Forbidden
By
Julia Keaton
(c) copyright by Julia Keaton, January 2010
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) January 2010
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
ISBN 1-978-60394-407-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue:
Dear Damon,
I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so my bluntness now should come as no surprise. I might not have long left and I find that I need your help most desperately…
∞
Blood.
The thing about it was, what most people seemed to forget, or what they simply never considered, is that blood is warm.
It’s hot.
It burns.
Because it comes from another living, breathing, human being, encased in its flesh from the very moment it was brought squirming and miserable into the world.
In Damon’s fevered nightmares the liquid flames of hell coursed though his veins and pumped through his heart, squirmed in his brain and burned away the forgiving oblivion sleep should have brought.
But there was no forgiveness … there was no rest.
There was, he admitted to himself as he woke screaming into the night, no peace.
For a moment all he could do was sit there, breathing ragged as he tried to remember who and where he was. The nightmare was always the same and he ran shaking hands down his sweat soaked face in an attempt to drive the lingering images from his mind. After so many years, he thought the scenes would have lost some of their clarity, but instead it seemed as if they’d become even more focused. As if he’d been deceiving himself and only now the full force of what he’d lost and what he’d done hit him. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Damon got up from his bed, sheets sticking to the sweat on his back and legs before he shook them off so that he could walk over towards his wardrobe unhindered.
Just as the dreams never changed, his response to them remained the same as well. What he needed was Isabella. To feel her hot breath on his face and her gentle mouth on his fingers. Her muscles moving and stretching between his thighs as he gripped the silky strands of her hair and let his mind float away empty and clean.
Isabella would make it better.
Isabella would make it right.
If only for a little while.
∞
“Did you miss me?”
Isabella mouthed a loose strand of his hair as he leaned his face against the side of her head. Her big brown eyes were earnest and a little sleepy since it was still so early in the morning.
“Sorry to wake you up, but it’s been one of those nights, Bell.”
It was eerie how the horse butted him softly with her nose as if she understood enough of his turmoil to offer sympathy. For a moment he just stood there, letting the weight of her sink into his chest before he pulled himself together and stepped away to saddle her. He was growing more than a little pathetic if he was trying to assuage his loneliness with Bell. He had made his decision a long time ago and it was best to learn to live with it. He refused to suffer like he had after Orissa, and the best way to prevent that from happening was to keep his head clear.
Damon only needed two things in life. Himself and the crops, and he wouldn’t be adding one more thing to his list of regrets simply because he’d been too sentimental to remember that.
He gave Bella her head once they’d crossed the creek bed. The fields that surrounded his plantation would make good farming ground. His holdings were small and it was high time he expanded, however, with the space the crops took up, his own house and stables, plus the servant’s houses, he had little to no room to ride Isabella. While it was selfish of him, he wasn’t ready to let this last bit of freedom go.
He rode on until well past morning, mind wandering as he watched the rising sun cut through the mist hovering over the wet ground. He let Bella roam as she pleased and was unsurprised by the amount of preening and prancing the horse was able to accomplish in such a short time despite the lack of audience.
Though he regretted it, he signaled to Bella that it was time to head back to the house and it was while she was trotting up the drive that he heard someone call out behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Damon reined Bella to a halt. She pranced in place for a bit, impatient and not at all happy to note the strange horse and rider plodding up to meet them.
“Thank god I caught you. I seem to be a bit lost. This wouldn’t be the Burleigh plantation would it?”
Damon’s head canted to one side as he regarded the too skinny messenger with his shifty eyes and greasy hair.
“It is.” He answered in a relatively neutral voice.
The man’s rat like face collapsed in relief. “Wonderful, you’re one of the workers here then?”
“You could say that.”
Reaching into the saddlebag slung over the rump of his horse, he pulled forth a wrinkled white envelope.
“I have a message for the master of the house there. Take me to him.”
Settling comfortably in his saddle once again, the messenger straightened his spine and let his face smooth out in what Damon assumed he thought to be an aristocratic expression. Damon watched him, unmoving, until the man realized he had no intention of leading him up the driveway and to the main house. Smiling a bit, Damon reached out one large callused hand and snapped his fingers, devilishly pleased when the man bristled.
“I’ll be taking that now if you don’t mind.”
“This letter belongs to Damon Burleigh and I couldn’t possibly be so lax in my duties that I would and it--”
“If it’s about your pay,” Damon interrupted, “I’ll be happy to send one of the servants into town to settle the debt later on today.”
He smiled into the man’s eyes and watched him pale. “But in the meantime I’ll be taking my letter.”
* * * *
Jocelyn Holbrooke liked to dance.
If you asked anyone who lived in Richmond about the Holbrooke girls they would tell you,
“The older girl’s a dancer, a ballerina. You’ve never seen a more beautiful sight until you’ve watched her spinning around the ballroom on the tips of her toes. And the little one, Ava? She’s a painter. Takes after her poor deceased Mother may God rest her soul.”
So up in her room, her little Ava wept over her paints, while Jocelyn … Jocelyn danced.
After so many years the routine had become instinctual, so much so, that she no longer had to concentrate or really even think about them before her body moved to obey the instinctual rhythm.
First position, second position, pirouette and stop.
From fifth position move into a tondeu to the side and go on to the fourth position.
Now three turns, and stop.
Stop.
STOP!
Wrong.
Again.
From fifth, tondeu, forth, passé and turn three times. Eyes focused on one point so that the head whips forward to that spot each time. Focus, focus, focus.
A’ la hauteur, ninety % angle, Arabesque. Now keep it. Bring the leg down into attitude en pointe.
Fifth position, fourth position, third, second, and first.
Stop.
It was all wrong.
All of it.
She was supposed to go see the performance being held at the theatre next month. Whenever the dancers came her father always took her to see them.
“Stupid papa, you promised. I really wanted … I really wanted to see--”
Jocelyn’s gut twisted and her lower lip began to tremble even though she tried to force it not to. Her head throbbed, her chest ached, and her throat burned as if some phantom had come and tried to rip it out.
“Stupid … Stupid papa.” Her voice trailing off, Jocelyn ran a shaking hand beneath her nose and as she was lowering herself into the position for Battements Tendus she found the strength leaving her legs and before she knew it she was sitting on the cool surface of the ballroom floor.
Then the tears came, hot, scalding, punishing. And her throat ached, and her chest throbbed, and the twisting pain in her stomach tightened until she felt as if she might die.
Chapter one:
I know I’m dumping a lot on you all at once but you’re a good man. One of the best I know, and always have been, even before that bloody mess in India. I believe that more than anyone, I can trust you with my girls, my most precious treasures.
“Miss?”
Jocelyn barely controlled her small sound of surprise as the doorman’s voice broke the oppressive silence in the drawing room. She smoothed her skirts and made sure to blank her expression before she looked over her shoulder at Jeremy.
“What is it?”
“There’s a carriage coming Miss. The stable boy saw it as he was out with the horses.”
This was indeed strange news. With the death of their father people had been coming from all over to pay their respects this was true. It had only been a week since his death, but even so, everyone he’d ever met or locked eyes with had come knocking on their door. That an unfamiliar carriage should appear was nothing new.
What was, was that the carriage, and the one driving it, had roused enough concern in the staff to have them come and speak to her of it. Usually they simply waited until whomever was calling had come knocking on the door before they announced their arrival, not wanting to disturb the young mistresses of the house any more than necessary.
She frowned. From across the room Ava looked up from her sketch pad with dull eyes. Questioning, she looked at Jocelyn.
“Who on earth--”
As one their eyes widened and they leaned toward each other, blatantly ignoring the distance that separated them.
“He must have heard about it by now, right?” Ava said, setting her sketch pad on the table beside her.
“He must have. It’s the only explanation.”
Ava stood and walked to the window, pulling aside the drapes to peer out the window. “Papa talked about him all the time.”
Jocelyn nodded, moving beside her. A little thrill quivered in her belly. “They were best friends.”
“And if he left right after he got the news--”
“And traveled hard and packed light--”
“He might have been able to make it here by today.”
They stared at each other, hopeful and shamelessly excited, before Jocelyn reminded herself not to be so childish. So it was a strange carriage, so what? Chances were it wasn’t whom they hoped it would be and getting her hopes up only to have them crash down again would be too much after everything else that had happened. Ava seemed to sense her change of mood because the dark blue eyes that had been twinkling a moment before glossed over once again as she sat back in her chair and went back to her sketches.
Sighing, Jocelyn turned from the window and noticed that Jeremy still stood politely in the doorway. She flushed, embarrassed that she’d forgotten about him so quickly. Her father would have never done something like that. John Holbrooke had been a man who was meticulous from his days as a soldier and never slacking when it came to people and the little details. You couldn’t expect to run an entire plantation, raise two children by yourself, as well as manage investments if you forgot as simple a thing as a footman in the doorway.
If she had any hope of taking on all that so she could continue to raise her little Ava in the home they’d both grown up in, she’d do well to remember that.
She dipped a small curtsy in Jeremy’s direction and bowed her head in acknowledgement of the slip.
“Thank you Jeremy. Have the footman ready a stable for the horses and tell the upstairs maids to prepare a room in case our guest needs to stay the night as it’s getting on quite late in the evening and they may not make it back home by nightfall. Also, inform Cookie to prepare a bit more than usual tonight for the same reason. If whoever it is doesn’t stay then the servants may have what remains and one more clean room in the house won’t kill us.”
Bowing, Jeremy flashed a quick grin and left to do as she’d asked. She should really reprimand him for his familiarity, but honestly that small sign of approval made her feel better.
As if … as if maybe they’d be alright without papa around.
Palming away the tears that suddenly sprang into her eyes, she gathered her skirts in one hand and moved towards the window overlooking the drive in front of the house.
She could just make out the carriage lumbering its heavy way down the drive beneath the cloaking canopy of trees. They were about five minutes off which gave her enough time to compose herself enough to drum up a wilted parody of a smile.
Unsatisfied with how fake it felt, she tried it again, and then again.
Practice made perfect after all.
* * * *
Damon was tired, he was irritated, and most of all he stank of the road: an odd mix of horse, dirt, and sweat. He been traveling hard since he’d read John’s letter a week and a half before. After he’d seen who it was from he’d been reluctant to read the contents. Something about the letter made his blood run cold without his even having to open it.
It had taken him a good two days to prepare his steward and staff for his extended absence. He’d never been gone longer than a few days, but in honor of John … in honor of him he would stay until the elder man passed on to receive his just rewards.
He owed him that much.
So it was with mixed feelings that he stepped from the carriage to look up at the two story plantation home. The curtains in each of the windows on the first and second floor fluttered and shook as curious servants looked out at the newcomer.
Damon fought back a smile.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d known of his arrival much sooner. He had made quite a stir buying the most expensive carriage and horses available. But he couldn’t help himself, by the time he and Bella had dragged their way into town they’d both been exhausted. He was adamant about having her rest for the duration. He would be taking the carriage when he went back to Georgia so that both he and Bell could rest. They deserved it.
His suspicion about the staff being pre warned of his arrival was confirmed when a young boy hurried forward and bowing announced that he would take the horses to the stable to be fed and watered down.
Shrugging and rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension in his back and neck, Damon made his way up the wide stone steps to the front door. It opened before his knuckles could make contact with the wood.
And there standing before him was the most … enchanting creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.
“You’re him.” Her voice was flat and a bit hoarse, as if she were fighting back some strong emotion.
Damon cocked his head to one side and stared at her hard and long, ignoring the knowledge that he was being rude.
For some reason he didn’t like the faint sense of recollection that shook him.
It was in the eyes really, those bright green eyes and that strong jaw. But recognition or not, he wanted to erase the anxious shadows darkening her gaze and the fine trembling in her lower lip.
So he smiled, crooked and cynical around the edges and raised an eyebrow.
“Him who?”
She began to nod her head, her eyes steady as she looked him up and down. Then she saw the dimple and that simply confirmed it.
“It has to be you. I mean you have to be him. It’s the only explanation. You’re just like how I remember. Just like it.” She was muttering to herself, and wanting to erase the sick pallor of her face, he rested a hand against the doorframe and leaned in until he was all too close for his state of mind.
“For you Princess, I can be anyone you want me to be.”
His blatant impropriety seemed to shake her out of her daze. She stepped back with a regal lift of her chin as if she’d suddenly realized that he was far beneath her notice.
“I apologize, sir.” She said, her voice cool. “But we both seemed to be under some misguided impression of each other. I am no street trollop and you obviously aren’t the man I thought you to be. Now would you be so kind as to state your business and leave, my home is in mourning and we would like some peace and quiet.”
Damon couldn’t help but grin down into that perfect little face. She was taller than most women, and he liked how she met his gaze head on and the way her warm, honey scented breath teased his nostrils. It took his spiraling mind a moment to grasp what she just said and when it finally dawned on him, he felt it like a punch in the guts.
Only this time the feeling had nothing to do with the lust the strange woman awoke in him and everything to do with guilt.
“Mourning?”
“Yes.” She was wary of him if the narrowed green eyes were any indication. “My father passed away last week and I--Good heavens, are you alright?”
Her hands reached for his face. Sick with himself, with his own stupidity and insensitivity, Damon stepped out of her reach, seamlessly turning the evasion into a formal bow so that she wouldn’t regret her show of concern.
“My apologies.” His voice sounded ragged. Damned if his throat wasn’t tight. It didn’t matter how hard he and Bella had ridden, because they had been too late a long time ago.
Much too long.
Raising his head, he met the young woman’s eyes, wondering despairingly if she were Ava or Jocelyn, and guessing if those pretty green eyes were any indicator then she was obviously the latter.
“I don’t mean to intrude during this time of grief, but my name is Damon Burleigh.”
He shrugged and gave a self deprecating smile. “I’m here to see an old friend.”
* * * *
“England!”
“What?” Ava glared at him, her pretty mouth pursed and blue eyes blazing with evident dislike. “Why would daddy want you to take us anywhere?”
There was a lot of venom in those few words, a lot of distrust and hurt. Damon understood it, forgave it, and just as quickly, dismissed it.
The girl was suffering and clinging to the familiar.
There was no shame in that, hell; he did the exact same thing most days.
So he made an effort to keep himself calm. “John sent me a letter asking me if I’d take you girls to your Uncle.”
Lord Clayton Holbrooke, Earl of Stanford had been the one to buy John’s commission into the East India Company. He was a serious man, and liked to keep to himself. Completely unlike the younger Holbrooke brother who loved crowds and noise, which is probably why he prospered after the birth of his two girls where other men would have buckled under the strain. Especially since it hadn’t even been a week after Ava had been born that his wife consumed to fever and died.
They had still been overseas then, still fighting, and it wasn’t until Ava was four and Jocelyn six that the war had finally ended and they’d been allowed home. During this time John’s brother and his wife Kristen had been caring for the girls and as soon as he got back on English soil he packed them up and Damon followed behind the small family to America. Once there he used the money he’d inherited from his father to buy a small plantation down in Georgia while John and the girls claimed his late wife’s childhood home in Virginia.
For that first year or so after they’d come back, he’d stayed with John a lot, traveling tirelessly between Georgia and Virginia every other month it seemed like. Learning the finer points of how to run a plantation and integrating his own experiences with it from when he’d helped his father run their estate in Bengal.
For a year he’d watched Ava and Jocelyn grow, Ava who was just as delicate and pale a child as she was a young woman. Even at four she’d been a smart little thing, knowing how and when to smile and the exact angle in which to turn her head to inflict the most damage to the male heart. By the time her fifth birthday had begun to roll around she’d had most of the staff wrapped around her chubby little finger. Men and women alike were under her thrall, for though the women recognized her tactics and tricks, she was pronounced as being even smarter and twice as adorable for knowing how to implement them in the first place.
A twisted sort of logic, but there it was.
Jocelyn on the other hand … she’d been solemn but bright. Quick to laugh and slow to cry. She’d been enchanting, and just as he’d been hopelessly drawn to her back then he found himself even worse off now. After he’d lost his little brothers and sister, children had held little appeal to him. They were too easily broken, too easily crushed and snuffed out like the bright dancing flames they were. Once you fell in love with a child they kept your heart and he couldn’t have taken it if another one had died on him. So while Ava had been the queen of the castle in most respects it had been the shy little Jocelyn who’d sought him out to run her chubby hands over his face whenever he’d found himself lost too deeply in memory.
She had something in her that could save him and it was that growing attachment to her that had sent him running and convinced him not to come back.
Even now, he found his eyes drawn to her, only this time it wasn’t with the eyes of an infatuated young man, but with the desire akin to that of a moth to the flame.
She was curvy, her lush figure at odds with her seemingly stern demeanor. The lashes that framed her green eyes were thick and brushed across cheeks as smooth as silk whenever she turned her gaze from him. The lamps set up in the room brightened it enough that he could make out the golden highlights in her dark blond hair.
He wanted to touch her, taste her, lick her, bite her, and the urges disgusted as well as thrilled him to the bone.
He was shameless, lusting after her when he’d been entrusted with her safety.
But just because he knew he was shameless, didn’t mean he could stop himself, and if he wasn’t careful he would find himself covering the distance between them to snatch her up.
Good thing for them both she did all she could to keep their eye contact to a minimum.
Though Damon suspected this had a lot to do with her personal dislike of him rather than any maidenly urges to protect her virtue.
“We’re not going anywhere with you. Let alone to England. Ava and I are perfectly fine staying right where we are.”
“How will you take care of yourselves?”
“The plantation of course.”
“So I’m to assume that you’re aware of all the ins and outs of pulling off something like that.”
“I’ve watched daddy do it for years. And what I don’t know I can learn--”
“And while you’re learning, this entire estate will collapse and your father’s hard work along with it.”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“John made it my concern.”
“And the solution to all of this is to take us across the sea to the enemy? You seem to be forgetting that we’re in the middle of a war, Mr. Burleigh. If you pardon me for saying so that seems none too bright.”
Damon felt his lips tightening and a nasty mix of blood and blankly staring eyes danced in his head.
“Well excuse me as well, Princess,” he began, tone mocking and gaze fierce as it met hers, “but two women living alone in a warzone doesn’t seem all that smart either.”
She deemed him worthy enough to sneer at then, and he ignored the shot of lust to sneer right back.
Maybe he’d been spending too much time farming and not enough whoring if this little girl was wreaking such havoc on him.
“I think we’ve said about all we have to say to each other, Mister Burleigh. Now if you’d be kind enough to leave, the servants will be happy to--”
“Hold on there, sweetheart. We haven’t said nearly enough to each other. John asked me for a favor, his last wish if you will, and I’m going to make sure I do it for him whether you girls agree to it or not.”
Since he’d just made kidnapping an option, Damon felt tons better about the entire mess. Even Jocelyn’s slowly flushing cheeks were enough to bring a smile to his face. He was startled when Ava cleared her throat, and he turned to her with hooded eyes. He was more than a little ashamed to realize that he’d completely forgotten about her and in a belated attempt to make it up to her he gave her his undivided attention.
He noted the quick flutter of lashes, the soft smile and suddenly bright eyes and his back went up.
He searched for them and found only the faintest traces.
The angled body as if she were straining to hear more of what he had to say, the straighter shoulders that brought her pert little breasts flush against the midnight blue of the gown that matched her eyes and brought out the moonlight paleness of her skin.
The tricks were all there, subtle and sweet so they were hardly noticeable and he had to applaud the girl her efforts. She’d be a match for any of the society flirts and their matchmaking mammas when she arrived in England.
But her preparation, especially since she obviously disliked him, alerted him to her next question.
“Is Uncle Clayton a Red Coat? And just how well off is he?”
“AVA!”
He sighed mentally. Talk about getting to the point. No wonder she’d pulled out all the stops.
“What? It’s not like you weren’t wondering either, Joss. If he’s going to take us in then he had better be in a comfortable position to do so. I have no desire to travel across an ocean to live as a pauper nor do I want to find myself at the mercy of those damn Brits.”
Damon wanted to applaud but thought that would just add fuel to the Jocelyn fire.
“For the last time we are NOT going.”
“He’s the Earl of Stanford. From what I understand a Lord’s life is more than just ‘comfortable’. Also, the last time I checked, he doesn’t support the war. His age as well as a leg injury from his sea fairing days has rendered him … unsatisfactory as far as combat is concerned.”
Ava smiled, but not as if she was pleased. More like a problem that had plagued her had been assuaged.
Jocelyn’s entire frame shook and biting her lip she turned to her sister and leaned in close.
Not that that made any difference.
He could still hear just fine.
“Ava. What’s gotten into you? We aren’t going anywhere with that … that vagrant.”
Ouch.
“I don’t really care who we go with Joss … I just want to go.”
Her words brought his eyes to them quickly enough that he was able to catch the silent conversation that took place between them. When Jocelyn next glanced up, her face was tight and unhappy, but determined.
“Fine.”
Her lips were tight, almost bloodless.
“We’ll go.”
Damon leaned back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest as he regarded her with narrowed eyes.
“Then I’ll leave you girls to get ready.”
* * * *
He didn’t leave. Rather he had the servants lead him up to the room Jocelyn had foolishly prepared. She watched him swagger up the stairway to the second floor, a maid giggling on his arm as he spoke to her. She felt her gut twist, but she waited until he was out of sight before rounding on Ava who stood beside her in the middle of the foyer.
“What were you thinking?”
Ava frowned at her and then glancing around the foyer, she grabbed Jocelyn’s arm and dragged her down the hallway and into their father’s study. Locking the door behind her, she leaned back against the dark brown wood.
Jocelyn folded her arms across her chest and tried not to give in when Ava began to gnaw at her bottom lip in nervousness.
“Well?”
“I….” She shook her head and tried again. “I want to go, Joss.”
Jocelyn sagged, “I gathered as much, but why? The war Ava….”
Suddenly angry, Ava pushed off from the door and came further into the room.
“Don’t you think I know all that? I’ve been hearing the same news as you. You know Mrs. Patterson got a letter the other day. Her son Kennith, the boy who went to school with us who always picked his nose? He’s dead. Dead Joss. Killed up in Fort Dearborn. Everybody is either dead or dying and now we don’t even have Daddy anymore. There’s no reason why we should stay either.”
“Other than the fact that this is our home you mean?”
Ava made an exasperated noise and threw up her hands. As Jocelyn settled back on the edge of her father’s desk, she watched her sister pacing in front of her. Her fingers were moving, flexing, as if she wished desperately for her paints and brushes.
But there were no paints, there were no brushes. Ever since the war almost everything had been taken away to provide for the soldiers. At first it wasn’t so bad, but as the year and the fighting progressed, more and more things that they had before taken for granted began to disappear.
The usually svelte creature her sister had cultivated herself into over the years had disappeared and that worried Jocelyn more than anything.
“Talk to me Ava.”
She gave a short barking laugh. “I’m trying too but I’m not sure how much of what I say you’ll actually hear.”
Hurt, Jocelyn cleared her throat.
“Well then, try and we’ll see.”
Silence filled the room for a few heartbeats before with a sigh and a weary brush of her hand across her face Ava spoke.
“I can’t stay here. It’s not home anymore Joss, and it never will be again. You feel the same way don’t you?”
She did, but the difference between she and Ava was that Jocelyn believed that these sorts of feelings would fade over time. A person couldn’t feel so empty and alone forever could they?
They couldn’t always live in fear and uncertainty.
When she remained silent Ava gave her a tired smile.
“I already know how this is going to work. We’ll stay here trying to pretend that we’re alright when we’re not. We’ll get raided either by wondering soldiers or Indians and they’ll rape us and take everything we own. Then they’ll stick a hatchet in our heads and scalp us if they’re the Indians. And if it’s soldiers, assuming that they’re red coats and not Americans they’ll make us make tea until our fingers fall off and we’re red in the face from exhaustion-“
“That’s enough Ava. I get the picture.” While most people would have been shocked to find that Ava was surprisingly practical, they’d be horrified if they knew that she was also vastly morbid. Most of the time it was funny, even a bit cute, but this time…not so much.
Groaning Jocelyn ran her left foot back and forth over hardwood floor. Her toes extending into a graceful pointe before she brought it back. Looking up at her sister she bit her lip.
“Is this really not home anymore Ava? Is there nothing worth staying for?”
They stared at each other, solemn and silent before Ava shook her head and closed the distance between them. Her small hands grasped Jocelyn and there were tears deepening the hypnotic blue of her eyes.
“I want…I want what we always talked about with daddy. I want to meet a rich, handsome man that’s going to spoil me for the rest of my life.”
Jocelyn gave a shaky laugh and reached up to tug an errant blond curl.
“And bring home lots of screaming, drooling babies.”
Ava’s nose wrinkled almost instinctively and she shivered as if a chill had run down her spine.
“Maybe not so much that part.”
“Which part? The drooling or the screaming?”
“Well with the screaming I’ll at least go deaf after a while but if the little brats drool all over me they’ll mess up all my pretty gowns.”
This brought on a bout of giggling. And though the laughter and the feel of Ava’s arms around her felt good, felt normal, there was an underlying darkness to the sound that Jocelyn was sure Ava had missed.
Something had been resolved; Jocelyn just wasn’t sure what it was.
* * * *
An hour later, she found out.
Ava had assembled the servants and preparations were underway for the move. Damon stood at the banister overlooking the foyer and watched in abject awe as servants hustled this way and that. Their dark skin glistening with sweat under the house lamps as they carried trunk load after trunk load of what their mistresses had termed ‘essential’ to the front of the house so that it could be packed onto his carriage in the morning. Plates, precious china, what looked like Ava’s entire room, and furniture they simply couldn’t leave behind. Paintings of their parents that were larger than most grown men were wrapped in bedding and treated with upmost gentleness. Silver, paints, brushes, easels, and make-up, soaps, perfumes, food, and god help him if he never saw another shoe in his life.
Why they needed all of these things he didn’t know. They had to travel from here to Florida, hopefully stopping by his plantation on the way so that he could give quick instructions about what needed to be done and how to protect it in case soldiers came.
Once on the cost they had to catch a ship to the Caribbean where they would hopefully find passage to England. All in an effort to slip past the blockade banning Americans from English soil.
They must do all that while apparently drowning under an ocean of pink lace and chiffon.
It was as close to Hell as Damon had ever come and the heat from the gates burned him.
Damon supposed he had held out some belated hope that Jocelyn would see how impractical it all was but he’d seen how she’d grinned at the increasing paleness of his face as Ava ordered for more things to be packed up. She’d known so many things would slow them down, and yet instead of doing as he’d hoped, she’d encouraged her sister to the point where they would have been packing up the horses, the mares, and the stable boys too if Damon hadn’t suggested in a panic that they take a break for dinner.
* * * *
Dinner was a silent affair, with Jocelyn trying to studiously ignore their visitor and Ava sneaking sidelong glances at him every chance she got. It had been a while since they’d sat down and eaten with a man and the difference between him and their father was evident. While John Holbrook had given off a kind, patient air, Damon seemed to emit something darker, a bit more twisted, and it was the feel that he gave off as well as Jocelyn and Ava’s distrust of him that kept conversation at a minimum.
It was true they had heard many stories of him from their father but the charming, idealistic, and kind young man who’d been the hero of those stories seemed drastically different from the reality sitting across from them. The thing that bothered Ava the most, but which Jocelyn seemed oblivious too, was his eyes. Ava knew she and her sister were pretty, or prettier than most of the women in town. So she was used to the looks they received from men. Most of the time once one of them went up against the iron will hidden beneath her shyness and her seemingly cold reserve they found themselves losing interest .
Damon on the other hand was different. Each and every time her sister went against him for something, whether it was leaving Virginia, choosing what to pack, or an uncomfortable five minutes of arguing over what would be eaten for dinner, a light seemed to flicker in his eyes. A dark kind of interest that would have thrilled instead of worried Ava had he been looking at her rather than Jocelyn.
As it was she sat there for a good five minutes, stewing and shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Jocelyn’s voice made her jump.
“Can you…can you tell us a bit about the war Mr. Burleigh?”
He didn’t have to glance up from his plate to look at her as Ava did because his eyes had already been trained on her from the beginning. He gave a slight smile and popped a sliced carrot into his mouth.
“About the war or about your father?”
“Both.”
The grin bloomed fully and Ava had to blink to keep herself from being dazed by it.
She’d noticed his good looks before but the careless joy in his smile seemed to drive it home. His black hair was wavy and fell in messy curls around his forehead and neck. Stormy gray eyes framed by thick black lashes would have made his face too pretty if it hadn’t been for the rough sexuality of his wide mouth and bristled jaw.
She’d noticed how tall he was when he’d first come, how strong and lean and with his thick eyebrows arching sharply over those intense eyes he seemed very much like…well like a devil.
And when Ava looked over in rising panic to see her sister flushing prettily at the attention, she resolved the truth firmly in her mind.
He was a devil, and he was going to take her sister from her.
* * * *
Jocelyn was curious.
She’d never tired of listening to her father reminisce about the war and Damon had always featured prominently in all the stories. But somehow the man sitting across from her and the charming, constantly laughing young man her father had made him out to be seemed to be two completely different people.
She wanted to understand why.
“Can you…can you tell us a bit about the war, Mr. Burleigh?”
She glanced at him and had to control her instinctive impulse to jump when she realized he was already staring at her. She saw the smile teasing his lips and stared, mesmerized as he popped a piece of carrot into his mouth.
“About the war or about your father?”
“Both.”
He grinned and Jocelyn found her heart skipping and a strange sort of heat gathering in the pit of her stomach. Surprised, and for some reason embarrassed she placed a hand across her midriff and strengthened her resolve not to turn away from his gaze even though her face was flaming.
Groaning Damon took a sip from his cup and leaned back in his seat, long legs stretching out beneath the table.
“I met John when we both fought in Orissa under Wellesley’s army. I’d just turned eighteen and at the time I remember him bragging about his daughters more than I remember any actual fighting.”
He was funny and a surprisingly good storyteller. She could see that spark in him that her father had always talked about and which she remembered vaguely from her childhood. War was something tragic but exciting, his fellow soldiers just as strange and interesting as the places he had seen. She could tell, by the stiff set of his shoulders and her own common sense that it hadn’t all been as clean cut as he made it out to be and because of that, because she knew he spoke of painful memories simply for her entertainment she found herself more engrossed by him than she’d been by her father. Before she knew it had gotten late and Ava had fallen asleep at the table, her soft snores the only sound in the room after Damon’s deep voice had finally fallen silent.
“Was I boring?”
Jocelyn ran a gentle hand over Ava’s hair and shook her head.
“No, she’s simply tired. It’s been a trying week.”
Damon ducked his head and took a fortifying drink. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Glancing over her shoulder Jocelyn found Jeremy and indicated Ava with a nudge of her head.
“Can you take her upstairs?”
“I’ll be heading up now as well then.”
Startled Jocelyn considered Damon for a moment as Jeremy scooped Ava up with surprising ease and headed out of the room.
“You won’t stay up and talk with me a bit more, Mr. Burleigh?”
He paused in the doorway and Jocelyn watched as the strong shoulders of his tightened with tension.
“No. I think it’s best for us both if I get some rest.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, a lock of hair falling forward and into his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not the best of company when I’m tired.”
Jocelyn opened her mouth but before she could say anything else they’d all left.
Blowing out an irritated breath, she collapsed back in her chair and tried to ignore the dull sense of disappointment that filled her heart.
* * * *
Damon had a mantra that was constantly going through his head.
She was too young, she was too rich, and she was John’s daughter.
Those three reasons alone should have been enough to keep him away from her.
But they weren’t. At dinner he found himself being drawn to her just as always. He’d liked how her eyes had measured him as he’d told his stories, liked the deep, throaty sound of her laughter and the easy relaxation of her face. He also liked the way her breasts pushed against the modest bodice of her high-waisted gown each time she leaned toward him. Her plump little mouth made him dry mouthed, her voice sent chills down his spine, and when she looked at him with those cat green eyes he got hard. Even now the memory of her sent tension thrumming through his body and he spent a good while wandering the halls trying to ease it. He was at the door to his room when he heard a gasp from behind him. Turning, he saw that Jocelyn stood not two feet away, her eyes wide as she watched him.
“They…they put you in that room?”
His eyes darted to where she stood in front of what he had to assume was her room and he had to smile. Leaning back against his door, he folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Looks like it.”
“But my room--”
“Is there a problem? It’s only one night and tomorrow we’ll be leaving together so it’s best if you get used to me.”
He saw her face darken and she lowered her head so that curls rocked forward to hide her expression from him.
“I can stay here you know. I could take care of the house just fine without--”
“You’re coming, and I won’t hear anything else about it.” His voice was hard, harder than he’d intended to make it, and he paused as Jocelyn’s head jerked up in surprise. Her face reddened and her eyes flashed.
“You’re not my father.”
He suspected that his words had stemmed more from his desire to keep her than his wish to follow John’s last request. And he was ashamed of himself for it.
“No…no, I’m not.”
The anger in her face didn’t go away so much as it was replaced by a soft kind of mockery. She ran her gaze over his body and Damon’s hands clenched as her eyes lingered and caressed his body. He was sure she didn’t know what she was doing but the effect was devastating nevertheless. He couldn’t understand it himself, how much this little girl shook his boundaries and twisted his mind. When she moved forward and ran her hand down the muscled length of his arm he almost lost it. He could see himself grabbing her and slamming her against the length of his door. Pressing himself between her legs, and running his teeth and tongue over neck, breasts and thighs until the sound of her voice echoed in his ears just as seductively as the smell and heat of her mesmerized his senses.
“I’m a grown woman, Mr. Burleigh. I’m no giggling young debutante with no sense in my head. I think I’m more than capable of handling anything thrown at me.”
Damon’s head went blank, and he felt his jaw tightening. He looked down at the girl touching his arm, and he felt something dark and animalistic rear its head as she smiled up at him. He hadn’t felt this out of control in a long time, not since he’d lost everything. Only this wildness didn’t come from despair and guilt but rather an instinctual urge to grab and keep a bright, shining bird he’d been searching for for what seemed like forever.
He wanted her, and not simply in the biblical sense.
Jerking his arm away he turned on his heel, went into his room and slammed the door behind him. He heard her squeak in outrage but he ignored her, instead taking deep steadying breaths as he slid down the door to sit on the cold floor.
It had finally happened.
He’d finally lost his mind.
* * * *
That night it was hard to fall asleep. She kept tossing and turning and no matter how many times she beat at her pillow her guilt wouldn’t let her rest. She’d known once she’d seen him that her being alone with a man in the middle of the night was in no way appropriate. She’d known that but something about him, about how lonely and tired he’d seemed outside of his room after he’d put forth such an effort at dinner had tugged at her heart. He was strict yes, she could see that, unyielding, and loyal if his dedication to her father was any indication. At times he was frightening, unsociable, short tempered. But Jocelyn knew he was also incredibly sad because something in his despair called to her own.
So she’d talked to him, tried once again to reason with him, and when that failed she’d pulled some of Ava’s tricks. She’d been angry that he was so completely disregarding her and her wishes. She’d wanted to tease him, just a little bit. But Jocelyn hadn’t considered how strange he was. Strange because it seemed like with that one touch what she’d noted in the back of her mind seemed to be brought into sharp relief.
The hard muscle beneath her fingertips, the searing heat of his body that seemed as if it were reaching for her, touching her. He was taller than her, stronger, and so very handsome with eyes that churned like the sky during a storm whenever he looked at her.
She had to remind herself that he was basically kidnapping her but the words rang empty that night. The truth was that she understood his position and respected him for it. It just didn’t mean that she had to cooperate.
She wouldn’t be going to England to live with the enemy, but because it was easier, because she wanted to make sure that at least Ava would be safe, she would pretend to. Then, as soon as she got the chance she’d escape. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that she’d need to write a letter asking Charles, her father’s lawyer, to take care of things until she could come back.
* * * *
There were no concrete images, just a confused jumble of wet heat and searing gray eyes. His hands are moving over her now, stroking, touching, and thrusting until Jocelyn can’t help but to rock her hips to meet them. Hunger, longing, need, pleading and panting. Spread her thighs and beg. Want him, need him, touch her, taste her, lift her, kiss her, and please her. Press desperate skin and lean muscles against soft curves and listen to her scream until the world explodes in a shower of stars that singe and punish like the rough tongue of a lover’s kisses.
Chapter two
They’ve grown so much Damon. More than you can imagine. Ava is still a hellion and God knows how I’ve raised her without a woman’s help all these years. But I worry for Jocelyn. Ever since the war began she’s taken less and less time to dance and has been spending more time down in old Mrs. Roseland’s place tending to the wounded boys who’ve been brought to her doorstep to recover. There seems to be less time for enjoyment in my Joss’s life and more for worry and I don’t want that for either of my girls. I want you…no, I need you to take care of them for me when the time comes that I no longer can.
“My, my Jocelyn. Fly catching are we?”
At Ava’s mocking, though still lady-like tones, Jocelyn’s mouth snapped shut and she shook her head to try and erase the last traces of exhaustion. She hadn’t slept well last night, the reason for that being much too embarrassing to talk about with anyone. Even Ava. So clearing her throat she smiled at her sister before allowing the groom to hand her up into the carriage. They’d managed to load everything they’d wanted onto the contraption but only barely. The carriage swayed and groaned under the combined weight of its luggage and passengers and another horse had been harnessed to it to help carry the load. Her own horse, Jet, was too proud to be put to such menial work and Jocelyn was happy to strap him to the back so she could follow them at his leisure.
Slipping off her shoes and gloves Jocelyn moved over to make room for Ava as the carriage door was closed behind them. She had no desire to stay improper and uncomfortable the entire trip so she figured she’d start early. She expected Damon to slip in before they started on their way but it wasn’t until she looked out the window and saw him straddling a dark brown mare that she knew he planned to avoid her. She thought about calling out to him but the Carriage lurched forward almost as soon as she opened her mouth.
She said something rude and Ava looked at her in surprise.
“My, my, my such a dirty mouth so early in the morning.”
“Be quiet, Ava.”
“What did I do?”
“It isn’t you.”
“Oh, really?”
Jocelyn tried to keep herself from pouting. “Of, course not. I just thought he’d ride with us is all.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why? You don’t--” She paused, and looking first one way and then another, she leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t like him do you?”
Jocelyn let her own eyes widen and motioned Ava closer. When she complied she slapped the girl over the head with her gloves.
“He can’t hear us idiot. Why are you whispering?”
Scowling, Ava sidled away.
“Besides,” Jocelyn continued, turning to look back out the window in search of their ‘guardian’. “I just want to try and talk him into letting me stay even if you don’t want to.”
Rolling her eyes, Ava snapped, “You don’t need to keep lying Joss. I’m right aren’t I? You do like him.” Petulantly she muttered under her breath just loud enough for Jocelyn to make out the words.
“You probably dreamed naughty things about him and that’s why you’re so exhausted.”
Ava looked up and paled when she saw Jocelyn’s panicked eyes and gaping mouth.
“How did you know?”
“Oh, my god.” Squealing Ava launched herself across the carriage and grabbed Jocelyn’s shoulders, ignoring the violent rocking of the carriage her movements caused.
“I was only teasing, are you insane?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“The hell you didn’t. I saw you looking at him, you were probably committing everything about him to memory so you could go back later and--”
The words that came out of Ava’s mouth then sent Jocelyn reeling. Honestly, as if the stable hands couldn’t control their mouths at least a little bit.
“Please stop. Just…I can’t take any more of that.”
Smug, Ava fell back onto the seat beside Jocelyn rather than going back to her original place across from her.
“As long as you understand. There will be plenty of eligible young men to choose from once we get to England. And I can guarantee that almost all of them will be much more suitable for you and our station than him.”
There was so much venom in her voice that it brought a smile to Jocelyn’s face.
“Is he really so bad Ava?”
“Yes,” She turned her head to look at her, staring hard so that Jocelyn could understand how serious she was. “He is.”
* * * *
They had been traveling hard for a few days when Jocelyn decided she couldn’t take it anymore. They’d been told to stay in the safety of the carriage and though Jocelyn loved her sister fiercely, extended contact with her was known to produce headaches, nausea, hallucinations, and increased thoughts of suicide. So even though they were on their third day out and still in Virginia, Jocelyn desperately prayed for mercy.
They’d stopped by mid-afternoon. Watering the horses and allowing Ava and Jeremy, who’d come along to drive the carriage and as extra protection, a much needed privy break. Taking advantage of the lull, Jocelyn slipped out of the carriage right behind her sister and hurried over to Damon who was crooning to his pretty mare. The act stunned her; she hadn’t figured Damon as the crooning type. He did it surprisingly well and she stood behind him for a long time listening to the soft comforting sounds he made with his deep voice. The mare nuzzled his curly black hair as if she was in love and honestly Jocelyn couldn’t blame her.
And on that disturbing thought, she cleared her throat.
Those distracting noises ended abruptly and he turned to look at her, his face expressionless.
“What is it?”
“What’s her name?” She decided to take a circular route, maybe soften him up. It must have worked, for though he looked at her strangely an animation came into his face that hadn’t been there the last few days.
“Isabella. Beautiful isn’t she?”
“Yes.” There was no harm in giving due where it was deserved. “She’s a stunning creature. I’m sure she and my Jet would get along wonderfully.”
He raised an amused brow and indicated Jet stomping the ground from behind the carriage.
“He’s yours then? Where’s Ava’s horse?”
“She doesn’t ride. Not well anyway.”
“And you do? Ride well I mean?” There was something heavy behind his words, some hidden meaning Jocelyn didn’t get but she decided to ere on the side of ignorance.
“Better than most.”
“Ah.” He was silent for a moment and Jocelyn crossed her fingers. Then as if he could see right through her he grinned and asked, “Would you like to prove it?”
Trying not to show how excited she was, Jocelyn turned her face away as she began to pet Bella.
“Hmm, that would be nice. A good change of pace from the carriage.”
“Then by all means.” He bowed but the movement was more mocking than respectful and Jocelyn felt her lips tighten.
When Jeremy and Ava stumbled back from their respective bushes and boarded the carriage, Jocelyn unharnessed Jet and mounted him with Damon’s assistance. Once she was settled they started on their way once again with Ava raising Cain once she realized she was on her own for a while.
Taking a deep breath, Jocelyn nudged Jet forward, handling the animal’s spirited trot with the inborn grace of a dancer and a lifetime of experience on horseback.
Jet danced and pranced, showing off his long legs and shinning coat to Damon’s Bella. Who, if Jocelyn guessed correctly, was completely uninterested if only for the fact that her one and only love was her rider.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Jet wasn’t good enough.
Not that she was offended or anything.
“Why doesn’t your horse like my horse?”
He stayed silent but Jocelyn could see his lips twitch.
“Because she’s a prideful bitch who looks down her nose at everyone and everything.”
The fact that he seemed inordinately proud of his mount for having such a personality made Jocelyn’s eyes narrow.
She tried again, “How long will you travel with us?”
“Until we make land in the Caribbean. I’ll rest for a day or two, renew my supplies then make my way back to the states.”
“So you won’t be with us when we head to Uncle Clay’s house?”
An inkling of a plan was beginning to form in Jocelyn’s mind, but she refused to look too deeply into it until she had to.
He seemed to guess if not the details of her thoughts then the overall gist because he sighed and said, “I’m not taking you back with me. This is the last you’ll see of this country at least until the war is over. I doubt Clayton will want you and your sister traveling back and forth between the fighting for silly sentimental reasons.”
She scowled and turned away. They traveled in silence for a bit longer before the chirping birds and rustling leaves of the tree began to drive her mad.
“Tell me about your family.”
She thought she saw him stiffen but it must have been a trick of the light because he answered easily enough.