Ashes of Pride

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She had used nearly all the pebbles in her hand when the window swung open. Neil leaned out and looked down.

  Blanche dropped the remaining pebbles, brushed off her hand and tugged her wrapper back into place. She moved to the side of the house and down to the front. She did not stand upon the front step, where she might be seen. Instead, she waited in the middle of the road. Nothing moved upon the street. Even the air was still.

  Neil slipped from the house, a shadow detaching itself from the larger one. He paused a step beyond the door, and bent. From his movement, Blanche could tell he was putting his boots on. He had eased through the house in his stockings.

  Then he came to where she stood waiting and took her arms. “What is wrong? What has happened? Are you well?” He kept his voice to a soft murmur.

  “Well enough,” she said. “I’m frightened, Neil. He hit me again and told me he wished I was dead.”

  He made a soft sound and pulled her against him. His arms came around her.

  It was a heavenly sensation, to be in Neil’s arms. She closed her eyes and absorbed the sense of safety his arms gave her. Neil pressed his cheek against her head, and gave a long exhalation. A sigh.

  Then he let her go and picked up her hand. “I will take you to a hotel for the night. You can take rest there. A few steps to the main road, then I will find a cab, so you don’t have to walk too far. Can you manage that much?”

  She nodded, for just his presence and the warmth of his hand around hers was giving her the strength to keep moving.

  They moved soundlessly down the middle of the road, their silhouettes moving ahead of them, for the late moon was low in the sky.

  “He really said he wished you were dead?” Neil asked, his voice still low.

  “He stood over me and hissed it. I thought he would strike me again.”

  Neil’s fingers tightened around hers. “Some rest, time to consider…then we will determine what to do on the morrow.”

  BLANCHE DID NOT KNOW WHAT magic Neil worked to make the night clerk behind the high desk in the hotel’s foyer scurry to find a room for her. The clerk escorted her to the room and left the lantern he carried burning upon the dressing table.

  By the time the little man handed Blanche the large iron key, bowed and left, she was so tired she couldn’t think.

  Neil brushed tendrils of hair from her forehead. “You are asleep on your feet. Rest. You’re safe enough here. I’ll return in the morning.”

  “Where are you going?” Blanche asked, her heart leaping, as he turned away.

  Neil’s gaze was steady. “I cannot stay here.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “The night clerk knows I am here. He will expect me to leave and if I do not…”

  Blanche sighed and nodded. Although he had not said so, she knew Neil was protecting her reputation.

  “You cannot think or make proper decisions in your current state, Blanche. Trust me for now. Tomorrow, you can go back to deciding for yourself. Yes?”

  She nodded. There was sense in what he was saying.

  “Now, sleep. Go on.” He gave her a little push toward the bed.

  Blanche trod heavily to the neatly made bed. Neil pulled the covers aside as she slid her slippers and wrapper off. She slipped under the covers and turned on her side. Her leg gave out a sharp pang and she gasped and rolled onto the other side.

  Neil’s eyes narrowed. Silently, he arranged the covers over her. Then he bent and touched his lips to her cheek. “Good night,” he breathed.

  Blanche’s eyes closed by themselves. She barely registered the soft closing of the door.

  When she next woke, the sun played against the lace in the window, direct and dazzling. It was morning and early still. The need for more sleep tugged at her, while the habit of waking with the dawn had stirred her despite her tiredness.

  She was alert and her body wanted to move, to hurry and prepare breakfast, as she normally did.

  A soft tap sounded against the door.

  Blanche slid from the high bed and put her wrapper on, then opened the door. Neil stepped in. He was wearing his Undress uniform and a basket hung from one hand. He put the basket on the dressing table, beside the extinguished lamp and shut the door.

  “How do you fare this morning?” he asked her.

  Just the sight of him made her heart swell and want to break. How had Neil become so dear to her, so quickly?

  Blanche wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She didn’t know if she did it correctly and didn’t care. It was a way of telling him all which laid in her heart, that she should not say.

  He caught his breath. His hands curled over her arms, as if he would thrust her from him, yet he didn’t. Instead, one hand slid up to cup her head with a gentle movement, and hold her steady as he kissed her with far more effectiveness than she had managed.

  His tongue slid into her mouth and tangled with hers. Blanche moaned as her body ignited. Heat enveloped her. Every inch of her throbbed. The sensations underscored the ache in her thigh and the tenderness of her belly. Neither discomfort was enough to make her want to halt the delightful kiss.

  She was very aware of Neil’s hard body pressed against her own. She could feel everything through the wrapper and her shift, beneath. The round buttons on his jacket, the scratch of the braid. The heat of him beneath the wool. The strength.

  And the swollen mound of him, beneath the hem of the jacket.

  Neil groaned and pulled away from her mouth. He caught her face in his hands. “Tell me to go.” His voice was hoarse. “Tell me to leave and I will. If you do not, I will stay and it will be the ruin of you.”

  “I am already ruined,” she whispered. “I was ruined the moment I saw you in the dining room that night.”

  Neil did not remind her that she was married. It hung between them, unspoken but undeniable and she knew he hesitated because of it. Blanche gripped his sleeves and gave them a little shake. “There is no marriage left in my heart, Neil. I cannot remain with a man who wishes me dead and has the means to ensure it. You know he is capable of it.”

  He touched his head to hers. “The law remains,” he breathed.

  “A law which insists upon a woman remaining with a man who will murder her? Then it is another law which should change.” She met his gaze. “My heart belongs to you. My body is yours, too, if you will have it.”

  Neil groaned and kissed her, pulling her tightly against him. He kissed her lips, her face and her throat, before returning to her lips once more, and stroking them with his tongue. It was faintly shocking that he should do so, yet it was delicious, making every nerve in her body sizzle and her muscles to sag weakly.

  Neil bent and lifted her, and carried her to the bed. His gaze smoldered as he laid her upon it. He laid beside her and kissed her again, this time making a rumbling sound which was part approval, and part delight.

  His hands roamed over her body, smoothing over the fabric of the wrapper. He didn’t spare an inch of her and Blanche gasped and writhed as he cupped her breasts, and stroked her hips, thighs and belly.

  When he tugged at the buttons on the wrapper, though, Blanche caught his hand in her own, her heart fluttering with more than anticipation. “I want to be good for you,” she breathed.

  His smile was heated and small. “You will be.” Not a shred of doubt entered his voice.

  “Only, Neil…” She took a breath and spoke the words. “I do not know what to do.”

  Neil sat up, his eyes widening. His hands fell away from her.

  Blanche scrambled upright and put her back to the head of the bed. Her heart thudded. “It displeases you…”

  Neil pushed a hand through his thick hair. “He never consummated the marriage,” he breathed.

  Blanche pulled the wrapper in tight around her throat, cold. “Neil…?”

  His gaze focused upon her once more. He cupped her jaw and his thumb stroked her cheek, just below the bruising on that side. “
It was never a proper marriage,” he breathed.

  “Does it…do you mind?”

  He smiled. “It makes a difference,” he admitted. “A large difference.” His hand slid around to the back of her head. He pulled gently. “Come here.”

  She let him draw her to him, her relief making her shaky. Neil kissed her again, and this time, she sensed the change in him. He was gentle, yet there was no reserve in his kiss. He held nothing back.

  This time, when he unbuttoned her wrapper, Blanche merely arched her shoulders, so he could more easily slide it from her. He tossed it away and gripped her waist. His hands were hot through her shift, making her shudder with delight at his touch.

  “Your turn,” he breathed.

  “You do not want to undress yourself?”

  “There’s more delight in having you remove the layers,” he assured her. “Especially if you linger to explore what you uncover.”

  “I had not thought of that. Let me see if it is true.” She unbuttoned the jacket and hung it over the bed post, for it should not be tossed to lie and wrinkle. The shirt beneath was fine linen.

  “You wear no undershirt?” she breathed.

  “How can you tell?” he asked, with a heat in his voice which said he knew exactly why she had guessed the truth.

  Blanche opened her mouth to say why, then remembered what he had said about exploring what she uncovered. She pressed her fingers against his chest, over the shirt, and let them slide down to where the small dark circles showed against the linen. She let her fingers bump over the little, raised centers and Neil drew in a slow breath in reaction.

  “You are so warm!” she breathed.

  “Today, right now, is the first time I have not felt cold since I returned,” he admitted.

  It pleased her. Then Blanche frowned. “Not even on the parade ground?” she asked, startled.

  Neil frowned.

  “I’m sorry. I should not have mentioned—”

  He reached for her as she pulled away, appalled. “No, no, it is alright,” he said quickly. “You prefer the truth. I forgot for a moment, that is all.” He pulled her against him, and held her. She heard his heart thundering in his chest. “It is hot on the square,” he told her and she could hear his words echoing against her ear. “Only, the hotter I grow, the colder my insides get, as I think about the reasons I am there.”

  She put her arm around his neck. “Can you not dispute the punishment? Have it abated? There must be a way to reduce the charge. When I saw you, I thought you were dying, Neil. If you must do that every day, it could kill you.”

  “It is better than what Seymour wanted to do to me,” he assured her.

  She shuddered. “Let us not talk about him. Not now.” She lifted her mouth to his. “Kiss me again.”

  He did. While his lips played with hers, Neil drew her shift over her head and tossed it aside. It left her in her stockings and that was all, for like Neil, she had discarded unnecessary layers in an attempt to stay cool during the heated days.

  She wrapped her arms around her, shy.

  Neil smiled. “Now I know for true you are untouched. Do you not know how much it pleases a man to look at you?”

  Blanche gnawed at her lip.

  His smile grew. “Then consider it this way. A display of your charms gives you power over a man. It renders the most reasonable men speechless and makes them do whatever you want.”

  Blanche’s lips parted. “Even you?” Neil was so strong. How could he succumb to such a simple thing?

  “Even me,” he assured her. He leaned toward her. “Stay there, if you want. Let me see if I can make you forget to hold your arms in the way.” He did not kiss her. Instead, he laid his lips against her shoulder. His tongue actually stroked across her skin, and it was as though she had been brushed by a burning branch. Her skin rippled. Her nerves flared.

  Neil didn’t stop, though. His mouth and tongue and sometimes his teeth, too, stroked and teased every inch of flesh she had not covered with her arms, including the soft swell of her breasts above her forearm. Even his hair brushed her jaw and her throat, tickling softly.

  Then he moved on to her knees, which she held firmly together. Her breath caught as he moved his mouth up the length of her legs. He ran his fingers over the red spot on her thigh where Seymour’s boot had connected, but said nothing. He kissed the spot and then moved on, until his head brushed her belly, and his mouth touched the valley between her thighs.

  By then, Blanche trembled and shuddered. Every touch of his lips and fingers sent shudders through her. Her limbs were heavy. Her arms fell away, unheeded. She couldn’t breathe properly. Her breath hitched and caught as waves of intense pleasure shot through her at his every touch.

  When Neil nudged her knees apart, exposing her inner folds, Blanche thought she would explode. She didn’t know what he intended, exactly, and she did not care, not while he continued to thrill her in this way. She no longer cared if he could see her most intimate parts. She wanted him to see them…and to touch them.

  Neil’s fingers brushed between her thighs, then slid gently higher, against her folds.

  She cried out and clutched at him, shaking. “Dear God…Neal…!”

  His smile was fleeting. Inflamed. He stroked again, making her hips jerk forward. A groan pulled out of her.

  Neil continued to stroke, little movements of his hand. Blanche could feel the slickness of her body down there, and the heat, which made his fingers seem cool. None of it bothered her as it should bother a moral woman. She was a slave to the delight he was stirring, and it seemed to grow stronger the longer he touched her. She shook with it, panting.

  The pleasure broke like a cresting wave. Silvered delight poured through her, sizzling every nerve. It was the most wonderous sensation.

  As it faded, she fell against him, every muscle weak.

  Neil’s lips brushed her cheek. He laid her properly upon the bed and removed his clothes.

  Blanche watched with interest as his body was uncovered. If he found it a delight to contemplate hers, then did the reverse work?

  She ran her gaze over the length of him, which seemed very long indeed. A man was considerably different from a woman. Even though she had studied statues in museums and at art shows, the pure, idealized marble figures did not properly convey the raw fact of a real man without clothes.

  Neil returned to the bed. Blanche found herself blushing, for she was not looking at him, precisely.

  “Stare if you want,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

  “You like me staring,” she guessed.

  “Touching, too,” he admitted, as he settled on his knees.

  It encouraged her to reach out her hand. The stiff, proud flesh rising from his groin was a deep red color. It looked inflamed, and when she curled her fingers around it, it was as heated as fever might leave it. Neil gave a soft groan, and the member shifted beneath her hand.

  She pulled her hand away, startled.

  Neil caught her wrist and brought it back. “You cannot hurt me…well, unless you really wish to.” He curled her fingers around him once more, and slid them along the length, to bump over the raised edge at the tip. He gave a little hiss in reaction and swallowed.

  “Oh…” she breathed and did it again. And again, as she watched Neil closely, to judge what pleased him. Lighter strokes. Harder ones. A pause, which made him groan again and pummel the bed. His body strained, and the muscles in his belly clenched and flexed as she toyed with him. He threw his head back, the tendons in his throat straining, as she orchestrated his pleasure.

  Then, abruptly, he snatched her hand away. Breathing heavily, he said, “Enough for now.” And he kissed her, hard and heavily, sinking her back into the mattress. He shifted himself over her, and Blanche recognized the moment. This was the thing which matrons whispered about together. This was the act which drove men wild, and which the lack of it forced them to seek out prostitutes.

  Neil pulled her knee up against his hi
p and settled against her. “If there is any pain, tell me.”

  Her heart hurried along, with more than just pleasure, as the blunt tip of him pushed against her folds. The moisture there would help, she realized now, as Neil drove steadily but slowly inside her.

  There was no pain, although there was pressure. It built until Neil paused. His gaze met hers again. Then he inched a little farther. The pressure was abruptly gone, as if something had snapped inside her.

  “Oh…!” she breathed. Then, impulsively, she rested her palm against Neil’s face. “Only you,” she whispered.

  Neil kissed her. His lips, his body, were both heated against her. His hips moved and he shifted inside her. A little deeper, then he withdrew. She gasped, almost disappointed.

  Until he pushed back into her. Her lips rounded in surprise once more, although she had no breath to speak.

  He lifted himself over her, the muscles in his arms rounding, and thrust again. The movement was easier. It was even a little nice.

  As he continued to thrust, the niceness increased. Blanche’s breath shortened. The fizzing pleasure she had experienced before gathered again at the base of her belly. The little nub of flesh throbbed, each time his pelvis brushed against it.

  Neil’s movement quickened. The tendons on his neck flexed. He grasped at her knee, as if he held her still so he could slide even deeper into her. Her breath caught as he worked his body. Her hips flexed, and she could barely hold still beneath him.

  Then he stiffened and paused for a moment, his eyes nearly closed. The sound he made, a mix of a groan and a sigh, sent a ripple of pleasure through her. She had made him make that sound. She had pleased him.

  His arm trembled as he kept himself propped above her and he let out a deep breath. Then he bent his head and kissed her. “Thank you,” he breathed.

  As he settled on the bed beside her once more, Blanche turned on her side to face him. She was no longer shy about him seeing her body. She eyed the tanned flesh of his chest, where it rose and fell quickly, still. It was tempting to touch the flesh, to see if it was as satiny smooth as it appeared.