She whirled around to face him. “That made not one whit of sense, James Sherbrooke. A girl sows wild oats with gentlemen precisely like Devlin Monroe, gentlemen she knows are wicked, not gentlemen who are honorable and too kind for their own good.”
She saw him like that? He said slowly, “You think I’m honorable, Corrie?”
“Of course you are, you idiot. We’re married, aren’t we?”
“You don’t think Devlin would have married you if you’d rescued him from kidnappers?”
That brought a thoughtful look. “Do you know I’m not really certain. I think Devlin finds me amusing, you’re right about that. However, I don’t think he would like to face me every morning across the breakfast table, even assuming that he’s able to sit across from a breakfast table, even if curtains were drawn against the morning sun.”
“You think I’m kind?”
“Of course you’re bloody kind.”
“I don’t like the way that settles in my guts. It makes me sound like a perfect weak-kneed sot. Like Sir Galahad, who couldn’t hold his sword properly and was always bungling about.”
She laughed, the little witch actually laughed. “I’ve seen your knees, James. They’re not weak, they’re as nice as the rest of you. As for not holding your sword properly, I remember very clearly how you and Jason were fighting with swords in the forest so your father wouldn’t catch you, and you forced him back into a bog. Sir Galahad was a wonderful knight, it’s his name you don’t like.”
“Weak-kneed sod. On the other hand, Jason once knocked me off the cliff over Poe Valley.”
“I’ll wager you landed with your sword still in hand.”
He laughed. “I did, as a matter of fact, nearly sliced myself in the belly.”
“Well, I will say that a woman likes a man to hold his sword properly.”
He stared at her. Surely she didn’t know what she’d said, even though she was raised in the country and had eyes in her head.
“Now, I am bidding a fond farewell to my wild oats. My heart isn’t broken, not really, since I am determined to make do with you since there is no choice in the matter.
“I asked Aunt Maybella to tell me exactly what was going to happen other than having you kiss the backs of my knees. I wanted all the fine details. Do you know what she said?”
The coach hit a rut and he grabbed the strap to keep himself upright. “No, what did Aunt Maybella say?”
“She screeched, ‘Knees? He wants to kiss your knees?’ And she went on to tell me that this was something a gentleman told a girl so as not to send her running. I told her that was fine, I understood, but then exactly what were you going to do? After the knees? She said you’d begin shaking. I didn’t believe her but I see I was wrong. You are shaking, James, I can see it. She said that means you’re overwhelmed with lust, a good thing, she said it was, but she knew you were a gentleman, and even if you were too young to mind your manners, you were very fond of me and would, therefore, not attack me in the carriage. She smiled then and said hopefully she was wrong.”
He was mesmerized. “Did she tell you what she smiled about?”
“She was smiling about lust, and she was thinking about lust with Uncle Simon. Can you imagine that? I cannot bear to think of Uncle Simon kissing Aunt Maybella’s knees, James. Parents aren’t supposed to do things like that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. My own parents, well never mind that. Come, Corrie, what did she say then?”
“Nothing. Do you hear me, James? She wouldn’t tell me anything. She rolled her eyes and told me to be agreeable to whatever you wanted-unless I found it so repellent that I feared for my modesty-and all would be well. I wanted to clout her, James, and then you know what she did? She started humming.”
“She didn’t mention that I was going to try to be agreeable to whatever you wanted as well, unless of course I found it repellent and feared for my own modesty?”
“You have no modesty.”
“Anything else from Aunt Maybella?”
“Well, no. She did pat my hand before she left my bedchamber, and said that were she I, she would be content to look at you not wearing a stitch of clothes, and agree to whatever you wanted. Being a very observant girl, I’m inclined to agree with her.”
James gulped. Aunt Maybella looking at him and he was naked? He didn’t want to think about that. He said, “I had a chat with my father as well.”
That floored her, as he’d hoped it would, and James tried not to laugh, when she said, “What? You mean you don’t know what’s going to happen either, James?”
“I have sort of an idea, Corrie. My father drew me some pictures, said to study them closely as he didn’t want me to muck it up.”
She ran her tongue over her lower lip, making it all damp and shiny, and he wanted to drag her down to the floor of the carriage, and he wanted his tongue on her bottom lip, making it shinier, wetter, and then-
“Er, do you happen to have the pictures with you?”
He stared at her, unable to believe what came out of her mouth, and then he threw back his head and laughed and laughed.
She was tapping her fingers, leaning toward him, all impatient. “Well, James, do you?”
He looked into her eyes, eyes lovelier than he’d believed them to be an hour before, and wasn’t that odd? “No, I memorized them, then burned them, like my father told me to. He didn’t want Jason to see them yet, you know, wanted to preserve his innocence until he was ready to get himself wedded.”
“Hmmm.” Tap, tap, tap, went her fingers. “Perhaps you could re-create them. Do you have any paper? A pencil?”
He slowly shook his head. “Corrie, why are you worrying about this? You already know what’s going to happen and so do I. Now, kiss me, before I shake myself right out of the carriage.”
And so she did, and it was close.
“Ah, thank God, we’re coming into Thirley.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
JAMES SAT BACK in his chair, his fingers against his chin, and tried not to laugh as he watched his wife of not many hours at all trying to play the courtesan. He didn’t know who was having more fun, Corrie or him. He realized she’d been planning this, and he wondered how far she’d go. All the way to her white skin? He hoped so. He hoped so mightily.
He’d dreamed of having her naked within five minutes of arriving at the Gossamer Duck, but it wasn’t to be. The innkeeper, Mr. Tuttle, was voluble in his greetings and insisted that his missus serve them some delightful tea and scones.
When at last he’d gotten her into the large, corner bedchamber, the door locked, she’d told him to sit down and not move.
As he watched her twirl her pelisse around on her finger and send it sailing toward a far chair, he realized that even when she’d begun sneering at him some three years before, mocking him whenever he came close, he’d enjoyed himself. She’d never bored him. He remembered spanking her, feeling the softness, feeling a spurt of lust that had made him feel guilty, because, after all, she was Corrie, just Corrie, the brat.
She pulled off her gloves and tossed them after the pelisse.
James forced himself to sit back in his chair, his chin propped on his steepled fingers, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and said, “Women wear too many clothes, Corrie. You should have begun your seduction when you were wearing only your chemise. What do you say I help you get to that stage?” He was praying that she’d say yes. He was in bad shape, didn’t know, in fact, how much longer he could last. He was going to shake himself right out of his chair and wouldn’t that be humiliating? He really didn’t want to jump her, but it was going to be close. He had to hold himself steady.