“He succeeded,” Douglas said, rising and dusting off his hands on his breeches. “Damn him. I will call for a doctor for Remie and send off a note to Lord Gray.”
As it turned out, neither Remie nor the stable lads had seen who had assaulted them. Remie said he’d heard something, but then he’d been struck on his head and that left him on his nose in the straw.
Lord Gray, when he was drinking a brandy in the Sherbrooke drawing room late that evening, allowed he’d heard about the attempts on Douglas’s life, told him he was now involved and would find the men responsible. “Since you have determined who the man is, why then, I will myself search him out,” he said comfortably, tossed back his brandy, kissed Alexandra’s lovely white hand, and took his leave.
No one believed him, even though they wanted to.
THREE WEEKS LATER
All seventy guests-forty more than originally intended-cheered wildly when James and Corrie, Viscount and Viscountess Hammersmith, came out of St. Paul’s, and ran, hand in hand, toward the open landau, festooned with every white flower Alexandra Sherbrooke could locate in greater London. It was, to everyone’s surprise, not a frigid, overcast day as all expected, but a cool, crisp, sunny day, unheard of for the end of October in England.
“It is because I am beloved in the celestial realms,” Corrie had said.
James had laughed. “Ha, it’s because those celestial realms are mightily relieved that I’ve saved you from being a fallen woman.”
Corrie also confided in her new mother-in-law that she’d promised up good works for twelve months if God would send down sunshine on their heads.
“What good works will you do?” Alexandra asked.
Corrie looked perfectly blank. “Do you know, I didn’t believe it would work at all, so I have no idea. I was expecting rain and thick fog up to my knees. This will require thought. I don’t wish God to believe that I wasn’t serious.”
Jason was saying to Judith, “All is forgiven and soon to be forgotten. Corrie saves his life, and now they’re married. Rules are sometimes the very devil.”
“I think they’re perfect for each other,” Judith said. She moved a bit closer, came up on her tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, “Corrie told me that James gave her only one hint about what would happen on their wedding night.”
Jason didn’t so much as twitch. “And what would that be?”
“He was going to kiss the backs of her knees.”
Jason laughed, couldn’t help himself. And Judith, demure as a nun, looked up at him through her dark lashes and said, “You mean that he’s lied to her? This isn’t what he’s planning?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll tend to her knees,” Jason said.
“And then I wonder what he plans.”
“You are too young, my child, to even have a clue about what comes after knees.” And he patted her cheek. “Or before knees, for that matter.” As his fingers touched her face, Jason, in that moment, knew it was all over for him. The wickedness in those dark eyes, the softness of her skin, the way he felt punched in the belly whenever she was near, it fair to knotted his innards, knocked the breath out of his lungs. He realized his throat had closed, cleared it, and said, leaning close to her ear, “If he has any sense at all, he’ll begin with her right knee. The right knee is more sensitive, you know.”
“Oh goodness, I had no idea. Is that really true, Jason? On every female? The right knee?”
“I have proved it many times.”
“Very well then. I will not forget that. Now, if James were you and Corrie were me, I think I’d kiss each finger of his right hand and then lick each finger, very slowly.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He was getting harder than the stone steps of St. Paul’s. He pulled his eyes away from her, and shouted, “Don’t let anyone kidnap him, Corrie, or you’ll have to marry him again!”
She heard him above all the shouts and cheers and well wishes, turned, and waved, her laughter filling the air.
James pulled her against him and kissed her soundly, much to everyone’s enjoyment. The landau rolled forward. As the afternoon progressed, all in society who hadn’t been fortunate to receive a wedding invitation would hear about how the young couple were very pleased with each other, which was a good thing since they were tied together for life.
As for Jason, he patted Judith’s cheek, and walked away, whistling. She stared after him. He baffled her.
Three hours later, after miles of observing countless farms, rolling hills, gentle stretches of forests, picturesque villages, and several great houses, they were at last nearing the village of Thirley sitting in the heart of Wessex. Not much longer now, and James planned to have her in bed not more than five minutes after that.
The day had grown colder, and there was wind now, making the carriage windows rattle, but James didn’t care. And soon after they’d changed from the open landau to the carriage, it had become overcast, perhaps perfect for Devlin Monroe, curse him. James wanted to get Corrie up to a bedchamber, strip her to her skin, and begin an orgy of enjoyment.
By all that was holy, he was married. To the brat. It still boggled his brain when it hit him, made him blink to keep from crossing his eyes. The brat was his wife, and he could still see her-a three-year-old with sticky fingers, pulling on his pant leg to get his attention. Then she was a snaggle-toothed six-year-old offering him a strawberry jam-covered muffin, a huge smile on that small mouth. And now she was sitting next to him, seemingly content to look at the passing landscape, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She was his bloody wife. A tress of hair had come loose and was hanging over her shoulder, escaped from her very pretty bonnet. Lovely hair, and that hank of hair was lazily pointing down to her breast. He wanted to touch that breast, wanted to caress her with his fingers, with his mouth. He began to ferment in lust.
The brat was his wife.