A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Another dance? Or did you want some dessert?” Benedict asked, glancing over at the dessert table where big bowls of melting ice preserved cream trifles and cakes.

  Lizzie shook her head, setting down her empty glass. “Let’s dance.”

  Once more they took to the dance floor, and this time Lizzie did not worry about possible collisions with other couples. Benedict guided them through the throng, and Lizzie closed her eyes as she swayed against him. For a moment, she wondered if the punch might be going to her head.

  “Tell me,” she said suddenly, as the thought occurred to her. “Why would grown men wish to see a nude woman emerging from a chrysalis?”

  Benedict leaned closer. “Say that again?”

  “That was what Miss Wurtzel used to do apparently, to high acclaim. Try as I might, I just cannot understand why such a thing should hold any appeal.”

  Benedict shrugged. “I suspect the entertainment was designed for more jaded palates than my own.” Lizzie cocked him an inquisitive look. “Aristocrats, likely as not,” he expounded. “They’re usually bored and on the lookout for something new.”

  “Oh,” she regarded him thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense.” She nodded. “Apparently, she was the light of love of some duke of the realm at that time.”

  “Light of love?” Benedict’s lips quirked. “Is that the polite term for it?”

  Lizzie frowned. “I think I heard the term somewhere. Perhaps it’s not the correct one.” She hiccupped. “I believe I might have had enough punch,” she confessed, and Benedict laughed. “So,” she leaned forward confidentially. “You would not be interested in seeing Miss Wurtzel appear as a human butterfly at Vauxhall Gardens?”

  He shook his head. “My tastes are not so refined.”

  “It’s funny,” Lizzie rambled on. “For though she is very beautiful, I do not think she is as appealing as the twins, and Niamh’s hair is a far prettier color. Really, I think her appeal must boil down to her magnificent figure, although I’m sure she uses some artifices to supplement nature, as it were.”

  At his quirked brow, she explained. “I suspect she wears some pieces of false hair to pad out her own. For when she dresses, she pins it up and I cannot see how hair which extends down past her bottom could possibly be contained in so neat a topknot.”

  A smile lurked on Benedict’s lips. “It sounds as though you have reasoned out the puzzle.”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Are you laughing at me, Benedict Toomes?”

  “Who me? I wouldn’t dare,” he rumbled, then placed his head closer to hers. “It’s funny to think that the last time I saw you in that dress was our wedding day,” he murmured against her brow.

  The abrupt change of subject made Lizzie’s head spin in an instant. “I did not feel pretty that day,” she admitted with a sigh. When he did not answer immediately, she rushed on. “I feel quite passable tonight, though.” For the first time in her life.

  His hand clasped her waist, drawing her up tightly against him. “You look more than passable. You’re the prettiest here.”

  Lizzie almost gasped aloud to hear such an outrageous claim. She drew back her head to look at him quizzically. “You’re surely teasing me now.”

  “Not a bit.”

  She felt the caressing way his hand shifted across her back, his thumb stroking the indent at her waist. She felt lightheaded and curiously free to say or do anything. “Are we flirting?” she asked, as the thought suddenly occurred to her. “Only I don’t think anyone ever did that with me before, so I’m not certain.”

  A curious expression swept over Benedict’s face. “I’m not sure if it counts as flirting when you’re married.”

  “Oh,” she felt ridiculously disappointed, and even she could hear the wistfulness in her voice.

  “Do you want me to flirt with you, Lizzie?” he asked in a low intimate tone. His breath against her ear made her shiver.

  “Yes,” she admitted breathlessly. “I’d like to try it. Just this once.” He smiled, his eyes half-closed and glinting. It seemed to Lizzie that there was suddenly no one else in the whole tent. She stared up at Benedict, and the noise of the crowd faded into the background. “What are you thinking of at this moment?” she asked on impulse.

  “I’m trying to imagine you in a chrysalis,” he admitted with a lazy grin.

  Lizzie drew in a shocked breath. “Naked?” she asked in failing tones, glancing about them to make sure no one had overheard.

  “Of course. It would be for an audience of one, mind you. I would not tolerate anyone else seeing such a sight.”

  “That is why I do not think Mr. Wurtzel can be Ada Wurtzel’s husband,” Lizzie admitted. “For surely he would not relish seeing her on display for paying spectators.”

  “Not all husbands are jealous,” Benedict answered with a shrug.

  Lizzie cocked her head considering this and was jostled from behind by an unsteady couple ploughing into her. Benedict whisked her to the side, and a few heated words were exchanged. Lizzie noticed the other gentleman hastily owned he was at fault when he got a good look at Benedict.

  “Do you want to carry on dancing?” her husband asked as the other couple retreated. Lizzie shook her head. “Another drink? Or an ice?” he offered.

  “No, thank you.”

  He gave her a quick, considering look. “Have you had enough? Shall we head back to the wagon?”

  Lizzie nodded. “I think so, yes.”

  Five minutes later, they were out in the cold night air. Lizzie had not brought her cloak, so Benedict removed his own jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his arm about her waist as he escorted her through the field.

  “I had a lovely time,” she told him with a sigh. “I think I like dancing after all.”

  “I’ve also had a change of heart,” Benedict admitted after a moment. “I usually sit the dances out to smoke instead.”

  “Oh,” Lizzie was surprised. “But you do it so well!”

  “You think so?” Lizzie nodded. “So do you,” he added lightly.

  She shook her head. “I just followed your lead.”

  “There’s still a knack to that,” he answered. “Some ladies trample your toes and stare at their feet the whole time, making a punishment of it rather than a pleasure.”

  “Oh,” Lizzie answered feeling encouraged. Perhaps she was not so contemptible a partner after all. Then a thought occurred to her. “Are you still flirting?” she asked with misgiving.

  Benedict laughed. “If you can’t tell, I must be either very good or very bad at it. One or the other.”

  “I shan’t tell you which I think it is,” Lizzie retorted. “In case you grow quite puffed up with your own consequence!”

  He squeezed her waist. “Let me carry you over the stile,” he said. “It’s muddy here. You’ll get your skirts dirty.”

  Lizzie found herself swung up with little apparent effort into his arms. “It is grown a little muddy,” she observed as they negotiated the obstacle. “It must have rained while we were dancing.”

  “We’ve only one more day here,” Benedict observed. “So, it little matters.”

  “One more day?” Lizzie was startled. Benedict nodded. ”Then what happens?”

  “We move on to the next fair.”

  “Oh,” she relapsed into silence. Once they were on the other side, he did not relinquish his hold of her, and Lizzie found herself gazing up at the starry night sky as he carried her back to their wagon.

  15

  Benedict hastily dumped the used washing water out of the basin and returned to the wagon. He wasn’t leaving Lizzie time to undress tonight. They’d both visited the field, checked on the dog, and washed in cold water. As he pulled the door shut behind him, Lizzie was bunching up her stiffened petticoat and struggling to stuff it into the chest. In three strides, he was beside her, closing the lid on the cumbersome undergarment.

  “Thanks,” Lizzie puffed and sat on the edge of the mattress t
o draw off her stockings.

  Benedict watched her as he stripped down to his long underwear. He drew off his vest and joined her on the bed, bare chested. When he knelt behind her, reaching for the fastenings at the front of her corset, Lizzie looked back over her shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said simply as he unhooked the row of fastenings.

  “My pleasure. Let down your hair.”

  Lizzie reached up and began drawing out the pins and silk flowers, arranging them in a neat pile atop the trunk.

  He draped her stays over the top of the trunk and ran his hands down her sides which were clad now only in a thin chemise. “She emerges from her chrysalis,” he murmured, and Lizzie gave a gurgle of laughter.

  “I don’t have any wings,” she pointed out. “I emerge just as much as caterpillar as ever.”

  “A very captivating caterpillar,” he muttered, kissing the side of her neck. “You don’t need wings to captivate me, Lizzie.”

  He heard the hitch in her breathing. “Captivate you? You don’t have to say those things, you know,” she said in a constrained voice. “I know I’m not beautiful.”

  He frowned, drawing back his head. “I say it because I want to, no other reason.” He turned her about and pressed her back down onto the mattress, running his hands over the slight swell of her breasts. “Let’s take this off,” he whispered, tugging at her chemise.

  Lizzie extended her arms above her head, and he pulled it up over head. Gazing down at her, he found himself short of breath. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he reminded her huskily. It was true, he did remember a time when he had thought her features sharp and plain and her coloring pale and drab in her severe gowns. Now, though, he found her high cheekbones, pointy chin, and little mouth delicate and pleasing. The fact she blushed so easily enchanted him. “You should see yourself right now.”

  She met his gaze, her own questioning. “Do I display to advantage, half-clothed, then?” she asked doubtfully, glancing down her slender body, now clad only in plain white cotton drawers.

  “God, yes,” he said thickly and placed his hand on her belly. He contemplated a moment the picture his large tanned hand made against her flat stomach. When she shivered, he moved over her, covering her with his much larger body. “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  Strange, he felt like he was on fire. Drawing the bedclothes up about them, he wrapped his body about her. “Better?”

  “I’m returning to my cocoon,” she joked.

  He smiled against her temple. “Can I touch you, Lizzie?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Again, he placed his palm against her soft belly and then drew his hand down, sliding into the bloomers he had not yet removed. Lizzie’s breathing grew ragged as he slid his hand over the thatch of hair covering her mound. “If it wasn’t so cold,” he said huskily. “I’d draw the covers down and take a good look at you.”

  “You looked last time,” she reminded him in stifled accents.

  “It was definitely worth a second look,” he murmured. “Besides, I could barely see, the light was so low.” He sifted his fingers through the intriguing hair, then dipped his middle finger into her cleft. Lizzie gasped and jolted beneath him as he found her little pearl and slicked it with her moisture. He concentrated then on her every breath and whimper as he stroked and worked her with his fingers. His fingers were deep inside Lizzie’s delightfully slippery cunt, and he was the one shaking at the sensation. God, he wanted to put something else of his inside her. Something that was so hard it hurt.

  “Tell me,” he said gruffly, “that you wanted me all along.” He knew it wasn’t true, but he wanted to hear it all the same. “Say it now.”

  She gave a soft sob. “Benedict,” she whimpered, and he felt a rushing in his head. That was almost as good.

  “Say my name again.”

  “Ben – oh!” He heard the catch in her breath and felt the jolt that ran through her. She was coming on his fingers, and he felt light-headed at the sensation of the tight spasmodic clasp of her, even though she’d rushed ahead when he’d meant to keep teasing her a while yet, mindless with need.

  Pushing his fingers deep, he clenched his jaw and concentrated on the distant merry making of the fair in the background. He could hear it even from the distance of four of five fields away. He felt blisteringly aware of everything, even the steady rasp of his own breath.

  “Fuck, I need to be inside you,” he swore. “I meant to take it slower, but I’ll spill in the sheets if you don’t take me now.”

  She started to struggle, and his heart plummeted a moment, thinking she was trying to get away from him. Then he realized she was trying to free herself from her bloomers.

  “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart,” he said shakily, stripping the cotton garment down her legs. When he resettled between her bare thighs, he was breathing hard. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He knew for a fact she’d come, but it had happened so quickly he still felt he was rushing her.

  She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, and he reached down, taking himself in hand, poising his shaft at her entrance.

  Once he’d worked the tip inside her, he braced himself to go slow for he knew she had found this part uncomfortable the last time. “Wrap your legs around my back, Lizzie. I need you to open up to me.”

  He felt a fierce surge of joy when she did so, and he started to push his way inside her, concentrating on the pressure of her fingers clutched on his hips. “Tell me if I go too fast or if anything hurts.” She nodded, and by the time he was fully sheathed, the sweat was beaded at his brow.

  “Oh, Lizzie,” he groaned. “You feel so good. It’s a lucky thing we skipped dessert, for I’m about to slake my lust on you like a regular glutton at a banquet.”

  “A glutton?” she echoed sounding mystified.

  “Aye, a glutton,” he agreed, reaching up and plucking at her little pink nipples. “Feasting on these little raspberry tarts, though by rights, I ought to have eaten that dripping honey cake between your legs.”

  Lizzie’s mouth fell open. “Benedict!” she spluttered.

  “Hmmm?” When she could not answer, he lowered his head to her breasts. “Offer them up to me, Lizzie.” The sight of her slender fingers cupping her breasts for him almost had him spilling inside her. He groaned. “Fuck!” He’d done it again and pushed himself too far. His cock jerked inside her as he sucked her perfect breast right into his greedy mouth.

  “Oh!” Lizzie moaned.

  His nostrils flared. He’d make her come again now. That would redeem his pride. He closed his teeth gently around her nipple and teased it with his tongue. Lizzie’s thighs tightened fitfully about his hips, and he lavished his attention on the other breast.

  “Nnnnnnh!” she gasped and threw back her head. He felt the nice deep squeeze of her cunt and knew himself to be lost and that was before he felt the press of her heels into the small of his back. Christ. She was doing it, he thought, lightheaded with elation. She was coming on his cock. His nostrils flared as he slammed his hips into her, and Lizzie cried out, her fingers biting into his sides, her hair tossed against his pillow.

  “Benedict!”

  His eyes were riveted to her face. Suddenly, he needed to kiss her, even though both of them had tipped past the crisis point already. Threading his fingers through her silky hair, he angled her face and took her lips beneath his own. It felt strangely intimate to kiss at this point. Kissing usually came earlier than this, he thought dimly, much earlier. But for some reason, he wanted it now as they crossed the finish line together.

  Lizzie’s arms slid around his back, clasping him to her in an embrace that undid him completely. Reluctant to relinquish her lips, he gave her one last lingering kiss before collapsing on top of her, breathing hard.

  *

  Benedict woke early, wrenched from his sleep by the unpleasant conviction he had missed a step in the flight he was descending. His spine jerked and he woke blinking in the gray
morning light. He reckoned it was about five thirty in the morning. Lizzie was tucked into his side sound asleep, her one arm wound about his waist as was her habit.

  Likely he had woken so early because it was the last day of the fair, he told himself uneasily. It would be a long day, and this time tomorrow they would be packing up their things to get back on the road. He had not even discussed with Frank which of the smaller fairs they would travel to next. His thoughts bounced around, searching out the reason for his unease.

  He was not hungover. He had only had a few glasses of the punch and certainly not enough to turn his head. He felt fine, he told himself, so why did he feel this deep disquiet? Reluctantly, Benedict forced himself to go over anything he might have said or done the previous evening.

  There it was. He flushed in the dark remembering the things he had tried to make Lizzie say to him. Tell me you wanted me all along. He squirmed with embarrassment as he recalled his own words. Why the hell had he wanted her to say that? He’d never needed assurances from anyone before.

  Besides, it was ridiculous to demand anything of the sort and moreover was tantamount to making the poor girl admit she’d coveted her own cousin’s fiancé, something he knew damned well she had not. He dwelt deliberately a moment on Lizzie’s previously pinched and disapproving expression whenever she had deigned to look his way.

  Instead of feeling the resentment he had previously, though, his reaction was highly colored by how he felt about her now. Inconveniently, he felt himself growing hard, and he turned his head toward her, despite the fact it was not light enough yet for him to make out her features clearly.

  As though aware of his scrutiny, Lizzie stirred in her sleep, turning more firmly into him, burrowing her face into his chest and throwing her leg over his. Benedict sucked in his breath before blowing it back out again. She’d be the death of him, he thought wryly, and steeled himself to lie beside her perfectly still for another half hour before rising.