Victorian Dream

by Gini Rifkin

  “I intend to lick you dry,” he informed her. “Then kiss you wet again.”

  He tossed her onto the middle of the bed. She shrieked with laugher, but sobered as he removed his trousers. The sight of him hard and purposeful again took her by surprise. He was magnificent, and just the thought of having him inside of her made desire return full blown.

  He eased onto the foot of the bed, and as promised, licked a path along her body. Toes, ankles, calves, knees. Working his way upward, his head between her thighs, he kissed what before had only known the stroke of his hand and the male part of him. This was wickedly wonderful. Would he let her do the same to him? He nuzzled and nipped and nibbled at her, his mustache tickling in the most marvelous way. Then with a growl he covered her body with his. She bent her knees and raised her hips, seeking to draw him closer. The tip of him probed gently, but he didn’t enter her. He kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear.

  “To please you is a greater need than my own desire. Does this please you, Trelayne?” Over and over, he nearly entered her then drew back, taunting her with what she knew was to come, tormenting her with anticipation until she begged him to continue.

  “Don’t be cruel. You’re torturing me and you know it. I want all of you, now.”

  She dug her fingernails into his back and thrust upward. This time he delivered the full length, leaving her gasping, a guttural cry curled in her throat.

  Bodies wet with lover’s passion, they caught up the primal rhythm, meeting one another in frenzied enthusiasm. He plunged deeper, pushed harder, adding an extraordinary grinding twist that excited the magical spot between her legs. She screamed in delight. He groaned out his release. Then they collapsed on the bed side by side—sigh by sigh.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The honeymoon was over, but only geographically speaking. After returning to Royston Hall, the love they shared was growing even stronger, and the love they made outshone anything Trelayne ever imagined. This delirium, coupled with the recent news of her parents’ continued progress, wrapped her in happiness.

  Upon their return, nearly one week ago, Aunt Abigail had taken one look at them and proclaimed it was obviously anything but a marriage of convenience. As this did not seem to come as a surprise, Trelayne had her suspicions this had been expected all along.

  “Have you crossed paths yet with Lucien?” Penelope asked.

  “No,” Trelayne admitted, “and part of me wishes I had. It would give me great pleasure to rebuke him for the horrible way he has treated me. He deserves a dressing down of the highest magnitude.”

  “What wretched news to learn he had a paramour stashed away all this time. He was so infatuated with you, Laynie, it’s hard to believe he had a trollop on the side.”

  “No doubt he is with her now, and I am the furthest thing from his mind.”

  “Don’t be too sure. The day I told him you’d run off with the Captain, he looked a man about to do someone bodily harm. There was revenge in his eyes.”

  At the memory, Penelope’s fair complexion managed to pale even more. “You’d best stay clear of him,” she added.

  “I hardly imagine I will see him anytime soon. Besides, I’m much too happy to dwell on him and the pain he’s caused. Oh, Pen, it’s so wonderful to be in love. We must find you a suitable husband posthaste.”

  “I’m all for that idea. But I have only one possibility, and no sure prospects. You must describe your wedding night again. And this time don’t leave anything out. Pretend you’re reading to me from one of our books.” Her friend gave a nod, and an encouraging smile. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, I freely admit I’m living vicariously through your eyes. Or should I say your body.”

  Trelayne laughed. “Making love is a beautiful experience. Sometimes gentle and sweet like a meandering stream in a wooded glen, drifting along to a delightful ending. Other times wild and passionate like a roaring river, crashing and thundering down a canyon, leaving one fearful of survival. Either way it’s beyond pleasurable—it’s divine rapture. For those few moments, nothing else matters.” She was breathless at the remembering. “I don’t know why the suffragette material makes it sound like a hideous chore to be borne with martyr-like fortitude.

  “He’s so good to me, Pen, and pleasures me as much as he expects me to pleasure him. And I’ve learned a few things that weren’t in the books,” she added, in a whisper. “When you’re married, too, we can compare notes, but I dare not tell you now.”

  “I’m near faint with anticipation,” Penelope sighed, gripping the arm of the divan. “I don’t know how much longer I can endure this virginal existence. Every fiber of my being cries out for a man’s touch, a man’s body.”

  “Telling tales out of school, ladies?”

  At the sound of Walker’s voice, both women jumped. Penelope’s fair skin now flamed scarlet to match the silk rose pinned to the neck of her dress. Trelayne scrambled to her feet, and ran to her husband.

  “We didn’t hear you come in,” she said, grinning up at him.

  “Obviously.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, making sure their bodies touched in all the right places, and although the fire in his eyes said he wanted more, he bowed to social necessity and sweetly kissed her cheek.

  “Are you not acquainted with any handsome Americans who would be interested in someone as charming and desirable as Penelope?”

  “Not in England,” Walker chuckled, “except for Sam Colt. And he’s a scallywag and a sweet-talker. I’m afraid his intentions might be opposite to what Miss Penelope is expecting in a man.”

  “That’s not a very nice way to talk about your friend,” she scolded.

  “It’s no news to Sam he’s a bit of a bounder. Don’t get me wrong,” he added at her pout. “I admire him and would trust him with my life. In fact, on several occasions I have.”

  “That’s better.” She smiled, splaying her hands upon the lapels of his woolen jacket. When he pretended to be humbled by her make-believe badgering she enjoyed it immensely. “Besides,” she added. “I think Aunt Abigail has designs on him.”

  At the mention of his friend, Walker seemed reflective, and she wanted to press him for more information. Their history went back many years, encompassing a large part of his life, a part that remained a void, a missing chapter. After learning he’d been married, and his first wife had died, she hadn’t inquired about Walker’s past, fearing to open old wounds. But a person was the sum total of that through which they had lived, and he had turned out a strong and giving person. To know how he had come to be so was important to her.

  She held his gaze, hoping hers expressed the love in her heart growing for him day by day. He smiled, setting aside whatever thoughts had been rambling around in his head.

  At their continued silence, Penelope rose. “Don’t forget the Chinese bazaar Saturday next,” she reminded, heading toward the parlor door.

  “What?”

  Trelayne turned in the circle of Walker’s embrace. She hadn’t meant to ignore her friend, but when Walker was near, he had the knack of making the rest of the world disappear.

  “The bazaar,” Penelope repeated, “to raise money for the London Orphan Asylum at Clapton.”

  “Oh, of course. I’ll meet you there. Don’t leave, Pen.”

  “Truly I must,” she insisted, with a shy smile and a jaunty wave of her gloved hand. “Until then. And don’t bother, I’ll see myself out.”

  When they were alone, Walker led her out of the French doors, through the garden, and down a flagstone path. The recent bout of particularly warm weather made it hard to believe it was well into November with winter waiting in the wings.

  “We need to discuss a few business matters,” he informed her, as they entered the secluded solarium.

  They settled onto a bench in a sheltered nook, side by side, his arm around her, the sun shining through the glass panels warming them nicely. It was a moment to treasure. Resting her hands in her lap she marveled at the
simple joy of having such a wonderful man in her life. The more time they spent together, the more she realized how very fortunate she was, at least in this capacity of her life.

  “As your husband,” he began, “I have access to your property and funds, but you are still the only one who can sign proxy for the shipping line. I’ve brought home several documents requiring your attention. The difficulty lies with the fact that Lanteen would normally handle the legal aspects of the transactions.”

  “Can we not seek another solicitor?” She squirmed in place, made uncomfortable by even the thought of the man. “Although I would sincerely enjoy reading him the riot act, I really don’t wish to see Lucien again.”

  Walker grinned at her. “Don’t get all riled up. I understand. I just wanted to clear everything with you first. I’m glad you’re washing your hands of Lanteen. He’s involved in some dark and devious dealings, and although it would be just my word against his, I know he had something to do with your parents’ accident.”

  “Walker, surely not.” She sat up, horrified at the very idea. “That is unthinkable. Why did you not mention this before, and why would he do such a thing?”

  “For you, Trelayne. I’ve come to the conclusion he’s not of sound mind. You’ve become his obsession—have been his obsession. I put off telling you because you seemed so happy of late, and I wanted you to enjoy a few more days of innocent fun.” He urged her back to his side and held her close. “I’m only informing you now for your own safety.”

  “If you believe he has done something so egregious, we must go to the authorities.”

  “I have. But the magistrate refuses to bring charges against him. Lanteen is a solicitor in surprisingly good standing. And I’m an American, with my only witness a questionable dockside ruffian being held in Brighton. I’ve no sure way of connecting him to that Grimsby fellow or your parents’ accident or my attack. We can only hope our marriage put an end to Lanteen’s mania, and he will back off and set his sights elsewhere.”

  “He wouldn’t dare come near me now, not with you as my protector.”

  She curled against his shoulder. Here in his arms it seemed impossible anything could hurt her. She grazed her fingers across the medallion Walker wore beneath his shirt. When they made love he took it off, but on most other occasions it hung from the chain around his neck.

  “Why do you wear this?” she asked, tapping a finger against the metal nestled beneath the fabric.

  “It’s a rendering of St. Brendan. He watches over sailors and travelers.”

  “But he’s an Irish saint.”

  “We knew him in the Old Country too.”

  “The Old Country? You’re from America, the farthest thing from the Old Country.”

  “I wasn’t born there.”

  She sat up, and stared at him in surprise. “My husband is a man of mystery. You know all about me, but I know so little of you. Tell me everything.”

  The contemplative smile she’d seen earlier recaptured his mouth. “I don’t know the first thing about you,” he protested. “What were you like as a schoolgirl in pigtails? What was the name of your first pony? Did they send you away to boarding school where you attempted to run away at every chance?”

  She made a face then laughed. “I would not be caught dead in pigtails, even at the age of nine. My pony’s name was Midge. And I was tutored at home, so there wasn’t any place to run from or to. Although I did find a cave in the hills to the south where I spent a great deal of time playing and hiding.

  “I’m terribly good at embroidery,” she added, “not so good at singing or playing the piano, can carry on a decent conversation in four languages, and I love heart-wrenching poetry and one amazing American sea captain. So there you have it, all the pertinent information regarding my life. Now it’s your turn.”

  “What do you want to know?” he hedged, rather than listing off the highlights.

  “Where are you really from? And how did you come to be in America? Let’s start with that.”

  “I was born in Flanders,” he began. “My dad worked the coal mines, and my mother cleaned rich peoples’ houses. One day there was an explosion in the mines, and my father was killed along with fifteen other men.”

  “Oh, Walker, I’m so sorry.” She touched his cheek, wishing a simple caress could erase the pain no doubt evoked by such memories.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said, capturing and holding her hand “Fortunately, Father had been setting money aside with the intentions of one day taking all of us to America. And brokenhearted though she was, Mother bravely fulfilled that wish for him. We settled in Massachusetts. At the time I was ten years old, and my brother was seven.”

  “You have a brother? Another revelation. Where is he? Is he a sea captain too?”

  Walker shook his head. “Hardly. His name is Trenton. He’s in Colorado, and he hates the water. He was seasick every moment of the voyage over. Never wanted to see another ship, barge, or boat. He sought the West for the same reason I took to the ocean—they’re both places where a man can see forever and breathe clean air.”

  “You love being out of doors, don’t you?”

  “Yes, for me it’s a necessity. As children, before the accident, we worked in the mines too. It was a sinister and fearful place, and after our father died, we were terrified to go back into that manmade hell.”

  “Do you miss your brother? I miss mine. And my sister.”

  “Now you have me at the disadvantage. I never knew you had a sister.”

  “Her name was Caroline. I idolized her. She was older then me, perfect in deportment and all the required accomplishments. And she was so good to me. Always patient, as I tagged along behind her. Then she died of typhoid fever, and my parents became obsessed with protecting me from all possible harm. But they merely succeeded in trapping me in perpetual childhood.”

  “And yet you have risen to the occasion in their absence.”

  “A willful nature cannot be so easily suppressed.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he said with a chuckle. “And yes, I do miss Trenton.”

  “I suppose having him visit is out of the question?” she mused.

  “Only if we can figure some way for him to ride a horse from Colorado to here.”

  “I’ll work on that,” she promised. “Trenton,” she mused. “You both have unusual names.”

  “Again my mother’s doing. Walker was her family name before marriage, and Trenton was her mother’s maiden name. She was a stickler for keeping the family history alive and well.”

  “She sounds a most interesting and courageous lady. She must come and stay with us.”

  “That would be wonderful, but I’m afraid impossible. She died several years ago.”

  Hearing of all the tragedy that had befallen him filled her with sadness. “That’s why you named the ship after your mother, to honor her. My poor darling, you’ve suffered the loss of many loved ones, even your….” She stopped short of saying the word, hadn’t meant to bring up the subject.

  “Katie,” he said. “Her name was Katie. And although not alike in coloring, you are quite like her in spirit,” he revealed, and tightened his embrace. “Charging ahead full-sail when the need calls for it. Helping those less fortunate.”

  She almost cringed at his kind words. Her charitable rounds to the poor hadn’t been her most shining moment, but she did plan on helping out at the up coming bazaar. His Katie sounded a woman of enviable character.

  “If it wouldn’t hurt too much, can you tell me how she died?”

  Instantly, she regretted the question. Of course it would hurt—she was probing too deeply. But the sun dipped lower, leaving them in shadows, allowing them to share parts of their souls more difficult to reveal in the bright light of day. Walker proved his faith and trust in her by answering.

  “Being kind of heart,” he began, “she went to take food to an elderly couple who lived on a small farm outside of New Bedford. It had been a bad summer and a w
orse winter. The old folks’ crops had failed, leaving them with few provisions, and with a snowstorm coming, she knew the husband wouldn’t be able to get out and hunt for several days. The storm hit sooner than expected, and she never made it back home. I nearly lost my life searching for her. I was crazed and frozen stiff when Sam Colt tracked me down. He lived near us back then and saved me from suffering the same fate as Katie. There were times I wished he hadn’t.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Could not even imagine what it was like for him to lose someone he obviously loved so very much.

  “I should have gone with her,” he added, the words barely audible.

  “But then you might have died too.” The sentence was out before she could stop it.

  What would she do if Walker were taken from her? It was incomprehensible. She was glad he had not succumbed to the deadly storm. Or perhaps if he had gone with his wife, they would both have survived. Then he would still be with Katie and wouldn’t belong to her now. Guilt knifed straight to her heart, and she glanced away. Katie’s death and his suffering were a high price to pay for having Walker in her life.

  He curled a finger beneath her chin and their gazes met. “I never thought to be this happy again, Trelayne. That’s what matters. The past we cannot change, and the future is not always ours to command. The here and now is all we have, and I’m very grateful for you being a part of it. I wasted so many years looking back and never believing I could find happiness again, never even trying.

  “I realize our marriage was a matter of necessity,” he continued, “and your wedding day not what you had envisioned, but I do love you, and I will try to be the best possible husband to you. What started out a scandalous disaster can be our blessing in disguise.”

  She turned, blanketing his body with hers. Supported by his broad chest, she marveled at his strength as he held her in place. “I love you too,” she breathed, against his neck. Sliding one hand downward, she pressed her palm against his crotch, and felt him harden.

  “And by the way, I loved my wedding day, or more precisely my wedding night. And even if I could, I wouldn’t change a thing.” She nibbled at his ear. “I too promise to honor our vows, and be the best possible wife—in every way.”