The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5
Page 118
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 finally 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.”
“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.”
Gray rolled his eyes. “My father cursed every time anyone mentioned the Pavilion. He said the cost would eventually drive England into the sea.”
“I should love to visit it.”
He shaded his eyes to look out over the channel. There were at least a dozen ships coming toward land. “We will. It’s enchanting. The Prince always serves such splendid banquets that you leave the table with your stomach bulging.”
He stopped cold. She was crying, silently, the tears gathering and just rolling down her cheeks.
19
“IT’S ALL right,” he said against her ear. “It will be all right.” He thought of the message on that damnable piece of foolscap he’d so hurriedly unfolded: Your sister is very ill. If you want to see her before she dies, you’d best come immediately. HWS.
What was one to make of that? He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the comfortable squabs. He held her until it began raining. She straightened, looking out the window. “Perhaps he lied.”
“Yes,” he said, “that’s possible, given the few times I’ve met your stepfather. Remember you said that he’d do anything against us now, for revenge. Calm yourself. Relax against me, Jack. I like the feel of you.”
They arrived at Carlisle Manor late that afternoon. Sir Henry was riding with Mrs. Finch, they were informed by Darnley, the hollow-checked butler who’d taught Jack how to polish the silver fourteen years before.
Jack grabbed his sleeve. “My sister, Darnley. How is Georgie? Please, she’s still alive, isn’t she?”
The old man looked surprised. “Of course your sister is all right,” he said. “She’s ill, that’s true, but it isn’t grave. At least Dr. Brace hasn’t indicated that it’s grave. He worried a bit that the cold could go to her lungs, but that hasn’t happened.” He paused a moment, then his face spasmed. “Oh, dear, is this why you’ve come in the middle of the day without warning? You believed Miss Georgie to be deathly ill?”
“That was the letter my stepfather sent us, Darnley. He said she was dying.”
“No, no, Sir Henry mistook the matter. He must not have listened carefully to Dr. Brace. However, she is ill enough that Mrs. Smithers is with her now, as well as her nanny, Dolly. I’m dreadfully sorry you’ve been so worried, Miss Winifrede.”
She looke
d ready to crumble. Then, just as quickly, she looked ready to kill. She said to Gray, “He did lie, for revenge. I’m going up to see her now.”
Gray watched her gather herself together, stiffen her spine, and walk up the wide staircase. Halfway up, she turned to look at him. “Gray, I’ll be back in a while.”
“Do you want me with you?”
“No. If you would see Sir Henry when he returns. I really can’t face him just yet.”
“Don’t worry, Jack. It would be my pleasure.”
“Don’t kill him, Gray, unless you’re very certain you won’t hang for it.”
“I will consider all consequences before I act, Jack.”
“My lord, I’m very sorry about this news Sir Henry sent you. I’m certain Sir Henry labored long over whether to interrupt your wedding trip with Miss Winifrede—or rather, her ladyship. Lady Cliffe. What a pleasant ring that has to it. None of us ever wanted her to be Lady Rye. It is not a pleasing thought. Ah, but Lady Cliffe, and you a pleasant young man who doubtless has a blameless reputation, despite the things Sir Henry was yelling about you. It is a pity Sir Henry interrupted your sweet time together for no reason.”
Gray merely nodded and followed Darnley into the long, narrow drawing room, quite a charming room, with floor-to-ceiling windows at the southern end. It was a lovely prospect outside, an expanse of finely scythed lawn blending into a maple forest.
“Will you and Miss Winifrede be staying at Carlisle Manor, my lord?”
Gray hadn’t even thought about that. What else should he be doing? “Yes, if Sir Henry doesn’t object, which he might, I suppose.”
“I will take your valises to the Oak Room,” Darnley said. “I don’t imagine that Miss Winifrede would like to stay in her former bedchamber.”
“Why not?”
“Sir Henry tied her to a chair in the middle of that bedchamber and left her there for three days. She escaped by tying her bedding together. We were all quite pleased with her ingenuity. Now, my lord, I will see it done immediately. Then there will be no question. I will inform Mr. Potts that there will be two more to dinner.” He added, more to himself than to Gray, “I must remember not to speak of Sir Henry in such a manner as to make one believe me unapproving of his actions.”