He took one look at it and I watched as his face paled. “I lost this when I played here last year. This is a picture of Cassandra.”
I gasped. “No!”
I took it back from him and stared at it. I remembered then that at the time I had thought the lady in the photo looked a little bit like me. She did resemble a younger and more somber version of me, but only because she had the same hair and similar coloring. As a stared into her eyes I felt a kindred spirit reach out and touch me, and suddenly I was no longer antsy, but relaxed and serene. “She was beautiful, Philip.”
He took the locket from me and kissed it, “Yes, she was. She had a white streak in her hair just like you. I didn’t even know about her white streak until after I saw her in the casket, after they’d washed her hair and the dye she used had been rinsed out. It surprised me. I was married to the woman but knew so little about her. But now, for the first time since her passing, I feel completely at peace, as if she’s finally forgiven me. You of all people . . . finding this. It’s more than interesting that the second woman to capture my heart found this, and how uncanny it is that I never noticed how much alike you two look. This is just too much of a coincidence for her not to have had her hand in all this somehow. And
Jacqueline DeGroot you finding it on the day when you and your friends were plotting my next nuptials. If I hadn’t believed in destiny or divine intervention before, I sure do now.” He rubbed the picture lovingly with his thumb, then pulled out his wallet and tucked it into a tiny slot.
“What are you going to do with it?” Not that it mattered to me whether he kept it or not, I was just curious.
“I think I’ll send it to her brother.”
I touched his hand, “Maybe you should just keep it.”
“No. She’s part of my past. You’re my future. I’ll remember her in my heart, that’s where she’s been for almost thirty years.”
“I love you Philip.”
“I love you too, baby. But if you think I’m letting you play from the ladies tees and giving you twenty-five strokes, you’re crazy.”
“How did you know that was my handicap?”
He flashed my last scorecard at me, one I’d had tucked into my shoe. “Seems you had a birdie, and damned near played par all day.”
“It was a best ball tournament, for Paws-a-bility. I played with Sandy, and Angie, and Dr. Pam, and we only kept one card. I was Witchy Woman and we were on fire that day!”
“Mmmm hmmm . . . a likely story . . . I smell a sandbagger.”
“You smell a woman getting aroused is what you smell. I’ve got that pheromone thing going on, admit it, you want me.”
“I always want you. We do have that indefinable chemistry thing going on between us, I certainly cannot deny that,” he said as he walked me back toward the bedroom. “Ladies choice . . . leather or scarves?”
“Mmmm . . . scarves.”
“Champagne or honey?”
“Champagne or honey?”
“Which one do you want me to lick off your body?” “Oooh. Honey.”
“One or two?”
“One or two what?”
“Orgasms.”
“Well who would want one when they can have two?” “My sentiments exactly. So I can expect two, then?” “I’ve just been snookered, haven’t I?”
“Mmmm hmmm . . .” he said as he began unbuttoning my blouse. And before I knew it, I was tied to the bed, and he was drizzling honey over my breasts and belly, and lower, much lower.
“I’ll give you two mulligans for a screaming ‘O’.” I whispered, giving him a huge, seductive smile.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, lady. But don’t take all day about it, tee time’s in an hour.”
“Well, get busy then.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Chapter Forty-three
The Regency happily ever after After our round of golf with Cat and Matt, where no one threw a club and everyone laughed hilariously at all the sexual innuendos being passed back and forth, both Philip and I crashed and took a nap on the double chaise lounger on the screened-in porch, wrapped loosely in each other’s arms.
I woke before he did and listened to the mourning doves cooing back and forth for a while before easing myself away and padding to the kitchen for some water.
Philip was exhausted both physically and mentally. He had been the one who had seen to the legal details of the wedding, as well as arranging everything for Michael and me, plus he hadn’t slept at all the night before the wedding when I’d been crying non-stop.
He had investigated the Alliance for Paired Donation, which allows for non-simultaneous extended altruistic donor chains, or NEAD chains. In case my kidney didn’t suit, it was another option for us. But after testing, it had turned out that I was just about the best match possible for Michael.
Then Philip arranged for a doctor from South India to do my surgery, and was actually flying him in, in fact he would be landing in Charlotte right about now. We would be heading there as soon as Philip woke up. I was going to have the latest procedure, a single incision lapraroscopic donor nephrectomy. I would have practically no scar as the kidney would be extracted through my navel, I couldn’t even picture how they could possibly do that. I would recover in two weeks with a minimal chance for infection and after effects. Philip had explained that the kidney they would be taking from me would not be my best one, that the donor always kept that one. He had really been studying this, making sure nothing was overlooked. I felt sorry for the doctor when he finally met Philip tomorrow morning. It was going to be a highly technical version of twenty questions. Although I knew they had already been through everything over the phone.
Michael would have his own surgical team from Carolinas Medical Center. Philip had been wonderful there, too, setting up his family in a rental house close to the hospital so they would be close by.
He had even talked me back into the surgery when I was so scared I almost chickened out. He knew I’d never be able to live with myself if Michael died due to my selfishness. But I knew that the last thing he had wanted to do that night was argue for the surgery. Yet he had.
I went to the bathroom and then as I was walking by the computer in the family room, I remembered the last chapter of “Peter’s” book. It had come in the night before the wedding and I had been so busy since that I hadn’t had a chance to read it. Looking through the glass to the sun porch I saw Philip on his side, sleeping soundly, so I walked over, sat down and opened my email program.
PeterPeterPeater: Well, this is it, the wrap-up chapter for Felicity and Carderick. I hope you like it, thanks for the latest picture. I keep it on my phone so I can refer to it often. Enjoy!
I cringed, that had been the most graphic picture. I’d practically had to close my eyes while photographing it from a print out I’d gotten off the Internet. I thought the male sex organ far superior in looks to the female sex organ. But then, I’m a woman, so I suppose I would.
We drove through two miles of landscaped gardens with trimmed hedges and expansive lawns before pulling up in front of a massive country manor house. The main section, older than the rest, was of beige and gray fieldstone, and quite impressive with its huge front columns and triple-tiered stone staircase that led to the center courtyard, which was a garden in itself— complete with a fountain! On each side was a modern addition, and while utilizing the same mixture of stone, the workmanship featured more modern techniques and architecture, so it had noticeably cleaner lines. It was lovely. And immense. And I couldn’t believe it was now my home.
My husband, the Marquess of East Riding of Yorkshire, helped me out of the carriage. He was stunning today in gray breeches, tall Hessians, and an elegant navy coat over a brilliant white shirt and cravat with a crisp knot accentuated by a diamond pin at his throat. He was smooth shaven and I had been tempted to kiss his jaw, his cheek, and his lips all day.
I let him hand me down and introduce me to the long line of servants standing
at the foot of the stone steps ready to greet us. I counted forty-two of them. I was introduced to them en masse as the new Marchioness of East Riding of Yorkshire, and fortunately, only the first eight were individually introduced to me—my maids, the housekeeper, the butler, the cook, my husband’s estate manager, and the head groomsman. Then my new husband led me up the stone steps and instructed my maid to see to my bath and comfort. The cook was instructed to send plenty of food and wine up to the master’s chamber, and then my husband whisked his valet away with him, presumably so he too, could prepare himself for our wedding night.
The energy in the house was charged with joyous activity. It seemed everyone was thrilled that the marquess had brought home a wife. According to the maids, who fussed over me excitedly, and when encouraged, shared all the gossip—it was believed that he would never find the one woman who would please him enough to make him settle down. I was flattered endlessly. Then I was buffed, powdered, spritzed with rose water, and coiffed before a light silk dressing gown was lifted over my head to fall in soft folds over my body. It was so fine it was like a second skin, all light and shadows, my nipples more defined than if I had I been naked.
As if a silent signal had been given, they all stood and departed, and within moments, my husband came through the connecting doors that led to his private chambers.
I turned to look at him as he approached. He had on dark fawn colored trousers with a loose white shirt tucked into them, and he was barefoot. He was lordly only because of the quality and fit, as he was underdressed by society’s standards. I thought he looked magnificent. When he stood only a foot away from me, his eyes met mine and I felt his power, his strength, and his passion.
“Welcome home, my lovely wife. And now, let me welcome you to my bed.” He lifted me into his arms and carried me through the connecting corridor to his chamber, so much larger than mine, and masculine in places where mine was feminine. I saw that a table had been spread with food and drink, and that we were alone, behind closed doors. Then I saw the bed, the marquess’ bed, and my eyes went wide. It was huge and covered with sumptuous fabrics in burgundy and gold. I had never seen so many pillows, nor so many tassels—from the swags on the high posts, to the full canopy top trimmed all around—it was majestic. It was clear, no ordinary man slept here.
He placed me in the center of the bed and offered me some wine. He fed me fruit and a delicious iced custard. He lifted the hem of my gown to my knees and said. “I wish you to be naked now.” And so I was.
I sat on my legs in his bed while he fed me strawberries and stared at my breasts. After a moment, his hands repositioned my legs so that instead of being together and curved under me, they were in front of me with my soles of my feet pressed together. I was open to his gaze and he spent many moments staring at what I was displaying.
“Did I ever tell you about the moment that I decided I greatly preferred being a man to a woman?”
“No. I don’t believe that you have.” He smiled at me. “You would certainly remember if I had. I was seventeen at the time, and I was in Paris, in a little bookstore on the Rue Jolie. In the back, in a tiny corner, was a small picture on a desk. I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was on white vellum and the image was drawn in India ink. It was of a woman, reclining on a table, her skirts gathered at her waist. Two men stood on either side, both bent over her, gazing between her splayed knees. I remember that she neither smiled not grimaced; her expression was more matter of fact than anything else, as if this was something to be expected. Their expressions however, were drawn so severely as to be comical. They were leering, and most definitely very pleased with what they were seeing. It was a magical moment for me. I wanted to be one of those men. Then the proprietor came, saw what I had in my hand, snatched it away and shooed me from his store. I wish I had not been ashamed, for had I not been, I would have strode back in and offered him enough money for him to retire in luxury for ownership of that etching.
“Did you ever see the picture again?” “I didn’t need to.” He touched his forehead with his finger. “It is in here forever. And I do not mind telling you, that I have reenacted that scene with a score of women over the years. Many of my companions, including my brother, have stood alongside me, gazing at paradise with those same leering, glazed-over eyes.” He moved his eyes from where he’d been staring, at the very center of my body, and looked up at me. “As I imagine mine look to you right now.”
And they did. I felt a wave of moisture releasing into the soft folds he was admiring.
“Hold on to this,” he whispered. “And do not let it drop. Although you are so wet, that may indeed prove to be difficult.” He shoved a whole strawberry into me. I sat stunned, looking down to where only the tip of it showed. Abruptly he stood and pulled four long cords down from the canopy posts, one from each corner. Then, as if leading a lamb to slaughter, he took each of my hands and put them in a braided circlet and tightened it. He did the same with my feet, pulling the tasseled cords secure at my ankles. I was now tied to the best posts, both my arms and feet spread wide.
“Now,” he said as he reached for something on the side table. “It is time to make you mine, but first, I would like to introduce you to my brother who will honor me by eating that berry from you.” He picked up a small bell and rang it. My eyes went wide with shock.
Immediately a door opened in the wall and a man who looked exactly like my new husband appeared. Dressed in identical clothing, I could not tell them apart. I remember I gasped and then just stared. The newcomer, of course, stared right back.
“Reynard, this is our wife, our marchioness.”
Did he say our? I stared at Reynard’s eyes, aflame with passion, eyes that now mirrored those of my husband’s. I watched as Reynard examined me thoroughly. And heaven help me, I did not mind. I was enjoying his caressing eyes as I had come to enjoy Carderick’s.
“Felicity, allow me to introduce my twin, Reynard. He has been most anxious to meet you. Come Reynard, let’s enjoy our wife as the men in the French postcard enjoyed their petite fille.”
I’m sure I visibly quailed. Then I heard myself whimper.
“Relax my love, put your head on this mound of pillows and let us bring you pleasure. Untold pleasure.”
My husband piled pillows under my neck and shoulders so that I could not help but watch them, one on either side of me, as they bent and examined me between my widely splayed legs.
“D-d-do you mean to share me?” I asked of my husband. I had heard of such things, but had never thought to be involved in anything so scandalous.
“Only to the degree that you allow it—nay, beg for it,” he said, and he leaned down to kiss me full on the lips, deeply thrusting his tongue into me while his hand plucked at a nipple. I moaned and then sobbed as I felt Reynard’s mouth touch me and then he began eating the berry from me. While one man kissed me senseless and made my nipples throb with pleasure, the other used his thumb to circle and flick at the top of my slit while tonguing me and licking the juice of the fruit from me. I gasped from the pleasure, lifted my hips to meet his questing hand and mouth, then, as if on cue, both men concentrated their efforts, Reynard sucking where his thumb had been, and Carderick pulling on my nipple with his lips. I shuddered and came against Reynard’s lips, screaming my pleasure into the canopy. Then they switched positions and started all over again.
The culmination was so intense the second time that I cried out one name then the other until I felt my throat parch from the effort. My tense body finally relaxed. I slumped to the bed from the high arch my back had bowed into. Both men began rubbing my calves and feet to soothe them as they had instantly cramped from the strain.
“Her piriformis muscle needs soothing,” Carderick said, and before I could ask where that was, I felt his hands massaging my lower hip where it connected to my buttocks. It felt wonderful as he made the muscle uncoil from the strain I had put it through. How lovely to have my body in the hands of such a capable doctor, I
thought. Then I looked up at Reynard who was caressing my neck and running his hands lovingly through my hair. And how lovely to have his identical brother assisting him.
I was soothed and caressed by two pairs of hands that never stilled. It was sublime. I looked up into the smiling face of my husband. I knew it was he as I had torn his shirt in my first passion. I smiled back at him, wonderingly.
“So, this meets with your approval my lady, my sharing you?”
“Am I to be only shared with him?”
“Yes. Only him.”
“Is he not married?”
“He is now. As am I.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We have always shared everything. The reason there were so many names recited during our vows was because half of them were his.”
I took a few moments to absorb this. Could this be done, was the peerage that powerful?
“Who is to have my maidenhead? Who’s children will I bear?”
“I will have your primary maidenhead. Reynard will breech the other, in due time, as you will have to be stretched for him. And you will bear both our children. They would be exactly the same in any case.”
“And this is what you both want, a marriage to one woman?”
“More than anything in the world,” they said in unison.
“Then I’ll not object,” I said with a tiny smile. “I would be a fool to deny myself such pleasure.”
I watched as both men stood at the foot of the bed and removed all their clothing. They both had broad shoulders, lightly furred chests that tapered to trim waists and flat bellies. And long, hard rods that were pointing directly at me, naked on the marquis’ bed. Everything was identical.
Carderick covered me with his body while Reynard released me from the cords. Then Reynard sat on the side of the bed and watched as his brother made love to my breasts. As Carderick moved lower, Reynard took his place and kissed my mouth, sending fresh tingles throughout my body, and I knew that in this I would always be able to tell them apart. Carderick was light of tongue and fleet with his on mine, whereas Reynard wanted to feel more heavily of my lips and tongue and teeth, and took his time on every stroke.
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 32
