CHAPTER THREE

Back in the privacy of her bedchamber, she leaned wearily on the door for support, trying desperately to think of one single good reason why she should not pack up her things and return to Devonshire. She was nothing to them. Nothing to Ranulf Cross. He was cold and inhospitable as was this entire old, drafty house. If she had fallen over dead at the dinner table, it would have taken several minutes for anyone to have noticed.

"Oh Father," she sighed aloud. "Why this man? Why this family? Why this marriage? I would have preferred the quiet life of an old maid or a governess to this. Why? Why?"

Indeed, she could run back to Devonshire, but what good would it do? She had no family and few friends in the country. The estate in Devon was entailed in the betrothal agreement, the greater part of it to settle a financial debt owed to Sir Ranulf Cross. So even if he released her from the marriage arrangements, she would have nowhere to live, no means of supporting herself.

She had few options open to her. In two weeks minus a day she would be led to the altar by a man she hardly knew. They would return here as man and wife and...

China raised tear-filled blue eyes to the four poster bed.

That was another prospect she dared not dwell upon. She could not envision Sir Ranulf being gentle or patient with an inexperienced wife. His bedding would likely be as indifferent and uncaring as the man himself.

China pushed away from the door and walked slowly to the dressing room. She began to pluck the pins from her hair, letting the dark curls fall haphazardly down her back. Tina had set out a nightdress and wrapper. Not her own nightdress, China noticed with a grimace. Not even her own comfortable chenille wrapper.

"I don't dress properly," she muttered, struggling with the fastenings down the back of her bodice. "I don't speak or act the way I am expected to speak or act. No doubt I used the wrong forks, the wrong knives, and chewed my food on the wrong side of my mouth all evening."

"I didn't know there were a right or wrong side, m'um."

China whirled around. Tina had come quietly into the room through the servant's door. In her hands were freshly folded washcloths and a copper warming pan for the bed.

"Beg pardon, m'um." She dropped a small curtsy. "I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't expect you would be back from dinner so soon. If you wait but a wink, I'll help with those buttons."

"I can manage, thank you," China said, popping the last stubborn button as she stripped out of the blue velvet. She started to toss it over a chair, then changed direction and flung it angrily into the fire. The velvet sent up clouds of thick smoke for a few moments, but luckily the fireplace was large enough and the fire hot enough that it was soon enveloped in flames.

Tina watched in wary silence, her gaze flicking between the blazing remains of the gown and the slender form of her new mistress standing silent and motionless in her petticoats and corset.

She cleared her throat delicately. "Will you be wanting tea or chocolate, or warm milk perhaps?"

"No thank you."

Tina bent to pick up the button that had flown halfway across the room. "Shall I turn down the bed, then, Miss?"

"You may see to the bed if you must," China said tautly. "But I assure you I am quite capable of undressing myself and washing myself and seeing to my personal needs by myself."

"Yes Miss. If it pleases you."

"It pleases me. It will also please me, in future, to take my bath in private. I need no one to scrub my arms or wash behind my ears."

"Yes Miss. And will you be wanting to tote the water up from the kitchen yourself as well?"

China turned to stare at the girl. "Get out. At once. I will see to the bedding myself."

Tina's mouth twisted up at the corner. "Yes Miss. Goodnight Miss."

China expelled the air from her lungs in a rush as the door closed firmly--if not a little impertinently--behind the maid. She supposed belowstairs would be buzzing now, full of stories about how the new mistress was uppity and ungrateful and given to tantrums like a child. The servants could make her entire life miserable if they so chose, and from what she had seen so far of Braydon Hall, there were enough servants to comprise a small army.

She finished undressing and slipped into the nightgown. The huge bed swallowed her into the depths, her body sinking blissfully into the feather mattress. For all of its comfort and softness, and despite her exhaustion, the sheets remained cold and unwelcoming, and an hour later, she was still wide awake, staring at the pale glow from the fire.

When a second hour passed without change, China climbed out of the bed and bundled herself into a chair closer to the fire. Events of the day--the little cutting remarks, the open sarcasm, the embarrassing moments--replayed themselves over and over until the chair became another type of confinement and she began pacing the room side to side in tune with her restlessness.

At home, she would have gone to the pantry and heated a glass of milk and honey. Not since early childhood had the weight of the world been able to overcome the effects of warm milk and honey. The more she thought of it, the more her mouth dried and the greater her restlessness grew.

China opened her bedchamber door a crack and listened to the sounds of a sleeping house. It was well past two in the morning; everyone would be in bed, asleep. She had a vague notion of where the kitchen might be by the location of the dining hall. Even if none of the servants were awake, she could surely manage to find the milk and a pot to heat it in.

Wrapped in her comfortably worn chenille robe, she tiptoed out into the hallway. Every second candle sconce had been extinguished, leaving only an eerie, half-lit path to follow back to the staircase and the long gallery below. She closed her door and retraced her steps down and past the great hall, past the numerous alcoves with their stern-faced portraits. She saw no servants. No one stopped her to demand an explanation for her late night prowl. All she had to do now was relocate the dining room and from there, follow the servant's access to the kitchens below.

She stopped and counted the doors, looking back, and looking ahead. When she was fairly certain she knew which one led to the dining hall, she crept over on soundless, slippered feet and quietly opened one of the double doors.

"Just bring it in and set it on the table."

For the second time in one evening, China was startled by the sight of a strange man. This one was seated in a wing chair before the fire...a fire that was not blazing in the cantilevered elegance of the dining hall, but in a room lined on three sides with bookshelves. She had obviously miscalculated which doors to approach and was in the library.

So too was a man who was frowning and clearly annoyed by the interruption.

"You are not the same wench I sent out for coffee. Never mind, I have changed my preferences anyway." He paused and lifted an empty glass. "I felt the need for stronger stuff. Well don't just stand there, girl, fetch me another brandy and be quick about it, ere I die of thirst."

China made no move. Something about him was vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately identify the reason why. The squareness of his jaw, the rather arrogant curve of his mouth, the way he raked her up and down and dismissed her as being of little interest set the fine hairs on her arms prickling to attention. His hair was light brown and had obviously lacked the attentions of a good barber for several months. His eyes were an indistinguishable color at that distance but they were heavily smudged beneath as if he had not slept in several days. His breeches had not seen soap and water in longer than China cared to guess. His coat was coarse, his neckcloth was unwound, his shirt gaped open halfway down his chest revealing a wealth of smooth dark hair.

"Don't just stand there gaping, girl! The brandy tray is right behind you, just bring the bottle and I shall manage the rest."

China reacted instinctively to the note of command in his voice. She picked up the decanter of brandy and carried it over to the hearth, setting it on the table beside him then quickly withdrawing her hand and stepping back a pace.

"Thank you. Now get out."

Perhaps it was the disdain in his voice, or the echo of the dismissal she herself had given in anger earlier; whatever the cause, it drew her temper out of hiding and she snatched the brandy off the table again just as his hand reached out for it.

"I do not know who you are, Sir, or who you think you might be to order me about, but I am not here for your convenience, I am neither a wench nor a serving girl, nor do I have to suffer your insolence."

He looked calmly up at her through eyes as gray as a cloudy sky.

"Well, if you are not here for my convenience and you are not a serving wench, who the devil are you and why are you wandering around the house in the small hours of the morning wearing nothing but an invitation to trouble?"

China glanced down, having forgotten she was in her robe and nightdress. She gasped and the heavy decanter slipped from her hand. It would have smashed to a million pieces on the floor had the stranger not leapt from the chair quicker than the eye could follow to snatch it in mid-air.

"Be damned if we waste Ran's good brandy," he muttered. "And if you are a burglar, madam, my compliments on your disguise. You'll have no need to draw a pistol on me."

He stood a full head taller than China and the dash to catch the bottle had caused his shirt to open further, baring an alarming breadth of chest, which looked to be solid muscle, all of it darkly tanned. He was no stranger to the sun, and standing so close, she could see that his hair was not so much a light shade of brown as it was bleached in streaks by sunlight.

She took a discreet step back. "My name is China Grant if you must know and I am--"

"China?" He arched an eyebrow. "Like the country?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "I also happen to live here, Sir, and you have not yet told me who you are or why you are sitting here in Sir Ranulf Cross's library looking every bit like a burglar yourself."

The smoky gray eyes looked her up and down again, rather too boldly to keep a flush from rising in China's cheeks. "You live here, do you...Miss Grant, was it? In what capacity, might I ask?"

"Not that I am under any obligation to answer, Sir, but I am Lord Ranulf's fiancé."

The newly filled glass of brandy was halfway to his lips, but retreated again. "The hell you say!"

"The hell I do," she replied, the anger staining her cheeks darker. "And if you do not identify yourself to me at once, Sir, I shall scream loudly enough to bring the entire house down around your ears."

He chuckled. "I believe you would do it too. Perhaps I should advise you, dear lady, I have been absent from England for several months, so you will have to forgive my manners." He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. "Justin Cross, at your service."

The name deflated her indignation and left her staring. "Justin...Cross?"

"The one and only," he said, amused by her expression. "Black sheep and brigand, scoundrel and knave. No doubt Ran has other choice names for me as well."

Where gossip had been scant and colorless concerning her future husband, the two days she had spent with Constance Pickthall had been filled with stories surrounding the youngest of the three brothers. At various times in his twenty-eight year history, Justin had rained scandal down upon the good family name. He had been arrested once for destroying the interior of a gentleman's club in a drunken brawl. He had been caught in flagrante delicto with the wife of the Mayor of Portsmouth. In recent years he had taken his antics abroad to the American colonies, signing on to sail with the notorious privateer, Captain Jason Savage. Only tonight at dinner, Eugene had chanced to mention the name of their absent brother and Sir Ranulf's mood had blackened considerably.

"Now that we are such intimate good friends," Justin said with a smile, "will you join me in a nightcap and tell me all about the wondrous events that led to you becoming my stalwart older brother's fiancé?"

China glanced nervously over her shoulder at the closed door. She was not at all certain she liked the idea of being alone with Justin Cross even if he was Sir Ranulf's brother. She was equally doubtful her fiancé would take kindly to discovering she had entertained his brother's company in nightdress and robe.

Justin laughed softly and took a deep swallow of brandy. "Don't worry. I won't bite. Not until I know you a little better anyway."

"I...think I should return to my room now."

"Why? Will someone miss you?" He laughed again. "Oh now, don't go swelling up again like a little quail. I am only teasing. What on earth brought you down here in the first place at such an unwholesome hour?"

"I was trying to find the kitchen."

"In the library?"

"I thought this was the dining hall." She flushed as he took another sip to conceal his grin. "I have only just arrived today and am unfamiliar with the many rooms leading off the gallery. I thought if I could find the dining hall, I could follow the servant's entrance to the kitchen. I was...going to heat some milk."

His gray eyes twinkled with reflected light from the fire. "Having trouble sleeping, are you? There are other methods besides milk to assist with that."

The flush that had begun to subside in her cheeks flared darker, hotter than before, flowing down her throat and into her chest. The effect was not lost on the younger Cross. His gaze dropped to where the swell of her breasts pushed against the thin layers of cloth and she could almost feel him undressing her with his eyes.

She instinctively crossed her arms and drew the edges of her robe tighter to her body, but that only made him chuckle again.

"And now you're thinking I'm about to throw you on the floor and have at you?"

"I...was thinking no such thing."

"Well you should be. You look downright fetching in that little nothing you are wearing. To present yourself like that to a man who has been at sea for three months...I'm surprised Ran has put you under lock and key."

"No doubt he would if he knew you were back," Eugene said, strolling into the room. Justin had seen his arrival over China's shoulder, but she had heard nothing and was caught off guard again.

Justin raised his glass in a mock toast. "Eugene. You always did have a faultless sense of timing, brother mine."

"Justin." Eugene acknowledged the toast with a tip of his head, then switched his attention to China. His hazel eyes widened as he took in the stark white robe and tumbled black hair falling loose down her back. "My my. When the cat is away..."

"Away?" Justin arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Montemayor Lane, I believe. A rather urgent call as I understand it."

Justin was silent a moment then murmured, "Physician, heal thyself." He looked at China and sighed. "Miss Grant, would you be so kind as to take a seat so that these weary bones of mine might find the chair again."

"I should really go back to my room," she began.

"Nonsense. You should allow me the pleasure of becoming acquainted with my future sister-in-law. And mark my words," he added, pouring two more glasses of brandy, "this fiery nectar of the gods is much more effective than milk to aid you in getting sleepy...assuming our conversation does not do the trick."

Against her better judgment she accepted the glass and took a seat, keeping nervously to the edge as if a quick escape was still foremost in her mind.

Eugene settled himself in a chair opposite Justin and sipped the brandy. "Dare I ask what you have been up to these past few months? You are looking a good deal less prosperous than the last time you deigned to pay us visit. Law after you again?"

Justin grinned. "Not much out of the ordinary, to answer your first question, and no, to the second. Hmmm. Unless that includes Jamaican law, in which case, I may have to amend the answer. Drink up, Miss Grant...and now that we are practically related, may I call you China? I do not believe I have ever known a woman named after an entire country. There's Virginia, of course, but that was only a colony. How did you happen to come by it?"

"My father named me after a china rose he had given to my mother. A symbol of his love, a talisman if you will, a way of saying he would always be there if she needed him."

"A romantic fellow," Justin murmured. "I should like to make his acquaintance one day."

"He died last year," she said quietly.

"My sympathies, and my apologies. I see I have upset you again."

She set her untouched glass aside and stood. This was becoming more absurd by the moment. Sitting in a library at three o'clock in the morning, dressed in bedclothes and slippers, drinking brandy with a pair of relative strangers, at least one of whom had a reputation that could blacken hers to dust in a heartbeat.

"You have not upset me, Sir. I am simply weary after a very long day. Moreover I am sure you and your brother have a good many things to talk about if you've not seen each other for several months. So if you gentlemen will excuse me...?"

"You see that, Eugene, we have indeed frightened her away. And just when we were becoming intimate."

Eugene laughed. "Then I am glad I arrived when I did. You should be too, Miss Grant. One thing you must always remember about this household is that we are all unconscionable rogues. Never trust a one of us with a confidence, never rely on us in a tight situation, and never, never let us think we have a chance of winning your heart. That would, of course, include Ran, who hasn't had a heart of his own for a good many years."

China's voice had a nicely frosted edge to it. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

Justin caught at her hand before she could turn to leave. He raised it and pressed it to his lips, holding it there with a crooked smile.

"Goodnight...China Rose."

She retrieved her hand and exited the room with as much dignity as she could muster, but as soon as the door closed behind her, she fled along the hallway, her robe belling out like a white cloud in the gloom. She did not slow down until she was safely back in her room, in her bed, with the quilts and sheeting pulled up tight to her chin.

 

~~

 

China was not certain how long she slept before she was awakened by the sound of a softly creaking floorboard. Her eyes opened instantly. The even softer, grating whisper of a door being stealthily closed came to her from across the room and she sat bolt upright in the bed, staring at the heavy shadows.

Someone had been in her room! The creak she had heard was from the area at the foot of her bed--she had trod on it several times herself while she had paced the floor. Whoever that someone was, they had approached the bed and stood looking down on her while she slept.

China jumped from the bed and was at the door in seconds. She yanked it wide and dashed out into the hall, but most of the candles had burned well down in the sconces and the shadows were as thick here as they were in her room. No one was moving toward the stairs, beating a hasty retreat. There were no sounds other than the beating of her own heart. Or were there?

When she turned to check behind her, she came face to face with Justin Cross.

"We meet again," he said quietly.

"What are you doing here? What were you doing sneaking into my room?"

"Your room?" He glanced over her shoulder into the bedroom. "Someone was in your room?"

"Not thirty seconds ago," she countered furiously. "Are you denying it was you?"

"Miss Grant, if it had been me, I can assure you there would be no question in your mind about it."

China bristled when she saw where his eyes were roving. The lacing on her nightdress had come loose, revealing a pale swath of flesh below her neck. She snatched the edges together with an indignant gasp.

"If it wasn't you, then who was it? You must have seen someone leaving my room. If you were standing here, whoever it was had to have run past you."

"I wish it were so, Miss Grant, but I just now stepped out of my own room." He pointed directly across the hall. The door was ajar, spilling the light from within onto the gleaming wood floor. "I too heard a noise and--"

"You're lying. It was you!"

The gray eyes narrowed and his right cheek flinched with a brief tic. "I may have many faults, Miss Grant," he said evenly, "but I do not count lying to half-naked, frightened little girls among them. It was not me."

China did indeed feel like stamping her foot like a frustrated child. For some reason she believed him and that made her feel like an even bigger fool, and when she spoke, her words were brittle with sarcasm.

"Once again I shall bid you goodnight Sir. In the event you should hear anyone else out in the hall tonight, you may inform them I shall be sleeping behind locked doors from now on."

"Does that apply to the good doctor as well?"

China's mouth dropped open. She turned and stormed back into her room, closing the door with a resounding slam. Hearing his soft laughter through the wood, she twisted the key savagely in the lock and took the cold brass comfort of it into bed with her.

What was it Eugene Cross had said? Never rely on any of them in a tight situation? Never trust a Cross?

It was a discomforting thought that kept her eyes wide open until the first streamers of dawn light filtered through the curtains.