The Valentine Legacy (26 page)

But she hadn't been at all eager to sit on him. She wasn't stupid. Surely she could imagine what she'd have to do. A shy Jessie was something he hadn't thought would plague him.

His ankle throbbed. The laudanum pulled on him, finally easing him into sleep, for which he was profoundly grateful.

 

Toward noon the following day, Badger arrived in a wagon loaded with enough food to feed the village of Tutleigh just to the south of Candlethorpe.

Instead of having her nose out of joint, Mrs. Catsdoor looked as if God himself had deigned to visit her. She
exclaimed in delight, her hands pressed to her ample bosom, at all the dishes he'd prepared and brought to them. “Oh, Mr. Badger, if it isn't an incredible ragout of ducks! Look at the onion sauce you've prepared to accompany it. Just smell that wonderful fresh basil. Ah, and black-currant pudding, one of Master James's favorites. You're so good, sir, a genius, a master, a—”

“Please, Mrs. Catsdoor,” the earl said, “Badger already runs the kitchen at Chase Park. I'd just as soon he didn't proclaim himself master of the entire house.”

Badger allowed he had no real interest in running the entire house, although he just might have a few suggestions that Mr. Crittaker, the earl's secretary, might look into. As for Mrs. Catsdoor's praise, Badger took it in stride. When James hobbled into the entrance hall, he said, “I've brought something very special for you, James. A poultice that will shrink that ankle back to normal size within an hour. Dr. Raven is excellent at his bone mending and belly remedies, and relieving the ladies of their little plaguing ailments, but he knows nothing of brews to shrink swelling. Sit down, James. My lord, if you would please remove his boot so I can apply the poultice . . .”

The earl, arching a black eyebrow at his cook, complied, saying, “What I do for you, James . . . You'd best be very grateful.”

The smell of the thick yellow concoction was surprisingly sweet, like sugar mixed heavily with eggs and cream. James sat back, closed his eyes, and said, “When it's been on my ankle for an hour, Badger, may I please have a spoon?”

J
AMES LIMPED ONLY
a bit the following morning, going so far as to help Badger place the remains of the Herculean meal he'd brought to Candlethorpe in the wagon and assisting the Duchess to mount her mare, kissing her hand as he grinned up at her, waiting to hear Marcus growl, as he did, saying he'd thump James into the mud once he had fully recovered.

He and Jessie waved at them until they disappeared from view around the fat beech tree at the end of the long drive. James rubbed his hands together. He was filled with energy, impatient to accomplish something, anything, and ready to make up for two lost days. He was surprised to find himself eyeing Jessie at the breakfast table like a wolf who hadn't eaten for the entire winter.

She was chattering away, seemingly unaware of his ever-spiraling lust. He couldn't wait much longer. He hurt with it. This was the something he wanted to accomplish more than anything in the world.

“. . . don't you think we should have a pair of peacocks, then, James? I would like a Fred sort of peacock who's always pinning his sweetheart to the house or to a tree so he can steal a peck.”

“Jessie, you may have fourteen peacocks if you wish. Just be quiet, finish your breakfast, and take care of me.”

“What do you want me to do?” She looked wicked, those
red streamers of hers dangling down as she cocked her head to the side.

“You'll see. Are you done yet?”

She tossed down her napkin, smiling at him. “Yes, all done.”

“Come along, then.”

She raced him to the master bedchamber, knowing he was trying his damndest to pull that injured foot faster, but of course she beat him. She stood in the middle of the vast room, watching him as he came in, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock. “There,” he said, and turned to face her, his expression grim.

She fluttered her hands in front of her as if to ward him off. “Oh goodness, James. It's morning! It's not even raining and thus a bit dark. The sun is shining. You're not thinking carnal thoughts, are you? Your poor ankle, isn't it paining you something fierce?”

“Yes, you witch,” he said, cupping her face between his hands. “So what?”

She stared up at him, grinning like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and knowing she was doing it well. He kissed her once and released her. “Jessie, you're a tease. Glenda doesn't even come in a close second compared to you. You're wicked and you're driving me over the edge. Now, you know very well that all I've thought about since Clothilde kicked me is stripping off that gown of yours, knowing you're naked beneath, and kissing you until you yell and thump your heels on the mattress. Ah, that got you, didn't it? You're not quite as wicked as you thought just yet, are you? You've had no pleasure from me for two days now, and I'm determined that this morning you'll moan until you're nearly demented. No more teasing. Take off your clothes.”

Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She loved him. She didn't care if he didn't love her yet. He was watching
her, and she felt the warmth and that strange urgency building deep inside her, low in her belly. That there could be something so pleasurable for human beings, it boggled the mind of a female who'd never before imagined such a thing. She'd always believed men to be wicked because they were deficient in honor. She was feeling more wicked than a man with three mistresses at the moment.

He wanted her. All the rest be damned. It was morning and he wanted her naked.

So be it. She shied away from him. Let him think she was embarrassed, that she was shy. Her fingers were shaking as she took off her clothes, and it had nothing to do with shyness. She stood in front of him until he pulled her against him and began to kiss her and caress her and finally to take her to bed. His hands were all over her. He caressed her breasts, molded his hands to her waist, tickled her navel with his tongue, parted her so gently with his fingers, and stared down at her—just stared for the longest time, and she nearly died with the excitement of it. She pushed up her hips. He laughed, leaned down quickly to kiss her lips, then set his mouth on her. She screamed.

And that was just the beginning. She couldn't stop the moans, the marks she was making on his body. She was lost in the feelings he was whipping up in her, and she loved it. The old Jessie and the new Jessie—she didn't know the difference. Who cared? Finally when she was breathing as if she'd run all the way to Chase Park and back, he came down over her and kissed her, his tongue deep in her mouth, and to her utter surprise, those strange feelings were swamping her again. Instinctively she lifted her hips for him. It was all he needed. He moved within her, but he wasn't frenzied this time. He was controlled, and it drove her insane. She shouted his name, squeezing him as hard as she could, and she heard him laugh and moan.

James took his release, at last, his head hanging down,
his breathing hard and raw. Finally, he managed to look up into her glazed eyes. “Damnation, Jessie, you're going to kill me before I'm thirty.”

“Some promise,” she said, then squirmed until he was on his back and she was pressed against him, her head on his shoulder, her open palm on his belly. “You know,” she said, her breath warm against his flesh, “it was so beautiful, James. You made me feel like a star bursting in the heavens. You made me a woman, James. I'm fulfilled now, and ecstatically happy.”

He pushed her down onto her back again and began winding a streamer around his finger. “‘A star bursting in the heavens'? Is that what you said?”

“Yes, all sorts of white lights and rampant sorts of deliciously wicked feelings. I wanted you so much, James, and you gave me everything.”

“I made you feel like a woman? You're fulfilled now? ‘Ecstatically happy' you said?”

“Oh, yes. You're a wonderful lover, James. You're more a man than any man I've ever known, not that I've ever known another man intimately, of course. I'm very lucky.” She gave him a fat smile and giggled.

He smoothed back the hair from her forehead. He lightly touched his fingers to her breast. Her flesh was so very white. He looked down the long line of her, her waist, her flat belly, the stretch of her white legs. He thought only fleetingly of the old Jessie and smiled at himself. Then he closed his hands around her throat and squeezed. “You're a wretched tease, Jessie Wyndham. The fact of the matter is that I did make you scream and drum your heels and do all sorts of nice things to me with your hands and your mouth, but not enough. You're still a neophyte. You're just a beginner in this business. But you're learning. Now, you're pretending that it's nighttime and you're exhausted. Well, it's time to earn your keep. Now, let's go to the stable.
There's always more than enough work to do.”

While he was pulling on his black Hessians, he knew how he was going to make his smart-mouthed wife pay for her games.

 

“More salt, if you please, Mrs. Catsdoor. Yes, that's better. That should be about right.” James laid down the big spoon. The ham soup was seasoned perfectly.

“But I don't understand, Master James, I—”

“I want to serve my wife, Mrs. Catsdoor. You and Harlow may have your own dinner now.”

On his way to the dining room, James added even more salt to the soup. “Ah, here you are, Jessie. Consider me your servant for the evening. Soup, my dear? Mrs. Catsdoor does it very well. Yes, a nice big bowl for you. And a glass of my best port. It's heavy, I know that, but it goes perfectly with the ham soup, Badger's recipe.”

He watched her while she spooned a bite into her mouth. “It's rather salty,” she said, picking up her wineglass and sipping at the hearty port. “Does Badger really put that much salt into it?”

“Oh yes. He says it makes the ham nearly jump around in your mouth, all that flavor. More port, Jessie?”

Fifteen minutes later she'd forgotten that he'd eaten very little, and none of that delicious ham soup at all, but as he'd told her, “I don't do well with ham. It makes my belly ache,” and she'd thought that was fortuitous since it would make all that much more for her. It was the best ham soup she'd ever had placed in front of her.

He sat back in his chair, his hands laced over his belly, watching her alternately take a bite of the ham soup, then drink that sin-red port. He sipped at his water and ate a chunk of warm bread.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I stole a kiss from
Margaret Tittlemore? Out in her father's barn with a calf butting against my leg?”

“Margaret Tittlemore? Goodness, James, she's married now and has four children! You stole a kiss?”

“We were both fourteen and believe me, Jessie, she had the prettiest mouth, all pink and pouting. Anyway, after I'd stolen that kiss, she slapped me—not very hard because she'd wanted that kiss, too—but I wasn't expecting that slap, and it was enough to knock me off balance. I fell over the calf, who mooed loudly enough to bring his mother. She poked me in the stomach, sending me over backward into the hay bin. Unfortunately one of the stable lads had forgotten to remove the rake, and I landed right on the tines. I had four glorious holes in my butt for two months.”

She laughed, drank more port, watched James pour more into her now-empty glass, and drank that. “What was Margaret doing while all this was going on?”

“The miserable girl was standing there holding her sides, laughing her head off. I quite like Margaret. She's produced good children.”

Jessie laughed and laughed. She drank some more port. He eyed her joyfully. He counted the glasses she'd already drunk. He didn't want her to be sick the next day. He strolled along the table, then pulled her chair away and placed a hand on each arm of the chair. He leaned over and put his mouth against hers. “How do you feel, Jessie?”

“Marvelous. Oh, James, your tongue across my lower lip tickles. Do it again.” She giggled, and her warm breath washed through him like a wave that couldn't wait to crest. She heaved a deep sigh when he kissed her again, his tongue slipping between her lips this time.

When he was carrying her up the wide staircase, knowing that Mrs. Catsdoor was very likely watching his progress, he leaned down and kissed her ear. “How do you feel, Jessie?”

“I want to kiss you,” she said, leaned up, grabbing his shoulders, and nearly knocked him backward.

“In just a moment, you can do whatever you want to do,” he said, and began to run. His game was fast turning back on him.

When he had her naked, flat on her back on the wide bed, he stripped off his own clothes and came over her, shuddering at the softness of her, the heat, the feel of her hands as they stroked up and down his back.

“James,” she said, arching upward. He kissed her, moving over her, pressing himself against her belly.

“Slow down,” he said into her mouth, and licked her lip, then quickly nipped her earlobe. She loved it when he kissed her breasts, massaging them, rubbing his cheek against her soft flesh. She giggled, leaned up, and bit his neck.

He grinned at her, butted her head back with his chin, and began licking and nibbling on her throat. She laughed, squirmed, and pulled his ear. “I want you to see lights. I want you to yell that you're a woman, that you're fulfilled, that you've had a glimpse of heaven.”

“All that?”

“Ah, Jessie, take this.”

She gave him an owl-eyed stare, kissed him, her mouth open, her tongue busy on his, and whispered into his mouth, “I know I probably shouldn't be telling you how wonderful you are, but it's true. You're grand, James, just grand. I hurt, deep down in my belly, I hurt, but I don't want it to go away, the way I would a bellyache. Make it keep going, James. Make it like the other times. Ah, is that a white light I see?”

“Yell, Jessie.”

When his fingers probed to find her this time, she did yell, shattering his eardrums.

Port was a wonderful brew. But he hadn't needed it. There was no more game in his mind, there was only giving
and taking and knowing soul-deep pleasure.

He held on by a thread. He wouldn't enter her until he'd given her pleasure. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, all the while stroking her, caressing her, pushing her. When she cried out, tugging at his hair, pushing her hips upward, he knew he had to be the happiest man on earth. She was wild with pleasure, clutching him to her as if she wouldn't survive without him. He pushed her and pushed her more, giving her all he could, and when he eased inside her, she moaned softly and whispered, “You were made for me, James. Just for me.”

He agreed. He didn't have long to contemplate what she'd said. He was gone in moments, jerking over her, moaning as if he'd been shot, sweating like a stoat. When it was over, he collapsed on top of her.

“James?”

He was nearly dead. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think. He wanted to try to get through the next few moments still breathing. He'd been a wild man and she'd loved it. Both of them had gone mad. Everything had worked beyond the port, beyond his wildest dreams.

Utterly mad, and it had been beyond anything he'd ever felt in his life. He'd given her immense pleasure. He'd made her lose complete touch with the world. He was a happy man.