Crimson Rapture (20 page)

"It
is wrong of you to speak so." Christina finally found her voice as she
began applying the salve to the Lady's arm. "Cajun, more than anyone I
know, deserves our respect, nay, even admiration. He is good and kind and
noble—why there just aren't enough superlatives to describe him, and if not for
his knowledge, I daresay you wouldn't be nearly as well so quickly."

"Aye,
she's right, my lady," Elsie added. "Cajun be a fine—"

"Quiet
yourself!" Carolyn interrupted harshly. "It's difficult enough
listening to her impertinence—" she looked at Christina, then at
Elsie—"but I'll not tolerate yours."

Christina
stopped, shocked by her ill temper, the cruel biting of her tongue. She must be
quite ill still; it was the only possible excuse.

"Oh,
yes," she said, turning a sly smile on Christina, "that's the Miss
Marks I remember—shocked by rudeness, so easily intimidated into
speechlessness. The timid little Miss Marks, all insufferable English
properness. Of course," her gaze traveled over Christina's scanty dress,
the ridiculous orchid in her hair, "we're not very 'proper' anymore, are
we? Tell me," she asked in a pretense of nonchalance, "has he at
least promised marriage, a life of 'happily ever afters'?"

"I...
I—" she stuttered and suddenly she was tongue-tied once again, feeling her
cheeks flush crimson.

"Oh,
I see he has not. Well, I for one admire the men who drop all pretenses. There
are certain benefits after all. It's much better to know you're just a whore
than to suffer the naive delusions of a young girl's broken heart. Was he at
least kind enough to add the word love to help soften the blow?" The fact
that Justin had, registered on Christina's expression. "But then
again," the woman smiled, "God knows how many bastards a man like
that could leave one with—"

Christina
quickly rose and left before another cruel word could be said. Elsie stood up
too, and trying to control her temper, she said, " 'Twill be very
interestin' to see w'at becomes of the likes of you 'ere on the island. Yes, it
will. Very interesting."

Christina
could not be found. Elsie searched for nearly an hour and finally gave up. She
found Justin working with Jacob to create stairs up to his dwelling that would
allow Beau access. The humidity was so great as to be nearly tactile and sweat
poured from both men's backs as they chopped away at the side of the mountain.

She
interrupted what seemed to be a rather heated argument between the two men. She
first related what was said to Cajun but to her surprise neither man was
concerned. They even laughed at it.

"Known
Cajun for years and I've yet to see him bested by anyone or anything,"
Jacob said. "He's a rock that I'd wager the devil himself couldn't
move."

Justin
agreed with the sentiments. Anyone who knew Cajun realized he had a strange
peacefulness of soul and this internal elevation would not, could not, be
affected by anything external, certainly not the ramblings of a "small
mind."

"But
that's not all," Elsie continued, then turned her tongue on Christy and it
got worse, much worse. She said...

At
the end of it, Justin interrupted Jacob's cursing to ask, "What did
Christina say?"

"Well,
that's just it, she got all tongue-tied just like before and she couldn't say
anything, let alone deliver the lashing that she-dog deserved. She left and
I've been looking all over but 'aven't been able to find 'er."

Justin
dove into the water to cool off and then left to find her. He knew just where
she'd be. The other day they had taken a picnic up to the top of the mud flats.
About half-way up they discovered a wide plateau overlooking the beach, lagoon,
and the boundless blue ocean beyond. One of the island's many waterfalls fell
from a steep cliff into a shallow pond and all this was surrounded by lush
tropical foliage, a chaotic array of wildflowers. It was a picture of tropical
beauty and they had spent all afternoon swimming, eating, talking of nothing
and everything, making love.

Sure
enough, Justin reached the plateau to find her sitting on the edge of the cliff
staring out at the ocean. Her back was to him and, not wanting to startle her,
he called softly, "Christina?"

Lost
in her thoughts, struggling not to believe the ugly truth, she jerked slightly
at the sound of her name. She quickly wiped her cheeks before turning around.
"Oh... Justin, I—" She stopped, wanting to sound normal but unable to
hide the tears inflected in her voice. She stood up and turned away to gather
her wits.

Justin
watched this struggle and moved quickly to her side. He turned her around and
gently lifted her face to him, then wiped her cheek. "You've been
crying."

His
tenderness drew her to him, making her want to collapse in his arms and beg him
to tell her that his love was not pretense and that he would marry her someday.
But she had not the courage and, besides, such things cannot be asked for, only
volunteered. She would never ask him to promise something he didn't mean or
want.

Justin
sat down and drew her sideways into his arms so he could study her. His hand
brushed lovingly through her hair. "Could that woman have given you such
doubts? Could your love and trust of me be so fragile?"

She
looked up, surprised he knew and wanting to deny it, but unable to.

"How
could that be? How could you doubt the depth of my love for you? What are you
thinking, sweetheart? That once we're rescued, I would see you to some port,
say a pleasant good-bye as I taste your lips for the last time?" He
chuckled softly. "I think it would be easier to shoot myself."

Wide,
misty eyes met his bluer ones, reflecting the ocean stretched beyond. She felt
his love as a tangible force and then the tenderness in his kiss spoke the same
message. She wanted it never to stop.

Justin
gently lowered her to the ground. She averted her eyes as she felt his gaze
caress her in a way that caused her breath to catch with anticipation, waiting
for his touch. A touch that effortlessly awakened her to desire.

But
for a long while Justin was content to just study the contours of her form,
seeing her beauty as yet unchanged but knowing with sudden certainty that she
would soon be with his child. He didn't know how he knew, only that he did, and
he was less surprised by the thought than he was by the surge of emotions it
brought.

He
had known few women long enough to know or care whether they came with his
child. Most women took precautions, the penny royal tea that forced a bleeding
and rid the woman's womb of the unwanted seed. Then too there were always a
surgeon's services. Christina was, to say the least, different. As long as he
was alive he would see that her innocence kept her ignorant of such measures,
for he wanted every child that came from their bed.

He
brushed his hand over her flattened stomach, and thought of his own childhood,
so thankful that he could give his child a better life.

He
had been born in Jamaica to an English lady, Elizabeth Dowell. His mother had
died during childbirth and probably to the intense relief of her sister's family
whose care she had been under, for there was no marriage and the father had not
been named. All Justin knew of his mother was that she had been tall and
pretty, given over to books, the writing of poetry, and music. The only thing
her sister's family had missed upon her death was her music, of which she had
been accomplished, in both piano and voice.

Being
a bastard and an embarrassment to the family, Justin had been turned over to a
nursemaid and quite literally forgotten for almost five years, left to be
raised in the servants' quarter of the huge plantation and not particularly
welcomed there either. The greatest shock of Justin's life—one he still
remembered—was when his mammy told him, "Youse gettin' too big to pretend
youse colored. Somethin'— lord willin'—has to be done."

Nothing
was done, though, not until his father, Lord Winston Phillips, returned to his
older brother's plantation and chanced to encounter a young five-year-old boy
whose heritage was written plainly on his features. Justin often wondered what
would have become of him had he not been the exact image of Lord Winston
Phillips. The man had picked him up, swung him around and laughed, just before
launching into a heated curse of his brother for never telling him that
Elizabeth had got with what was so obviously his child. All he had been told
was that Elizabeth was dead.

The
next week Justin had been on a huge sailing ship—the kind in which he had spent
endless hours watching and dreaming of—off to the land of his forefathers,
England. Which was not to say he was accepted with open arms into the
Phillips's household. Quite the contrary. While he had been introduced as his
lord's young nephew, this fooled no one, especially Lady Cynthia, who he once
heard comment, "I had always assumed seven children were enough for any
man, even Lord Phillips." Nor had his seven older half-brothers and
sisters ever let Justin forget—not for a day—his status as a bastard child.

Oddly,
it was only his father who seemed glad for his presence in the world and, in a
strange way, Justin was his favorite son. His father could not bring himself to
place the same standards on the young, half-wild and already quite
extraordinary boy, and he never but never managed to discipline the lad—not the
first nor the tenth time Justin was sent home from the boarding schools for
incorrigibility, various monstrosities to the family name. This was usually
fighting to defend the bastard title that preceded his every entrance, or for
his undying curiosity, what was often described as disturbing, and peculiar
questions, rather too loudly voiced opinions, all of which were, to say the
least, iconoclastic in the extreme. Why, his father could hardly contain his
amusement those many times Justin ran away, found sometime later wandering the
docks like a lost pup, dreaming about the great ships he loved. And amusement
could describe the scene of any of the many times he got caught in a tumble
with one of the upstairs maids, the first at the shockingly innocent age of
thirteen. No, Lord Phillips could only shake his head and laugh.

Thinking
of this troubled childhood, Justin suddenly vowed to himself never to leave his
child and it caused him to say out loud, "I wish I could marry you,
Christina."

Christina
suffered a moment's bewilderment. She could not deny their love, neither hers
nor his, but as Carolyn Knolls had cruelly made clear, he had not yet mentioned
marriage. Did this mean he couldn't marry her or wouldn't marry her?

Justin
chuckled at the look of apprehension crossing her features. He rolled over and
lifted her lengthwise on him, wanting to feel her body against his. Thoughts of
procreation manifest in desire for the act; he wanted nothing more than to
spend the rest of the afternoon filling her with his seed.

"No,
sweetheart, rest assured I will marry you," he said, brushing his hands
through her hair. "What I meant was that I wish I could marry you before
you come with child."

Christina
searched the features of his face, not understanding. "Then again, God
knows how many bastards a man like that could leave one with." She had
always thought that a woman's womb would not accept a child unless blessed by
the sanctity of marriage. The rare case of the unwed mother was owing to unfortunate
mistakes, to... to—

She
looked at him in shock. It had simply never occurred to her before but it did
so now—everything, especially her naivete and ignorance, and she lifted from
him. "That won't happen to me!"

"A
woman doesn't always have a choice," he replied softly, seeing her fear
and surprised it had not occurred to her before.

"No."
She shook her head, though with less resolve. "It can't... I—"

Justin
pulled her back into his arms, not understanding this at all. "It can
happen and it probably will. I am not a man who could restrain himself, not
with you, not seeing you like this." His gaze fell over her almost bare
form, the long hair spilling over his arms, and then he looked back at her
face. "Not being stranded with you on this island." He chuckled.
"I could never wait for you," and he kissed her in a way she could
not resist. "Is that so bad?"

She
couldn't answer. Not only were his lips upon hers again, his hand awakening her
to the pleasure of his love, but she had no answer. For part of her did not
want to have his child, not now, not while stranded on this island, perhaps not
ever.

During
the dark quiet hours of that night, Christina lay again in Justin's arms. She
stared up at the skylight, seeing a hundred bright twinkling stars, listening
to the easy sound of his sleep, the ceaseless lure of the waterfalls and the
sea beyond and thinking...

She
belonged to him, claimed by the act of love, and it was not her place to
question him much less refuse. Not that refusal was a viable choice anyway. Oh
yes, she loved him; she was drawn to him, drawn to him in a timeless way that
she didn't understand and was helpless to stop. As though he was the earth and
she was the moon destined for the eternity to be at his side.

And
sometimes her love filled her heart, seizing her with a frightening intensity.
How he affected her! His smile, his lips and caress, the ecstasy of his
lovemaking... Was there anything in the world more special than those times at
night when they lay in each other's arms laughing and whispering over nothing
and everything? Then her love filled every fiber of her being.