He moved his hands down my nightclothes and then touched my private area. It was like small flames danced at the end of his fingertips. I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming the Castle down. He rubbed my private area harder and faster, and I became wetter and hotter. Neither of us was overly capable at this sort of thing – neither of us had been with a person before – but instinct led us on. I forgot the judgment that this act caused, and the moment took me up in a rush of euphoria.
Before I knew it, we were tearing at each other’s clothes, ripping them apart like animals unleashed from long captivity. Soon my nightclothes lay in a heap upon the floor, and his shirt and britches presently joined them. The light was low, but I was able to see the contours of his muscular body, the muscles straining hard. A thrill went through me and I placed my hands on his chest.
“I want to make love,” I whispered, unable to stop myself.
Tenderly, he laid me upon my back on the bed. There was some fiddling as we both adopted the right positioning, and then he thrust himself inside of me. There was aching pain at first, and then he pulled himself out and thrust in again, and again. The pain lessened with each thrust, and after a few minutes it was totally gone, replaced by pleasure. I grabbed onto his muscular back as he thrust into me, holding my legs up and moving with his motions.
I had what is referred to as an “orgasm” then. It was a shocking, beautiful feeling. He thrust harder and harder, and I was so focused on his moans, and his muscles, and the deep white-hot heat between my legs, that I did not sense it approaching. Suddenly, wave after wave of pricking, hot pleasure washed over me. I was utterly in its control. It pulsated within me, permeating my whole body, burning, tingling. I let out a scream, and he let out a long moan.
Then he rolled to the side. We were done.
We lay together until the sun began to rise, my head on his chest. At intervals we slept, but then we awoke and talked in low whispers, giggling together like children. I know that men would want me to regret what the Duke and I had just done. They would call me a whore for enjoying it, but I did enjoy it, and to this day I do not regret it. All the horrible stories I had heard – stories full of feelings of remorse, dishonor, and worthlessness – were proved to be false. I only felt content.
After the sun had risen, but still an hour before the house would be awake, we made love again. This time was slower, as we became more acquainted with each other’s bodies. Afterwards, the Duke had to leave, as to not arouse suspicion amongst his staff.
He bid me to meet him in the gardens later that day, and I readily agreed.
*****
There was nothing strange about my meeting the Duke for a stroll through the gardens, so I did not need to lie to Charlotte. I did, however, tell her that I was strolling the grounds alone, leaving my exact course vague just in case she decided to come and find me. I thought that unlikely anyway, seeing as she was quite taken up with the gossiping and minor politics of the servants of the Castle.
It had just passed noon when I walked into the garden, the scent of the glowers heightening my overall feeling on momentousness. I seated myself on a bench in a secluded corner and sat there for a time, looking hither and thither for the Duke. Soon enough, he emerged from behind one of the bushes and approached me. “My love,” he said, clasping my hands. He brought them to his lips and kissed them. “I dreamt of you this morning,” he went on, holding her hands tightly and leading her through the flowerbeds. “I was exhausted from out time together, so I collapsed into my bed when I returned to my chambers. I dreamt that you were with me, in my arms, and we were laying in a field looking up at the stars. I know I am no poet. I wish I could capture the beauty of it for you.”
“Do you like to look upon the stars?” I said. I had an interest in this myself, and had often wished for a tutor to help me learn their proper configurations.
“No in any academic sense,” Francis said, perhaps sensing my motivation. “I just find them peaceful.”
“They make me feel small,” I said. “But in a good way. I like to feel small in the presence of the stars. Many people hate it.”
“You are not many people, my lady,” the Duke said. “Shall we walk into the woods?”
I agreed, and we set our course for the wooded area that surrounds the Castle. I took his arm without it being proffered, and perhaps that is another “black mark” against me. But he did not object, and placed his hand over my arm, as though securing me in.
Soon we were in the woods, and it was a most reassuring experience. It was just the two of us and nature; all around we were surrounded my flowers and shrubbery and wildlife. Once, a squirrel darted across our path and looked up at us quizzically, tilting its little head. The Duke made to pick the creature up, but it fled before he had the chance. At length we found an overturned log, and having been walking for almost two hours we sat upon it to rest.
“I wish we could just sit here forever,” I said, as I was feeling sentimental. “Wouldn’t that be grand? We could just sit here, and the world would pass us by.”
“That would be a gift,” Francis agreed. “Far too often life is wasted in the preparing of it. This, right here...” He took my hands in his, and stared into my eyes. “This right here,” he went on, “is what life should be about. Not the nonsense that most people fill it with. Sarah, I wish I had known you sooner. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I agree,” I said. “But we need not rush, my love. We are both young yet.”
He touched my chin with his hand, and turned my face toward his, and then moved forward and touched my lips with his. I breathed in the scent of him, the tingle of his lips on mine even more inductive to a feeling of imbalance and intoxicating than the roses that serenaded our kissing. He moved his hands over my body; and I moved mine over his.
After our breath foray into passion, we resumed our walk. If there is a woman reading this tale, she will no doubt be thinking: “But were you not terrified that he would desert you and leave you ruined? Many a woman has been ruined in very similar circumstances! How could you be so foolish! How could you be so brash!” You are not wrong. I was brash, and perhaps I was foolish in my conduct, but the heart is not some hound to be leashed whenever one pleases. The pleasures of the body are trained pigeons to be called back at a moment’s notice once they have taken flight.
All of us, as persons with humane bodies, are subject to passion and love and closeness. I did not think of being deserted; I only thought of what I had with me now.
We had walked most of the day, and the two of us were tired.
Before we returned to the Castle, the Duke asked me if I would join him for dinner in his chambers the following night. I agreed – how could I not? – and the date was set.
*****
I was so excited for the dinner that I could barely sleep the night before. I lay awake all night going over and over the events of the past few days. Though it had only been a few days, I felt sure that more time had elapsed. Perhaps it was because the turning of events was so awesome. In the space of a few days I had found love, shrugged off social propriety, and “dishonored” myself. There was no going back for me now. I didn’t even think Father would understand, would I ever to tell him. I had crossed a definitive and clear line.
Finally, after a few hours of intermittent sleep, the morning came. Mornings are easier than nights to wait through, I find. There are people around, with whom you can pretend that everything is not reaching a climax: with whom you can pretend life is chugging along as it always has. Charlotte and I went for a walk in the gardens before breakfast, and then ate a light meal before I wandered in the library by myself, occasionally reading, but mostly just being amongst the books.
I watched the course of the sun with a more avid interest that I normally would, and indeed I was afraid some eye strain may result from it, which forced me to close the curtains in the library and read my candlelight. When substantial time had passed, I returned to my quarters and a
waited the Dukes summon. The Duke had generously supplied me and Charlotte with clothes, as we only brought enough for a day visit and nothing more. Going through these clothes, I found a floaty, almost ethereal dress woven of blue silk the same color as the Duke’s eyes. I donned this, as well as some earrings I had brought in a small pouch.
Standing before the looking glass, I found myself staring at a handsome woman whose cheeks had reddened with emotion. I looked more vital than I ever had. Love will, I had discovered, make even the most deathly pallor beam with vibrant life; and my pallor had always been on the youthful side of the scale.
Just after I finished dressing, Charlotte came charging into my room. “Sorry, Miss,” she breathed. “It’s just that I walked into the Duke by accident, and he has asked to see you. You see, I was with some of the servants who were setting up the dining room. It is beautiful, Miss, and I was wondering who the Duke was dining with, and then he asked me to fetch you. Not fetch, Miss. I didn’t mean fetch.”
“Relax,” I said, trying to soothe the girl. “I will go to him at once. That will be all, Charlotte.”
Charlotte left, and I made my way through the Castle to the dining room. The chandelier glittered with the light of the torches that burned in sconces along the walls. The curtains were drawn, and the Duke sat at the end of the long dining table. He stood upon my entrance, and I walked over to his end of the table. He pulled a seat out for me, and together we sat.
We said nothing to each other until the servants had brought our food, which they did soon after I sat down. When the food and the drink was brought, the Duke dismissed the servants so that we could be alone. The wine was a magnificent red; I felt as though Spain was on my tongue. The Duke held up his glass, and we clinked them.
“Do you like it?” he said.
“I do,” I replied. “It is beautiful to behold.”
“You are beautiful to behold,” he said impulsively.
I thought about chastising him for his hasty speech, but we had long since passed the point of proper etiquette, and so I took the compliment striding. The Duke was wearing his most elegant and becoming finery, which accentuated his handsomeness. The Duke stared down at his hands for a moment, and then looked swiftly into my eyes.
“Do you believe in attachment, Sarah?”
“How do you mean?” I said.
“Do you believe that it is possible to form strong attachments – the kind of attachment that exists between man and wife, say – without actually having gone through the traditional routes? What I am saying is, do you think it is possible for a man to love a woman without having properly and openly courted her? Many men and not a few women would have us think that it is impossible, that it cannot be done. And yet I sit here and look at you, and I know that I love you. If the word ‘love’ means anything, then it must apply to how I feel about you. I am struck with anxiety oftentimes. My heart beats frantically, and a cold sweat comes upon me, and I never know why. Most times there is nothing to be overly anxious about. But with you I do not feel that way. With you I feel as though a vital part of myself has been restored. I am like an amputee who has had his arm restored after a long absence; or a blind man who has regained the ability to see. Ah!” He slapped his hand down on the table. “If only I could make you feel what I feel, Sarah, so you could know!”
Seeing that dear Francis was in quite a state, I laid my hand upon his arm. He clasped his hand over mine and looked at me gratefully. “Don’t you see, Francis?” I said. “You do not need to make me feel anything; I already feel as you do. I care not that we do not do things the proper way. I have lost all meaning of what ‘proper’ means, anymore. All I know is that when you took me into the library, into the gardens, into the woods, when we were together in my bedroom I was happier and more content than I have been in all my days.” I stopped, breathless. My words were far too forward to be ladylike. Any man would shun me after such openness.
But not Francis.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glistening ring. It winked at me in the torchlight. “I had to estimate your measurements,” he said. “I hope it fits.” He took my hand and slid the ring onto the third finger of my left hand. “There we go,” he beamed happily. “I knew it would fit!”
I stared down at the ring, bemused. “Look how the light catches it,” I muttered. “But Francis, what ever is it for? You do not need to buy me gifts.”
“It is no simply a gift, my love,” the Duke said, his hand upon my shoulder. “It is a symbol. A symbol of my love for you. A symbol of my commitment to you. We are to be married, if you will have me. My family will hate it, but to hell with them! I love you more than I have ever loved a single thing on this earth, and if the sky were to fall now I would have you, and no other, in my arms. Marry me, Sarah.”
Perhaps a nobler woman would have contemplated the position he was putting himself in. Perhaps a nobler woman would have sincerely thought about declining his proposal, to save the regard others had for him. But I was, and I am, a love-driven woman.
I said yes, and he jumped across the table and brought me into his arms, cradling me like a child.
Postscript
It is the night before we tell our families and friends and associates as I write this: tell them of mine and the Duke’s love. I have written this account so those who find it – whoever they turn out to be – will know the story of the unusual courtship of Sarah Archer and Francis Seymour, the Duke of Somerset. Undoubtedly there are those among you who would have him discredited. All I can say to that is, why? Why discredit a man who married a woman he loves? Far more deserving of discredit are the men who marry women they despise, and spend the rest of their lives making her miserable.
Only the Duke and I know of our marriage; tomorrow that shall all change. He has arranged a meeting. Father is to be there. I wish I could say the meeting gladdens me, but in truth the only gladness I feel is at the thought of Francis visiting me in my rooms tonight. I have worn this quill out completely and I do not think I can write anymore. When I began the sun was rising; now it is deep in the night.
I would write more, but there is a knocking at my door.
He whispers my name. It is Francis.
I must go.
I must be with my love.
*****
THE END
The Devil’s Dance – A Regency Romance
Bertrand Collins Margrave- Bertie to his friends- looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror and was quite pleased with the image that looked back at him. His official title was Lord Haverbrook, and he had reluctantly made the unpleasant journey from London to his stately pile in Derbyshire. Bertie preferred life in London by a long chalk and was happy that his elderly aunt resided in the Haverbrook estate. She looked upon it as her own and Bertie was happy to let her believe that as it kept her acid tongue under control. His London town house was elegant and close to everything he loved. Bertie loved theatre, art and most of all everything fashionable and the latest crazes. Aunt Agatha had sent word that she was ill and he needs must come to visit immediately. When Bertie arrived at the large and resplendent residence, it was to find his aunt in robust good health and she desired him to make changes to the house in accordance with her wishes. Bertrand Collins Margrave was not amused in the least and had gone to bed in a fine old mood wondering how soon he could return to London.
The next morning he twirled in front of the mirror and took in the elegant riding clothes that he wore. Tight-fitting trousers and a short jacket with a smooth line across the waist and elegant tails behind. The waistcoat was blue brocade and the white cravat elegantly tied. The narrow riding boots accented his well-muscled legs, and he thought to himself that Badger Tomkins would not look half as fashionable. “Still be good to see the old boy again.” He thought and smiled as he thought about the surprise on Badger’s face when he rode up to the door. Bertie was, in fact, a handsome young man and much pursued by young ladies in London who had their eye on beco
ming Lady Haverbrook. He was tall for the times and stood at about five feet ten inches with dark, slightly curly hair that was currently cut in the latest style with sideburns and a great deal of hair on the top of his head. He actually didn’t need to make himself look taller, but that was what had driven that particular fashion. He had dark brown eyes that could look meltingly appealing and surprisingly, the man was toned and fit.
Bertie left his manservant to sort out his wardrobe and went to visit his stables. He still kept a fine collection of horseflesh despite being away such a lot of the time. For that matter, he kept a fine selection in London as well. He had sent word ahead for his favourite mount to be ready and the stable hand was waiting with reins in hand. Haverbrook slid into the saddle with easy grace and slipped a top hat onto his head. He knew he was riding through the woods and fields but still fashion was fashion, and he donned the hat. Then set off at an easy walk until he was clear of the gates and urged the stallion to a gentle jog. Bertie enjoyed riding and settled to enjoy the ride to visit Badger. The way to his friend’s rather beautiful residence was through the land belonging to Lady Tupperham. The old lady had always let Bertie treat the land as if it was his own and he knew the way through her estate well. The track passed through woodland and then came out at some paddocks behind the stables. It was not far until he would enter Badger’s gates but suddenly he saw in the stable yard a young woman. She saw him at the same time and stalked, yes that was the word, stalked to the gate and shouted at him. “I say who are you riding through here? This is private land.”
Bertie steered the horse in her direction and stopped in front of the obviously annoyed young woman. “I might ask you the same, young woman. This is the land of Lady Tupperham. You appear to be trespassing.” She put her hands on her hips and observed the newcomer with a look that told him she was not the least impressed by what she saw. “Lady Tupperham was my aunt. This is my estate, and you still have not told me your name.” She almost but not quite, stamped her foot. Bertie slid from the horse and found himself face to face with the woman. It was not lost upon him that she was wearing a most up to date riding outfit in light grey. She was about five feet four inches high and did not step back as he stood in front of her. “Did you say ‘was’?” He asked. “Lady Tupperham. Did you say was?” He demanded again, and the girl nodded.
Romance: Teen Romance: Follow Your Dreams (A Nerd and a Bad Boy Romance) (New Adult High School Sports Romance) Page 46
