She hadn't meant to shoot the man!
Kristen Johnstone fled down the narrow, cobblestone streets of London, trying to lose her pursuers. She glanced up at the eaves of the buildings she hurried past; gargoyles laughing down at her.
Kristen knew she was doomed.
But the gargoyles didn't scare her half as much as the eyes of the man she'd just shot. The vivid blue still lingered in her mind: first the amused expression, followed by the irritated frown as he'd grabbed her in the act of picking his pocket, then the look of surprise when her gun went off.
She had to move faster!
She could go to jail for a very long time for what she'd done. Then who would take care of Hagan? Her five-year-old brother would have no one.
She had to hurry.
Stay close to the shadows of the buildings, she warned herself.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she rounded the next corner. What was the matter with her? She didn't cry. She never cried. She hadn't wept once since her mother died some two years past, and now was no time to start.
She hadn't meant to hurt the man.
But what if she'd killed him?
Of course, it hadn't been entirely her fault. True, her hand had been in his pocket, but he'd grabbed her. That was when she'd smelled the liquor. All the horrible beatings she'd suffered from her stepfather came rushing back to torment her. Kristen had vowed then to die before she ever let anyone hit her again. So, she had simply reacted.
Turning to look over her shoulder, Kristen gasped.
The three men were gaining on her. Why couldn't she shake them? She knew the streets -- every nook and cranny where one could hide -- better than anyone. Two more turns, then down a small alley and she'd be free.
Her lungs burned and her parched throat was dry and raw. She couldn't go much farther. Her heart pounded, and the lack of food made her weaker than normal. Not paying attention, she crashed into a trash heap, sending debris tumbling down the street as she fought to keep her footing.
"If ye'd just let me out of this one, Father," Kristen whispered as she glanced toward heaven. "I promise tae repent."
Just then she tripped on a brick and went flying head first, landing in a heap on the cold cobblestones.
"Get up girl," one of her pursuers said as he yanked her to her feet.
"I--I can't breathe," she managed to gasp.
"You're just winded." A big, burly man patted her on the back. "'Course, if ya hadn't run us to death this wouldn't have happened."
Kristen took a huge gasp of air. "I dinna mean tae kill him. 'Twas an accident." Wide-eyed, she looked up at the bloke. This one was a giant with bulging muscles. "Ye don't really mean tae turn me over now, do ye?" Kristen made sure she didn't break eye contact as she slipped his knife out of his pocket. The big ones were as dumb as the rest, she thought.
The other man found his voice, "My God, Robbie, she's a Scot. Ya know how Claremont hates all Scots."
"Yeah, I know." The one called Robbie nodded his head as if he just might be thinking of letting her go. "The boss has been in a surly mood lately. She's only going to make it worse."
"And what might be wrong with a Scot? And who is this Claremont?" Kristen demanded.
"Come on, girl." Robbie grabbed her arm. "Claremont is the man you just shot. You'll meet him in good time." Robbie tugged, but she pulled back. "You've given us enough trouble for one day." This time he jerked her hard, and she fell against his chest. "I can see we're going to have to do this the hard way," he said and simply tossed her over his shoulder like a sack. "I'm not going to turn you over to the authorities, girl. I'm taking you to Claremont."
"Put me down!" Kristen beat on his back. "I'll scream," she threatened when nothing else seemed to work.
Robbie swore. "Go ahead," he muttered. Then he chuckled.
Of course, Kristen didn't utter a sound. She knew no one could help her now, and she especially didn't want to attract a Bow Street officer. She was doomed at eighteen. And, worse than that, who would take care of Hagan? He was too young to survive the streets alone.
Kristen could smell the salt water and hear the rude comments of the dock workers, letting her know they were nearing the river. All the blood had rushed to her head from hanging upside down and her temples pounded. She looked up to see her brother starting for them, and Kristen frantically waved him away.
"Let go of my sister." The sandy-haired child ran over and kicked the man following them.
"Run, Hagan! Run!"
"Now, what do we have here?" Robbie picked the child up by the collar. "A little scamp?"
"Leave my sister alone!" Hagan swung at Robbie, barely missing his nose.
"This gets more interesting all the time." Robbie tucked Hagan under his arm and started up the gangplank.
"No!" Kristen managed to scream in her upside down position. "I--I can't swim." She started thrashing around, beating her hands on his back.
"Then I suggest you quit struggling," came a deep voice from someone she couldn't see, but was certain she'd not heard before. One that sent shivers down her spine.
She had to think fast. "Hagan, I told ye tae stay home. Now look what's happened. Don't ye say a thing, ye hear."
"Look Kristen. 'Tis a ship," Hagan breathed. The child wasn't any more worried than a flea on a dog.
"I see you were successful, Robbie," came the same deep voice.
Kristen twisted to see the speaker, but she couldn't see him.
"Take the thief to my cabin. And what's this you have under your other arm?"
"Seems our thief has a brother, sir."
Kristen and Hagan were placed in a cabin. The big man called Robbie gave her a soulful look before he turned to leave. The light faded as the door closed and locked between them and freedom. She wondered how she'd ever get out of this one.
The room was large for a ship and very neat. A table commanded the middle, and a single bunk was built into the side. There was a desk in the far corner, and a sea chest in another. Kristen assumed this must be the captain's quarters.
"Gosh, Kristen. This is jolly good. Never been on a ship before."
“'Tis not an adventure, Hagan. I could be in a lot of trouble."
"You'll get out of it, Kristen. You always do."
She could see complete faith in the child's big brown eyes. At the moment, he was the only one with confidence in her.
Suddenly, the door flew open and Robbie and a man like no one she'd never seen before filled every inch of the doorway. Kristen's legs trembled, but she struggled to hide her reaction. The man had unusual greenish-blue eyes. His jaw was rigid. A muscle worked below his cheekbone as he glared at her, and his left arm carried a crimson stain. Even though his stance was relaxed, it was clear he wasn't.
"Ye're not dead," she managed to whisper.
"Are you disappointed?" His scowl was hot enough to burn her.
"No." She swallowed hard. "I dinna mean tae shoot ye."
"So what do you call this?" He pointed to his injury with a cynical smile.
"A mistake," Kristen offered. “I did pull the trigger, but 'twas an accident, tae be sure."
He took a step closer, making Kristen feel smaller still. "And I suppose your hand in my pocket was an accident, too?"
"Nay, that was on purpose," she admitted and watched as the man smiled for the very first time. He could almost be called handsome when he wasn't frowning and the coldness left his eyes. She noted his eyes had changed from the dark color they were a minute ago to a lighter blue. His hair was the color of dark wheat and a bit longer than stylish. He kept it tied back with a leather thong. Ah, but he was big--too big, she thought now that she'd gotten a good look at him. Why hadn't she picked a smaller man's pocket?
Probably for the same reason she couldn't quit looking at the man now. He was a fine one. And she'd been drawn to him.
"Well, at least you're an honest thief. Which surprises me since you're a Scot." He took another step forward, and she took one backwards, and then another when he didn't stop.
"Don't you hurt my sister!" Hagan drew back and kicked Claremont in the shin.
"Watch it," Robbie's warning came a little too late. "The boy's got a nasty habit."
"Bloody hell," Trevor Claremont shouted as he snatched the child up by the scuff of the neck.
The child's brown eyes grew large, but he put on a brave front. "I'm not 'fraid of you," he blustered, reminding Claremont of a kitten spitting and hissing.
Trevor wanted to smile at the brave little boy who reminded him a lot of himself at that age, but he didn't. He admired the lad for taking up for his sister. The boy's hair was cut in a bob that hung to his eyebrows, and he looked as if he was peeking from beneath his bangs. A child this young shouldn't be on the streets, then again, neither should his sister.
"I wasn't going to hurt your sister. I'm going to make sure she doesn't hurt me," Trevor explained in a very level tone to the youngster. "Do you see this blood on my shoulder?"
"Aye." The child's head bobbed. "How did that happen?"
"Your sister shot me!" Trevor set the boy back on his feet.
The kid turned and looked at his sister. "What you do that for, Kristen?”
“Hush up, Hagan."
"No, go ahead." Trevor turned his attention back to the girl, who could be called pretty if she were properly dressed. He was surprised that she and her brother were fairly clean. Usually, such urchins had two layers of dirt on them. "Why did you shoot me when I've never done anything to you?"
"Ye had been drinkin' and when you grabbed me--well, let's just say I dinna want a beating."
"I only had one whiskey, and I'm not drunk. You would have found that out if you'd only asked first and shot later!"
Trevor had backed the girl to the bed where she couldn't go any farther. He wondered how many beatings she'd suffered and by whose hand. He was sure she wouldn't tell him. But, if she did, he'd make sure the man never struck her again.
Kristen. The boy had called her Kristen. He liked that name even if she was a bloody Scot. "You don't mind if I search you myself?" He held her with his gaze. "Just in case you're carrying another weapon." He placed his hand on her shoulders, and she jumped. “I don't need yet another hole in my body."
"Doesn't look like I can stop ye."
His hand moved slowly down arms that were much too thin. When he got to the end of her sleeve he felt something hard and carefully slid it out from beneath the thin material. "Ah, what's this, my lovely one?"
Robbie, who had been fairly quiet as he kept an eye on the child, shouted, "It's me bloody knife. When did she get that?"
Trevor threw it to his first mate. "You're lucky you don't have a hole in you, too."
"I didn't suspect . . . didn't feel a thing."
"I know." Trevor interrupted. "Take the boy and go get some bandages. I'm going to let the lady clean up the mess she has made of my arm."
"Kristen, you said we could get something to eat," Hagan said before he moved.
She was about to answer but Trevor cut her off. "When was the last time you ate, son?"
"I had a piece of bread yesterday, but it was small."
"What's your name?"
"Hagan."
"Robbie, after you bring me the supplies, see to it that the child has something to eat."
"Aye," he said and shut the door.
"We don't need yer charity," Kristen told him.
Trevor gave her a knowing look. "No, but you do need food." His eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate, Kristen?"
She didn't like the way he said her name in that soft manner of his. It kept her off guard. "'Tis not important."
"Oh, but I think it is. I bet you didn't eat at all yesterday." He saw she was stubbornly not going to answer, and he wasn't sure why he cared, but he did.
What kind of hell-cat did he have in front of him? Something told him she wasn't what she seemed. But just in case, he was damned well going to make sure she didn't possess any more weapons. His hands crossed her breast, and she gasped, slapping them away.
"Yer wastin' yer time. I've nothing more."
"Then you don't mind if I make sure." Trevor's brow arched, yet he continued his search. He couldn't help noting what a exquisite body she had, and he admired her courage even if it was for doing wrong by stealing. He reached her waist. He could almost put his hands around her middle. She was much too small.
Farther down were shapely hips, perfect for babies. He frowned at where his thoughts were leading him.
The dress she wore was faded, the material badly worn, and it made him wonder how she'd come to be a common thief. Her legs, he bet, were free of silk stockings. He felt her shiver under his fingertips. When he finally reached her tiny feet, he realized that somewhere his thoughts had turned from angry to curious.
Standing back up, he looked at the girl. Even though her clothes were badly in need of replacing, they were fairly clean. The lamplight flickered across her hair which hung in layers from her chin down to the middle of her back. He couldn't remember seeing hair exactly her color before. It was like a morning sunrise, the soft yellows and golds threatened to burst in an orange ball of color. Her face was delicate, not hard from years of rough treatment. And then, he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. They glittered like rare emeralds with a darker green in the middle. There was a mischievous sparkle that hadn't been diminished over the years of hardship she must have suffered.
He found himself completely entranced by a wharf rat with emerald eyes, and he didn't like it one bit. After all, she was a Scot.
"Can I go now?" Kristen asked softly.
"Not yet, my sweet." He smiled.
Kristen wasn't sure what this funny reaction was that made her skin feel as if needles were sticking her, but she needed to get away from this man.
His sheer size demanded respect. He was much too overpowering for her. When he touched her body, she'd ceased to think of anything else but the touch and feel of his strong hands. She'd glimpsed, if for only a moment, a look of tenderness, and her heart had skipped a beat. Yet he really hadn't tried anything improper, and that puzzled her. She'd never encountered anyone so intimidating, yet intriguing. She sensed he was a man who always got what he wanted. Evidently she wasn't one of those things, and she thanked her lucky stars.
"But I told ye it was an accident."
"You were still trying to steal. I want some answers, but first I need my shoulder mended. And, seeing as you're the one that caused this," he pointed to the red stain on his shirt, "you have the privilege of fixing it."
Robbie knocked, then entered the cabin and put down a leather satchel. "I'm going to take the lad with me. Seems he likes our ship."
"Thanks, Robbie." Trevor opened the bag and shoved it across the table to her. "This is everything you will need." He sat on the table so she could tend him better.
"Ye mean ye trust me to patch ye up? I could make it worse." She frankly couldn't believe he would want the likes of her touching him.
"I think you're smarter than that," he remarked casually. "Just a warning. If you try anything, one of my men will be outside the door to deal with you, that is if I don't get to you first."
"I ain't afraid of ye." Kristen lifted her chin, hoping he didn't see the tremble that showed she was lying.
He reached over, took her chin, then brought her face so close to his that she could feel his breath on her cheek. For a slight moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. It was impossible to tear her gaze from him. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her chin. "Well, you should be afraid, Kristen."
At that very moment she wanted to be kissed, something that had never occurred in her young eighteen years. She gazed into his eyes. She could see how intense he was, and she wondered if he had a wife and children. His eyes were not one color, but instead a mixture of blue-green with just a touch of brown specks in the middle. As they stood staring at each other, she could see how they darkened to a deep royal blue, and she wondered what he was contemplating.
Kristen couldn't read his eyes, so he must be good at keeping his emotions and thoughts to himself. His warning hadn't left her, though. She was no fool. She wouldn't push this man too far, and she'd pray he'd let her go. "I need tae wash my hands before working on ye shoulder."
His eyes glittered with a reckless energy. He seemed a little hesitant to let her go, but he did, and she felt a stab of disappointment.
Gathering her wits, she found a metal basin and pitcher on a nearby stand. She poured water into the basin, then scrubbed her hands good with lye soap.
When she came back to him she said, "I need tae remove yer shirt so I can clean the wound."
She watched as he unbuttoned the white billowing shirt. He winced as he tried to remove the material off the damaged arm.
"Here, let me." Kristen gently moved her hand down his arm, and a fine arm it was, too. He was very muscular, proving he'd done a bit of hard work. She loosened the material from the dried blood, not realizing she was rubbing her bust across his chest as she did so. Hearing his quick intake of breath, she looked sharply at him and asked, "Ye all right?"
"I think so." He scowled and his eyes darkened.
He didn't look all right, and he sounded a wee bit funny, but since he was quieter, she ignored him. With the shirt removed she examined the nasty hole. She'd gotten used to taking care of unfortunates on the streets, so she was no longer squeamish. They all came to her with their bumps and bruises, but working on this one was very different. Her gaze went to the man's chest, and she breathed in the word "magnificent." Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. "Appears the bullet went straight through the meaty part of ye arm," she commented as she placed the dampened cloth on his wound.
He flinched.
"Sorry," she murmured, not liking the way he stared at her. It was as if he wanted to know all about her, yet she knew that was absurd. "I don't know yer full name," she realized out loud.
"Trevor Claremont." He paused. "And yours is Kristen--?"
"Johnstone."
"That figures," he said and glowered.
"And what do ye mean by that?" She put her hands on her hips.
"I've no use for the Johnstones."
"Appears ye do at the moment," she answered tartly and resumed her nursing. She couldn't help smiling at his frowning face.
"My da died a long time ago, so ye canna have known him." Gently, she cleaned his shoulder. Then she slid the box over and took some white salve and started applying it to the wound. His skin was warm, and his fragrance hadn't escaped her notice either. He smelled like the wind and the sea. A fresh scent she couldn't remember smelling on a man before.
She barely touched him, but each time she did, his muscles tightened. She wondered why her touch affected him so when she couldn't possibly be hurting him. This man was a puzzle to her. He seemed gentry, yet he was different. The dandies, as she liked to call them, were such an indifferent lot who looked down their noses when they saw the likes of her.
She hadn't always been on the street. She had a vague memory of growing up in a big house, but the memory had dimmed so much over the years, that she wasn't sure if her memory was genuine or a dream. She couldn't remember her real father, but sometimes in the wee hours of the morning she could hear his Scottish burr. "Kristen, my girl, yer goin' to be a real beauty someday." He would be disappointed that his prediction hadn't come true. When Kristen had questioned her mother about her da and what their life had been, she'd only received a blank look. The answer was always the same. "Why dredge up the past? This is your life now. Only you can make the best of it." Then two years ago, her mother had died of consumption, leaving Kristen with her stepfather and a three-year-old brother.
"Something tells me you've slipped away from me," Trevor whispered, with a frown.
Kristen realized she'd finished his bandage, but she hadn't moved from between his legs. She'd been staring at his chest, lost in her thoughts. Now she looked up at him and saw that his expression had softened for the first time. "I--I think I've finished."
"Have you?" Trevor reached out and traced his finger lazily along her jaw, marveling at how smooth her skin felt. He had no idea why he was feeling this odd attraction to the girl, but somehow he needed to touch her and, for just a moment, chase away the sadness he'd seen in her face. He found himself wanting her. He noted she hadn't jerked away from him. His hand slipped to the nape of her neck, and her silky hair seemed to wrap around his fingers while he pulled her ever so slowly to him.
Just one little kiss . . . that's all he wanted. Then he'd be satisfied and could send her on her way. Her lips were soft and wet as he moved his mouth over hers. It was a featherlike kiss and then it was over.
" 'Twas nice." Her eyes were wide and clear, staring at him with unblinking innocence.
"Nice?" Trevor drew his brows together. Since when did a woman describe his kiss as merely nice. "Nice?" he repeated.
"I thought p’haps there would be more."
"Don't tell me you've never been kissed before."
"Nay, I have not."
"Then, perhaps, we should try again."
"What for?"
Trevor couldn't help but chuckle. "I would hate to leave you disappointed. There is a little more to a kiss than I've shown you."
Kristen had always wondered what a kiss would be like. Would it be magical? She sure hadn't felt any magic yet and, seeing as this man's teeth were not rotten like most of the lads she knew, she didn't see any harm in satisfying her curiosity.
"'Tis more, ye say?"
His arms went around her, and he pressed her to him till she was molded to his body. Again his lips touched hers, softly at first, but this time the kiss was different and all her senses sprang to life as his mouth moved over hers. His tongue touched her lips, and she jerked.
"Trust me," he whispered and pulled her back into his embrace.
He touched her lips again, and she hesitantly opened her mouth to find a heaven she didn't know existed. Her arms slid up his chest and curved around his neck while she innocently pressed her breasts against his chest. Trevor's mouth was insistent, exploring, tasting, and a desire for something more burned within her.
Kristen trembled.
Trevor groaned.
Trevor's desire soared to red hot. She felt so good in his arms, and he sensed a passion lay buried deep within her. He ached inside. He was glad she wasn't experienced, or they would be in his bed in two seconds. Then it dawned on him what he was doing. He'd never been a seducer in his life. His women had always been experienced and knew the rules. He took her by the arms and reluctantly moved her back.
The sudden shock from heaven to reality stunned Kristen for a moment. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, so she said, "'Twas better."
"I'm glad I could be your first teacher."
"I sense there is still more."
He chuckled and said, "There is, but that lesson would be better off taught at a later time. Maybe even by another man." As soon as he said it, he frowned at the picture of the girl in another man's arms.
"Now the question is what to do with you. I could turn you over to the constable or let you go." He chuckled. "Then I suppose you would just pick someone else's pocket."
"Ye should let me go," she answered solemnly.
Trevor stood and went over to a drawer. He pulled out another shirt and slipped it on. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Ye asked that before," she challenged. "Why do ye care?"
He recognized the defiance was back in her voice. Turning, he stared at her for a moment. "I wish to God I knew."
"I don't need yer charity. I've been doing the best I can for the last few months."
Trevor looked at her skinny arms. He'd wager she'd not been eating very well. "You don't have any family?"
She put the bandages back in the bag. "My mother died two years back, and I ran away from my stepfather."
Trevor rubbed his chin. "I see."
Kristen eased toward the door. "I'll just be collecting my brother, and we'll be out of yer hair."
"I didn't say I was going to let you go."
His brisk voice stopped her, and Kristen's breath caught. "Why not? I've fixed yer arm and ye got yer coins back."
"Maybe I want more." Trevor realized he wasn't too sure what he was thinking about doing was sane, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. It was possible he had the answer for one of his previous problems in this very room. "If I turn you over to the authorities, you could rot in jail for a long time."
"Aye." She nodded gravely and stared at him through wide, emerald eyes.
Trevor knew he had to be insane, but he went on, "What if I offered you a . . ." he searched for the right word. "A situation?"
"What kind of situation?"
"I have a small predicament that you can help me with, and in payment I won't turn you over to the authorities." He knew he was about to make a rash decision. Something he normally didn't do, but he could see the answer to his problem right before him. He could solve everything quickly and with very little effort on his part.
"I can help ye?" Kristen started laughing. "I can barely help myself."
"I'm serious, Kristen. Please sit down." He waited until he had her attention again. "You see, my grandmere has decided it's time for me to marry and produce an heir. I wouldn't consider the thought, but she's been ill. Refusing her, I fear, might send her to an early grave. However, I don't care to attend every function the ton has to offer and fend off all the females looking for a rich husband."
"So what does that have tae do with me?"
"If you agree to be my wife, Kristen, I won't have to be bothered with looking for one. I'll have a wife, and you'll be free to do what you like. As long as I approve, of course. And I'll have my freedom, too."
"Are ye crazy, mon? There is no way I could possibly fit into yer life."
"I agree you will need a little polishing and ..." He wrinkled his nose. "Definitely some new clothes." He leaned closer. "But I think you're smart, Kristen. You'll learn quickly. What do you have to lose?"
Kristen shook her head, her eyes suddenly sad. "Ye should only marry for love."
"Don't be foolish. How many loving marriages have you seen?"
"Tae be truthful, none. But I do believe love is out there someplace."
He lifted her chin. "Well, maybe we'll find it. Stranger things have happened." He traced her soft skin with his thumb.
"Yer joking me?"
"No, Kristen. I'm serious. This is to be a business arrangement. It will get you off the streets and hopefully into a better life."
"I don't know." She shook her head again. This whole thing seemed like a wildly spinning dream. "'Tis tae fast. I need tae think."
"What is there to think about?" Her cheeks flushed with her stubborn refusal, Trevor pressed on. "You should think of your brother, if no one else. What will happen to him if he stays on the street? He doesn't have that hardness about him now, but he will." Trevor looked her straight in the eyes, sensing the advantage. "Do you want him begging and stealing for the rest of his life? And what will happen to you? The next person whose pocket you pick might not let you off so easily. You'll end up in prison or as someone's whore."
Kristen felt as though she'd been slapped, but he was right. "What you say is true." A sadness entered her eyes. "But I'll be your whore, so there's little difference."
Trevor took her by the arms and pulled her to her feet, looking at her steadily. "No, Kristen. You'll be my wife, and I will not touch you unless you want it also. So you have nothing to lose."
Nothing to lose. She frowned. She would be losing her freedom. However, her life hadn't been that wonderful in the past. And Claremont did say he wouldn't touch her unless she agreed. There was also Hagan . . . "Then I guess I agree. But life willna be easy."
"I've no doubt." He chuckled. "There is one thing you must promise me."
"And that being?"
"That you'll quit your thieving ways."
"I don't know about that one." She shook her head. The man was daft.
"That's part of the deal, Kristen. I'll have your promise now."
She hesitated. "Ye have my promise that I won't steal no more." She crossed her fingers behind her back, knowing she didn't mean a word of it. "I guess this means ye'll be wanting yer change purse back?"
Trevor patted his pocket. "How in the world did you do that?"
"'Tis a secret." She smiled, knowing there was something special about this man. Something she liked.
"You're one wicked lady, Kristen Johnstone."
"Aye, that I am, Trevor Claremont."