The Marriage Spell (13 page)

The Stone Saints? She imagined those young boys trying hard to seem strong rather than reveal their fears and uncertainties as they endured a brutal school designed to suppress their true natures. Poor lads—though she was sure that the grown-up Stone Saints would hate knowing that she thought of them with compassion. “I haven't seen anything of the house. Did Morris prepare a bedroom for you on the ground floor?”

He shook his head. “I'll stay in my rooms upstairs. The adjoining suite for the mistress of the house should be ready for you.”

Appalled, she said, “You mean to climb that long, steep flight of stairs after such a tiring day? Surely not!”

“I've been looking forward to sleeping in my own bed,” he said mildly.

“Your bed could be moved down to that small parlor across the hall.”

“No doubt, but I want to sleep in my own bedchamber. I like the way the sun comes in at dawn.”

She had a horrible vision of him pitching down the stairs. “You might break your neck again!”

Jack caught her gaze. “Abby, you are my wife, not my mother. I will always listen to your advice, but I make my own decisions.”

She flushed a deep, uncomfortable crimson. “I'm sorry. Having been your physician, I've become rather dictatorial. I won't do it again.” She thought a moment before honesty compelled her to say, “At least I'll try not to be dictatorial. I won't always succeed.”

“You're a strong woman and I expect opinions,” he said seriously. “As long as you don't expect me to always follow your advice, we will deal well together.”

Since he seemed disposed to honesty, she said, “The reverse is also true. I shall always respect your suggestions, but…well, though I have just vowed obedience to you, I think I'll be forsworn rather quickly.”

Instead of being angry, he laughed. “Marriage is going to be much more amusing than I ever anticipated.” He put his good foot on the floor and slid the ottoman sideways before gingerly lowering his right foot. “After a good night's sleep, I look forward to our discovering the shape of our marriage. But for now…” He covered a huge yawn. “I need rest.”

Despite his amusement, she saw gray fatigue in his expression. If the stubborn man was going to climb the stairs on his crutches, she had better lend him more strength so that he didn't break his neck again. She felt dizzy for a moment when she increased the energy flow. She was nearing the limit of what she could safely spare.

Jack was sitting up, ready to stand, but he looked uncertain. Guessing his concern, she asked, “Do you need a hand getting out of that chair? Since it's soft, it might be hard to manage.”

He grimaced. “That would be helpful. It's easier to sit than to stand.”

“By the time you've fully mastered the crutches, you won't need them anymore.” She offered both hands. He clasped them, pulling against her grip as he hoisted himself from the chair. She shifted her feet to keep from being pulled over. He was one solid man. And then he was looming over her, and she felt like melting into him.

He reached for his crutches and knocked them to the floor. “Too much wine,” he said ruefully. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” She retrieved the crutches and handed them to him. “I broke my ankle once and had to use crutches for several weeks. They're amazingly inconvenient.”

He settled himself on the crutches. “Your father couldn't heal the broken bone more quickly?”

“He could, but he thought that pain and inconvenience might teach me that I couldn't fly by building wings and jumping from my bedroom window,” she explained.

“You were quite the young hellion!” he said, startled. Before his words could make Abby too nervous, he added, “I consider that a splendid attribute in a wife. So many of the London ladies are terrifyingly perfect and…well, ladylike.”

He started walking toward the stairs, and Abby fell into step beside him. “I am more likely to embarrass you because of my wizardry than to intimidate you with my perfection.”

“And I shall embarrass you by my…” He paused, then shook his head. “I shall let you discover that on your own.”

They reached the foot of the steps and Abby was about to suggest calling Morris to stand guard as Jack climbed. Before she could speak up, Jack turned around and lowered himself onto the fourth step, his right leg held out in front of him. “I believe this will work. Will you bring my crutches up, please?”

Using his arms and good leg, he hitched himself up backwards to the next step. “Not the most dignified way to travel, but safe, I think.” He lifted himself another step.

“I wish I'd thought of this when I broke my ankle!” Abby followed with his crutches, making a mental note not to underestimate her new husband. She remembered her father saying that Jack had many hidden depths. Just as she would keep Jack amused, he would keep her intrigued as she discovered those depths.

By the time he reached the top of the long staircase, Jack was flagging but pleased with himself. “Now comes the tricky bit: getting to my feet.”

“It will be safer if you don't stand until you're farther from the top of the stairs.”

Jack obligingly hitched his way back across the hall until he was a safe distance from the steps. Abby propped his crutches against the wall and offered her hands again. This time they coordinated better and he got to his feet fairly easily.

Ignoring the crutches, he slung his right arm around her shoulders. “Will you be my crutch to the bedroom?”

“I like to be useful.” She grabbed the crutches with her free hand, then followed his lead. His solid weight pressing against her made the few steps a pleasure.

His bedroom was plain, but a fire burned in the grate and the bed looked comfortable. Morris was there, meticulously checking the state of Jack's wardrobe. He turned around. “Sir, I thought you would ring for me to help you up the stairs.”

“No need.” Jack hopped to the bed with Abby's help, then turned and sat on the edge. “Abby, your rooms are through that door.”

A connecting door so the master and mistress could come together without the household knowing. Apparently her new husband expected her to spend the night there. She knew that made sense, but wished he had shown some desire to keep her close.

She paused with her hand on the knob to her room. “Sleep well, my dear.”

Then she walked through into her new bedchamber. Like Jack's room, it was sparsely furnished, but the worn pink brocade bedspread seemed chosen for a lady and a vase of orange blossoms stood on the desk, lending sweetness to the air. She also had a fire to take the chill from the room.

A quick exploration showed that one door led to the hall and another to a small sitting room. The last door opened to a dressing room where her maid, Nell, was quietly darning a pair of stockings. Nell got to her feet and bobbed her head. “Are you ready for bed, my lady?”

“I'm going to have trouble getting used to that
my lady,
” Abby commented. “But I am certainly ready for bed.”

It was a pleasure to change into a flowing nightgown and robe and let Nell brush out her hair. But as Nell plaited a night braid, Abby's gaze moved to the connecting door. Surely her new husband wouldn't mind if she visited him to say good night.

Chapter
XII

J
ack was glad that he'd managed to climb the steps without aid, but by the time Morris had helped him change from formal clothes into his nightgown, his leg was in agony and he was almost paralyzed with fatigue. No, not paralyzed. Having experienced real paralysis, he could no longer use the word lightly, even in his mind.

Morris helped Jack into bed—convenient that he was a great strong ox of a fellow, strong enough to lift another great ox. As he straightened the covers over Jack, the valet asked, “Shall I leave a candle burning for Lady Frayne?”

“Please.” Jack could see that Morris was curious about whether the newlyweds would spend the night together, but of course he couldn't ask. The servants would figure it out on their own in the morning. They always did.

After his valet left, Jack settled back into the pillows, aching and ready for sleep. Would Abby come to bid him good night? He hoped so. She must be almost as tired as he and the mild day had turned into a cold night, but surely she would want to say something on the night of their marriage.

He dozed, then awoke with a start when the connecting door to Abby's bedchamber opened. His bride stood silhouetted against the light from her bedroom. The flowing fabric of her nightclothes suited her tall figure. With her thick hair falling in a braid over her shoulder, she looked like a medieval queen.

“Are you awake?” she asked in a voice just above a whisper. “I don't want to disturb you.”

“Please, disturb me,” he said as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His fatigue had retreated now that he had something—someone—to engage his attention. “We haven't had a chance to be alone all day. Even if our wedding night must be delayed, surely I'm entitled to a kiss.”

Her face lit up. “You certainly are. A promise of better days to come.” She blushed as she moved forward. “Or better nights.”

She halted at his bedside, her gaze on the shape of his leg under the covers. “Your leg is hurting rather badly, it appears. Shall I reduce the pain for you?”

“Please do.” As she drew the covers back, he asked, “What do you see when you look at an injury? What does pain look like?”

Her brow furrowed as she cupped her hands an inch above his aching leg. “Pain is like a restless red energy. I don't really see it with my eyes, but with my mind. Some healers like my father actually see energy fields called auras around people. Auras are lights that glow around the body in different colors. One can tell much by reading a person's aura—whether the person is calm or worried, mental or emotional. I'd like to be able to see auras, but for healing, it's enough that I can sense the colors in my mind.”

She stopped talking and concentrated on his leg. To his amazement, he saw a subtle glow of white light between her hands and his leg. No, surely he was imagining that glow because he was tired and she had talked about seeing light. But whatever she was doing worked. The vicious shooting pains in his broken leg faded to a dull ache, hardly worth mentioning. “That's much better. Thank you.”

Abby straightened, and he saw how tired she appeared. Since he'd seen her every day since his accident, he hadn't noticed that the healthy glow she'd had the first day had been diminished. That had to be his fault. He moved toward the middle of the bed, then reached out and caught her hand. “Come for your kiss, lass. You've done so much for me, and no one has been taking care of you.”

“I'm fine. Just a little tired.” But she let herself be coaxed into sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“Closer. The bed has plenty of room for two.” He tugged her hand, drawing her down beside him on the bed. She swung her legs up onto the mattress and rested her head on his shoulder. She filled his embrace naturally, as if his arms had been waiting for her forever.

She exhaled softly. “Mmm, this feels nice, but I don't want to risk hurting you.”

“You won't.” In fact, now that her long, lush body was lying alongside him, all aches and pains were forgotten. “You've soothed all of me, not just my leg.”

Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes drifted shut. Her lovely, clear skin was an invitation to touch that he made no attempt to resist.

Her cheek was even softer than it looked. His stroking hand continued on to her hair. Calling it brown was a disservice, for the heavy braid was shot with a thousand shades of gold and red and ginger. He untied the ribbon that secured her braid, then slid his fingers into the luxuriant waves. She murmured, “Now I'll have to braid it again before I go to bed, or it will be a terrible tangle in the morning.”

“Perhaps, but it's glorious now.” He lifted an overflowing handful of hair and rubbed his cheek into it. There was an intoxicating sensuality in the silky texture and clean herbal scent.

She was his wife. He was allowed to kiss her. Yet he hesitated, very aware of how little experience he'd had with women. He liked females—his sister had been his best friend before he was sent to the Stonebridge Academy. He'd learned the polite banter of society, and he'd enjoyed the physical encounters available to lustful young men of means.

But he'd never had a real romance. Admiring pretty society ladies in a detached way was not the same thing. Abby…made him want to be romantic. He bent and touched his lips to hers. Her mouth was soft and welcoming, and as hesitant as his own.

He kissed her again, his arm tightening around her waist. She felt marvelous, a combination of rich curves and supple strength. His heartbeat quickened. This was not a lady on a pedestal, but a woman. His
wife.

He experimentally touched her lips with his tongue. Her mouth opened, and he fell into the embrace, intoxicated by her femaleness. He moved backward toward the center of the bed and took her with him, safe in his arms. “Stay tonight,” he said softly. “I would like to have you here.”

Her eyes widened. How could he have ever thought her plain? Her lashes were long and dark, a perfect frame for her stunning, expressive eyes. Shyly she said, “If you're sure I won't be a nuisance.”

“Never.” He propped himself up on his right elbow and stroked his hand down her body, marveling at the pleasure he found in exploring her lush femaleness. In youthful amorous encounters, he'd always been frantic with lust, too hungry for the destination to enjoy the journey. “I am going to enjoy sharing a bed with you,” he murmured. “You're so comfortable.”

She gave a choke of laughter. “Pillows and mattresses are comfortable, so I'm not quite sure if that's a compliment. But I do enjoy being petted like a cat.”

Aroused by her encouragement, he covered her breast with one hand. The ripe weight made an intoxicating handful. She inhaled sharply as he shaped that fullness with his palm. “Anything so enjoyable is surely not allowed,” she gasped.

“It is now that we're married.” He grinned. “I'm beginning to understand why marriage is so popular.”

He bent into another kiss that became even deeper and more languorous than the first. He hadn't known that kissing could be done with the whole body, and yet that was what they were doing. As the embrace heated up, they shifted and adjusted feverishly to find the best fit. Her pelvis warm against his, his knee pressed between her legs, his hand sliding down her back to cup the provocative fullness of her hip. He wanted to bury himself in her, mate as nature intended.

But he
couldn't.
In the past, mental and physical desire had been so intertwined as to be one. Now his mind burned with intoxicated desire, but his damned body couldn't perform. Though he felt a shadow of physical urgency, he was incapable of the joining he craved. He wanted to pummel the pillows with frustration.

He forced himself to draw away. After several slow, ragged breaths, he mastered himself enough to stretch out beside her. “I do hope you're right that when my blood is rebuilt, I'll be back to normal!” he said unsteadily.

She opened her eyes, looking a little dazed. “You will be. Considering how much blood you lost, you've improved a great deal.”

She must be right, because when he thought back to the time of his injury, he hadn't found the efficient Miss Barton at all attractive. Such blindness on his part must have been a result of losing half his blood. As soon as he started healing, he began to recognize her mesmerizing sensuality. Now touching her was driving him half mad.

Part of her allure was her enchanting responsiveness. The way her uncertainty matched his own. The way her huge blue eyes regarded him as if he was the handsomest, most desirable man on earth instead of plain old Jack Langdon.

Just looking into those eyes made him even more frustrated, but complete fulfillment would have to wait. “You're
sure
I'll recover my normal capabilities?”

She laughed a little breathlessly. “Quite sure.”

“Good, or I might run mad,” he muttered. “Maybe I should eat nothing but beefsteak until I'm fully cured.”

“Only a few more weeks,” she said soothingly.

“That's too long.” He looked down the lovely length of her. Despite the softness of her voice, her lips were moist and her eyes dark with desire.

In his schooldays he would be mad for the end of spring term so he could go home. Now he was mad for her, and the promise of her ripe mouth and voluptuous body. He used his thumb to tease the tip of her breast, and felt the instant hardening even through layers of nightclothes.

She gave a shivering sigh and her eyes closed again. “That feels…nice. Really, really nice.”

It belatedly occurred to him that he might not be able to satisfy himself, but he could do more for her. Generous Abby, who asked nothing for herself.

He untied the bow at the throat of her robe and pulled the fabric back. Underneath the soft silk was a much more delicate gauze, halfway to being transparent. The neckline was too high to pull down without ripping fragile fabric, but that needn't stop him. He bent and kissed her nipple through the gauze. She arched against him with a gasp of delighted shock.

Pleased, he sucked harder and felt the instant reaction against his tongue. He could happily taste and explore her all day, a pleasant result of being less than fully functional. Normally he would be impatient to proceed to culmination. He made a mental note to develop more patience for the future, because he loved watching her response. He nuzzled her onto her back and transferred his attention to her other breast.

Her breath was coming in sharp gasps. What might she like next? He trailed his fingers down her side and leg, then tugged her hem upward so he could stroke the satin skin of her inner thighs. She moaned, shifting her legs restlessly.

He moved his hand higher yet, to the moist, hidden folds at the juncture of her thighs. She cried out, frantic with need, and her hips began thrusting against the rhythmic motion of his fingers. Suddenly her body convulsed into long shudders.

“Jack!” She clutched him as she dissolved with mingled pleasure and shock. She had known that she wanted him, but not realized how utterly primal and physical that wanting was.
This
was why she had watched Jack Langdon from the first time she saw him. Her body had known, even though her mind had dismissed any connection between them as impossible.

No wonder she had asked him to marry her in return for healing. Her ethical wizard self would never coerce an injured man, and she had rationalized her request as a way of shocking him to attention. But ruthless female instinct had seized the chance to win the mate she had always desired. She should be ashamed of herself, except that she was far too exhilarated for shame.

Gradually his intimate strokes diminished until the last tremors faded from her body. Her face buried against his shoulder, she said unsteadily, “How…interesting.”

He chuckled, sounding as satisfied as she. After brushing a kiss onto her temple, he settled down into the bed, holding her close. “Don't you dare think of leaving or braiding your hair or moving as much as an inch.”

She laughed as she settled deeper into his embrace. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have the strength.”

She slid her knee between his and rested her head on his shoulder. Had she ever felt so peaceful? Not since she was a child.

Now she wanted him healthy so they could fully consummate their marriage. As wonderful as this intimacy was, surely joining as one flesh would be even more profound. Before falling asleep, she increased the energy flow from her to him. The sooner he was well, the better!

A
t peace with the world, he closed his eyes. All his aches were gone, and his fatigue was now the wholesome kind that came after a satisfying day's labor. He had felt her pleasure almost as intensely as he would have felt his own. His brief affairs of the past had been with women whose goal was to please him. He had never known what joy there was in pleasing a woman so thoroughly that she forgot everything but the triumph of her body. He definitely liked being married.