Everything I Ever Wanted (16 page)

Annie merely shrugged and placed the pitcher she carried on the nightstand. She stoked the fire in the hearth, added coals, then inquired rather stiffly as to whether anything else was needed.

South wanted to see the last of them for the night, but he thought of what India might require upon regaining her senses. He asked that tea or a light broth be brought up and some repast prepared for his driver. Annie Brinker appeared as though she might object to this last request; then Darrow entered the room, looking pitifully overburdened by the weight of a valise on his shoulder and the trunk he dragged behind him, and she relented with nothing more than a heavy, much put-upon sigh.

"I believe you have made a conquest," South told his valet once the door was closed.

"What?" Darrow asked. "Do you mean the innkeeper's daughter?" '

"Is she his daughter? I didn't know. It did not take you flong to be apprised of the particulars. Now you only haveto apply to her father for her hand."

Darrow's mouth flattened, unamused. He mumbled something about the locals giving him an earful, then applied himself to unpacking South's trunk and valise. He placed if scented soap and a brush on the nightstand, along with other amenities his employer might find himself in want of during their brief stay at the inn.

South shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed it over a chair. Darrow promptly hung it on a peg near the door, then waited patiently for Southerton to divest India of her velvet pelisse.

"Do you know," South asked in conversational accents, "I had expected some small skirmish from Miss Parr. As abductions go, this one is altogether unexceptional." He unfastened the brass buttons closing the bodice of her pelisse, unhooked the slim belt beneath her breasts, then parted the 'velvet over her shoulders. His fingers worked with economic efficiency.

Darrow's expression showed more interest than the coolly detached features of his employer. The realization that this was so was enough to edge the corners of the valet's mouth upward. "You have a great many abductions to your credit, then," Darrow said dryly. "I was unaware that such was the case."

"One hears stories," South said. He gingerly worked the sleeves of the pelisse off India's arms and pulled it out from under her. He held it out to Darrow for the taking. "And I have never heard of one that remarked on such a smooth beginning."

"The calm before the storm?"

"Perhaps." South laid the back of his hand against India's cheek. His palm appeared flushed with color compared to India's pale complexion. He touched her forehead with his fingertips, then the shallow pulse beating in her temple. Her skin was cool. Violet shadows filled the faint hollows beneath her eyes. Her lashes lay in a dark arc just above. They didn't so much as flutter as South shifted his own weight to bring the blankets across her and up to her shoulders.

Uncomfortable with the intimacy he observed, Darrow cleared his throat.

South glanced at him, one brow arched in question."You have something to say?"

"A tickle." The valet cleared his throat a second time, pressing his forefinger against his Adam's apple to emphasize the offending passage. He turned away quickly and hung India's pelisse beside South's caped greatcoat.

Southerton did not press Darrow for his opinion. It was not that South had no respect for it, but that it was ultimately of no account. South was already set on the course he had determined was necessary.

The bed creaked as South came to his feet. He went to the basin, found a suitable cloth, and dampened it.

"Is she sickening for something?" Darrow asked.

Southerton shook his head. "Exhausted, I think." He had seen the like before, battle-weary sailors and officers in the service of His Majesty, bodies flung limply into hammocks, arms lying loosely at their sides or angled oddly across their sweat-and-smoke-stained shirts, no longer sensible of the roll of the ocean or the rock of the ship except as a comfort and a cradle. "She's been unconscionably used, Darrow. By Kent. By her public. Her suitors." Silently he added the colonel's name and his own.

"Then-mayhap you have not abducted her," Darrow said.

"What do you mean?" Southerton sat down again and carefully applied the damp cloth to India's forehead. There was a streak of powder at her hairline, a hint of paint just below her right ear. South removed these with the gentleness of brushing velvet. "You're not suggesting she's going to thank me for this?"

Darrow shrugged. "Who's to say what notions a woman will take in her head? But it seems to me this is more a rescue that an abduction."

South's lips quirked. " I'll remember that in the event Miss Parr makes no such distinction."

"Hmmpf."

"Wise counsel," South said. He glanced over his shoulder and observed that Darrow was close to finishing with his tasks. "Leave it. Seek your repast belowstairs. Seek the innkeeper's daughter, if you've a mind to. I am for bed and have no need of your help in getting there."

Darrow could have made a successful argument in pointing out that Southerton did not often deign to remove even his frock coat and stock without assistance, but the matter of South negotiating his own voluminous nightshirt left the valet quite without words.

"I know," South offered, his lips twisting sardonically. "It defies your imagination. Good evening, Darrow."

"Good evening, m'lord." He slipped out of the room, making sure the door clicked audibly into place behind him.

South braced one arm on the mattress beside India's shoulder and continued his ministrations. He pressed the damp cloth to either side of her jaw, loosened then removed the ruffled betsy at her neck, and ran the cloth along the slender stem of her throat. "How long has it been since you slept?" he asked, his voice but a whisper in the quiet room. "Truly slept?" Southerton had no difficulty seeing India in a restless doze with a script in her lap and lines running through her head, or nodding off between acts while Mrs. Garrety reapplied paint to her cheeks and rice powder to her nose. She made herself available for fittings and rehearsals, suitors and patrons, for performances, and finally for her protector.

South only wondered about the last. Was there truly such a person in her life, or had she created him to carve some few moments for herself ? And had she come to be convinced of his existence when no evidence supported the claim, or was it simply that he could not find the evidence? Enough time had passed since the brief notice in the Times for her protector to come forward. In public she remained unattached save for Kent, Master Doobin, and that crusty old barnacle Mrs. Garrety. In private it appeared her company was much the same.

Southerton had not been able to find the source of the Times gossip. He had to consider India Parr had somehow managed to plant that seed herself. She had an entire alphabet of letters at her disposal, any of which could have fulfilled the attentive role of Lord . M might have no more significance than that it was one of twenty-six of its kind.

Strands of corn silk hair darkened at her temple where they were brushed by the wet cloth. South combed them back with his fingertips. The faint scent of lilac attached itself to his skin and made his nostrils flare. He stood abruptly, tossing the cloth aside in the same motion. It splashed heavily in the basin. Droplets of water spattered the floor.

After turning back the single lamp on the small bedside table, South removed his jacket and waistcoat and loosened the stock at his neck. Not for anything would he admit that Darrow's help would have been welcome in ridding himself of his riding boots. They thumped hard to the floor when he was finally divested of them. His stockings, breeches, and linen drawers he managed well enough. He exchanged his frilled muslin and stock for the calf-length nightshirt and did not lose himself long in the latter before he found the opening for his head.

He was on the point of turning his attentions to the matter of India's dress, or rather, to the contemplation of her undress, when the knock at the door announced the return of Miss Annie Blinker. South found his robe, loosely tied the sash, and padded barefoot to the door. He opened it only wide enough to take the wooden serving tray from her hands, blocking her attempts to see past his shoulder to where India lay. He thanked her brusquely and firmly closed the door with his toes.

The tray fit neatly on the seat of a ladder-back chair. South moved the chair closer to the fire to keep the contents of the pot warm for as long as possible. When he returned to India's side and sat down, he tapped her lightly on the cheek with the flat of his hand and spoke her name.

"Miss Parr? India?" She remained unresponsive. South tapped as lightly the second time, but his tone sharpened. "India." This time she tried to avoid the touch of his hand. A small crease appeared between her brows, and her dry lips parted. There was a flutter of movement behind her closed lids, then nothing. South gave up.

He drew back the blankets and turned India on her side so that he could unfasten the back of her dress. When he saw the complicated lacing he had to negotiate, he understood why Mrs. Garrety was attached, limpetlike, to her employer. Southerton was no stranger to a female's more intimate apparel, but playing lady's maid in preparation of the act of intimacy had always been done, well, by a lady's maid. For demanding women who were impatient for their pleasure, it required no particular skill to throw up their skirts and petticoats and have at it, but the particular garment India was wearing looked as if it had been knotted by a first rate bos'n.

South smiled to himself. Here was something else to be said for his time in the Royal Navy. He'd learned a thing or two about knots that would come in handy now.

Once having freed her of her gown, Southerton removed India's shoes, tights, and underskirt. He peeled away the slim corselet she wore around her midriff, and unthreaded the pink ribbon that kept the delicate batiste chemise fitted snugly just beneath her breasts. Finally, he removed the pins that anchored her splendid hair so tightly to her scalp, and deposited them on the table. When he turned to her again she was already on her side, knees drawn up, one hand beneath her pillow, the other resting in a loose fist against her mouth. Each one of her breaths was without sound, but there was a gentling to the rise and fall of her chest that had not been there before.

"The calm before the storm, indeed," Southerton said quietly. He turned back the lamp so the room's only light came from the fire, then raised the blankets, carefully crawled over India's curved body, and settled himself on the other side of her.

He could not have imagined it would be so simple to fall asleep.

India Parr eased into wakefulness. She was aware of several things at once: rain pressing hard against the window-panes; a meager fire in the hearth; and the comfort of heat all along the length of her spine, around the curve of her bottom and thighs, and at the back of her calves.

It was at once so very right and all wrong.

She started to rise and discovered it was not so simple as willing herself to do so. The band of heat at her back slithered around her waist and over her knees. She stretched slowly, more as an experiment, testing the strength and limits of her bonds, and found there was little give. She arched, pushed hard, and finally clawed in her panic and uncertainty.

Southerton shifted his arm from India's waist to her shoulder, pressed firmly until she was on her back, and raised himself over her. His voice was gentle. "India. Miss Parr."

She stilled, the dark centers of her eyes slowly focusing on the face above her. There was barely any sound to her voice; it was more a parting of her lips that suggested the word. "You."

"Hmmm. Me."

"I ummm how did ?"

"In good time," he told her. "Are you all of a piece?"

She took inventory. It was confusing with his hand still on her shoulder, his leg across both of hers. His hip was resting intimately against her thigh. The ache in her head had been replaced by thick cobwebs she could not easily clear, and there was a lethargy to her limbs that at once eased and alarmed her. She was all of a piece, she supposed, even if all the pieces were not hers. "Yes," she said finally. "I think so." At his cocked brow she roused herself to answer with more certainty. "Yes."

"Good." Southerton did not move at once. "Do you know I won't harm you?"

Did she? "Yes."

"Then you know there is no need to cry out or act in any manner that will bring an audience." Southerton measured India's hesitation more by the fractional narrowing of her eyes than in the passage of time. He waited her out, wanting her to be sure before she answered, wanting her to be honest with herself and with him.

"Yes," she said. "I know that."

He nodded. A moment passed, and then he eased away from her and fell onto his back. Beneath the blankets he had a full and heavy erection. He'd rather it had remained snugly against the cleft of India's bottom. It was good of her to extend so much trust to him when he was markedly less confident himself.

India pushed herself up on her elbows first, then eased herself higher, sliding upward against the headboard. She pressed a pillow to the small of her back and glanced at Southerton. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes partially hooded, a grim tightness about his mouth. She had felt him hard against her buttocks, later against her hip. He probably did not suspect that she was stirred by his response to her or that she felt it still. It was perhaps not so obvious that her breasts were slightly swollen, the nipples puckered and sensitive. She would have liked to run her hands over them, press the ache she felt there into the heart of her palms. She wanted to arch her back, lift her hips a fraction, and stretch her arms. The freedom to simply feel the slow undulation of her body, the rise of her breasts, and the scraping of the hard points of her nipples against the fabric of her chemise was something she refused herself.