by Anna Gracie
good wife to Magnus, wanted so much for him to be proud of her, to
respect her--even, perhaps, to learn to love her, just a little. He
wanted a child, that much she knew. perhaps he would come to care for
her if she gave him one.
She lay in the dark, enjoying the feel of her husband's arm draped
heavily across her, his chest and torso pressed against her back, one
long, hairy leg thrust between hers. Sleepily she wondered whether she
was increasing, and, if so, how she would know.
The princess gazed out through her prison bars, straining for a sight,
a sound to indicate that someone was coming to rescue her. But all she
could see or hear were the happy celebrations of the townspeople far
below her. There would be no rescue today for the princess. She would
have to remain here, in the highest turret of the Callous Count's
castle. But wait, what was that scraping sound? She turned again to
the high, barred window. A muscular hand reached out and effortlessly
plucked the bars, one, two, three, from the window.
"Tallie, my love," a thrillingly deep masculine voice called. She ran
to the window and looked out. There, clinging to a rope, was her
handsome outlaw prince, his dark hair blowing in the breeze, his grey
eyes glinting. No! Not grey! Blue eyes, perhaps, or brown or
green--anything except grey! People with grey eyes were selfish. And
disobliging. And horrid!
Tallie sat fuming in a chair by the window of her hotel room, glaring
out. Outside were people and noise and activity such as she'd never
seen or heard before in her life. She shifted restlessly in her seat
and punched a cushion into a more comfortable shape.
Outside was a thrilling concoction of smells and sights and sounds that
shrieked Paris! She bounced up and paced angrily around the room.
Outside was a huge, exotic city, and she'd never in her life been in a
city. And where was she? Stuck inside a stuffy parlour, that was
where, under orders from her stuffy husband not to venture out until he
gave her leave! And where was hell Outside, that was where! Exploring
this wondrously exciting city. For the last four hours! While she was
forced to wait.
It wasn't fair. He'd muttered something about preparations to make
before she was ready for Paris and gone out into the city himself,
needing, apparently, no preparations for his magnificent self! Leaving
her with nothing better to do than study Sinderby. A guidebook. When
the real thing was just outside her door! She snatched up the cushion
and hurled it at the door in frustration.
"Oops! Sorry," she gasped as the object of her fury ducked, regarded
her with a raised eyebrow and then closed the door carefully behind
him. His face was utterly impassive and Tallie's spirits sank. He was
The Icicle once more. Ignoring the cushion at his feet, Magnus came
forward and presented her with a large brown paper parcel, tied with
string.
"A modiste will be here within the hour to fit you out with some decent
clothes. You will need to don these before she arrives." He strolled
over to the window, glanced out into the street, then opened up a news
sheet and began reading it, quite as if he had nothing more to say to
her.
Tallie, clutching the parcel to her bosom, stared at him, suddenly
confused. Part of her wanted to rail at him for leaving her for such a
long time with nothing to do, but the large, squashy parcel in her arms intrigued her. A gift? She could not
remember the last time anyone had given her a gift. Only her wedding
pearls. And now, a gift for no reason. With trembling fingers she
unknotted the string and spread open the wrapping. Soft, silken things
dripped from her fingers and slithered to the floor.
"Ohhh," she gasped, enchanted. She bent and lifted them. A
chemise--no, six, in soft, silky material. And petticoats, in fine
lawn and muslin, trimmed with lace. Silk stockings, dozens of
them--silk. And six finely embroidered nightgowns, so thin and fine and
delicate you could almost see through them. She had never seen the
like, except once, on a friend of her cousin's. And. good gracious!
She picked the last few items up and frowned in confusion. These were
surely not for her. But they, too, were made of the finest, most
delicate lawn. pink lawn. Tallie fingered the garments, stunned.
They could not possibly be for her husband, for they had lace on them,
and besides, they were too small for him. But she had never worn such
things. never heard of such things, except in a scandalised whisper.
Not even Laetitia wore garments like these.
"I cannot wear these," she whispered.
Magnus did not turn his head.
"Of course you can. You will oblige me by retiring to your chamber and
donning them immediately, madam. The modiste is coming."
Madam. Tallie gathered up the clothing and left the room, feeling
mutinous. The first true gift she had received in years and was she
allowed to be excited about it? No, she must be silent and obedient
and don them 'immediately, madam," for we would not wish to
inconvenience an unknown French modiste, would we? Madam.
In her chamber, she stripped off her clothes and quickly slipped into
one of the new chemises and a petticoat, savouring the cool, silken
feel of them against her skin. The chemise was close-fitting, with
gussets under the arms and side gussets to accommodate the flare of her
hips. The neckline was extremely low and edged with a tiny frill of
lace. The petticoat was long and straight, made of fine, sheer muslin.
It was almost like wearing nothing at all. She felt very daring and
sophisticated.
She glanced at the other garments on the bed. Drawers! For a woman!
Pink ones, with fine French lace around each knee. She had never seen
anything so scandalous in her life. Drawers were male attire. For a
female to wear them would be truly shocking. Miss Fisher would have
fainted at the very notion. Tallie picked up the drawers and held them
against her. She ought not to. but her husband had instructed her to
wear them.
Quickly she bent, and with some difficulty she pulled on the drawers.
They felt very peculiar. She had never felt her bottom and legs so
enclosed, so restricted. It was indeed very shocking. Tallie rather
liked the feeling.
But however would she manage when she had to. She pulled the drawers
away from her body and peered down inside them. Good heavens!
There was a slit. How very shocking! But practical, she supposed.
A knock on the door made her dart behind the screen in a panic.
"Qui est-ce-que?"
The door opened. It was her husband.
"I came to see whether the... er... things fitted."
Tallie, blushing, nodded from behind the safety of her screen.
"Yes, thank you. They do."
"Well, let me see them," he said a little impatiently.
Blushing furiously, Tallie took a deep breath and stepped out from
behind the screen.
Magnus's eyes narrowed as he took in the picture of his bride dressed
&
nbsp; in nothing but fine undergarments. His mouth dried as he noted the way
the fine silk of the chemise did nothing to hide the creamy swell of
her breasts or the faint dark pink of her small thrusting nipples. He
dropped his gaze to her hips and frowned in surprise, as he saw what
appeared to be pink drawers under her petticoat.
He had not actually selected the garments himself, had simply given the
manageress of the establishment an order for the finest, most
fashionable underclothes Paris could provide. So the drawers were a
shock. He had heard that some women were wearing them, not just women
of the demimondaine-ladies, too, but these were the first he had
seen.
"Take off your petticoat," he said in a deep, husky voice. Tallie
undid the tapes, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and dropped the
petticoat. It pooled in a whisper around her feet.
Magnus felt all the breath leave his body at the sight of his wife
dressed in intimate male attire. A feminised version of male attire,
to be sure, but. no male had ever looked like that. He had never seen
anything so erotic in his life. The drawers were gathered at her knees
and he wondered how far he could run his hands up inside them.
The delicate material hugged her thighs and her skin glowed beneath the
fine weave. The drawers bunched slightly at the apex of her thighs
over a shadowy, unmistakably feminine vee shape, and then pulled
tighter against the slight swell of her stomach.
"Turn around," he said huskily. Slowly she turned, her eyes still
clenched shut. Magnus stared. The drawers hugged her rounded bottom
and hips and suddenly he longed to see her bending over.
"You have dropped your new petticoat on the floor," he said hoarsely,
and she bent to gather it up. The material pulled tight across her
bottom and Magnus could stand no more. He embraced her from behind,
running caressing hands up over her body, cupping her breasts, moulding
them, seeking out the hardening nipples.
"Magnus!" Tallie squeaked in surprise.
"It is the daytime." Ignoring that, he turned her in his arms and
lifted her onto the bed, his hands feverishly exploring her
scandalously clothed body. He ran his palms up under the knees and
gloried in the smooth, satiny feel of her thighs. He bent down and
suckled her hard pink nipples through the silk of the chemise and felt
her shudder beneath him. He ran his hands down over her backside and
up between her legs.
"Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly as he found the slit. His hands
caressed her and he frowned as he felt her stiffen.
"But you said the modiste was coming soon," said his wife through
gritted teeth.
"Damn the modiste!" He caressed her more gently, determined she would,
this time, participate in his passion.
"But--' " The modiste can wait! " he growled, annoyed with her
hesitation. He continued to stroke and caress her with one hand,
fumbling with his own clothes until he was free of their restraint, and
then passion overcame his control and he surged into her and was lost.
Tallie clenched her teeth and hung on, determined she would not
disgrace him by moving or calling out. It was getting harder and
harder for her to behave as she knew she should. Her husband's desire
for her thrilled her, and she probably would have wept with joy--if
only she didn't have to concentrate so hard on controlling her own
recalcitrant body. But it was so very exciting. Tallie locked her
legs into a stiff line and repeated the usual words over and over in
her head. It was the only way she could concentrate on her duty to
him.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl. The modiste. Mademoiselle
Celestine, arrived--luckily a little late--with an entourage of
assistants who draped, pinned, snipped and pulled as they discussed,
with much hand-waving and Gallic imprecation, exactly how milady should
be attired. Tallie was utterly scandalised by the new French fashions.
They seemed to her to consist of nothing but a few wisps of gauze or
muslin, and she felt almost naked wearing them. But the modiste and
her assistants laughed and assured her everything was perfectly comme
il faut, and milady didn't wish to appear dowdy, did she?
Tallie looked doubtfully down at her almost naked chest and the
transparent veil of embroidered muslin covering the rest of her and
thought that milady might indeed prefer to be dowdy if that was the
only alternative. It was one thing to appear almost naked in front of
her husband--she was becoming accustomed to that--but she could not
imagine wearing these. these little wispy things out in public. But
she was assured she must, absolument, and she supposed when in Rome. or
Paris. However, at that point Magnus entered the room.
"Just thought I'd see how--' He came to an abrupt halt, took one long,
burning look at Tallie's flimsy new gown and snapped, " No! It will
not do. Not at all. "
"Oh, but, mil or--' began Mademoiselle Celestine.
He strode forward and felt the fine embroidered muslin in long,
disdainful fingers.
"Too thin, too flimsy. Shoddy goods."
"Mais, non, mil'or gasped Mademoiselle Celestine, horrified.
"It is of the very finest--' " No matter. " He brushed off her
explanations.
"I should have made my requirements clearer. My wife requires much
thicker clothing than this." He flicked the material scornfully.
"You would not think it to look at her, but she has a very delicate
constitution--' Tallie gasped in indignation.
"She catches cold at the slightest draught and I will not allow her to
risk her health for the sake of mere a la modalite No, mademoiselle I
wish Lady d'Arenville to be warmly and decently clothed, with
high-necked gowns in thick, warm fabric."
And he marched out, leaving Tallie fuming. A sickly constitution
indeed! This from the man who'd called her sturdy! And how dared he
criticise all her old clothes and then give the modiste orders to
ensure she looked just as dowdy in her new ones? Suddenly Tallie felt
perfectly comfortable with the new French fashions, flimsy or not.
"You will ignore my husband, if you please, Mademoiselle Celestine.
Men do not have the least idea of fashion," she said firmly.
"The gowns will be as we agreed."
Mademoiselle Celestine smiled knowingly.
"Ah, but you play with fire, milady. Alors. Perhaps we make the
necklines a little higher, heW. And then we take a slip, like so." She
took out an opaque underdress and held it up.
"Many women wear flesh-coloured stockings also. And of course there
are your beautiful pink drawers, quite warm enough for the most fragile
constitution, and yet, when the gentlemen look, they see only the
colour of flesh... and they wonder... ah, oui, they wonder..." She
laughed and pulled a very expressive face.
"Tres chic and yet tres respectable, so your so-jealous husband is
almost--but not quite--happy. Husbands must be taught their place,
non? She and her assistants laughed again.
Tallie smiled vaguely, distracted by the modiste's words. Her jealous
husband? That could not be right, surely. Still, he had told all
those dreadful lies about her delicate constitution. She felt a small
glow in the region of her heart. It was a start, perhaps. By the time
the modiste and her chattering assistants finally left, promising to
have a beautiful gown ready for her by the morning, and many more au
plus tot, Tallie felt exhausted.
However, her husband had not simply arranged a modiste but also a
hairdresser, Monsieur Raymondo, a small, dapper man with an elegant
waxed moustache. He prowled around her shrinking form a dozen times,
muttering under his breath, bunching her hair this way and that and
exclaiming in raptures over its texture and natural curl. Magnus
ventured into the room just as the hairdresser picked up his
scissors.
"Don't you dare shear off all that beautiful hair!" he roared, and
Monsieur Raymondo dropped his scissors in fright. A long discussion
ensued over exactly how much Magnus would tolerate being cut off.
Tallie took no part in it; she was in a small, happy daze of her own.
Beautiful hair! He had lied about her fragility, now this, about her
very ordinary hair.
In the end Magnus and Monsieur Raymondo reached a compromise. Short,
feathery curls would cluster around her face, while the rest remained
quite long. It would please her husband, yet still have the required
