by Cheryl Holt
My goodness! What was she to think?
“Just as I suspected,” he muttered as he straightened.
“What?”
“You have the soul of a harlot.”
“I do not!” she huffed, then she considered his remark. “Well, maybe a little. I’ve always wanted to try wicked things.”
“You’ve come to the right place, because there’s no one who enjoys a bit of wickedness more than me.” He pushed her down so she was on her back again. “Let’s see if you were telling the truth about that virginity you’re so proud of.”
“I’m not proud of it. I’ve worked to be shed of it for years.”
“Then it’s your lucky day.”
“Why?”
“You’ve finally found the man who’s happy to take it from you. Now be quiet and quit fussing.”
Down below, he was unbuttoning his trousers, and she stared at the ceiling, suddenly alarmed and wondering if she’d like it or hate it.
She’d heard women titter over the marital act, but factual information was difficult to obtain, the common opinion being that a maiden shouldn’t learn the details in advance. The wives’ attitudes varied, with some deeming the experience to be grand, others finding it a duty and a chore, and still others finding it revolting. Occasionally it sounded as if violence was thrown in too.
How would it be with Ramsey? If she loathed it—after waiting so long to try it—she’d be so disappointed!
“Do you know what’s about to occur?” he asked. “Has anybody explained it?”
“I have a general idea.”
“It’s physical.”
“I know, Ramsey,” she retorted with no small amount of exasperation.
“I’m just saying. I don’t want you to swoon.”
“I’m not the swooning type.”
“It’s messy and sweaty. You might muss your hair.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake. Get on with it, would you? If you keep babbling like that, I’ll fall asleep from boredom.”
“It will hurt the first time, but only the first time, so let’s get it out of the way.”
He stepped in, pushing her thighs very wide, and momentarily she could feel his manly rod probing at her center. She braced, certain he would scale her chaste walls with a vicious thrust. To her amazement, he was very careful, very gentle.
He wedged himself in, then wedged himself in a bit more, and while she’d meant to act nonchalant, as if she was deflowered every day, the whole episode was too bizarre. She simply couldn’t relax.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Here goes. Don’t you dare complain when it’s over.”
“I won’t complain, you lout!”
“Swear it.”
“I swear.”
He paused—looking at her naked body, at the decadent area where their privates were intimately joined—and he was absolutely brimming with masculine vanity.
“You’re the only real lady I ever fucked,” he crudely said.
“I’ll be the last—if you don’t hurry up.”
“You’re always in a rush. Live a little, would you? Enjoy the ride. We won’t ever be able to do this precise thing ever again.”
“I can’t understand why you’re moving as slow as a snail. Aren’t you excited to learn what it will be like?”
“Oh, I know what it will be like. You’re the one who’s in for a surprise.”
He lifted her bottom and dipped down to suck hard at her nipple. As she arched up, he gave a fierce shove.
Just that quick, just that easily, he was buried to the hilt.
She whooshed out a breath of astonishment, and she held very still, assessing the swings of emotion coursing through her. She was happy and sad and eager and aghast all at once.
Primarily though, she was so bloody glad they’d proceeded. There was no going back, and he couldn’t return her to Cliffside. Not after this.
I’ve got you now!
She’d dealt her hand, made her wager, and won the bet, and she was vastly relieved to have maneuvered him into the exact spot where she’d wanted him to be.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s…interesting.”
“I guess you were telling the truth.”
“About what?”
“You were a virgin after all.”
“I told you I was.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
He grabbed her legs and showed her how to wrap them around his waist, then he started to flex with deliberate motions, his male member penetrating as far as it would go, then he’d pull it out, only to plunge it in again.
Initially it was awkward, but she rapidly adapted to his steady rhythm, and she merrily joined in. While she hadn’t known what to expect, she was delighted to discover that it was wild and raucous and definitely worth trying.
His movements grew more profound, until finally—with a loud shout—he emptied himself in her womb. She wasn’t worried about any consequences. If a babe caught, she’d fret about it once it became a problem. That was her typical mode of staggering through life, and she saw no reason to change.
His hips ground to a halt, and he kissed her on the mouth then drew away and stood. She sat up, and she’d had her hair piled on her head, but the combs had fallen out so the brunette curls tumbled down her back. Her thighs were bruised, her inner parts raw and sore.
All in all, she felt quite grand.
“You’re no longer a virgin, Rebecca, but you don’t look very pleased.”
“It was…fine.” She couldn’t locate the appropriate words to describe her sentiment. She was too thunderstruck.
“It was better than fine. Admit it.”
“Yes, it was,” she said, and to her horror, she burst into tears.
He was aghast. “Are you crying?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Are you hurt? Didn’t you like it? What?”
“I’m so happy.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Trust me, I’m bowled over by you.”
“Of course you are.”
She’d hoped maybe they’d hug or cuddle, but then he wasn’t a romantic sort. The notion had probably never occurred to him, but she was desperate for a display of tenderness. When next they dallied, she intended that it would be in a bed so they could lie down and take their time.
She’d cast her lot with him and planned to keep him for as long as he’d have her. If she’d known how to cook, she’d have wound her path through his belly, but women of her station were never taught how to perform such menial tasks. Carnal tricks seemed the best alternative, and she’d be the premier student in his class of debauched lessons. He’d never be sorry.
He grabbed her robe and draped it over her shoulders, stuffing her arms in the sleeves, then he dragged her off the table, easing her feet to the floor.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he said.
It was the last comment she’d expected, and she scowled. “To go where?”
“Scotland.”
“Scotland! Why?”
“We have to hightail it up there and get ourselves leg-shackled.”
“We agreed there’d be no strings attached.”
“Yes, well, I’ve thought about it, and if I don’t marry you, Michael will murder me when he finds out. You’ll be a widow before you’re ever a bride.”
She shook her head. “You don’t want to wed, Ramsey.”
“It won’t kill me.”
“It won’t kill you? That makes me eager to proceed.”
He bent down and kissed her. “It won’t kill you either.”
“But…married.”
She actually shuddered with dread.
What would it be like to wed such a tough, violent individual? He was an orphan who’d grown up on the streets of London, and as far as she was aware he had no kin, no past worth mentioning, and only dissolute, reckless Michael Scott as a friend.
How could she marry him? What would people say?
As quickly as the frantic questions arose, she chased them away. Who cared what people would say? After Gaylord’s financial collapse became common knowledge, after he surrendered Cliffside and was publicly beggared, none of her acquaintances would maintain a relationship.
She’d be a pariah. She’d be a laughingstock. For years, she’d been foundering on Gaylord’s sinking ship. Ramsey would be the port in her personal storm.
“I never asked,” she said, “but have you any money? You work for Mr. Scott, so I’m assuming you have an income.”
“Honey, I’m rich as Croesus.”
Her brows shot up. “Really?”
“Yes, really, and I bought you a house. We’ll move in after we’re back from Scotland.”
“A house? Seriously, Ramsey?”
“Yes. Were you afraid I’d make you sleep in a ditch?”
“Well…”
“Don’t answer that. I told you I needed to figure out a plan, and I have.”
“Wife, home, and family? That seems like quite a jump all at once.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never had any of those things, but it’s about time I did. Besides, what else would I do with all my money?”
“What else indeed? You might as well spend it on me.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” He swooped in and took another kiss. “We’ll ride out in the morning. Pack a small bag so we can travel fast.”
“All right.”
“Leave your sister a note so she won’t worry.”
“What should I tell her? I’m not sure she’ll be happy that I’m eloping with you.”
“Tell her anyway. Tell her I have honorable intentions, and she shouldn’t fret. I’ll bring you back safe and sound.”
“And married.”
He nodded. “And married.”
He spun and walked to the door. At the last second, he glanced over. “Give that table a good scrubbing. They cook food on it.”
Then he was gone, and she staggered over to a chair and collapsed down onto it.
Would she traipse off to Scotland with him? She’d wanted to be rescued. Was that the best decision?
She had no idea.
* * * *
“Magdalena, what are you doing here?”
Pamela gaped at Maggie, having found her sitting quietly in the front parlor. There had been no indication that a guest had arrived. No carriage had rolled up the drive, no one had banged the knocker.
Not that her sister needed to knock. But Maggie was supposed to be off with Michael Scott, securing Pamela’s future and saving Cliffside. Gaylord had heard she’d succeeded. Mr. Scott had been effusive in his praise, declaring himself delighted with Maggie.
“I’m on my way to London,” Maggie said. “I popped in to say hello. May I stay the night?”
“Certainly, but why are you on your way to London? Where have you been?”
“I’ve been visiting.”
Pamela knew Maggie had been visiting—and with whom—but Pamela was positive she should pretend to have no knowledge of Maggie’s acquiescence or her downfall at Mr. Scott’s hands.
To Pamela’s dismay though, Maggie appeared very glum, a likely sign that she hadn’t enjoyed her ruination as much as Mr. Scott had. Pamela tried to muster some sympathy for her sister, but honestly!
Maggie was twenty-five, and her virginity had been going to waste. Why shouldn’t she have used it to save her family? As Gaylord frequently mentioned, it was unnatural for a female to remain chaste. By Maggie giving herself to Mr. Scott, she was merely following the normal and accepted path for a woman.
Mr. Scott had written to Gaylord claiming he’d keep her for the whole six months. Pamela’s home would be safe for that entire period, and at that very moment Gaylord was in the city, talking to lenders and creditors, furiously attempting to get Cliffside back in their possession where it belonged.
If Gaylord played his cards right—which he hadn’t so far—at the end of the six months, Pamela wouldn’t have to move.
Yet from how Maggie was moping, it seemed something had happened that might destroy the arrangement. Why was Maggie traveling to town alone? Where was Mr. Scott? Why wasn’t he with her?
If Maggie had reneged at the last minute, Pamela would throttle her.
“I went away with Mr. Scott—as you begged me to do,” Maggie explained.
“You did?” Pamela feigned surprise.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful for your help.”
“We’ve decided to marry.”
Pamela frowned, confused by the news. “You and Mr. Scott?”
“Yes, and since I’m about to be his wife I’ve pleaded with him to be kind to you with regard to Cliffside.”
“What was his reply?”
“He’s agreed to be merciful, but I don’t believe any assistance will be given to Gaylord. Just to you and Rebecca. That’s it. That’s the only guarantee I could wring out of him. It’s why I stopped by on my way to the city—so you’d know his opinion.”
Pamela was enraged. Of course assistance would have to flow to Gaylord. He was Pamela’s husband and the head of the family. She would never leave him in the lurch—not when she’d risked so much to make him her own. How could Maggie imagine he wouldn’t be included?
“I’m curious about your engagement,” Pamela said.
“Why would you be? Will it gall you if I wind up with a husband? Were you hoping I’d simply end up ruined and in trouble?”
“I never wanted that!”
“Didn’t you?” Maggie scoffed. “I’m delighted to report that, during our holiday, Mr. Scott and I grew very close.”
“And…he proposed to you?”
“Yes. Could we have the ceremony at Cliffside? I’d like to hold it here if you don’t mind.”
“No, no, I don’t mind. Ah…where is Mr. Scott? Why isn’t he with you?”
“He was called to London on an emergency.”
“I see,” Pamela murmured, not actually seeing at all. “Would you excuse me? I need to inform the housekeeper you’ll join us for supper and overnight. Must you leave in the morning? You’re welcome to stay longer.”
“I have to get back to work.”
“Fine, then. Go if you must.”
Pamela strolled out, exuding calm and composure, but the instant she was in the hall and out of Maggie’s sight, she collapsed against the wall, a palm clapped over her mouth to stifle her gasp of astonishment.
Michael Scott was betrothed to Lord Stone’s daughter. Gaylord had told Pamela as much, but even if he hadn’t, the announcement had been in all the newspapers. There had been several grand parties hosted by her parents, and a betrothal ball was scheduled.
What was Mr. Scott thinking by lying to Maggie? And what would become of her when she learned the truth?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Maggie stood in the front drive at Cliffside, dawdling as a footman brought out her luggage. A carriage had been harnessed for her, and she would take it into the village then ride the mail coach into town.
She had more bags now than when she’d departed the city. Michael had been extremely generous, providing her with several dresses, plus the shawls, shoes, and other accoutrements that went with a new wardrobe.
Considering how he’d abandoned her at Orphan’s Nest, how she’d fled his residence in a fit of pique, she’d nearly left it all behind, but in the end she hadn’t. It had been so long since she’d had any new clothes that she’d kept every item.
No matter what ultimately occurred between her and Michael, she figured she deserved what she’d been given. She viewed it as payment for the aggravation he’d caused her.
She was eager to leave Cliffside, eager to return to her job and life in London, and she was feeling very uncertain about what she’d find once she was there.
A visit to Pamela was always distressing. Luckily Gaylord had been away, but Rebecca was
gone too, claiming Maggie had asked her to watch over the mission while Maggie was away.
Maggie didn’t admit as much to Pamela, but Rebecca was the very last person who would be suitable to watch over the rescue mission or any other endeavor. Maggie had issued no invitation, so what was her sister doing in London? Maggie was almost too alarmed to learn the truth.
On top of all her other troubles, she was incredibly confused over Michael and his treatment of her.
She’d waited four days to hear from him, four grueling, humiliating days that had ticked by in a slow sort of torture. Like a ninny, she’d assumed he’d write or send a messenger who would apprise her of his plans. But the selfish oaf hadn’t come back, hadn’t contacted her, hadn’t penned a letter.
She’d paced and fretted and fumed, and finally her temper had gotten the better of her. She wasn’t a doxy who could be used for illicit purposes then discarded when he was finished. Nor was she stupid or foolish. She could handle her own problems, and she wouldn’t sit twiddling her thumbs for any man. She’d packed her bags and headed to town.
During the protracted journey, she’d pondered their ardent night of amour. When she’d been immersed in their tryst, it had seemed as if he’d proposed. It was the reason she’d surrendered her virginity. She wouldn’t have otherwise. At least she didn’t expect she would have.
With how passionate it had been, she wasn’t sure of anything. Were they engaged? She definitely felt they were, but she couldn’t guess what he was thinking.
Well she had news for Michael Scott, and she’d deliver it in the most brusque, curt way she could manage. She might not have a ring on her finger, but as far as she was concerned they were betrothed and would wed right away. She wouldn’t risk that a babe had caught in her womb, and she wouldn’t listen to any nonsense from him that might delay the inevitable.
They were marrying, and that was that.
She took a final look at the house, wondering when she’d be back, wondering—as she always did when she departed—if she’d ever see it again.
As usual, she suffered no nostalgia and had no regrets. Cliffside might have been her home as a girl, but too many awful events had transpired under her father’s roof, and the terrible had wiped out the good.
