by Rue Allyn
The dowager’s low chuckle, mingled with Jessica’s tinkling laughter, prodded him. He leaned closer to the girl and spoke in a low voice. “If it’s a collar for me, then perhaps we can manage a muzzle for you, little fox.”
Her breath caught, indicating his words startled her, as he intended. Giggling, she placed a hand on his forearm. Her laughter coupled with the gesture, appeased him. He could not control the smile that spread from his heart to his face.
“Perhaps I exaggerated my injury,” she said, laughter trilling in her voice. She turned to his mother to prevent her speaking of it again. “Please, Your Grace, what matter did you come to discuss?”
The dowager looked from Jessica’s imploring face to Devlin’s half smile, and yielded.
“If you feel well enough.” She cast a quick, meaningful glance at Devlin. “We have an idea to discuss with you. Is that agreeable, Devlin?”
He shrugged, giving tacit approval without speaking.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessica tried to lie still, listening to Sophie snoring softly on her cot at the far side of the room. She wished she might join her maid in that world of dreams, a place where a scullery maid-turned-lady could go for solace. As she lay listening, Jessica’s angst increased.
She needed to tell someone about possible danger to Devlin, then she needed to leave, return to Welter and her mother. To John Lout. To her duties in the scullery at Maxwell Manor. There she could no longer hurl accusations against Fry or Hardwick or Lattimore Miracle.
How, her conscience begged, could she walk away from the safest haven she had ever known? How could she surrender the hot baths, clean sheets on soft beds, marvelous food and wardrobe? There was the money, too, as if she could allow Devlin to pay for luxuries a girl such as herself should never have known.
She pushed off the covers. If she were honest, it was not sweetness of life holding her. It was sightless blue eyes that reflected the skies when he smiled or laughed and, occasionally, the storms gathering over the sea when he was annoyed, or when he touched her.
She sat, stood, and shuffled to the door, grabbing a wrapper to cover the sheer night rail, one of those Sophie laid out for her to wear each night. Her hair hanging loose was an annoyance. She stepped to the vanity and fastened the unruly tresses back with combs.
Soundlessly, she lifted the latch and slipped into the corridor, easing the door closed behind her, then drew a breath.
This was not the beginning of her flight. No, this was just an outing. She would need to plan and prepare for the longer journey. No female would set off in clothing as scant as that she wore.
She slipped her arms into the wrapper’s sleeves, lapped the sides and secured the tie at her waist.
The chatter of birds anticipating the dawn encouraged her as she traversed the long walkway, ran down the stairs, and turned to cut through Devlin’s study to access the yellow rose garden, her favorite. There sweet smells and gentle breezes mingled behind a north wall. Recently someone had placed a bench where a wanderer might enjoy the sunlight or even sit protected from a light rain. She was grateful for the foresight of that person.
Inhaling the crisp night air, she squinted down at unopened buds of a bush she had planted with her own two hands. She had been watching the addition for signs it was satisfied in its new home. She knelt and, with cautious fingers, touched the new growth.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I knew you would like it here.”
A familiar voice spoke quietly, as if trying not to startle her, as it did precisely that.
“What are you approving with sweet murmurs out here this time of day, Jessica?”
She stumbled to her feet and whirled, fumbling with her sash to make sure her covering was secure. “Oh, Your Grace, I apologize most sincerely. I did not imagine anyone might be here so early.” She began backing toward the door.
His smile was scarcely visible in the predawn darkness, but she could see the gleam of his teeth as he emerged from the shadows.
“This garden may be small, but I believe it can accommodate two visitors at one time.” His voice sounded of suppressed laughter.
“Yes, I suppose it can.” She peered at him, entertaining a new thought. “Unless one is at his prayers or seeking privacy.”
“Were you?”
“What, Your Grace?”
“At your prayers, kneeling and whispering.”
She rewarded his guess with a little laugh. “No. I was speaking encouragement to the buds, Your Grace. I suppose praising a flower is a prayer of sorts. A compliment to its Creator.”
“The one who planted it?”
She laughed again. “No. The originator.”
His quiet laughter joined with hers. She squinted into the darkness trying to make out his face. “Have you sight this morning, Your Grace?”
“Devlin. Call me by my Christian name, Jessica.”
“I do not think familiarity shows proper regard for your station, particularly in front of our — that is, your — staff.”
“Are any members of the household present now?”
“No, no one else seems to be up.”
“Then, if you please.”
“Devlin.”
“Yes. Thank you for your interest, Nightingale, I do have sight this morning.”
A smile spread her face just as the playful breeze teased one unruly ringlet from its hastily affixed anchor to drop over her forehead, giving her a mischievous look.
“A miracle is a grand way to begin a new day,” she said, and noticed that he looked both pleased and amused, like a youth not yet burdened with a man’s responsibilities. A broad smile broke his wondrous features, turning his into the most beautiful face she had ever seen.
“Nightingale, on some subjects you have the wisdom of Solomon. On others, you remain hopelessly naïve.”
She couldn’t help returning his smile, in spite of the little vexation she felt at his words. “To what are you referring?”
“Your lack of knowledge about men.”
“I have a brother and had a father, Your … Devlin. I’ve had opportunity to study the male of the species and his behavior. Of course, I have been around villagers, men in Welter, all my life. In what way does my training appear lacking?”
Devlin’s smile waned. “What experiences have you had with the men of Welter?”
“I have grown up with some, talked and laughed and done business with others. I’ve been friends with several and have made genuine effort to endure others.”
“What kind of behavior is required to endure men in Welter?”
She tried to fathom what she had said to have darkened his mood so.
“Well, when I am making effort, I try to be respectful and not talk more than necessary so as not to annoy them. I make it a point to be meticulously honest in my business dealings, in selling my hens and eggs.” She arched her brows. “Of course, I feel compelled to call the grocer to task when he puts a thumb on the scale weighing out flour or sugar. I insist a merchant be as meticulously honest with me as I am with him. Sometimes I am required to prompt his honesty with rather a terse reminder.” She hesitated. “That doesn’t happen as often now as it once did.”
The smile again bowed the duke’s broad mouth. “The merchants being … ?”
“The grocer and the fish monger, occasionally the smithy.”
“Are these married men?”
Her frown deepened. “The grocer’s wife died last June. I believe he is out of mourning. The monger smells too bad to woo a proper wife, and the smithy is too hairy. I have suggested he wear more clothing to conceal some of that hair if he hopes to win a bride.”
“Did the smithy take your advice?”
“Yes, for a while, until he began attracting ladies whose interest he did not want.”
“Were you one?”
“Great heavens, no!” She laughed incredulously.
“Did the smithy solicit your interest?”
“Not that I noticed. He ha
s always been kind.”
“As you grew, did you notice men being kinder and more meticulously honest with you?”
She puckered her lips. “I had not realized it myself until you asked.”
“Perhaps, while you are in my care, Nightingale, I should teach you about the thinking of men.”
She glanced back at her blooms. “Perhaps I might repay the kindness by teaching you something of flowers.”
“But not about women?”
She heard the teasing tone in his voice. “I know you to be well instructed on that subject. Judging the way women behave around you, I doubt you have been denied many secrets by ladies of your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
She stooped to pull bits of grass and weeds sprouting among her flowers, becoming more visible with the dawn. She did not feel threatened when the duke moved closer.
“You see, Nightingale, it is not wise for a young woman to make herself available to a man alone, in the predawn hours of morning.”
She giggled and blurted, as if speaking to the bud she was examining. “Of course, if we had observed a silly rule like that when we met, you might have perished.”
“Yes, well, there are exceptions, of course, but, perhaps it is not wise for a young woman, particularly one as attractive as you … ”
She pivoted, but remained hunkered, and looked up. “You have never said you thought me attractive. Is this a new opinion?”
He cleared his throat. “No. I have always thought you attractive. When you are not vexing my soul, you can even be quite a charming, beautiful … child.”
She turned back to the plants. “I am a woman, Your Grace.”
“As you have told me several times. I can see that for myself now, even in this muted light.” He glanced toward the bench. “Come and sit a moment so I may have your full attention.”
She took his extended hand, stood, and followed him to the bench. She loved his touch, regardless of the reason. Maintaining his hold on her fingers, he waited for her to sit, before he settled closely beside her.
“Jessica, you entice men, both with your beauty and your naiveté. It is a powerful aphrodisiac.”
She frowned, unclear as to his meaning. “I see.”
“It is a wonder you have come this far without losing your … innocence.”
“You mean my virginity.” He looked stunned so she provided a definition. “You mean because I have not shared my body with a man?”
He cleared his throat and said a slightly strangled, “Yes.”
“How did you surmise that?” she asked. “Are you able to envision a person’s past?”
He gave her a fatherly smile. “Your innocence about men, my darling, is obvious.”
“To your well-trained eye?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.”
“Are you offering to remedy that? If so, let me assure you, a dozen have offered before you.” She looked around. The darkness was lifting. “Of course, those invitations came near a haystack, in a stable or an isolated field, rather than in a rose garden.”
“How did you answer those offers?”
“Sometimes I mentioned John Lout would be furious. Men and boys around Welter knew John.”
“Were any of those willing to risk his wrath?”
“Some, but, of course, John has been telling everyone for years that he deflowered me when we were children, so they considered drinking of the same well of little consequence.”
Devlin’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. “Is the claim true? If so, I will see him brought up on charges.”
She touched his fists lightly with her fingers. “No. I boxed his ears more than once for trying. I would not give the privilege of my body without a priest first speaking words over us.”
Imagining the slender child defeating the brutish John Lout, the duke bit his lips but couldn’t suppress the laughter that escaped expressing his genuine joy with unexpected volume.
Jessica came to her feet. “Shhhh. You will wake the house, Your Grace.”
He brought the laughter under control. “You’re right. This is a private conversation. We wouldn’t want others listening.”
She gave him a puzzled smile and nodded.
Sobering, he stared for a moment at her wrap, and then fingered the sleeve. “What is this you are wearing?”
She retreated. “It is the covering for my night rail.”
“So you are wearing more adequate clothing beneath this?”
“I don’t imagine anyone would consider it more adequate exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember the gossamer Mrs. Capstone showed you?”
“Of course, but I was not able to see it then.”
“You instructed her to make me nightgowns of that in every color and she did. I am wearing one. Do you remember the texture?”
“It was vaporous, as sheer as butterfly wings.”
“Yes.”
“I would like to see it now, while my sight is upon me.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. “I will bring one for your inspection.”
He caught her hand before she could leave and tugged her back to stand in front of him. Mutely, he peered into her face. “You understood my meaning well enough, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“You knew I didn’t intend you to bring me another example of the weave?”
“I suppose not.” She refused to meet his gaze.
He put his hands at her waist and tugged, separating his knees to draw her within their perimeters. As he untied her sash, she drew a quick breath, but did not object. The sides of her wrap opened, framing her body.
“I want to see you, Nightingale. I have grown feverish in my bed imagining this moment. Though I examined your face with my fingers, I had no idea your features might be arranged in such fascinating order. While I have some idea of your appearance, I did not imagine a voluptuous form.” He pushed her wrap to either side to expose her torso, scarcely concealed by the gauze of her gown. “Alone here, now, I want to look at the form that houses your bright, astonishing spirit.”
Jessica shivered, but did not speak, wondering why she was allowing this man to stare at her as she stood before him, practically nude.
Through the filmy fabric that floated with her every breath, he regarded the swells and hollows, the most intimate parts of her supple young form. He stared at the dark circles where her breasts peaked. His breath stopped when his gaze drifted to the shadowy vee marking her femininity. His eyes followed her hips and down long, shapely legs.
Delicately, he placed an index finger at the beginning of the swell between her breasts.
“Lesson One: You must never allow any man who is not your husband to see or touch you below this point. No other may experience you with his eyes or with his hands and, most forbidden of all, his lips.”
He saw the shimmer of awakening desire in her eyes. She moistened her lips and her mouth remained open. Her breathing became ragged and she nodded her understanding.
He groaned, ashamed of himself but not able to control his own burgeoning pleasure as his finger descended. She inhaled and her breasts swelled, encouraging his touch. She trembled.
“Are you afraid, Nightingale?”
“No, Your Grace. I know your intent is honorable, that you wish to school me.”
He chuffed, a half cough, half laugh, as his unrestrained finger circled one of her breasts, tracing it round and round like a corkscrew, winding to a stop when it reached the tip. There he trapped that sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed ever so slightly.
She gasped, staring into his face, but made no effort to prevent him.
“Do not allow any man to do this, Jessica. Tender touching mesmerizes. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Breathless, she shivered again, then shifted, inviting him to repeat the lesson with her other breast.
A smile twitched the corners of his mouth as he attended the s
econd, marveling in how sensuous she was. His breathing, too, became uneven before he leaned forward to press his nose to her midriff. He felt her warmth, a stunning heat with only the gossamer between his flesh and hers.
Reaching low, he caught both her ankles firmly and heard her breath catch.
“Even if you should feel willing, and allow a man to fondle your breasts, you must never, ever allow him control of your legs. It will suggest you lack the character to stop his prying them apart, like this.”
“Y-Your … ” Her voice broke as he slid his hands up the backs of her calves. The gossamer caught on his forearms as they ascended. His hands stroked behind her knees and slithered up the backs of her thighs, easing her feet wider.
“Your Grace.” The two words were a plea.
“You must never allow a man to touch you this way. These long, lovely legs protect the core of your womanhood, the center of your being, and of his, if he is the man worthy of being your husband. You may allow this privilege to only one man in a lifetime.”
Jessica stared at him as if under a spell, asleep with her eyes wide open. “But, Devlin, you are a man,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He continued staring at her midriff.
“How are you taking those liberties that I am not to allow any man not my husband?”
He nodded solemnly. “There’s no help for it now. I suppose I shall be that man.”
A bird chirped. Abruptly the spell over Jessica was broken. Devlin tilted his face, bringing his wondering gaze to lock with hers, as if he had been startled by the thought spoken aloud in the silence of the awakening day.
Jessica’s glance darted to the tree where the bird had lighted before she began flapping both hands, escaping the duke’s grasp as she stumbled out of his reach.
With an audible groan, Devlin dropped his hands. At the same time, Jessica became shockingly aware of the transparency of the fabric covering her, stunned by the realization that she stood before this man draped in the sheer nothingness.