Sweet Savage Eden (8 page)

“Shall we dine?” Robert asked Jassy with a smile. He offered her his arm, and she gladly accepted it. Jamie followed them at a distance, then climbed up the steps and came into the establishment.

They were the only ones there, and the tavern keeper urged them into a private room with a bar and tap in the corner and a cheery fire burning in the grate. Robert brought Jassy forward while Jamie discussed the offerings with the cheery man. Robert sat Jassy down upon a bench. He knelt at her side and took her ragged hands into his own, rubbing them, warming them. She looked into his gentle eyes and saw his rueful smile, and the ever-present admiration he bestowed so kindly upon her. “You’re dreadfully cold,” he murmured.

“You’re making me warmer,” she said softly. She watched him, and she appreciated the fire’s sure warmth, for she was flushing. This was what Molly meant by a handsome man. If a woman could but be his wife, maybe it would easy to lie with him. Perhaps she would not feel the humiliation and the crimson heat. Perhaps she could endure it all and return soft kisses to his gentle lips. Lips so different from those that curled with such scorn from the bronzed face of Lord Jamie Cameron. Oh, God! She would never forget that night. She prayed that he would fall off the face of the earth!

He ruined everything for her. He ruined the fact that Robert had cared, that he had come so gallantly to pay for a coffin for her mother, that he had offered her a horse that her journey might be with him, and be safe.

But he knew. He knew that she had gone to Jamie Cameron’s room as a hired whore. And there was no way for her to tell him that nothing had happened, that she was still free to love where she would.

Her fantasies were taking hold of her. She could not marry him, no matter what. Men of his class did not marry women of her own.

She smiled and quickly drew her hands away. Then she realized that Jamie Cameron had long since ceased
to speak with the tavern keeper, that he was staring at her with his relentless dark eyes. In silence he had watched Robert hold her hands, had watched her tender smile to his friend.

Robert stood up. “It is viciously cold, isn’t it?” He warmed his hands before the fire, then turned around and warmed his backside. The tavern keeper had taken their cloaks. Jassy was still shivering.

Jamie swore softly and rudely touched her skirt. “Is that all that you have?”

She wrenched her skirt from his touch. “Aye!”

“Did your mother leave you nothing?”

“Oh, she had a dress, aye! Would you have had me set her naked in her shroud?”

Jamie took a step nearer the fire, rested his booted foot upon the stone hearth before it. He eyed her critically. “You cannot survive without warmer clothing.”

“I will have warmer clothing,” she said, staring at the flames.

“Perhaps this man’s wife has some heavier cloak she’ll no longer use,” Robert said cheerfully. “I shall see.”

“No, please!” Jassy swung around on the bench. “You must not spend your money on me. No more. I shall survive on my own. Honestly, I have made my way before, and I shall do so now.”

“Then you’ll excuse me a moment for private reasons,” Robert said, and left them.

Jassy watched him go. Jamie frowned, looking down at her work-roughened hand where it lay against the wood of the bench. She wore a ring. A ruby ring with the emblem of a falcon upon it.

Jassy heard his movement, heard it like the wind, but she was not quick enough to stop his touch, nor had she the strength to battle against his sudden attack.

“You
are
a bloody thief!” he swore, catching her hand, wrenching her to her feet, and studying the ring.

“Stop it!” She tried to retrieve her hand. She could not. He sat upon the bench himself, dragging her down beside him. Then his indigo eyes found hers with seething
fury, causing him to pierce into her like forks of lightning.

“Where did you get this?”

“My mother—”

“You liar! Who did you con for this ring?”

“I conned no one!”

“Who did you seduce and rob blind for this? What a fool I was! That is your act, is it not? You don’t care if you are caught or not—you cry prettily—”

“I never cried before you!”

“You did not need to. I set you free. But with others you have cried! What a pity that I did not make you earn your income this time, but rather fell prey like all the others! Perhaps we should remedy the situation!”

“There were no others!” Jassy hissed furiously. “And I will never, never put myself in a position to be—to be so much as touched by you again!” Of course, he was touching her, and she hated herself for bothering with a reply. But he was on the bench beside her, and she was aware that he was no gentleman and that his touch was that of hardened steel. His hold upon her hand was brutal; the warmth of his breath touched her cheek. She could not escape him.

She gritted her teeth and went very still, but his hold did not ease. He jerked hard upon her hand again. “Who?” he demanded.

“I seduced no one!” she cried in fury. She tried to stand, and he dragged her back.

“Where did you get this ring?”

“It is none of your business!”

His eyes narrowed upon her, hard and without mercy, without a trace of compassion. “You may tell me now, Jassy, or so help me, this time I shall call the law down upon you and they will hang you by your very pretty little neck.”

“You will not!”

“Test me, then, mistress.”

She hesitated. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, and then, looking at his hard and implacable
bronze features, she realized that he despised her and that he might do anything.

“It’s my father’s ring!” she snapped.

“What?”

Again she tried to wrench her hand away. “It is the crest of the Duke of Somerfield.”

“Aye,” she said gratingly.

“Do forgive me,” he said mockingly, “but I know the children of the late Duke of Somerfield and a Crossroads serving wench is not among them.”

She stared at him with the calmest loathing she could summon. “As a bastard child, she is, my lord!”

He released her hand suddenly. He was still and silent for several seconds, and then he began to laugh. “The old duke’s daughter?”

“Aye, and not by choice!”

“You did not wear the ring the other night!”

“Nay, I did not, for it was on my mother’s finger then. He always said that she must keep it, and she did. For this—and the taint of his ‘nobility’—are my inheritance!”

He was still laughing. She hated the sound of it.

“Stop it! Oh, please, God!” Jassy groaned. “Will you not get out of my life!”

“Nay, not today, girl. I’ve brought you this far; I shall bring you the rest of the way.”

“The rest of the way?”

“My father’s lands border those of the new duke—your brother, Henry. I shall be glad to bring you to a loving reunion.”

“I want no loving reunion!” She jumped up off the bench and whirled away from him. She faced him from near the fire. “I haven’t come for a reunion, I have come to tell the duchess that she is guilty of murder!” She bit her lip to keep from crying out; her loss was still so close to her heart. The laughter had left him. He was watching her gravely. “She is guilty of murder! She killed my mother. I wanted nothing from him. I never saw him and I never wanted to see him. But she—his duchess! My mother was no serving wench. She was an actress, a fine
one. But the duchess saw to it that she could never find work upon the stage. The duchess saw to it that she was worn into the very ground, that her health failed, that—oh, God, why am I telling you this? I hate you! I loathe you almost as much as I loathe her!”

Her words hung upon the air. The fire crackled, and he continued to survey her unblinkingly, insolent, arrogant, and ever superior. Then he smiled coldly and rose, and he towered over her, lean and hard, and suddenly she was afraid.

But he did not touch her.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that you will have to vent all that hatred upon me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked quickly, backing away from him.

“The duchess is dead. She died two years ago. Well, the old duchess, I should say. There is a Duchess of Somerfield. Your brother has married.”

Jassy’s hand fluttered to her throat. “She … is dead?”

“Aye. Dead and buried.”

Jassy turned away from him and studied the flames. “There is no reason for me to go there, then.”

“No reason? Why, my girl! Knowing your ways, mistress, I would think that you might be most eager. Your brother is extremely rich.” He paused a moment, and a curious softness touched his eyes. “And your sister is charming. Elizabeth. You should meet her.”

“I will not go there.”

He leaned casually against the mantel. “Then what will you do? Settle into scrubbing floors and peeling potatoes again?” He grabbed her hand again, lifting it high for her to see its work-roughened flesh. “Is this what you want for your life? To live and die in servitude?”

She snatched her hand away. “What I do or do not do with my life is none of your concern.”

“I am simply trying to help. If you are so interested in scrubbing floors, I might speak with my father. He pays his servants very well, and feeds them even better.”

“Thank you, no. I would not care to serve any relation of yours any more than I would ever care to serve you.”

“I see. The tavern life suits you. There are always men about to seduce into parting with income for the mere promise in your eyes.”

“Any man, my lord. Any five, any ten, any twenty—rather than you.”

They stared at each other, and then the door swung open and Robert reentered the room. “Ah, Jassy, see what we have found!” He had an armful of garments and came to the bench, spreading them out to be surveyed by the other two. “It seems that Lady Tewesbury came through here not long ago. Do you know the story about Lady Tewesbury? I shall tell you. Her first husband died and she married a man who had pined for her for years. Well, this was a stop on their honeymoon tour, a reckless lovers’ tryst in the forest. Anyway, her new husband could bear nothing of her old husband, and so he forced her to leave all her things here!” He glanced at Jamie. “The tavern keeper is willing to dispose of it all at a very modest cost.” Jamie nodded slightly, and Robert went on. “I think that they shall fit you quite well!”

“Oh, but I can’t—” Jassy said.

“Oh, but you must,” Jamie said, interrupting smoothly. “Robert, you can’t imagine what I have just discovered. Jassy is the …” He paused, and she wondered what he had first intended to say. “Jassy is the half-sister of the Duke of Somerfield.”

“What?”

The garments fell from Robert’s hands, and he stared at Jassy with renewed and keen interest.

“Alas,” Jamie said, “I wonder if the duke knows of her existence.”

“I wonder,” Robert murmured.

“I had thought,” Jamie said casually, “that we should find out. I shall hire a messenger to hurry to my father’s house, and we shall take Jassy straight to Somerfield.”

“Of course,” Robert agreed. He was still staring at her. His breathing had gone very shallow. He smiled fully, then he let out a little cry of joy. “Somerfield, eh!” He
laughed, then he reached for her hands and began to dance her around the room. Jassy thought that he had lost his mind, but he was so handsome and appealing and young and light with his laughter that she discovered herself joining in. If only Jamie Cameron weren’t over by the fire, watching her with his dark, brooding gaze!

“Oh, our supper has come at last!” Robert said. He stopped dancing but still held her fingers, and the feeling was delightful. The tavern keeper entered the room with a kitchen boy at his side. He brought a feast of fish, poultry, and meat swimming in a pool of thick gravy. He brought a huge platter of bread and a dried apple tart and tankards of ale. For once, Jassy realized, she was not serving it. She was being invited to dine.

“Is it all to your liking, Jassy?” Robert asked her, and his blue eyes danced.

“It is lovely, thank you.”

She managed to seat herself beside Robert, but Jamie Cameron was still there, across the table from her. And as always, he stared at her, condemning her, his dark gaze piercing into her, making her feel naked to the soul. She tried to ignore him, and she was somewhat successful, for she had never known just how hungry she was. She couldn’t remember eating food that tasted this good, that was served so deliciously.

Then she looked up and found him still staring at her, and her pleasure in the meal dimmed. She did not know which of the men was paying the cost of the meal.

Jamie Cameron refilled her tankard with ale. She took it from him, sipping it, nervously meeting his eyes. Robert was talking about the fine flavor of the tart. She barely heard him, for she felt Jamie Cameron’s eyes. Felt them, just as she had when they had fallen on her naked flesh, searching into her.

“Eat,” Jamie said softly, “but go carefully.”

“I have eaten too much,” she murmured.

“Nay, it is good to see you so thoroughly enjoy that which I have taken far oft for granted. Take care, lest it be too much for your stomach.”

She nodded and set down the bread upon which she had chewed. He stood up and walked to the window and watched the winter wind. “Master John should be hanged,” he muttered suddenly, savagely.

Then he turned back to the two of them. “Hurry, now. Jassy, you must change. And we must be under way. I’d reach Somerfield before dark if at all possible.”

“I’ll see about the horses,” Robert said. He squeezed Jassy’s hand and strode out of the room. Jassy rose. She stared over at the clothing, and she knew that she could not go on. It wasn’t right; it was making her the woman she had sworn she would not become.

“I am not going,” she said.

“You are.”

She shook her head. “Robert has been kind to me. but I can accept no more. I want nothing from the Somerfields, and I am certain that they will not welcome me. I wish to go on, alone.”

He walked over to the bench. He plowed through the clothing there, to find a dress in dark green velvet with tiers of black lace over white lace at the bodice and sleeve. The underskirt was beige silk, daintily embroidered. There were no corsets among the things, and no petticoats. Those that she had would have to do. “Thank God you are small, and the same size. This is the one you will wear now.” He came to her with the dress.