The Devilish Montague (28 page)

“And we need to waylay him before he attempts to sneak out again this morning.”

The hand around her waist slid upward, pushing aside silk and loosened stays to locate her breast, clothed only in frail linen. Jocelyn suffered unseemly urges as her husband’s fingers found her nipple. She shifted in discomposure, not knowing how to deal with the physical needs he aroused.

“Then shouldn’t we be getting up?” she asked testily.

“I am,” he mumbled, pulling her closer.

He was wearing only breeches. Her nearly bare back pressed into Blake’s bare chest, and Jocelyn swallowed hard at the intimate contact. The bulge pressing against her bottom added to her alarm.

“No time,” she stated flatly, pulling away from the fascinating shelter of his arms and throwing back the covers to let the morning air cool them.

He rolled over and buried his face in a pillow after she slid from his grasp. “I cannot take much more of this.”

She tumbled from the bed before her husband decided to assert his marital rights. He had every legal and moral right to do so, she knew. It was just a matter of time before he claimed her. And she wanted him to show her more of the pleasure he’d taught her. But in her experience, pleasure seldom lasted long and usually ended in disaster. She had better things to do than tempt fate.

She wanted to resent Blake for breaking her happy bubble of believing he despised her and would be delighted to live elsewhere. But if she was honest with herself, she knew Blake had never hidden his intentions. She had known from that first kiss that he was a man of passion. And her heart fluttered at the thought of having a
real
marriage, one that involved kisses and caresses and more. If only she could believe in happiness . . .

Retreating behind a dressing screen, Jocelyn shed her crushed gown, washed, and tugged on a simple morning dress with drawstrings instead of hooks. She hadn’t dared take on the expense of a personal maid. Molly had helped fasten her hooks last night, but the housemaid had more important duties, like stoking fires in the morning.

Now that her mother was here, they could help each other dress, as before.

Or—Blake could help her.

The images of such intimacy shivered Jocelyn down to her toes, so she mentally shut them out. She tugged on stockings, tied garters, and listened to her husband grumble and the bedpost squeak as he rolled out.

She hadn’t braided her hair last night. Blake must have removed the pins because it tumbled in heavy lengths down her back. She hastily rolled it around her hand and pinned it to the back of her head, covering the mess with a cap.

Taking a deep breath, she dared step from behind the screen.

Silhouetted against the dawn light coming through the lacy curtains, Blake stood bare-chested and rumpled. A river of dark hair flowed down his broad torso to his partially unfastened breeches. He was all magnificent male animal, glaring at her blearily while rubbing his whiskered jaw.

She gulped, but before she had a chance to escape, he strode around the bed and ripped the cap off her head, flinging it to the dressing table, and bringing all that raw masculinity entirely too close for comfort.

“Why do women hide their hair?” He yanked out her pins until the tresses tumbled to her waist again. “You were gifted with all this glory and you hide it under abominable gewgaws. I’ll never understand.”

Before she could even think of a stunned reply, he dragged her into his arms and kissed her.

It was a kiss of possession. One that laid claim to her soul and warned he would not be put off much longer. It was a kiss that weakened her knees and her will and would have her pulling him down on the bed if she did not have the nagging reminder of family impressed upon her brain.

She pushed free, her palms encountering broad, muscled flesh and freezing there for just a moment before she could step away.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “There are things I—”

He grabbed a clump of her hair, preventing her from fleeing, while reaching for a brush on the dressing table. “Let me braid it until your maid can see to it. I told Richard we will speak properly to the grocer this morning about Africa, so I suppose we must be ready, or like a child on Boxing Day, he will be anxiously wandering the halls.”

Jocelyn sighed, gave up her fretting, and succumbed to the pleasure of Blake running the bristles through snarls and tangles, gently working them loose. “Richard is not entirely a child,” she said. “He’s simply been allowed to behave like one since it’s easier than dealing with his hysteria. He’s capable of quite complex thought.”

“He put all my puzzles back together, so I gathered that last part,” Blake said dryly. “Do the physicians know what’s wrong with him?”

His strong hands holding her steady while gently teasing her tresses apart distracted her thinking no end. She kept waiting for his fingers to stray—She caught her breath imagining his hands on her breasts and tried to stay with the conversation.

“My father called in the best physicians when it became apparent Richard was not normal. Their treatments only made him worse. He is not a moron, as Harold calls him. He can learn and probably knows more than all of us put together. He just does not do well with people.”

“Does he analyze numbers and letters as well? I may give him the wheel and let him work out the cipher.” He gently massaged her head as if he needed to be
doing
while thinking.

“He is obsessed with birds,” Jocelyn said with a sigh of pleasure at his stroking. “He has written scientific treatises on the behavior of wild water fowl, then pitched a fit and shut himself in a wardrobe after we’ve removed chicken eggs from under his pillow. His interest in your puzzles is surprising, but he’ll read anything set before him until his birds distract him. I cannot predict what will arouse his curiosity.”

Blake’s hands on her acted as a catharsis for all the fears locked up inside her. It was a relief to finally speak of her brother’s troubles to someone who was not shouting to have Richard locked in an attic like a madman. “His behavior was much more amenable when we lived here.”

“Stability,” Blake suggested. “He lived here all his life and knew what to expect from one day to the next.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Most likely. We’ve moved from house to house since then, and he does not adapt well. He needs his birds as you need your books.”

She waited, holding her breath as Blake silently and expertly parted her hair while pondering her conclusions. His strong hands sensually worked the brush through the long strands, stimulating longings she feared to acknowledge. He caressed her hair, pulling it through his fingers before pinning it, showing that his thoughts were not all on the problem at hand.

He was a man of many talents. With four sisters. She could imagine him as a youth straightening out his siblings’ ribbons before their nanny yelled at them. He was a man who knew how to take care of whatever needed doing.

If she allowed herself to believe in good fortune, he was the man she’d searched for all her life. The one she hadn’t believed existed.

She couldn’t allow him to go off to war. Wellesley would simply have to find another officer. If she was to have babies, she needed a husband at home. Fair was fair. Perhaps they could negotiate a new deal. Not that she had learned to speak her thoughts aloud yet. She was too accustomed to being laughed at and ignored. She needed to find just the right presentation.

After braiding a length of hair, Blake finally spoke. “I saw Africa last night, when I was prying Richard out of the greengrocer’s. The bird is nearly identical to Percy. If we buy back Africa, it might confuse Ogilvie and his thieves to find two similar birds.”

Caught by surprise at this response so wildly divergent from her own, Jocelyn coughed to hide her laugh. Here she’d been thinking romantic, sentimental thoughts while he’d been plotting against Ogilvie! In this instance, she heartily approved.

“Perhaps it would be better if I went to His Grace and offered to buy Percy,” she offered. “Then he might leave poor Mr. Ogilvie alone.”

“It would be simpler to send ’round a note. The duke is a busy man.” He tugged her braid. “And your wiles will not work on him. He is not like simpleminded Bernie.”

Jocelyn scowled but conceded the point. “I have no idea how much a parrot costs,” she warned. “And if you use your money to buy him, it will be months before I can repay you.”

“Your money is mine, remember? Save your wiles for wooing me.”

She elbowed him, but that was akin to punching a solid wall. Blake didn’t even grunt. He released her after he finished tying her ribbon.

By the time he was done, her skin felt hot, her heart raced, and her thoughts tumbled. After his declaration that he wished to be wooed for his money, she felt like Richard, needing the reassurance of familiarity. Woo her husband, instead of the other way around? It was too much to consider.

Unable to speak, she left the room, closing the door quietly after her. She might explode if she tried to decipher all her conflicting emotions. Much better that she find a practical activity.

 

The greengrocer would not sell the blasted parrot.

Blake watched in frustration as Richard stood beneath the cage hung high on the ceiling, whistling to the pathetic creature bobbing its molting gray head. In daylight, Africa looked even more pitiful than Percy had when Jocelyn stole him.

“It’s the lad’s pet,” Blake tried explaining. “As I understand it, birds mate for life, and this one is pining for her mate.” He doubted if he’d said anything more asinine in his life. The things a man would do to persuade a woman into his bed!

Just remembering Jocelyn in his bed this morning, all warm and sleep-tousled and available, was not conducive to his sanity. To hell with being honorable. He wanted a wife.

The stout, balding grocer shook his head in refusal. “My customers like the creature. The boy already has one bird. He don’t need another.”

A month ago, Blake would have agreed. Before Jocelyn had smashed into his life, he would have scorned the wretched creature. At least this bird wasn’t spouting obscenities, but its unhappy whistles were almost worse.

But now—he’d seen how Percy had grown healthier and happier simply from a little attention and proper care. Even Richard was looking less skeletal and sallow, although whether that was from better care or happiness at being back home wasn’t easily discerned. Still, it was obvious that all creatures needed love and care to flourish.

Besides, wasn’t the bird’s health and the lad’s happiness more important than the few extra coins the bird might draw? Given the size of the grocer’s paunch and the value of his silver buttons, the man wasn’t on the brink of starvation.

“I’m offering enough to cover any loss of business,” Blake asserted. “You can find a less expensive bird and make a profit on the deal.”

“Nope, they like this ’un. It does tricks and sings.”

At the moment, Africa was hanging upside down and muttering.

He wanted Jocelyn back in his bed tonight. He was pretty damned certain that recovering the bird for her brother would do the trick. Courting her didn’t work. Making her family happy did. And aggravating this smug bastard in the process would add to the pleasure.

Stealing the bird back was becoming a temptation, if straightforward bargaining and honesty didn’t work.

“Come along, Richard. We’ll go to the river and look for swans.” In disgust that he couldn’t accomplish this one thing for the woman who was driving him mad with lust, Blake turned on his heel and started for the door.

Richard didn’t follow. He’d climbed up on a flour barrel and was now unhooking the cage, as if he’d been granted possession. Africa flapped her wings and emitted cooing sounds that sounded incredibly like encouragement.

“Richard, you can’t take Africa with you.”

“Won’t,” Richard responded promptly. “I’ll stay right here.” To prove his point, he sat on the barrel, wrapped the cage in his arms, and, whistling happily, rocked back and forth. Africa pecked Richard on the nose as if kissing him.

The greengrocer turned purple with rage.

Blake nearly laughed aloud at how easy it was to manipulate one stubborn old man. Maybe—just maybe—Jocelyn had a point. People were not necessarily swayed by logic and reason.

“Fine, then, old chap,” Blake said cheerfully. “Come along home at lunchtime or your sister will come looking for you.”

“All right.” Richard nodded agreement, pushing a walnut kernel through the cage bars.

“You can’t leave the nodcock here!” the grocer shouted. “He’ll drive off my customers!”

“He won’t leave without the bird,” Blake said with a shrug.

“I’ll call the magistrate, I will!”

Blake polished a button on his coat before reaching for the door. “Good luck with that. I’ll send his sister down later. She has an affinity for useless creatures.”

He stared up at the ceiling and whistled, as if just realizing something, which in a way he had. His eminently social, clever wife would know precisely the best way to approach his plan. “I daresay she knows a lot of your customers. Used to live here, you know. Wonder what she’ll say when she learns you won’t let her little brother have his pet. Send word to Carrington House if you change your mind. I think my offer for the bird may have been too generous, after all.”

He strode out, leaving the grocer shouting and cursing.

After Blake had returned and explained his newly hatched plot, one that so eminently suited her gregarious nature, Jocelyn had been thrilled by the excuse to visit all their neighbors. Raising a crowd of mothers and children to save a pet was hardly difficult. She was even more thrilled that Blake understood how her social skills could do what his keen mind could not. There was hope for the man yet.