Blackthorne's Bride

by Joan Johnston

  “It looks delicious,” Blackthorne said, cutting her off.

  Josie realized she’d been babbling. Dinner was clearly almost over. The duke was planning to spend the day with her tomorrow. But what about tonight? Did he have plans for her tonight?

  “You aren’t eating yours,” the duke pointed out. “Don’t you like it?”

  “Honestly? It’s not a favorite of mine. Too many different flavors all mashed together.” A trifle contained sponge cake brushed with raspberry jam and then soaked with sherry, interspersed with some kind of fruit—in this case, strawberries—as well as custard and whipped cream, served in a glass dish, so all the layers were visible.

  Josie watched as Blackthorne devoured the dessert. When his tongue lapped up a tiny bit of whipped cream beside his mouth, she shivered, remembering where he’d used that tongue on her.

  She watched as the duke set down his spoon and arranged his napkin on the table. She’d taken only one bite of her trifle, but she didn’t think she could get a second bite past the sudden knot in her throat. She set down her spoon and dabbed unnecessarily at her mouth, before setting her napkin beside her plate.

  “Shall I leave you alone to have a brandy?” she asked. “Or a cigar? Do you smoke?”

  He smiled. “I do enjoy brandy and a cigar now and then. But I would rather have your company right now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Shall we go into the library? I can as easily have a brandy there. Perhaps you would like to read for a while before we retire.”

  Anything that postponed bedtime sounded fine to Josie. “Yes, I would.”

  She was half out of her chair by the time he got there to move it back for her. He reached for her hand to help her stand, even though she’d been getting out of chairs by herself all her life, and she reluctantly put her hand in his.

  Once she was on her feet, he crooked his elbow and pulled her hand through it, so they were walking side by side. She was aware of a woodsy smell that she found pleasing and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to be pleased by anything about the Dastardly Duke. “Good evening, Harper,” she said to the footman who opened the dining room door for them.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “How are you tonight, Stanley?” she asked the footman who opened the library door for them.

  “Very well, Your Grace.”

  Once they were alone with the library door closed behind them, Josie turned to Blackthorne and said, “I think you intimidate our new servants.”

  “That’s certainly not my intention.”

  “Nevertheless, I thought I had Harper and Stanley convinced it was perfectly all right to call me Josie. Yet, in your presence, they reverted to that blasted British formality.”

  Blackthorne chuckled.

  “It isn’t funny!”

  “What you don’t seem to understand, my dear, is that the consequence of a servant in England is raised by the consequence of those whom they serve.”

  Josie frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s far more prestigious for my footmen to be in service to the Duke of Blackthorne and his duchess than to plain old Marcus and Josie.”

  Josie shook her head and muttered, “I will never understand the English.”

  The duke chuckled as he poured himself a brandy, while Josie perused the bookshelves, which were filled from top to bottom with still-dusty tomes. She would make it a point to put one of the maids to work in here in the morning.

  “Is there something I can help you find?” he asked, as he turned with his filled glass in hand.

  Josie had been a voracious reader most of her life. As a child, her parents had bought her so many books, her room was overflowing with them. The orphanage had possessed a surprising number of books donated after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, and she’d read them all. On her ill-fated journey by Conestoga wagon to Cheyenne, she’d read by the campfire at night, devouring books from a wagonload of them being carried west by a teacher and his son.

  She recognized many books in the Abbey library that she’d read but just as many that she hadn’t. A smile broke across her face when she found a large collection of Charles Dickens’s works. “Oh, my goodness!”

  She ran her fingers across the spines, removing dust so that she could more easily read the titles: Oliver Twist, The Pickwick Papers, Nicholas Nickleby, and her favorite, A Christmas Carol. She trailed her fingertips across the cherished novels, her heart caught in her throat, hoping against hope that she would find the two titles she’d heard so much about, but which she hadn’t yet read. “Oh! Here’s one of them!”

  “One of what?” the duke asked as he moved to her side.

  Reverently, she pulled out the copy of Great Expectations. “I’ve wanted to read this novel forever.” She turned to him with a rueful smile. “Well, ever since I started reading Mr. Dickens, anyway.”

  “When was that?”

  “In the orphanage. After my parents died. A girl who came to live there had a copy of A Christmas Carol. It was the first Dickens novel I read.”

  He frowned. “You lived in an orphanage?”

  Josie realized her mistake. She’d admitted her parents were deceased, but she hadn’t explained the horrible circumstances she and her siblings had lived through after their uncle had stolen their inheritance and sent them off to live in an orphanage. Their utter destitution had caused her sisters to seek new, more hopeful lives as mail-order brides.

  “We were too young when my parents died to take care of ourselves. My uncle decided an orphanage was the best place for us.”

  She didn’t explain that they’d been stuck there for three years before they discovered that their uncle had stolen their father’s fortune and left them to languish. Josie realized in that moment how much Blackthorne’s heartless abandonment of his nephews mirrored the behavior of her uncle, who’d turned out to be a villain indeed. No wonder she’d sympathized with their plight!

  She was startled out of her dark thoughts by Blackthorne’s next question.

  “You said you’d found ‘one of them.’ What’s the other Dickens novel you want to read?”

  She was happy to have the subject changed and answered, “A Tale of Two Cities.”

  He recited, “ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…’ ”

  Josie shot a look at him. “What is that?”

  “It’s the way the book starts.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  He nodded.

  She turned back to the shelves, unable to contain her excitement. “Is it here somewhere?”

  “I’m afraid not. I took it with me to Town the last time I was here—a long time ago. I have no idea where it might be now.”

  “Oh.” Josie couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

  “It might be in my library in London. Shall I write to my housekeeper and have her take a look?”

  Josie held Great Expectations tightly against her bosom, hoping against hope that the other novel could be found. “Would you?”

  “Of course. Would you like to sit for a while and read?” He gestured her toward one of two worn leather chairs facing the fireplace, and once she sat down, seated himself in the matching chair next to her.

  She opened the book and began to read but couldn’t concentrate because she could feel her husband’s eyes on her. She kept reading the same paragraph over and over. Finally, she looked up and said, “I can’t read with you watching me.”

  He smiled. “I was admiring the way your blond curls pick up the light from the fire.”

  She frowned. “It’s just hair.”

  He didn’t argue, merely reached out and brushed a tumble of curls behind her shoulder.

  Josie shivered at his touch. She felt irritated without knowing why. She closed her book and said, “I think I’ll wait to start this until I have more time to read.”

  “Very well.” He set his glass on a side table and rose, then held out his hand to her. “
Shall we retire?”

  Josie set her hand in his, because it would have been rude to ignore it, and allowed him to help her to her feet. She kept the book under her arm, causing him to ask, “Are you going to take that with you?”

  “I thought I would, if it’s all right.” She hesitated, then added, “I like to read in bed.”

  He lifted a dark brow.

  Josie felt a blush heating her cheeks. His look suggested that he might have something far better for her to do in bed than read, if he were allowed to join her. She let him lead her upstairs to her bedroom door, then pulled her hand free and turned to him. “Good night, Your—” She stopped herself, met his gaze and said, almost defiantly, “Marcus.”

  He smiled, and gave her a tender look that reached all the way back inside his eyes, before saying in a rumbling voice that reverberated through her body, “Good night, Josie.”

  Josie stood there for a moment, until she realized she was waiting for him to kiss her. Appalled at her behavior, she shoved open her door, scooted inside, and closed it behind her. She leaned back against the door with her eyes squeezed closed and let out a ragged sigh.

  She must have wanted his kiss, since she’d stood there, like a nincompoop, waiting for it. What was wrong with her? Her husband wasn’t a good person. Why did she find herself longing for his touch? She would never understand herself.

  Josie pulled the book out from under her arm and stared at it with delight. At least she had a good book to keep her company for the evening. As she changed into the frilly white nightgown the dowager had intended for her to wear on her wedding night, she admitted she wouldn’t have minded being made love to again. If only Blackthorne were a better person. If only he’d kept his promise to return her to her family. If only she believed he was a man she could trust.

  A good book was a much safer alternative than the duke’s lovemaking. She could probably read a great deal of Great Expectations before sleep claimed her. With any luck, it would distract her from unwelcome memories of making love to the Dastardly Duke.

  JOSIE REARRANGED THE lovely nightgown trimmed in lace around her, then settled into the pillows stacked behind her, so she could read comfortably. Despite how engaging she found the book, her thoughts kept skipping to the man in the next room.

  Had she locked the door? Surely she had. It was too cold to get out of bed, walk over there barefoot, and check. Besides, the duke wouldn’t come in without knocking first, and if he did, she’d simply tell him to go away.

  Or maybe not.

  Josie was confused by her feelings, especially her disappointment that Marcus hadn’t tried to kiss her good night. Not to mention her willingness to make love to him again. She consoled herself with the knowledge that if he had kissed her, he might have wanted to do more than that.

  She pursed her lips in disgust when she realized she would gladly have welcomed him into her bed, especially when she knew full well that any further physical relationship with the Dastardly Duke would only complicate her life.

  After reading a few chapters, her eyelids kept sliding closed, and Josie knew she ought to set her spectacles aside, extinguish the lamp, and go to sleep. She had a long day of hard work ahead of her tomorrow, but she was enjoying the story and wanted to read just a little more.

  Her eyes fluttered open when something tickled her chin, and she realized the maid must have turned out the lamp and banked the fire after she’d fallen asleep. The open book had fallen to her side. She turned her gaze toward the window, marveling at the moonlight streaming in through windows the duke had cleared of ivy. He’d told her he wanted her to be able to see the sunrise in the morning. She wondered if he’d had any idea how beautiful the moonlight would be.

  Josie felt another tickle and brushed at whatever it was. Her fingertips bumped into something furry, something sitting on her shoulder, something that squeaked as she flung her hand across the top of her nightgown to remove it. But tiny claws were caught in the lace collar of her nightgown, and the agitated animal began scratching frantically at her flesh in an attempt to break free.

  A rat! It was a huge, hairy rat. And it was going to bite into her flesh at any moment!

  Josie screamed in terror and sat bolt upright, just in time to see a small brown mouse go flying toward the foot of the bed. She shoved at the covers with both hands and both feet to get free of the sheets, and leapt out of bed to get away. She heard the mouse’s claws skittering along the wooden floor beyond the carpet and shrieked at the thought that it might be heading back in her direction. She didn’t even realize where she was going, until she met the duke coming through the doorway between their two rooms to meet her.

  “Josie? What’s wrong?”

  She was trembling too hard and feeling too terrified to respond. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body tight against his, which was clothed only in a nightshirt. His hands tightened around her as he said, “I have you. You’re safe.”

  She kept gasping, trying to climb up his body, because she couldn’t stand the thought of her bare feet on the frigid wooden floor, where they might be discovered by the carnivorous rodent, until at last, he reached down and lifted her into his arms.

  He started to carry her toward her bed and she cried, “No! Not there.”

  Without a word, he turned and headed back into his room. He tried setting her down on his bed, but she wouldn’t let go of his neck, so he slid into bed beside her, pulling her close. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was shuddering at the memory of how close the awful flesh-eater had been to her face, to her throat, to her ears.

  Josie burrowed her face against her husband’s throat and pressed her body against his as tightly as she could. She couldn’t get close enough, and begged him, “Hold me tighter.”

  His arms were already around her, and she felt them tighten. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to escape the memories, she needed to escape the past, she needed…escape.

  “Come inside me. Now,” she pleaded, dragging at his nightshirt to pull it away from his hips.

  He tore his nightgown off over his head and threw it aside, then pulled her nightgown up to her waist, as he turned her onto her back. Then he drove himself into her to the hilt. His mouth came down to cover hers, and Josie thrust her tongue inside to taste him, as she grasped handfuls of his hair to hold him close. As he levered himself away, she arched her hips to meet him, desperate to maintain the closeness between them.

  She ceased to think, aware only of the strength of his arms, the smooth planes of his muscular chest, and the taste of brandy in his mouth. She heard his guttural groan of satisfaction, and reached her own crest of passion, as their bodies sought the oxygen to support them in extremity.

  Suddenly, she was flying, completely divorced from her corporeal body, in some ephemeral heaven that she sought to hold onto, but which fled almost as soon as she recognized it for what it was. Then she was sliding into sleep, totally enervated, unable to keep her eyes open even a second longer.

  When she awoke—moments later? hours later?—she was aware of being held in the duke’s arms. And that he was awake. “I…” She hid her face against his shoulder, unsure how to explain her behavior.

  “I’ve read Great Expectations,” he said wryly. “I don’t remember any horrifying passages. What scared you so badly?”

  Josie was afraid to admit the truth. It was such a silly fear. But she had to tell him something, so she said, “A mouse.”

  He laughed and pulled her snug against him. “A mouse sent you screaming from bed in terror?”

  She shoved at his shoulders and said, “Have you ever been bitten? Or seen someone whose flesh has been eaten away in the dark of night?”

  “No,” he said, putting enough space between them that she could see the frown between his eyes. “I haven’t.”

  “It isn’t a pretty sight.”

  “I take it you have been bitten. Or seen someone whose ear has been eaten away?”

  She nodd
ed jerkily. “My youngest brother, Harry, had part of his ear chewed off by a mouse at the orphanage. He was wrapped tightly in blankets as a baby to keep him warm and couldn’t get his hands free to save himself. His screams brought my eldest sister, Miranda, to the rescue. I got there when she was tearing the mouse free from his ear.” She shuddered. “It wouldn’t let go.”

  “There were a lot of mice at the orphanage?”

  She nodded, then ducked her head under his chin to hide her face from him. “I’ve hated mice ever since. When I woke up and found one sitting on my shoulder, I…panicked.”

  She felt his hands smoothing their way across her back outside her silk gown and stiffened in his embrace.

  His fingertips were tracing the raised scars from the torture she’d suffered two years ago. First one. And then another. And then another.

  She tried to bolt, terrified at the thought of his seeing her mutilated back, but he held her tight, so there was no hope of escape.

  His body was tense, his voice low and harsh, as he asked, “What happened to your back, Josie?”

  BLACKTHORNE’S HEART WAS beating so hard his chest hurt. “Answer me! What happened to your back?”

  She remained silent, but he could hear her panting in the dark.

  “Take off that gown and show me your back.”

  “No,” she whispered, adding in a frightened, quavery voice, “Please. Don’t…”

  Blackthorne held on to his wife’s wrist, tugging her resisting body after him as he left the bed, ignoring the nightshirt that lay on the floor, as he headed—heart in his throat, anger at her deception building—for the stream of moonlight that could be seen through his bedroom window.

  When he reached it, he slung her around so her gowned body collided with his naked one, then reached up and caught the two sides at the front opening of the gown and ripped the flimsy silk in two. Before she could do more than gasp, he yanked the gown back from her shoulders all the way to her waist, binding her arms and exposing her naked back.