Chapter Thirteen
September 20, 1818
John couldn’t sleep. No matter that he’d spent the past half hour listening to the steady patter of rain against the windows, slumber remained elusive, all because he couldn’t stop thinking about his wife.
Two days ago, she’d taken to swimming as if she’d been born to it. They’d amused themselves with lessons until Brand had joined them, whereupon he and Brand had set out to tease her with good natured humor. Afterward, while they’d lounged in the sun, she’d redressed and resumed her sketches. No doubt her cousin featured into one of them, for that seemed to be one outlet she had for expressing her feelings without talking.
Yesterday, it had rained for the bulk of the day, so they’d attempted to teach her whist, but that had proved her Waterloo. However her brain worked, it didn’t allow concentration on the cards. She’d become overwrought and embarrassed, fleeing upstairs to her room, and had refused to come out. Only with the promises of reading to her from some of her favorite books after dinner did he coax her downstairs. That’s when she curled up on a sofa in the drawing room and picked at the tray of food the butler had brought to her.
And today had featured more of the same miserable weather. Brand had slept most of the time, and when he wasn’t, he’d gone in search of a pianoforte. Once secured, transferring the instrument to the drawing room had become a two-person affair, and it had needed tuning badly. John had gone to the village to see if he could find a craftsman for the job. Caroline had remained in her room, and he feared the progress they’d previously made had unraveled.
Which brought him back to the present, with the rain drumming on the window glass and the ache of missing her sitting heavy on his chest. Never would he have thought he’d marry so soon. Nor had he expected to become quite so enamored of Caroline as he was. She was easily one of his favorite people; she lit up a room when she walked in. At least she did for him. There was an otherworldly quality about her, sure, but the talent she possessed for painting couldn’t be kept a secret. The London ton needed to know about her skill, and if that won her a career or commissions, he wanted her to pursue that.
If she wished it. As of yet, she hadn’t really said what she wanted for her life over and above feeling safe while in his company.
Or enjoying the act of kissing. His wife had found a certain affinity for that. So much so that if he weren’t careful, he’d end up spending in his pants due to a loss of control. She might not be ready for intercourse, but damn. All too often he was hard for her, and it would require an outlet.
Soon.
Why would it not stop raining?
Frustrated on many fronts, John turned over yet again. Not even punching his pillow could help him settle. If he helped Caroline to calm, she had energized him, made him feel more alive than he ever had before. So why the hell was he here instead of with her right now?
He swung his legs over the side of his bed. If he were to visit her in the middle of the night, would the invasion of privacy frighten her? It was worth the risk. They were married, after all. No one could say it was scandalous. After pulling on a pair of breeches, John sneaked from his room, being sure to close the door behind him. Hoping to God Brand wasn’t restless this night either, he crept along the corridor, past his best friend’s room, past the three doors that separated that room from Caroline’s. At her door, he knocked softly, pressed the latch, and gently pushed open the door. A shiver of relief went down his spine, for she hadn’t locked it.
“Caroline?” The whisper sounded overly loud in the silence. Shadows played about the darkened room, but the rustling of the bedclothes betrayed the fact his wife wasn’t tucked into dreamland. “Are you awake?”
“John?” She propped herself up on an elbow as he approached the bed. “What are you doing here? Are you unwell?”
“I couldn’t sleep, but I’m fine.” This was a dangerous prospect, being here in her room, with him randy as hell, and her probably warm and soft and tousled. “Do you mind if I lie next to you for a while?”
“All right.” Sleep had rendered her voice smoky, and the sound went straight to his stones. She scooted over. “Do you not like the rain for sleeping?”
Oh, he enjoyed doing a host of things while it rained, but it remained to be seen what would transpire this night. “I’m too restless for slumber.” Not daring to believe this boon, John slipped beneath the top sheet, and the moment his body came to rest next to hers, pressure bedeviled his length.
Bloody hell.
“Why?”
Why indeed? He tucked his hands behind his head to prevent idle wandering, but her pillows smelled like the fields full of daisies they had walked through since arriving at Hadleigh Hall, and each time the scent wafted to his nose, it drove him a little closer to madness. “I’m not sure,” he finally answered as he watched the play of shadows and raindrops dance over the ceiling.
She snuggled into his side with a palm resting on his bare chest. Awareness of her plowed into him with all the force of a runaway pony cart. “I couldn’t sleep either.” When she blew out a breath, it tickled his skin. “My mind is too busy.”
“I can’t even imagine.” John tamped hard on his control, for it would be all too easy to roll her over and begin the process of seducing her. “Perhaps I can tell you a bit about my life.” At least in that way, he could focus on his stories instead of her and how the nightgown of silk and lace would hardly prove a barrier between them.
“I would like that.” She moved her hand to his tattoo. “Start with this.”
He grinned into the darkness. “This happened a few years before I met Brand.” The abstract circles she drew on his skin both lulled him into a state of calm as well as enhanced the desire he had for her. “The ship I served on tarried in an American port. I’d been drunk at the time, and some of my friends wagered me that I wouldn’t go through with it.” When her hand drifted to the center of his chest, he laid one of his on top to prevent further exploration lest he shoot his wad right then. “In the end, the small, simple tattoo I wanted became this work of art.”
“Does it have special meaning?”
“Aye.” While rubbing the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, he encountered her rings, and a sense of pride filled him. This extraordinary woman was legally his and would remain by his side for the rest of his life. If he was fortunate. There was a certain comfort in that. “At least this is something decent in the way of artwork. It’s the North Star. That point in the heavens has always been a guide for sailors the world over. It’s one of the brightest stars in the sky, and is said that it will always lead a man home.”
“Is that true?”
“Who can say? There are many ways to chart the stars and steer a ship.” He heaved out a sigh. It was rather nice being in the same bed as her, talking in the dark. “As for me, I believe the best thing that steers a man home is what tugs at his heart. And a man can call anywhere home, not necessarily where family lies.”
“Where does your heart lead?”