“And then I wonder what he plans.”
“You are too young, my child, to even have a clue about what comes after knees.” And he patted her cheek. “Or before knees, for that matter.” As his fingers touched her face, Jason, in that moment, knew it was all over for him. The wickedness in those dark eyes, the softness of her skin, the way he felt punched in the belly whenever she was near, it fair to knotted his innards, knocked the breath out of his lungs. He realized his throat had closed, cleared it, and said, leaning close to her ear, “If he has any sense at all, he’ll begin with her right knee. The right knee is more sensitive, you know.”
“Oh goodness, I had no idea. Is that really true, Jason? On every female? The right knee?”
“I have proved it many times.”
“Very well then. I will not forget that. Now, if James were you and Corrie were me, I think I’d kiss each finger of his right hand and then lick each finger, very slowly.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He was getting harder than the stone steps of St. Paul’s. He pulled his eyes away from her, and shouted, “Don’t let anyone kidnap him, Corrie, or you’ll have to marry him again!”
She heard him above all the shouts and cheers and well wishes, turned, and waved, her laughter filling the air.
James pulled her against him and kissed her soundly, much to everyone’s enjoyment. The landau rolled forward. As the afternoon progressed, all in society who hadn’t been fortunate to receive a wedding invitation would hear about how the young couple were very pleased with each other, which was a good thing since they were tied together for life.
As for Jason, he patted Judith’s cheek, and walked away, whistling. She stared after him. He baffled her.
Three hours later, after miles of observing countless farms, rolling hills, gentle stretches of forests, picturesque villages, and several great houses, they were at last nearing the village of Thirley sitting in the heart of Wessex. Not much longer now, and James planned to have her in bed not more than five minutes after that.
The day had grown colder, and there was wind now, making the carriage windows rattle, but James didn’t care. And soon after they’d changed from the open landau to the carriage, it had become overcast, perhaps perfect for Devlin Monroe, curse him. James wanted to get Corrie up to a bedchamber, strip her to her skin, and begin an orgy of enjoyment.
By all that was holy, he was married. To the brat. It still boggled his brain when it hit him, made him blink to keep from crossing his eyes. The brat was his wife, and he could still see her-a three-year-old with sticky fingers, pulling on his pant leg to get his attention. Then she was a snaggle-toothed six-year-old offering him a strawberry jam-covered muffin, a huge smile on that small mouth. And now she was sitting next to him, seemingly content to look at the passing landscape, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She was his bloody wife. A tress of hair had come loose and was hanging over her shoulder, escaped from her very pretty bonnet. Lovely hair, and that hank of hair was lazily pointing down to her breast. He wanted to touch that breast, wanted to caress her with his fingers, with his mouth. He began to ferment in lust.
“Corrie.”
She didn’t turn. “Yes, James?”
“Not more than fifteen more minutes. I booked us the largest room in the
“Oh dear.”
“It’s all right. We’re married now. We can talk about soft beds and no one will be shocked.”
“I know. All of this-it’s rather alarming. I’m eighteen, supposed to be innocent for at least another year, but just look at what has befallen me. I’m riding next to a man who wants to rip my clothes off and do things to me about which I do have some ideas about since I was raised in the country and have eyes in my head.”
“What has befallen you is going to be fun. Listen, I’m going to help you sow your wild oats. We’re going to sow those oats together until you’re exhausted and tell me you’re glad we’re together because no other man could sow nearly as well as I do, particularly Devlin Monroe.”
She whirled around to face him. “That made not one whit of sense, James Sherbrooke. A girl sows wild oats with gentlemen precisely like Devlin Monroe, gentlemen she knows are wicked, not gentlemen who are honorable and too kind for their own good.”
She saw him like that? He said slowly, “You think I’m honorable, Corrie?”
“Of course you are, you idiot. We’re married, aren’t we?”
“You don’t think Devlin would have married you if you’d rescued him from kidnappers?”
That brought a thoughtful look. “Do you know I’m not really certain. I think Devlin finds me amusing, you’re right about that. However, I don’t think he would like to face me every morning across the breakfast table, even assuming that he’s able to sit across from a breakfast table, even if curtains were drawn against the morning sun.”
“You think I’m kind?”
“Of course you’re bloody kind.”
“I don’t like the way that settles in my guts. It makes me sound like a perfect weak-kneed sot. Like Sir Galahad, who couldn’t hold his sword properly and was always bungling about.”
She laughed, the little witch actually laughed. “I’ve seen your knees, James. They’re not weak, they’re as nice as the rest of you. As for not holding your sword properly, I remember very clearly how you and Jason were fighting with swords in the forest so your father wouldn’t catch you, and you forced him back into a bog. Sir Galahad was a wonderful knight, it’s his name you don’t like.”
“Weak-kneed sod. On the other hand, Jason once knocked me off the cliff over Poe Valley.”
“I’ll wager you landed with your sword still in hand.”
He laughed. “I did, as a matter of fact, nearly sliced myself in the belly.”
“Well, I will say that a woman likes a man to hold his sword properly.”
He stared at her. Surely she didn’t know what she’d said, even though she was raised in the country and had eyes in her head.
“Now, I am bidding a fond farewell to my wild oats. My heart isn’t broken, not really, since I am determined to make do with you since there is no choice in the matter.
“I asked Aunt Maybella to tell me exactly what was going to happen other than having you kiss the backs of my knees. I wanted all the fine details. Do you know what she said?”
The coach hit a rut and he grabbed the strap to keep himself upright. “No, what did Aunt Maybella say?”
“She screeched, ‘Knees? He wants to kiss your knees?’ And she went on to tell me that this was something a gentleman told a girl so as not to send her running. I told her that was fine, I understood, but then exactly what were you going to do? After the knees? She said you’d begin shaking. I didn’t believe her but I see I was wrong. You are shaking, James, I can see it. She said that means you’re overwhelmed with lust, a good thing, she said it was, but she knew you were a gentleman, and even if you were too young to mind your manners, you were very fond of me and would, therefore, not attack me in the carriage. She smiled then and said hopefully she was wrong.”
He was mesmerized. “Did she tell you what she smiled about?”
“She was smiling about lust, and she was thinking about lust with Uncle Simon. Can you imagine that? I cannot bear to think of Uncle Simon kissing Aunt Maybella’s knees, James. Parents aren’t supposed to do things like that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. My own parents, well never mind that. Come, Corrie, what did she say then?”
“Nothing. Do you hear me, James? She wouldn’t tell me anything. She rolled her eyes and told me to be agreeable to whatever you wanted-unless I found it so repellent that I feared for my modesty-and all would be well. I wanted to clout her, James, and then you know what she did? She started humming.”
“She didn’t mention that I was going to try to be agreeable to whatever you wanted as well, unless of course I found it repellent and feared for my own modesty?”
“You have no modesty.”
“Anything else from Aunt Maybella?”
“Well, no. She did pat my hand before she left my bedchamber, and said that were she I, she would be content to look at you not wearing a stitch of clothes, and agree to whatever you wanted. Being a very observant
