Nightingale Legacy by Catherine Coulter

Author:Catherine Coulter [Coulter, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780515116243
Google: X7n87R_5yvEC
Amazon: 0515116246
Barnesnoble: 0515116246
Goodreads: 584846
Publisher: Jove
Published: 1995-04-15T18:32:15+00:00

21

WHERE WAS NORTH?

Caroline stood there, her hands stroking over the fine lawn of her new nightgown—a soft peach with a row of Valenciennes Lace sewn at the bodice and at the sleeves, all in all a wicked confection that she was certain would have North ogling over her with a good deal of interest. It was cut low over her breasts, and the band beneath pushed her breasts upward, giving them, she thought, a more arresting presentation.

Where the devil was he?

She wanted him to look at her and shake. Where his shaking would lead, she didn’t know, but it was bound to bring infinite satisfaction to her. Perhaps she’d end up holding up her nightgown for him. She shook herself at the flood of quite interesting sensations that memory brought her. She moved to the small mirror and brushed her hair again, smoothing down the waves as best she could. Then she turned toward the door and frowned. This surely wasn’t right.

Where was North?

This bedchamber, he’d told her, was the viscountess’s bedchamber and adjoined the master’s bedchamber through the single door she’d stared at on and off for the past hour. He had sounded uncertain about it being the viscountess’s bedchamber, and she could see why. It was a dingy room, the paint a dull green that was faded and peeling; the cherubs that festooned the ceiling molding looked decidedly limp in the wings. The only furnishings were a narrow bed with a bleak gold brocade counterpane covering it that must have been at least fifty years old, a single chair that had unpadded wooden slats for the back—strongly resembling a painting of a punishment chair she’d seen at Chudleigh’s Young Ladies’ Academy—and a stool in front of the dressing table that looked older than the bed, which was saying something. There was antiquity in this bedchamber and it was very depressing.

Where the devil was her groom?

She frowned at herself in the mirror, tossed down the brush, and walked to the bank of narrow windows, five of them all set in thick lead, and stared out into the darkness. There was only a sliver of moon and a sprinkling of stars. The night was black, the only sound was the rustle of trees that were next to the house. She started to turn away, but something odd caught her eye and she turned back to the window.

She screamed at the top of her lungs, jumped back, tripped on her nightgown, and went down hard on her bottom.

North came flying through the adjoining door, nearly tripping himself. “My God, are you all right? What the hell is wrong?”

Her heart was pounding, she felt hysteria bubble inside her. She couldn’t bring words out of her mouth, she was panting too hard, her throat was too constricted with sheer terror. She managed to point at the middle window as she picked herself up off the floor.

North ran to the window, unfastened the rusty latch, and after a few moments of frustration, managed to push the window outward.

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