The Nightingale Legacy (17 page)

“I repeat—”

Bennett raised his head, giving the man a pained look. He wasn’t much of a man, no more really than a barely grown lad, no older than he had been when his uncle had
died and he hadn’t gotten any of his money. However, the fellow didn’t look as if he were in a hurry to leave. Bennett gave it up and said, “Don’t bother repeating anything. Caroline can take care of herself. She is all right, isn’t she, despite all that foolishness Mrs. Trebaw was whining about to me last night? Jesus, that damned girl gets herself into more trouble than I do, and that’s saying a lot. Besides, she cheated me, so why should I care what happens to her? I am not her keeper, indeed, I am the keeper for three pregnant girls, curses on all their heads. By the way, who the devil are you?”

“I’m Caroline’s cousin, Owen Ffalkes. I’m not my father’s son. Well, I am but I don’t want to marry Caroline. I will live here. I am her partner in administering the Penrose estate, and the tin mines, and in being a trustee to all the unfortunate females who will be shortly arriving.”

Bennett moaned loudly. “Oh God, I can’t take it. You’ve joined forces with Caroline?”

“Yes, I have. Leave if you don’t like it. You will either help or you will take yourself off.”

“You, my lad, have no say about anything.” Bennett’s hangover was receding as his anger rose. “Her damned aunt did this to me and now Caroline will follow in her footsteps. I’ve been cheated out of Scrilady Hall and all its rents. I don’t even get a pence from any of the tin mines. It isn’t fair. I was cheated. I won’t have it. Just maybe what happened to Aunt Eleanor will happen to Caroline. Yes, that sounds just exactly right. I wouldn’t mind seeing the little cheat who acts like a bloody saint on that cliff edge.”

Owen, to his later disbelief and pride, leaned over Bennett Penrose, grabbed him by his loosely tied cravat, hauled him to his shaky feet, and planted his fist into his mouth. Bennett went limply to the floor. “If you speak like that again, I will throw you through the window. The bay window in the
drawing room at the front of the hall.”

Bennett didn’t move, but he did manage to say through his sore mouth, “You will be sorry for that, you mangy little bastard.”

“I’m not a bastard. Just ask my father. No, perhaps you’d best not. He’s not particularly pleased with me at the moment. Indeed, I doubt he’ll ever be pleased with me again. I’ve told you what’s going to happen and now I must return to Mount Hawke. Oh dear, my father. It’s all rather too much.”

Owen made his way, shaking his head, past Mrs. Trebaw, out the quite lovely front door of Scrilady Hall.

“You are moving in, Mr. Ffalkes?”

Owen gave her a distracted nod. “Yes, probably tomorrow.”

“And that horrid man who is your father?”

“Oh no, just I will be coming.”

“And Miss Caroline?”

“She’s still in bed; my father struck her on the head, but she’ll probably be home shortly.”

“It isn’t good, sir, and you tell her that. Mount Hawke is a
man’s
residence. No women have been allowed there forever and ever. She’s there with no chaperon and she’s a young lady. You speak to her, Mr. Ffalkes, yes, you speak to her and bring her home, else she’ll be quite ruined. To a Nightingale man, ruining a lady doesn’t mean anything, you tell her that.”

“North isn’t like that, Mrs. Trebaw.”

She harrumphed. “That remains to be seen. But I doubt it. He’s still a Nightingale man and they’ve all been alike forever and ever.”

“I will tell her what you’ve said, but she will do just as she pleases; she always does.”

“So did her aunt Eleanor,” Mrs. Trebaw said, and sighed.
“Do your best. Tell her the Nightingale men aren’t to be trusted. Black-hearted devils, every last one of them. You wouldn’t believe what the current viscount’s father and grandfather did, but that’s not important right now. Poor little girl.” She shook her head and walked back into Scrilady Hall.

He didn’t mean to do it, he really didn’t, but she was lying there sleeping, looking so soft and inviting, that he simply didn’t think, just sat down on the bed beside her, leaned down, and began kissing her. She had the softest mouth, he thought, just lightly running his tongue over her lips. So very soft and warm and…

Her mouth opened and North knew he had to stop, he simply had to while he could. Nightingale men were passionate, impatient, and a female couldn’t stop them even if she wanted to once their lust was stirred, as his was right now with naught but a few kisses from a sleeping girl. Except now she wasn’t asleep, her lips were parted, and she was kissing him back and it was beyond anything he could have imagined, beyond what he ever wanted to imagine, and thus refused to.

“No,” he said into her warm mouth, and with the greatest effort imaginable, he pulled himself back. He just stared down at her, his eyes nearly black in his hunger, his hands fisting, then opening, again and again at his sides, to keep them off her.

“No,” he said again, and he rose, stepping back from the bed where she was lying on her back, her breasts heaving slightly—from what? he wondered—and she was looking at him, and it was a wonderful look she was looking.

“That was nice, North,” she said, and smiled at him. “I’m glad I woke up in time to kiss you back.” She ran her fingertips over her lips and he just stared at those fingers
and her lips and thought he’d die.

“You have the greenest eyes,” he said, not meaning to but doing it nonetheless. “I thought they were kind of a gray-green, but that’s not true. They’re green, not hazel, but pure green. It’s a nice color, like that hawthorn scrub that grows over near St. Erth.”

“Thank you. Perhaps you could take me there and show me this scrub grass. Perhaps you could kiss me again, North. Perhaps my eyes will change color again.”

He wasn’t stupid. He took another step back. “No. Forgive me for attacking you and you were asleep, thus unable to say yea or nay.”

“Yea.”

“Be quiet, Caroline. You’re still half asleep and don’t know what you’re saying.”

“But I do know what I’m feeling and it’s very nice. No one has ever kissed me before, North, just you. I never thought a man would stick his tongue into a woman’s mouth. Is it the thing to do? Do all men do it?”

He stared at her, fascinated. “Yes.”

“And you were licking my lips, like I was a good meal. It was quite enjoyable once I realized what was happening.”

“Be quiet.”

“Why? Can’t I tell you what I wish?”

He shook his head. “Yes, certainly. But know that when it all comes down to what is proper and what isn’t, I am still a man and you’re still an unmarried, unchaperoned girl. You’re in my house, under my protection. I will try my damnedest not to touch you again.”

She sighed, looking more frustrated than North’s Portuguese mistress had when he’d smiled blissfully up at her then fallen into an exhausted stupor after only an hour or two of the most perverse, enjoyable sex games he’d ever played in his life.

“You’re a hard man, North Nightingale.”

“You have no idea,” he said, and turned away to sit down in a stiff-backed lady’s chair from the previous century that groaned under his weight. “Now, how do you feel?”

She realized he had himself well away from her now. For the moment she would just have to accept it. When she had her full strength back again, he wouldn’t get away from her so easily. She understood his gentleman’s code. She was in his house, under his protection. He was being noble. She would allow him his spate of nobility, at least for the moment, at least until her head didn’t feel like it would split from her neck. “I feel better than I did last night. Has Owen returned from Scrilady Hall yet?”

North grinned. “Not yet. I very much like your idea. You told me that Owen needed to get out from under his father’s thumb. I’m wagering that his first thumbless assignment will be a success. Just consider his adversary.”

She giggled, such a surprise and so very sweet. It locked his knees together. He tried not to respond to that giggle, but he did. He picked up a newspaper from the table beside the chair and read the same sentence five times.

“What are we going to do about Mr. Ffalkes?”

He slowly lowered the
Gazette.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, sorted through every pro and con I can come up with.” He drew a deep breath. “I think I’m going to have to kill him, Caroline.”

To his utter astonishment, she said, “Oh dear, I was afraid of that. No, North, that isn’t right. If he’s to be killed, then I will do it. He’s my problem, not yours.”

North rose and began to pace. “Hell and damnation, you’re a woman and you didn’t shriek or clasp your hand to your palpitating bosom or whimper that killing is awful, and I’d go to the devil. No, you just said you’d do it. It’s
difficult for me, Caroline, to hear a female speak like that. The Duchess, maybe, but she has Marcus to contend with and he is a handful and a bastard and she loves him to distraction.”

“You’ve said a lot there. Tell me, why is it difficult to hear a female speak like that, North? Like a man? Like a logical person? Isn’t a woman allowed to be logical, to think things through and come up with solutions?”

He nodded and said, “No, it’s outside anyone’s experience. It isn’t done. You’re not what you should be, Caroline. Now, listen to me, and stop all this blather. Men don’t necessarily like the thought of killing. Indeed, I hate the thought of killing a man just because he’s so bloody stupid and stubborn and desperate. If you were only married, then Ffalkes couldn’t—” He stopped, stared at her, an appalled look on his face, then, without another word, strode from her bedchamber, closing the door very quietly behind him.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” she whispered to the room with its early-afternoon shadows beginning to gather in the corners.

It was five o’clock that same afternoon when Tregeagle admitted himself after three brief knocks and two long ones, the most warning, Caroline supposed, that she would ever get. He was carrying a heavy volume bound in dark brown moroccan leather. He brought it to the bed and very gently lowered it onto the cover beside her. It looked to weigh both their weights together.

Caroline eyed the tome, then eyed Tregeagle. “What is it? All the historical reasons why Young Female Persons shouldn’t ever stay more than ten minutes at Mount Hawke?”

“Ten minutes pushes it,” Tregeagle said, his eyes going to a spot beyond her right shoulder.

“What is this book?”

“His lordship thought you might be bored with your forced inactivity. He didn’t wish to spend any more time with you, which is understandable since he’s a Nightingale man. Thus, he asked me to fetch you up a book that might amuse you. This is what I have fetched. It is something in the way of a legend long in the keeping of the Nightingale family. All nonsense, of course, but perhaps it will pass the time until you are fit enough to take your leave of this residence.”

“Thank you, Tregeagle. What is it?”

“Why, it’s about King Mark of Cornwall and how he was buried here on Nightingale land with all sorts of treasure, and not in the south at Fowey, where most believe he lived and fought and died.”

“What do you believe, Tregeagle?”

“Many Nightingale ancestors have been of a fanciful turn of mind.”

“Including his current lordship?”

“His current lordship is too young and too long away from his home for me to yet cast a judgment. His years in the army doubtless affected his fancifulness. One will see in due time. At least he is now showing the good Nightingale sense to stay away from you, a female, who just happens, unfortunately, to be in his house.”

“King Mark is very romantic. I know all about the legend.”

He gave her a disgusted look. “Young Female Persons seem to think so. I do believe, though, that the Nightingale ancestors have felt drawn to the poor king since he was betrayed by his queen Isolde and his beloved nephew Tristan—” Tregeagle coughed behind a hastily raised hand and shook his head. “Read the entries, if it pleases you to do so. If I may add, you are looking quite fit, miss. Perhaps
after a nourishing pilchard-head soup for your dinner, you will wish to take your leave on the morrow.”

“Pilchard-head soup, you say, Tregeagle?”

He nodded, his chin going up.

“How very thoughtful of Polgrain. How did he know that was my favorite dish? Cook at Scrilady Hall introduced me to the delicious concoction. His lordship must have mentioned it to him. Thank him, Tregeagle. Goodness, with pilchard-head soup, I just might never leave Mount Hawke. Such an unexpected treat. I believe I feel a bit faint and weak just contemplating it.”

Caroline touched her palm to her brow and tried to look frail and pale. “Ah, but my poor head is beginning to pain me again. The weakness of limb, the frailty of my delicate constitution, the innate delicacy of my female person, why, it’s positively—” She stopped at that for Tregeagle had turned remarkably pale.

He said, a guard to a prisoner who surely shouldn’t be there, “I will leave you now, miss. Regain your strength. Perhaps you should walk a bit around the chamber. Perhaps you should sleep rather than engross yourself in that magnificent and interesting volume that is really drivel. King Mark indeed, sending his wretched nephew Tristan to Ireland to fetch him his wife, Isolde, who was a perfidious female as all females are, and just look what happened. The two of them drank a love potion prepared by Isolde’s maid Brangien that had been intended for King Mark and his beautiful bride, and just see what came to pass. The nephew and his wife betrayed him and it is recorded that Isolde killed her maid so she wouldn’t tell the king what had happened. Damnable betrayal, all of it. And that dear King Mark, he let them go. He didn’t behead them or tear out their fingernails and break their bones—no, the precious noble king let them go, damned idiot.”

“Yes, I suppose he was a fool, wasn’t he? A real fool with no sense of justice.”

He left quickly, giving her a ferocious frown, at a loss for words, for which she was justifiably proud, and she was left there grinning from ear to ear.

“C
AROLINE
,
THIS IS
Flash Savory, the young man I told you about who helped Rafael Carstairs with some trouble down St. Austell way.”