Jessie hadn’t volunteered, and James wasn’t about to ask her. He didn’t even know if it had occurred to her. Love-making after proper preparations was one thing, undressing a man with an ankle swelled to the size of a Darlington melon was quite another.
His ankle was throbbing, his belly wasn’t too happy from Mrs. Catsdoor’s attempt to reproduce Badger’s green-pea soup, and he was bored, conversation between him and Jessie having dwindled during the long evening into inquiries about his ankle followed by his own curt replies. She’d tried, he’d give her that, but his ankle still hurt like the devil and he made a terrible patient.
Once he was in bed, the covers pulled up to his chest, and Harlow removed from his bedchamber, he called out, “You can come in now, Jessie. I’m all shrouded in blankets and sheets, everything repellent covered, except for my damned foot.”
She came through the adjoining door. He knew she’d just been waiting in there for him to call her. She was wearing a very plain dressing gown, probably one that belonged to the old Jessie. Did she fear he’d attack her if she wore one of her new-Jessie dressing gowns? Probably.
He eyed her anew for any interest. “Are you going to sleep in here with me?”
“I’m concerned that I might roll over on you or kick your ankle.”
“I’m not worried. I want you here.”
She started to shake her head, and he said quickly, “I might need you during the night.”
She nodded slowly then. He closed his eyes as she eased another pillow beneath his foot, her fingers lightly touching his big toe as she said, “Is that better?”
“Better than what?”
She sighed. “George told me you’d be difficult. When Papa got kicked in the leg some years ago, I was the only one who would spend any time with him. Mother told him he could drown in his own bile for all she cared.”
“I don’t want to do that. Why are you wearing that hideous dressing gown?”
“I don’t want to torture you, James. One of the confections Maggie gave me, well, you just might break your ankle trying to get to me. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
He swallowed hard. “Shall I tell you a story?”
“No. I’m very tired. I want to go to sleep. Oh, I nearly forgot. Dr. Raven said you were to have another glass of lemonade with laudanum.”
He decided he wanted it. He didn’t want to lie awake, his ankle hurting like the devil, listening to Jessie breathe next to him, within arm’s distance, within touching distance. No, better to retreat into oblivion.
He slept through the night. Jessie, a light sleeper, kept waking up, listening to him. He didn’t wake up in pain.
The next day his ankle was very much improved. “ Perhaps,” he said at breakfast between bites of toast and eggs, “I’ll be able to ride Bertram tomorrow.”
“Not in your wildest fantasies. No. I won’t allow that, James.”
“I wouldn’t even have to leave until later tonight. Some years ago, Frances, the Countess of Rothermere, worked with an architect in York and invented a carrier for horses. That way the racehorse arrives all rested at the course, not exhausted from having walked the whole way.”
“That’s ingenious,” Jessie said, dropping her fork and sitting forward. “What does it look like?”
“A covered smallish wagon that’s pulled in turn by two horses. You just secure the horse’s reins to the bar to keep him still, and off you go. The rear upper half of the wagon is open, so there’s plenty of fresh air.”
“Goodness, how I’d like to see that. A woman, Frances Hawksbury, had the idea?”
“Yes. Contrary to popular belief, her husband wasn’t at all dismayed that she, his wife, came up with the idea and not he. He tells everyone he knows about it. I’ve seen several of them around now.”
“I wish I were smarter, then maybe I’d have thought of that.”
“You’re smart enough. Be quiet. I thought I’d build a couple so I could race horses at courses farther away, say in North Carolina or Washington City.”
“Oh, James, that would be wonderful. I remember we raced the local ponies on the Outer Banks, near Ocracoke. It’s odd, you know, but we haven’t gone to the house on Ocracoke since I was a young girl. I suppose Papa just grew tired of listening to Mother carp about all the insects that were always biting her. They bit Glenda as well, but not Nelda or me. Isn’t that strange?”
“I’ve heard it said that bugs only bite succulent flesh.”
“I daresay that the Duchess would have thrown her peas at Marcus if he’d said that to her.”
He liked the way those streamers of hers curled lazily down to nearly touch the collar of her pale yellow gown. The new Jessie was in full bloom this morning.
“Are you wearing your underwear underneath that gown since I’m incapable of doing anything?”
Her fork hit her plate. She looked down at the small yellow pile of eggs. She said, “No.”
His eyes nearly crossed. The throbbing in his ankle was nothing compared to the sudden surge of lust in his groin.
“You’re torturing a sick man.”
She tilted her head to one side, the streamer falling loose beside her cheek, and grinned at him, a teasing grin, one that Glenda wouldn’t hesitate to copy if she’d had the pleasure to see it.
“I’ve been thinking about what would please you today. I’ve decided I’m going to take you for a ride in the landau. We’re going to have luncheon with the Duchess and Marcus. What do you say?”
He thought about his ankle being jostled around for two hours to Chase Park and two more hours back to Candlethorpe, and nodded.
“Good,” she said, tossed down her napkin, and rose.
An hour later James was very comfortably ensconced in the landau, his foot propped up on pillows, all secured with ropes tied to the sides of the landau. No jostling.
“Frances’s horse wagon gave me the idea. You know, tying the reins to keep the horse steady?”
He just shook his head and relaxed while Jessie click-clicked Phantom, his magnificent gray Barb, who was snorting happily, and broke into a trot.
But they didn’t go to Chase Park that morning. They were only thirty minutes from Candlethorpe when two riders came into view. It was the Duchess and Marcus coming to see the felled master of Candlethorpe.
Amid the laughter, the questions about James’s ankle, the shaking heads at the quirks of coincidence, and Jessie’s inventive way of tying James in place, Phantom suddenly reared up, shook his great head, and tried to jerk the reins from Jessie’s hands.
James jerked the reins from her gloved hands, stood up, barely, and began to execute a very strange series of movements, bringing Phantom first sharply to the left, then pulling him inexorably to the right. He did this three times. Finally, Phantom heaved a great sigh and stood docilely in the middle of the road, his head facing the hedgerows.
“What was that all about? What happened?”
Marcus reached over and patted Phantom’s neck. “Good fellow,” he said, then added to Jessie, “James was a robber. He bought Phantom for fewer guineas than the Duchess spends on a pair of gloves.”
“Yes,” the Duchess continued. “He all but stole him from this squire who was going to put him down because he nearly trampled his nephew, a repellent little boy who would probably have been better off for the trampling.”
James laughed. “Poor old Phantom has this habit of seeing double. When Marcus and the Duchess stopped their horses right in front of us, Phantom saw four horses and four riders and decided it was time to leave. I tried many maneuvers, and finally hit upon the solution. I keep his head turned slightly to either the left or to the right. That way he can’t see the horses and double their number.”
“It works,” Marcus said. “Now, since the Duchess and I have come all this way, let’s go to Candlethorpe and we’ll spend the day amusing you.”
“You knew about James’s ankle?” Jessie asked, eyeing James carefully as he turned Phantom a
round. Marcus and the Duchess didn’t ride in front, but rather they stayed on each side of the landau.
“George Raven came to Chase Park yesterday. Anthony had decided that Marcus’s cat, Esmee, would make a fine napping companion for Charles and put her next to his little brother. Esmee, who’d just eaten an entire trout for her luncheon, snuggled next to my sleeping son. Charles woke up, yelled his head off when he saw Esmee’s face only an inch from his, and his nurse, Molly, fell, hit her head, and knocked herself unconscious trying to get to him to see what the matter was. She’s fine now, just a ferocious headache. Marcus was forced to discipline Anthony.”
“What did you do, Marcus?” James asked.
The earl gave his wife a sideways look, then mumbled, “I smacked his bottom, made him apologize to Molly, then sent him to his bedchamber and told Spears he wasn’t allowed to eat or play for at least fourteen hours.”
“We then left so Spears could change Anthony’s punishment to suit his own opinion,” the Duchess said. “It was well done of you, my dear. I suspect even Spears was im-pressed with your firmness.”
“I’m glad I’m not there to see what Anthony’s doing,” the earl said. “About you, James, what happened?”
“James was giving Clothilde a physic. She didn’t like it.”
“No man or animal would,” Marcus said. “Serves you right, James.”
The Duchess carefully lifted off her riding hat, a lovely affair with a band of bright red around the black base, and hit her husband’s arm with it. “You think a woman would enjoy such a thing?”
“I was speaking for all mankind, and that includes women.”
After the ensuing verbal debris eventually cleared, James realized he hadn’t felt his ankle at all.
The Duchess and Marcus didn’t leave Candlethorpe that evening. After dinner, they left Mrs. Catsdoor rendered nearly speechless at their praise for her boiled knuckle of veal and her vol-au-vent of plums. The evening was spent singing some of the Duchess’s ditties and playing whist.
That night when James was lying on his back in their bed, his foot propped up on its complement of three pillows, Jessie getting ready to snuff out the candles, he screwed himself to the sticking point and said, “Jessie, would you like to try something a bit different?”
“What?”
“Perhaps you’d like to kiss me a bit?”
“I don’t know, James,” she said, frowning down at him with great interest. “It might not be wise. You tend to lose control of your hands when you kiss me.”
He sounded desperate. “I know, but I was hoping that perhaps you’d like to follow my instructions and we could do more than just kissing. You could, well, basically, you could sit on top of me and—”
“Sit on top of you? Why on earth would I want to sit on top of you, James?”
“Not just sitting. That wouldn’t accomplish anything, unless you were reading a book, and I don’t want you to do that. No, you would actually take me in your hands and—” She was looking at him as if he’d told her he was going to strap her down on the rack and start stretching. He stalled. He lost his nerve.
She wished she knew what to do. He wanted her on top of him? She’d never seen a mare atop a stallion. It was a fascinating thought, but not with that swelled ankle of his. No, it had to wait, curse the fates. She began whistling, snuffed out the candles, and climbed in beside him. She wished the bed were larger. She could feel the heat of him, feel each movement he made. When his hand touched her side, she squeaked.
“Hold my hand, Jessie,” he said, and she did.
She fell asleep rubbing the callus on his thumb.
James lay awake longer than he wished. Somehow he’d imagined Jessie would be more willing to try new approaches to lovemaking. The good Lord knew she’d always been brash, more confident than a female should be, eager for new experiences, always twitting him, mocking him, beating him at the damned racecourse, and protecting him from Glenda.
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?”
23
JAMES 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 t
hus 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.