Chapter 13
Verity paced the length of the small bedchamber, unable to bank the excitement that stirred her blood. Another strange and unexpected twist in the road faced her, but this time she did not fear it. She did not have to steel herself against some unknown fate. This time, fortune was on her side. She was going to be free at last of the marriage bonds with Gilbert, free to make a new life, to make her own choices, to find her own happiness. It would take some months, apparently, but in the end she would be free.
Her heart sang with new possibilities.
A soft rapping on the bedchamber door caused her to turn in time to see James enter.
“He’s gone,” James said and closed the door behind him. “He can find another inn in this village or the next. I suppose it was harsh, but I wanted him gone.” He stepped close to Verity and took both her hands in his. “So much has happened. How do you feel about it, my dear?”
“Elated. Ecstatic. Free!” A gurgle of laughter bubbled up from her throat. She gave a wordless shriek of pure delight, then threw her head back and laughed.
“I’m free! I’m really free!” She flung her arms wide and wanted to soar like a bird. “I’m free!”
Suddenly she was swept up into James’s arms, and he swung her around and around, laughing with her. They laughed and twirled until she was breathless. When he finally set her feet back on the ground, she felt dizzy and giddy and perfectly wonderful. She could not seem to stop smiling. She was glad for his hands at her waist for she might have collapsed to the floor without their support.
“Oh, James,” she said between breaths, “you do not know what this means to me. You do not know how…Oh, it is the most wondrous thing. You cannot possibly understand, but oh, James, I don’t believe I’ve ever been so happy in all my life.”
“Verity. My sweet Verity.” He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Gently at first, his lips moving over hers, tasting, testing, teasing. She felt dizzy again, this time from the taste of him, the musky smell of him, the softness of his lips that always surprised her. Boldly, shamelessly, she moved her lips beneath his.
He groaned against her mouth and deepened the kiss, clasping her more tightly against him, one hand sliding down from her waist to her bottom, pressing her hard against him. He pushed her lips open with his own and filled her mouth with his tongue, stroking and stroking in a way that set off a strange fluttering down deep between her legs.
Verity did not know what it all meant and did not care and did not want to think about it just now. She gave herself up to the sheer sensuous pleasure of his lips and tongue and arms and body. She was lost to him.
His mouth left hers and began trailing kisses down the length of her neck and underneath her jaw. Verity threw her head back to give him better access and he took advantage.
She wanted this man, desperately wanted him. And she wanted him to want her. When he coaxed her to suck on his tongue as it stroked her mouth, she complied willingly. She would do just about anything to make him desire her. If only just this once.
She lost all sense of time, but they seemed to kiss and kiss forever. When James finally lifted his head and looked down at her, they were both breathless and panting.
“There are no more rooms available,” she said between breaths. “Did you know? You will have to…to stay here.”
“I know,” he said and stroked her cheek with the back of a finger. “That is why I sent Russell away. It did not seem right to make love to his still-legal wife under the same roof.”
“Are you going to make love to me?”
“If you will let me, I would like nothing better.”
“Oh.” Verity closed her eyes and thought she must be in a dream. He really wanted to make love to her? Even knowing how it would be? “Are you sure?”
He pulled back slightly, gazed down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a very long time.”
“Oh, James. You know how it will end.”
“I hope I do, but I don’t think you do. I promise to do a better job of it this time. Will you make love with me, Verity?”
“Yes.” He could not possibly want it more than she did. “Oh, yes. Yes!”
James smiled at her eagerness, then kissed her again. He wanted nothing more than to let her know how desirable she was. He wanted to undo all the damage Russell’s behavior, and his own, had done to undermine her self-confidence. Though his body wanted to take her now with swift, hot lust, he was determined to make love to her slowly, to arouse her with lips and tongue and touch and words, to convince her beyond doubt of his desire.
James buried his face against her irresistible neck and began to nibble and kiss while he twisted a hand into her hair, flinging pins in every direction until it fell loose. He lifted the full weight of it in his hands and ran his fingers through its thick, soft length.
He then began on her dress, kissing every exposed inch of skin as he untied the tapes in the back. She gave a slight groan when his lips trailed lower, to the shoulder he exposed when he pushed aside the neck of her dress. She smelled faintly of lavender and her skin tasted warm and clean. He wanted to devour her. To forget all the complications and past histories of both their lives and bury himself inside her.
He deftly undid the tiny buttons at the front of her bodice and plunged his hand inside, covering her full breast with his palm. She sucked in a sharp breath and pushed against his hand. God, he was ready to explode, but he would take it slow. Very slow.
He kissed her mouth while he stroked her breast, and she melted against him. When he lifted his head, he gently pushed the open dress over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He drank in the sight of her in nothing more than a chemise and corset, full breasts spilling out above the stays, while he swiftly divested himself of coat, waistcoat, and cravat. He turned her back to him while he unlaced her corset and let it drop to the floor, leaving only the chemise. Turning her back to face him, he kissed her mouth while he stroked her soft, unconfined breast, and she melted against him again. When he lifted his head, he gently pushed the chemise down her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
“Oh!” Verity stiffened and made a movement to cover her nakedness, but James took her hands away and held them at her side.
Her thick dark hair spilled over one shoulder, in sharp contrast to the creamy white smoothness of her skin. She was perfectly formed, softly rounded and full bosomed, so unlike Rowena’s delicate slenderness. He held on to her hands and drank in the sight of her, his gaze lingering on the ripe breasts, the small waist, the flaring curve of hip, and the thatch of dark curls lower down. Verity kept her eyes downcast as though ashamed.
“You are so beautiful,” he said.
She looked up at his words. “You don’t have to say that, James. I know I am not—oh!”
He had stopped her words by bringing his mouth down to her breast. He suckled and circled the hardened nipple with his tongue while he stroked her buttocks with his hands. Verity squirmed and made little whimpering sounds, her own pleasure firing his desire. She brought a tentative hand to his head and stroked his hair while he laved her breast.
After James had given equal attention to the other breast, he straightened and tugged the shirttails from his pantaloons. Then he lifted the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He scooped Verity up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Verity’s body hummed with new sensations as she watched James remove his pantaloons and stockings. She had never seen a fully naked man—not even Gilbert—except in pictures of Greek statues. James was certainly as magnificent, tall and lean and well-muscled. There was not an inch of softness about him. Instead of the smoothness of marble, though, his chest was furred with dark hair. She longed to run her fingers through it.
James stood beside the bed in all his naked glory, and Verity’s gaze followed the path of dark hair that arrowed down his flat belly. She gasped at the sight of his fully erect penis. Good God, no wonder there had been pain. He was too big.
Any such misgivings flew right out of her mind when James lay down beside her, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her. The sensation of his solid chest pressed against her soft breasts, his furred flesh against her smooth skin, was an indescribable pleasure. He deftly untied her garters and inched her stockings down her legs, his lips following the silk, kissing each new inch of bare skin, even taking her toes into his mouth, creating sensations that made her want to scream with pleasure.
Fully naked now, she felt her skin tingle and flush as his hands moved over her body, working magic with each caress. Desire tightened deep inside her, becoming an almost unbearable ache. He trailed kisses down her neck and shoulders, teasing her breasts once more, and dipping further to the tender flesh beneath her breasts, to her abdomen and stomach. The dull, throbbing ache inside her became more intense, almost painful.
“So beautiful,” he murmured over and over until she almost believed him.
Verity allowed her hands to move over him, tentatively at first, but then more boldly when he whispered his pleasure in her ear. She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders and back, and lower, to the swell of his buttocks. James groaned at her touch and rolled on top of her.
He nudged her knees apart and she felt his erection against her thigh. He took her mouth in a passionate kiss that left her quivering with need. His hand moved down the slight swell of her belly and pushed through the curly hair between her legs.
“Oh, my God,” she groaned and writhed beneath him. His fingers kept moving until his thumb discovered a point of pleasure she had not known was there. She shuddered and choked back a scream when he began to rub the hot, wet flesh. He whispered words of desire in her ear, but she barely heard. She clung to him, thrashing restlessly, all her concentration on the extraordinary way he was making her feel.
“Please,” she said, not knowing what she begged for. “Please.”
James spread her legs further apart with his knees and pushed his rigid sex against her. She tensed, steeling herself against the pain that was to come. He raised himself on his elbows and looked deep into her eyes, then entwined his fingers with hers on either side of her head. Keeping his gaze locked to hers, with one slow, smooth thrust, he pushed himself inside her.
James stilled himself and watched her face. For a moment she had looked like she was preparing for a tooth extraction. He held tightly on to her hands, knowing she was afraid. Now her eyes widened with wonder. He smiled down at her and squeezed her fingers. “No pain?”
“No,” she whispered, drawing out the word as though she couldn’t believe it. “No.”
He kissed her. “Good. Now let me love you properly.”
He began to move slowly, to give her time to adjust to the process, to realize there could be pleasure where there had once been only pain. He released her hands and put his beneath her bottom. He set up a rhythm and used his hands to teach her how to follow, rotating her hips in opposition to his thrusts.
She learned quickly and seemed to give herself over to her body’s natural response. She moaned and writhed and bucked beneath him. He could feel the tension building in her and understood it better than she did. When her breathing became quick little pants and he sensed her climax was near, he reached down between them and stroked the sensitive bud of flesh he’d teased earlier. She jerked spasmodically and called out his name. James held her tightly as she shuddered beneath him, and only then did he finally relinquish his own control, driving hard and fast and deep until his own climax ripped through his body, leaving him spent and sated and more satisfied than he’d ever been in his life.
They lay together for a long moment, panting and slick with perspiration, James’s full weight collapsed atop Verity. She didn’t notice. She savored the lingering aftereffects of what had just occurred between them, the incredible things he’d done to her, that amazing explosion of sensation when she thought she might shatter to pieces. He’d made her feel beautiful and desirable, something she had never thought possible. Oh, how she loved him for it. A sting of tears built up behind her eyes.
She lifted her languorous arms and draped them around his shoulders. “Oh, James,” she said, unable to keep a tremor from her voice, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it could be this wonderful.”
He lifted his head and used a thumb to wipe away a tear from the corner of her eye. He kissed her tenderly, and Verity could no longer hold back the tears. James rolled off her, pulled her onto her side, and wrapped his arms tightly about her. “I know,” he said as he held her. “I know.”
“No, you d-don’t,” she said, blubbering through her tears.
“Hush, my love.” He continued to hold her tightly until she gained control of herself.
“You don’t understand,” she said at last. “I thought there was something…something wrong with me. That I could never have a physical relationship with a man. I thought I was not…normal. But now…I think I must have been wrong. All this time, I must have been wrong.”
James kissed her. “It was never you, Verity. There is nothing at all wrong with you.” His hand dipped down to briefly stroke her breast. “Nothing at all.”
Verity was so overcome by this revelation she was almost unable to breathe. Of all the astonishing events of the last day—Gilbert’s arrival, James’s rescue, the possibility of an annulment, this exquisite lovemaking—nothing affected her as profoundly as this new knowledge that she was not, after all, defective in some way, undesirable to men.
The notion had so colored her perception of who she was, it had become a permanent element of her being. To discover she had been wrong was literally breathtaking. How might her life had gone differently if only she had known the truth?
There were still questions, however, that needed answers. It had not been only Gilbert who rejected her.
She looked at James. “And so the pain last time—”
“Was my fault entirely. Had I known you were a virgin, my dear, I would have been more gentle. My anger afterward was directed at me, not at you. I was angry and ashamed at the rough way I’d handled you. If only I’d known, if only I’d done a better job of it, it might not have been so painful for you. It only hurts the first time. The rest of the time—”
“It is quite wonderful.” She hugged him close and burrowed her head against his shoulder. In the space of a moment, she was a new woman. The man she adored found her beautiful and desirable. The pride she would now wear would be real and true, no longer a mask for shame.
“Thank you so much, James. You cannot know what this means to me. I—” She almost told him she loved him but bit off the words before she could say them. She did not know how he felt. Just because he desired her did not mean he loved her. It would only make things awkward between them if she declared her love and he did not.
He kissed the top of her head. “It was my pleasure, madam.” He extricated himself from her embrace and sat up. “Now, my dear, we have much to discuss. Come under the blankets where we can stay warm.”
They rearranged themselves in the bed, propped up against the pillows with the covers pulled up to their chests. James held her hand beneath the blankets.
“I am more pleased than you will ever know,” he said, “that you want to return to Pendurgan, that you have found some happiness there, despite the way it all began. But after the annulment, I would not wish to involve you in yet another scandal by asking you to live there with me as my mistress. For I intend to spend many more nights like this making love to you. I thought it would be best if…if we married.”
Verity’s heart lurched in her chest. She did not know if it could bear another jolt. But this one…ah, this one she would endure. “Married?”
“Yes, if it’s all the same to you. It seems the best thing to do, don’t you agree?”
The best thing to do. Oh, indeed. “I suppose so,” she said, keeping her elation in check.
“So you will marry me, Verity?”
“Yes, James. I will marry you.”
He reached over and kissed her gently. “Thank you, my dear. I hope you will not regret it. I am not much of a bargain, you know.”
Not much of a bargain? For the first time in her life she saw the prospect of a normal marriage, and perhaps even children, with the man she loved. It seemed a tremendous bargain to her.
“I’m not so young anymore, for one thing,” he said. “Did you know I am all of eight and thirty? Much too old for a beautiful young thing such as yourself.”
She smiled and lifted a hand to touch the silver at his temples. “You are not too old,” she said. “It is just that you have wasted too many years believing yourself a murderer.”
“If I am not a murderer, then at the very least I am surely mad, for I cannot control these spells that happen to me. I really have no right to ask you to saddle yourself with man whose brain is damaged.”
“Your brain was never damaged,” she said, “but only your spirit. Your spirit was broken by your inability to help the men under your command, or to help your own loved ones when they needed you. But unlike a damaged brain, a broken spirit can be repaired, James. Only look what you have done for me tonight. By showing me that I am not deformed in some way, by teaching me that I can be desirable, you have washed away all the years of private shame and guilt. You have helped to heal my spirit, James. Let me help to heal yours.”
He made an odd strangled sound in his throat and pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. He held her a long time without speaking.
“Thank you, Verity,” he said at last. “Thank you for believing in me. I’ll do my best to see that you do not regret marrying me.”
He kissed her, and the kiss quickly became passionate. They made love again, at first slowly and then frantically. Verity fell asleep in his arms, curled up beside him like a kitten, and as content.
James’s carriage pulled into the long graveled drive just as the sun was setting. He let down the carriage window and gaped at his almost unrecognizable estate: Pendurgan had been transformed into a fairground. He could hardly believe his eyes.
Tents and makeshift structures were sprawled in every direction, and people—dear God, so many people!—milled about everywhere he looked. Bright flaming torches seemed to dot the landscape as well. No, not torches. Something bigger. Tar barrels? It was a sight to behold.
“My dear Verity,” he said. “You have outdone yourself. I am quite literally overwhelmed. This is marvelous!”
“It is, isn’t it?” Her smile was brighter than the bonfire and he could feel her almost bouncing off the seat in excitement and pride.
She had done it for him. He gathered her in his arms and held her tight. His emotions ran so strong that words seemed a poor instrument, so he simply held her and hoped she understood.
As the carriage approached the great stand of chestnut trees, a shout went up from a group gathered around the tables placed on the lawn outside the main entrance. Within moments, so many people surrounded the carriage that the driver was forced to pull it to a stop.
“Welcome home!”
“A fine festival, my lord!”
“Lord Harkness is here!”
Nick Tregonning opened the carriage door and pulled down the steps. Tossing his hat and greatcoat on the opposite bench, James alighted, turned to hand Verity out, and then faced the crowd of men and women wanting to shake his hand. He was grabbed from every direction. Zack Muddle and Gerens Palk and Ezra Noone and Ned Trethowan and Dickie Nanpean and Tom Bedruthan and so many others he could hardly keep track as he was spun in one direction, then the other to receive an astonishingly warm welcome.
His hand was pumped, his back was slapped, and he was tugged along toward the center of the festivities, escorted through the crowd like a king among his people. It was literally breathtaking. These good people, who had hated him, scorned him, even feared him for almost seven years, now treated him like a returning hero. A tankard of ale was thrust in his hand by none other than Old Artful. The grizzled old kiddly minder raised his hand for silence.
“Here be a toast to his lordship,” the old man said, “fer givin’ us this here fine festival again, and better’n ever. To Lord Harkness.”
“To Lord Harkness!” the crowd shouted in unison.
James raised his tankard with the rest and drank, savoring the good, strong local ale. He then raised his own hand for silence.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” he said. “I am sorry to be so late, but now that we’re here I am pleased to see so many of you. Here’s hoping we continue the tradition every year.”
“Here, here.”
“And one more important toast,” he said, and steered Verity to the front of the crowd. “To Mrs. Osborne, for working so hard to make the festival a success.”
“To Miz Osborne,” the crowd sang out.
Verity blushed with pleasure and James beamed at her. He would like to have announced their marriage plans to this happy crowd, but it was probably best to keep that news private for now, until the annulment was accomplished.
“Please continue to enjoy the festival,” James said, “while I take a look around for myself. Thank you all again for coming.”
“I’m going to dash upstairs and change,” Verity whispered, “and then make sure everything is running smoothly. I will see you later.”
She gave him a look so sizzling with promise he almost lost his balance.
Verity enjoyed a tearful reunion with the household, though there was no time to linger over sentiment. Her corps of volunteers had been wonderful, with Mrs. Tregelly overseeing it all in Verity’s absence. Word of the festival had spread well beyond the district, and peddlers and trinket merchants and craftsmen had poured onto the estate to set up temporary shop. Even an old gypsy woman had showed up offering to tell fortunes.
Jago Chenhalls and George Pascow, Kate’s husband, had organized foot races, sheep-shearing competitions, wrestling matches, and various contests of strength for the men. Borra Nanpean and Annie Kempthorne had organized the children’s games. Ezra Noone, who played the fiddle, had rounded up groups of other musicians and lively music had filled the air when Verity arrived.
Mrs. Chenhalls commanded a troop of local women, including Mag Puddifoot from Gunnisloe and a French pastry maker from Bodmin, who had been engaged to help with food preparations. The cavernous old kitchen bustled with activity. Young girls came and went bearing trays of savory pies, saffron cakes, figgy obbin, and other local favorites to be loaded onto several long trestle tables set up near the front of the house.
The troupe of players had brought with them jugglers and acrobats and puppeteers as well. The make-do stage had been scheduled to present performances of all kinds throughout the day and evening.
Verity wandered about the stalls that meandered over the grounds, and was hailed here and there by people who seemed to take her presence at Pendurgan for granted.
“Miz Verity!” Jacob Dunstan called out to her as she passed Old Artful’s slapdash temporary kiddly. “Miz Verity, where be his lordship? When he did send word to close the mine for the day, I did think fer certain he’d be here, but I ain’t seen him.”
“He arrived a short time ago,” Verity said. “He is having a look about. I’m sure you will see him soon.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jacob said. “Did want to raise my glass to him, I did, fer bringin’ back the festival.”
“He’s certain to make his way to the kiddly before long, Jacob. I am sure he will be pleased to know you are enjoying yourself.”
“Slap me if I ain’t,” he said. “’Tis the finest time we did have round these parts fer many a year.”
Verity smiled at Jacob and was about to stroll on when she caught sight of a familiar figure perched on a barrel and leaning against the long board stretched between two sawhorses that served as Old Artful’s counter. Rufus Bargwanath. What on earth was he doing here? She thought he had left the district months ago.
He leered at her and gave a lecherous wink. Verity whirled around and almost stumbled over Jacob Dunstan’s outstretched legs.
“Careful there, Miz Verity,” he said, and offered a hand.
“Jacob,” she whispered, “what is he doing here?” She tilted her head in the direction of the former steward.
“Bargwanath? Don’t rightly know. Likely he do be out o’ work again. Or maybe he just did come back to stir up trouble, like he always done. Don’t ’ee be worrin’ ’bout him, Miz Verity. Me and t’others’ll keep an eye on the rotter.”
“Thank you, Jacob.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Bargwanath grinning at her with those big yellow teeth. She quickly strolled away back toward the stage, where the players were entertaining a boisterous crowd with a broad farce. She was hailed again after a few moments by Gonetta, full of excitement.
“It do be getting on time for the bonfire,” she said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “Where be them little bundles of herbs we did tie up so pretty?”
“Oh, dear,” Verity said. “I left the basket full of them in the kitchen. Come with me and we’ll pass them out to the girls.”
She had trouble keeping up with Gonetta who practically ran back to the house. They retrieved the basket and swung it between them as they trudged up the rise where the wood and kindling had been stacked in a huge mound. A crowd had already begun to gather as word spread that the fire was soon to be lit.
Verity and Gonetta distributed the herbs to all the young girls—bunches of clover, cinquefoil, vervain, and restharrow, all tied up with colored ribbons. It was a local tradition that each girl would toss her herbs into the fire and make a wish for her favorite young man to fall in love with her.
“I do be takin’ one fer meself,” Gonetta whispered. “I got me eye on Josh Trethowan.”
Verity smiled and surreptitiously took one and tucked it in her pocket. She had a wish of her own to make.
She was glad James did not join the crowd around the woodpile. It would have been a shame if the fire had triggered one of his spells and spoiled his successful reentry into local society. Fortunately, no one seemed to think it strange that James was not present. George Pascow, Nat Spruggins, and Cheelie Craddick carried torches to the mound of wood and used them to light it all around the bottom, then threw the torches on top of the pyre to great shouting and applause. The blaze took off quickly, and within minutes the flames were soaring to the sky.
Girls, giggling and squealing, threw in their herbs, and soon all the young people began to “thread the needle” around the bonfire. When she thought no one was looking, Verity tossed her own bunch of herbs into the fire. She looked up to find Grannie Pascow smiling at her from across the flames. The old woman winked, and Verity grinned sheepishly.
“’Tis a shame James wasn’t here to start the fire.”
Verity spun around to find Agnes Bodinar standing just behind her. It was the first time she’d seen her, though she showed no surprise to find Verity had returned. Verity assumed she would have remained inside the house and ignored the festival entirely.
“To start such a great, huge fire would have suited him,” Agnes said. “Don’t you agree?”
Verity protested Agnes’s words with a click of the tongue. “You are not being fair,” she said. “After all these years under his roof, you must surely know how fire affects James.”
“I only know he shows an uncommon fascination for the flames,” Agnes said. “Whenever there is a fire, he always seems to be there. A pity he should miss this one.”
Verity had had more than enough of Agnes’s vicious tongue.
“I think you are hateful,” she said, almost spitting out the words. “I know you lost your daughter, but it was not James’s fault. He cannot help the way he is.”
“He cannot help being a murderer? An arsonist?”
“No! You know that is not what I meant. He is neither of those things and you must stop saying he is. He has torn himself to pieces with guilt over the deaths here at Pendurgan. He loved Rowena. And Trystan.”
“He never loved her. He simply wanted her because Alan Poldrennan wanted her, and he was always in competition with Alan. I tried and tried to convince her to marry Alan, but Rowena was bound and determined to be Lady Harkness.”
“I think you are wrong, Agnes,” Verity said. “James loved Rowena. I know he did.” In fact, Verity doubted he could ever grow to love her as much. She was nothing at all like Rowena.
“You think you know him so well,” Agnes said, her lip curled into a sneer, “but you don’t know anything. It doesn’t matter anymore, though.” She gave Verity a strangely intent look. “Things are going to change soon enough, are they not?”
She walked away, leaving Verity confused. But she had no time to ponder the matter, for Davey came bounding up against her knees so fast he almost knocked her down in his enthusiasm.
“Miz Osborne? Can we go see the pony now?”
“My goodness, Davey. With so many fun things to do here, you want to go see your pony?”
“I ain’t been out to see him all day,” the boy said. “I did be havin’ too much fun. But I done ever’thin’ there is to do. I wanna go see Osborne now, afore he do go to sleep.”
Verity looked about to see if she was needed anywhere, but it looked as though the festival was running itself. It was winding down now that the sun was setting, but the adults might drink and sing and dance until all hours. She could spare a few minutes for Davey.
He took her by the hand and tugged her along through the stalls and the livestock and the games. Flaming tar barrels had been placed all along the way, lighting their path. They really did look lovely, reaching all the way to the farthest edges of the estate.
When they left the main area of the stalls and headed toward the western stables, neither of them noticed the person following close behind.