“Jenny’s mother died, but Jenny lived. She isn’t whole, mentally, but she’s the sweetest girl you’ll ever meet, Jack. Goodness, Jenny must be twelve or thirteen by now. And beautiful, just like her father.
“Since Jenny, I’ve combed lots of little girls’ hair, even done some braiding. Now, would you like to know what Ryder told me was the most important ingredient for a marriage?”
Jack was blinking. He realized she was crying. “Oh, no, Jack. I didn’t mean to make you weep. It’s a good story, not a sad one.”
He pulled her against him, holding Georgie on one side, Jack on the other. “No, don’t cry. That’s right, Georgie, pat her face—maybe even pull her ear. That will make her feel better.”
She sniffed several more times, then raised her face to his. “I saw Ryder Sherbrooke, thought he was very handsome, and believed him a charming, probably heedless rich man. I’m horrible.”
“N-n-not you, F-Freddie.”
“You’re right, Georgie. Our Jack—that’s her name now, if you don’t mind—she’s the best of sisters, the best of wives. No, Jack, listen. It’s just that we never really know anybody, do we? You meet someone for a short amount of time, then possibly you might learn a bit more about them. But with Ryder it was different. Not even his family knew what he was doing.”
“How did you find out about what he did?”
“Well, actually, he helped me when I was in very deep trouble once, about five years ago. I found out everything as time went on. Ryder, naturally, never went into any detail.”
“Goodness, Gray, what sort of trouble?”
He opened his mouth, frowned in a deep breath, then closed it. “It’s better that you don’t know. No one knows, actually. Yes, that’s best.”
“You mean like it was best that no one knew about Ryder’s saving children?”
“No, nothing of the sort. No, forget it, Jack.”
“I’m your wife.”
“Barely.”
“I-I-I’m your sister,” Georgie said, beaming at Gray, her small fingers lightly touching his chin.
“You certainly are,” Gray said and kissed those fingers.
Jack waited, but he said nothing more, probably because what he wanted to say wasn’t proper for a little girl’s ears. “All right. You don’t want to tell me about that. Very well. Tell me what Ryder Sherbrooke said was the most vital ingredient to a marriage.”
He looked up to see Dolly standing in the doorway, a small tray in her hands. “Ah, Georgie, here’s Dolly with some milk and cookies for you. Would you like to go with her and eat your goodies? Then you can come and sleep in our room again.”
“They’re probably almond cookies, Georgie,” Jack said, and that did it. Georgie went readily to Dolly.
“I’ll bring her back shortly,” Dolly said. She gave them a last look, then blushed, and quickly ducked her head.
Gray said nothing until Dolly had shut the door to the Oak Room, leaving them alone. He turned back to Jack, stared down at her mouth, parted slightly, and began kissing her. He whispered at last, his breath a warm sigh against her cheek, “Dolly knows what’s on my mind. Yours too, probably. Now, I’ll tell you when it’s the right time. Not just yet, Jack. Not just yet. We will have a little girl joining us again all too soon. Patience.”
“All right. I think I’ll go eat a biscuit with Georgie. I’ll bring her back with me, Gray.”
Within the next hour both sisters were sleeping soundly. As for Gray, it was difficult for him to lie not six inches from his wife in a very soft bed, listening to the occasional little snorts and sighs. She was a restless sleeper. The third time she flung her elbow into his ribs, he gave it up. Torture, he thought, as he pulled her against him. He supposed that torture was better than pain, although where sex was concerned, it was many times one and the same. He fell asleep with his hand on Jack’s bottom.
Jack said, “You’re naked, Gray.”
That woke him up faster than the smell of coffee under his nose. She was on top of him, her nose not an inch above his, and she was smiling. “I like the way you feel. It’s just dawn. Georgie’s still asleep. Her breathing is clear. I’ve been thinking hard about this. Gray, may I have a teasing lesson? I’ll speak very quietly.”
The day a woman needed lessons in matters of driving a man insane with lust, he thought, was the day pigs would take to the skies.
“All right,” he said, agreeable and warm and already so hard he wondered how the devil he was going to keep himself together. “I can manage this if I really try hard. If I think about my ancestors staring down on me from their gilded frames, so ancient that I can’t begin to imagine how they could have ever begat the next generation. It quite curdles the belly to think of it.”
She was giggling, surely the nicest sound he’d ever heard at dawn. “First thing you do is hold very still.” She did. It was an unspeakable relief, and at the same time terribly disappointing.
“Now, lightly stroke your thumb over my lower lip. Yes, that’s it. No, don’t press hard, just lightly rove around.” Then he caught her thumb in his mouth. When he released her, she was staring down at her thumb, and said, “I didn’t know a mouth could do that to a thumb. It should be silly, but it wasn’t. It made me feel very warm all the way to my toes. I know, Gray—what if I stuck two fingers in your mouth?”