The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“James?”

“Yes, stop shaking, you just had a nightmare. It’s over now.”

“Yes, it’s over,” she said, and fell back against her pillow. He doubted she’d really come awake; he’d just roused her enough to break off the dream. He unplaited her braid and tugged his fingers through the deep ripples it left in her hair. She didn’t stir. Her hair was so thick and curly. He smoothed it out over the white pillow.

Yes, she had lovely hair for a girl he’d known for too long to possibly consider her as a wife, as a mate, as a woman he desperately wanted to come into again. Yet he knew he would have to wait. But sometime around lunchtime he’d make her scream with pleasure again.

As he drifted off a second time, James wondered: Who the hell was Mr. Tom? What had he done to her?

“Jessie, wake up.”

She moaned and pulled away from that hand on her shoulder, pulled away from that insistent voice.

“Come on, wake up. It’s very late, later than you’ve ever slept in your life. Wake up.”

She pulled the covers over her head.

He pulled them off her. She felt the bed give when he sat down beside her. “Jessie,” he said, and kissed her cheek, her ear, smoothing her wildly curling hair from her face.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was so beautiful, so precious to her that she didn’t think she could bear it. But of course she could. She remembered the pleasure he’d given her in the dark of the night. It was daylight now and it was difficult to look at him, knowing that he knew what he’d done to her.

James was grinning down at her, feeling a good deal of male satisfaction. Triumphant even. He felt wonderful, well rested and filled with delicious sated feelings. He leaned over and smoothed his fingertip over her eyebrow. “I’m going to do that to you again today sometime. What do you think? Nothing to say? That’s all right, Jessie. Embarrassing you is a treat, something I never managed to do until I was running my tongue down your white belly and then—”

“James.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “Good morning,” he said, and kissed the end of her nose, her left ear, her chin. “Whatever are you doing still asleep? I exhausted you, is that it? You’re supposed to feel all energetic, Jessie, not swooning in bed until half the day is gone.”

She smiled at him, the new Jessie gaining a hold. “After you’ve taught me everything about this marriage business, then I’ll be able to tease you as well.”

“There’s lots to learn, Jessie. It will take me more time than you can imagine to teach you every nuance, every slight movement that brings a different kind of pleasure.”

Her eyes nearly crossed. “Oh,” she said.

“I lied to you. Half the day isn’t gone. I just wanted to have breakfast with you so we could discuss what we’ll do today. It’s only

seven o’clock. I’ve already bathed and dressed. Harlow is bringing up hot water for you. Would you like Mrs. Catsdoor to help you?”

She didn’t want anyone to help her, unless it was James. She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask him to rub her back with the bathing cloth. He turned in the doorway. “Oh, Jessie, who is Mr. Tom?”

She stared at him. She repeated so softly he barely heard her. “Mr. Tom?”

“Yes, who is he?”

Jessie seemed suddenly remote. Her eyes took on a faraway cast that made James feel her thoughts, whatever they might be, were miles away. “I don’t know,” Jessie said slowly, her voice distant. “I remember a long time ago that I had dreams about him but then they stopped. This is odd, James. I haven’t dreamed about Mr. Tom for years. Why would I dream about him last night?”

He had no answer to that. He’d known her for six years. He’d never heard her or her family say anything about a Mr. Tom.

The day stretched out endlessly, one slow minute at a time. James could hardly believe that it wasn’t noon, the time he’d set to take her to bed again.

The sun was hot overhead. Jessie wiped away the sweat on her brow. Every few minutes she looked at her husband, and when he looked back at her, she knew exactly what he was thinking. She also knew she didn’t have a stitch of undergarments on underneath her clothes. She scrubbed the horse harder until he tried to dance away from her.

She heard James laugh. She shook her fist at him. They worked the horses all morning, companionably because they’d been companions for so very long. At ease around horses, they knew how to behave, what had to be done. And they were at ease with each other. After all, they’d been companions long before they’d been lovers. Jessie began to hum.

It didn’t occur to her to believe James loved her just because he enjoyed lovemaking with her. No, what was important was that they were friends. She would build on that. There was a race in York, and James intended to ride Bertram in two heats.

Jessie rode Selina just before lunch, putting her through her paces. She was surprised at the horse’s smooth speed, her flawless endurance. She suspected there was some blood other than Arab in her. No pure-blooded Arab could have as much stamina as Selina did.

When Jessie returned to the stables, she saw that James wouldn’t be riding anything on Saturday. He was sitting on the ground, cursing the air blue, holding his ankle with one hand and waving his fist at Clothilde, one of the bay mares, with the other.