The Nightingale Legacy (19 page)

“No.”

“You’re very young yet, and a man. Perhaps you do need seasoning, perhaps even more ripening, before you’re able to attach yourself properly to a lady.”

“Perhaps, but doubtful. Is that what you believe Rafael Carstairs has done? Attached himself?”

“It sounds like it, according to Flash Savory. They sound as if they’re much in love.”

North grunted, saying only, “They probably haven’t been married all that long.”

“Not only are you not ripe, you’re a cynic. It doesn’t become you, North.”

He only shrugged. “Your pregnant girls will be arriving at Scrilady Hall tomorrow.”

“Coward,” she said under her breath but not under enough. However, he didn’t say anything. “Oh dear,” she added, choking on the tender bite of baked pheasant she’d just swallowed. “My pregnant girls. Oh dear.” She grabbed for a glass of water and drank deeply. She managed to catch
her breath and wheeze out, “Oh, goodness, I must be there, North. I am feeling fine. Another night in this magnificent bed will see me fit as Mrs. Tailstrop’s pug, Lucy, a repellent animal but healthy nonetheless.”

“I’ll have Dr. Treath come and check you over tomorrow morning.”

“No, truly, I’m fine, North.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Besides, all your male minions will be so happy to see the back of my skirts, they’re likely to dance the waltz in the entrance hall. It’s a sight I don’t want to miss.”

“It’s possible. Very well, I’ll see you home tomorrow morning.”

“North?”

He turned and raised a dark eyebrow. His shining dark hair swung over his brow and onto his cheek and he looked as dangerous and brooding and as utterly fascinating as any gothic hero could ever look.

He looked magnificent and she said, “Perhaps you’d like to kiss me good night?”

H
E FLINCHED AS
if he’d been struck. The dark brooding hero was gone. In his place was a man who wanted to take flight immediately. He looked panicked. “No,” he said. However, after just a moment of hesitation he quickly walked back to her. He leaned over, lightly took her chin in his palm, and brought her face upward. “Damnation,” he said, his warm breath touching her flesh, “your mouth is delicious and soft and—” He kissed her then, teasing her with his tongue, caressing her mouth with his, lightly nipping at her lips, then licking where he’d nipped. He took her face between both his hands and sat down beside her. “This isn’t a good idea,” he said, and began kissing her again. “It’s a wretched idea. Any idea that feels like this has to be not only bad, but dangerous as the Devil’s right hand.” His tongue glided over her bottom lip and the pressure deepened. She parted her lips to him and felt a jolt of sharp pleasure at the taste and feel of him in her mouth.

“Oh goodness,” she said, then wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him down with all her strength.

He did try, he truly did, to pull himself off her, but before he knew it, he was lying his full length on top of her and he could feel her belly beneath him through the covers and her nightgown.

He was pushing at her, not meaning to, but unable to stop himself. His mouth was more insistent now and his hand went unerringly to her breast. It was the touch of her soft
flesh through the light lawn nightgown, her woman’s flesh fitting so perfectly into his hand that made him very nearly leap off the bed. He stood there over her, panting hard, his eyes nearly crossed with lust, knowing that if she weren’t so damned innocent she’d look at him and see how desperately he wanted her, to take her now, with no more of kissing or caressing, just thrust himself into her and feel her closing around him and knowing, simply knowing, that it would be unlike anything he’d ever known in his life.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” he said, panting as if he’d just run a mile. “You must. I can’t take this, I simply can’t.”

He strode away from her, not pausing even when she called out, “You’re being a coward again, North. A bloody coward.”

He slammed the door behind him.

Both Dr. Treath and his sister, Bess Treath, visited Caroline again the following morning. As before, Miss Treath sat off to one side, ready to assist her brother should he ask her to. He sat down beside Caroline, took her wrist between his fingers, and looked at his pocket watch.

“Excellent,” he said after a bit. “Normal as can be. Let me see your eyes.” He leaned closer and she felt his breath on her face, warm and minty. It didn’t do at all what North’s breath did to her. She just wished he’d finish. She closed her eyes then as he felt the bump on her head.

“That’s going down as well. Do you have a headache this morning?”

“Oh no. I feel fine, truly.”

She felt his hands lightly skimming over her throat to her shoulders. He leaned against her chest, listening to her heart.

“She looks fit, Benjamin.”

Caroline opened her eyes to see Bess Treath standing over her next to her brother.

Dr. Treath smiled down at her, taking her hand in his as he did so. He squeezed her fingers. “She has the look of Eleanor, doesn’t she, Bess?”

“Perhaps a bit. There’s a goodly dollop of deviltry in those green eyes of hers, but Eleanor was different, so filled with fun and laughter and so very beautiful. Caroline will have to grow into her kind of beauty. Let her be herself.”

Dr. Treath smiled. “She does have her own beauty, but there is a look of Eleanor about her, despite what you say.” He rose, still looking down at Caroline. “His lordship tells me he’s taking you to Scrilady Hall this morning if I agree to it. I do. You’re fit again. However, I will come to see you tomorrow morning. No sense in taking any chances.”

Bess Treath smiled down at her and gently shook her hand. “You are yourself, Miss Derwent-Jones. I hope you didn’t take my words amiss. Your aunt was very special in her own right, particularly to my brother, as I’m sure you know. I will also see you tomorrow. Good luck with the sparrows.”

“What sparrows?”

“The pregnant girls,” Dr. Treath said. “My sister has an interesting sense of humor.”

Caroline leaned back her head, watching the two of them leave beneath slitted eyes. Why hadn’t North come up with Dr. Treath?

She asked him when he was assisting her down the great stairs of Mount Hawke. She didn’t need the support, but she enjoyed the feel of his arm beneath her hand, the closeness of him. She wondered if he felt anything at all this morning or if men’s lust was reserved only for the evening hours.

“I had other matters to attend to,” he said only, not looking at her.

“What other matters?”

He did look at her then, stopping on the stairs. “I don’t recall thinking it was any of your business. Prying doesn’t become you, Caroline. Why do you ask?”

“It would seem to me that your male minions would demand that you monitor Dr. Treath so that you could assure them that I was fit as a stoat and ready to leave here within the hour.”

“Ah, but that happened anyway. Just look, Caroline, all of them lined up to bid you a fond farewell. A pity they’re not waltzing.”

“I hope they all rot,” she said under her breath, but he heard her and chuckled. It was a nice sound, that raw chuckle of his.

“Miss is leaving,” Tregeagle announced when she hadn’t yet even reached the bottom step.

“Yes,” she called out, “but I’ll be returning for dinner. Won’t that be nice, Coombe?”

“I daresay it could be pleasant,” Coombe said, “but I fear that Mr. Polgrain is beginning to suffer from a severe migraine. The good Lord knows what we’ll be eating this evening. Perhaps you’d best wait, miss. Yes, you’d best favor Scrilady Hall with your custom this evening.”

She laughed. They were really quite good, all of them. “Well, in any case, do tell Polgrain that even though I enjoyed the pilchard head thoroughly, my guests nearly vomited upon viewing it.”

“Surely that is too stark a word, miss,” Tregeagle said. “Far too vulgar for a Female Person to use. Perhaps
retch
is less offensive. Ah, look, I’ve opened the front door for you and there is Mr. Owen all ready to take you away from… to take you home.”

She said nothing more, just walked beside North onto the wide, very worn front steps of Mount Hawke. Owen was
dutifully standing beside an ancient gig, pulled by an equally ancient old cob.

“Goodness, Owen, where did you unearth that thing?”

“Good morning, North, Caroline. Mrs. Trebaw insisted you must be pampered, Caroline, thus this relic. I just hope the wheels don’t fall off.”

Caroline turned to North and laid her hand on his sleeve. “Thank you,” she said simply. She wished she could tell Owen to take the ancient gig and drive it to London, anything to give her more time with North, but she said instead, “Will you come dine with us this evening?”

He shook his head and said, “Yes.”

She smiled wickedly, lightly touched her fingers to his chin, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, her tongue lightly touching his warm flesh. She said into his ear, “There, that should have Polgrain, Coombe, and the inimical Tregeagle in a dither for at least an hour.”

He was breathing quickly, wanting her right this moment, here on the front steps, perhaps in the gig with her sitting on his legs, or bent over, leaning on the opposite seat of the gig, her petticoats thrown up about her head—good Lord, the gig didn’t have an opposite seat. He was fast becoming a half-wit, a lust-sodden fool. North shook his head. He gave her the coldest look he could dredge up. “Damn you, Caroline, you did that on purpose.”

“Yes, but it was so very nice, North. I will see you this evening. Now, I’m off to see that everything’s in order for my pregnant ladies.”

“Take care,” he said. “Tonight, you and Owen and I will discuss what the devil to do with his damned father.”

“Er, North,” Owen said, drawing close. “Your men haven’t kept him in a dungeon, have they?”

“No, Owen, he’s in a small room up there in the east
wing. He isn’t happy, but on the other hand, he isn’t free to go after Caroline again.”

“If he saw Caroline kissing you then he must realize that all will soon be lost.”

North jerked as if he’d been shot. “What the hell does that mean, Owen?”

“Why, the two of you, the way Caroline looks at you and she’s always smiling when you’re nearby and touching you whenever you’re close enough to touch. And you, North, your eyes get all dark when she’s about and you look at her like a man would at a meal when he hasn’t eaten for a week, and well, it’s very obvious to everyone that, well, that is—”

“Nothing is obvious to anyone,” Caroline said. She firmly took Owen by the arm and led him to the gig. “Do you want to drive, Owen, or shall I?”

Owen was staring up at the east wing, his body suddenly as stiff and tense as a maiden aunt at a horse mating. “Oh dear, do you think he’s watching us?”

“I hope so,” she said, then grinned and kissed Owen lightly on his chin, and hugged him tightly for a moment. She gave him another kiss for good measure. “There,” she said with a good deal of satisfaction, “let him think I’ll be a bigamist.”

“Caroline!”

“Oh goodness, Owen, don’t be such a prissy prude. Now, let’s go home.”

Owen clicked the old nag forward and Caroline found herself looking back at Mount Hawke. North was still standing on the steps staring after her. She raised her hand and waved. He turned and strode back into the castle.

North hadn’t really seen her, she thought. He was perhaps shortsighted, that was it. He hadn’t seen her wave. She shivered then as she looked upward at the third floor of the east
wing. Somehow she knew Mr. Ffalkes was there by the window, watching her, watching and waiting and planning.

Caroline looked at each of the three young women who were now her responsibility and hers alone. Only one of them was younger than she—Alice, only fourteen years old, her belly huge on her thin body. She was so very pale and frightened; if Caroline ever met up with the man who’d forced her, she was certain she’d kill him. She felt such fury for a moment that she held herself very still and very silent.

When she’d managed to control her rage, she said, “Would you like another biscuit, Alice?” This time, she was careful not to make any sudden movements. She’d already done that and poor Alice had nearly jumped out of her pregnant skin. “They’re filled with currants and ever so delicious. Mrs. Trebaw thinks we need to fatten you up a bit.”

“Thank you, Miss Caroline,” Alice said, speaking slowly and very carefully. “They do look wun-wonderful.” Even the girl’s fingers were thin and so very white, the blue veins clear beneath her skin. She looked more fragile than the small Dresden shepherdess on the mantel.

Caroline turned to Evelyn, a girl now almost twenty who’d been seduced by the young gentleman of the house. When she’d become pregnant, the young gentleman had informed his fond mother that Evelyn was a wanton trollop, that she’d come into his bedchamber and climbed into his bed, and just look at what she’d tried to do: compromise him so he’d have to marry her. Of course, she’d been dismissed without a character. She’d not wanted to go back to her parents, which was understandable, since there were already eight children in the small house in Mousehole, and her father was mean when he drank, which was most of the time now. It had been then that Miss Eleanor had found her
crying her eyes out in Penzance, there, alone, sitting on the beach, unmindful that the tide was coming in fast and edging closer to her slippered feet.

“Another cup of tea for you, Evelyn?”

“Thank you ever so much, Miss Caroline. It do be a treat. Rather I should say it is very nice of you to offer, very nice indeed, don’t you agree, Miss Mary Patricia?”

“Most assuredly, Evelyn,” said Miss Mary Patricia. “And the company is so very refined.”

Caroline grinned at Miss Mary Patricia, no simple Mary for her. She had a good deal of presence for a young woman who was twenty-two years old and one of five daughters of a vicar who lived in Dorset. She’d been trained to be a governess, and on her first post with two very young, very spoiled children who had nearly killed her with misery, the master of the house, a Mr. Trenwith of East Looe, had caught her in the gardens at the back of the house and raped her. “One time,” Miss Mary Patricia had said, “just one time, and here I was, my life in ruins, not knowing what to do, and this babe growing in my womb.” Aunt Eleanor had found her in a taproom in Truro trying to get a job as a barmaid.