Free Kissed; Christian by Tanya Anne Crosby

seemed to reach into his soul and draw out the words, never mind that they’d never been spoken before now.
    Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, he lay back upon the blanket, locking his hands behind his head, and peered into the treetops as he continued, “It was the strangest thing,” he said, “but for the space of an instant, the years were stripped away... and it was as though I were left gazing into a looking glass at my own reflection, blue eyes and all. I just knew.”
    Staring past the lush greenery into the clear azure sky, Christian waited for her to speak—to say something, anything—words that would give him some small hint of how she felt about his shocking disclosure. When she said nothing for a long moment, he rolled to face her. Propping his head upon his hand, he stared into her eyes, hoping to see into her heart. What he saw there in the shimmering depth of her eyes gave root to his burgeoning sense of peace. Once again he felt compelled to go on; the need to purge himself of the blackness was strong, and it seemed that she, and she alone, had the ability to absolve him with her soul-cleansing gaze.
    “My brother has gray eyes,” he told her softly, “as did our father. My mother has beautiful brown eyes, so deep and dark, they seem almost fathomless. And I, well, I was the only one in the brood with eyes of blue—and God... at that moment, Jessie... looking into Jean Paul’s face... his eyes... so many things became comprehensible at last.”
    “What sort of things?” Taking a grape for herself, she offered another to Christian, as he had done for her. He repaid her gesture with a lopsided grin.
    “For one...” He took it, but placed it against her own lips, and smiled when she accepted it so easily. This ease between them felt good—better than anything had in all his years. “Jean Paul appointed himself guardian over my mother and me when first we took up residence with my grandparents in France—a fact that always bedeviled me, that this man, so in love with the sea, would bind himself to a woman and child not his own. It made no sense at all.”
    “Do you think, perhaps, he did so out of guilt for his part in your mother’s... predicament? She left England, I know. Only it was never known precisely why.”
    “She was banished by my father, actually—we both were.” He glanced away, uncomfortable with the emotions that surfaced in that instant. “She was glad enough to go, I think. I always believed she was in love with Jean Paul, though for my sake she masked it well.”
    His gaze returned to her, gauging her expression. Nothing. He could discern nothing.
    “For her parents, as well, of course; she would have spared them any injury.”
    He plucked another grape, squeezing it gently, anticipating her reaction; veiled disgust, revulsion perhaps.
    He was unprepared for sympathy. “How very sad. I’m so sorry for you,” she whispered.
    The grape burst, spurting juice everywhere. She cried softly, wincing as it sprayed her face. Wiping a droplet from her lip with a fingertip, she held his gaze, smiling wanly. Christian tossed the grape over his shoulder. Sympathy was not precisely the emotion he’d sought from her.
    “Don’t be. I was rendered quite speechless by the discovery at the time, but I’ve no contention in my soul over it a’tall. I welcomed the knowledge of Jean Paul as my father wholeheartedly, embraced it even, for it made so many things bearable.”
    “Truly?”
    Their gazes met and held; stark blue and healing green.
    Jessie’s look was so compassionate, her eyes so luminous with concern, that Christian experienced the sudden inexorable urge to kiss her distress away, to assure her that he’d come away from it all unscathed. Years of mistrust compelled him to say instead, “You must swear to me, Jessamine, that you will never repeat a word of what I have revealed to you. I only wanted you to understand that I’m not the exemplary man you think me.” He