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—”
“James.”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Good morning,” he said, and kissed the end of her nose, her left ear, her chin. “Whatever are you doing still asleep? I exhausted you, is that it? You’re supposed to feel all energetic, Jessie, not swooning in bed until half the day is gone.”
She smiled at him, the new Jessie gaining a hold. “After you’ve taught me everything about this marriage business, then I’ll be able to tease you as well.”
“There’s lots to learn, Jessie. It will take me more time than you can imagine to teach you every nuance, every slight movement that brings a different kind of pleasure.”
Her eyes nearly crossed. “Oh,” she said.
“I lied to you. Half the day isn’t gone. I just wanted to have breakfast with you so we could discuss what we’ll do today. It’s only
seven o’clock. I’ve already bathed and dressed. Harlow is bringing up hot water for you. Would you like Mrs. Catsdoor to help you?”
She didn’t want anyone to help her, unless it was James. She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask him to rub her back with the bathing cloth. He turned in the doorway. “Oh, Jessie, who is Mr. Tom?”
She stared at him. She repeated so softly he barely heard her. “Mr. Tom?”
“Yes, who is he?”
Jessie seemed suddenly remote. Her eyes took on a faraway cast that made James feel her thoughts, whatever they might be, were miles away. “I don’t know,” Jessie said slowly, her voice distant. “I remember a long time ago that I had dreams about him but then they stopped. This is odd, James. I haven’t dreamed about Mr. Tom for years. Why would I dream about him last night?”
He had no answer to that. He’d known her for six years. He’d never heard her or her family say anything about a Mr. Tom.
The day stretched out endlessly, one slow minute at a time. James could hardly believe that it wasn’t noon, the time he’d set to take her to bed again.
The sun was hot overhead. Jessie wiped away the sweat on her brow. Every few minutes she looked at her husband, and when he looked back at her, she knew exactly what he was thinking. She also knew she didn’t have a stitch of undergarments on underneath her clothes. She scrubbed the horse harder until he tried to dance away from her.
She heard James laugh. She shook her fist at him. They worked the horses all morning, companionably because they’d been companions for so very long. At ease around horses, they knew how to behave, what had to be done. And they were at ease with each other. After all, they’d been companions long before they’d been lovers. Jessie began to hum.
It didn’t occur to her to believe James loved her just because he enjoyed lovemaking with her. No, what was important was that they were friends. She would build on that. There was a race in York, and James intended to ride Bertram in two heats.
Jessie rode Selina just before lunch, putting her through her paces. She was surprised at the horse’s smooth speed, her flawless endurance. She suspected there was some blood other than Arab in her. No pure-blooded Arab could have as much stamina as Selina did.
When Jessie returned to the stables, she saw that James wouldn’t be riding anything on Saturday. He was sitting on the ground, cursing the air blue, holding his ankle with one hand and waving his fist at Clothilde, one of the bay mares, with the other.
George Raven arrived two hours later at Candlethorpe, fetched by Mrs. Catsdoor’s son, Harlow.
“Hello, Jessie. What happened to James? Harlow couldn’t seem to put two words together for me.”
“It’s his ankle. I don’t think it’s broken, but I didn’t want to take the chance I was wrong. You are the doctor, after all.”
He gave her an angel’s grin, for surely George Raven, shorter than Jessie and very slim, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. No wonder Marcus had always complained about his attending the Duchess.
“A horse kicked him?”
“Yes, Clothilde. I do think she was laughing at him while he was sitting on the ground, cursing her. She did have this unholy look in her eyes.”
“Let’s see how he’s doing.”
James had refused to go to his bedchamber. He was reclining on a beautiful blue brocade settee in the drawing room, the kicked foot propped up on several cushions. He was miserable, furious, and in a foul mood. It was past noon and here he was with his ankle hurting like the very devil. Jessie had all her clothes on, and he was nowhere near getting her into bed. Well, hell.
“I should have known Jessie would fall apart and send for you. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been such a fool, Jessie? Ah, no answer, huh? You knew I’d box your ears, curse you.”
“He sounds practically well already. Now, James, leave poor Jessie alone. You’ve only been married three days. She did the right thing. Now let’s see how hard Clothilde kicked you.”
“Bloody mare. I had to give her a physic. Sigmund was holding her and I was doing the offensive deed and she jerked loose from Sigmund and turned on me.”
“Clothilde was pretty angry?”
“She didn’t even pause to question what she was doing. No, she just kicked out that hoof and got me good. Sigmund just sent me word that she’s just fine now. Seems the release of her bile took care of her other problem. Ow! Go easy, you damned torturer.”
“Sorry. Jessie’s right. The ankle’s not broken, thank the good Lord, but James, you’re going to be a gentleman of leisure for the next two days. Stay off that foot. Stay seated as much as possible, and keep the ankle up high. Now, here’s some ointment for Jessie to rub into the ankle. It won’t do much for the pain or swelling, but it will make you feel a bit better.”
“I’m racing on Saturday.”
“Not this Saturday you’re not. No, don’t complain or whine to me about it. Keep the weight off the ankle and relax. Jessie, will you keep him chair-bound?”
“Certainly, though he is capable of cursing the ceiling down on our heads.”
George Raven raised a very blond eyebrow. Jessie could just picture Marcus looking at him and telling him to go bugger himself. That word, the Duchess had told her once, had led to a great deal of consternation in the house when she’d wondered aloud what it meant. “You should have seen the look on Badger’s face,” she’d said, laughing. “I thought he would throw the tureen of turtle soup he was making at my head.”
Dr. Raven said, “You curse in front of your bride of three days?”
James snorted. “You should have heard her curse when she was only fourteen years old.”
“He’s right,” Jessie said. “I listened to him one day, admired his verbal ability vastly, and searched out every foul word spoken by every stable lad in Baltimore. My father wasn’t such a bad source either.”
“What about your mother?”
“Don’t sound so snide, James, just because you feel rotten. Ah, Mrs. Catsdoor, you’re just in time.”
George Raven poured three drops of laudanum into a glass of lemonade and handed it to James. “Drink it and don’t complain. It won’t put you to sleep, but it will reduce the pain in your ankle to a dull ache.”
James drank the whole glass, wiped his hand over his mouth, and said, “I’m waiting. It still hurts.”
Jessie chose to ignore him. “As to my mother,” she said to George Raven, “she taught me other things.”
“Like what?”
Dr. Raven looked from one to the other. They were scrapping like two children. Of course James wasn’t feeling all that ready for action at the moment, but he supposed he expected to see Jessie, the new bride, wringing her hands, hovering over James, giving him ineffectual but loving pats—all in all, behaving like a besotted newlywed. But no, these two were behaving like two people who’d known each other for a very long time, two people who weren’t particularly in love with each other. He wondered what the truth of the matter was. Neither the earl nor the Duchess had breathed a word of anything interesting to him or to his own new wife, Rowenna. He smiled as he straightened up. Rowenna would have been consoling him continuously had he been hurt.
“Go away, George.”
“All right, James. Jessie, just make sure he doesn’t move around. Keep him chair-bound and bed-bound—well, that’s not quite what I mean. No waltzes. No riding. I’ll see you on Saturday. Not at the racecourse in York. I’ll see you here.”
“Do come for luncheon, Dr. Raven. Perhaps you’d like to bring Rowenna as well?”
When Jessie returned to the drawing room some minutes later, James looked her up and down and frowned. “I will say this just one time, Jessie. You will not dress like a boy and ride Bertram on Saturday.”
She grinned at him like a pickpocket who had just snaggled St. Peter. “I daresay I could win some guineas for us, James. Candlethorpe is very nice inside, but we do need money for Marathon. It looks like an old barn inside.
How much could I win at York?”
“Not enough, so you might as well forget it.”
“Perhaps enough just to buy new wallpaper for the parlor.”
“Jessie—”
“You look very interesting, James, like a languid poet—perhaps Shelley, though he’s dark, isn’t he?—with your foot propped up, that lock of hair hanging over your forehead, all slouched down in that chair.”
“Promise me. I don’t want Sigmund running in here in hysterics because you and your breeches are gone and Bertram’s gone as well.”
“I daresay I’d take Sigmund with me. I wouldn’t know where to go, you see.”
“Do you want me to tie you to that chair? I will, Jessie, if you don’t give me your sacred promise this very instant. Say it, Jessie. Say ‘I swear I won’t go to York on Saturday.”’
She gave him a shameless grin, an old-Jessie shameless grin. He wanted to come inside her so badly he hurt worse than his blasted ankle. He’d never before realized that the new Jessie was the old Jessie beneath her clothes.
22
HIS TWISTED ANKLE provided respite. Jessie knew he wanted to have sex with her—goodness, before lunchtime, he’d said with a wicked laugh—but she also knew that the way it would have to be accomplished would be a method that would doubtless shock her to her toes. She eyed James and decided he wouldn’t have the guts to ask her to do it, which was a pity, but in the long run, better for the welfare of his ankle.
Because James knew her so well, he just sighed deeply, squeezed her hand, and sighed again. Jessie grinned at him. “My ankle will heal soon enough,” he said.
“It had better.”
“That’s my Jessie.” But he’d wanted to cement what he’d gained. If enough time passed, perhaps he’d see that look of bewildered embarrassment on her face again. He didn’t want her to retreat, to freeze up on him. Well, damnation. Sigmund and Harlow had helped him upstairs. It had been Harlow’s request to be his gentleman’s gentleman, and he’d not done a bad job of getting his clothes off him and putting him to bed.