Chapter Twenty-two

 

It was clear enough what was going on. Woding’s brother-in-law Harold Tubble, the stupid, red-faced squire, had brought his equally stupid niece Felicia as a marriage prospect.

Serena stood in a shadowy alcove of the music room, watching the assembled guests as Felicia pounded her plump fingers upon the piano keyboard and trilled along with the song. The girl had a bosom it was hard for even a woman to take her eyes from, all pillowy masses of white flesh pushed up over the neckline of her off-the-shoulder evening gown, rippling and jiggling as she moved her arms.

And worst of all, behind the wench on the piano bench, Woding stood adding his own rich baritone to the birdlike chirpings of the girl. There must be a fantastic view of that jellied cleavage from up there, Serena thought. She had not seen him cast even a single glance at her where she stood in the alcove, his attention all on his performance and the bouncing, pink-cheeked Felicia.

The guests had arrived yesterday, spaced over hours, keeping Woding constantly busy. Every spare room was filled, even the servants’ quarters, and there seemed to be no place where quiet could be found. People were invading her garden, children running wildly along the paths, jumping off the bench, and falling into the flower beds. People were walking along the lower wall, they were talking in the kitchens, and their noises could be heard in every nook and cranny of every hall and room. Even Woding’s tower had been invaded, becoming a lookout for attacking armies or the crow’s nest of a ship to the minds of several nieces and nephews, a lantern-wielding troupe of whom had also explored the cellars, in search of the ghost they had all heard about.

She could bear nearly all of it. She was strong. She knew how to endure. It was understandable that Woding needed to direct his attentions to his guests: God knew they did not give him a chance to do otherwise. She also understood that he had been too worn out to do more than hold her as he fell asleep last night. In a way, his attention being given to others had been of help to her, as she had been able to conserve her energies and recover from the quick, playful lovemaking of two nights ago. It had not been as exhausting as that first time, but it had been draining nonetheless.

She could bear nearly all of it, except for Felicia. It was eating her away inside to have that bouncing breeding machine present when there was yet an uncertainty to Woding’s feelings for her. The looks exchanged among Woding’s sisters and brothers-in-law, the flirtatious sparkle in Felicia’s gray-green eyes, the subtle manipulation of seatings and activities to push the two of them together, it was all as corrosive as acid on her heart.

She knew she could not have him forever. She knew their time was limited. But she wanted to know he loved her, before she was no more. She loved, now let her be loved in return, if only for an hour.

Woding was laughing now with the trollop as the others applauded their duet, and with her plump little hand on his he raised Felicia from the bench so she could curtsy as he bowed. She was a short creature, all hips and bosom, with a squeezed little waist in between. Her thick brown hair reminded Serena of Beth’s, but she had none of the intelligence in her eyes that Beth had.

No, Felicia’s eyes glittered with a simpleton’s humor, and a hunger for Woding. Serena’s Woding. And Woding let them glitter at him to the girl’s heart’s content. Was he thinking what that plum pudding of a girl would be like in his bed? Was he thinking of the children he could beget from her fertile loins? Maybe he was thinking of how he could mend the tattered ties with his sisters, by acceding to their obvious wish that he marry a living girl and settle down into family life.

Felicia was a sponge-headed lackwit who would never care about his falling stars or challenge his ways of thinking. Didn’t he see that?

The chairs were pushed back to the walls, and Philippa took the place of Felicia at the piano. She ran through a quick series of scales, then started in on a rousing melody, revealing a musical talent that Serena would never have guessed resided in such a stern woman. Soon the lot of them were prancing about the floor, arms catching and swinging, skirts swaying, smiles all around.

Woding protested at first, but soon he, too, was among them, being passed around the women like a new baby to be cooed over by all, and of course most especially by Felicia.

Serena left the room, revolted and sick, angry and helpless all at once. Woding seemed not to mark her leaving.

In the main entry hall, several of the children, their ages ranging from four to fourteen, were huddled at the foot of the stairs. The blond-haired daughter of Philippa, Louisa, had their attention as she told a story in low, breathy tones, her eyes wide, her hands telling the tale alongside her words.

“And on her wedding night she vowed her husband would never touch her!” Louisa said to the pale little faces all around her.

Serena knew what story the girl told, the same way a young Rhys had told a tale to Woding, the same way countless other children had told each other tales over the years, to frighten one another in the ruins of Maiden Castle. She felt an urge to make herself visible to them, preferably with a dagger dripping blood in one hand, le Gayne’s severed head in the other. That would give them something to whisper about under the covers at night!

She resisted the urge, never having enjoyed the hysterical shrieking of frightened children. She was not a monster. Instead she climbed past them up the stairs and went down the hall to Woding’s bedroom.

Otto was lying in the middle of the bed, Beezely curled up nearby. Serena crawled onto the mattress and lay down beside them, resting her cheek on her folded arms, watching the animals sleep. She would wait here for Woding to tire of the dancing pudding and come to her, where he belonged.

 

Alex finally escaped from those few relatives still awake, and from Felicia, who seemed to have made it her mission to take any and every excuse to bump into him, touch his arm, sit beside him, and give him views of her prodigious bosom, all the while gazing up at him with invitation in her eyes. She was a foot shorter than he was, and he felt in constant danger of stumbling over her, the way one stumbles over a spaniel that in its adoration stays too close to one’s feet.

She was a sweet girl, but quickly becoming a pest. He knew why she was here, and knew equally well that there was no chance in hell that he would find her acceptable wife material, even if there had not been someone else.

Serena. He had seen her watching from alcoves and doorways, from corners and shadows, silent and still. He wondered what she was making of all this, and whether she wished to chase them all from his house.

When Philippa had started playing music for dancing, he had rather wished Serena would appear, and send them all running. He had always loathed dancing.

He began to climb the stairs. He was impressed with Serena’s forbearance this past day and a half. Given her behavior when he had first moved in, her admitted abhorrence of noisy guests, and most of all her temper, it was a minor miracle that she had not found it necessary to vent her frustrations in some unearthly manner.

Sometimes he felt that he hardly knew her, for all the time they had spent together. Sometimes he felt he did not know himself, or what he wanted. When she had vanished for weeks after their lovemaking, he had at first gone half-mad with the torture of not knowing where she was. He hadn’t known if she was gone for good, if she was avoiding him, or if she were paying some unknown ghostly price for engaging in physical love with a living person.

Her unexplained absence had made her an obsession in his mind for several days, until he had finally sought a return to sanity in his work, into which he diverted all the passion that had been devoted to her. It had been effective, and he had been able to convince himself that it was a good thing she had disappeared when she had. If she had remained, he might have become even more deeply involved with her. How much worse it would have been if he had been fully in love with her when she had vanished.

And then she had returned, suddenly and without warning, as if no more than a day had gone by, and as if they could pick up where they had left off. His emotions, so briefly ordered during her absence, became again a turbulent jumble. He wanted her as much as he had before her disappearance, but now he had the fresh memories of the pain of her absence to hold him back. His rational mind told him he would be an utter fool to risk his heart on a woman who might vanish from his arms even as he held her.

He opened the door to his room and went in, seeing Serena at once, then Otto and the orange cat, all spread out upon his bed. He smiled despite himself, liking the cozy scene, thinking of how much cozier still it would seem through the winter to have so many companions on or in his bed. If they stayed. If Serena didn’t wink out of existence like a falling star.

Serena rolled over to face him, propping her head on her hand, her elbow making no dent in the mattress. “Done with them for the night, are you?” she asked.

“They’ve gone off to bed.”

“I wish they’d go off home.”

“Want me all to yourself, do you?”

“You think very highly of yourself, Alex Woding,” she said, looking haughtily at him.

He came over to the bed and sat down beside her. Otto and the cat both raised their heads at the disturbance, cast accusing looks at him, and then got up and thumped—at least, Otto thumped—onto the floor. He spared the animals a brief scowl––whose bed was it, anyway?––then looked back to Serena. He hesitated a moment before placing his hand on the curve of her hip. Would she be solid? His hand touched warm flesh, and he saw that she was now pressing into the mattress as much as he himself did.

“I could wish them gone myself,” he told her, running his hand up her side. She rolled onto her back, half closing her eyes as his hand made its way up to her breast, cupping and massaging the soft mound. His body answered, tingling to life. When she was real beneath his hands, it was impossible to think of her as anything other than a living woman. Doubts fled under the heat of desire.

“What of your plans to renew the bonds of family?” she asked, although he could tell her interest was far more on what his hand was doing.

“Perhaps that is something better done one at a time. All of them here at once is overwhelming.” He prodded her to roll onto her stomach, and then raised her skirts, dotting kisses up the backs of her legs.

“You would not have liked living in my day,” Serena said, her voice muffled by the arm her face rested upon. He felt her shiver as he opened his mouth against her tailbone, on that small, flat triangle of skin directly above her buttocks. He flicked his tongue against her. “Everyone ate in the hall, and most everyone slept in the hall; there were always people about, and little privacy. At least, until they all died.”

His tongue stopped for a moment, but then he realized she was stating a fact and was not distressed. He continued his quest up her backbone, his hands searching over her body as he came up beside her and lay on the bed facing her.

“Do you prefer it in this time?” he asked.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling although her mouth was hidden by her arm. “I prefer your bathtub to mine.”

“Don’t tell me that is why you took to watching me at my bath: envy over modern plumbing.”

“You thought I liked looking at you? What pride you have, Woding.”

“We could share a bath,” he suggested.

Her head came up off her arm. “We could?”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

She climbed over him in a flash, her knee digging into his belly, and let out whooping cries of joy all the way into his dressing room. After a stunned moment awaiting the return of his breath, he rolled off the bed and followed.