Nightingale (31 page)

“Did the smithy solicit your interest?”

“Not that I noticed. He has always been kind.”

“As you grew, did you notice men being kinder and more meticulously honest with you?”

She puckered her lips. “I had not realized it myself until you asked.”

“Perhaps, while you are in my care, Nightingale, I should teach you about the thinking of men.”

She glanced back at her blooms. “Perhaps I might repay the kindness by teaching you something of flowers.”

“But not about women?”

She heard the teasing tone in his voice. “I know you to be well instructed on that subject. Judging the way women behave around you, I doubt you have been denied many secrets by ladies of your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

She stooped to pull bits of grass and weeds sprouting among her flowers, becoming more visible with the dawn. She did not feel threatened when the duke moved closer.

“You see, Nightingale, it is not wise for a young woman to make herself available to a man alone, in the predawn hours of morning.”

She giggled and blurted, as if speaking to the bud she was examining. “Of course, if we had observed a silly rule like that when we met, you might have perished.”

“Yes, well, there are exceptions, of course, but, perhaps it is not wise for a young woman, particularly one as attractive as you … ”

She pivoted, but remained hunkered, and looked up. “You have never said you thought me attractive. Is this a new opinion?”

He cleared his throat. “No. I have always thought you attractive. When you are not vexing my soul, you can even be quite a charming, beautiful … child.”

She turned back to the plants. “I am a woman, Your Grace.”

“As you have told me several times. I can see that for myself now, even in this muted light.” He glanced toward the bench. “Come and sit a moment so I may have your full attention.”

She took his extended hand, stood, and followed him to the bench. She loved his touch, regardless of the reason. Maintaining his hold on her fingers, he waited for her to sit, before he settled closely beside her.

“Jessica, you entice men, both with your beauty and your naiveté. It is a powerful aphrodisiac.”

She frowned, unclear as to his meaning. “I see.”

“It is a wonder you have come this far without losing your … innocence.”

“You mean my virginity.” He looked stunned so she provided a definition. “You mean because I have not shared my body with a man?”

He cleared his throat and said a slightly strangled, “Yes.”

“How did you surmise that?” she asked. “Are you able to envision a person’s past?”

He gave her a fatherly smile. “Your innocence about men, my darling, is obvious.”

“To your well-trained eye?”

“Well, yes, I suppose.”

“Are you offering to remedy that? If so, let me assure you, a dozen have offered before you.” She looked around. The darkness was lifting. “Of course, those invitations came near a haystack, in a stable or an isolated field, rather than in a rose garden.”

“How did you answer those offers?”

“Sometimes I mentioned John Lout would be furious. Men and boys around Welter knew John.”

“Were any of those willing to risk his wrath?”

“Some, but, of course, John has been telling everyone for years that he deflowered me when we were children, so they considered drinking of the same well of little consequence.”

Devlin’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. “Is the claim true? If so, I will see him brought up on charges.”

She touched his fists lightly with her fingers. “No. I boxed his ears more than once for trying. I would not give the privilege of my body without a priest first speaking words over us.”

Imagining the slender child defeating the brutish John Lout, the duke bit his lips but couldn’t suppress the laughter that escaped expressing his genuine joy with unexpected volume.

Jessica came to her feet. “Shhhh. You will wake the house, Your Grace.”

He brought the laughter under control. “You’re right. This is a private conversation. We wouldn’t want others listening.”

She gave him a puzzled smile and nodded.

Sobering, he stared for a moment at her wrap, and then fingered the sleeve. “What is this you are wearing?”

She retreated. “It is the covering for my night rail.”

“So you are wearing more adequate clothing beneath this?”

“I don’t imagine anyone would consider it more adequate exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the gossamer Mrs. Capstone showed you?”

“Of course, but I was not able to see it then.”

“You instructed her to make me nightgowns of that in every color and she did. I am wearing one. Do you remember the texture?”

“It was vaporous, as sheer as butterfly wings.”

“Yes.”

“I would like to see it now, while my sight is upon me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. “I will bring one for your inspection.”

He caught her hand before she could leave and tugged her back to stand in front of him. Mutely, he peered into her face. “You understood my meaning well enough, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“You knew I didn’t intend you to bring me another example of the weave?”

“I suppose not.” She refused to meet his gaze.

He put his hands at her waist and tugged, separating his knees to draw her within their perimeters. As he untied her sash, she drew a quick breath, but did not object. The sides of her wrap opened, framing her body.

“I want to see you, Nightingale. I have grown feverish in my bed imagining this moment. Though I examined your face with my fingers, I had no idea your features might be arranged in such fascinating order. While I have some idea of your appearance, I did not imagine a voluptuous form.” He pushed her wrap to either side to expose her torso, scarcely concealed by the gauze of her gown. “Alone here, now, I want to look at the form that houses your bright, astonishing spirit.”

Jessica shivered, but did not speak, wondering why she was allowing this man to stare at her as she stood before him, practically nude.

Through the filmy fabric that floated with her every breath, he regarded the swells and hollows, the most intimate parts of her supple young form. He stared at the dark circles where her breasts peaked. His breath stopped when his gaze drifted to the shadowy vee marking her femininity. His eyes followed her hips and down long, shapely legs.

Delicately, he placed an index finger at the beginning of the swell between her breasts.

“Lesson One: You must never allow any man who is not your husband to see or touch you below this point. No other may experience you with his eyes or with his hands and, most forbidden of all, his lips.”

He saw the shimmer of awakening desire in her eyes. She moistened her lips and her mouth remained open. Her breathing became ragged and she nodded her understanding.

He groaned, ashamed of himself but not able to control his own burgeoning pleasure as his finger descended. She inhaled and her breasts swelled, encouraging his touch. She trembled.

“Are you afraid, Nightingale?”

“No, Your Grace. I know your intent is honorable, that you wish to school me.”

He chuffed, a half cough, half laugh, as his unrestrained finger circled one of her breasts, tracing it round and round like a corkscrew, winding to a stop when it reached the tip. There he trapped that sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed ever so slightly.

She gasped, staring into his face, but made no effort to prevent him.

“Do not allow any man to do this, Jessica. Tender touching mesmerizes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Breathless, she shivered again, then shifted, inviting him to repeat the lesson with her other breast.

A smile twitched the corners of his mouth as he attended the second, marveling in how sensuous she was. His breathing, too, became uneven before he leaned forward to press his nose to her midriff. He felt her warmth, a stunning heat with only the gossamer between his flesh and hers.

Reaching low, he caught both her ankles firmly and heard her breath catch.

“Even if you should feel willing, and allow a man to fondle your breasts, you must never, ever allow him control of your legs. It will suggest you lack the character to stop his prying them apart, like this.”

“Y-Your … ” Her voice broke as he slid his hands up the backs of her calves. The gossamer caught on his forearms as they ascended. His hands stroked behind her knees and slithered up the backs of her thighs, easing her feet wider.

“Your Grace.” The two words were a plea.

“You must never allow a man to touch you this way. These long, lovely legs protect the core of your womanhood, the center of your being, and of his, if he is the man worthy of being your husband. You may allow this privilege to only one man in a lifetime.”

Jessica stared at him as if under a spell, asleep with her eyes wide open. “But, Devlin, you are a man,” she whispered.

“Yes.” He continued staring at her midriff.

“How are you taking those liberties that I am not to allow any man not my husband?”

He nodded solemnly. “There’s no help for it now. I suppose I shall be that man.”

A bird chirped. Abruptly the spell over Jessica was broken. Devlin tilted his face, bringing his wondering gaze to lock with hers, as if he had been startled by the thought spoken aloud in the silence of the awakening day.

Jessica’s glance darted to the tree where the bird had lighted before she began flapping both hands, escaping the duke’s grasp as she stumbled out of his reach.

With an audible groan, Devlin dropped his hands. At the same time, Jessica became shockingly aware of the transparency of the fabric covering her, stunned by the realization that she stood before this man draped in the sheer nothingness.

Accusation darkened her eyes. “Am I the most thoroughly ignorant female you have ever met?” She did not allow an answer. “I underestimated your cunning, never expected reprehensible behavior from you. Was that the point, to tutor an ignorant country girl and, at the same time, exploit her?”

He tried to clear the cobwebs from his mind, as she sneered. “The mantle of honor placed upon a nobleman’s noble shoulders. Did you swear an oath to protect those who are dependent upon you — the children of peasants, and foolish women in your own household?”

Devlin jutted his chin becoming defensive. “You scald me to the heart, you … you ungrateful … ” He stopped, staring at her. She returned the look, seething. When he finally spoke, his words were deliberate.

“Dear one, do not ever trust any man’s pledge or his will where your delectable body is concerned. You must assume sole responsibility for keeping yourself chaste, to protect what you alone may bestow. Do not be lured to private places.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Under some circumstances, proper or improper, all men are bounders and cads. We are none of us to be trusted with the allure of a beautiful woman.”

She took advantage of the ensuing silence to ask, “Are all men able to … to arouse … shall we say … sensations in women?”

He smiled the teasing smile she had grown to love. “To what sensations do you refer?”

She blushed from her wrapper to her hairline and spread all ten fingers in front of her torso. “Those that raise goose flesh,” she ran her hands up her arms, “all over. Those sensations.”

Looking defeated, Devlin stood, bowed slightly from the waist, and strode to the door to his study. Before abandoning the garden completely, however, he turned to face her. He did not allow his gaze to meet hers. Instead, he frowned at the ground.

“My apologies, darling. A man … particularly after a rather a restless night … No, my angel, that is incorrect.” He interrupted himself, then delayed a long moment. “I have no excuse. I behaved improperly.” He drew a breath. “Perhaps my sight will continue through the sun’s course. If it does, when evening comes, I will pay you the five hundred pounds and you may return to Welter with no further imposition from me.”

He wheeled and disappeared into the house.

Jessica shivered silent ascent, even though he was no longer present. Fumbling, she caught the sides of her wrap and lapped them before securing them with the tie. She looked down verifying her efforts, but she was unable to see anything through the sudden, blistering tears.

The distractions during their time together sent all thought of Peter Fry flying straight out of her head. She had intended, on their next meeting, to tell Devlin all she had observed and suspected and solicit the duke’s thinking. Now, there might not be another opportunity, particularly as he had cautioned her against solitary meetings with single men, including him. She did not want to discuss the matter in anyone else’s hearing.

• • •

Devlin spent the morning in a black mood. His mother worked quietly, surprised when he remained in the same room with her. His gloom was, no doubt, precipitated by something Jessica had done or said or thought. He was attuned to the young woman’s humors, and she to his.

The dowager could guess the cause of their mercurial ups and downs. If and when Devlin’s eyes were healed, he would have no further excuse for insisting Jessica remain. Losing the girl was a dismal prospect for the entire household. Both the dowager and the duke benefitted most from Jessica’s effervescence, her optimism. Why, her very presence could lift the spirits of a room, salon or scullery.

Lady Anne set aside her knitting and watched her son stare at the same page of a book as he had been doing for half an hour without turning a page. Perhaps he could not see the words, his reading pretense.

“Will you miss her as desperately as that?”

He didn’t bother to look up. “Yes.” His voice sounded brittle. “I am afraid I shall.”

It was a wonder, the dowager supposed, that he had mentioned his returning sight to anyone at all. Had he realized the depth of his feelings for the girl and entertained thoughts of maintaining the deception of his blindness?

No, he was not a man to rely on artifice. Certainly, he had enough experience of women to know his feelings for Jessica were different than those he had felt for any other. As she thought about it, no women had held his interest for long, particularly no woman with whom he spent time.