“Well, of course. You have a lovely bottom, Corrie, from the feel of it. If you marry me, why then I can take your clothes off, stretch you out on your back, and rub you down with a nice damp cloth. Again and again, perhaps humming whilst I stroke that nice cloth over you, every little part of you. Do you think your skin is as white as Devlin’s?”
“You didn’t want me to say his name.”
He laughed. “Embarrassed, are you? Well, picture yourself naked, Corrie, and I’m the one stroking my hands all over you, particularly your breasts, and you’re not sick at all. In fact, you’re arching your back against my hands. What do you think?”
“Oh goodness,” she said, and turned to walk away. “Oh goodness.”
“No.” He grabbed her arm. “No, you won’t simply walk out on me this time. We’re getting this settled right now, Corriander Tybourne-Barrett. My God, what a ghastly name. Do you think we will have to sign that as your name in the marriage registry?”
She was standing perfectly still, aware that his hands were running up and down her arms, and one arm was bare where he’d ripped her sleeve.
“If you don’t marry me, then I will have to do something drastic.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not going to tell you. Listen to me, brat, there is simply no choice. If you don’t marry me, then both of us are thoroughly ruined. Don’t you understand? Haven’t you got your brain around this?”
“You wouldn’t be ruined, James, that’s absurd. If I simply go back to the country, I won’t be ruined either.”
He shook her. “That is so stupid, I can’t imagine how you could let it out of your mouth.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. It was bad.” She looked down at his hands still clutching her arms. She pulled free of him and took several steps away from him, shook her fist in his face, and wailed, “You don’t love me!”
He yelled right back. “And I suppose you love me?”
She stared at him, mute as a post.
“Well? Answer me, damn you.”
“No, I won’t, and don’t yell at me again.”
“Why won’t you answer me? All right, keep still, it’s a blessed relief, your silence. I know you adored me when you were three years old. Has that changed?”
“Things are a bit more straightforward when you’re three years old, much simpler, not a single shade between black and white. I’m no longer three years old, James.”
“All I have to do is look at your breasts and I know that well enough. Is that a blush I see on that brazen face of yours? All right, so you wish to string me along, like a trout on your fishing line. That is very female of you, Corrie, and I don’t appreciate it. You say I don’t love you—all this has happened too quickly. How can something like that happen in the course of a week? I do like you all the way to the soles of my feet; I admire you. I think you’re too brave for your brains. I think you’ve been a twit more times than not, but the fact is we’ll do very well together. Now, listen. We’ve known each other forever. My parents are very fond of you, and you of them—forget my grandmother, she hates everyone—and your Uncle Simon knows that you won’t have to be hunted down like a rat if you marry me, since our marriage would have nothing at all to do with your blasted money. Everyone would be relieved. The gossip would stop. We would be blessed and smiled upon. No one would cut you, ever again. I would no longer be considered a ravager of young maidens. We would get along fine, Corrie. Enough of this.” He hauled her against him and kissed her.
Corrie, who’d only been kissed by Willie Marker, nearly blacked out. Delight, that’s what it was, and it swept over her with the force of a wave at the beach. His tongue touched her lips, pressing lightly. Without any hesitation at all, Corrie opened her mouth and nearly fainted with the lust that poured through her when his tongue touched hers. She knew it was lust; it had to be lust because it felt so very good. She knew lust was wicked because Uncle Simon was wont to say that the reason wickedness was so rampant in the world was because it was so utterly delicious. Well, with James, it was beyond delicious. This was something she’d never even known could exist, it—
“Oh dear, excuse me.”
Corrie would have crashed insensible to the floor if James weren’t holding her up.
James’s brain nearly melted at the sound of his mother’s voice. His heart, nearly pounding out of his chest, thudded to his feet. His sex, thank the good Lord, became instantly dormant. He knew he couldn’t let go of Corrie, she’d fall in a heap.
He managed to pull his tongue out of her mouth and slowly, very slowly, he turned to say, hoping he wouldn’t pant out his words, “Hello, Mother. Since Corrie and I are engaged now, she wanted to know what it was like to kiss.”
Alexandra stood in the doorway, amused, horrified, and terribly aware that her son had his tongue nearly down a girl’s throat. Corrie looked like a half-wit, which was a very good thing, she thought, shuddering, because in that instant she remembered the first time she’d kissed Douglas, and lost her head. As for James, he looked flushed, embarrassed, and—no, better not think along those lines.
What if she’d walked through that door two minutes from now? Oh dear. What was a mother to do?
She cleared her throat. “Welcome to the family, Corrie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JAMES WAS DRINKING tea the next morning, actually sitting in his chair in the breakfast room, not propped up in his bed. And, glory be, he didn’t feel like he wanted to fall off his chair and curl up on the carpet.
Jason said, as he handed him a bowl of porridge, “This is from Mrs. Clemms. She said you were to eat all of it or I was to stuff it down your gullet. If I didn’t succeed, why then, she would come out here to stand by your right hand and sing opera in your ear until you’d licked the bowl clean.”
“I didn’t know Mrs. Clemms could sing opera.”
“She can’t,” Douglas said, and grinned over the top of his paper.
James spooned up a big bite, and sat there, chewing, savoring the sweet honey she’d mixed in with the porridge, when his mother walked into the room, allowed Willicombe to seat her, then announced, “I will meet with Corrie and Maybella this morning. Your father thinks the sooner your marriage takes place the better,” and then she picked up a slice of toast, smeared gooseberry jam on it, and took a satisfying bite.
James swallowed too quickly and choked. His father was halfway out of his chair when James raised his hand and said, “No, sir, I’m all right. I was thinking, Mother, just perhaps it would be better if Corrie and I met first.”
“What is this, James? You’ve still failed to convince her? She’s still threatening to bolt?”
James turned to his father. “If I give her more than a minute alone, she will talk herself into a panic. Yes, probably she’ll bolt. She told me that it isn’t fair, said she’d just begun to sow her wild oats, you see, whereas I’ve had seven more years to be as debauched as I please.”
“Hmmm,” said Corrie’s future mother-in-law. “She has a point, James. I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way. You know, the same was true of your father and me, only he was ten years older than I, and he knew ever so much more than I did and—”
“I don’t think you should revisit the past, Alex,” Douglas said. “You might not remember things in the way they actually happened.”
“Well, that’s certainly something good about getting older.” She smiled at her sons. “One does soften things a bit through the haze of years. James, if you like, I can fetch Corrie and bring her back here.”
“No, thank you, Mother. Since I’m feeling more fit this morning, I think I’ll take Corrie riding in the park. But first, I must write an announcement.” James excused himself, and said over his shoulder as he left the dining room, “I shaved myself this morning. Petrie predicted I’d slice that lovely vein in my neck. I swear he was disappointed when I didn’t.”
“And,” Jason said, rising, “I am off to meet with several of our friends. N
one of them had news the other night, as you well know, but I understand from Peter Marmot that we’re going to meet a fellow down in Covent Gardens. Supposedly he spoke about this Cadoudal fellow. There’s probably nothing to it, but you never know.” Jason fiddled with his napkin a moment, then said, his voice lowered, “Actually it was James who was supposed to go with Peter, but I don’t think he’s completely well yet; at least I don’t want him to risk himself again so soon.”
“I’ll come with you,” Douglas said, and threw down his napkin.
“No, Father, we’ve discussed this. We all believe strongly that you need to stay close to home for the next couple of days. The man who had James kidnapped must know now that he failed. I know he’ll be coming up with something else very soon. Please, sir, let us see what we can find out.”
“If you get yourself injured, Jason,” said his father, “I will be very upset.”
“Just don’t tell James about this. He’s liable to try to throw me into a wall.”
“If you get yourself hurt, I’ll throw you into a wall,” Douglas said.
Jason gave him a cocky smile, leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek, and walked out of the breakfast room, whistling.
“Young men believe they’re immortal,” Douglas said. “It scares the hell out of me.”
Young men? Alexandra thought about how her husband had gone off late one night in Rouen, quite alone, whistling, in fact, to visit with some ruffians who operated within the shadows of the flying buttresses of the cathedral. However, having been married for twenty-seven years, she didn’t say a word.
CORRIE WAS CHEWING on her thumbnail, looking out over the long, narrow park across the street from Uncle Simon’s town house on Great Little Street, wondering what she was to do. Climb aboard a ship bound for Boston—a strange-sounding name for a city—in the wilds of America? Or, and this was more likely, just fold her tent and walk down the aisle, James at her side. And, truth be told, what was so wrong with that? When he’d kissed her, she wanted to fling him to the floor and pin him down. She groaned aloud, echoes of those absolutely amazing feelings that had sunk into the deepest parts of her, those feelings that had made her soar into the heavens the instant his mouth had touched hers, still rumbling inside her. She shivered at the memory of those little sparkles of lust.
Corrie shook her head at herself, then saw a young lady walking across the park, coming this way. It was Miss Judith McCrae, and so very beautiful she was. Maybe even as beautiful as Miss Juliette Lorimer, who’d lost James, and wasn’t that just too bad?
At least if Corrie married James, he wouldn’t end up with an awful wife like Juliette, who wouldn’t appreciate how smart he was, how very clever and witty he was, who would whine if she had to lie atop a small hill and look up at the stars whilst James was peering through his telescope at the Andromeda constellation in the northern sky. Juliette would probably think that Andromeda was a new perfume from France.
Corrie sighed. When he’d slid his tongue in her mouth, a million stars had exploded in her head, Andromeda probably among them, and she knew that stars were only the beginning. Had it been the same for James? Probably not. He was a man.
Judith McCrae was nearly at the front door. What did she want? She barely knew the girl, knew only that she’d been flirting with Jason. She rose, shook out her skirts, and waited for Tamerlane, Uncle Simon’s London butler, to announce her, which he did, his bright red hair shining in the morning light.
He stood in the open drawing room doorway, cleared his throat, and trumpeted, “Miss Judith McCrae of the Irish McCraes in Waterford begs to be allowed to see Miss Corrie Tybourne-Barrett.”
Corrie heard a female giggle, and was that a choked laugh from Tamerlane? Then here came Miss McCrae walking gracefully into the drawing room, a big smile on her face, knowing she’d charmed with that clever introduction. Corrie smiled back at her, charmed indeed.
“How very delightful to see you, Miss Tybourne-Barrett. I understand from my Aunt Arbuckle that you and James Sherbrooke are to be married.”
Corrie grunted.
“Do you think we’ll be related?”
This was frank speaking, indeed. And vastly clever, so clever that you didn’t want to smack her, you wanted to laugh, so that meant Miss McCrae was a very smart girl. Corrie said, “No, Miss McCrae, James and I have not decided to get married, so I’d say it looks bleak, our being related. Would you like some tea?”
“Please, call me Judith. I’d taken your grunt for a yes. I think Lord Hammersmith is a very persistent man, possibly as persistent as his brother. Persistent is a very nice way of saying that they are both stubborn as goats. But who knows? I am very persistent as well. Jason needs me, you know, just as Lord Hammersmith needs you.”
“Miss McCrae—”
“Call me Judith,” this said with a sunny smile that brought out the deep dimples on either side of her quite lovely mouth. Corrie sighed. “Judith, James doesn’t need anyone, particularly me. This marriage, if there must be one, is being foisted on the two of us. Oh dear, I don’t really know you, and here I am bleating out everything to you.”
“I know, I sometimes do the same thing, particularly when something very deep inside me recognizes that I can trust another person.”
Corrie cast about for someone she’d known who was even a little bit like this young lady, but she couldn’t. Judith appeared to be unique.
“I didn’t realize you knew Jason so well.”
“Not well at all yet, but I do know that I want him rather desperately. I have never seen a more lovely man in all my life, but you know—that’s not all that important, now is it?”
Corrie saw James quite clearly in her mind, and slowly, she shook her head. “No, I suppose it isn’t, except when one simply wants to look at him, and sigh with pleasure.”
“Yes, indeed. It makes my toes tingle to think of it. Now, I must make Jason realize that he wants me as desperately. What with the threat on his father’s life, however, it makes it difficult to snag his attention. He is distracted.”
“I would be too if someone were trying to kill my father.” The way Corrie had snagged James’s attention was to save him, then nurse him, perhaps not a preferred method of attracting a gentleman.
Uncle Simon walked into the room, his beautiful eyes focused on something only he could see, probably some blasted leaf he was creating in his mind that hadn’t yet been invented by Nature.
“Uncle Simon, this is Miss Judith McCrae.”
“Huh? Oh, you’re not alone, Corrie.” He blinked his thick lashes over his lovely eyes and bowed. “Miss McCrae, how very charming you appear to be. Naturally, one never really knows another, particularly when one has just met, don’t you agree?”
“Only a very stupid person would disagree, my lord.”
“And this is my uncle, Lord Montague.” Corrie tried not to giggle as she watched Uncle Simon take Miss McCrae’s hand, and give her his full attention for perhaps three seconds, just long enough for Judith to fully realize that although he might be a bit on the older side, he was still a pleasurable eyeful for the ladies.
Judith appeared to have more abilities with regard to gentlemen than Corrie did. Her dimples deepened, she looked up at Uncle Simon through lashes that looked thicker than Juliette’s, and said, “I understand that you are an expert in the identification and preservation of all sorts of leaves, my lord. I found one in the park last Tuesday morning that I was unable to identify. Perhaps—”
“A leaf? You found an unknown leaf, Miss McCrae? In the park? Why, so did I. What an amazing coincidence. Please bring it over and we will compare leaves.” He beamed down at Miss McCrae, seated himself, and said to Corrie, “It appears I am in luck. Your aunt is out shopping and Cook has prepared”—his voice dropped dramatically—“Twyley Grange cinnamon bread.” Uncle Simon dropped his voice even further to a near whisper. “I myself brought her the recipe. She’s been all atwitter, pumping herself up to do it, and so she has, finally. Sh
e has prepared six slices, nice thick slices. Since Miss McCrae is here, that means we can’t split them, Corrie. Now it means that we each will get to eat two, unless either of you is perhaps trying to lose flesh? No, Corrie, you’re still too thin.” There was a doleful sigh here. “You’ll need to eat both of yours, I’m afraid.” He cast a critical eye toward Judith, whose figure was well-nigh perfect, and said thoughtfully, “A young lady can never be too careful with her intake of bread, don’t you agree, Miss McCrae?”
“I have always practiced eating only one slice, sir. Two would make my cheeks fat. It has always been so.”
“Excellent.” Simon rubbed his hands together and yelled, “Tamerlane! Bring in the cinnamon bread, and quickly, man. It’s possible that Lady Montague might return sooner than any of us would wish.”
Judith shot Corrie a look, demurely seated herself, and waited for the cinnamon bread to be delivered. The twinkle in her dark eyes was outrageous.
When Tamerlane, with great ceremony, whisked off the silver dome from the small platter, the smell of cinnamon wafted into the room. There was utter silence, then Judith sucked in her breath. “Oh goodness, do they taste as good as they smell?”
Tamerlane announced, “This is the exact recipe from Cook at Twyley Grange. They are beyond compare.”
“How the devil would you know that, Tamerlane? Cook said she made a loaf of only six slices. Was there another slice and you filched it? Stuffed it down your own gullet? Actually robbed me of a seventh?”
“No, my lord, it was a measly extra piece that didn’t fit nicely into the glorious loaf that Cook fashioned. She allowed me to eat it, to ensure that it would be to your exacting standards.” Tamerlane beamed and passed the platter first to Miss McCrae. Judith grabbed a slice and had it in her mouth so quickly it set her nose to quivering. She chewed, eyes closed in bliss, before Uncle Simon could grab his slice off the platter, which he did soon enough.
Corrie was laughing so hard she was having trouble breathing. It gave Judith time to snag a second slice right off the plate beneath Uncle Simon’s nose, back quickly away from him since he looked ready to grab it out of her hand, and say, her mouth full, “I don’t think you’re too thin at all, Corrie. Indeed, I was thinking that perhaps your face was a little on the plump side and you could cut yourself down to one slice—oh goodness, this is the best cinnamon bread I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123) Page 83