Tallie's Knight Part 11

W poured himself a mug of mulled wine and drained it quicNy, shuddering pleasurably as the warm spicy liquid flowed down his throat. He poured himself another, then set it down pensively, his eyes on the sleeping girl. She looked exhausted. Magnus watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest and regretted the rough haste of the journey. He should not have inflicted such a long trip on his gently bred bride, especially on her wedding day. Not that little Thalia Robins- no-Thalia St. Clair she was now--was particularly gently bred.

He shook his head, recalling the way the little hoyden had hung mA the window of the coach, pert little nose in the air, ner aLU whipping around her face, her eyes huge and dark in the pallor of her face. Her skin had been damp with rain, globing softly in the moonlight as she had shrieked some nonsens? shout how much she was enjoying the journey. Monstroil8 exciting, indeed! His lips twitched. She'd looked frightened half out of her wits.

agnus sipped the mulled wine and watched his bride sleep- He noticed the faint sprinkling of freckles over the bridjof her tip-tilted nose. Freckles were generally held to be a flaw, but hers were oddly appealing. It was almost impossible to believe that he'd married this little sc.r.a.p of humanity He didn't feel married. And he had so little in common with her. His wife. His new Countess. His impulsive choice of hA As most unlike him.

H? would have to train her, he supposed, train her until she resembled the wives. He frowned, considering the way he'd become acquainted with most of those wives. No, he didn't want her to be a typical society wife at all. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd let her cuckold him. This Lady d'Arenville would not stray from her marital bed; he'd make sure of that!

He took another sip of wine and pulled a face. It was almost cold. He leant over towards the fireplace and pushed the blackened poker into the coals. Thalia, he pondered, watching the flames flicker and dance.

Peculiar name. It didn't suit her at all. He wouldn't saddle a child of his with a name like that . a child of his. With any luck she could conceive this very night. The poker soon began to glow red-hot, and he pulled it out, shook the ash from it, then plunged it into the jug of spiced wine. It sizzled briefly, and aromatic steam filled the air. He tossed the poker back onto the hearth, poured the heated mixture back into his mug and drank deeply.

The innkeeper, Farrow, entered with a tray of steaming dishes. Magnus silently indicated his sleeping wife. Farrow and several creeping minions set out cutlery, gla.s.ses and dishes with muted clatters and clinks. Farrow issuing instructions in a hoa.r.s.e whisper that could probably be heard in the next room. The new Lady d'Arenville slept on, serenely oblivious.

When the innkeeper had left, Magnus touched her shoulder.

"Thalia, our dinner has arrived." She didn't move. He shook her gently and she stirred, but did not awaken. He stood for a moment, oddly unsure of himself. She probably was hungry--there had been no proper wedding breakfast after all-she had eaten nothing for hours. But women seemed to eat almost nothing anyway, and she did seem to be very tired. Perhaps it would be better to let her sleep through dinner and then wake her when it was time to go up to bed.

Yes, that was the better plan. He would wake her then, for he had every intention of consummating his marriage tonight. The sooner he got her with child the sooner she would forget about this Grand Tour nonsense.

like a kitten, her slippers kicked carelessly off, sound asleep. He stood looking down at her. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders; damp wispy curls clung to her pale forehead and cl.u.s.tered around her neck.

Long dark lashes fanned her cheeks, which were flushed from the heat of the fire. Or maybe not, he thought wryly, as he bent down and removed the pewter mug which dangled precariously from one hand.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Thalia," he said, then, "Thalia," more loudly. She didn't stir. He decided to let her sleep until dinner arrived.

He poured himself a mug of mulled wine and drained it quickly, shuddering pleasurably as the warm spicy liquid flowed down his throat. He poured himself another, then set it down pensively, his eyes on the sleeping girl. She looked exhausted. Magnus watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest and regretted the rough haste of the journey. He should not have inflicted such a long trip on his gently bred bride, especially on her wedding day. Not that little Thalia Robins- no, Thalia St. Clair she was now--was particularly gently bred.

He shook his head, recalling the way the little hoyden had hung out the window of the coach, pert little nose in the air, her hair whipping around her face, her eyes huge and dark in the pallor of her face. Her skin had been damp with rain, glowing softly in the moonlight as she had shrieked some nonsense about how much she was enjoying the journey. Monstrous exciting, indeed! His lips twitched.

She'd looked frightened half out of her wits.

Magnus sipped the mulled wine and watched his bride sleep. He noticed the faint sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her tip-tilted nose. Freckles were generally held to be a flaw, but hers were oddly appealing. It was almost impossible to believe that he'd married this little sc.r.a.p of humanity. He didn't feel married. And he had so little in common with her. His wife. His new Countess. His impulsive choice of her was most unlike him.

He would have to train her, he supposed, train her until she resembled the wives. He frowned, considering the way he'd become acquainted with most of those wives. No, he didn't want her to be a typical society wife at all. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd let her cuckold him. This Lady d'Arenville would not stray from her marital bed; he'd make sure of that!

He took another sip of wine and pulled a face. It was almost cold. He leant over towards the fireplace and pushed the blackened poker into the coals. Thalia, he pondered, watching the flames flicker and dance.

Peculiar name. It didn't suit her at all. He wouldn't saddle a child of his with a name like that. a child of his. With any luck she could conceive this very night. The poker soon began to glow red-hot, and he pulled it out, shook the ash from it, then plunged it into the jug of spiced wine. It sizzled briefly, and aromatic steam filled the air. He tossed the poker back onto the hearth, poured the heated mixture back into his mug and drank deeply.

The innkeeper, Farrow, entered with a tray of steaming dishes. Magnus silently indicated his sleeping wife. Farrow and several creeping minions set out cutlery, gla.s.ses and dishes with muted clatters and clinks. Farrow issuing instructions in a hoa.r.s.e whisper that could probably be heard in the next room. The new Lady d'Arenville slept on, serenely oblivious.

When the innkeeper had left, Magnus touched her shoulder.

"Thalia, our dinner has arrived." She didn't move. He shook her gently and she stirred, but did not awaken. He stood for a moment, oddly unsure of himself. She probably was hungry--there had been no proper wedding breakfast after all-she had eaten nothing for hours. But women seemed to eat almost nothing anyway, and she did seem to be very tired. Perhaps it would be better to let her sleep through dinner and then wake her when it was time to go up to bed.

Yes, that was the better plan. He would wake her then, for he had every intention of consummating his marriage tonight. The sooner he got her with child the sooner she would forget about this Grand Tour nonsense.

Magnus twirled a gla.s.s of port in his hand, admiring the flickering flames of the fire through its ruby glow and berating himself for his uncharacteristic state of indecision. After a hearty dinner and several gla.s.ses of good claret he was now perfectly ready to undertake his duties as a bridegroom. But she was still asleep. Frowning, he set his gla.s.s down and walked towards his wife. He shook her shoulder again. She did not move, did not so much as flicker an eyelid. He bent over, slid his hands under her and lifted. She stirred, muttered, and snuggled her cheek against his chest. Her arms and legs dangled bonelessly. Curse the girl--she slept like the dead.

Grunting slightly, he managed to open the door. He carried her up the narrow steps, taking care not to b.u.mp her against the walls--although why he should bother he did not know. Very likely a stampede of elephants would not wake her. He had bespoken only one private bedchamber--it was a small inn, after all. The bedclothes were turned back, and with a sigh of relief he laid her on the bed and regarded her with a jaundiced eye.

His bride was dead to the world. Magnus glared at her, aggrieved. Hehad not particularly looked forward to his wedding night--he'd nevertaken a virgin before, had restricted his carnal dealings toexperienced women of the world, and the thought of causing pain insteadof giving pleasure had caused him to view the coming night with acertain amount of trepidation. But now, having steeled himself to dothe deed, his bride was proving most uncooperative.

Furthermore, having departed on his honeymoon in a state of pique, hehad failed to provide her with a maidservant. He probably ought tocall for the landlord's wife to undress her. And so he would--d.a.m.nit--if he wanted all and sundry to know how he'd pa.s.sed his weddingnight. No, he had the choice--leave her to sleep in her clothes andemerge as an even more bedraggled bride in the morning, or prepare herfor bed himself.

Swearing under his breath, Magnus undid the b.u.t.tons of her shabby pelisse. He slipped it off and hung it on a hook. He had to grope for the fastenings of her dress, and called down a silent curse on dressmakers when he finally discovered them under her arms.

He slipped the dress off her shoulders and tugged it down over her hips, then hung it on the same hook.

Feeling cross and impatient, Magnus turned back to his bride and froze, staring. She lay on his bed, soft and sweet and vulnerable. Her hair was tumbled in an unruly ma.s.s, spread out against the white sheets, glinting gold and brown and cinnamon, like strands of honey.

Her skin glowed golden- rose in the flickering candlelight.

Magnus's mouth dried as he gazed at her sleeping form. This was hiswife, he told himself . but he felt like a thief in the night,standing over her, gazing like this, with her all innocent andunknowing.

But he could not stop himself staring. at the rosy arms flung out highon the pillows, at her long, smooth legs, gently parted anddisappearing beneath her petticoat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising creamy androunded from the neck of her chemise. He reached for the tapes whichfastened her petticoat and noticed wryly that his hands were shaking.He wrestled for a moment with the knots, then, losing patience, tookout his knife. He cut the remaining tapes and, holding his breath, gently eased the petticoat from her body.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he thought, staring at her legs, at her thighs hidden beneath the uneven hem of her chemise. His heart was pounding. The chemise was a simple affair, sleeveless, with an adjustable drawstring neckline. It strained across her chest and hips, as if made for a smaller person. Idly his fingers reached out and pulled lightly at one of the ends of the small bow which fastened the drawstring. The bow fell apart and the neckline loosened under his gaze.

By all that was decent he ought to leave her to sleep in her chemise at least. She was a virgin, modest and maidenly. A gentleman should show proper respect for his wife, only raising the hem of her nightgown during their conjugal meetings. It was what he'd expected, planned to do, after all. And she was asleep. Only a cad would bare her naked to his eyes like this on her wedding night. Without her knowledge or consent. Yes, in all decency he should allow her to sleep in her chemise, not stand here staring at his wife as if she were a twopenny peepshow. She stirred, rolling her face to one side, and flung an arm over her head. Her movement sent the drawstring neckline gaping even wider.

Magnus held his breath. Was she about to waken? Candlelight danced over the creamy expanse of skin.

Without further thought Magnus cut through the tapes fastening her chemise and with hated breath tugged the garment down. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilled out, creamy and lush, and under his fascinated stare two rosy nipples lifted and hardened in the cold night air. He tugged it further, over her hips and down her legs. Dry-mouthed and aching with desire, he examined the rest of her, her slender waist, her appealingly curved little belly, the flaring hips and the gold-brown triangle of curls at the apex of her rounded, satiny thighs.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, thought Magnus again, dazedly. She was beautiful. Under all those appalling garments she wore, she was beautiful. Soft, lovely and utterly desirable. And she was his wife.

And, the devil confound it, she was absolutely sound asleep, and there was no way in the world that he could avail himself of her beautiful body. He groaned, feeling the painful intensity of his arousal, knowing he would have to wait.

He bent over her, inhaling the scent of her body, and closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it. She smelled unique, in his experience.

Most women he knew drowned themselves in strong perfumes. Not his bride. She smelled of soap and nothing else--just herself. Of innocence. She was his lawful wife, wedded to him in the eyes of G.o.d and society, he told himself.

Magnus took a deep breath.

"Thalia," he said urgently, in a loud voice. She did not stir. He cupped her shoulders in moist palms and shook her. The creamy b.r.e.a.s.t.s bounced and quivered. Magnus moaned as he watched. But she did not awaken. Instead, she wriggled a little--causing his tongue to cleave to the roof of his mouth--then turned on her side, cuddling into the pillows, curling up her legs and presenting him with a view of a delectable peachy backside. His arousal was rock-hard, and aching like the very devil.

It was no good, he thought frustratedly, Thalia Robinson could sleep through an earthquake. He lifted the bedclothes over her and watched sourly as she snuggled into their warmth. Thalia--G.o.d how he disliked that name. It hadn't suited the ill-clad little urchin he'd married and it certainly didn't suit the siren he'd discovered under the dreadful clothes. Perhaps he'd call her by her second name--what was it? Lucy? Louise? He grimaced. No, that didn't suit her either.

Forcing himself to turn away from the temptation in his bed, Magnus bent to pick up the undergarments he'd dropped. He started to hang them on the hook behind the door, then paused, truly noticing them for the first time. Holding them in a clenched fist, he moved closer to the branch of candles burning near the bedside. A surge of anger rippled through him.

The stockings were darned in several places. Both chemise and petticoat contained numerous patches and inserts of different material. Though spotlessly clean, and soft with many was.h.i.+ngs, they were made of coa.r.s.e linen, old and well-worn. Not a sc.r.a.p of lace or a frill enlivened either garment. And these were the delicate ladies unmentionables that Lord d'Arenville's bride had worn on her wedding day! Could Lae- t.i.t ia not even have seen to that? He bunched the offending garments in his fist and hurled them at the far wall.

He stormed towards the door, then paused. He glanced back at the underclothes in the corner. He'd rendered them unusable, cutting through the tapes like that. What would she think when she awoke?

Cursing under his breath, he scooped them off the floor and stuffed them into his pocket.

He left the room, slamming the door behind him, and stomped downstairs, his high boots echoing on the wooden steps. Rousing the innkeeper, he called for a bottle of the best brandy and retired to the private parlour to brood on his inexplicable marriage and the debacle of his wedding night.

"Oh, I am utterly ravenous this morning," exclaimed Tallie, reaching for a slice of fresh crusty bread and b.u.t.tering it lavishly. She took a mouthful of coffee and closed her eyes, savouring it, then bit into the bread with evident relish.

Magnus watched her sourly. His head ached from the brandy. The fire in the small parlour had smoked, and the landlord's excuses about the unreliability of chimneys when the wind blew from the northwest had not impressed him a bit.

"Can I not tempt you to a slice of this excellent bread and b.u.t.ter, my lord?" said Tallie. She glanced at the tankard by his elbow doubtfully.

"I cannot think it healthful for you to break your fast with nothing but ale."

Magnus snorted and raised the tankard to his lips.

Tallie glanced guiltily at the empty platter on her left.

"I am sure Mrs. Farrow would be delighted to cook more bacon and eggs--I did not mean to consume it all--it was just that I found myself so extremely hungry when I awoke."

Magnus closed his eyes for a moment, unable to endure even the thought of greasy eggs and bacon.

Tallie reached for the pot of honey. She dipped in a spoon and wound it deftly, then drizzled honey all over her bread and b.u.t.ter. The sight recalled to Magnus the look of her hair on the pillow, gleaming in the candlelight. He glowered silently.

"Mrs. Farrow says there is cold pork, fowl, or some mutton pie still remaining from last night's dinner, if you should prefer that--I know many gentlemen prefer meat at breakfast," persisted Tallie.

Magnus rolled his eyes and took another mouthful of dark, bitter ale.

"I must say," she continued, 'dinner last night sounded quite delicious. Why did you not awaken me? I was extremely hungry, you know. It was most unkind of you to forget me! " she finished indignantly, licking honey off her fingers.

Forget her? Magnus stared at her in stupefaction. He opened his mouth to respond, but she hadn't finished.

"I would very much have preferred to be woken. So in the future, if you please, remember to do so, should I happen to take a little nap before dinner." Tallie smiled to soften the impact of her demand, resolving to be more tactful with him, especially in the morning. He seemed to be one of those people whose tempers did not appreciate conversation in the morning.

It occurred to her that he might not have slept very well last night.

"Did you not sleep well, my lord?" She smiled sympathetically at him.

"Some people do not sleep soundly, I believe, if they are in a strange bed. I do not myself. I remember when I first came to my cousin's house it was days before I could accustom myself to the new bed. Was your bed not sufficiently comfortable, my lord?"

Magnus could barely speak. Indignation and outrage choked him. He searched his mind for something sufficiently pithy and cutting to say.

A drop of honey quivered on the corner of her mouth and the sight of it distracted him considerably.

She continued.

"Mine was quite comfortable, although I woke up a little cold." She blushed, and did not meet his eyes.

"I gather Mrs. Farrow put me to bed. I must thank her, though I don't understand how she could have missed my nightgown--it was on the top of my valise.

And she must have taken my--er--some things to wash, because I could not find them anywhere. "

Magnus's ears turned slightly pink. He walked over to the fire and kicked some of the burning logs with his boot. Smoke gushed into the room.

"My lord-' " Oh, for G.o.d's sake let us have done with all this "my lord" nonsense! " Magnus exclaimed.

"You are my wife. You may call me Magnus and I will call you Thalia. Agreed?"

Tallie wrinkled her nose.

"I would prefer not to be called Thalia."

"What else should I call you? Lady d'Arenville, perhaps?"

"Good gracious, no," she said, vigorously scrubbing the honey off her lips with a napkin.

"I should never remember to answer to that."

Magnus frowned.

"Never remember to answer to your t.i.tle?" He was stunned. He'd expected the t.i.tle to be the very first thing his wife would learn to use. That and his wealth.

Tallie perceived she had mortally offended him and smiled placatingly.

"I suppose it is all still so new to me. I cannot seem to think of myself as a countess yet." She smiled brilliantly, with false confidence.

"I am sure I shall soon grow accustomed to it."

"But in the meantime I am not to address you as Thalia. You wouldprefer Miss Robinson, perhaps?" he finished acidly."Of course not. It is just that I have always disliked the name Thalia."

"Well, there we are agreed--it is an appalling name to inflict on someone."

Tallie suddenly found herself annoyed. It was one thing for her not to

like her own name; it was quite another to have him criticising it withsuch enthusiasm."Well, at least I am not called Euphrosyne or Aglaia!" she snapped.Magnus blinked."Why on earth should you be?""Euphrosyne and Aglaia were Graces.""Good for them. But I don't see--' " And Thalia was a Grace, too. ""Grace is a perfectly unexceptionable name." He shrugged."I have no objection to calling you Grace."

"But I don't wish you to call me Grace!"

"Well, what the devil do you want me to call you? Euphro- what or Agalia?"