The Wyndham Legacy (Legacy 1)

“Sounding a bit testy, are we? As to what I’ll do, I don’t know, but whatever it is, you will like it immensely, and so will I.”

“I hardly think that’s a threat to convince me to obey you.”

“My dears, surely you don’t wish to contemplate marital themes just now? No, certainly not. Such subjects aren’t best fashioned for a mother’s tender ears. You, my darling son, are still my little boy, thus, you are bathed in sunlight and purity. Yes, at last you’re both quiet. Badger told me to inform you that he’s sending up luncheon. Shall we all dine together and enjoy a comfortable prose?”

“Good God, Mama, a comfortable what?”

“Prose, my dear. Ladies of more advanced years speak in that fashion, you know. It’s soothing.”

“Bosh,” Marcus said, and pulled out a delicate French chair from the last century for his mother. “You’re about as advanced as that hussy maid of the Duchess’s.”

“Ah, Maggie. Isn’t she an interesting sort?”

Spears said from the doorway, “Perhaps Madam will be so kind as to tell her son why she was lying on her back in the middle of the Aubusson carpet in the Green Cube Room?”

“I would have expected a minimal degree of discretion from you, Spears. You have gravely disappointed me. No, Marcus, my body positions don’t concern any of you at the moment.”

“Bosh,” Marcus said again, looking harassed. “What the hell were you doing on your back? Some new meditation?”

“My dear boy, it’s none of your business.”

The Duchess laughed. “Ah, thank you, ma’am. You’ve diverted his fire away from me.”

His blue eyes came again to rest on her pale face. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. “If you eat your luncheon, nap awhile, then I’ll allow Maggie to wash your hair.”

“What about the rest of me?”

“I’ll wash the rest of you.”

“No, Marcus, no, you can’t, I—”

“Be quiet, Duchess.”

Patricia Wyndham rolled her eyes. “So much for my sunlight-pure boy.”

She knew he would be thorough. Marcus never did anything in half measures. As for the wound in her side, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, that he’d be gentle as a sliver of sunlight through the summer maple branches. But she couldn’t help but be embarrassed because she was still bleeding and there were cloths between her thighs. Perhaps he would leave that part of her alone. He did begin well enough, treating her as he’d treat a stick of wood or a doorknob, but when he’d uncovered her breasts, all his good intentions began to unravel. His

fists clenched, his mouth tightened, and his beautiful blue eyes darkened.

“I’d forgotten how utterly acceptable you are. That is, I’ve dressed and undressed you, looked at you and held you, wiped you down with icy water, but it’s different now. You’re better and you’re looking at me while I’m looking at you. It’s unnerving. Now, don’t move, I’ll try to keep my hands on the straight and narrow, wherever that could possibly be since your body is nothing but delight for me.”

He didn’t manage to find any sort of straight and narrow, of course, but he did try, and when he was lightly washing her belly, carefully avoiding her bandaged side, he drew in his breath, closed his eyes, and went lower with the soapy washcloth.

“Please don’t, Marcus. It’s very embarrassing for me and I don’t—”

He ignored her. “It doesn’t bother me at all that you’re bleeding. Thank God it’s normal bleeding, and I don’t have to worry that you’ll die on me. No, just be quiet, Duchess, and trust me.”

He looked at her face as he spoke, saw the shifting expressions even as his fingers found her. He’d meant to wash her, nothing more, truly, he’d not thought about anything remotely sexual, surely, well, all things sexual he’d thought about were spiritual, or perhaps they were just sexual themes in the abstract, theories, nothing more, but his fingers were on her and his eyes were looking at her and his hand was shaking.

It had been a long time, too long a time. He became aware that her breathing had changed, had quickened. Her eyes were wide and questioning on his face, her cheeks flushed. He smiled at her and thought, Why not? His fingers gently molded themselves to her flesh, but still, at first, her soft flesh was unwilling, but he was patient and he loved her and wanted to give her pleasure. There’d been so much pain for her, too much damned pain, why not pleasure, just for this once?

Finally, when she tensed, her back arching, he came up beside her and kissed her until she cried out her release into his mouth.

“Oh dear.”

“Hold still, Duchess. I still have your lovely legs and feet to wash.”

Once done with a bath the likes of which she’d never imagined in her life, he folded clean cloths and pressed them against her, then dressed her in a clean nightgown.