Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [62]
She said in a tumbled rush of words, “Mrs. Saxton and Mrs. Newton were here and they invited us to a party and Chauncey said she’d take me to Monsieur David’s for a new gown and I didn’t know if you would mind or if you would want—”
He held up his hand to stem the flow of words.
“He sounds very expensive,” she said, ignoring him in an effort to get it all out at once, “and Father, well, he never . . .”
Saint felt that damned elusive pain at the pathetic trailing off of her voice. She looked up at him, hopeful as a child, but certain that a treat was to be denied. But she wasn’t a child, dammit.
He said very gently, “Jules, of course you must have a new gown, several in fact. Do go with Chauncey. And don’t worry about money, all right?”
“But—”
“No buts. Don’t worry.”
“But Lydia told me how, many times, you have to barter for things, and how people owe you favors, and I don’t want to be a burden to you, at least more than I already am.”
That made him angry. Damn Lydia anyway for her big mouth! “Enough, Jules,” he said sharply. “You are not a burden, and don’t you ever speak like that again, do you understand me?”
She wilted at his anger. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her head bowed. “It’s just that I am a burden. I don’t do anything, nothing at all, and I’m—”
He couldn’t bear it. He strode swiftly to her and gathered her against him. She was rigid for a moment then leaned against him. He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, felt her small bones beneath his fingers. He closed his eyes and held her. “I want you to be happy, Jules,” he said finally, his warm breath against her temple. “There is enough money, I promise. I could have ten burdens like you and it wouldn’t matter. In fact, I’d like it very much.”
He could still feel her uncertainty, her resistance, and said in a teasing voice, “I think you would look lovely in pink.”
“Pink?” she squeaked, looking up into his grinning face. “With my hair?”
“That’s better.” Without thinking, he quickly kissed her pursed lips. She flushed. Get her mind off you attacking her again, you ass! “How about an emerald necklace, then? To match your sparkling eyes?”
She smiled at that, naturally this time. “You truly don’t mind, Michael?”
“Idiot,” he said, squeezing her. “Now, would you like to ride out to the ocean with me? There are a number of birds I would like to have you identify for me. Talk about ignorant—all I can recognize is a gull and sometimes a cormorant. They’ve got long, skinny necks, don’t they?”
She gave him a brilliant smile and he thought: She’s my wife, she belongs to me, and I want her to be happy. He remembered so vividly that single night when he’d brought her pleasure, the convulsive rippling of her slender body, the soft cries that erupted from her throat, the taste of her. Damn, he wished he could stop thinking about it, forget it. He released her abruptly, knowing that if he continued to hold her, she would feel his hardness. He wouldn’t frighten her. Never again.
He bundled her out of the house before he could be trapped by another patient. He rented a mare for her from Ranger Tyson, the proud new father of another Tyson, and they made their way to the ocean, very slowly, for Jules wasn’t all that used to riding.
“When you go with Chauncey tomorrow, be sure to buy yourself a riding habit, all right?”
Jules pulled her cloak more closely about her. “I’ve never had a riding habit,” she said.
“In royal blue,” Saint said firmly. “Now, sweetheart, what is that damned bird over there on that sand dune?”
“That, I believe,” said Jules with great concentration, “is a snowy plover. And that one,” she said, excitement and fun in her voice as she pointed to another bird, “just might be a wandering tattler.”
He grinned over at her. “I know quite a few wandering tattlers, and they all speak English. You wouldn’t be making that up, now, would you?”
“No, sir. I love the name, don’t you? I’ve really never seen one in the flesh-and-feathers before, but it does look like a bird in one of my books.”
“Books?” he asked. “I don’t recall seeing