The Valentine Legacy (18 page)

“Have they succeeded?”

He frowned at that. “You know, I'm not certain, but perhaps they have in some ways.”

“The Duchess's roses are exquisite.”

“Yes, everything she touches turns exquisite except for Marcus. She says that's just fine because she likes him offensive. She says it keeps her mental works well oiled when he's being himself.”

“Why are they so nice to me, James?”

He looked up to see the rain clouds nearing. He said, cutting to the chase, “Because they're fond of me and they're fond of you and they believe we will wed.” There,
he'd said the word. He plunged ahead. “Would you like to marry me, Jessie?”

There, it was done, only the result wasn't quite what he'd expected. She jerked as though he'd just kicked her. Then she blinked as if awakening from a dream. She turned on her heel and walked away—well, she walked for about three feet, and then she picked up the skirts of her modest gray gown and broke into an Old Jessie run, flying across the ground, faster than most boys, her petticoats white and flounced, flapping about her ankles, which were encased in lovely white stockings. Even lovelier white slippers were on her feet. He was used to seeing those feet only in boots, sturdy, ugly boots.

“Jessie! Dammit, wait!” He was off after her. He got a slap in the face by a low-hanging elm-tree branch. He cursed the tree and her and kept running. He caught up with her near the small lake. She was leaning against a tree, her arms around it, hugging it, her face pressed against the bark.

“Jessie,” he said once he had caught his breath. “Why the devil did you run away from me? You're going to scratch your face if you keep shoving yourself against that bark.”

She didn't move, just seemed to press herself more tightly against that damned tree.

“Don't you want to marry me, Jessie? Is that it?”

Her silence continued. He felt his irritation blossoming like one of the Duchess's roses after it had been well manured. “Why, damn you? I've known you since you were fourteen years old and looked like a knobby-kneed boy except you didn't, not with all that flyaway red hair that never stayed hidden beneath those disreputable old hats of yours. I know you so well that I always know when you're lying. You're no good at it. I know you don't have any breasts, at least I thought I knew, but after seeing you in that trollop ball gown with your breasts falling over the top, I'll have
to think about that some more. You can scrub down a horse and a stable nearly as fast as Oslow. You know horses, nearly as well as I do. You ride, nearly as well as I do. You race—again, sometimes nearly as well as I do.”

“I've beaten you regularly, James, over the past six years.”

“Ah, so that got you a mite testy, huh? Now that you've turned around and given me the courtesy of facing me, well then, will you marry me?”

“You want to marry me because you know when I'm lying?”

“There are other reasons. I've already listed them. We would deal well together. We share the same aims—we want to race and own studs, which I already do, and with marriage you would be part of it, too.”

“These are damnable reasons, James.” This said, she turned her face back against the tree. “Go away. I have nothing more to say to you. You didn't ruin me. I'm not your responsibility. I told you what I planned to do with my future. I will own my own stud and racing stable. I will succeed.”

“You have about as much chance of success as Charles does in growing a complete set of teeth in the next week. Don't be an ass about this, Jessie.”

“I see it clearly now,” she said slowly, turning to look up at him again. “Spears and company came to see you. They told you that you had to marry me. That's it, isn't it?”

“No.”

“This was all your own idea?”

“Yes.” Distraction, he thought, that was what he needed, and thank the good Lord he had it. He didn't think he was a much better liar than Jessie. “I've got a letter from your father for you.”

Thunder cracked overhead. It was midafternoon and the sky was a muddy gray, darkening by the minute.

That brought her around. “A letter from Papa?”

“Yes, he gave it to me to give to you. Do you want to read it?”

“Have you read it?”

“Naturally not. It's addressed to you.”

She frowned as she opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper. She read:

My dearest Jessie:

I hope James has found you and you're safe and well. I am more worried about you than I can say. You must marry James and come home as soon as possible. If dear James hasn't yet come to reason, you must propose to him. He's a gentleman. He'll accept you. Come home, Jessie—

Your loving father,
Oliver Warfield

Without a word, she handed the letter to James. She didn't look at him while he read it. She couldn't bear to see the disgust on his face. She looked up to see that the sky was now nearly black. They would never make it back to the house before the heavens opened up and made a good effort to drown them. She pushed off the tree and began walking back toward Chase Park.

James fell in beside her. He was looking thoughtful, not particularly angry. “Would you have proposed to me, Jessie?” he asked at last, “if I hadn't proposed to you?”

“No.”

He shook his head, took her hand, and said, “Let's hurry. Your streamers won't weather this storm well.”

Jessie picked up her skirts again and ran beside James, laughing even as the first raindrop fell on her nose. They came around the corner of the great mansion to see Fred
closing in on Clorinda, her tail feathers pressed against the stone.

“Fred, you lecher,” Jessie shouted. “Let her go.”

James was laughing as Fred turned on them and squawked as loudly as the next clap of thunder. James grabbed Jessie's arm and pulled her along with him. “He might attack us for our interference with his ladylove. Come along, we're nearly to a door.”

They were just a bit damp when they rushed through the long glass doors in the massive Chase Park library.

“The letter,” Jessie said. “Where is it?”

“I tucked it in my pocket to keep it dry.” They both turned to the long glass doors when there was another loud clap of thunder. A streak of lightning sliced through the sky. The rain was coming down in earnest now.

“That was close,” Jessie said, patting a curl that curved around her cheek. “I think my streamers survived.”

“Yes, they did.” He wrapped one streamer around his finger. It was softer than it should be, even damp. When he released it, it fell lazily over her ear down to her neck. “But you must take care. You don't want to risk Maggie's displeasure, though she normally doesn't have to show any.”

“Do you really think I look like a trollop when I'm wearing clothes that fit me?”

James wiped his hand across his forehead. Sweat and rain, he thought. Jessie could always run fast. “Jessie,” he said finally, “have you ever seen a trollop?”

She gave that profound thought. He guided her to the fireplace, where a fire blazed cheerfully. “Warm yourself,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

She shook out her skirts, saying, “I don't think I've ever seen a trollop. Do they truly look like I do when I look nice?”

“No, they look tawdry and garish, things like that. They look obvious, their clothing an advertisement to men.”

She swallowed, not looking at him, just shaking those skirts of hers more than they needed to be shaken.

“No, you don't look like a trollop,” he said with a deep sigh. “Are you going to propose to me, Jessie, if I tell you that my proposal was a sham?”

“No. I would never do that to you.”

“Why not?”

She sat down on the floor and stretched her hands toward the fire. “It's no great mystery, James. You don't love me. I want to marry someone who loves me for what I am—both the new Jessie and the old Jessie. My father loves me but that's different, isn't it? I'm an excellent employee and he doesn't have to pay me anything, just feed me and give me a place to sleep.” She eased back a couple of feet from the fire and settled her skirts around her legs.

“I think you're being harsh.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn't change anything. I simply have to realize what I can have and what I can't have.”

“Do you want to have children?”

“Yes, but that's something I probably won't have. A husband is necessary first.”

He turned on her then, and she realized he was quite angry. It surprised her. “Damn you, why do you think so little of yourself? Look at you, you're lovely in a modest sort of way.” He stalled.

“I know,” she said.

“Stop sounding like a whipped hound. Stop trying to sound so reasonable, so self-effacing. Why don't you want to sacrifice me to cancel out your ruination? I'm here. I've asked you to sacrifice me.”

He came down beside her, grabbed her arms, toppled her backward, and came down over her.

J
ESSIE WAS A
good fighter. She brought her legs up and struck him in the back, then slammed her fists into his shoulders and chest. He flattened himself over her, grabbed that braid of hers to hold her still, leaned down, and kissed her.

She jerked her head to the side and he missed the first time. He got her chin, then the tip of her nose, then finally her mouth.

“Stop it, James. You're pulling my hair out.”

That got his tongue into her mouth, but for only an instant. He barely escaped with his tongue still intact. She was really mad, he thought, if she were willing to bite off his tongue. He reared up on his elbows, not trying to force her anymore. He leaned up just a bit and stared down at her.

“Your hair smells like lavender and rain.”

“Go to the devil, James. That's drivel. I don't know what you're thinking, but this is—”

He leaned down quickly and kissed her again. He managed to push her legs apart and came down to lie between them. He closed his eyes at the feel of her. He could feel the heat even through her gown and her petticoats. He pressed down and she gasped.

“Will you rape me in the damned library, you idiot?”

James shook his head. He looked bemused. “I'm ruining you but good. It's better when the man's on top and trying to stick his tongue in the woman's mouth and pressing
himself against her belly. Yes, this is the right way to ruin a woman. I never much considered it before, but you feel good, Jessie. Don't you like me against you? Can you feel me?” He knew she could. He was harder than the leg of that gilt chair just a foot away from him.

“Yes, and it's strange. You're just like a stallion, aren't you?”

“More or less, but not really, which is something for which you should be profoundly grateful. Now, Jessie, will you marry me?”

“No, nothing's changed. All you feel now is a bit of lust. My mother has told all her daughters about men and their lust. She says that a gentleman's lust is usually the only thing a female can exploit to get her way. She says that all men feel lust with great regularity. Even after they're wedded, she says, their lust doesn't stay at home where it should.”

“Your mother should be shot.”

“It isn't true?”

“No, well, perhaps a bit of it. Why the devil do you think Glenda is always leaving her breasts very nearly naked? No, don't struggle anymore. I'm trying to keep some of my weight off you. If you try to hurt me more, I'll flatten you. Do you want to know what else Glenda does? She stares at a man's crotch. My crotch has been stared at more times by your sister than any other crotch in Baltimore, so don't go on and on about how men are the predators, always on the lookout for new females.”

“Is my mama wrong?”

“Sometimes.” He pressed himself hard against her simply because he couldn't seem to help himself. “Where is the damned bell cord?”

She punched him in the jaw, not all that hard, but hard enough to get his attention. He reared back, managed to grab her arms, and pinned them to her sides. “It does no good
to ruin you in this obvious sort of way if there isn't someone to catch us at it. Damn, where is that bell cord?”

“I fancy, James, that you are no longer in need of one. I am here. Mr. Badger is here. Mr. Sampson and Maggie are here as well. We are pleased.”

Jessie looked up to see them closing in a circle around her, all smiling and nodding with satisfaction.

“You may get off her now, James,” Badger said. “The deed has been done.”

“I don't think she's properly ruined yet,” James said. “Could one of you fetch the Duchess or his lordship?”

“I will bring both of them,” Sampson said. “Remain as you are, James. I will return shortly and it will be done.”