“Actually, it was Lucy. I’ve long had muscle spasms in my back, and she eased the discomfort just like this. I believe she learned the technique from her husband, who spent some time in India and came home with a wealth of foreign notions.”
“I shall have to ask her to teach me then, so I can ease your discomfort.”
“You would do that?”
Turning her head, she met his eyes. “Why would I not? You’re my husband and I’m committed to providing you a comfortable life, a happy home and hearth, a restful sojourn at the end of every day.”
He startled her when he threw his head back and laughed.
“Really, Blixford, I fail to find any amusement in my vow to be kind to you.”
Instantly, he sobered, though laughter still lurked in his eyes. “Forgive me, it’s just that this picture of domesticity, of you chafing your lovely hands in laundry, fetching my slippers and brandy come time for bed, and massaging away my aches gives me pause. I’d not thought it of you, Jane.”
She sniffed and turned her back to him again. “You know so little of me, really. Blinded, I suppose, by my pistols and horses and talk of sheep. Did I not say, only recently, we are all perhaps dominated by certain characteristics, but none of us are all of one thing and none of the other? I find the lure of domesticity rather enticing, if you’d know the truth. I look forward to children, and supervising servants and seeing to your welfare. Mayhap I’ll ride neck-or-nothing at dawn, visit tenants of a morning to check on their crops and sheep, and shoot pistols in the afternoon, but I’ll be a grand duchess and take my responsibilities and duties to heart. You’re unkind to laugh at me, sir.”
“Devil take it, Jane, I was merely funning you. Of course you’ll be a marvelous duchess, and a good wife of whom I shall be proud.”
“Except when I play the pianoforte?”
His hands slid about her and began to lather her breasts. “Even then, I will applaud the effort, for I know how much you dislike it.”
The combination of slick soap bubbles and his giant hands massaging her breasts brought on yet another bout of yearning.
“I confess, this is about as close to true domesticity as I have ever been. It’s a bit of a novelty to give a woman a bath.”
“Hard work is its own reward.”
“Yes, I begin to comprehend.” He slowed his hands and gently tweaked her very erect nipples. “Jane?”
She looked toward the window. It was now completely dark outside. Night had fallen. “You surely know a woman’s bosom is something of an erotic place, and mine has just been attended to with loving care. Did you expect I wouldn’t react at all?”
Bending close, he kissed her cheek and made his way to her lips. “Hold the thought, and I’ll show you something of interest after supper.”
“I look forward to it.”
Raising up, he cupped his hands to fill them with water, which he cascaded across her back and front before he stood and reached for a towel. “The water grows cold and I’ll not have you taking a chill. Besides, I’m ready for my turn.”
Dutifully, she rose from the bath and allowed him to wrap her in the towel before he lifted her free of the tub and set her on the rug to finish the task of drying her body. She wasn’t a child, and perfectly capable, but she didn’t stop his ministrations. In his shirtsleeves, splashed with water spots, the Duke of Blixford knelt at her feet and rubbed her legs dry with concentrated care. She thought domesticity suited him. How original. And endearing. “Thank you, Blixford.”
He stood and tossed the towel aside. “Would Your Grace care to choose a night rail?”
“No, she would not. I’d prefer my maid to make the choice.”
Striding to the dressing room, he disappeared around the doorway and she heard the sound of a wardrobe door opening, the rustle of fabric, and the door closing. He reappeared with a nightgown of pale yellow silk and a matching dressing gown that was nothing but lace. It was the one she’d acquired specifically for her wedding night, something made more for the benefit of masculine eyes than functionality, and she was pleased he’d chosen it. Not surprised, because it was far different from her ordinary sleeping attire, but pleased, nonetheless.
He didn’t dress her in the gown just yet. Instead, he moved her to the dressing table, sat her upon the stool and methodically removed her pins. When her hair was loose, he took up her hairbrush and gently brushed out the curls, his concentration focused on his task. She watched his face in the glass and warmed at the sight. “You’ve something of a predilection for a woman’s hair, haven’t you?”
“Not any woman’s, Jane. Yours. Your hair is so soft, and shining, and beautiful, especially against your bare back.”
She couldn’t be certain of course, but she deeply suspected his imagination at the moment involved her hair and his naked skin.
He glanced at her in the glass and smiled slowly. “You’re wondering what I’m thinking.”
“Yes, and I’ve a fair idea, I believe.”
He laid the brush aside and ran his hands through her hair, nodding. “I believe you are correct. You won’t plait it before bed?”
“No.” She stood and turned to remove his shirt. “But we’ll never get to bed if we don’t move along. Let’s get you in the bath so we can have our supper and turn in.”
“Are you hungry, Jane?”
Her hands flew over his buttons. “Starving.”
He was solemn when he said, “Life takes many strange turns.”
“It’s what makes it all worthwhile, to my mind. I never know what’s just ahead, around the corner, and I’m always eager to find out. Granted, sometimes what lies in wait is unpleasant, but then there are those moments that make up for all of it, that are such genuinely lovely surprises, we continue on in hopes of finding another.” She watched his eyes as he sat on the chair by the fire, his breeches undone but still riding his hips, and she knelt to remove his boots. “Do you consider our marriage to be a strange turn?”
He nodded.
She raised up and on her knees, between his thighs, bent forward to wrap her arms around his middle and rest her cheek against the soft hair of his chest. “You’re a remarkable man, and I’m grateful for your patience, and your kindness.”
He stroked her hair and they stayed like that for a very long while, until she heard the clock in the hall downstairs chime the hour. Then she went to the pull and rang for fresh water.
Chapter 10
Jane was a quick study and appeared to trust him absolutely. He’d not sprung anything overly shocking on her after they turned in, but she never batted an eye when he rolled her over, hoisted her hips from the bed and mounted her from behind. Actually, she batted both eyes quite a lot before she cried out and her soft, curvaceous body quivered beneath his hands.
Afterward, she said it was most enlightening, and she’d like to try it again tomorrow, to make certain she liked it, if he didn’t mind.
He assured her he did not mind before he tucked her close to him and began to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, he supposed he would have her maid remove her to the bedroom next door. Having her in the same room, sleeping all the night through with her, was unwise at best, dangerous at worst. Hester had taken it upon herself to put them both in the same room, despite his instructions to the contrary. Though to be fair, he didn’t exactly recall that he’d been very specific in his letter to her.
It was no matter. Tonight, she would stay here, beside him, curled up like a purring cat at his side. Tomorrow night, she’d be in her own bed, receive him there, and he would return to his bed and sleep alone.
She kissed his shoulder and murmured a soft goodnight before relaxing completely, her sweet body molding against his.
Late in the night, he awoke to find her gone from his bed. Momentary panic eased when he spied her next to the window. He got out of bed and prowled toward her, naked. “Are you all right, Jane?”
“I’m quite all right, but I fear Grendel may be in for a shock.”<
br />
He peered out into the night, but could see nothing. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?”
“Listen carefully.” She pushed open the sash and he heard a steady pounding, accompanied by sharp whinnies. “I believe she’s gone into season and Pendragon is knocking at the edge of her stall.”
Michael listened carefully and frowned. “I believe you’re right.” Where was the blasted stable master? Any of the grooms? He turned and went for his breeches. “I’ll go and see what I can do, but if he’s got to her, it’s too late. He’ll bite or kick anyone who comes near.”
“I hope he hasn’t injured himself.”
He slid into his shirt and reached for his boots. “How old is Grendel?”
“Four years.”
“Old enough, I suppose.” He rose from the edge of the bed and went to the fire, tossing in a spade of coal and poking it about until it caught fire. There was a chill in the air, and she was barely covered by her gown. “If it’s too late, I’ll have to set them out to pasture and let it run its course for however many days she stays in season. I’ve other mounts in the stable, so we won’t miss our ride in the morning.” He moved next to her again. “I’m sorry, Jane. I’d not want my horse to harm yours.”
“I doubt he will do so, Blixford. If anything, she’s liable to kick Pendragon. She can be difficult. And she’s not fond of him, you know.”
He reached out and stroked her soft hair. “No, but then horses don’t require affection to mate.” Dropping his hand, he turned and left the room.
Outside, it was very close to cold, and he regretted not donning his coat, but the sound of the stallion’s hooves beating against the wall drove him onward, despite the temperature. Good Lord, he was determined, wasn’t he?
He found the stable master and the grooms standing at the far end of the block, wide eyed and frightened. Two of the suspended lanterns were lit, one halfway down and the other at the far end, where the men were congregated. “Hiyo, Benjamin, what goes on here?” he called, moving closer to Pendragon’s stall.
“Your Grace, it be your stallion, busting the boards to get to Her Grace’s mare. I tried to intervene, but he’s in a devil of a rage and like as not to kill any one of us if we go near. I thought to move Grendel, hoping ‘at would calm him a bit if she were not so close, but she’d have none o’ that. Fair took a chunk out’n my arm, she did.” He held it up and pointed to his torn sleeve. “All she got was my shirt, but I’ve a mind not to try again, lest she not miss next time.”
Michael stopped and looked into the stall, impressed by the stallion’s efforts. He’d repeatedly kicked so hard, he’d actually broken some of the boards. Moving on, he looked into Grendel’s stall. She fretfully turned in circles, whinnying occasionally, as if egging him on. Every so often, she stopped, spread her legs and urinated, sending Pendragon into fits, his hooves pummeling the boards in a frenzy.
He was bound to hurt himself if he kept it up much longer. Michael waved the men back. “Close all the gates but the one into the paddock, then go inside the tack room and wait until I’ve let them out.”
“Should ye do that, Your Grace? She’s a might young ‘un, she is. Reckon she may not be ready for breeding.”
“She’s four years.” He gave the older man a wry smile. “Besides, what choice do we have, both of them unapproachable as they are? We could isolate them, perhaps, but we’ve only the one paddock.”
Benjamin nodded. “Righto, then. Boys, get out of the way.” They backed up and disappeared while Benjamin went to close the gates. When he was done, he followed the grooms.
Michael opened Grendel’s stall door and she bolted out, hurried to the arched entry, then stopped, raised her head and whinnied.
Pendragon redoubled his efforts, unable to see her now, but still awash in her scent. Powerful indeed, Michael thought. He felt sorry for the beast, so determined to get to her, so frustrated. “There’s a good man,” he murmured. “Your wait is over.”
Reaching for the latch, he stood to the side away from where the stallion was most likely to run, slammed it loose and allowed the stall door to swing back on its hinges. Pendragon was out like a shot, rushing toward Grendel, who urinated once more, then kicked out at the stallion when he moved close to catch her scent.
He watched them move outside, into the paddock behind the stable, clearly visible by the light of the full moon. Pendragon began to court her, raising his head, curling his lips, attempting to rub his nose along her flanks. Grendel wouldn’t go easy, however. Unimpressed, she continued to elude him, kicking when he got too close to her rump.
Benjamin and the grooms came to see, and the old stable master clucked his tongue. “Ain’t it jus’ like a woman? Get all gussied up, get ye with a hankerin’, then shut ye down, right fast-like. Poor Pendragon. He’s a long road ahead of him tonight.”
As one, they all nodded, male hearts sympathetic to the stallion’s plight.
“Reckon he’ll coax her along soon enough,” one of the grooms said. “For all he’s determined, he’s a gentle soul, ain’t that right, Your Grace?”
“Yes, he is. I expect Grendel could do a lot worse.”
That appeared to be funny to them. They all laughed. Michael turned to face the first of the grooms. “What’s your name?”
The lad tugged his forelock and said, “Wyler, Your Grace. Tom Wyler.”
He looked to the next in line, a tall, lanky boy with hair the color of straw. He bobbed his head and smiled. “Faskin, Your Grace. Bob Faskin.”
The third boy was stocky and not so tall, with freckles across his nose and a head of bright red hair. “I’d be Thomson, Your Grace. Harry Thomson.”
“Well, then, lads, I trust you will keep an eye on the horses as things progress?”
They heartily agreed, all at once, and Michael nodded his approval before he looked to Benjamin. “In future, if circumstances are alarming, you are to alert me, regardless of the time of day or night.”
“That I will, Yer Grace, that I will. You don’t worry none about the horses, nor the busted stall. We’ll watch ‘em close, and first light, we’ll send ‘em out to the north pasture. Harry’s good with carpentry and he’ll work on gettin’ them boards replaced.”
He clasped the older man’s shoulder by way of thanks. “Good night, then.” Turning, he walked back to the other end of the stable block and made his way outside. He struck out for the house, but paused as he took a turn through the garden and glanced up toward their bedchamber window. Jane waved and smiled and had no idea she was backlit by the fire, revealing her shapely curves beneath the thin silk of her gown. He stood and stared for some time, until she opened the sash again and called down, “Blixford, you must come inside before you catch your death of cold.”
He moved away then and into the house. Back upstairs, he told her how it was and she nodded, accepting. “Thank you for looking after things. I vow I’m not certain which of them I pity more, Grendel, who is a novice, or Pendragon, who must insist, even if she dislikes him. She will not be docile.” She moved toward him. “You must be chilled, going about in only your shirtsleeves.”
Michael was about to assure her he was not that cold, but she appeared intent upon getting his clothes off to warm him, and so he said nothing.
Within minutes, he was, indeed, very warm and cozy, Jane nestled next to him in the bed with her arm curled about his middle and her head tucked into his neck. He watched shadows dance across the ceiling, cast by the flickering light of the fire.
After a time, she whispered sleepily, “Good night, Michael.”
“Good night, Jane.” He held her more tightly, closed his eyes and decided he liked the sound of his name on her lips, in her low, sultry voice.
He was almost asleep when she murmured, “Thank you for marrying me. You really are a most remarkable man.”
He didn’t think he was remarkable, but then, much like her mare, she could have done a lot worse. He’d look after her, all the days of her life, a
nd pray God she would weather childbirth without undue incident.
Sighing heavily, he tried to blank his mind and return to sleep, but his memories continued flashing mental pictures. There she was, stepping close to him while Miriam clung to his neck, sobbing about her child, and his ‘cruel’ marriage to another. No doubt most women would swoon in horror, or vent rage at his head. Not Jane. She calmly took Miriam in hand and solved the dilemma without theatrics of any kind, even going so far as to express sympathy for her husband’s previous mistress.
He recalled her halting, sad tale of her abuse at the hands of her cousin. It had pained her greatly to tell him, but she had, and later, she opened herself up to him with complete trust that he wouldn’t hurt her.
Perhaps most unsettling was her revelation at the window after he inquired the reason for her grin and deep blush. Never in his life would he expect a woman to say such a thing. In his experience, women considered the aftermath of lovemaking distasteful, always hurrying to clean away his seed, as if it were dirty. Not Jane. She told him she found it tantalizing.
In the dim light of the banked fire, he smiled while he listened to her deep, even breaths. What a curious woman he’d taken to wife. He’d not had such an enjoyable day as this one in years. Perhaps never. He found himself anticipating the next day, wondering what further surprises she might have in store for him.
Genuinely lovely surprises.
***
Until she had an opportunity to make calls and let it be known she was in town and staying at Blixford’s Cavendish Square house, Lucy was alone for the evening, with naught to occupy her. She’d sat with William during his supper, then read a bit to him before tucking him into bed. He liked the house, and the nursery, but he was understandably excited and a bit on edge, thanks to the different surroundings. He wanted to continue whittling a stick with his new pocketknife, as Sherbourne had demonstrated for him, but she told him there’d be time enough for that tomorrow. Just as Sherbourne had predicted, William cut his hand within minutes of receiving the knife. He’s tried not to cry and failed, and she bandaged it, kissed it, then scolded him, and he subsequently handled the instrument with newfound care and respect.
The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series) Page 19