Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  “I hope you’re right. It will certainly make things easier. Has the staff returned to their rooms?”

  “Yes, your grace, but the maids will be up shortly.”

  “So I had better get Miss Hamilton back to her room.”

  “That might be best, your grace.”

  “Very well. Could you get my gear organized? I’ve got a busy day.”

  James stuck his head out into the corridor to check for servants before he extended his hand to Sarah and pulled her along to her room. Once there, he ducked inside, closed the door, and kissed her again.

  “Dream of me, sweetheart, and I’ll see you when I get back. We’ll tell Aunt Gladys and Lizzie and Lady Amanda our news then, shall we?”

  “I certainly don’t want to tell them by myself.” Sarah felt a little ill thinking about it.

  “You won’t mind being an English duchess too terribly, will you, Sarah?” James was suddenly serious.

  Sarah laid her hand along his jaw. “I want to be your wife, James. If that means I must be a duchess, then so be it. I just hope I won’t disappoint you.”

  He pulled her to him in a quick hug. “No chance of that. Now get some sleep if you can.”

  He opened the door and moved back down the hall. Sarah watched him go. She could not believe that he was hers—or would be hers in a few hours. She yawned and closed the door. She didn’t think she could sleep a wink. Her bed seemed small and cold now. Lonely.

  She climbed under the covers and laid her head on the pillow. She was certain she’d relive the amazing events of the night, but she was more tired that she knew. In moments, her eyes closed and she was asleep.

  Chapter 15

  “Oh, miss, I hope I didn’t wake ye!”

  Sarah lifted her head from her pillow and squinted at the sunlight streaming in the window. She could tell it was much later than she usually slept.

  “What time is it, Betty?”

  “Almost noon, miss. The house is abuzz, though no one except Harrison knows why and he isn’t saying. That one wouldn’t tell his dying mother the time o’ day if his grace had told him not to.”

  “Hmm.” Sarah took inventory of her body. She had a definite ache and a wet stickiness between her legs. Other than that, she felt the same as she had the day before. The same—yet profoundly different.

  “Here now, I’ve brought ye some tea and a few biscuits.”

  Sarah pulled herself to a sitting position. Could Betty tell she wasn’t a virgin anymore?

  Apparently not. The maid chatted away just as she did every morning.

  “There’s flowers all over the drawing room, miss, and all sorts of food being delivered. I’ve had to beat Lizzie away from yer door twice, she was that eager to see if ye knew the cause of all the bustle. Even Lady Gladys and Lady Amanda don’t know. It’s all his grace’s doing.”

  “Is his grace at home?” Sarah was aware of a familiar fluttery feeling in her stomach at the thought of James.

  “No. If he was, ye can be sure his womenfolk would have had the secret out o’ him by now.”

  Sarah sipped her tea. She was quite certain that she knew what all the fuss was about, but she’d rather wait until James was home to face everyone.

  “Do you suppose I might have a bath, Betty?”

  Betty grinned. “His grace left orders for just such a thing when ye woke. I’ll tell the footmen to bring up the water.”

  Sarah stayed in bed finishing her breakfast as the footmen readied her bath. She recognized one of the men from last night. He gave no indication that he had seen her in James’s room. Either she had truly managed to stay in the shadows or he knew to keep James’s confidence.

  “No, thank you, Betty,” Sarah said when the bath was ready. “I don’t need any help.”

  She waited until Betty had left the room to climb out of bed. Her nightgown had a red stain on the back. Perhaps when the maid collected the soiled laundry, she’d just think that her courses had come early. James would have a harder time explaining the stain on his sheets. But if they were married tonight, it wouldn’t really matter.

  She climbed into the tub and felt the warm water lap around her body—her breasts, her arms, her legs, her…her mind skittered away from that thought. She wasn’t even sure what to call it, this part of her that ached for James whenever he touched her.

  She had given some attention to her face and her hair before—plenty of anguish over that red mop—but little thought to the rest of her. She was tall and thin. She put clothes on and took them off. She was hardly ever completely naked except during her quick baths, and then she never looked at what the clothes covered.

  But she had been naked with James. Completely and shockingly naked.

  She soaped her hands and slid them up her ankle to her knee, remembering the feel of James’s hands traveling the same path. She dunked her head and felt the water roll off her breasts as she raised her arms to lather her hair. Her nipples tightened as the cooler air brushed them. Her body was so sensitive, as if it had been dormant all these years and now, like the crocus after the cold winter, had burst into bloom. Her skin didn’t just cover her body, it connected it in the most amazing way. When James’s lips touched her throat, her knees wobbled. When his clever fingers brushed her breast, her breath caught. And when he touched her there, which even now had grown hot and needy, she came apart.

  She rinsed her hair and squeezed the wetness out, then wrapped a towel around her head and a robe around her body and went over to the fire.

  Just thinking of James warmed her. When he had come to her, when she had felt him inside her, when she had felt his warm seed flow into her, she had felt a connectedness she had never known before. She put her hand on her stomach. Could she be carrying his child now?

  She rubbed her hair with the towel, feeling the warmth of the fire begin to dry the red mass. She wished she had known her mother. She had only vague impressions left, wisps of sounds, traces of smells. For a long time she couldn’t separate the pleasant memories from the horror of her mother’s death: the darkness, the smell of blood, the screaming, the desperate whispering. And her father—had he been different when her mother was alive? She had scraps of memories of him, too, of laughter, a rough cheek, strong hands carrying her high. But maybe those were dreams rather than memories.

  Her children—hers and James—would know beyond any doubt that they were loved.

  The door banged open. “There you are!” Lizzie said.

  Sarah laughed. “Where else would I be?”

  “Anywhere else! It’s past noon, you know, and you’re just drying your hair.” Lizzie flopped down in the other chair by the fire. “I’ve been dying to get in here to ask you what was happening, but Betty wouldn’t let me past the door until you were awake. She said James said to let you sleep. Now, why would James say that?”

  Sarah flushed and turned quickly toward the fire, hoping Lizzie would attribute her heightened color to the heat. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “I’m sure you do. James was too busy to accompany you to the opera last night and this morning he leaves directions for you to sleep late and have a bath when you get up. Add to that the armloads of flowers appearing in the drawing room, the parade of delivery boys from Fortnum and Mason’s, and Harrison’s knowing smirk, and I’d say something significant happened between the time I left you last night and now.”

  “Maybe you should ask Harrison.”

  “I did ask Harrison. Aunt Gladys asked Harrison. Even Lady Amanda ‘Ferret’ Wallen-Smyth asked Harrison. Harrison isn’t talking. ‘His grace will be home shortly’ is all he’ll say. He won’t even say where his charming grace is or when he’ll deign to stroll back to Berkeley Square. So I’m asking you, Sarah. Come on, tell all. What’s going on between you and my brother?”

  “Um…” Sarah smiled at Lizzie. “His grace will be home shortly?”

  “Arghh!” Lizzie threw a pillow at her. Sarah laughed and caught it.

  “Am I
interrupting?”

  Sarah’s head snapped around. James was leaning on the doorpost, smiling at her. She was sure she was grinning like a bedlamite, but fortunately Lizzie’s attention was focused on James.

  “There you are!” Lizzie knelt on the seat of her chair and leaned on the back to face her brother. “Where have you been all morning?”

  “Here and there.” His glance slid over to Sarah. Her breath caught. She was very conscious of being naked under her robe. Thank God Lizzie was in the room, otherwise she was afraid she would just have untied the belt and opened the sides wide to James.

  “That’s no answer. Tell us why there are so many flowers downstairs and why the kitchen is bursting with food.”

  “Oh, I think Sarah knows.” James smiled slowly.

  Lizzie grabbed another pillow and flung it at him. “Well I don’t know, so tell me!”

  James laughed. “Patience, sister.” He sent the pillow spinning through the air to land on Sarah’s bed. “Why don’t you go down and join Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda in the drawing room? Sarah and I will be down in a minute and I will tell all then.” He looked at Sarah and grinned wider. “Well, maybe not all.”

  Sarah felt her face flame.

  “I’m not leaving you here alone with Sarah,” Lizzie said. “She has only her robe on, James.”

  “I noticed.”

  Lizzie got up and grabbed his arm. “Come on.” She tugged him toward the door. “If I get you downstairs, I’m sure Sarah will come along shortly. Do hurry, Sarah,” she said as she pushed James out the door, “or Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda and I may tear James apart to get the story out of him.”

  “I’ll hurry,” Sarah said, laughing as she closed the door behind them.

  Sarah was amazed, when she came downstairs a few minutes later, at how the house had been transformed. There were indeed flowers everywhere—by the front door, on the bannisters, on the tables. She drew in a deep breath. The air smelled like summer.

  Aunt Gladys sat by a large vase of red roses in the drawing room. “There you are. Maybe now we’ll find out why James has emptied every hothouse in London.”

  “I thought you would have guessed, Aunt.” James moved a vase of violets on the mantle.

  “These many flowers—must be a funeral or a wedding,” Lady Amanda said.

  “Precisely. And since, despite Richard’s wishes, I’m not planning on dying any time soon, the conclusion is obvious.”

  “Not so obvious.” Aunt Gladys frowned at him. “Exactly whom are you marrying? When we came home from the opera last night—I don’t need to point out that you didn’t see fit to accompany us—I believe Sarah was still intending to be a governess, not a duchess.”

  James brushed a speck of lint off the sleeve of his coat. “Yes, well, we’ve worked out our differences.”

  “Don’t see how you could have. She’s been in bed the whole time since, hasn’t she?”

  “I believe the question is, Gladys,” Lady Amanda said, “whose bed?”

  “Hmm.” Lady Gladys’s eyes surveyed James and then Sarah. Sarah kept her chin up, though she knew her face was redder than her hair.

  “Well I don’t care how it happened, I think it’s wonderful!” Lizzie said, hugging first James and then Sarah. “When is the wedding?”

  “Tonight.” James grinned.

  The wedding was very small, which suited Sarah perfectly. Only the people she cared about were there—Aunt Gladys, Lady Amanda, Lizzie, Robbie, and Charles. She remembered certain things clearly. Proper Wiggins actually breaking into a wide grin as he opened the door to the drawing room for her. Her hand on Robbie’s arm just before he gave her to James, the emerald in her engagement ring glowing in the candlelight. Aunt Gladys’s face, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, her lips wobbling in and out of a smile. And James, blond hair gleaming in the candlelight, amber eyes swirling with humor and love.

  She had tried to listen to the minister’s words, but her mind kept wandering to James. She smelled his soap. She felt the heat of his body all along her side. If she looked out the corner of her eye, she could see him, dressed elegantly in proper eveningwear, listening to the minister. But if she closed her eyes, she saw him in different candlelight, without the civilized coverings of coat and breeches. She knew now the strength and beauty of the body beneath the clothing. She knew what it was to be surrounded by the heat and the smell of him. Her knees shook as his hand came up to cover hers. The touch of his fingers was both a reassurance and a promise.

  Afterwards they sat down to a lavish dinner. Sarah touched James’s hand when he led her to the seat at the foot of the table.

  “That’s Aunt Gladys’s place.”

  “Not anymore. You’re my hostess now, sweetheart.”

  “But I don’t know what to do!”

  “Wiggins does. Just nod yes to all his questions, and if he looks odd when you say yes, smile and say no.”

  “As if it were that easy!”

  It turned out to be that easy. The problem was realizing when Wiggins was addressing her.

  “Shall I have the footmen serve the second course, your grace?”

  Sarah waited for James to answer. James smiled down the length of the table and lifted his eyebrows.

  “Your grace?” Wiggins was right at her elbow. She turned to look at him.

  “Am I ‘your grace’?” she whispered.

  Wiggins nodded.

  “Well, then, yes, Wiggins, if you think it’s time.”

  In the drawing room after dinner, Aunt Gladys smiled and leaned towards Sarah.

  “James looks so happy, dear. I’ve never seen him so content.”

  Sarah looked to where James stood by the mantle with Charles. He did seem happy. Some strain, some tension that had been a part of him was gone. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced over. His lips turned up in a slow smile. Sarah looked down at her hands.

  “I believe he’s more than happy, Gladys,” Lady Amanda said. “I don’t expect you’ll be lingering downstairs tonight, hmm, Sarah?”

  Sarah was saved from answering by the arrival of the tea tray. She leapt up to pour.

  “Richard will not be very pleased to read about your wedding in the paper tomorrow, James,” Charles said as he took his teacup from Sarah. “I assume you’ve sent the notices to the papers?”

  “Don’t need the papers.” Robbie leaned back in the settee and stretched his feet out in front of him. “You’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice the hubbub around here today. Wouldn’t take more than a question here and there to get all the particulars.”

  “True. Though even if he gets wind of it tonight, seeing it in print will give him indigestion with his breakfast.” James stayed by Sarah as she finished pouring. “If that were the end of it, I wouldn’t care, but I’m afraid the notice will spur him to desperate action.”

  “Surely Richard will realize his cause is lost,” Aunt Gladys protested. “You’re married. What more can he do?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” James said. “Last night, William Dunlap almost strangled me in my bed.”

  “Good God!” Charles’s tea sloshed into his saucer. “How the devil did that happen?”

  James shrugged. “He drugged the Bow Street Runners I had engaged to help guard the house.”

  “How did you stop him, James?” Lizzie asked. Sarah kept her eyes firmly fixed on the teapot.

  “Let’s say his head had an unfortunate encounter with a chamber pot.”

  “Conked him over the noggin, did you? Well done!” Robbie saluted James with his teacup.

  “You always were a light sleeper,” Charles said. “Always the one who heard the enemy sneaking into camp when we were on the Peninsula.”

  “Yes, well, I managed to get a confession out of him. I hope it will persuade Richard to give up his obsession with the dukedom.”

  “Good luck,” Robbie said. “I imagine you’ll have as much success at that as you’d have getting the Th
ames to flow backward. The man’s a lunatic.”

  “And he’s getting bolder.” Charles leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t believe you have time to try to persuade him, James. He must know that his role in this is exposed. He’ll act quickly. I think you need to trap him now, just as we used to do when we had a soldier we suspected of treason. Catch him in the act. You can do it. You just need the right bait.”

  “I don’t think that will work, Charles. Richard’s tried to kill me many times, but he’s always hired someone else to do the job.”

  “Perhaps he’s desperate enough to try himself now, especially with Dunlap gone.”

  “I don’t know.” Robbie shook his head. “I agree with James. I don’t think Richard will take him on directly.”

  “Maybe—” Sarah swallowed, trying to clear the sudden dryness in her throat. “Maybe there’s other bait besides James that would lure Richard out of hiding.”

  Charles frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Sarah heard James’s sharp intake of breath even before she spoke. “He’s not afraid of me.”

  “Absolutely not!” James almost shouted the words.

  “But it might work. I’m certainly not a physical threat to Richard.”

  “I’ll not allow you to put yourself at risk.”

  “I don’t know, James,” Charles said. “If we took the proper precautions—”

  “No. Do not even think of it. It is totally out of the question.” James slammed his teacup down on the table. The sound of china clattering against china made everyone cringe. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I think we shall retire for the evening.”

  James pulled Sarah up the stairs. The thought of her having anything more to do with Richard made him want to jump out of his skin.

  “James, could we slow down to a run? I’m afraid I’ll trip.”

  James stopped. “I’m sorry. I’m a little upset.”

  “I noticed.” She ran her finger down his cheek. “Let’s sleep on the problem. Maybe a solution will come to us in the morning.”