The Nightingale Legacy (Legacy 2)

“I don’t understand that either,” he said, and began to return her kisses.

“You see,” she said, then lightly slipped her tongue between his lips. “You see,” she said again, her breath warm in his mouth, “I am the obvious woman for you. You should stop worrying about it, North. I am your fate. Take me because I most certainly want to be taken by you.”

18

“DAMNATION,” HE SAID, and fell to his knees in front of her. She stood stock-still, not understanding, just staring down at him.

“See if you can accept this, Caroline. If this shocks you to your little virgin toes, I’m sorry, but it’s what I have wanted.” Without another word, he pulled up her gown, her petticoats, her chemise. “Hold them up.” She did, still staring down at him, still not understanding. She was naked in front of him and he just looked at her for a long moment, at the white thighs, strong and supple, and upward to the tight swirl of curls as richly chestnut as the hair on her head, and he reached out his fingers to touch her. “Spread your legs.”

She gasped and spread her legs, balancing herself better. “Are you certain you want to do this, North? Look at me like this? It’s very embarrassing, you know. No one has ever looked at my waist before.”

“I’m not looking at your damned waist. I’m looking at where I’m going to caress you with my fingers and with my mouth. God, you’re beautiful.”

“North, but surely—”

His mouth touched her then as his fingers held her apart for him. Caroline froze, then, to her utter astonishment, she felt a tremor that shook her from her toes to her neck. Her knees buckled and she collapsed, her riding skirt and petticoats billowing out over him. She felt North’s hands on her bottom as she landed on her back. He was over her then, on top of her, balanced above her on his elbows, looking down into her very dazed eyes.

“You’re lovely,” he said, and kissed her. Before she could clasp him around his back to keep him close, he was off her, standing there, staring down at her. Her skirts were up about her waist, her legs sprawled, and he smiled at her and held out his hand.

“I pictured you like this, your skirts all up about your chest and your belly naked. Yes, I pictured you very clearly. But let me tell you, Caroline, you’re more beautiful here, now, in your white flesh, than you were even in my very imaginative mind. I like the white stockings and the black riding boots. It adds mystery. It’s exotic. Come now, we’re going home.”

He pulled her up, then stood back, watching her straighten her clothes. Her hands were trembling and she was very, very silent.

“My God,” he said, and laughed. “You’re embarrassed. I’ve finally succeeded in getting you to close your mouth.”

He grunted then, doubling over slightly when she rammed her fist into his belly.

He just grinned, rubbed his stomach, and said, “We’ll wed next week, on Friday, all right? Will that give you sufficient time?”

She looked at him, saw the deviltry in his dark eyes, saw the amusement tugging at the corners of his beautiful mouth, and shook her head. “No, I would prefer Wednesday.”

“You’re a mouthy girl, Caroline, but it pleases me. We will compromise on Thursday. I have to find us a bishop, you know, and procure a license, since I don’t think you want to post any banns.”

“No, that takes a long time, doesn’t it?”

“Four weeks, three of them where the vicar reads out the intent to marry in church. Too long, much too long. I want you in front of me naked so I can caress you again. Will you hold up your clothes for me again?”

“North!”

“It’s nice to outdo you verbally, Caroline. I used to be quite content to sit in brooding silence, listening to others go on and on and laugh and tell jests, but now, with you, I find I quite enjoy reducing you to blushes and groans and little squeaks when I manage to shock you.”

He grinned down at her, patted her face, and gave her his hand. “Come along, we have a lot to do. Careful now, this path isn’t all that easy a climb.”

It wasn’t until late that same night that Caroline, tossing in her own bed, quite alone and hating it, realized that Mr. Ffalkes could quite easily kill North, widow her, and force her to marry him. But no, that was absurd. He would be hanged if he murdered anybody. She was becoming hysterical. Her mind had obviously been shoved off its proper track, what with those utterly delightful and very unexpected things North had done to her on the beach. She knew she was embarrassed, shocked to her toes, really, but it didn’t prevent the warmth building low in her belly right now, just remembering how his mouth actually touched her, how his tongue licked her. Oh goodness. She wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped doing all those things with his hands and his mouth.

At Mount Hawke, North wasn’t in his bed. He was standing in the library, his three minions facing him, all their faces mirroring the same emotion—disbelief, utter consternation, and denial.

“What the hell is going on here, damn you! I’m marrying Caroline Derwent-Jones. She will be Lady Chilton. She will be your mistress. You know her. You know she isn’t rapacious, isn’t looking to wed me for anything other than very warm feelings she nourishes for me. Do you want to know what she said about the three of you? Well, I’ll tell you. She thought you were all immensely creative. She said she admired creativity and inventiveness.”

“It’s not exactly that, my lord,” Tregeagle said, stepping forward. “Her rapaciousness, I mean.”

“Then what the hell is it?”

“Here,” Tregeagle said, and handed North a thin book bound in crimson leather. “Please, my lord, read this. You must. This decision you’re making—”

“I’ve already made it,” North said, but took the small volume. “What the devil is this?”

“We thought perhaps this is why you called all of us to see you,” Tregeagle said. “Thus we deemed it best to be prepared. It’s writings from your great-grandfather, your grandfather, and finally, your father.”