The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“Oh my God, it’s worse than I thought. Listen, Jessie, Charles has a nurse. He probably has three nurses. He probably has three nannies waiting in the wings. Anthony has his father and mother and Lambkin and every other stable lad to teach him all about horses. Marcus and the Duchess are letting you do this because they feel sorry for you. It’s beyond absurd, and it won’t continue.”

Sampson cleared his throat. “Master James,” he said quietly.

James slowly turned to see the Duchess and Marcus standing in the entrance hall, staring at him.

“Welcome home, James,” Marcus said, and strode to him. He hugged him, then pushed him back. “You look like bloody hell. Haven’t you slept at all? You’re as thin as a stick. Worried about Jessie all these weeks, huh? Well, she’s safe and sound. And beautiful. Just look at her.”

“Thank you, Marcus, for all your observations. Hello, Duchess. I’m sorry to interrupt your party, but I came directly here, thinking the brat would be here and here she is, only she doesn’t look like herself. Why did you let her paint herself like a hussy and dress like a London courtesan? She couldn’t even keep her skirts down. She had to show me her stockings, which are far too enticing for her to wear.”

“James, dear,” the Duchess said in that perfectly modulated voice of hers, “we’re delighted you’re here. We’ve all been expecting you, but I do counsel you to moderate your tongue. Jessie looks exquisite. She looks more lovely than any other lady here. We do not feel sorry for her. She’s right. Her jobs are very important to the boys and thus to us.”

“Ha.”

“Damn you, James. What’s wrong with you?”

“Jessie, you keep out of this. Oh, the hell with it. You’re all right. I’m going home to Candlethorpe.”

“Not until you’ve had your dinner, Master James. It’s a two-hour ride to Candlethorpe. You’ll remain here tonight. Mrs. Emory is already preparing the Blue Gusset bedchamber for you. Come into the kitchen. Badger is waiting for you. Duchess, my lord, Jessie, go back to the party. I will deal with Master James.”

* * *

Jessie danced until three o’clock in the morning.

“I fancy I’m very good now,” she said, smiling up at Marcus as he whirled her around in the last waltz.

“Yes, you are.” He yawned. “You’re also too young for me, Jessie. You’ve frazzled me. Even the Duchess is sitting over there looking like a beautiful wilted rose. I think we’ll wait until tomorrow before we begin your lessons in the various country dances. Sampson likes to play country dances on the pianoforte.”

Jessie climbed into bed thirty minutes later, after having pulled all the pins out of her hair. It felt good to have her hair loose. The pins had stuck into her scalp. She’d taken off her slippers jus

t after midnight, toeing them beneath a chair. She’d ruined her beautiful stockings, but it had been worth it. With her two pounds a week, she could afford to repay the Duchess. She dreamed of James. This time it wasn’t that terrifying dream about that horrible-smelling dead man who opened his mouth and accused her of stealing his treasure, a dream she’d had four times in the last several months. No, in this dream, James wasn’t angry with her. Actually, he was far from angry. He was pressing her hard against him, kissing her, and his mouth was wet, very wet, and hot.

She awoke to find Anthony’s small spaniel, Damper, sitting on her, his nose pressed against hers, licking her chin and her mouth.

She shoved him off, laughing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You miserable loving little lout! Did Anthony slip you into my bedchamber?”

“No, I did.”

14

JAMES LOOKED SPLENDID, all windblown from riding, his buff leather breeches fitting him as tightly as Maggie’s York tan leather gloves. His hair was lighter than it had been when she’d left Baltimore, all streaked with different shades of blond, and longer than it should be and really quite lovely, as were his green eyes, a green much more green than hers, deeper and darker and more pure.

“What the devil are you staring at?”

It didn’t occur to her to lie to him. “You. You look very nice. I like all the different shades of blond in your hair.”

She belatedly pulled the covers over her chest and pushed herself up in bed.

That gave him pause, but not much. “You still don’t look the way I’m used to seeing you. Your hair is wild around your face, all tumbled about like you’ve had a lover in your bed, instead of pulled back so tightly your eyes look slitted.” He stepped farther into the bedchamber, nudging Damper out the door with the toe of his black boot. “I’ve been riding with Marcus. You wore him out, he said, dancing his shoes off until he begged for mercy. He said you learned quickly, that you dance nearly as well as the Duchess. I didn’t believe him, of course. It’s time you got out of bed. It’s nearly ten in the morning. I’m going to Candlethorpe. Would you like to come with me?”

“You’re asking me to come to your English home?” she said slowly, so excited it was difficult to keep her voice steady, but she wanted to be certain she’d heard him correctly. She didn’t want him to know she was ready to throw off the covers and dance if he’d indeed asked her to his home.

“Yes, come with me. I don’t trust you here without me. You just might tear off again to escape me.”

“Oh.” She didn’t leap out of bed.

“How long will it take you to dress?”

“An hour.”