'I remember Blankenship. What happened to him?'
'I believe he went to France, my lord.'
'Well, now, there you have it,' Rosalind said. 'Very fitting. Anyone who would claim such a thing deserves to wind up in France.'
Block nodded. 'I must admit that Dr. Blankenship was a strange little man. However, as you may imagine, having the old earl's body missing was a titillating tale. However, we will try, nonetheless, despite knowing we will fail, to bring more servants here.'
'What happened to Dr. Blankenship's sister, the one he whispered this to?'
'Why, she still lives in her brother's house in the village, still dines out on her brother's whisper. It appears that our fellow man never tires of hearing about otherworldly phenomena. Unfortunately she is now also drooling in her soup. Ancient she is.'
Block trailed them into the library, watched by the door as they spoke briefly to the empty chair in front of the fireplace.
When they came out, Block cleared his throat and stood his ground. 'My lord, it is Lee Po.'
'What about Lee Po?'
'It is Cook, my lord. At dinner she asked him to prepare a Chinese dish for her.' 'I see.'
'He told her he was a master at noodle preparation, but little else, to which Cook said she'd heard that heathens ate raw octopus and live squid still trying to crawl off your plate. Lee Po laughed, my lord. He informed her that he'd always al-lowed octopi and squid to escape although many times they tangled themselves up in his noodles. Cook was charmed. She batted her eyelashes at him. Such a thing hasn't happened since she was eighteen and fancied herself in love with Willie, the old butcher's son.' Block sighed. 'I don't know what she will do now. If that weren't enough, Marigold wanted to touch him. He allowed her to lightly lay her palm on his cheek to see if yellow came off on her hand. It didn't. She remarked in a throaty voice that his skin was very nice, soft as-then she began reciting colors. I fear there might be a rivalry brewing between Cook and Marigold, for Lee Po's favor.'
'He is quite used to females admiring him, Block. Don't worry about it,' Nicholas said. 'I remember he even once impressed the empress with his superior tailoring of a sable robe.' Nicholas frowned a bit. Lee Po also had a way of making events unfold just as he wished them to. He'd told Nicholas once that they fit together very nicely, both of them with abilities that flew above the heads of normal men. Nicholas didn't like to think about what Lee Po had meant by that.
When he and Rosalind had the master bedchamber within sight four and a half minutes later, Nicholas was breathing hard and fast, his eyes a bit on the glazed side. Rosalind was matching him, step for step. He saw her so clearly-lying naked beneath him and she- He ran the last dozen steps, pulling her with him now. He closed the door, thought about it a moment, then locked it. He left the key in the lock. 'Not that a locked door would stop him if Grandfather decides to stir from the library.'
'I don't think he was in the library.'
Nicholas said, 'Perhaps he was sleeping.'
Rosalind didn't say anything. She was staring over at the massive bed.
31
Nicholas laughed as she walked over to the fireplace and began to desperately warm her hands.
At least there were a good three dozen candles lit against the darkness, but still it wasn't enough. 'Is this a lovely room, Nicholas, when the sun is shining strong through the windows? There are windows, aren't there?'
'A good score of them. Big windows, I promise. Think of it as being nice and cozy in here right now, all right? Now, come to me, Rosalind, and I will play your maid.'
'But-'
'No, don't worry about Matilde. I told Block to inform her that she was free to get to know Marigold and Mrs. Sweet and Cook and Lee Po this evening.'
'I see my nightgown is lying on the bed. Perhaps your grandfather is snuggled beneath it.'
'Forget Grandfather.' Nicholas fetched her nightgown and laid it on the back of a lovely brocade wing chair facing the fireplace. He said, 'This was my grandfather's favorite chair when I lived here, this one and the one in the library.
When I was a hay I spent many hours sitting on that worn hassock listening to him tell me stories about the great wizard, Sarimund. He told me Sarimund was married, but no one ever saw his wife. It was said by some, he told me, that she was a figment of his tortured brain, not a real woman, but then one day he was strutting about demanding everyone congratulate him on the birth of his little daughter, and surely she would be an explosion of light in the dark English skies. This announcement was met with skepticism. As far as Grandfather knew, no one ever saw the daughter either.'
She grinned up at him. 'Is there any written record of her?'
Nicholas shrugged, cupped her chin in his palm, raised her face, and ran his thumbs over her jaw. 'I don't know, Lady Mountjoy. Ah, such a lovely name.' He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't the sort of kiss meant to stir her blood and make her heart pound like a battle drum, but rather a light touch of his lips against hers, and his tongue, always his tongue, now tracing the outline of her bottom lip. Such an odd feeling it was. He continued to kiss her until she lay her palms flat against his chest. She felt his heart thudding loud and fast beneath her palms.
To Nicholas's delight and relief, she snuggled up against him, wrapped her arms around his back.
He knew he needed patience, a difficult thing for a man on his wedding night after weeks of abstinence. He knew she could feel him against her belly, she was so close now, and he wondered if she believed a tree trunk was pressing against her. He kissed her mouth a dozen more times, licked and nibbled on her earlobe. Her hands moved to his shoulders, squeezing him, hard. Ah, good, she wanted more, he couldn't be wrong about that, and so he said against her warm mouth, 'Open, Rosalind, let's try this tongue business again.'
'Your tongue has been all over me, licking me between nibbles. Even my chin is wet.'
A lot more of you is going to be wet, he thought, but managed to hold his tongue.
She opened her mouth wide, and he laughed. 'No, not quite that wide, just a little bit. Tease me.'
Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. 'You're sure about this, Nicholas?'
'Oh, yes.' And he slipped his tongue into her mouth after again nibbling her bottom lip. 'Yes, that's right. Give me your tongue, Rosalind. I'm suffering here.'
To his besotted relief, she did, and with a good deal of enthusiasm. His hands cupped her even though she was separated from his hands by at least five layers of clothes. He'd swear he could feel her. He wanted to take her to the floor this very minute. He felt her start in surprise, and that firmed his brain a bit.
Rosalind heard a moan, stiffened, but it wasn't from his grandfather, thank the good Lord, nor was it from Nicholas. Oh, dear, it appeared to be from her, from deep in her throat, from a place she didn't even know was there, then there was something else-
A low cackle came from behind them. Nicholas whirled around, ready to kill.
No one was there.
There was another cackle.
Nicholas turned back to her and touched his forehead to hers. He drew in a deep breath and raised his head. 'Grandfather, go away.'
There came yet another cackle.
Nicholas cursed with great and long fluency, involving goats and chickens and the sharp quills of feathers. 'You are very good at that.'
'Thank you.' He picked her up in his arms, grabbed a small branch of lit candles, and walked to the door. He managed to turn the key in the lock, no small feat, and not scorch either of them with the candle flame. He said over his shoulder, 'Old man, I am taking my wife to another bedchamber. You will take yourself off, back to the library, or I swear we will leave to return to London in the morning. All the servants will leave then and you will have no one to appreciate your wretched songs.'
