by Kris Tualla
Your loving Pappa.
“I didn’t expect this,” she whispered.
“How much money are we talking about?” Reid asked, though he appeared uncomfortable doing so.
Kirsten’s brow wrinkled as she reckoned the figures. “At seventy percent, the investments should pay nearly two-hundred dollars a year.”
Reid’s brows flew upward. “This changes our situation, needless to say.”
“Yes, it does,” Kirsten agreed. “What are you thinking?”
His grin lit up the carriage. “You will have your stone house and your servants much sooner than I thought possible.”
“Oh!” She laughed, pleased with his response. “Will you design it?”
Reid winked at her. “I have a surprise of my own.”
“What?” She bit her lower lip and waited, tingling with anticipation.
“We are not going to sail from Philadelphia to New Orleans,” he began. “We are going to sail from Boston.”
Kirsten’s champagne-dulled mind required a moment to connect the reasons. “We are going to visit your parents?”
“We are,” Reid confirmed. “There was no way to postpone our wedding so they could attend, but at the least they can meet my bride!”
Kirsten leaned toward Reid, inviting his kiss. He obliged, taking his time with her mouth. She wondered if her dizziness was only from the wine.
“You taste like cigar,” she breathed when he pulled away.
He gave her an apologetic look. “I’ll rinse my mouth before I kiss you again.”
“I did not say it was unpleasant,” she chided, hoping he would kiss her again.
He did. She sighed her pleasure.
The carriage stopped in front of the hotel. Reid handed her down and escorted her into the lobby. Her footman followed with her small trunk, and trailed behind them up the stairs.
The hotel was one of the nicer ones in Philadelphia, a step above an inn and tavern. Reid opened the door, revealing a tastefully furnished room with upholstered chairs, a writing desk with a wooden chair, and a large fireplace with a carved mantle. The décor was dominated by a large, four-post bed sans canopy.
Kirsten’s heartbeat tripped. Reid said they would not consummate their marriage yet, but clearly she would sleep beside him tonight.
She waited silently while her footman set her trunk against a wall and departed, trying to damp down her nervousness and the sudden twinge of nausea it brought on.
“Are you hungry?” Reid asked softly.
Her discomfort aside, Kirsten felt as if she had done nothing but eat and drink all day. “No.”
“Thirsty?”
She shook her head.
“Tired?” he probed.
“Yes, actually,” she admitted, meeting his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”
“Well then, why don’t I leave you alone to make your preparations?” he suggested, much to her relief. “I’ll send a maid up to give you a hand. I’ll come back up when you’re finished.”
“Thank you, Reid,” she whispered.
He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Never be afraid of me, Kirsten. You are in control of what transpires between us, remember that.”
She tipped her head back so his next kiss would land on her lips.
*****
Reid returned to the room three-quarters of an hour later. The sun was down, though the sky had not yet relinquished all of its light. A cooling breeze walked politely through the open windows of their room, slowly infusing it with a damp freshness. Rain was definitely on its way.
Kirsten sat in the bed, leaning against the headboard. Her pleated-and-laced nightgown was made of fine white cotton, the perfect fabric for warm Philadelphia nights.
The realization that he slept nude, therefore never needing to purchase a nightshirt, slithered through him. Lying naked beside such an exquisite creature stirred him in ways she might not be pleased about.
“I—I don’t have a nightshirt,” he stammered his warning. “I don’t wear anything when I sleep.”
Her lips formed an o but no sound escaped.
“I felt you should know,” he said. “Before I undress.”
Kirsten gave a spastic sort of nod. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go on with my preparations, then.” Reid crossed to the washstand and began to undress.
He did so without making conversation, his mind gone blank about every subject save the need to remain calm. He washed his face, armpits, and chest once his shirt and jacket were off. He washed his feet after removing his boots. All that remained on his body were his trousers.
Reid unfastened his flies and pushed his pants and his smallclothes to the floor. He stepped out of them, acting as nonchalant as he was able, and began to wash his private parts.
“I’ve seen naked men before.” Kirsten’s words floated through the room’s balmy air.
Reid thought she was talking to herself as much as to him. He tossed a small smile over his shoulder and continued his ablutions.
“Your body is beautiful, Reid,” she murmured. “I see how well your labors have shaped it.”
Reid dried himself, his back to her, irritated that her words caused him to swell. “Are you aware of the effect your compliments have on me?”
Kirsten was quiet. He twisted his neck to see her.
“You said you haven’t been with a woman for a long time,” she said. “Is that still true?”
He bounced a nod. “It is.”
“Under that circumstance, I would be worried if you didn’t respond,” she said. “But you promised nothing would happen between us without my consent, so I won’t be disturbed by it.”
“Truly?” he queried.
She flashed a brave smile. “Truly.”
Reid set the damp towel aside and turned to face her. “That relieves me more than you know.”
He crossed to the bed, watching her gaze fall to his manhood. It stiffened further under her attention. Reid slid onto the mattress and sat facing his wife.
“You are truly beautiful. And I love you so much.” His mouth claimed hers, knowing he should taste of the whiskey he drank in an attempt to wash away the cigar.
“Whiskey,” she murmured against his lips. “I like that, too.”
Reid stretched out on the bed and Kirsten followed suit, her gown hitching high on her thighs when she did so. The room grew darker with the night; neither one of them had lit a lamp.
“May I touch you?” Reid asked.
Kirsten nodded her permission.
“Stop me if you need to,” he instructed her.
“I will,” she whispered.
Reid trailed his fingertips over her legs, occasionally massaging her skin. He vowed to himself not to go higher than her gown. He felt the chill bumps his ministrations raised.
“That’s nice,” she sighed.
He leaned over and kissed the skin above the décolletage of her gown, tracing the upper groove between her breasts with the tip of his tongue. She moaned a little. His kisses moved upward, to behind her ear.
“You smell so good,” he mouthed against her skin. “I love cloves.”
“That’s why I still wear them,” she confessed, her voice breathy.
Reid kissed her lips again, his palm resting halfway up her thigh. He was hard as a log and he ached to do more with her. Her skin was soft and smooth, and her kisses deceptively inviting. Yet he knew what he must do. A premature assault was never a good idea, no matter which battle was being waged.
“Do you want to touch me?” he ventured.
She didn’t answer, but her hand moved downward. He felt her fingers trembling against the sensitive skin of his erection. Her light touch was unbearable; he desperately needed more.
“Grab it firmly,” he begged.
Her palm closed around him and she squeezed. “Does that hurt?”
Reid closed his eyes. “God, no.”
He laid his hand over hers and showed her how to stroke him. His breat
h came in sharp gasps.
“I—please—let me—” he grunted the words, unable to complete the request.
To find sexual release with Kirsten as his wife was the stuff of countless dreams, both sleeping and awake. Reid didn’t believe he could bear to have reality end less satisfactorily.
“You want to finish,” she stated, her tone noncommittal.
“If you…”
He let the words trail off. He bit his lips between his teeth and pressed his eyes more tightly closed. Please, Kirsten.
She halted her movements and he knew she was considering his situation, as well as her own. After an eternity of painfully suspended arousal, she whispered in his ear, “Show me how.”
Reid clamped his hand over hers again and stroked with the pressure and rhythm guaranteed to complete him. A victim of long deprivation, he was soon overtaken by the rush of exquisite sensations zinging outward through his core, and the momentary disorientation that accompanied his full release.
When it was over, he let out a long, soft groan. He blinked his eyes open, his eyelids being the only muscles he currently had control over. The rest of his body had floated away somewhere.
“Thank you,” he rasped.
Kirsten climbed off the bed and returned with one of the damp linens. While Reid cleaned away his emission, a puzzled frown twisted her countenance.
“Why don’t women have that?” she asked.
“Semen?” he asked, as confused as she looked.
She made an exasperated face. “No! That, seizure. Or whatever that is.”
“Orgasm,” he said. “The moment of indescribable pleasure which culminates the marriage act. And of course they do.”
Kirsten seemed angry. “Why didn’t I when…”
Reid tossed the towel aside and sat up to face her. “Because you were attacked with vicious intent. Those men set out to make the entire experience as horrible and degrading as they could.”
A lamp seemed to flicker to life in Kirsten’s awareness. “It will be different with you.”
Reid took her hands and pulled her back onto the bed. “It will undoubtedly be different. You are my wife and I love you. I will do everything in my power to bring you the same sort of pleasure.”
“Orgasm.” She said the word as if it were new to her. Perhaps it was.
Kirsten laid down again. Reid rolled her on her side and curled along her back, his knees tucked behind hers.
Her voice was so soft, he almost missed her words.
“I want that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
August 14, 1782
Boston
Kirsten watched out the window as the crowded coach jostled its way into Boston. Though Reid held her hand gripped in the security of his, she was still nervous about meeting his family. She hadn’t asked Reid what he thought, but she was certain they would know she had not yet allowed her husband to consummate their marriage.
She was close, though.
These last nine nights Reid laid beside her while his hands and mouth roamed over her body, puckering her skin with pleasure and making a tiny ball of excitement grow low in her belly. He grew bolder each night, slipping his fingers into secret places which dampened at his touch.
He had been so patient with her, and so very kind. Kirsten knew without a doubt that Reid would never hurt her. Now her fear was being replaced by burgeoning desire, one deep stroke at a time.
She turned to look at him. Reid’s eyes shone with excitement as they flickered over the scenes moving past the carriage. He was such a handsome man when he was somber; lit up with anticipation he was breathtaking.
“Do you think your parents will like me?” she asked for the dozenth time.
Reid chuckled. “As I said, Prinsesse. They’ll be so relieved that I’m even married, that you only need to be vertical and breathing to fulfill their hopes. Once they meet you, they might actually die of happiness.”
She poked his chest. “Don’t say such a thing!”
He grabbed her hand and kissed the offending fingertip. “You have nothing to be concerned about, Kirsten. Relax.”
Kirsten turned her head and watched the city grow in her window’s view, trying to still her apprehension over meeting the Hansens, and her decision to bed Reid fully this very night. The ache in her chest demanded one, and the ache between her thighs demanded the other.
*****
The walk to the Hansen home was about half a mile from the coach station. Reid paid to have the trunks delivered, but he wanted to escort Kirsten through Boston and act as a bit of a guide, naming buildings they passed by and describing the role they played in the path toward America’s revolt.
“I had no idea,” she said. “Now I understand what you told me about going to ‘war’ earlier than seventeen-seventy-six.”
Reid gave a quick nod. “The house is just over here.”
He paused in front of the three-storied brick building. Kirsten looked up toward the roof, squinting in the hazy sun. The house was unassuming at first glance, until she noticed the details around the windows and along the eaves.
“Your father had grand ideas,” she commented.
“And seven children to provide for,” Reid countered. “He was able to work some of his ideas into this building, but time and coin prevented him from doing all that he wanted.”
Kirsten lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps he might put some of that creativity into our home.”
“Perhaps,” Reid agreed. “Are you ready?”
Kirsten gave him the most confident nod she could muster. He took her arm and they climbed the steeps. Before he could lift the latch, the front door flew open. A tall woman with white-blonde hair stood in the opening, her broad smile an obvious echo of her son’s.
“Mamma!” Reid bellowed happily. He stepped inside and swung his mother around in a spinning bear hug.
“Stop!” she squealed, laughing. “Put me down!”
Reid obliged. He reached for Kirsten’s hand and pulled her to his side.
“Mamma, this is my wife, Kirsten Sven Hansen.” Reid beamed at her and the love in his expression washed away most of Kirsten’s worry.
“Kirsten, I would like you to meet Dagny Sivertsen Hansen, the poor woman unfortunate enough to have given birth to me,” he teased.
Dagny punched him in the ribs. Kirsten now knew where Reid acquired his unique sense of humor.
She offered her hand to her new mother-in-law. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hansen.”
Warm hands with pronounced veins and the beginning knobs of arthritis gripped hers. “Please call me Dagny.” She glanced at Reid. “So you’ve been married ten days and you haven’t frightened her off yet?”
Kirsten laughed at Reid’s comical expression.
“I thought I’d let the family have a shot at her first,” he quipped.
“Oh dear.” Dagny’s eyes widened when they shifted to Kirsten. “Reid said you were your parents’ only child. Is that true?”
“Yes, though not for lack of trying was my understanding,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
Dagny looped her arm through Kirsten’s. “Let’s get you two settled in, shall we?”
Reid chuckled. “What my mother is trying not to say is that our family can be a bit… loud.”
Kirsten looked quizzically at the woman who stood a full hand taller than she.
“Well, loud. Yes. There were seven of them, you see, and most are married,” Dagny began.
“With children” Reid interjected.
“And they do look out for each other…” The woman was obviously dancing around some issue. Kirsten formed a quick opinion of what that issue might be.
“Shall I wear armor and attend the dinner table with a dagger in my boot?” she offered, feigning an innocent moue.
Dagny laughed. “You might want to consider it.”
The trio climbed two flights of stairs to the uppermost floor and Kirsten made a discreet evaluation of her surroundings
along the way. Though not in any way as grand as her parents’ manor, the Hansen house was attractive and clean, and furnished with sturdy, tasteful pieces. Some walls were covered in fabric, some in paper, and two had murals painted on.
“Who is the artist” Kirsten asked.
“That would be Liv, our second child.” Dagny tossed a proud look over her shoulder. “She was actually paid to create something similar in one of the houses Martin designed.”
“I didn’t know that,” Reid said.
“You’ve been gone for years, son,” Dagny replied.
“It’s lovely,” Kirsten complimented. “Your whole house is lovely.”
When they reached the third story, Dagny gave the couple a knowing smile. “I’m sorry to put you in a room up so high, but you’ll have the most privacy here.”
Kirsten swallowed a gasp. Dagny’s meaning was clear—a newly wedded husband and wife should be expected to appreciate that privacy.
Reid spoke over Kirsten’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mamma. Our trunks should be here soon, I believe.”
Dagny winked. “They’re already here. That’s how I knew to watch for you.”
She pushed open a door, revealing a large room with a large bed and two small windows. Kirsten’s two big trunks and one small one waited in a corner. Reid’s pack was draped over a wooden chair.
Dagny gestured toward the open windows. “You should get a cross-breeze up here as well. I believe you will be quite comfortable.”
Kirsten smiled at her mother-in-law, wishing they had more than just a few days to become acquainted. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll very comfortable, Dagny.”
“I’m going to check on our supper preparations and leave you two to settle in.” Dagny reached for the door handle. “Come down when you’re ready. I’ll have coffee waiting.”
The door clicked shut.
Reid leaned over and whispered in Kirsten’s ear. “Haven’t had tea in this house since the incident in the harbor.”
Kirsten giggled and turned around to face Reid. She tilted her face upward, inviting a kiss. An invitation he accepted with enthusiasm. The time had come.
