The Nightingale Legacy (21 page)

“Nice?” he said, and kept kissing her. “Just
nice?
” He didn’t want to, but his hands were stroking down her back, lower and lower until he cupped her buttocks and lifted her tightly against him. She froze against him, then he felt her shock disappear and now she was interested, feeling things she’d never felt before in her young life, and wanting more. Good Lord, she was full of passion, but she was innocent and now here he was, seducing her in her own home, his hands wild on her bottom, and he knew he had to stop. He didn’t want to marry, even Caroline, even this girl he wanted more than he’d ever wanted a female. But that was lust, honest lust, and he could deal with that, but he couldn’t deal
with marriage. Not yet, not ever, probably, at least he couldn’t deal with it the way his ancestors had done, beginning with his great-grandfather, and there were too many memories of his father’s rage and anger, so clear in his mind right this instant, for the rages had begun when he’d been just a small boy, becoming more bitter and uglier as North had grown older, fanned by his grandfather, who should have died years before he actually did because he was such a miserable old bastard. It had never stopped.

Then he felt her warm tongue touching his and thought he would spill his seed at that very moment.

He grabbed her arms and pulled them back. “No,” he said, gasping for breath. “No, dammit. This has got to stop, Caroline. I don’t want to marry you. I just want to bed you and that can’t be. You’re a lady, and when I manage to remember, I’m a gentleman. I’ll take care of my lust with someone else, but not you, never you. I’ll never shame you, Caroline, even though when I touch you I want to fling you to the floor and pull up your skirts and come down over you… Jesus, I’ve got to stop this. You’re so bloody innocent and you haven’t the faintest notion of what I’m even talking about.

“But dear God, I want to touch you and kiss you, every inch of you, in that soft crook behind your knees; I want to taste the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Ah, and to kiss your belly and lower, tasting you and feeling you quiver against my mouth, your thighs tightening, your hips lifting in my hands. Yes, I want all of that until you’re screaming with need, but you don’t even understand what I’m feeling, do you? Ah, the joys of innocence. You feel desire, but you don’t know, Caroline, you can’t know, what it’s like for a man to want a woman, what it’s like to know that you’re soft and willing and would let me come into you. No, you can’t begin to understand that. You don’t even know what
a man looks like, do you, Caroline? No, of course you don’t. Well, we’re not beautiful and white and soft like you. We’re all hairy and hard and damned frightening when we want a woman because our sex… No, dammit, forget I said that, forget that’s even a part of it. And no, I won’t kiss you again, so close your damned mouth and keep your tongue behind your teeth. God, women, even ones as innocent as you are, know instinctively how to drive a man wild with lust. Just look at you, your lips apart, and I can see your tongue.

“Damnation, don’t look at me like that. Stay away from me. I’m close to the edge, very close.”

He gave her one last furious look, shook his head at himself, and strode out of the drawing room. Again, he slammed the door behind him.

“Well,” she’d said to the empty room, “he does appear to feel strongly about this. I don’t believe he’s ever spoken so many words together since I’ve known him. Yes, North is a passionate man. And that is a good thing, I think.”

She hadn’t slept well, for he was there, the taste of him distant yet still heady in her mouth, the heat from his body still warming her, all of her, and that warmth was still with her, and the things he’d said. She tried to imagine each action and knew it wouldn’t be as strange and embarrassing as it sounded, no, it would be magic with him. What had he meant when he’d said he’d frighten her, something about his sex? She sincerely hoped she’d find out.

She shook her head now, clicked Regina forward, and wondered if North would persist in this seemingly generational dislike of marriage. But his father had married, as had his grandfather and as had his great-grandfather. None of it made any sense.

Where was North’s mother? Had she died birthing him?

O
H DEAR, SHE’D
forgotten all about Dr. Treath coming to see her and her new charges. “You say that Miss Treath had tea with the ladies, Mrs. Trebaw?”

“Yes, Miss Caroline. She stayed on a bit after Dr. Treath gave each of them a look over. A very nice lady is Bess Treath. Never sharp or nasty or gossipy, if you know what I mean, no matter how lowborn or highborn the patient is. Take our girls here, she was just as nice as can be. No turning up her nose; just like her brother in that respect. Never married, but seems content enough taking care of her brother, particularly after his young wife died so many years ago.”

“I didn’t know Dr. Treath had been married before.”

“Oh yes, to a lovely young girl from St. Ives who died in childbed not a year after they were married. Ah well, there’s no promise our lives will go well or even continue, is there?”

“No,” Caroline said, “there isn’t.”

“One must act and not dither about. That’s what I always told Mr. Trebaw, the dear man who never did act, just dithered and talked about acting, until he just up and died some seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Trebaw.”

“It’s been a long time now, Miss Caroline, a very long time. But don’t you forget now, don’t waste your days dithering. Life is more uncertain than a cup of milk that’s sat
on the windowsill in the afternoon sun.”

“You’re right,” Caroline said. “Dear heavens, you’re absolutely right.”

“I told the same thing to your aunt Eleanor. I do believe soon after that she decided she was going to marry Dr. Treath. Poor dear lady.”

Caroline just stared at her. “But he never said anything about proposing to her.”

“I don’t suppose he had the chance, oh, but he wanted to marry her, it was plain as a pikestaff for all to see. No one had a doubt about it in the world. Your poor aunt was killed soon after. Poor lady, so very fun she was and full of high spirits, never caring if the day was dreary or rainy, no, she gave life everything she had. Poor lady.”

Caroline stared after Mrs. Trebaw as she walked quickly away, shouting at Dumpling, the cook’s scullery, “Off you go now, Dumpling! No, don’t spill that milk. Careful, girl! Arrgh, you deserve a clout for that!” She turned and said to Caroline, “Nice is nice, but I’ll wager that even Bess Treath has clouted her maids in the ear now and again. Dumpling! You clumsy girl!”

Caroline went to the third floor, to the old nanny’s large room where she’d ensconced the seamstress from Trevellas. Mrs. Wiggins would remain here for two weeks, sewing gowns for all of them. She was jolly and big-bosomed and had no taste at all. Thankfully, Miss Mary Patricia was blessed with exquisite taste, even managing quite skillfully to temper the overly exuberant wishes of Evelyn, and it was she who directed Mrs. Wiggins in the choice of materials for the three of them and the styles. Miss Mary Patricia also agreed to oversee the making of several gowns for Caroline.

She left Miss Mary Patricia and Evelyn arguing about a particularly vile shade of puce that Evelyn thought would be just beautiful on Miss Caroline. Caroline shook her head
and left quickly. She went back downstairs and came face-to-face with Bennett Penrose.

“Good day, cousin,” she said, and kept walking toward the small back room that she’d taken over as her workroom.

“I want to speak to you, Caroline.”

She said over her shoulder, “Good. I want to speak to you as well. Come along, Bennett.”

She knew he didn’t like her sitting behind the desk, the sunlight behind her and thus in his eyes, but she didn’t care.

“Our three ladies are here now, Bennett,” she said without preamble. “You will be polite to all of them. You will be careful not to frighten them, particularly Alice, who is very young and very frightened of anyone who is male.”

“Then why’d she toss up her skirts if she was frightened of men?”

“Bennett,” she said, willing herself to patience, “Alice is fourteen years old. She was raped by three young men who were probably drunk. She is a child and now she is pregnant. You will be very, very careful around her.”

Bennett looked contemptuous and shrugged. She wanted to smack him, but she said only, “Scrilady Hall is their refuge and now their home. They are safe here, from nastiness, from threat. Do you understand me?”

He only shrugged again.

“Bennett, you can move out if you wish.”

“Where would I go? Would you give me money to leave, Caroline? You could, you know. I wouldn’t relinquish my share of anything here, but if you gave me an income from all the money you inherited, then I would gladly be on my way.”

It was a thought, a very good one, actually, but she knew her aunt had believed Bennett to be redeemable. More fool her aunt in this case, but Caroline supposed she had to give
it a try. “No. Why don’t you get work? You’re not particularly stupid, just lazy.”

“I’m a gentleman.”

“Ah, that means, then, that you’ll skulk and sulk about and drink yourself to death at Mrs. Freely’s inn in Goonbell? I doubt North would consider that a proper gentleman’s pursuits.”

“He’s got money. I don’t have any.”

“He didn’t have any money until he came into the title. He was in the army, from the age of sixteen, doing something useful, earning his own keep.”

“Napoleon’s gone. There’s no more reason to go into the army. Besides, I would have to have a commission. Would you give me the seven or eight hundred pounds to buy me one?”

She sighed. “What do you want to do, Bennett?”

He rose and walked to the long windows that gave onto a lovely enclosed garden. He said finally, “I want to marry an heiress.”

Well, that was something. “How does one go about marrying an heiress?”

“There aren’t any in this godforsaken area, that’s for sure. No, I must go to London to find a rich cit’s daughter. I’m of excellent breeding even though I don’t have a title. Yes, all I need is capital and I will be married to an heiress within six months.”

“So you want me to loan you the money? An investment in the hunt?”

“Yes,” he said as he turned back to face her. “I venture to say that five thousand pounds would get the job done. I would give you, say, ten percent in return after a period of eight months. Perhaps then you would buy me out of my half of all this. God knows the last thing I want to do is take care of pregnant sluts. Is that acceptable to you?”

Caroline didn’t know what to say, and that was odd because usually words tumbled merrily off her tongue. She could only stare at Bennett and wonder what kind of a man he was. She said finally, “I will think about this, Bennett. In the meanwhile, why don’t you make yourself useful here.”

“Doing what? Meeting with those damned boring farmers? Making repairs on their cottages? Should I force myself to listen to them talk of their meager crops that are always rotting in the fields from too much rain? Do you want me to sit down with Mr. Dumbarton and commiserate on having you here as mistress and not a man? You want me to enter stupid numbers in a ledger? Go spend my time in the tin mines, licking Peetree’s boots, like you’ve got Owen doing? Oh yes, I saw him over at Wheal Kitty walking about with that damned manager, acting like a stupid schoolboy, all ears, looking ready to pant.”

“If you married an heiress, Bennett, you would be expected to do something useful. If there’s an estate, it would be your responsibility to see that it’s well run. If your wife’s family is in banking, for example, you would be expected to learn that job.”

He shrugged. “I would hire an estate manager. As for banking, I would no more set foot into the City than I would go to America. I told you, Caroline, I’m a gentleman. Gentlemen aren’t in trade.”

She rose then and placed her hands palm-down on the desktop. “You’re a fool, Bennett, but I will think about this, though I can’t imagine giving you the money to dupe some poor girl into marrying you.”

“Then you’ll never be rid of me, Caroline. This is my home now, just as it’s yours. There are three pregnant little sluts just upstairs. After they’ve dropped their brats, why then, I can have my pick of them. Perhaps I won’t be so
bored after all.” He turned and strolled from the room, whistling now as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Damn him. He was right. What was she going to do?

“All right, Caroline, what’s going on? You look like you’re ready to shoot somebody.”

She was pacing back and forth in North’s drawing room still so furious she was near to panting with it. “It’s Bennett,” she said, striving to keep her voice from shaking with rage, stopping just a moment, then resuming her pacing.

He drew up, now alarmingly rigid. “Did that mangy little bastard insult you?”

His harsh tone brought her up short. That would enrage him? If she were the one insulted? Ah, perhaps… She smiled at him, a big beautiful smile, and made North wish he’d kept his damned mouth shut. As for Caroline, it was strange, but suddenly her rage at Bennett had unaccountably dispersed like rain clouds. There was nothing but bright sunshine.

She said now, quite unconcerned, “No, he didn’t insult me, not directly anyway. He wants five thousand pounds from me so he can go to London and catch himself an heiress for a wife. Then I can buy him out of his half of everything here, and there’s got to be lots of money in it, naturally. Then he can continue a wastrel’s life.”

“That’s not all of it, is it? That would just make you laugh, Caroline. Come on now, what else?”

“He said if I didn’t give him the money, he’d wait until my ladies dropped their brats and then he’d have them himself. He called them sluts, acted like he’d be some sort of sultan with his own harem.”

North found himself looking again at her heaving breasts. His fingers itched to touch her, to fondle her breasts, to hold them in his hands, to close his eyes while he felt her soft
flesh. He shook himself and rose. “What do you want me to do about him?”