Chapter Two
Spirits heavy, James slipped from his mother’s house, through the newly budding garden and ambled toward the seashore. He clutched a bottle of Irish whiskey in his left hand and had a few bread rolls stuffed in his pocket. He’d had his belly full of pretentious mourners shuffling about, putting on a show of sadness. None of those simpering fops had come to honor the general, a celebrated hero amongst his countrymen, they’d come for gossip and the luncheon spread.
Jaw set with pent up irritation, James stumbled down a sandy embankment toward the beach. Gentle spring wind whipped up from the water, carrying salty mist over the shoreline. Silver and gold slivers of sunlight glittered from the endless expanse of the sea, and the sun bathed him in a blanket of warmth. James drew a long breath through his nose and settled into the side of a sand dune. The day was unseasonably warm and he opened the buttons of his uniform jacket, staring blankly at the ocean. Lazy waves licked the shoreline in soothing rhythm, easing a measure of his stress.
James uncorked the bottle, more than ready to drown the day’s miserable events in a healthy draught of spirits. He raised the whiskey but froze before it reached his lips. He blinked, staring down the beach.
Dear God, is that a woman or an angel?
Apparently he’d imbibed a great deal more than he’d realized before the funeral service. His arm dropped, embedding the bottle in the sand. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. Floating down the beach front, a vision dressed all in white, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Blonde curls whipped on the breeze, lifting up over her head and swirling about delicate shoulders. The woman wore no gown, but appeared to be garbed in a white stays and chemise. Bare feet sank into the damp sand with each step, and the waves curling along the beach stretched over the shore, reaching—begging—to kiss the pale, ivory flesh gliding by just out of reach. Wind tugged the meager garments snug against her lush curves, revealing a length of smooth legs and a tiny waist. She gazed out over the sea, expression wistful… serene... adding to the ethereal air she exuded.
Entranced, James could do naught but stare.
The woman drew closer, but rather than deter from the haunting quality of her beauty, it intensified. James’s throat dried. An angel indeed… a superstitious man might believe her an otherworldly being—a spirit—drifting between worlds.
James fully believed the girl to be flesh and blood, and stood, unable to tear his gaze from her inappropriate dress—namely the raised flesh of her bosoms peaking over the innocent white chemise.
She did not waver from her solitary sojourn along the shoreline.
“I never would have thought to find a mermaid so far from Cornwall,” he called, compelled by a rare moment of chivalry to alert her to his presence.
The woman startled, turning to face him completely. Thick lashes framed wide, deep-set pale eyes and a heated flush bloomed in her cheeks. Hair of the most peculiar silvery blonde shade tumbled in messy ringlets around her heart shaped face, and her skin shone with ivory perfection. His gaze shifted to her mouth. Oh, her mouth… words did not exist to describe the exquisitely carved flesh. The corners swirled up into perfectly delectable dimples and rolled into luscious pouty waves all but begging to be kissed.
He clapped a hand over his heart. “Are you here to drag unsuspecting fools like myself into a watery grave with your siren’s beauty? But say the word, my lady, and I will follow you into the depths.”
She regarded him warily, obviously unsure what to make of his teasing, and swept an assessing gaze the length of his disheveled frame.
“If you wish for a watery grave, sir. Finish the contents of your bottle and swim out to yonder rock.”
James stumbled backward, feigning a strong blow. “You wound me, beautiful lady.” He flashed his most devastating smile, one that never failed to turn women to mush in his arms. “Might I beg a name?”
She shook her head, but a twinkle lit those exquisite eyes—like gems, but softer… warmer. “Beautiful creature or mermaid should suffice.” She backed away.
“Come, Siren, don’t leave me.”
She turned and jogged a few steps down the beach before spinning back, wiping the tangle of curls from her face. A smile teased those perfect lips. “If I am a siren it would behoove you to stay clear, sir.” Once more she gave him her back and ran, disappearing behind a dune.
James hesitated, contemplating the bizarre encounter. He glanced at the whiskey bottle, but found he’d lost any desire to lose himself in drink. His gaze drifted back down the beach. He had no idea who that woman was, but he had every intention of finding out.
* * *
“Alas, Siren, I cannot let you slip so easily away!”
Phoebe startled and whirled, heart jumping into her throat. The wind tossed her hair back into her face and she swiped it from her eyes, staring in disbelief as the disheveled officer chased her down the beach.
He shrugged the red uniform jacket from his shoulders and dropped it into the sand, leaving him dressed in naught but a thin white lawn shirt, tan breeches and knee high black hessians. Phoebe froze, starting agape. Thick, powerful muscles rolled across the soldier’s frame, shifting with primal efficiency beneath his shirt as he jogged toward her. Her throat dried and a tremor of awareness slithered through her belly. The sudden, wicked desire to run her palms over his rippling chest possessed her. She knew she should run, but temptation rooted her to the spot. In truth, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his mighty figure.
He slowed as the distance between them drew narrower, sauntering steadily toward her. “I warned you, Siren, run and I will follow.” He fixed her with a disarming, if roguish, grin, allowing his gaze to wander freely over her.
Heat flamed in Phoebe’s cheeks, but rather than shy from his bold flirtation she grinned, returning his daring perusal. Short clipped, sandy locks lifted on the ocean breeze, and fell half-hazard across his forehead. Eyes of the warmest golden brown bathed her in appreciative light, leaving her light-headed and giddy in the wake of his teasing flirtation. He was very handsome, and tall, with impressively broad shoulders that tapered into a sculpted chest and trim hips. Phoebe had always been attracted to big men, and this man was most definitely big.
“No, sir, you said, ‘Say the word and I will follow.’” She shook her head, spearing him with a glare of mild reproach. “I gave no indication that I wished to be followed.”
He stopped just a few feet before her, grin slipping ever-so-slightly as his gaze wandered her scarcely clad frame with an air of disbelief. “Is this a dream?” he murmured. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld.”
Phoebe crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable with any compliments in regard to her beauty. “You, sir, are drunk.”
“Not that drunk.” He moved in on her again, grazing the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “Not a dream after all,” he whispered more to himself than her. “You are warm. Flesh and blood.”
Their eyes locked and his teasing expression faltered, growing serious… sad… Phoebe’s insides clenched as the light drained from his eyes and then melted. Something in his expression broke her heart. Any desire to flee whisked away on the breeze. This man needed her. She didn’t know why or how, but she sensed it to her core.
“What shall I call you, Siren? Give me your name.”
Phoebe shook her head, whatever primal connection she felt for him in this moment, she could not compromise her reputation by giving him her name. He was likely in town for General Witherspoon’s funeral. Many soldiers and militiamen were. He would leave in a day or so, never to see her again, and this scandalous encounter would be but a secret for her mind alone. “I fancy Siren. Have you a name, sir?” She flashed a coquettish half-smile, wishing to pull the light back into his eyes. “Perhaps I should call you Pirate.”
After a moment he grinned, giving her a show of white teeth, one in the front ever so slightly crooked, lending him a boyish look. “Jamie. Call me Jamie.”
“Jamie.” She tested the name. It suited him. “Pirate Jamie?”
“Just Jamie.” He clasped his hands behind his back, leaning toward her, squinting playfully. “Tell me, Siren, how did you come to be wandering the beachfront in your underclothes?”
Phoebe flushed with a sheepish shrug. “I spent a long afternoon in the company of an exceptionally stuffy minister.”
He laughed, eyes twinkling. “An afternoon with a clergyman sent you spiraling into this depraved behavior.” He winked. “My kind of girl. Tell me, Siren, what did the good reverend say? The conversation must have been suffocating.”
Phoebe shrugged, the heat in her cheeks intensifying. “He’s told me on more than one occasion that I am the embodiment of sin.”
Jamie roared with laughter. “What would prompt such wicked sentiment?”
Sobering, Phoebe glanced down. “My looks.”
Jamie reached out, stroking a gentle thumb across her chin, tilting her face back up to his. His gaze softened, eyes roaming her face with abandon and wonder. “Your beauty, you mean.”
“The reverend believes comely looks distract men from more pious endeavors.”
Jamie quirked a brow, a combination skepticism and amusement lined his handsome face. “I’d wager this stuffy reverend says such cruel things because he finds you very distracting.”
“Perhaps.” Phoebe’s heart skipped as Jamie shifted even closer. His weathered palm closed around her cheek, sending sensual waves rushing along her skin.
“Pity to a man who cannot appreciate the fairer sex. I don’t know how anyone could describe your countenance as anything but heavenly,” his deep voice rumbled melodically, creating a hypnotic tune with the waves crashing lightly against the shore. “Perfectly divine. A gift.”
The seductive words swirled through her head, and combined with the dizzying thrum of her pulse, drawing her into his passionate eyes… deeper… closer… Warm breath gusted over her mouth, tempting and tantalizing, leaving her tingly in all of her forbidden places. Phoebe sighed, sinking deeper under his spell. Is this strange meeting in fact a dream? If so, she never wanted it to end. Her gaze flicked to his lips, just inches from her own. His handsome face descended and her heart skipped an erratic tempo. Any closer and his lips would whisper over hers.
What am I doing? This is madness.
Cold panic eclipsed the fiery desire pumping through her veins. At the last moment Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut and spun away. If anyone else happened upon her and this mysteriously charming rogue, she’d be ruined. Edward would be livid. She had to go. She darted quickly away, chancing one last glance over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Jamie,” she called.
He made no move to follow, merely stood still as a statue—a finely chiseled Greek statue at that—and watched her go. “Today I’ll let you escape, Siren, but rest assured I will find you again.”