The Valentine Legacy (24 page)

“It doesn't hurt so much now, does it?”

She thought about that. “Not so much now.”

“Just lie still and let me clean you up a bit.” As he fastened his breeches again it hit him hard what he'd just done. He'd taken his wife's virginity on the dining-room table. He closed his eyes a moment. No wooing, no extended time to ease her and to make her really ready for him. But she'd nearly bucked him off her, twice. Surely she'd been ready. He shook his head, poured a glass of water onto a napkin, and pressed it against her. He didn't think the napkin was as soft and white as her flesh.

As he washed her, he looked up to see that her eyes were tightly closed, her face turned away from him.

“Poor Jessie,” he said. “I'm sorry for being such a clod.”

“I wonder,” she said, not opening her eyes, “if stallions ever apologize to mares.”

“Yes, they do.”

Her eyes flew open. “You're lying. You have no idea. Oh dear, James, could you help me up, please.” It seemed she realized her breasts were free and she quickly began buttoning her gown only to realize that the bottom part of her was naked as well, and she slapped down her petticoats and skirt.

“Let me help you.”

He began the endless task of fastening those damned buttons. “I don't like this gown,” he said after he'd managed two of them. “Let me just fasten some of the buttons. Promise me you'll change your clothes and then toss this miserable garment in the kitchen midden.”

 

Jessie met James's dead wife's father that same afternoon when she was swimming naked in the small pond only fifty yards from the east of the house. It was bordered by water lilies and willow trees and tall water grass.

“Who the devil are you?”

Jessie swallowed a mouthful of water at the sound of the man's voice, whipped around, hoping the water covered her to her neck, and said, “I'm Jessie. Who are you?”

“You're James's new bride?”

“Yes. And you, sir?”

“Lyndon Frothingill, Baron Hughes. I'm Alicia's father. James is my son-in-law.”

“Oh,” she managed. Her feet were sinking in the mud, and she wanted out of the pond. “Do you think you could leave, sir? I'd like to come out now.”

He stilled. “You're an American. Just listen to the way you talk. Like an illiterate nobody. And just look at you. No young English lady would even consider swimming in a pond, much less naked. My beautiful Alicia couldn't even
swim. You look like a trollop with all that red hair. You're pregnant, aren't you? That's why James married you? He had to because he's a gentleman.”

Jessie wondered if that one time just after lunch in the dining room could have gotten her pregnant. He took that thoughtful look as a proof of her sin. He took a step closer to the edge of the pond and actually shook his fist at her, nearly yelling, “You damned little bitch, you trapped him before I could act. I wanted to give him time to forget Alicia. He loved her more than life, James did. I feared for him after she died. I've given him well over three years to recover. I was bringing him Alicia's dear cousin, my own brother's child—Laura. She should have been the one to wed him, not you, you damned Colonial trollop.”

“Sir, I'm getting cold. Could you please leave now?”

Baron Hughes stood on the grassy bank, his hands on his meager hips, staring at her, a sly look in his eyes. “Why don't you just come out now? I'll see what James has gotten in his second wife.”

Jessie saw a very angry, very bitter man, who looked older than his years. Surely he couldn't be older than her own father, but he seemed to be, deep lines scoring both sides of his mouth. His eyes, though, looked vicious, his mouth thin and mean. She wondered what he'd been like before his daughter's death.

“I'm sorry about your daughter, sir. I know James did love her very much. I didn't trap him, sir, at least not in the way you believe. I'm not a trollop. I'm a horse racer.”

For a moment, the vicious look left his eyes, leaving blank amazement, then returned quickly. “You're not even a good liar, are you?”

“James says I'm not. Please, sir, I'd like to come out now. Won't you leave?”

“No. Since you're pregnant, perhaps you won't be on this
earth much longer, though strumpets like you tend to flourish while sweet angels like my Alicia are taken. I'll just pray you'll die in childbirth just like my poor Alicia.”

“If I do, will you wait another three years before you trot out your niece?”

“I won't have to. James will have forgotten you in months. I daresay he'll want to remarry before the grass grows over your grave.”

“This isn't very pleasant, sir. Please leave now. I'm being nice because I realize you're still upset by your daughter's tragic death. But it wasn't my fault, sir. James is now my husband. You must accustom yourself to it. If you don't leave me alone now, I'll be forced to do something you perhaps won't appreciate.”

“What would that be, you damned chit?”

“Well—”

“Actually, sir, I think my wife would like the privacy.”

“James!” The baron whirled around to see his former son-in-law standing beneath the waving branches of a willow tree.

“She didn't lie to you. She's not a trollop. She's a horse racer. Come along, sir. You need a brandy. Jessie,” James added, giving her a nod, “dry yourself well. I don't want you to take a chill.”

The baron gave her a malicious look, shrugged, and followed James.

When she was tying the ribbons on her slippers, Jessie wasn't too certain she wanted to see the dead Alicia's papa again.

She went to the stables and spent the next hour grooming Selina, one of the Arabian mares James raced in York.

She was on her knees oiling Selina's hooves, as filthy as any stable lad, when she saw a shadow. She looked up the length of James's body. He was wearing black boots, tight dark brown buckskins, and a white shirt, open at the neck.
He looked healthy, tanned, as savory as Mrs. Catsdoor's nesselrode pudding. She realized she was staring at him, her mouth open, and snapped it closed.

“Is that your last hoof?”

“My last what? Oh, yes, it is.” She patted Selina's leg. “She's a beauty, James. How old is she?”

“Seven. She was sired by Janus. She's foaled two stallions, both racers. Now, it's late and you're in dire need of a bath. You look like the old Jessie. I don't want that anymore. It makes me feel depraved.” He paused a moment, then came down to his haunches beside her. He wrapped his finger around a loose curl. “Even your streamer is sweating.”

“The old Jessie didn't have any streamers.”

“No.”

“You must strive to remember that, James. The old Jessie didn't have a peach satin chemise either.”

“I'm sorry I ripped it.”

“Mrs. Catsdoor said she'd mend it for me. She fancied I wasn't too handy with a needle, seeing as how I was from the Colonies and lived with horses all my life. I told her I fancied you weren't too good with a needle either, for the same reason. She
tskd-tsked
and patted my hand and said I needed guidance and she would provide it.”

“She's right, but you're young enough to learn.”

“Is he gone?”

“Yes, the baron's gone. He's an angry man, Jessie. I'm sorry he behaved as he did to you. On the other hand, what the devil were you doing swimming naked in the pond?”

It was a silly question, so she didn't answer it. Instead, she finished polishing Selina's hoof. As she rose, she ran her hands over Selina's legs, her shoulders, and her withers and combed her mane with her fingers. “You're beautiful now, my girl, more beautiful than I am, and I can't run as
fast as you can. Here's a carrot for you. That's right, don't bite my fingers. Just nibble. That's it.”

Jessie brushed off her skirt, knew she looked a mess, but she did have her streamers, soaked with sweat though they were. Nor was she wearing any pantalettes. She gave James a sideways glance.

“What does that look mean?”

“I'm not wearing any underwear,” she said, laughed, picked up her skirts, and ran, looking over her shoulder to see him standing as still as a fence post, staring after her.

“J
AMES
?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do many women die in childbirth?”

He stopped nuzzling her neck and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. “Yes, too many. But you won't, Jessie, I swear it to you. I told you that after Alicia's death, I read every book I could find on childbearing. I spoke at length with George Raven. Had he but been here when her time came, I doubt she would have died. Don't worry.”

“Maybe I won't get pregnant. Maybe I can't since I've ridden horses all my life.”

“Where did you get that errant bit of nonsense? No, don't tell me. It was your mother, right?”

“Yes. She said I had probably ruined my female parts.”

“You still had a maidenhead.”

“I did, didn't I?” she said, sounding as pleased as Fred who'd probably cornered Clorinda again and stolen another peck. “Well, that's a relief. Maybe everything else is in order as well. I hope so. I certainly like foals and Charles and Anthony.”

The thought of rending that small barrier made him tremble with lust. He could practically feel himself again as he'd shoved through it, so frantic with urgency that he'd nearly spilled his seed at that moment. He pulled her closer to his chest and began nuzzling her neck again. She was sitting on
his lap in a large winged chair in the bedchamber. It was
their
bedchamber, he'd told her when they'd come up after dinner. She wasn't to sleep alone in the adjoining room. He didn't like that at all.

Jessie, who knew nothing about the proprieties of sleeping arrangements between husbands and wives, solemnly nodded. “I'd rather sleep with you. I've never slept with anyone before. It's an adventure.” She wrinkled her forehead. “You know, James, I don't think Papa and Mama sleep in the same bed.”

“You're chattering again, Jessie.”

“Sorry. I'm nervous, James. I'm in my nightgown, and you don't expect me to be wearing any pantalettes. You're in your dressing gown, and I know you don't have anything on beneath it. This is unnerving.”

He smiled as he kissed her hair again. He hugged her close to him as he said, “You're right—this is unnerving. I never thought I'd want to do anything with you other than beat you on the racecourse. And now that I've untied that very pretty bow, I can slip my hand inside and touch your breast. Ah, you're as soft as Selina's belly, after you brushed her. You know, Jessie, I didn't get to see all of you on the dining-room table today, just those important strategic parts. Let's get that nightgown open.”

He untied three more bows and pushed the soft muslin apart. It parted all the way to her feet. He looked, nothing more, just looked, for a very long time. He lightly laid his hand on her hip, turned her toward him, and began kissing her. He was surprised and inordinately pleased when he felt her hands untying the sash of his dressing gown. “Yes,” he said into her warm mouth, “I want to feel your breasts against me. My God, Jessie, that's incredible.”

It was, she thought, trembling now, those strange urgent feelings pulsing low in her belly, even when it was her
breasts hard against his chest. She moved a bit, and they both moaned.

He laughed. He had to because, after all, he was the one with the experience here; he was the one who shouldn't just fall apart and slaver all over her, baying like a hound at the moon, just because her she was brushing the hair on his chest.

“I like your legs,” he said, watching his brown hands stroke her white flesh, feeling the sleek muscles, admiring the long length of her legs.

“Thank you. May I see your legs, James?”

“Actually, you can. I can't take too much more of this, Jessie.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her on her feet, stripped off her nightgown, and pressed her down until she fell onto her back. She stared up at him, embarrassed—he knew that because her cheeks were becoming nearly as red as the hair on her head. He slipped out of his dressing gown, planning to let her look her fill at him, but he couldn't manage it. He came over her, lying with his full length on top of her, her legs spread beneath him.

“No more maidenhead, Jessie—just pleasure for you.” He came up on his knees, lifted her hips in his large hands, and brought her to his mouth.

He felt her freeze in shock. He paused a moment to look at her face. She looked utterly bewildered.

He watched her wet her lips with her tongue. “I don't know about this, James.”

“Well, I do. Just be quiet and enjoy yourself.”

“I can't. It's too embarrassing.”

He wondered if he would fail with her and nearly laughed at himself for his impatience. This was the first time for her and he hadn't done much to soften the shock of it, just came between her legs and lifted her in his hands. He'd just wanted to take her with his mouth and he had. He would
have to slow down. He eased away from her and came down beside her. He kissed her once, again, and yet another time.

He stroked her, learning her, hoping to ease her after his frontal attack. It did ease her. When her hands were on his back, stroking his shoulders, kneading his chest, he wondered how he could be such a reasonable, rational man one moment and a ravening beast the very next.

He knew she was ready for him, and he couldn't wait to stroke her more. He just couldn't. He came into her quickly, pushing hard, and felt her flesh accommodating him, but it was still tight, so incredibly tight that he lost his head.

The release was even more powerful than the one on the dining-room table. He'd thought a release like that had to be only once in a marriage, when the man took his bride's virginity—a heady act, that. But it wasn't true. His heart was pounding so loudly he doubted he could hear anything. He felt her hands, those palms as callused as his own, stroking up and down his back.

He'd given her no pleasure. Again.

He didn't want to apologize again, at least while his brain was still at low ebb. He had to regain his wits and talk to her, explain that he wasn't usually such a selfish sod, that sometimes a man just lost control and veered off the proper path and that's what had happened with her, though he couldn't begin to explain it since he'd known her since she was fourteen and had never once even considered what she'd look like without her clothes. Yes, he'd promise her that he'd take care of her the next time. Not, he realized vaguely, as fatigue tugged at him, that she could begin to understand what he would even talk about. What did she know about pleasure?

Not a blessed thing. He cursed softly even as he fell off her onto his back, jerking the covers over him as he fell.

Jessie lay there for a very long time, staring up at the
ceiling that was painted the same soft white as the walls. The molding around the ceiling was nicely done, she thought, with carvings of fruit and vines and such. She'd been married now for two days. James was lying like a felled log beside her, snoring, occasionally twitching, sprawled out on most of the bed. He had nice feet, both of those appendages showing below the covers. She rose slowly, feeling the tightness of her thigh muscles, and walked to the basin to wash herself.

She wandered to the windows, pulled back the lovely pale gold draperies, and looked out. There wasn't much of a moon to lighten things up. The grounds looked shadowy and vaguely menacing. She walked back to the bed and stood there a moment, staring down at her husband. She wondered where she was supposed to sleep. In the few minutes she'd been gone, he'd sprawled over all the bed, his arms and legs flung out. She found herself smiling. He'd enjoyed what he'd done to her. She was quite certain of that. She was happy that he had. She lightly touched her fingers to his chin, to his nose, to his earlobe. He was the only man she'd ever really seen, the only man who'd come to be part of her. She would give him whatever he wanted.

“Jessie, what are you doing out of bed?”

He startled her so badly, she jumped a good foot. “Oh dear, you're awake, James? Yes, I can see you are. I'm not beside you because there isn't any beside you to be beside.”

“You're right. I've got all the bloody bed. Come here, Jessie. I want to kiss you.”

Then he'd want to do those other things to her as well. So be it. She loved him.

It was as dark as the bottom of a witch's cauldron. James realized soon enough that Jessie was easier with him in the dark, less embarrassed.
Good
, he thought. This time he would make a thorough job of it. This time she would have
pleasure. When he kissed her belly, she was trembling, her heels dug into the mattress, her fingers tangled in his hair. He raised his head a moment. “Jessie, I'm going to kiss you and caress you now and I want you to just relax.”

“All right,” she said, and jumped when she felt his tongue slide in and out of her navel. When he parted her with his fingers, she raised her hips, felt his hot breath on her, and arched wildly. He was talking to her while he kissed her, whispering sex words. She didn't understand everything he was saying, but his words excited her, particularly the way he said them. When he eased his finger into her, she went wild. The feeling was awesome, unexpected, and she never wanted it to end. She heard herself crying out. She couldn't seem to stop. On and on it went. She didn't know she was panting, clutching his hair, digging her short nails into his shoulders, but James did.

James gave her all the pleasure he could. When he felt the passion begin to lessen, he eased his rhythm, soothing her, easing her. It was wonderful. She was his now, all of her.

He grinned up at her in the dark. “What do you think, Jessie, about this sex business?”

She groaned. “I'm dying. I don't have any bones. I'll never walk again. I'll never even move again.”

“Good, that's what a man likes to hear from his wife.” Then he came over her and slid into her, and she was slick and wet and her arms were around him, holding him tightly, and her hips were moving to draw him deeper, and it was over for him in moments.

“I'm a good husband,” he said before he was asleep, his head beside hers on the pillow.

“Well,” Jessie said into the darkness. “That is something I never expected.” She kissed his ear, his chin. She squirmed out from beneath him, settling against him. This
was good, she thought, very good indeed. Together, they drifted off to sleep.

James had believed that a cannon bombardment couldn't have awakened him, but he was wrong. Jessie's scream penetrated his brain. In an instant, his heart was pounding, he was alert. Jessie cried out again. This time wide awake, it wasn't quite a scream, but a cry of pain and fear. He shook his head and leaned over her. She was dreaming. He started to shake her, then stopped when she opened her eyes and yelled, “No! Get away from me! No, Mr. Tom, don't touch me like that. No, no, stop!” She screamed again, a thin cry actually, and jerked upright.

“Jessie, wake up, you're having a nightmare.” He shook her, but she didn't awaken. She moaned again, whimpered, trying still to struggle away from him. “Wake up, come on, it's just a bad dream.”

“James?”

“Yes, stop shaking, you just had a nightmare. It's over now.”

“Yes, it's over,” she said, and fell back against her pillow. He doubted she'd really come awake; he'd just roused her enough to break off the dream. He unplaited her braid and tugged his fingers through the deep ripples it left in her hair. She didn't stir. Her hair was so thick and curly. He smoothed it out over the white pillow.

Yes, she had lovely hair for a girl he'd known for too long to possibly consider her as a wife, as a mate, as a woman he desperately wanted to come into again. Yet he knew he would have to wait. But sometime around lunchtime he'd make her scream with pleasure again.

As he drifted off a second time, James wondered:
Who the hell was Mr. Tom? What had he done to her?

 

“Jessie, wake up.”

She moaned and pulled away from that hand on her
shoulder, pulled away from that insistent voice.

“Come on, wake up. It's very late, later than you've ever slept in your life. Wake up.”

She pulled the covers over her head.

He pulled them off her. She felt the bed give when he sat down beside her. “Jessie,” he said, and kissed her cheek, her ear, smoothing her wildly curling hair from her face.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was so beautiful, so precious to her that she didn't think she could bear it. But of course she could. She remembered the pleasure he'd given her in the dark of the night. It was daylight now and it was difficult to look at him, knowing that he knew what he'd done to her.

James was grinning down at her, feeling a good deal of male satisfaction. Triumphant even. He felt wonderful, well rested and filled with delicious sated feelings. He leaned over and smoothed his fingertip over her eyebrow. “I'm going to do that to you again today sometime. What do you think? Nothing to say? That's all right, Jessie. Embarrassing you is a treat, something I never managed to do until I was running my tongue down your white belly and then—”