“Did you give her any?”
“Yes. I gave her my special Florentine brandy guaranteed not to disrupt the innards.”
“There is no such thing,” Jason said.
“True.”
“Where is she, sir? Did she leave? Is she hiding in your library? Did she tell you why she wanted the brandy?”
Douglas nodded slowly. “After a bit of prodding. Blackmail, actually. I wouldn’t give her any of my special brandy unless she told me everything. She folded, said that you felt responsible for what had happened and told her that you two had to get married. She then tossed back the watered-down brandy, burped, if I’m not mistaken, and left without another word.”
“I didn’t do it well,” James said. “I mean I started out well, with a lovely sort of future metaphor about our children and grandchildren.”
“Now there’s an image to give me pause,” Douglas said.
James waved that away. “Sir, surely she must realize that there is no other course for us to follow. I don’t want to marry, at least right now, but there is simply no choice.”
Douglas was tapping his fingertips together, looking fixedly at the painting on the opposite wall that James had bought in Honfleur three years before. A young girl was sitting on a rock, her skirts spread around her, looking over a green valley stretching below her. Douglas found himself smiling. The girl looked remarkably like Corrie.
Jason said, “I’m having our friends over this evening to report on what they’ve discovered, though I doubt it’s much, else wise they would have come raging over here immediately. Shall we meet here in your bedchamber?”
James nodded. He suddenly felt so weary his bones ached. He closed his eyes. His father’s voice, warm and deep, said close to his ear, “You’re safe and you will get well, James. As for all the rest of it, things will work out.”
“I think Devlin Monroe is going to propose to her.”
That announcement brought two pair of startled eyes to his face.
“Why would Devlin do that?” Douglas said. “It makes no sense.”
Jason said, shrugging, “She is an original. Devlin likes originals.”
“She can’t marry him,” James said, “even though she does amuse him. She would kill him when she discovered that he still had mistresses waiting in the wings. She would run a pitchfork through his belly, then she would hang for it. I don’t want to marry her, but I also don’t want her hung.”
Jason said, “Maybe I should speak to Devlin. Tell him what’s what here.”
“Yes, do that, Jason. Cut him off at the knees. The last thing I want is for her to marry him to save me. That’s what she’s doing, of course. She thinks it isn’t fair that I have to marry her because of what happened.”
“I’m off, then,” Jason said, and his eyes darkened to near purple. And he smiled.
James said, “You know, with Corrie as my wife, I’ll never have to worry about boring her with talk of silver cascades through the ring of Titan. I remember when I told her about my discovery-her eyes sparkled. Yes, sparkled, that was exactly what her eyes did. She listened to me, you know how she is-sits there, her eyes glued to your face, like she wants to grab the words right out of your mouth. She then told me to tell her about it again so she would be certain she understood everything.” And suddenly, James remembered her eyes sparkling like that when he’d given her a doll on her sixth birthday. He’d happened to be buying a gift for his mother when he saw the doll propped up against a bolt of material. Pale white face, big red lips, and eyes that reminded him of Corrie’s. He’d been embarrassed to buy it, even more embarrassed to give it to her, but she’d pulled it out of the paper, pressed it to her skinny little chest and looked up at him, eyes sparkling. With more, of course. With love. With adoration. He’d wanted to run then; he wanted to run now.
“As I recall,” Jason said, “you and Corrie used to spend a lot of time lying outside looking up at the stars, you telling her everything you knew.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It was two months ago. I remember because you were excited about Mercury coming so close to the earth.”
It was true, dammit. So many evenings she’d sneaked out of her uncle’s house and they’d lain on their backs, looking up into the heavens.
“She always wanted to talk about the moon; she’s always been fascinated with the moon. And you know, she doesn’t need to talk, like most girls do. She’s perfectly fine with blessed silence.”
James wondered if Juliette Lorimer’s eyes would sparkle if she’d attended his talk at the Astrological Society meeting.
Marriage to the brat. Dear God, how could such a thing be possible?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, James had drunk some tea and eaten two slices of toast when Corrie suddenly appeared in the doorway of his bedchamber. She walked in, dressed quite nicely in a morning gown of pale golden brown, with a lovely matching wrap of darker brown that added a touch of gold to her eyes.
He raised a supercilious eyebrow at her. “Hello, Corrie. Did you ever leave?”
“Whatever do you mean? Of course I left.”
“It seems that you’re nearly living here now. In and out, in my bedchamber, in the estate room drinking my father’s Florentine brandy, you’re everywhere, including in the kitchen to steal biscuits, Willicombe told me. When we’re married, there’ll be little change.”
Not a word came out of her mouth, not even a curse.
“Did my father select that gown for you?”
“What? My gown? Well, yes, he did.” She fidgeted a moment. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s lovely.”
She waved that away. “Listen, James, your mother paid my Aunt Maybella a visit. It was just the two of them, and they had their heads together for a full hour. Since you’re still on the weedy side, I had to come here to see you. I want to know why your mother was with my aunt.”
She’d begun pacing, and he liked the way she looked, thank God. Then she tossed her wrap to a chair along with her reticule, turned to say something else and he saw that that damned gown she was wearing was nearly falling off her shoulders.
“Put your damned wrap back on. Your gown is cut far too low. I cannot believe that my father ordered up a gown that leaves you nearly naked to the waist.”
To his surprise, she grinned at him. She shrugged her shoulders, slipped her fingers beneath the gown and tugged it down a bit more. “Actually, your father didn’t know that Madame Jourdan winked at me when he ordered her to cut the bodice nearly to my chin.” She actually leaned toward him and poked out her breasts. “It looks perfect, so you will hold your tongue.”
James, without thinking, with no consideration at all, bounded from the bed and stomped over to her, so angry he was panting.
He grabbed her bodice and jerked it up to her chin. And heard a rip. Corrie didn’t say a word, just stood there, staring at him.
He was naked.
“James,” she said, looked down his body, and gulped. “This is a lovely treat, but perhaps your mother might walk in and what would she think? I’m an innocent young girl, and here you are, stark naked, and so very lovely that I’m ready to burst into song. And that male part of yours that I shouldn’t know anything about, is gaining in stature, James. It’s getting rather alarming.”
He cursed, she was right; it seemed when he was angry with her he got harder than the bedpost. Or maybe it was whenever he remarked upon her breasts, he got harder than-He stomped back to his bed and grabbed his dressing gown. He shrugged it on, tied the belt at his waist, and walked back up to her. He took her shoulders in his large hands. “I ripped your gown. I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You must be feeling much better. You roared out of that bed ready to hurl me out the window.”
“No, I just wanted to cover you so I wouldn’t have to lie there in my bed and slaver.”
She blinked. “Looking at me would make you slaver, James?
You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No, dammit, I’m not lying. Now look at you, your right sleeve is hanging off and your gown is still so low it makes me want to howl at the moon.”
“Hmmm, I must ask Devlin if vampires can howl at the sun.”
He gritted his teeth. “Do not speak of Devlin Monroe to me again. Do you understand me, Corrie? Now, I trust you burst in on me to inform me of your decision to marry me?”
“I came to tell you that my aunt and uncle are already planning our wedding, at least they were until I told them I was not going to allow you to sacrifice yourself. I told them I was going to marry someone else, someone who actually wanted me.”
“Do not say his bloody name!”
“All right. He came to visit me this morning. It turns out that Jason tracked him down at his club last night and told him marriage to me would do him in. Can you believe Jason told him I would kill him if he kept his mistresses? Actually kill him, that’s what Jason told him. He also said that since he’d known me from the age of three, he knew what I was capable of. He asked Devlin-oops, I didn’t mean to mention his name-if he were willing to tread the path of faithfulness until he stuck his spoon in the wall. Devlin said he laughed when Jason asked him that. Then he asked me if I would really kill him if he were unfaithful.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I’d kill him deader than the dinner trout.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He laughed some more, told me then that there was no gentleman of his acquaintance who could safely marry me, given my stand on fidelity, despite all my money, unless the gentleman was teetering on bankruptcy, and the good Lord knew that such a gentleman would promise anything at all to get what he wanted, including-horror of horrors-fidelity. He laughed again, told me that when it came down to it, even the promise of murder wouldn’t deter a man from promising anything, and then doing what he wanted. That was the way of the world. It’s not right, James, just not right.”
“My father has never broken faith to my mother, nor she to him.”
“I suppose the same is true for Aunt Maybella and Uncle Simon. I don’t think it’s particularly due to Uncle Simon’s fortitude in matters of the flesh. I think it would take too much time away from his leaf studies. What do you think?”
“I can’t believe you’ve gotten me off on this ridiculous tangent. Will you marry me, Corrie?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I will never marry a man who doesn’t love me.”
“Are you saying that you would marry Devlin if he swore to be faithful to you?”
She appeared thoughtful. He wanted to strangle her.
“You will say no, dammit!”
“All right, no.”
“Well, I swear I won’t be unfaithful.”
She sighed. “I do think Dev-our vampire-was wrong when he said that every man would promise anything I wished in order to get what he wanted. You wouldn’t do that. I know you down to your beautiful feet. You would never lie about something so very important.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“James, listen. You’re an honorable man, too honorable for your own good, as a matter of fact, at least most of the time. The fact is, I don’t want to get married. I’m only in my first practice season. I’ve barely begun to sow my wild oats, barely begun to learn the ins and outs of flirting.
“I’m too young to get married, particularly for such an absurd reason. You’re too young too. Admit it. Marriage is-or was-the last thing on your mind before all this happened.”
“I won’t admit to that.”
“Then I’ll have to reassess how truthful you are.”
“All right, dammit. I had no thought of marriage. For God’s sake, I’m only twenty-five years old. You speak of sowing wild oats. Well, I have bucketfuls left to sow. But I will forego them because honor is more important. Stop whining. Accept what must be.”
“But neither of us did anything wrong!”
“I will waltz with you until there are holes in your slippers.”
“I imagine Uncle Simon promised the same thing to my aunt. She didn’t get holes in her slippers, James, she got leaves. Bloody leaves! She told me once that on their honeymoon, Uncle Simon allowed her to press three leaves in one of his many books. However, he didn’t allow her to label it. That sounds perfectly dreadful, James.”
“I will not have you pressing leaves on our honeymoon.”
“Ah, and what would you do on our honeymoon?”
He was close to swallowing his tongue. “There are standard things that a man and a woman do after they’re married. Surely you know all about sex, Corrie.”
“Well, not all that much, really. You mean to say that’s what you would do rather than pressing leaves? You wouldn’t be reading me treatises on the orbital rotation of Saturn in a cosmic dust storm?”
“No. Saturn would cease to exist for me. Saturn wouldn’t exist for most normal men on their honeymoon, unless they were looking up at the stars and Saturn just happened to be shining down in their eyes. You see, most men think about only one thing, and on their honeymoon, they can-well, never mind that.” James dashed his fingers through his hair. “Dammit, you need a bit of promised wickedness, don’t you? Very well, I am going to strip you naked and make love to you until you are snoring with exhaustion.”
“James, you’ve said quite a lot there. But the end of it-me lying there snoring-that doesn’t sound very romantic.”
“All right, I happen to know that you don’t snore. You make little mewling noises. Now, listen to me. I will let you flirt with me, endlessly.”
“Men do not flirt with their wives.”
“Now there’s a wise oracle speaking.”
“Don’t be sarcastic with me, James Sherbrooke. I’m not stupid. I know that Aunt Maybella would many times rather kick Uncle Simon than kiss him.”
“You should see my parents. Last week I came around a corner and saw my father pressing my mother against a wall, kissing her neck. They’ve been married forever.”
“Pressing her against a wall? Really?”
“Really. And I would do no less. I will nibble on your neck in a dark section of a garden, the night jasmine scenting the air. We will get along famously, Corrie. Now, I’m nearly ready to collapse, so say yes and leave me in peace.”
“You don’t love me.”
And he said, the words pouring out of his mouth, “I can’t imagine that Devlin Monroe told you he loves you?”
“No, he didn’t. He told me he finds me a delight, his word. Don’t get me wrong. Being a delight sounds clever indeed, but it’s not what’s important in marriage, James.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Oh yes. He said it was a nice start, didn’t I agree, and I said I did, but I said it was only a nice preamble to say a picnic or a ride in the park, not marriage.”
She’d routed Devlin; she’d sent him about his business; she’d turned him down flat. James grinned. Relief poured through him.
“I told him to think about it with more depth, and perhaps I would entertain his request at a later date.”
James cursed. He wished his brain was working a bit more competently, but he was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep until supper. He said, “We know each other, Corrie. We like each other, at least we do most of the time.”
“You didn’t like me at all when Darlene nearly nudged you off the cliff.”
“You want the truth, Corrie? What I remember about that day is the feel of your bottom against my palm when I spanked you.”
Her agile tongue dried up. “M-my bottom? You felt m-my bottom?”
“Well, of course. You have a lovely bottom, Corrie, from the feel of it. If you marry me, why then I can take your clothes off, stretch you out on your back, and rub you down with a nice damp cloth. Again and again, perhaps humming whilst I stroke that nice cloth over yo
u, every little part of you. Do you think your skin is as white as Devlin’s?”
“You didn’t want me to say his name.”
He laughed. “Embarrassed, are you? Well, picture yourself naked, Corrie, and I’m the one stroking my hands all over you, particularly your breasts, and you’re not sick at all. In fact, you’re arching your back against my hands. What do you think?”
“Oh goodness,” she said, and turned to walk away. “Oh goodness.”
“No.” He grabbed her arm. “No, you won’t simply walk out on me this time. We’re getting this settled right now, Corriander Tybourne-Barrett. My God, what a ghastly name. Do you think we will have to sign that as your name in the marriage registry?”
She was standing perfectly still, aware that his hands were running up and down her arms, and one arm was bare where he’d ripped her sleeve.
“If you don’t marry me, then I will have to do something drastic.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not going to tell you. Listen to me, brat, there is simply no choice. If you don’t marry me, then both of us are thoroughly ruined. Don’t you understand? Haven’t you got your brain around this?”
“You wouldn’t be ruined, James, that’s absurd. If I simply go back to the country, I won’t be ruined either.”
He shook her. “That is so stupid, I can’t imagine how you could let it out of your mouth.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. It was bad.” She looked down at his hands still clutching her arms. She pulled free of him and took several steps away from him, shook her fist in his face, and wailed, “You don’t love me!”
He yelled right back. “And I suppose you love me?”
She stared at him, mute as a post.
“Well? Answer me, damn you.”
“No, I won’t, and don’t yell at me again.”
“Why won’t you answer me? All right, keep still, it’s a blessed relief, your silence. I know you adored me when you were three years old. Has that changed?”
“Things are a bit more straightforward when you’re three years old, much simpler, not a single shade between black and white. I’m no longer three years old, James.”
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