floor. Well, damn the man, then, if his sides of beast ain’t roasted the way he’d have ’em! Sorry, girl, ’bout your ma.”

“Thank you,” Jassy murmured, gritting her teeth against the weight of the tray balanced on her shoulder. She paused, though, when she should have turned with her burden and hurried. “Cook, have you by any chance—”

“Lord love ye, girl! I’d gladly loan ye a coin if I had me one! I sent me last money home for me own old mother! You’ve my prayers, though, girl. The Lord God will provide, you just look to Him!”

The coachman sniggered. “Aye! The Lord God provides—more’n likely He helps those what help themselves!”

Jassy had already given up on the Lord, and she would fall beneath the weight of the tray soon. She gave Cook a smile and hurried out.

The night wore on. She felt that endless hours passed. At long last she was released to go back to the attic.

She ran instantly to Linnet’s side, then put her forehead against the bed, crying softly as she heard her mother’s great rasping attempts to draw breath.

Quinine. Tamsyn said it might ease her.

There was a soft rapping at her door. “ ’Tis me—Molly, Jass.”

Jassy came back to her feet and hurried to the door, throwing it open. Molly studied her ravaged face.

“Is she no better, then?”

“No better at all.”

“Ah, lass!” She paused for a moment, hesitating, studying Jassy.

The girl should have had more, Molly thought. All of them had thought it. Cook, her, the upstairs maids. The girl was better than this life. Better than endless scrubbing of cold stone floors. Better than her raw, ragged hands, better than her rag of a dress. They’d all had dreams for her. She was their prize—more lovely than a human had a right to be, even if it was hard to see that loveliness, clad as she was in rags, her glorious golden hair all trussed up in an ugly net. She was fine. A rose among thorns, a blossom of spring against the dead of winter.

She was doomed. To this life; to hell on earth.

Molly sighed. “Jassy, I know your ma never much wanted you falling to our ways, but, well, that tall handsome lord was asking questions about you. He said that his lodgings were at the Towergate, across the row, and that he meant to stay up late.”

Jassy inhaled sharply. An illness seemed to sweep through her stomach.

The blond man. The kind, handsome blond man had wanted her.

She stiffened. As kind as he had been, he wanted a whore for the night. She could have created an entire daydream around him; she could have envisioned him as all that life had to offer.

Her shoulders dropped. Linnet rasped away behind her. She clenched her fists together.

“Jassy!” Linnet called out.

“Mother!” She swung around and fell down by the bed. “I am here!”

Linnet’s head tossed about. Jassy touched her forehead and discovered that it burned. Linnet’s eyes opened for a moment, but they were glazed. She did not see her daughter. “Help me,” she whispered feverishly. “Oh, help me, please …”

Her voice faded away; her eyes closed.

“Oh, God!” Jassy cried out. She caught her mother’s
hands and held them tightly, then she stood and whirled about, almost blinded by her tears.

No!
she thought, and it was a silent scream of agony.
I will not let her die here! I will beg, borrow—or steal
.

And that was when the idea caught hold of her.

Steal … yes.

Surely God would understand, and He was her only true judge. She had turned her back on Him, but maybe now He was helping her to help herself.

She could steal the money that she needed. And keep her daydream. If the blond man did not suspect her of a foul deed, she could suddenly cry innocence and escape him. He was so kind. He would understand.

And if he caught her in the lie … well, again she would depend upon his kindness.

And if that didn’t work …

She swallowed bitterly. She could go through with the bargain. She could not let Linnet die.

“Ah—thank you, Molly. Thank you for so much.”

Molly cleared her throat. “He’s an exciting one, he is!” she said, trying to sound cheerful. She flushed slightly. “I—I tried to exchange myself for you; I’d have gladly given you the coin. But he wanted you, he did, were he to have any at all.”

“Thank you.”

“Shall I stay with her for you?”

“Oh, bless you, Molly! Will you?”

Molly nodded.

Jassy hurried to the washbowl, poured out the remaining water, and tried to scrub her face. She was shaking so badly!

Molly wandered in and sat down. “Best hurry, child,” she said tonelessly.

Jassy knelt down by her mother’s side once again and picked up her frail hand. It burned to the touch, and there was no response.

“Mama, I love you very much! I’ll not let you die this way.”

She swore it out loud, passionately. Then she was on
her feet, slipping into her worn cloak, on her way out the attic door.

One last time she paused, her beautiful features tense and dark with torment.

“Nay, I’ll not let you die this way! Not if I have to beg, borrow—or steal!”

II