By now the servants had gone, the fire was crackling on the hearth, the room was warm and Georgiana watched Brett strip off the last of his clothing and plunge his big body into the steaming hip tub.
Now at last she rose lazily from the bed and stood there smiling at him. She took her time about undressing, turning about from time to time for his approval. First the white apron and the slate blue housedress moved with leisurely assurance over her head of tangled hair and were tossed carelessly onto a chair. Then, as Brett watched from the hip tub with kindling eyes, her stiff white petticoat departed her body and joined the blue dress on the chair. With elaborate care she removed her shoes and stockings, making sure to present her dainty legs to best advantage.
Down now to her sheer chemise—and fully conscious of the pretty picture she made with the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window and the crackling flames from the hearth sending sparkling highlights along her burnished gold hair—she walked casually to her dressing table and picked up a comb.
“I really must do something about this mop,” she murmured, frowning at her curls in the mirror. She gave it a comb or two, then idly, almost absentmindedly, tugged at the ribbon that held her chemise at the neck. She loosed it only a little so that somehow the sheer white lawn rippled down seductively over one bare shoulder and displayed a wide expanse of smooth back. While Brett watched appreciatively, she made a great thing of combing and pinning up her bright hair—and every time her arm went up, her chemise slipped a bit more until finally it fell to her waist, held up only by her softly rounded hips.
“Venus rising from the foam,” murmured Brett, gazing at the elegant puff of near-transparent material from which his young wife seemed to be rising. “Come here.” He reached out a hand for her
“Not Venus,” smiled Georgiana, holding her ground. “Eve. For I’m about to tempt you with an apple. Here—catch.” She reached into a bowl of ruddy apples on a low stool beside her dressing table and tossed him one, which he reached out and caught handily with a wet hand. “You must be starving, Brett. For cook said, when someone cried out that you were coming, that you must have made a forced march to get home this early, and you were undoubtedly looking forward to a good meal.”
“Cook’s a perceptive woman.” He took a bite out of the apple but his eyes never left Georgiana’s lovely form, so provocatively displayed for his gaze. “But she can’t have been so simple-minded as to think it was her cooking that brought me home early. And if you’re Eve, you must know what I’m talking about. Here, take a bite yourself.”
He tossed her the apple and in reaching up to catch it Georgiana’s chemise billowed down to land in a white puff around her slim ankles.
Naked now in all the glory of her youthful femininity, Georgiana stood smiling at him and took a dainty bite out of the apple. “There,” she said, and her turquoise eyes seemed to sparkle with mysterious lights. “Now we’ve tasted the same forbidden fruit.”
“Don’t move,” he said raptly, and she was caught by a pulsing undertone in his timbred voice, like a distant onrushing waterfall. “The firelight plays over your body and the evening sun gilds your hair. I want always to remember you like this.”
Sure of herself and happy, Georgiana stood a moment more posing elegantly for his enchantment. Then she stepped daintily out of the mound of sheer material. It collapsed softly to the floor as she stepped into her own steaming hip bath and settled herself luxuriously into the water.
“We wouldn’t have had all this hot water ready if we weren’t butchering,” she said contentedly, wriggling her hips down into the tub. “I expect cook is swearing at all the servants right now and making them carry pail after pail from the well!”
“Join me, Georgiana.” Brett's voice was husky as he extended his hand toward her again.
“Not till I scrub this grime off,” she insisted, seizing a sponge and soaping it and covering her round breasts with suds. “I’ve been working around steaming pots all day!”
“A pity to conceal all that beauty with soapsuds,” he sighed.
Georgiana laughed and squeezed a spongeful of water down over her breasts. The suds disappeared and in their place her round breasts gleamed wet and the pink nipples held drops of water that caught the light like diamonds.
“I don’t know whether I like you better wet or dry,” Brett observed whimsically and rose from his tub.
She guessed his intention.
“Brett,” she said breathlessly, holding up her sponge as if to ward him off. “I’m not finished bathing—and you haven’t shaved. You’ve an awful stubble on your chin. You near sanded my cheek with it. Go on—shave. And then you can scrub my back and towel me dry and—”
“And I'll think of something to do after that,” he promised with a grin, drying his big handsome body with a towel as he watched her.
She bathed leisurely, feeling the water swirling warm about her legs and hips as she sat in the tub and watched him shave. So expertly did he strop his razor, so precisely scrape off his beard... she marveled that he did not cut himself.
“You sound like you’ve had a dull time of it,” he tossed over his naked shoulder, staring into the mirror as the razor grazed deftly over his chin. "If all that’s happened while I was gone is that the hearth-chain broke and some Indians chanced by!”
“Oh, Nicolas came by—to return my glove,” said Georgiana carelessly. She was rising from the tub as she spoke and was surprised to see Brett’s big head swing around sharply.
“He did?” he asked softly. “And when was that?”
“Yesterday.”
“And did you invite Nicolas to stay the night?”
Georgiana felt suddenly very naked standing there. Her wet body was under her husband’s fierce inspection as if he would glean the truth from its gleaming surface—but his gaze upon that body was not friendly. Possessive but not friendly.
“No, I did not,” she said defensively.
“You entertained him for a meal perhaps?”
“Not even that.” She reached for a towel, held it up before her as if to shield herself from his hard gaze. “Nicolas arrived as we began the butchering, and he stayed but a minute. He could see that I was very busy.”
Something in the man across from her relaxed. The keen gray eyes that had been searching her face softened into amusement “That must have annoyed him,” he murmured.
“Why should it?” she demanded tartly.
The big head swung back toward the mirror. “Well, if you don't know, I won’t tell you.” Calmly, he continued shaving.
“Nicolas had other things to do,” she said sharply. She decided not to tell him what things—since he was so suspicious, let him find out for himself! And perhaps, a small thought nudged her, when he found out it would be too late for him to form a partnership with Govert Steendam and fall again under Erica’s spell. “Nicolas merely returned the glove and went on his way,” she said airily.
“He probably filched the glove when you set it down at Haerwyck and held on to it to give him an excuse to come up here to see you.”
“Nonsense!” But she was glad he was not looking at her just then, for her face flamed.
“And then you sent him on his way without even a cruller? You did more than that for the Indians!” Brett wiped his razor on the towel and turned to grin at her. “Mind you, I like your style. And you’re very pretty, flushed and indignant like that. Which reminds me—I didn’t soap your back!”
“It’s already done,” said Georgiana hastily. “I did it while you were shaving, and rinsed off the soap too.”
“Well, then let me help you dry yourself.” He tossed the razor away and strode toward her.
Georgiana had stepped out of the tub and was bent over toweling her feet and legs. “That’s done too.”
She would have tossed the towel aside but for Brett’s laughing, “Come now, there must be some places that aren’t quite dry!” He seized the damp towel and began to tickle her with
it, lightly scraping her breasts, passing the towel naughtily between her thighs and causing her to jump and protest and giggle.
And, then, as if the silken touch of her had been too much for him, he dropped the towel and the laughter and the teasing, and smothered his face in her perfumed hair. Georgiana clung to him, responding ardently to his change of mood.
“I’ve missed you,” he muttered, and swooped her up and carried her over to the big bed and made love to her with fierce intensity there atop the quilted coverlet.
Georgiana lost herself in those protective arms, lost herself in the wild winds of love that bore her on, lost herself in time and place as she abandoned herself to passion. These, she told herself fiercely, were the only arms that counted, this the only man worth having.
Downstairs, cook bustled about, taking time out from the butchering to prepare what she called a “monstrous fine supper,” and in her attic hiding place Linnet secreted—and counted yet again—her store of wampum, so full of black beads! And out in the chilly meadow Floss danced and romped and whinnied and cast a wistful look at the house that contained her young mistress. In the wide shining rivet the fish fled south, passing the flashing trout on their way upriver to spawn. And all the little furry creatures of meadow and woods made haste to finish up their winter quarters against the coming freeze.
But the “English patroon” and his lady were happily oblivious of all that. Locked in loving embrace there in the big warm room with the fire crackling merrily on the hearth and their naked bodies glowing in its light, they thrilled and touched and shared all the joys of earthlings, and Georgiana, happy and content, wished herself no better fate ever as she thrilled beneath her husband’s long, ardent body there on the wide Dutch bed.
Chapter 22
Nicolas stopped by Windgate on his return trip downriver. Georgiana was walking about the lawn and paused as she saw the ten Haers’ sloop tie up at their pier. She waved as she saw Nicolas alight and hurry up the slope toward her and he waved back, a wide grin on his handsome face.
They met almost at the front door. He swept her an exaggerated bow that grazed the grass stems.
“I clean forgot,” he said urbanely, “that I was carrying a letter for you along with the packet of mail I escorted upriver.”
“Nicolas!” cried Georgiana reproachfully, for letters for her were rare indeed in this isolated Dutch world—indeed this would be the first. “Do let me have it at once!”
Nicolas produced the letter.
“1 did truly forget it,” he said with engaging frankness. “ ’Tis the effect you have on me, Georgiana!” He gave her a rueful look, very attractive as his white teeth flashed against his carefully trimmed golden beard and mustaches. “I was told by the captain of the sloop that brought it as far as Haerwyck that it came by way of Philadelphia,” he added.
Georgiana bade Nicolas come in and snatched the letter.
“ ’Tis from Bermuda!” she cried in delight. “It will be from Sue.”
Nicolas followed her into the drawing room and sat down before the tall windows, facing Georgiana. He had chosen the spot carefully so the afternoon sunlight blazing in through the windows would gild his golden locks and halo the saffron plumes of his hat, which he wore fashionably clapped on his head indoors. This ploy was lost on Georgiana, who was rapt in speculation over what Sue might have to tell her.
“I am burning to read my letter, Nicolas,” she said without looking up. “Will you excuse me?”
“Certainly. I only stopped by to ask if you had found my snuffbox—and then I remembered the letter.”
“The snuffbox?” Georgiana was already breaking the wax seal. “Oh, it’s over there on the table. Linnet saw you drop it and ran down the slope to return it to you but your sloop was already departing.”
So that was why Linnet had been waving so frantically from the shore, he thought wryly. And he had presumed her excitement came from a desire to see him again! The thought piqued him as he leaned over to pick up the snuffbox. “And where is your bright-eyed little maid?” he drawled. “I’d like to thank her.”
“I don’t know. Probably wandering about somewhere.” Georgiana was absorbed in Sue’s letter. “I’ll tell her you said thank you.” Nicolas took a pinch of snuff and leaned back on the carved overstuffed sofa. He watched Georgiana with jaded eyes as she perused the letter and wished again that she were his....
We all miss you, Sue wrote, but there is much news. Bernice claims to have found a will. It leaves Mirabelle, everything, to her. I hear it is to be probated but I do not know how long it will take. It would seem that Mr. Jamison had a solicitor in Jamaica as well as one in London. (But he didn’t! thought Georgiana indignantly. He would have told me! It is another of Bernice’s tricks!) So it is good that you did not stay in Bermuda as there is nothing for you here with Mirabelle gone and Arthur laying claim to you in his obnoxious way. He still beats poor Mattie and I am sure she thoroughly regrets having married him, for all she was so eager to do it at the time. They are off tomorrow for Boston—by a roundabout way, they will have to journey by way of Philadelphia. Mattie pleads to stay but mother will not hear of it and Arthur was—for him—fairly civil to Mattie yesterday, I will say. He even said she could take an extra trunk to hold her books and trinkets—imagine, with all his trunks of clothes, peacock that he is, Mattie can take one extra trunk! Poor Mattie!
There was more: how much Sue missed her, how well Coral the cat was doing—and then Sue’s big news.
Georgiana turned engagingly to Nicolas, and he thought how fetching she looked in her striped tabby gown with its handsome slashed sleeves and those gathered great ruffles at the elbows An edging of Flanders lace caressed her low-cut neckline, looking stiff and starched against the delicate skin. And her olive taffeta petticoat rustled delightfully. He wondered if beneath that petticoat she was wearing striped stockings like Katrina ten Haer and cast an inquiring glance down to find out. But Georgiana’s gown was still not as short as the sophisticated Dutch girls affected, and not until she moved her feet as she turned impulsively to speak to him did he glimpse her trim ankles clad in fragile green silk.
He sighed. So much more to his taste, silk. Just as the dainty ankles that the green silk encased appealed to him so much more than did Katrina ten Haer’s sturdier ones.
“Sue writes me that by the time this reaches me she and Lance will be married,” Georgiana told him, smiling.
“And who is Sue?” he wondered.
“Oh, she’s my very best friend.” She scanned Sue’s next words: We are going to live with Lance's family temporarily although Mother says that will not do in the long run, that we must have an establishment of our own. “And she says that Lance’s favorite mare is about to foal and that is all he can think of—that he does not hear half what is said to him.” She looked up at Nicolas with laughing eyes, and again he envied Danforth. “I only hope that Lance will be as excited about his own offspring when they come, but I am sure he will not. Lance is surely half horse! He used to propose to me twice weekly at Mirabelle, always explaining the advantage of combining our stables!”
Nicolas’s blue eyes narrowed appraisingly. “You had excellent stables at Mirabelle, I take it?”
“Oh, yes, excellent.” Georgiana led him on with glee. “Lance had the best stallion on the island—and I had the best mare.” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look. “You must have seen her, Nicolas—Floss, my silver mare. She’s an Arabian.”
Nicolas’s brows shot up and his gaze flew to the massive silver candlesticks, which could be viewed through the open doorway into the dining room. Wickedly, Georgiana could guess what he was thinking: Plate fit for royalty and Arabian horses! It amused her to depict herself—she, the dispossessed waif of the islands—as a Bermuda heiress and watch Nicolas’s blue eyes gleam with avarice.
“Danforth is a lucky man,” he muttered, frowning. “On several counts.”
“I hope Brett shares your view,” laughed Georgiana. �
�But I am afraid he considers me a handful.”
“One I would gladly take off his hands,” murmured Nicolas.
“Spoken like a court gallant!” declared Georgiana, watching him with sparkling turquoise eyes. “Katrina ten Haer would strangle you for saying it! Tell me, Nicolas,” she added roguishly, “how does your courting go?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I am not courting Katrina ten Haer,” he insisted.
“No? But you gave her a diamond necklace, did you not? I seem to recall seeing it around her neck.”
“She has already lost it,” he said hastily. “Things have a way of slipping through Katrina’s fingers.”
“And men too, I don’t doubt,” said Georgiana, amused.
“Yes. She considers herself unlucky in that respect,” he said shortly.
Georgiana wondered if he had come upriver not so much to aid Huygens as because he had suffered some rebuff from the ten Haer heiress. Possibly he was trying to make Katrina jealous by paying court to Georgiana?
“Why, Nicolas,” she teased, “I was expecting you to sing Katrina’s praises and tell me how wonderful she is in all ways, and how you intend to have an entire saffron suit made for yourself, just to match her yellow hair, and how you would be wedding her before Christmas is past!”
He sighed. “You can stop making sport of me,” he told her. “It is bad enough that you ignore me whilst you read your mail, must you poke fun at me too?”
She was instantly contrite, for he had been very patient. “Oh, Nicolas, you know I did not mean it,” she said, for she really liked this big smiling Dutchman in spite of his bad character and the danger he posed to her and Brett. “But do you really think you could live at Haerwyck with a mother-in-law like Rychie? And with Katrina growing more like her every day, for she’s just a brown-eyed Rychie, you know!”
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