The Nightingale Legacy (27 page)

“As long as he leaves the area I’ll be content,” Caroline said. “North has a man following him just so we can be certain he does leave Cornwall. Now, husband, it is nearly time to adjourn to the dining room. Polgrain says he and his staff have prepared a repast to bring tears to the most jaded eyes, of which there weren’t many, he said, at least in this backwater group. I rather think it won’t be possible for me to produce a stomach gripe. Your male minions would shoot me. Polgrain informed me, without really looking me in the eye, you understand, that no effort would be spared for the
event.
”

Over a very grand luncheon of turkey and chestnut pasty, stuffed shoulder of lamb, pork with apples and sage, a delicious red-currant fool that was a lovely pink color—for the bride, Polgrain had muttered within her hearing—the talkative Mrs. Freely tendered an opinion on everything from Lady Carstairs’s appetite, which wasn’t enough to keep a bird alive, much less a poor little babe, to Mr. Brogan’s glasses, which were, she pronounced, quite a handsome addition to his face, which, she fancied, would become even more handsome were he to procure himself a wife.

North looked at his wife and grinned. “What can one do?”

She drank more of her champagne.

W
HERE WAS
N
ORTH
?

Caroline stood there, her hands stroking over the fine lawn of her new nightgown—a soft peach with a row of Valenciennes Lace sewn at the bodice and at the sleeves, all in all a wicked confection that she was certain would have North ogling over her with a good deal of interest. It was cut low over her breasts, and the band beneath pushed her breasts upward, giving them, she thought, a more arresting presentation.

Where the devil was he?

She wanted him to look at her and shake. Where his shaking would lead, she didn’t know, but it was bound to bring infinite satisfaction to her. Perhaps she’d end up holding up her nightgown for him. She shook herself at the flood of quite interesting sensations that memory brought her. She moved to the small mirror and brushed her hair again, smoothing down the waves as best she could. Then she turned toward the door and frowned. This surely wasn’t right.

Where was North?

This bedchamber, he’d told her, was the viscountess’s bedchamber and adjoined the master’s bedchamber through the single door she’d stared at on and off for the past hour. He had sounded uncertain about it being the viscountess’s bedchamber, and she could see why. It was a dingy room, the paint a dull green that was faded and peeling; the
cherubs that festooned the ceiling molding looked decidedly limp in the wings. The only furnishings were a narrow bed with a bleak gold brocade counterpane covering it that must have been at least fifty years old, a single chair that had unpadded wooden slats for the back—strongly resembling a painting of a punishment chair she’d seen at Chudleigh’s Young Ladies’ Academy—and a stool in front of the dressing table that looked older than the bed, which was saying something. There was antiquity in this bedchamber and it was very depressing.

Where the devil was her groom?

She frowned at herself in the mirror, tossed down the brush, and walked to the bank of narrow windows, five of them all set in thick lead, and stared out into the darkness. There was only a sliver of moon and a sprinkling of stars. The night was black, the only sound was the rustle of trees that were next to the house. She started to turn away, but something odd caught her eye and she turned back to the window.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, jumped back, tripped on her nightgown, and went down hard on her bottom.

North came flying through the adjoining door, nearly tripping himself. “My God, are you all right? What the hell is wrong?”

Her heart was pounding, she felt hysteria bubble inside her. She couldn’t bring words out of her mouth, she was panting too hard, her throat was too constricted with sheer terror. She managed to point at the middle window as she picked herself up off the floor.

North ran to the window, unfastened the rusty latch, and after a few moments of frustration, managed to push the window outward. He leaned over, staring into the night. He didn’t move, just looked and looked. Finally, he turned back
to face her. “What did you see?”

She was shaking, suddenly colder than she’d ever been in her life, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Caroline, good God, what did you see?” He pulled her tightly against him, rubbing his large hands up and down her back, warming her, trying to calm her. After a few minutes, he said again, “It’s all right now. I’m here. Tell me what you saw.”

She burrowed her face in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve never seen you like this before. You become a wife and turn into a hysterical ninny?”

“You sod, you—”

He grinned down at her. “Good. You’re back to normal. Kind of like having Alice kick old Bennett in his ribs, right? Now, talk to me.”

She took a deep breath. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have become an idiot. It was a monster, North, but I’m not really sure what kind of monster, just that it was one. I was looking outside wondering where the devil you were, why the devil you hadn’t come to me immediately since every time you’ve been near me in the past weeks you wanted only to kiss me and caress me, and then there was this monster.” His arms tightened around her.

“No lust right now. Go on. What monster?”

She gulped, burrowed closer, and whispered into his shoulder, “It was a monster face, no body to go along with it, just a hideous face and it just suddenly appeared right in front of me. But it wasn’t really a face, that’s why I called it a monster. There was enough human about it, but it was terribly deformed and the mouth was grinning at me and it just kind of bobbed there in front of me.”

He held her tighter if that was possible. “That would frighten the wits out of a virgin, which you are.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Naturally I believe you’re a virgin.”

She poked him in the arm and he smiled down at her. “Better now? There’s nothing there that I can see, Caroline. But it’s so damned dark tonight. Maybe you ate some suspicious mushrooms that resulted in a dash of brain fever?”

She shook her head. “No mushrooms.”

“Ah, then it was Mrs. Freely and her commentary on everything and everyone present today.”

She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Perhaps it was just a tree limb or something like that. I remember hearing the rustling of the trees when the wind pushed their branches against the house. It was just so unexpected and maybe I saw more than I normally would, and it scared the dickens out of me.”

“No matter, I will still scour the area outside those windows on the morrow.”

“North?”

“Hmmm?” He was kissing her neck, nuzzling her head back so he could have more of her.

“Where were you? What were you doing? I thought you were mad for me. I thought you wanted to toss up my skirts all throughout the afternoon, all during supper, all during the time you were sipping on brandy in the drawing room, even while Mrs. Freely was telling everyone that a groom shouldn’t over-imbibe on his wedding night, that it led to disastrous results.”

“I was reading in my bedchamber, studying, actually.”

“Reading?”
She leaned back in the circle of his arms to look up at him. “Studying
what
? How dare you? It’s our wedding night!”

“An instruction book with pictures.”

She just blinked at him.

“A book that tells a man what he’s to do with a woman. A step-by-step instruction book. I was fairly certain all this
lovemaking business had something to do with my manly parts and your womanly parts, but I wanted specificity. I wanted expert advice and explanations. I didn’t want to be a clod on my wedding night.”

She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth. She kept kissing him until he was kissing her back, parting her lips, running his tongue along her bottom lip, his hands going lower to cup her buttocks and lift her against him, molding her to him.

When she was nearly breathless, she leaned back just a bit. “You know, North, I’m not at all sure you’re doing this properly. Perhaps you’d best go back and study that book more closely.”

He stared down at her, his eyes glazed with lust, shook his head to clear it just a bit, then said, “My God, I need to study how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh no, that’s really quite easy. All you have to do is touch me and kiss me.”

“I can do that,” he said. He scooped her up in his arms, and nearly ran to her bed, paused a moment and stared at that narrow stingy mattress with its suspicious lumpy surface, then turned and did run into his own bedchamber. She wondered as he dropped her onto her back on the mattress of his bed that would easily hold six men side by side what exactly was going to happen. She felt herself flush, felt her heart speed up, felt her palms dampen. She cocked an eye toward him, watching him strip off his dressing gown. He was naked beneath it. His face was flushed and his eyes looked glazed.

She gasped. She’d never before seen a naked man, except for Mr. Ffalkes. He’d been disgusting. But goodness, North was something she couldn’t have imagined.

“North, you—”

“Yes, Caroline?”

She didn’t have time to answer because he was on her, jerking loose the ribbon tied in a bow beneath her breasts, pulling her nightgown over her head. “There,” he said, throwing the gown to the floor in a heap atop his dressing gown. “Ah, Caroline,” he said, then he was kissing her and he came down on top of her. All of him, all at once. The richness of his body, all its textures—from his flesh that was smooth and hot against her, to the crispy hair, thick and black as sin on his chest and legs, and the sheer size and heat of him, it froze her. She was engulfed by feelings she couldn’t begin to understand. He was so different from her that she simply couldn’t take it all in. There was too much of everything and it was hitting her too fast, and she gasped into his mouth, “North, do you think you could roll over on your back and not touch me?”

Her request was so unexpected it got through to him, breaking through the frantic urgency he felt, and he reared up on his hands, stared down at her, and said, “Very well.”

He rolled onto his back, calmly crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. “Is this what you want? Shall I be holding a lily?”

“Oh no, please put your arms at your sides.”

He did, only now he was watching her as she sat on her heels beside him. Her hair was wild about her shoulders, spilling over to curl around her breasts.

“You are possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, lifted his hand to touch her breast, only to have her say, “No, please, North, keep your hands at your sides.”

“Why?”

She looked mildly perplexed, then said, “It was too much at once, the differences between us were just too much for me. I couldn’t take all of it in and it was frightening.”

“I’ll get that bloody book. Surely there must be a chapter
about a bride losing her hold on things just because the groom disrobes and leaps on her.”

“Oh no, just stay there, please. I want to look at you. I want to see what you’re all about. I want to understand you before you, well, do all the things you want to do to me.”

He laughed, his muscles so tense they were nearly cramping. He watched her study him, and her study was so thorough it took all his fortitude to lie there quietly and not fling her onto her back again.

She touched her fingertips lightly to his chest, then very slowly, she flattened her palms over him. She was leaning over him now, her breasts loose and very nearly touching him. He arched upward so he could feel her against his chest. It nearly sent him over the edge. He forced himself back flat against the mattress, groaned, and closed his eyes.

“You are very nice, North, just so very different from me. I like the way your hair is so very thick here on your chest, so crinkly beneath my fingers. And just look how it thins out over your stomach.” She ran her warm palm down his chest over his navel, coming to a stop only at his groin. “It’s not a thin line here,” she said, and her hand stopped cold. He heard her suck in her breath. He couldn’t help himself, he opened his eyes to look at her. She was silent, just staring down at him for a very long time, for far too long a time, he thought, and said, “Do I repulse you, Caroline? I’m not smooth and white and soft like you. Do you find all the hair and my rod and the rest of me distasteful?”

“Rod,” she repeated, still just staring down at him. “That’s an interesting word.”

“There are many words for it, just as there are for your womanly parts.”

She said nothing more, merely continued looking down at him. Then she was leaning down and her mouth touched his belly. Then she lightly rubbed her cheek, back and forth,
across his belly. He nearly arched off the bed. He was panting like he’d just run up the cliff at St. Agnes Head. His chest was heaving like he’d just been in the boxing ring with Gentleman Jackson himself and had lost badly.

She immediately straightened and looked up his body—taking her time—until she met his glazed eyes. “Oh dear, I hurt you?”

“Don’t be a fool. If you do that again, Caroline, you will be the one on your back and I won’t be able to stop. No, don’t touch me there, it’s simply too much, it drives me over the brink. Oh, all right, kiss me some more, go lower, please, perhaps even touch me with your fingers or perhaps your mouth that’s so soft and wet or—” He groaned and twisted as her fingers splayed through the thick hair at his groin until they finally closed around him. She stared down at her hands holding him. Then she smiled, giving him a sloe-eyed look, leaned over him, and touched her lips to his belly again.

Her hair fell in a thick curtain over his belly, hiding her from him. He wanted to see her killing him, see her holding him in her hands. He raised his hand and lifted the thick hair. She turned slightly so he could see her clearly. He nearly lost his hold on what little sanity he had left when she did, it was so incredibly provocative.