"We are," Corinna insisted. "We're just a little…shocked. You've always been the good sister."
"Well, I've been changing, in case you haven't noticed. It seems my transformation is now complete. From a paragon of traditional femininity to an utter tart, and all inside of a single summer."
"No one thinks you're a tart," Juliana said.
Corinna nodded. "A little fast, perhaps, but—"
"She's about to be a married matron," Juliana interrupted, glaring at her younger sister. "There's nothing fast about that. Griffin, you did exactly the right thing."
"Thank you," he said dryly.
Alexandra sighed. "There was no right thing."
"Does Tristan really sleepwalk?" Corinna asked her brother.
He nodded. "All of his life." His jaw clenched. "I'm going to kill him."
Alexandra jumped up. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Sit down. I was jesting." Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, "I'd like to kill him, but I'll restrain myself. For your sake."
"Thank you." She plopped back down.
"Just be happy. That's all the thanks I require."
But she couldn't be happy—not when she'd ruined her family's reputation. She wouldn't be happy until she fixed that. Until her sisters could win any men they wanted. Until Griffin didn't have to defend his friend or his decision to allow her to marry him.
Until, she realized, the seeds of an idea taking root in her brain, she found the evidence that would clear Tris's name.
"Just give me a week or two," she said slowly. "Then we'll all be happy."
Corinna's blue eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to find whoever murdered Tris's uncle." She could do it. She had to do it. "Then Tris won't be shunned anymore by society, and you'll be able to make a brilliant match. After all, your older sister will be married to a handsome, popular marquess who is well known for his expertise in machinery, animal husbandry, and land management." Alexandra tried for a brave grin.
"You're going to find his uncle's murderer," Griffin said flatly. Disbelievingly.
She raised her chin. "Yes. I am."
"How?" Juliana asked.
"I don't know. I'll need to investigate matters at Hawkridge Hall."
"Tristan doesn't think there is a murderer," Griffin reminded her. "He thinks his uncle died in his sleep."
"Well, we'd best all pray he's wrong, because a natural death will be much harder to prove. But if that's the case, I'll find a way, because it's the only hope for us all."
"Surely it's not as dire as all that," Juliana said.
But no one spoke up to agree with her, because it was as dire as all that.
Alexandra sighed into the silence.
"Holy Hannah!" Corinna exclaimed after a long moment.
Juliana turned to her. "What?"
"She's going to investigate matters at Hawkridge Hall. She's going to move to Hawkridge Hall."
"Tomorrow," Griffin said matter-of-factly. "I expect Tristan will want to leave directly after the wedding."
"She cannot leave tomorrow!" Juliana shook her head. "She's made no preparations, she has no trousseau, she—"
"She has no choice." Griffin stood, one hand on the staircase's marble rail. "I'm going to change my clothes and head out to the vineyard. Since Tristan has abandoned me, I'll need to install his pump." He started upstairs, gazing down at them as he went. "You'd better pack your things, Alexandra. And choose a wedding dress. With any luck, I'll be finished and back for dinner."
"A wedding dress," Alexandra breathed.
Corinna nodded. "A Lady of Distinction suggests a white one."
"I don't even own a white dress."
"You can borrow one of ours," Juliana said. "We'd best get busy."
THE SUN WAS sinking in the sky by the time Tristan returned, special license in hand, to learn that Griffin was at the vineyard. A change of horses and a brisk gallop got him there just before dark. Griffin's crew was completing the pipeline, lighting lanterns to provide illumination while they finished. As Tristan rode up, one of the men approached him, holding two of the lamps.
"I was just taking these to Lord Cainewood, my lord." He nodded in the direction of the newly dug pit.
"I'll take them for you," Tristan offered, sliding off his mount. He tethered the horse and headed toward the pit, both lanterns in one hand. Slipping his other hand into his pocket, he toyed with the ring he'd detoured to Hawkridge to pick up. A simple gold band, wide but worn thin from centuries of use. A family heirloom for traditional Alexandra. Though it was plain, he hoped she would like it.
Curses were coming from the square pit. Colorful ones. Still holding the lanterns in one hand, he started down the ladder, his eyes widening as he saw what was going on inside. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said as he reached the bottom.
"Installing your damn pump." Griffin's wrench slipped, eliciting another burst of foul language.
Tristan set the lanterns in a corner on the dirt floor. "I would have done it if you'd waited."
"When? In the middle of my sister's wedding night?" Griffin mopped his brow with the back of a grimy hand. "I think she'd have my head. Besides, it's time I learned how to do this myself. Given the way my luck has been running, I'm likely to need another pump or a dozen soon."
"Let me give you a hand." Tristan took the wrench.
"One of the hands you couldn't keep off my sister?" Griffin snatched it back. "No thanks."
Heedless of the dirt, Tristan leaned against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms across his chest. The pit exuded the pungent scent of recently turned earth. As fresh and sharp as his friend's mood. "You're angry with me."
"Give the man a prize."
"I didn't compromise your sister on purpose."
"No, you were sleeping. Just waltzed in there unaware. Or so you said—"
"Hey—"
"All right, I believe you." Griffin banged the wrench against a pipe, then winced at the sharp clang. "That doesn't mean I have to like it." He whacked the pipe again.
"You want to hit me?"
He looked all too intrigued by that idea. "No."
"Go on. Hit me. It'll make you feel better."
"It'll make you feel worse."
Tristan just shrugged. "You cannot but admit I deserve it."
Tapping the wrench against his palm, Griffin stared at Tristan for a few long, tense moments. Then he dropped the tool to the dirt, drew back a fist, and rammed it into his friend's shoulder.
Though pain exploded, Tristan didn't flinch. "You can do better than that."
"You're right." Griffin hauled off and punched him in the mouth.
Tristan saw stars. His friend looked wavery through his watering eyes. Tasting blood, he flexed his jaw. "Feel better?"
"Not yet." Gritting his teeth, Griffin took half a step forward and drove his fist full force into Tristan's gut.
The wind rushed out of him as he doubled over in pain and surprise. When he came up, gasping for air, he returned the favor with a blow to Griffin's face that sent him careening into the wall.
"Hey!" Griffin said.
"That's enough."
"I. Think. Not," he ground out, coming back swinging. "You compromised my sister. It will never be enough."
Tristan took two punches but ducked the third, straightening to throw a left-handed jab that landed solidly in his friend's midsection. Griffin retaliated with a right-handed hit that was even harder. From there, Tristan lost track. The blows flew fast and furious until finally they both stood there, panting and exhausted, neither of them possessing enough energy to continue.
Griffin dropped to sit on the dirt floor, his legs sprawled out before him, his face cradled in both hands. "I think you broke my nose."
"No, I didn't. You're such a widgeon." Leaning against the wall above him, Tristan spit out blood. "I think you loosened my teeth."
"I hope so." Griffin grinned up at him, then winced. "You
feel worse now, don't you? Just as I predicted."
Tristan slid down to sit beside him, groaning at new assorted aches. "Nothing you do could make me feel worse. Believe it or not, I'm more upset at this turn of events than you are."
"I don't believe it. You didn't just ruin two of your sisters' lives."
"No, I ruined three of your sisters' lives instead."
"Three? Alexandra was dying to marry you."
But the way Tristan saw it, she could die because she married him. Who knew what he might do the next time he sleepwalked? He was scared stiff.
"Besides," Griffin added, "she's going to clear your name, and then no one's lives will be ruined."
"She's going to what?"
"She's determined to find your uncle's killer."
"My uncle didn't have a killer. He died in his sleep."
Griffin began to shake his head, then apparently thought better of it. "I told her you'd say that," he said.
TWENTY-NINE
CORIANDER BISCUITS
Take eight eggs, a little Rose water, some Madeira, and a pound of fine Sugar; beat them together for an Hour; then put in a Pound of Flour and half an Ounce of Coriander seeds; then beat them well together, butter your Pans and put in your batter, and set it into the Oven for half an Hour; then turn them, brush them over the Top with a little of the Eggs and Sugar that you must leave out at first for the Purpose, and set them in again for a quarter of an Hour.
These biscuits are perfect to take visiting. My mother always brings some when we're to meet someone new.
—Lady Elspeth Caldwell, 1691
"WHAT THE DEVIL are you doing up so late? It's three o'clock in the morning."
"Is it?" Startled, Alexandra turned to see her brother standing in the shadowed entrance to the kitchen. "I'm making coriander biscuits to bring along to Hawkridge." She beat Madeira into a bowl of eggs, sugar, and rose water. "I cannot arrive there with nothing."
"You don't have to bribe Tristan's people to accept you. You'll be their marchioness."
She added flour to the mixture, dumping half of it onto her shaky hands in the process. "Chase women always bring sweets."
"Tomorrow will be a big day for you. For God's sake, go to bed. If you truly feel a need to bring something, you can ask François to make it in the morning."
Not bad advice, except she was too excited—and nervous—to sleep. "We missed you at dinner," she said, changing the subject. "And afterwards." As he walked closer, she blinked and set down the bowl. "What on earth happened to your face?"
He touched it gingerly. "Your soon-to-be-husband happened to it," he informed her dryly.
"Tris? Whyever would he hit you?"
"Perhaps because I hit him first?" He looked around the cavernous kitchen. "Is there anything to eat in here besides raw biscuit dough? We just finished installing the pump. It works beautifully, but I'm about to expire from starvation."
"And Tris?"
"Said he's not hungry. Went straight to bed."
"I meant, does he look like you?"
"Not much." He crossed to where François had left out some bowls covered with cloths. "His hair is lighter, and his eyes—"
"Griffin!" Walking over, she playfully punched him on the shoulder with a flour-coated fist.
"Ouch!" He waved at the white powder flying in the air. "I hurt everywhere, so keep your hands off."
"How much did you hurt him? Will I have to keep my hands off my husband as well?"
Her brother's face flushed red beneath the bruises. "I prefer not to discuss you touching that man at all. Or any man, for that matter." He rooted in a bowl of fruit and came out with an apple. "But, you know," he added, polishing it on his grimy shirt, "I think I'm just as happy you've been ruined. Saves me from having to explain all about the wedding night."
"I wasn't ruined, Griffin."
"What?" He bit into the fruit with a juicy crunch. "Of course you were ruined. Why else would I marry you to someone completely unsuitable?"
"Don't talk with food in your mouth." She dabbed at his chin with a dish towel, wincing in sympathy when he winced. "In society's eyes, yes, I was ruined. But not in truth."
He swallowed this time before responding. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing really happened in my bed." Perhaps that was an understatement, but the gist of it was true. "Tris kissed me and touched me, but that was all. Mostly we just talked. And then we fell asleep."
The apple sat forgotten in Griffin's hand. "You just talked," he said. "Naked."
Heat flooded her face. "Well, our clothes came off while Tris was still asleep. He took them off, I mean, while I was half-asleep. But after we both awakened…yes, we just talked." Turning away, she started putting dollops of batter on one of the two pans she'd prepared. "You believe me, don't you?"
"I'm not certain I do. I have never in my life just talked to a naked woman."
"I'm so glad to hear that," she said toward the biscuits.
She heard the crunch of another bite. "Why?"
"Because, being unmarried as you are, I wasn't precisely sure you had experience. In matters pertaining to the bedroom, I mean. But I'm glad that you do, because that means you'll be able to explain everything to me." Hearing choking sounds, she turned to him. "Are you all right?"
He nodded wildly. She wondered whether his red face was a result of the choking, the bruising, his embarrassment at her request, or all three. Since there was nothing she could do about the second two, she just waited for him to stop choking before she continued.
"You will explain what will happen on my wedding night, won't you? Because I'm dreadfully nervous." She couldn't help wishing Tris had finished what he'd started, because then she'd know. "I think I'll stay up all night making coriander biscuits if you don't tell me what will happen."
"Can I have some of that Madeira first?" He gestured toward the open bottle.
"Certainly." She handed it to him, looking around for a glass.
"Don't bother," he said and drank directly from the bottle.
She watched him take several gulps. "Madeira should be sipped," she said as tactfully as she could.
He chugged another swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, yes?" Avoiding her gaze, he took a deep breath. "You see, there are birds, and then there are bees, and—"
She laughed. "You don't have to start there, you goose. Mama taught me all of that. Didn't she explain it to you?"
"Father did. When I woke one night in a wet bed."
"What?"
"Never mind." He raised the bottle again, but took a more normal sip this time.
"Were you twelve? I was twelve when I started bleeding, and—"
"Stop," he ordered, holding up his free hand. He took a bigger swallow, then set the bottle on the table with a thunk. "Men don't care to hear of those female things."
"No?"
"No. You'd best keep that in mind for the future. And if Mother told you everything, what the devil do you need to hear from me?"
"I want to know what will happen on my wedding night." She turned back to the table, placing more dollops of batter on the second pan. "Mama told me the basics, that the man plants his seed in the woman. And I know about the body parts it takes to accomplish that. But how? I've seen horses—"
"It's not like horses," Griffin interjected quickly. "You will do it face-to-face."
"Oh." That alone was somewhat of a relief. "We'll be able to kiss, then."
"Yes."
"Excellent. I like kissing."
"I don't want to hear this." He took another swallow.
"What will happen, Griffin? Tell me."
He set down the bottle again. "He will probably leave you alone to change into a nightgown—"
"My nightgowns are rather plain." She licked some batter off a finger. "I've packed one that Juliana lent me—hers are much prettier."
"Why does Juliana have pretty nightgowns?"
She turned to him. "She likes them. She s
ays they make her feel more womanly."
"I don't want to hear this," he repeated, lifting the bottle for another sip.
"Then why did you ask?"
"Will you be quiet and let me explain? When you're all ready and waiting in bed, he will come to you, probably wearing a dressing gown. To make things easier."
"Easier?"
"Easier to get undressed. Do I have to spell out everything?"
"I think so. I'm really quite innocent though the world thinks me a fallen woman." She handed him one of the pans and took the other herself. "I just want to know what will happen."
"So I've gathered." He followed her over to the brick oven and shoved his pan inside. "After he joins you in bed, he will probably kiss you and touch you—"
"I find touching to be very enjoyable."
"Splendid. You would not believe how happy I am to hear that." He didn't sound happy at all. "After that, he will open his robe and lift your nightgown."
"I think he will take them both off," she disagreed. "When he was sleepwalking, after all—"
"He may take them off," Griffin conceded wearily. "Will you stop interrupting? Let me finish."
"All right." She wiped her hands on her apron, then clasped them together in front of her. "I'm listening."
"He will ask you to open your legs." His face was turning all red again, and she didn't think it was due to the heat from the oven. "He will climb on top of you with his legs between yours, and sort of lie on top of you—"
"Ah." She could see it now. Almost. "But he's much heavier than I am," she said dubiously.
"Stop worrying. He'll support himself on his elbows. The part of him that will, um…"
"Plant the seed?" she supplied helpfully.
"Yes. That part will be hard so he can slide it into you. Don't ask how; it just happens. It's all quite simple, really." He looked relieved, like he was finished.
She took two thick mitts off hooks on the wall. "And then what?" she asked, shoving her hands into them.
"That's it, for the most part." When she stared at him, he raised the bottle for another long swallow. "He will, um, rub against you, more or less, and it will feel good—for you both—and he'll release his seed and it will be over."
"All right." It really did sound quite straightforward, if a little strange. And somewhat boring. "Thank you." She took the first pan out of the oven and set it on the big wooden table. The biscuits looked golden and smelled heavenly. "Would you like one?" she asked. "Just one, mind you, because they're for Hawkridge's—"
Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1) Page 18
