When we entered the dining room, Matthew was smoking a cigar and staring out the open window. He looked dashing by the candlelight.
‘Matthew,’ Jacob spoke. ‘Jane has agreed to, er…’ He fumbled over his words.
In the candlelight, I saw Matthew’s face alternately pale then heat.
‘She has?’ He looked at me, surprised. ‘Are you certain, Jane? Is this what you want?’
‘We need an heir for Fielding, and you must be the one to provide it. I am certain.’
He was silent, I had perhaps expected a cheer, but then, that would have been vulgar. Instead, Matthew inclined his head.
‘I shall continue to sleep in my sick rooms,’ Jacob said stiffly. ‘So you need not fear an intrusion.’
‘Good God,’ Matthew whispered under his breath.
I found my face flaming with similar embarrassment.
Jacob continued. ‘Still, I would have you know that although I do not find this easy, this is what I wished for, and I will not have you made uncomfortable.’
‘The whole jolly experience shall be uncomfortable,’ Matthew retorted, but his words did not ring quite true and as he spoke it seemed his eyes did not sway from Jacob. I waited to see what would happen next; was this some unsubtle male challenge? Did he expect Jacob to go back on the plan? I do not know. For a few moments, both he and Jacob had a long, unspoken conversation. Neither gaze demurred from the other.
‘Enough,’ I whispered, my voice unfairly hoarse. ‘Then let us not speak of it any more.’
Jacob looked at me then inclined his head wordlessly. Hurt dwelt in the depth of the blue, but he walked over and squeezed my hand before sinking down onto his chair.
Dinner was a bumbling affair, there was some talk of the Stantons’ party and the Bexleys’ sudden departure, but all conversation was stilted.
My husband did his best however. ‘A lovely couple, I thought, though I was surprised by the speed of their departure,’ Jacob replied. ‘Bexley needs a young woman to enliven him, mayhap he…’ He faded off, realising that discussion on that topic was deeply inappropriate at this time.
‘I found myself under observation repeatedly by Mrs Swinton,’ Matthew commented, and sipped from his wine glass. ‘Why, I daresay she was almost bold in her favours.’
‘She is quite exceptional,’ I agreed, ‘she staggers me with her wit and occasional vulgarity, though I adore it as much as I loathe being the recipient of it.’
Everyone laughed then, though the tension penetrated the humour.
And so the meal continued, as did a game of cards in the sitting room after.
By the time I had finished my cup of tea, I was veritably weak with nerves. My sex felt swollen between my legs as if it wished to remind me of what I was about to do. It pulsed, ready and, dare I say, willing me into action.
I coughed to gain the gentlemen’s attention, though I hardly needed to do so.
‘I…’ I coughed, again this time with nervousness. ‘I shall retire for the evening, gentlemen.’ I glanced over at Bolton, in the hope he was not being attentive to our conversation. ‘I shall have Esther assist me and then…’ I choked and my hands fluttered to my mouth. ‘I…’ I could not finish, my cheeks were aflame. ‘Good evening, husband.’ I swept over to him and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I love you,’ I whispered in his ear as I moved away.
‘Matthew.’ I inclined my head and offered him a slight curtsey before fleeing the room.
***
By the time I reached my rooms, I was verily glowing with perspiration. I rang for Esther immediately. I ardently hoped that Bolton hadn’t found my manner strange. The last thing I wished for was scandal amongst the servants.
As if to perpetuate the thought, Esther’s voice broke my musing. ‘Milady, whatever is the matter?’
She was peering at me curiously and I felt the glow renew.
‘I am quite fine, thank you, just most tired.’
She seemed to accept that, and helped me out of my gown and assisted me in a light sponge bath to cool my skin.
As the sponge slid over my skin, I felt my breasts tighten and my loins clench.
Matthew was coming. What would he think of me? How would intercourse with another man feel?
As Esther slipped my cotton nightdress over my head and drew the string around my neck, I found my heartbeat increase.
Should I have disrobed for Matthew? What did he expect?
‘Would you like me to extinguish the candles?’ Esther asked as I crawled into the bed.
‘No, I shall. Goodnight, Esther.’
‘Goodnight, Milady,’ she replied with a slight frown. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’
‘I am well, thank you, do not concern yourself,’ I replied, and with a cautious nod she slipped out the door.
I was alone, but suddenly could not stand to be abed. As I lay, my body verily pulsed with nervousness. So, for a time I paced my room.
What if Matthew did not come? What if he was the one who found it too terrible to complete? Would he?
Lord, what a terrible fix this was.
I was utterly plagued with doubts. So much so that I went to my sideboard and poured myself a glass of wine from the decanter there, to try and still my nerves. Hours seemed to pass, or perhaps it was minutes, but I returned to the bed. I lay there, staring at the candles as they flickered in unseen and unfelt drafts. It seemed an age of anxious waiting until the door to my rooms creaked, and a shadowy figure entered.
‘Matthew?’ I whispered, for at this distance I could not tell the difference between him and my own husband.
‘Yes,’ came his deep response.
‘Oh.’ I sat up in the bed, peering through the darkness beyond the candlelight. He was still dressed for dinner, though his jacket had been removed.
My heart beat traitorously loud; I was certain he must hear it. He stepped closer, and within a moment his face was illuminated by the candle. My breath caught in my throat — he was so similar to Jacob but so different as well. His jaw was sharply angled and his eyes shadowed by his brow.
We were completely silent. What could I say?
It seemed that we stayed hesitating for an age before he moved even closer to the bed, like a horse shy of its master.
‘Shall I assist in the removal of your boots?’ I asked.
Matthew looked startled, and licked his lower lip. ‘Ah, no, I am quite capable, my thanks.’ He sank down onto the side of the bed, and I watched curiously as his large hands unlaced his boots and his stockinged feet touched the hard floors.
‘Are you…’ I began weakly, ‘able to do this? For I shall not blame you if you are not.’
‘You shall not, but your husband will. I am quite capable of…this.’
I reached over and drew back the covers of the bed, exposing my ankles and feet. I feared that he may not find me desirable. After all, he’d never made any gesture to suggest otherwise. My nightdress was verily near sheer and I knew that, though still clothed, my form would be visible to him.
The lump in Matthew’s throat bobbed up and then down.
I hoped this was an indication of his rising passion, but remained uncertain.
‘Shall we proceed?’ I asked weakly. My sex, the wicked thing, was seeping with dew. I hoped Matthew did not think me wanton when he discovered how ready my body was for his unwed intrusion.
He inhaled and nodded, clearly not trusting himself to speak. His hands went to the buttons of his breeches, and nimbly unbuttoned them. I heard my own sharp intake of breath when his phallus sprung forth. It was erect, large and well formed, similar to my husband’s. Alas, where my husband’s manhood sometimes required coaxing to acquire its turgid form since his accident, Matthew’s clearly need no such urging, and for this I was profoundly grateful. My heart pounded, and I found Matthew watching me. His breath heaved in his chest, his large hands clenched. From his waistcoat pocket he pulled a phial of gold-green liquid.
‘Jacob gave me oil, to ea
se my entry.’ His voice was a mere whisper.
‘That is kind,’ I managed to respond, though my face bloomed red.
It was clear that Matthew took this as invitation. He pulled the cork from the phial and poured an amount onto his hand. Without further preamble he began to coat his phallus with strong, manly strokes.
I found myself watching this scene with dry-mouthed interest. His hand, large and strong, pumped up and down his staff to ensure it was well coated. As he did, I heard him hiss between his teeth, and his lids fell to half-mast. My breasts tightened, and my sex throbbed with need. Of course, I had seen Jacob do the same thing, and had in fact done it to Jacob, but watching this man who was not my husband caress and coat his manhood with oil made me weak with need. I wanted to feel Matthew inside me, yet I did not want him to know exactly how much I wished it.
After a moment, Matthew paused, and brushed a strand of blond curling hair from his face. ‘Are you prepared?’ Again he spoke so softly.
I nodded.
Like a cat stalking through long grass, Matthew moved over the bed, positioning himself over me. His hands, glistening with oil, reached out and grabbed the hem of my nightdress and firmly drew it up to my waist. His eyes hungrily followed its progress. To get the dress above my waist I lifted my buttocks from the bed, and when I did, I found Matthew stilling above me. His eyes locked on the juncture of my legs. My skin burned with his gaze as it crawled up my thighs and rested upon my sex. I knew my secret inner lips were swollen with desire; they pulsed with wicked arousal, no doubt peaking beyond the golden hair that usually obscured them. I heard myself gulp, and without a word, parted my legs further to reveal the opening of my most private part. I knew without looking my nether hair was soaked and curling from the forbidden excitement.
Matthew cursed softly under his breath, and looked away.
For a mortifying moment, I felt I had repulsed him. Then, I saw a bead of seed pearl on the end of his staff. Thank heavens, he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
Like a panther, and without invitation, he moved atop me, his knee inserted betwixt my legs to part them further for his ease of access.
My breath turned ragged as I felt the head of his staff nudge the apex of my thighs. He rested up on his forearms, looking down at me; his eyes held the remnants of a question I did not need to answer.
With a swift, brutal shove he was inside me, forcing my sex wide. He gave a low animalistic grunt of pleasure, and then retreated back before he lunged forth once more.
I shall not deny it. It was exquisite.
I have ever loved my carnal relations with my husband, and I knew at this moment it would not be difficult to love Matthew’s also.
He moved slickly in and out of me, occasionally swearing under his breath in his pleasure. He alternated his pace, at times impaling me with leisurely, languid strokes and at others a rapid ferocity that left me breathless.
As his staff continued to pierce my quim with unrelenting fervour, I found myself panting, my body coiling, my sex tightening.
‘Oh…’ I moaned, and ground my body up into Matthew’s so I might feel the delectable friction between us. Matthew growled in a fashion more bestial than human and made to move away, yet did not break our union. It was then I realised that no part of his body other than his phallus was actually touching mine.
He was trying to be proper.
He was trying to lessen the invasion.
How ridiculous.
I cried out then in frustration as my body received his thrusts, heat spreading through my womb, but I needed something more. I needed closeness, I needed friction, or clever hands on my sweetest of places.
I reached up with my arms to try and draw him down onto my breasts, but he refused to comply and stayed stubbornly aloft on his forearms. I looked up at him — perspiration glowed on his forehead and his eyes were intent on mine.
‘Matthew,’ I groaned, and the coiling pleasure in my sex intensified.
He muttered something I could not comprehend beneath his breath and rammed between my thighs all the harder.
Again I lifted my buttocks from the bed, so that I could receive his thrusts with greater connection betwixt our bodies.
‘Stop,’ he growled, his eyes angry. ‘Stop!’
Alas, I could not, I would not. I ground my sex against him, relishing the ungentle nature of his coarse nether hair against my most sensitive place.
He swore something vulgar, and impaled me with greater passion still. As his staff plundered the depths of my sex, and the friction smouldered between us, I found myself losing my sensibilities. I cried out, my body tightening, I could think of nothing but that wonderful, sweet, desperate pleasure between my legs. Dimly I could hear the headboard of my bed hit against the wall, and Matthew’s animalistic growls of passion.
When I thought my body could take no more, with one last brutal thrust, pleasure exploded within me. I cried out, grinding my sex into his and frantically clawing at Matthew’s arms as he balanced above me. As the last paroxysms of pleasure trembled through my body, he convulsed above me and I could verily feel the seed spill forth from him, hot and potent into my womb.
I watched fascinated as he shuddered for a long moment, his face contorting in his pleasure. He bit his lip, and opened his eyes.
I cannot verbalise the look I saw there, and so I shall not try.
Without delay or a single word, Matthew pulled himself from me. The movement was so abrupt I gasped in surprise. I suddenly felt empty and bereft without his pulsing heat. In silence still, Matthew immediately buttoned his breeches. The sound of fabric against button was loud in the sudden quiet of the room. When this was done, he looked at me again, his expression now torn. I believe he wished to say something, much as I wished to say something to him. Yet, what words could we possibly speak at such a time?
We looked at one another, then with a surprising tenderness, Matthew’s hands reached to my covers and carefully drew them over to restore my dignity. I felt the soft blankets press down as gentle as a caress over me.
‘Goodnight,’ he whispered. I had not time to reply when, without further word, he turned and slipped from my room.
I stayed thusly for some time, feeling peculiar. Had it been my husband, I would not have been left so alone. No, Jacob would have collapsed onto my breast, and we would have lain there, laughing and talking until sleep overcame us.
Matthew was not Jacob.
***
Sleep did not come that night; I stayed abed for quite some time, but eventually I rose. As I stood, I could feel Matthew’s spilt seed slick against my thighs. The sensation did not disgust me as I thought another man’s seed would. I hoped it bode well, and that I would soon be with child. Nonetheless, I cleansed myself at the basin and for a time read some poetry. Yet my mind was fractious and eventually I settled to write this recount, as there was no one else in whom I could confide.
I had hoped Jacob would come to me, perhaps to console me, or perhaps find solace with one another. He did not — he was true to his word. Still, I wished to sleep beside him, but I did not. Perhaps he would be disgusted by the scent of another man upon my skin? I did not know. So I remained alone that night, as did Jacob, but I cannot help but think, mayhap I should have gone to him.
Chapter 9
Sunday 25th July 1813
Today began awkwardly as I suspected it would, for it could be nothing less.
I came to breakfast late, having eventually found rest in the small hours of the morning, but it resulted in having slept later than was my usual habit.
In the dining room, Matthew and Jacob were sitting, enjoying their morning tea, though the expression upon their faces suggested there was little enjoyment to be had.
It was clear to me that Jacob was finding the situation less than tolerable. His face was grim, and his lips pursed tight.
Matthew, for what it was worth, looked only marginally less uncomfortable.
My sudden presence coul
d not help but exacerbate both their discomfitures.
They both rose unsteadily to greet me.
‘Good morning,’ Jacob said, and bowed slightly, his gaze avoiding my own.
Matthew bowed also, though I could scarce hear the words he spoke.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ I replied, feeling heat gather at my neck.
The day promised to be a warm one and I fanned myself with my hand weakly, though it did little good.
I sank down into my usual chair, beside Jacob.
There was silence as the tea was poured. I didn’t dare look at my husband, nor Matthew, for I verily wanted to cringe with shame remembering my wanton reaction to him last evening.
‘Do you have plans today, Matthew?’ It was Jacob who spoke.
I turned to face my husband’s cousin. ‘Why no,’ he replied, ‘unless there is something you require of me?’
An unfortunate choice of words.
I heard my breath catch in my throat, and my face began to glow.
Jacob coughed. ‘I had thought that you may wish to visit the township, we have an excellent milliner there. Perhaps you may wish to have a hat made?’ My husband’s voice held a note of cruelty that I’d not ever heard previously.
A look of utter perplexion crossed Matthew’s face.
‘A new hat? Why? Is something amiss with mine?’
Jacob smiled but it was a grotesque mimicry. His handsome face merely contorted into an expression of false conviviality.
Both Jacob and I knew that Matthew’s allowance left little room for frivolous spending on things such as the de rigueur hats of the moment, and it was cruel of him to even hint at the late fashion of Matthew’s attire.
I threw him a reprimanding glance of which he took no heed.
‘Now that our agreement is in place,’ he continued, ‘your circumstances shall improve. Thus, dear cousin, you need not dress so…rustically,’ he said, blue eyes flashing past mine.
Heat grew on Matthew’s face, reddening his cheeks but furrowing his brow.
I did not give Matthew a chance to respond. ‘Jacob,’ I said, my tone intentionally sharp. ‘Stop this.’
The Private Affairs Of Lady Jane Fielding Page 7
