The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

James jerked the reins from her gloved hands, stood up, barely, and began to execute a very strange series of movements, bringing Phantom first sharply to the left, then pulling him inexorably to the right. He did this three times. Finally, Phantom heaved a great sigh and stood docilely in the middle of the road, his head facing the hedgerows.

“What was that all about? What happened?”

Marcus reached over and patted Phantom’s neck. “Good fellow,” he said, then added to Jessie, “James was a robber. He bought Phantom for fewer guineas than the Duchess spends on a pair of gloves.”

“Yes,” the Duchess continued. “He all but stole him from this squire who was going to put him down because he nearly trampled his nephew, a repellent little boy who would probably have been better off for the trampling.”

James laughed. “Poor old Phantom has this habit of seeing double. When Marcus and the Duchess stopped their horses right in front of us, Phantom saw four horses and four riders and decided it was time to leave. I tried many maneuvers, and finally hit upon the solution. I keep his head turned slightly to either the left or to the right. That way he can’t see the horses and double their number.”

“It works,” Marcus said. “Now, since the Duchess and I have come all this way, let’s go to Candlethorpe and we’ll spend the day amusing you.”

“You knew about James’s ankle?” Jessie asked, eyeing James carefully as he turned Phantom a

round. Marcus and the Duchess didn’t ride in front, but rather they stayed on each side of the landau.

“George Raven came to Chase Park yesterday. Anthony had decided that Marcus’s cat, Esmee, would make a fine napping companion for Charles and put her next to his little brother. Esmee, who’d just eaten an entire trout for her luncheon, snuggled next to my sleeping son. Charles woke up, yelled his head off when he saw Esmee’s face only an inch from his, and his nurse, Molly, fell, hit her head, and knocked herself unconscious trying to get to him to see what the matter was. She’s fine now, just a ferocious headache. Marcus was forced to discipline Anthony.”

“What did you do, Marcus?” James asked.

The earl gave his wife a sideways look, then mumbled, “I smacked his bottom, made him apologize to Molly, then sent him to his bedchamber and told Spears he wasn’t allowed to eat or play for at least fourteen hours.”

“We then left so Spears could change Anthony’s punishment to suit his own opinion,” the Duchess said. “It was well done of you, my dear. I suspect even Spears was im-pressed with your firmness.”

“I’m glad I’m not there to see what Anthony’s doing,” the earl said. “About you, James, what happened?”

“James was giving Clothilde a physic. She didn’t like it.”

“No man or animal would,” Marcus said. “Serves you right, James.”

The Duchess carefully lifted off her riding hat, a lovely affair with a band of bright red around the black base, and hit her husband’s arm with it. “You think a woman would enjoy such a thing?”

“I was speaking for all mankind, and that includes women.”

After the ensuing verbal debris eventually cleared, James realized he hadn’t felt his ankle at all.

The Duchess and Marcus didn’t leave Candlethorpe that evening. After dinner, they left Mrs. Catsdoor rendered nearly speechless at their praise for her boiled knuckle of veal and her vol-au-vent of plums. The evening was spent singing some of the Duchess’s ditties and playing whist.

That night when James was lying on his back in their bed, his foot propped up on its complement of three pillows, Jessie getting ready to snuff out the candles, he screwed himself to the sticking point and said, “Jessie, would you like to try something a bit different?”

“What?”

“Perhaps you’d like to kiss me a bit?”

“I don’t know, James,” she said, frowning down at him with great interest. “It might not be wise. You tend to lose control of your hands when you kiss me.”

He sounded desperate. “I know, but I was hoping that perhaps you’d like to follow my instructions and we could do more than just kissing. You could, well, basically, you could sit on top of me and—”

“Sit on top of you? Why on earth would I want to sit on top of you, James?”

“Not just sitting. That wouldn’t accomplish anything, unless you were reading a book, and I don’t want you to do that. No, you would actually take me in your hands and—” She was looking at him as if he’d told her he was going to strap her down on the rack and start stretching. He stalled. He lost his nerve.

She wished she knew what to do. He wanted her on top of him? She’d never seen a mare atop a stallion. It was a fascinating thought, but not with that swelled ankle of his. No, it had to wait, curse the fates. She began whistling, snuffed out the candles, and climbed in beside him. She wished the bed were larger. She could feel the heat of him, feel each movement he made. When his hand touched her side, she squeaked.

“Hold my hand, Jessie,” he said, and she did.

She fell asleep rubbing the callus on his thumb.

James lay awake longer than he wished. Somehow he’d imagined Jessie would be more willing to try new approaches to lovemaking. The good Lord knew she’d always been brash, more confident than a female should be, eager for new experiences, always twitting him, mocking him, beating him at the damned racecourse, and protecting him from Glenda.