Of Midnight Born (19 page)

His gaze on her was thoughtful. “It is a better description than I have ever come up with,” he admitted quietly. “You have a gift for putting intangibles into words, when you choose to use it.”

“Thomas said I liked the sound of my own voice,” she said.

“I have difficulty imagining you as a chatterbox.”

She laughed. “No, never that. ’Twas more a matter of beating down my brothers with words until I got my way. Big as I am, I still could not best them in brute strength.”

“I’m sure you had your ways. I grew up with a household of sisters, and I’ve seen the trickery of which they’re capable.”

“Subtlety was always my last resort,” she said.

“So that’s what it’s called.”

She smiled. “You have stars to watch.”

“And you have letters to learn.”

“That’s right, easy there,” Sommer said, his hands hovering above Nancy’s as she pulled the team of horses to a halt outside the stables. His right side was pressed up against her, and it was all he could do not to grab hold of her and push her down upon her back upon the short coachman’s bench, and smother her in the kisses of his pent-up desire.

“You have a gentle hand with the horses; there is no question there,” he said, and was rewarded by her warm gaze. He thought she had grown fond of him, especially since he had started training her to drive the teams of horses. She had claimed to know how already, but there was no way on God’s green earth that he would let her lay hands to the reins except under his tutelage. Well, except for in the tunnel. Admittedly, she did a decent job there, but that was a limited circumstance. It was nothing like an open roadway.

Ah, she was something special, his Nancy. Yes, he had resented her at first, but her quiet, solid ways reminded him too much of a sweet-tempered horse to let that resentment last. She was like the earth itself, patient and calm, all-accepting. She was not the giggling, high-pitched female he had feared would wreck the peace of the stables.

It had been no trouble to receive the permission from Mr. Woding to teach her to handle the teams and the carriages. This nighttime excursion had been his own idea: night driving was a necessary skill, but the romantic part of him he had not known existed had been what urged him to it.

He and Nancy, under the stars, high upon a coachman’s seat, his hands over hers on the reins…He had held hopes that a kiss might follow, or at least a touch of the cheeks. It had not happened, but he had confidence it would, in time.

“Nancy, may I have a word with you?” Underhill asked, coming out of the part of the stables where they had their rooms.

Sommer cursed under his breath.
Damn Underhill.
He was the only fly in the horse ointment of his plans. The manservant had been sniffing around Nancy’s skirts, making eyes at her when he thought no one was looking, and generally making a damned nuisance of himself.

It was a hellish thing for the three of them to sit in the small common room of the stables, in front of the fire late at night, as they sometimes did. Underhill tried to charm Nancy; Sommer could see that plainly enough. He told jokes and anecdotes, trying to coax a smile from her. And Nancy, sweet Nancy, she smiled at his antics even though Sommer knew in his heart that she did it only to humor Underhill and preserve his feelings.

A jewel such as she would not be taken in by one such as Underhill. No, she needed someone who understood horses the way he did, and who could understand the workings of a horse-lover’s mind.

“One moment,” Nancy said to Underhill, and then turned her soft brown eyes to him. “May I?” she asked simply, her expression revealing nothing of eagerness, only the desire to do as someone had asked. Underhill was technically in charge of all the staff, answering only to Mr. Woding. She need not have even asked his permission to obey Underhill’s request.

“Aye, but be quick about it. I won’t be rubbing down these horses all by myself.”

She nodded her assent.

Ah, beautiful lass.
Brushing the horses was one of his favorite ways to spend time with her. The smell of horse sweat, the close, steamy heat, the sight of her body at work upon the massive frames of the animals…

He sometimes imagined his own sex growing as large as
those on the horses, and her waiting for him on hands and knees, her rear legs spread slightly apart. She would squeal as he mounted her, his teeth bared, nipping at her neck.

He watched from the seat as she went with Underhill into the living quarters. What could the man wish to speak with her about that could not wait? Likely he thought his own whims more important than the needs of the horses.
Selfish bastard.

Minutes went by, the horses growing restless in their traces. He wanted Nancy to help him remove them. He could have done it himself, but it was a good excuse to have her by his side. He liked to correct her, or show her better ways to do things. He knew she appreciated his expertise. She might even make a fine coachman someday.

He shifted on his seat. What were they doing in there? And what did Underhill need from her, anyway?

Dark suspicions began to fill his mind. Was Underhill cooing in her ear, while he sat out here like a fool? Was he making advances toward her? Unwanted advances? Perhaps he had her up against a wall even now, his hands on her while she protested in that deep, gentle voice. It would likely spur the whoreson on.

He secured the reins and leaped down from the coach seat. He stalked over to the building, jealousy flaring through his blood, anger at Underhill’s affront cloaking his vision. The horny son of a…

The room was orange to his dark-adjusted eyes, the lamplight bright after the night outdoors. It was sound that told him where to look.

“I couldn’t wait for you to return,” Underhill was saying. “God, Nancy, you feel so good.” He had her pinned beneath him on the wooden settee, only her legs and skirts visible as they fell half off the hard piece of furniture. Underhill had his hand halfway up her thigh.

Sommer launched himself at that writhing back with a
roar of rage, and pulled the gangly man off his Nancy. He barely knew what he did, barely felt the thud of his own fists against the bony frame, and did not hear Nancy’s shouts and cries. It was only when Underhill was unconscious beneath him, his face bloodied, that he became aware that Nancy was clinging to him, trying to stop the assault.

“You’re killing him! Stop!” she cried, her lovely voice scratchy with tears.

He stumbled back, away from the crumpled form of Underhill, and Nancy released him, dropping down beside the fallen man, cradling his head in her lap. Her fingers gently touched his damaged face, his blood marring her white smock.

“What have you done?” she asked, looking up at him, tears streaking down her face. “Why? He did nothing to you.”

The sickening truth came home to him as he watched her coddle Underhill. She had not been a victim, but a willing participant. The thought made him ill, made him want to kick Underhill again, or slice his throat and finish the job.

But Nancy was there, looking at him with wounded eyes. She had a reason to hate him now, whereas before there had been only respect, and perhaps a chance of turning her affections away from the unworthy.

Ah, God.
What had he done?

He turned and walked from the room, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his eyes seeing nothing until he found himself in front of the stables and the carriage with the still-hitched horses.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t look again at Nancy’s face. He climbed into the coachman’s seat and felt a cry of despair trembling up from inside. He bit down on it, picked up the reins, and released the brake.

“I am not certain he is quite normal, with his kisses,” Sophie said.

“Ah? How so?” Beth asked. They were in the blue drawing
room, their chairs pulled close to the fire, a tray of biscuits and cakes on the table between them. It was far too late in the evening for tea goodies, but there was something temptingly delicious about eating such fare while talking with a good friend into the wee hours.

“He is such a mild-mannered man in all other respects, I had rather expected him to be mild-mannered in his affections, as well. Such has not proven to be the case. Why, before he left here he had me all but pinned against the books in the library, and…and…”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And—this is quite embarrassing—he put his
tongue
in my mouth.” Sophie widened her eyes in remembered shock.

“Did he, then?”

“And…and…he moved it. In and out.”

Her friend’s eyes looked very much like those of a frightened rabbit. Beth smiled. She was glad to hear that Blandamour had some male animal instincts under all that genteel infatuation. He might stand a chance against Sophie, after all.

Voices and a clattering of footsteps drew both their eyes to the half-open door that led to the entry hall. A moment later the stablelass, Nancy, appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me, madame, miss,” Nancy said, “I am looking for Mr. Woding.”

Beth rose from her chair, sensing the tension in the normally placid girl. “I believe he is in his tower. What is it? What has happened?”

“There’s been a fight between Mr. Sommer and Mr. Underhill.”

“Oh, dear me. Are either of them hurt?”

“I am afraid that Mr. Underhill may be badly so,” Nancy said, and Beth was surprised to see the sheen of tears in the girl’s red eyes. “My aunt, Mrs. Hutchins, has gone to tend to him. Please, could you take me to Mr. Woding?”

“Yes, certainly,” Beth said, hurrying over to the girl, and taking her hand and giving it a brief squeeze. She looked in need of more comfort than that, but first things first.

“What was the fight about?” Sophie asked, following behind them.

Nancy’s answer was a gurgle of sound that neither of them could decipher. Beth patted her back and hurried her up the stairs.
Poor child.
Horses were surely much easier to deal with than men.

“A, C, E, G, B, F, D,” Serena sang. “J, K, M, N, L, O, P.”

“Close, but not quite,” Alex said, turning his eyes from the sky to her. She was sitting on the floor beside his reclined chair, facing him, the sheet of paper with the alphabet on the ground next to her. The red light of his small lamp cast a faint pink glow onto her luminous skin. “It’s A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Try again.”

He saw her frown down at the paper, her lips moving in silent repetition of his example. The frown got deeper, and aloud she went through the first seven letters, slowly and carefully.

“Perfect!” he said. “And now—”

“No, no, let me stop there for now,” she said. “I am beginning to confuse myself. P, T, C, D, G, they all sound the same. I am making myself dizzy.”

“You are doing remarkably well.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“I imagine that even some idiots learn a little of how to read.”

“How reassuring. Thank you ever so much, Woding.”

He shrugged, hiding a smile, and looked back up at the stars, her glow visible at the edge of his vision. She was like a star fallen to earth, his Serena.

“What is it you are looking for in the falling stars?” Serena
asked after several minutes of silence had gone by. “Why do you chart their paths?”

“Because they are not really falling stars,” he said.

“They aren’t?” she asked, obviously surprised. “Then what are they?”

“That is precisely what I am trying to find out. What do you think they are?” he asked.

“I do not know. I had always assumed they were what they appeared to be.”

He looked at her. “But do they really appear to be stars that fall from heaven? Where do they come from, if so, and where do they go? There are neither more nor less stars above no matter how many seem to fall.”

She turned her face up to the sky, considering. “The stars have not changed at all since I was a child,” she agreed. “Maybe those that fall are stars from too far away to be seen, and they pass by to someplace equally distant, beyond our sight. Perhaps they travel so quickly we can see them for only an instant.”

“That is not a bad theory,” he said, her ideas meshing with some that he himself had devised. “It sounds much better than some of those that other scientists have suggested, like that in certain weather plants release gases at night that react with the air.”

“I should think that the plants themselves would be glowing, if such were the case. No, my idea is much better.”

“Naturally,” he said. “You become an expert upon things with remarkable swiftness.”

“Alex,” she said with a touch of timidity that caught his attention. She almost never used his Christian name, and being timid was not one of her problems.

“Yes, Serena?”

“Would you teach me something else, if I asked?”

His mind went racing. What lessons of the modern world
could make his warrior ghost blush? Questions of procreation came immediately to mind.
Please, no.
He couldn’t draw her pictures of men and women and what they did in bed. “Certainly. What is it?”

She was quiet. “Oh, never mind,” she said after a bit, and looked down at her knees.

“All right.” Whatever it was, he was happy not to push.

“Will you teach me how to kiss?”

He jerked upright, staring down at her.
“What?”

“Never mind! Never mind!”

“No, wait, you asked me to teach you to kiss. Why? Do you want me to kiss you?”

“No!” Her hands were up, fluttering around her face, not knowing what to do with themselves. “Why would I want that? No, of course not. You think too highly of yourself, Woding.”

“Why did you ask?”

The hands went through another confused flight. “I’m curious. That’s all. I’ve never truly been kissed before, on the lips.”

“Never?” he asked, some of his shock dying down. He remembered clearly enough listening to his sisters talk on and on about what it would be like to be kissed by a man. They had even gone so far as to try to practice on him. He had fled the house in horror. He had never quite understood how they could despise so much that was male, and yet seem to center their lives around finding a man for their very own.