The Valentine Legacy (32 page)

“You continue to improve,” Wilhelmina Wyndham said to the earl. “You may kiss my hand.”

The earl complied.

“As for you,” she said to the Duchess, “I shan't forget you.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“Ah, Thomas, please have my mother's carriage fetched. Thank you. I will escort you, Mother.”

“It's your fault,” Wilhelmina Wyndham said to both the Duchess and Jessie, and swept from the room on her son's arm. Jessie didn't imagine she'd ever totter, like Glenda. She heard her say to James in the small entranceway, “The earl is such a lovely man. It was
she
—that girl whose name is ridiculous! Duchess—of all things—it was she who kept the earl from giving us our due. Bring him with you to visit me, dear James. Leave both females here. They're better off here. Trust me.”

The Duchess, who was studying the fabric on the settee,
said, “You know, Jessie, I think we should visit Baltimore tomorrow and see what furnishings are available. But to be fair about it, I suppose we should consult James.”

“Yes,” Jessie said, looking thoughtful. “Knowing James, he'll have an opinion about everything.” Jessie sighed. “I can't believe how you treated her, Marcus, yet she lapped it up.”

“I'm irresistible,” Marcus said.

His wife looked at him, a smile playing about her mouth. “I'm sorry, Jessie, but Wilhelmina is a harridan and the most vicious woman I've ever met. I appreciate how you, Marcus, protect me from the worst she dishes out. As for James, I noticed he kept his verbal distance until she set her sights on you, Jessie.”

“He does well,” Marcus said. “What else can he do? Toss her out of the window? Drop her off a cliff?” He laughed, rose, and stretched lazily. “I'm off to exercise one of James's horses.” He kissed his wife and patted Jessie's cheek. “Relatives are the very devil,” he said, and strolled out of the parlor.

“His mother,” the Duchess said, “dotes on him as well. She adores him. She's always talking about his innocence, his purity. She's also decided that we suit each other, which is a vast relief. She spoils the boys shamelessly.”

Jessie sighed deeply. “Can you see Mrs. Wyndham spoiling any offspring of mine shamelessly?”

“Well, perhaps not.”

“What are we to do, Duchess? After all, she is his mother.”

“Poor James.”

J
AMES WAS SO
surprised, he stumbled over the three-legged stool that stood in front of the winged chair and nearly went crashing to the floor.

He flailed his arms to regain his balance, then stood there rubbing his shin, cursing the stool, and staring at his wife, who sat cross-legged in the middle of their bed, brushing her hair over her shoulder, sending a cascade of red curls nearly to her belly.

She was stark naked.

Not that he could see much of anything. Her thick hair cloaked her white flesh as well as a shawl might. When she raised her arm he could see through the hair to a lovely expanse of white flesh just over her left breast.

James began to shake. Those glimpses of white skin, visible only now and again, would madden a man, any man, particularly a man who was a husband of only three months who hadn't touched his wife in two days for fear of inciting another nightmare involving that blasted Mr. Tom. James wanted to jump on her right then, at that very instant. “My God,” he said, taking one step forward.

“Hello, James,” Jessie said with a fat smile. “A lovely warm night, isn't it?”

“Yes, and for that I'm grateful.” He took another step toward the bed.

She pulled a thick mass of hair away from her body,
lifting it to studiously brush the curling ends over her fingers. As she brushed, she said, “James, will you make love to me if I promise you that I won't dream about Mr. Tom?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I'm not sure I can risk giving you any pleasure. I think it's connected—the pleasure and your nightmares. Although you didn't have any bad dreams the first two times we made love. But no, I can't take the chance. And how can you promise me you'll not have that hideous nightmare again?”

Jessie didn't answer. James took another step, then another. He couldn't take his eyes off her. “Can I brush your hair?”

“If you like,” she said, and handed him the brush, handle first, as if she were handing him a foil. “I have a strong will, James. I won't dream about him. I also demand my share of pleasure.”

He sat down beside her. Her white thigh was pressed against his. She was still seated cross-legged. He could slide his hands up her thighs and cup them over her. There was nothing to prevent him from doing that, from touching her intimately. She tilted her head toward him. He stared at all that shiny hair and said, “I think I want you to wear a bun right now.”

She laughed, turning about to face him, her fingers on his face. “I've been sitting here for a good fifteen minutes brushing my hair. My hands are tired from wielding the bloody thing. You truly want it in a bun, James?”

“Yes. I want it away from you. I didn't realize you had so much hair. It covers far too much of your body. Put it high up on the back of your head.”

“If you'll hand me the pins from atop the dressing table, I'll do it.”

He was so close to her white flesh, so close to that mouth of hers and her belly and her thighs that he didn't want to move, but he did. He retrieved the wooden pins and handed
them to her. He didn't seat himself again, but rather stood beside the bed and pulled off his clothes in record time. He even hopped on one foot to get off his boots.

When he looked again at his wife, her arms were above her head, her hands holding up all that hair, and she was utterly and completely white and naked. He thought he'd spill his seed at the sight of her.

“Your breasts are bigger,” he said, and took a step toward the bed.

“Yes, they are, aren't they?” she said proudly. “Did you know that you're always big when you take your clothes off with intent, James? Just look at you. If I didn't know already that you did indeed fit, I would be howling with fear and running from this bedchamber.”

James couldn't help himself anymore. He nearly leaped on Jessie but managed to hold himself back, taking another step toward the bed. He could see the soft flesh between her thighs, open to him. “You don't mind that I'm all hairy and different from you?”

She grinned and began twisting her hair around her left hand. “I look like goat milk, yard upon yard of goat milk with breasts that weren't anything at all before you got me with child. But you, James, yours is a complex landscape, all valleys and ridges and beautiful clumps of hair here and there, and your legs are thick and strong. I can see your muscles when you move. I don't have any hard muscles in my stomach as you do. I very much like to touch your body, particularly your belly, well, and other places.”

“Manly places,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “manly ones.”

He closed his eyes as her breasts rose and fell as she twisted and retwisted her hair. She liked to touch him? He shuddered. He touched his fingers to his belly. He supposed she was right about the muscles, though he'd never thought about it. She liked—very much—to touch him there
particularly? She could have all their lives to touch him there, to touch him wherever she wanted to.

“Your nipples are darker. They were a soft light pink before. Now they're richer, fuller. I want to take you into my mouth, Jessie.”

“Oh. I didn't think you'd noticed so closely.”

She was excited; she had to be at least as excited as he was. How long did it take to put hair in a bun? Not as long as she was taking, he realized, as his legs were now pressed against the side of the bed. “Jessie, you're teasing me. How long have you been planning this?”

“Since my stomach settled before dinner. Since I realized you were depriving me just because of Mr. Tom. Badger patted me on the head, he was so pleased I didn't retch up his delicious stewed mutton kidneys.”

“Don't put your hair in a bun, Jessie. Just drop it down your back, that's it. Give me the brush. Thank you. Now, lie down on your back. I want to look at you.”

He knew he'd taken control from her, but he couldn't help it. He wanted her so badly he knew he'd burst with it if he didn't get inside her quickly. Ah, the pleasure he would give her. He thought about Mr. Tom, then dismissed the phantom from his mind. She was his wife and she wanted him. He wouldn't deny her. Soon now, very soon, they'd leave for Ocracoke. He found he was thinking more of ridding her of a ghost than of Blackbeard's bloody treasure. For he was sure that was what he would do if he got to the bottom of the mystery plaguing her.

He stretched out his hand and gently laid it over her belly. He began to massage her. Her belly was still flat, but her flesh was soft and he continued to caress her, splaying his fingers out to touch her pelvic bones. He sat beside her, leaned down, and kissed a patch of white flesh framed by his fingers. He moved his hands a bit lower until the heels of his hands rested on her curling red hair. He kissed her,
then caressed her with his tongue. He wondered how long he could do this without dying. “You are the most beautiful female person in the world,” he said, breathing his warm breath over her flesh. Even as he was close to touching her, she found herself arching upward.

He laughed softly and took her in his mouth.

“James!”

“Hmmm,” he said, but didn't raise his head. She tasted so sweet, so much like Jessie and that gardenia soap she used. Lust was battering him down, but he knew he had to hold on. But what if he came into her now, just this one time? No, he had to hold on, he had to do things properly. He didn't understand how he could want her more now than he had three months ago.

Her back arched up, he felt her fingers digging into his hair, into his shoulders, and she was whispering in a low, hoarse voice, “Please, James, oh please, please . . .”

He pushed her then, teasing her with his tongue, then caressing her deeply. When he eased his middle finger into her, she screamed. That high wail made him moan.

When he felt her pleasure explode through her, he wanted to shout with the joy of it. He pushed her, reveling in her pleasure, and knowing that soon, very soon, he would be inside her and it would be she who would be giving to him, she who would be reveling in his passion. At least he prayed a woman reveled in a man's passion. Jessie certainly always seemed to.

When finally she quieted, he lifted his head, smiled at her, and said, “Now, Jessie.”

Then he was between her legs, holding her up. He wanted to shove into her immediately, all of him, but he took his time, and with every small bit he pushed into her he felt immense pressure that was surely pain, but he didn't want it to end, not ever. He was his full length inside her, at last.
At last. He came on top of her, balancing himself on his elbows.

“Jessie, how does that feel to you?”

She opened her eyes. “It feels rather nice, James. Of course you always feel nice. As if you're a part of me. Actually, if that's true, then I want you to be a part of me forever.”

She lifted her hips, her legs going around his back, and he was lost. To his utter surprise, when he thrust hard into her, he felt her quiver beneath him, felt those quivers around his sex, pulling him deeper, squeezing him, and he reached between their bodies, while he still had the wit to do anything, and touched her. She cried out, a sharp cry, sounding as surprised as he felt. He kept up the pressure, giving her pleasure again, and as she peaked, he took his own release.

“Oh dear,” Jessie said, kissed his shoulder, and pulled him down flat on top of her. “Oh dear.”

He kissed her ear.

“That was embarrassing, James. I experienced pleasure two times. Surely that isn't all that common.”

“All right, I'll never do it again.”

She bit his nose. “It wasn't that embarrassing.” She frowned, closed her arms over his back, and pulled him as close as she could get him. He was very heavy, she was having trouble drawing a full breath, but she didn't care.

“Do all women reward themselves as much as I just did?”

“No.”

“Ah, so I'm special.”

He shrugged and licked her earlobe. “A man has to do things right,” he said, and nibbled her earlobe again. “Some men don't care, others just don't know what to do, and since women rarely know what's good for them, nothing at all happens. Can you imagine spending the rest of your nights with me with no pleasure at all?”

“No. Can we do this every night now?” She kissed his shoulder even as she squeezed his back. “I know you've held back from me for the past two nights because of the nightmares, but please don't anymore, James. If you do then I'll insist that we leave immediately for Ocracoke, and I really don't think anyone is quite ready just yet. Soon, though—very soon. And Blackbeard's treasure. Just imagine. Jewels, a ton of jewels and they'll be all ours. We'll be so rich we'll buy Maryland.” She giggled and he grinned down at her.

“I like the sound of that. More giggles every day now, all right?”

“All right. James, what will we do about our mothers?”

“Ignore them.”

“Does your mother always say awful things and then use similar sounding words to try to make them sound as though she said something different?”

“Just to certain people. When we were all at Chase Park, way back when the Duchess and Marcus were first married, she used to dish up the Duchess with every sentence she uttered. Then one day the Duchess actually did the same thing back to her. It was quite well done.” He sighed, then stiffened like a hunting dog sighting a pheasant. Jessie's hands were stroking his back. She was caressing his buttocks. He felt himself filling her again. Her fingers went between his thighs and he thought he'd croak that instant.

“Do you know what you're doing?”

“I hope so, James, I surely do. Oh goodness, you're gaining in proportion again.”

“A necessity, Jessie, a necessity.”

 

“There's another mystery.”

James, so exhausted he didn't know if he could even draw enough breath into his lungs, just stared down at her. He wanted to collapse, but he managed to keep himself up on
his elbows. He'd nearly crushed her before, but she hadn't complained. But now there was a light of excitement in her eyes; unfortunately it had replaced that sated, vague look that had filled her eyes just five minutes before. Women, he thought, shaking his head to keep himself awake, were extraordinarily different from men. She should be whispering love words to him, rubbing her sweating body against his, then falling asleep even as he got hard inside her.

But she was wide awake. It was as if having all that woman's pleasure gave her new energy. He himself wanted to sleep for a week.

“What mystery?” He didn't give a good damn. Nor could he keep himself up for another moment. He pulled out of her and collapsed next to her, drawing her against his side. “What mystery?” he said again, trying to remember a time when he'd felt this content, this pleased with the world and his place in it. And the reason he felt this way was because of Jessie Warfield. The former brat. Amazing.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot what I'd been thinking about. My thoughts drifted to thinking about how that felt, James, you sliding out of me and the way that made me all quivery inside.”