Mad Jack

by Catherine Coulter

  “Since you’re not moving, I suppose it’s slow, but it hurts, Gray, sort of burns and pulls and feels raw. Does it burn you as well?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “Oh, yes.” He brought her up again until she was tight against his chest. He was holding her up with his hands, controlling his depth. When she was positioned just right, he let himself push upward with all his strength.

  Jack yelled, then her voice broke into sobs. She hit him with her fists, and even damned him once, twice.

  As for Gray, he was beyond thought, beyond anything but finishing this business. And he did. He was deep inside her, breathing so hard he thought his heart would burst. When finally he was through jerking about and heaving like a palsied man, he managed to say in a voice so dark and harsh that he hardly recognized himself, “It’s over, Jack, all over. Are you all right? It doesn’t hurt so much now, does it?”

  She didn’t say a word.

  He stroked her back, closing his eyes at the feel of that soft white flesh, all his. He was deep inside her, and he knew the pain he’d dealt her had to lessen soon. He wasn’t about to leave her, not just yet. He would let her get used to him. Yes, that was a noble approach, and practical as well.

  Within minutes, though, all nobility had fled the carriage. He was hard inside her again and she pulled back to look at him. “Gray, what are you doing? I can feel the change in you. At least we’re all wet so it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, but—”

  There was a shot. Then another. Leonard, the St. Cyre coachman, shouted and cursed, then pulled up the horses, making the carriage lurch wildly.

  He was deep inside her. There was simply no time. Nor was there a gun inside the carriage. Robbers? During the day? On his damned wedding day?

  He pulled the bodice of her gown back up. She held the front together with both hands.

  When Arthur and an older man jockeyed with each other to peer into the carriage, Jack was seated on him and he was still deep inside her, her skirts and petticoats frothing all over them.

  Arthur didn’t understand.

  The older man understood very well, and he yowled. “No, I don’t believe this. You’re a bloody gentleman, yet look what you’ve done to her. Here, in your carriage. Are you witless? I don’t believe this. Hell and damnation. Arthur, get on your horse. There’s nothing for it now. Even if we shoot him, it wouldn’t matter. He’s had her. She could have his child in her womb even now.” He cursed some more, turned and slapped Arthur, then strode away to the horses.

  Arthur shouted after him, “But she probably isn’t with child. Let’s take her. She’ll have to marry me.”

  “You bloody fool, her virginity was your only leverage. You have no leverage now.”

  They sat very still, listening to the older man yell at Arthur.

  “That,” Jack said, “is Lord Rye.” She squirmed on him.

  “Yes,” Gray said, grinding his teeth at the feel of her. Unbelievingly, he was still hard, still very deep inside her, and getting harder. But he managed not to move until he heard Leonard yell, “My lord, shall we proceed?”

  “Onward, Leo, onward.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Gray took Jack’s face between his hands, pulled her forward, and kissed her hard. Between kisses, he said, “For a wedding day, dearest, I believe we would capture all prizes for achieving the outrageous and the unexpected.”

  “You’re still inside me, Gray. It doesn’t hurt so much now. How did Lord Rye know that you were inside me? My clothes are covering both of us.”

  He laughed—what else was a man tottering on the edge of sanity to do? He wanted to tell her that Lord Rye might be a very bad man, but he wasn’t an idiot. He felt her tight around him, felt the weight of her. He closed his eyes. He went deeper, not able to make sense of her words when she told him to stop this instant, when she yelled in his face that she didn’t want him to do this anymore, that she liked the drawings in the book, but this wasn’t at all fun.

  “Stop!”

  But he didn’t stop, he simply couldn’t. His fingers found her but he realized that it was much too late, for either of them. He heaved and shouted in ecstasy. Jack yelled in his face and bit his neck.

  18

  JACK STARED down at herself, utterly appalled, once she got over the urge to yell that she was bleeding to death. Thank God she wasn’t still bleeding; she would be all right, wouldn’t she? She wasn’t going to die. But what about the next time?

  No, that was ridiculous. This sex business wouldn’t have continued very long if it ended with the woman bleeding to death. Surely that would get out and other women would find out and run. They would also quickly learn how to use swords and guns to keep the men away.

  Still, it was dreadful all the same. Now that she knew she’d live, she shuddered, embarrassment seeping to her bones. He’d done this to her. He’d even looked at her while he was shoving inside her, making her bleed. He must have known what he was doing, what would happen when he’d finished. When Gray came around the screen a few moments later, she yelped like a wounded cat and grabbed up her wrinkled gown in front of her.

  He saw the blood on her legs before she managed to hide behind that gown. Surely she knew about a virgin bleeding? He looked at her face and realized she was as ignorant as she was mortified.

  “Well, hell,” he said, instantly raising his hand. “I know, turnips. But believe me, a mild curse is appropriate in this instance.” She’d bled. He’d been a clod—more than a clod, a careless bastard who should be shot. At least now maybe he could ease her through this. He saw the shine in her eyes and knew she was close to tears.

  “You could have killed me.”

  As matter-of-fact as would a parent to a three-year-old child, he said, “No, Jack, sex isn’t a killing business. Virgins bleed the first time. It’s natural. It looks as if you’re more virginal than most virgins. No, don’t feel like you should cover yourself. We’re married. I’m your husband. You’re a mess. Let me help you get cleaned up.” He held out his hand. “I’m really sorry, Jack. I will make it up to you, I promise. Next time—”

  “Next time? Do you believe me a perfect dolt?” She stared at his hand as if it were a snake to bite her. “Go away. You did this to me. Go away.”

  His bride of less than half a day was clearly perturbed. Perhaps she was even beyond perturbed, perhaps close to violence. She did rather look like she would enjoy bashing him with a log, or worse. He was relieved she didn’t have a knife close by.

  Taking his life in his hands, he said, “I didn’t know you could make your breasts blush.”

  She looked down at herself, blanched, grabbed her slipper off the rug, and hurled it at him.

  He just laughed, grabbed her arms, and hauled her over to that big bed, the one Douglas had raved about, and shoved her down. He let her keep her gown as cover.

  “Don’t move,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going to clean you up. No, Jack, don’t go all maidenly on me and squeak. I cleaned you up for four days. I cleaned you up until I could have done it blindfolded.” As he spoke, he turned away to pour some warm water into a basin, float a bar of jasmine soap, and grab a soft cloth. When he was finished, he turned back to the bed.

  Jack was gone.

  His first insane thought was that Lord Rye had changed his mind and somehow slipped into the bedchamber and snagged her. But no, that was surely impossible. He’d locked the door when they’d finally got to the bedchamber. He was losing his wits.

  “Jack?”

  Not a hint of a sound.

  He found her one minute later, under the bed.

  Fifteen minutes later she still wouldn’t look at him. She was, he believed, currently studying the intricate embroidery on the soft green counterpane.

  “Enough is enough, Jack. As I told you, the bleeding is natural. It’s nothing either to alarm you or embarrass you. It won’t ever happen again. I told you I was sorry. You’re being a twit. Stop it.”

  At least she was finall
y clean—thanks to him; wearing her nightgown—thanks to him; and draped over with a lovely pale peach peignoir—yet again thanks to him. He sighed. He didn’t think she was on the verge of thanking him for his kind attention.

  “We will dine here, if it pleases you.”

  “It’s still daylight, and I’m in my nightgown like an invalid. It’s not right.”

  “If you would like to dress, we could stroll about the town.”

  “On the other hand, it will be dark very soon now.”

  “Yes, and there’s only to be a quarter moon tonight. We wouldn’t see much of the town and its surrounding scenery with such a small moon.”

  “A well-made point. After all, this is a lovely room.”

  “Yes, Douglas told me Alexandra particularly admired that bed.”

  At last that got her attention. She looked away from the embroidery and up at him. “You embarrassed me, Gray. You made me lie here on my back and you made me open my legs. Then you looked at me and wiped me down, like a horse.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “I had to clean you up, Jack. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m sorry. It’s just that I wanted to make sure I hadn’t hurt you, ripped you or something. I’ve heard that sometimes happens.”

  “If you did rip me, then it’s really bad, Gray. I hurt all the way to my stomach.”

  She was utterly serious. She was actually rubbing her belly. He laughed. He thought of Ryder Sherbrooke’s secret to a successful marriage and laughed—until he felt her hairbrush strike his chest. He picked it up off the soft woven carpet at his feet and placed it on the dressing table.

  He walked to the bed, gathered her stiff body up against him, and said against her pursed lips, “I promise our next time together you won’t be seated on my lap in a lurching carriage. I’m sorry, Jack, it wasn’t well done of me. As a matter of fact, it was exceedingly badly done of me. I lost my wits.” He leaned back and studied her face. “You know, if you weren’t so beautiful, so utterly delicious, I would have been able to exercise nobility.”

  “I’m not beautiful. I’m about as delicious as a green strawberry. You’re just saying that because you feel guilty. And how like a man—you’re trying to make it my fault, though I was but an innocent bystander.”

  “You’re right. But you weren’t exactly bystanding at the time. It makes me feel even guiltier that I feel so marvelous myself, all sated and manly and satisfied with life. Men are very straightforward creatures. It behooves us to remember that women are delicate and easily shocked, and ever so tight inside.”

  She pulled back in his arms and stared at him as if mesmerized. “Goodness, you really did say that, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said and kissed her, “I did. Ah, here comes our dinner. I ordered it and forgot. If you like, you can test me. Shall we bare your breasts and see if I can pay more attention to my meal than to you?”

  “No, not yet. Listen, Gray, it isn’t fair that you feel guilty, even though your reasons for feeling guilty are remarkably self-serving. No, I wanted you to do what you did to me in the carriage, I really did. I wanted to know what it was all about. Those drawings were so exciting, but I just didn’t know it would be the way it turned out to be.”

  “You mean hurtful, messy, and not any fun at all?”

  “I fear so, yes.”

  “Lovemaking is always messy. It should also be a lot of fun. Next time it will be, I promise you. And since you’re no longer a virgin, it won’t hurt anymore.”

  He started laughing again. He pressed his face against her hair and nearly swallowed his tongue, he was laughing so hard. “Oh, God, it’s something to tell our grandchildren. Grandmama was hiding from Grandpa under the bed, all wrapped up like a mummy. Will they believe it?”

  He still had a silly smile on his face when the innkeeper, Mrs. Hardley, came into the bedchamber, beaming at the newlyweds and carrying their dinner of roast duck, ivory peas, carrot puffs, and Monmouth pudding layered with raspberry jam, all on a huge silver tray crowned by a silver dome.

  “Now, my dears,” she said, “we must keep up your strength.”

  “Jack?”

  “I’m asleep.”

  “Your stomach doesn’t still hurt, does it?”

  “No, I’m just very sore in places I didn’t know could become sore.”

  “That’s a good thing. No, don’t breathe fire on me. I’m chastened. I’m not going to leap on you. I want to talk to you about something else. I’ve been thinking about your little sister. I’m wondering how we can get her away from your stepfather.”

  He felt the bed give as she turned to face him. “You really want to have Georgie with us? Truly, Gray?”

  “Yes,” he said, turning on his side. “I want her with us.”

  “You’re not just saying this because you still feel so guilty about hurting me even though I finally granted you absolution?”

  “No. The fact is, I know you’ll worry until we have her safe with us. You’ll fret. You might worry so much that you’ll never let me near you again. I’m not cut out to be celibate, Jack.”

  “I was celibate until this afternoon. All in all, it was preferable to all this.”

  “You were supposed to be celibate. You will look back on what you just said—not more than eight hours from now—and laugh at your foolishness. Now, back to your sister. What do you think?”

  He could practically see her brain squirreling from one idea to another. Jack was smart—unless she lost all sense and crawled under the bed. He nearly laughed aloud again.

  “My stepfather wouldn’t ever let her go if he believed for a minute that we actually wanted her. He’ll want revenge now, he’s just that way. He’ll use anything at all if he believes it will hurt us.”

  “Yes,” he said, wrapping a handful of her hair slowly around his hand. “I think you’re right. He mustn’t know that we want her.” He dropped her hair, turned onto his back again, and crossed his arms behind his head. “A puzzle to tease me, when you’re tired of teasing me yourself.”

  “Will you teach me how to tease you?”

  He stilled. His body reacted predictably. He breathed out slow and deep. “Naturally. You have but to tell me when to commence your lessons.” He turned again to face her. He reached out his hand and stroked her hair. He could feel her warm breath, she was so close. He wanted her very much but had enough sense not to hurl himself on her.

  “When will I stop hurting?”

  He knew her flesh was chafed. “By morning,” he said, cupping her face in his hand. “No later than by tomorrow morning. No more than eight hours from now. Go to sleep. We’ll figure out what to do about Georgie.”

  When Jack awoke, pale dawn light was coming in the tall, narrow windows. She was warm, utterly relaxed. She was also lying on top of Gray, her face tucked against his neck.

  Oh, dear, she thought. Would he think she was teasing him? Was this teasing him? Very carefully, she began pulling up her nightgown. He remained asleep, snoring lightly. She kept pulling up her nightgown. Her legs were bare against his. She couldn’t believe the heat of him. When she finally had it up past her chest, every marvelous bit of him pressed against her, she whispered against his neck, between kisses, “Well, it’s morning. At least eight hours, and a very bright morning it is.”

  “Good,” he said with no hesitation at all, making her wonder if he’d really been asleep, and rolled over on top of her. “Now let me show you what this lovemaking business is all about, the right way.”

  Mrs. Hardley just smiled when she passed the earl of Northcliffe’s favorite bedchamber and heard sweet, very excited female laughter coming from within. And a man’s low voice, very deep and urgent. That bed was magic, her granny had told her some thirty years before. “Magic, that tester,” Granny had said. It produced more babes than the entire village of Sudburn.

  She was still smiling when she saw her son racing down the corridor toward her, yelling, “Ma, a messenger brought this for Lord Cliffe. He
said it was real important.”

  Jack was kissing his neck when there was a loud knock on the bedchamber door. Mrs. Hardley called out, “Forgive me, my lord, but there’s an urgent message just arrived for you.”

  Gray slowly raised himself onto his elbows. He was within three seconds of kissing her breasts. He felt every inch of her beneath him. He shook his head to clear it. He was not many seconds from doing other things even more far-reaching. He shuddered, pressing himself down against her, wanting to cry, when Mrs. Hardley shouted again, “My lord, please, the message.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said as he lifted himself off her. “Believe me, I’m really sorry.”

  “Oh, dear, what message? What’s going on?”

  “She could be dead, Gray. Oh, God. The messenger went first to your town house in London, then came here. At least a day was lost.”

  Jack was hanging on by a thread. He knew it, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He raised her hand and lightly rubbed her palm against his cheek. “It’s possible, but it won’t help to dwell on it. You’re the most optimistic person I’ve ever met, Jack. Don’t turn into a doomsayer now.”

  “She’s so little, Gray, so very little. There’s no one at Carlisle Manor for her, no one at all. She has Dolly, who’s been her nanny since Georgie was born, and the other servants who care for her, but no one who really loves her. Thank God my stepfather even bothered to tell me. I wonder why he did.”

  “He did it to torment you.” He gathered her against him, kissing her hair. “We’ll be at Carlisle Manor by this afternoon. Then we’ll see.”

  “He ignores her, Gray. I swear he doesn’t even know she’s there in his house.”

  The carriage was moving slowly along Church Street, past the grand clock tower, straight down West Street to Kings Road and the pier. It was a beautiful sunny day in Brighton. The smell of the sea was sharp and exhilarating, the breeze off the water billowing up a lady’s skirts as she walked with her children along the pier.

  “My father brought me to Brighton when I was ten,” Jack said. “He said the Prince had just had the Pavilion interiors decorated in the Chinese style.”