Corset Diaries

by Katie MacAlister

  “Tessa, is that you?”

  I stopped trying to pull the table on top of me to keep me from the ghost’s horrible claws, and peered up into the darkness. “Max?”

  There was a thud and a grunt of pain. “Damn. Where’s the bloody door?”

  He found it a second later, the blessed, wonderful soft glow of the oil lamp spilling out into the hallway.

  “Oh, Max, I thought you were the ghost,” I said as he pulled the table off of me and helped me to my feet.

  “What were you doing running around in the pitch black?” he asked, pushing me inside the room, locking the door behind us.

  “I went to find a condom, and my candle blew out. You felt like a ghost! How come your skin is so cold?”

  He held up a strip of condoms. “Had to go out to the stable to get them.”

  “Alec?” I asked, rubbing my calf where I had whacked it on the table.

  He nodded.

  My lips twitched as I looked at him. His black hair was tousled, his dressing gown buttoned crookedly, and there was a smudge of dirt on the side of his nose. I rubbed it off with my thumb, saying, “I’m sorry, but I may have to rethink you and me doing this.”

  He looked at me like I had condoms coming out my ears. “Why?”

  I nipped his lower lip and tucked the condom Sam had given me into the breast pocket of his dressing gown. “When I touched you in the hallway you screamed like a girl.” I shook my head in mock sadness. “It just wasn’t manly, Max, and if there’s one thing I insist on in all my lovers, it’s that they be manly.”

  He stared at me for three seconds before whipping the nightgown off me, pulling the dressing gown off himself, and tossing me onto the bed, following me down into the soft down of the featherbed.

  “Now we will address the subject of manliness,” he growled, rubbing himself along me.

  “Oh, yes, address it, address it long and hard,” I moaned, grabbing a condom and tearing the package open with my teeth as he went straight for my nipples, licking them into a frenzy. “Address it like it’s never been addressed before! Max, if you . . . oh, baby! If you . . . if you . . . yes, yes, right there! If you slide up I can put this on you—” The word trailed off into a moan as the licking turned to sucking. I gathered together enough parts of my mind to reach between us and unroll the condom onto him even as I squirmed against him.

  Max bucked under my hands and peered down at me, balanced on his hands. His eyes were brilliant blue, blazing with need and desire and all the things that I knew were visible in my eyes, but it was his voice that sent me over the edge; rough and hoarse, it set something inside me thrumming. “Tell me you’re ready. If you have any mercy in your soul, you’ll tell me you’re ready for me. Please, Tessa!”

  “I was ready half an hour ago,” I answered, pulling him down onto me and sliding my legs up over his. “Oh, geez . . . no, to the left . . . no, that’s too far, you need to go down a little. Stop! Wrong door! Just a second, let me get you started . . . aaaaaiiiiieeeeeee!”

  Max lunged into me with one hard stroke, pulled back a smidge, then lunged even deeper and harder, filling me with his heat. I shook with the intensity of feeling him inside me, joined with me, his body plastered against mine, his breath ragged and hot in my ear as he stroked in deeper. I clutched his back, my body tight and tense, pulling my legs up higher on his hips to take him in deeper, and then everything within me exploded, blinding me with a miracle of such beauty that I wept with the joy of it all. Max yelled something that sounded suspiciously like a yodel as he pounded into me, his back arched and sweaty beneath my hands as he found his own moment of rapture.

  He collapsed down onto me, and I welcomed his weight, nuzzling his neck and stroking my hands along the damp planes of his back, still quivering with wonderful little aftershocks of pleasure and feeling the same running through him. It felt right being with him, being joined in the most elemental way, almost as if there was no end to him and no beginning to me. We just were.

  Sometime later, after his chest stopped heaving and I could breathe without gasping, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down on me. His eyes were a pure, brilliant blue, a sated blue, a blue that was tinged with more than a little bit of masculine smugness. “Was that manly enough for you?”

  I smiled and reached one hand out to hold up the long strip of condoms. “To be honest, you haven’t convinced me yet. I think we need to go through a few more of these, then I’ll know for sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” he asked, looking at the eight or nine condoms contained in the strip. “How many is few more?”

  I let my smile go naughty and tightened every muscled I had around where he still lay snugly within me. He twitched twice, then dipped his head down to plunder my lips, growling into my mouth as he did so, “Prepare to be convinced, woman.”

  By the time dawn streaked the morning sky pink and gold, he had convinced me. Oh, man, how he convinced me!

  Sunday

  September 5

  4:01 P.M.

  Lake, watching Max teach Melody how to fish

  Max is a boob. Let me qualify that—he is an extraordinarily warm, drool-worthy, handsome-as-sin man, but still a boob.

  I twirled my parasol and glanced over to Sam, who was filming our little threesome. He raised his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes.

  “Dad, I can do it.”

  “Just wait a moment, Melody. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “I’m not a baby. I can do it.”

  Max frowned at her. “Most girls wouldn’t want to. You don’t see Tessa playing with worms, do you?”

  “That’s only because I get other ideas once I get a pole in my hands,” I said, trying to look as if I didn’t mean exactly what I did.

  Max shot me a look that let me know he was on to me. I wiggled my toes at him, enjoying the pleasant tension that hummed through me whenever he was near.

  “Dad, it’s my worm. I can put it on the hook!”

  “Come on, Max, it’s just a fishhook. She’s not going to cut her arm off with it. Let the poor kid spit her own worm!”

  “It isn’t ladylike,” he answered, his dark head bent next to Melody’s as he sacrificed a worm on the altar of fishing.

  I bit back a retort, mindful of the camera. I had a feeling that Victorian daddies didn’t think it was at all nice for their daughters to skewer worms, so I let it go. There would be time later for a little lecture about just how outdated the term ladylike was, not to mention the bad effect an overprotective parent could have on the development of a child.

  I closed the parasol and leaned back against the tree trunk, pleasantly warm but not too hot in the shade, watching quite contentedly from the blanket Max had spread out as Sam and Wilma filmed him showing Melody how to cast. The gentle tingling that hadn’t seemed to leave me since the night he and I spent frolicking on that big bed of his provided an undercurrent of desire that grew as I watched him. I marveled over the fact that I was privy to all the secrets his stuffy Victorian clothing hid, all the sleek lines of his body, all the warm spots, his ticklish armpits, the wonderful muscles of his thighs, the way his hair curled at the back of his neck. I marveled even more that he was my lover, a status that meant I had the right to touch him whenever I wanted. I could just walk up to him and slide my hand up his chest, and he would accept the caress.

  Tempted as I was to do that very thing, I sat on the blanket and kept my smutty thoughts to myself. Everyone in the house might know what was going on with Max and me, but I didn’t need the viewing public of Great Britain to be in possession of that knowledge.

  “I thought this morning went very well. We got some wonderful footage of everyone watching as the carriages arrived at the church.”

  Roger squatted next to me, out of sight of the camera, his voice low so it wouldn’t reach Wilma and her sound equipment.

  “It was a bit strange going through town with cars whizzing around us and everyone staring,” I said, my eyes still
on Max and Melody. “But yes, I think it went well. Although someone should have a talk with the guys about falling asleep in church.”

  Roger raised an eyebrow at me.

  I sighed. “Fine, I will, although I really don’t like being the heavy all the time. They’re your rules; you ought to be the one enforcing them.”

  “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the opportunity of chastising your servants,” he said righteously. I pinched his arm. He grinned and nodded toward the foursome at the edge of the pond. “I take it things have worked out between you and the duke?”

  “Worked out? Well, let’s see. . . . he refuses to allow me to visit Melody in the nursery unless he’s with me, he refuses to go riding with me in the morning, he refuses to talk about the fact that he’s stifling the poor kid when he should be encouraging her to spread her wings, he refuses to talk to me about anything but . . .” I let the sentence trail off, a small blush pinkening my cheeks.

  “Things you talk about in bed?” Roger guessed.

  “Mmm,” I agreed. “Well, no, not really even that. Max won’t pillow talk with me. Every time I try to, he distracts me. It makes me feel . . . oh, I don’t know. Cheated. Insignificant. Unimportant.”

  Roger considered me with a thoughtful look. “It sounds to me like you are falling under the spell of our handsome duke, Tessa.”

  “I know,” I said, admitting it for the first time. “Which is only going to lead to heartbreak, because in exactly three weeks and four days the filming will be over, Max will go back to being an architect in Bristol, and I will be just another American tourist visiting a foreign country.”

  “You don’t think . . .” Roger inclined his head toward Max in an unasked question.

  “No. He’s not looking for someone permanent in his life, and even if he was, I’m not sure I am. Or that we’d be right for each other. We spend most of our time arguing, Roger. It’s hard to build a solid relationship on argument.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he said with a smile. “The fact that you’re arguing means that you’re both comfortable with each other. Lots of couples I know won’t argue for fear of breaking up the relationship. You’re already way ahead of them.”

  I looked at Max, now sitting at the edge of the pond, giving Melody pointers on her casting. He glanced back toward me and smiled, a smile that reached his eyes and thawed the icy blue in them. Roger was right, I realized with some surprise. I might have only known Max for a few days, but we were comfortable together. I could tell him anything.

  “Maybe so,” I said slowly. “But comfort has to go both ways, and as Max’s reticence to talk about anything but things pertaining to lovemaking has shown, he doesn’t feel the same need to talk to me.”

  “He wouldn’t be a man if he did,” Roger said dryly.

  I shot him a glare. “Oh, you’re a fat lot of help. Thanks.”

  He grinned and patted my shoulder, then stood up. “Give him time, Tessa. And speaking of that, I wouldn’t mind if you two were to show your affection a little more on camera. You know, a peep or two into the intimate relationship of the duke and duchess. A few kisses, a bit of fondling, that sort of thing. A little sex never hurts the ratings.”

  “Oh, sure, Roger, no problem. I’m sure I’ll be happy to destroy what might turn out to be the best thing in my life just so you can bring in a few more viewers with the promise of some smut.”

  My sarcasm was wasted. His mind was already on other things. “Thanks, Tessa, I appreciate it. What the devil is Kip doing now. . . .” He hurried off to where Kip was pushing Tabby and Matthew into the formal garden.

  Max came over after a while and plopped down next to me. Sam and Wilma went off for a break, leaving the three of us alone. Melody kicked at a few ferns and stopped in front of us, her hands on her hips.

  “What are we going to do now?” she demanded.

  “I am going to sit here and talk to Tessa for a bit. You can go play,” her father replied.

  She glared at me. “No, you’re not, I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to kiss her. I saw you this morning, before prayers. You had your hand on her chest and you were kissing her.”

  “Melody, it isn’t polite to spy on your elders—”

  “I don’t like her,” she said, stomping her foot. “She made me hurt my arm!”

  “Which, I notice, is well enough for you to go fishing,” I pointed out. “And don’t be trying to blame me for spraining your wrist. I never told you to go out riding alone—”

  “You’re supposed to be spending time with me, not her,” Melody said, interrupting me. “I’m your daughter!”

  “I know who you are,” Max said evenly. “I also know you’re being rude to Tessa and me. You can start by apologizing to her, then you may return to the house if you’re bored here. We’ll talk later about the rest of your behavior.”

  “Dad—”

  “Now, Melody.”

  “No! I won’t! You can’t make me. I hate her! Why can’t we go home?”

  “Because I agreed for us to stay here for the month. I’m waiting for your apology to Tessa.”

  “I won’t do it!” she shrieked, then took off for the house, running flat out. Max watched her for a moment, then turned back to me with a wry smile.

  “That went well,” I said. “How long have you been divorced?”

  He pulled me down so I was draped over his chest, his fingers busily tracing out the contour of my corset. “Seven years. You look overly warm to me. I had better remove a few articles of your clothing to cool you down.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” I said, struggling out of his grasp. I scooted to the far end of the blanket. “I want to talk to you, Max.”

  He waggled his eyebrows and looked down at his lap.

  My mouth started watering at the bulge located therein. “No,” I said, grabbing my parasol and holding him at bay with it. “Don’t you try to seduce me with your manly wiles.”

  “You like my manly wiles,” he said, crawling forward slowly. I scooted back until I was at the very edge of the blanket.

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “Oh?” He tipped his head in that adorable way he had. Kind of like Lassie, only cuter. “What is the point?”

  “The point is that we’re not hidden by the trees like we were in that other spot. Anyone who looks out a window will see us, and besides that, I’m—Max!”

  He sprang forward, knocking me backward, his arms hard around me to keep me from smashing into the ground. “And now, Your Grace, I am going to ravish you.”

  “No, you’re not.” I struggled to free myself, but he was too strong. I stopped fighting him and gave in to the shivers of enjoyment that rippled through my body when he claimed my lips. I waited until he’d checked every filling in my mouth and came up for air before saying, “Max, please. I want to talk to you, and I can’t talk when you’re touching me.”

  Max signed into my mouth, then hauled himself off me, holding out his hand to help me back up into a sitting position.

  “All right, go ahead, I’m willing to talk.” I opened my mouth to speak but he stopped me before I could get the words out. “Unless you want to talk about my parenting skills with Melody, in which case I will just ravish you instead.”

  I got to my feet without wheezing or grunting (a minor miracle considering that dratted corset), and scooped up the parasol as Max stood up. “Come on, Maxikins, let’s go for a walk.”

  Both his eyebrows rose as he took my offered hand. “Maxikins?”

  I shrugged. “Max doesn’t lend itself to well to nicknames. It’s the best I can do.”

  “Try again.”

  “You were married awfully young, weren’t you, Maximillie?”

  He flinched. “Maxikins it is.”

  I smiled. “So, how long have you had custody of Melody?”

  He stopped and glared at me. “This smacks of a discussion about my relationship with my daughter.”

  “Or it could
just be my way of trying to get to know you.”

  “Hmrph.” He didn’t look like he believed me, but resumed our stroll nonetheless. “I’ve always had custody of her. My wife was busy with her career, and I work from home.”

  “Ah.” We walked around the house, avoiding Barbara and a few of her friends playing dress-up in the garden, complete with tea table, attendant servants, and film crew. The afternoon air was filled with jasmine from a nearby bush, the low drone of traffic in the distance, and sounds of hammering from the stable yard, where the farrier had come to shoe the horses. Times such as this made it very easy to forget the outside world and believe that we really were living a hundred and twenty-five years in the past. “That would explain why you’re so overprotective of her.”

  He stopped again, dropping my hand as he turned to face me, a scowl firmly in place. “I’m not overprotective of her! The very fact that she’s here proves that point.”

  “Oh, really? Is that why you told Roger the only way you’d do this stint was if he made sure Melody was filmed only on the right side, so her birthmark wouldn’t be seen?”

  “It may come as a surprise to you, but I love my daughter. Is it so wrong to want to keep her from being ridiculed?”

  “Ridiculed? Over what? Her birthmark? That’s silly.”

  His jaw tightened as he turned and marched on. I grabbed his hand and laced my fingers through his. He didn’t squeeze them in return, as he usually did. “You may find her defacement trivial, but I do not.”

  “Well, you should.”

  He stopped and gave me an outraged look.

  “Oh, don’t be stupid. I don’t mean that it’s unimportant, I just mean that you should be teaching her that it doesn’t matter what she looks like.”

  “This from a woman who has such a very fine self-image?”

  It was my turn to drop his hand. I poked him in the chest instead. “Yes, Max, this from a woman who knows what it’s like to be anything but perfect, and who found happiness despite it. Or have all your compliments and sweet words been meaningless and shallow?”