His Colonial Rose

by Vanessa Brooks

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time they arrived back at the house in Brunswick Gardens, Rose was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Benedict carried her over the threshold, more as a necessity, given her current state, than a romantic gesture. Carrying his bride up to their private apartment, he gently placed her on the bed before calling for Eloise to come and undress her mistress. Leaving instructions for her to ensure that Rose accept a little nourishment before she slept, he then sought out Roberts to order a bath to be prepared in two hours' time, ready for his wife when she awoke.

  Rose opened her eyes and stretched languorously. She started as she realized that Benedict was watching her from where he was seated on the side of her bed. What on earth was he doing in her bedroom? He gave her a slow wide grin that crinkled his eyes sexily.

  "Feeling better?" he asked as he stroked her forehead. Rose sighed, they were married. Everything came flooding back as the last vestiges of sleep left her.

  She frowned. "Should you be in here?"

  Benedict tapped her nose. "Of course, we are man and wife and you shall be in here with me from now on. I don't hold with this modern fashion of man and wife using separate bedchambers. You have a dressing room of your own and also an adjoining withdrawing room."

  Rose stared about her realizing for the first time that she was in Benedict's own bedchamber and not her own.

  Her gaze swept over the sumptuous room filled with furniture made from expensive burgh yew. The soft furnishings were all of deep turquoise brocade. Her gaze returned to her new husband. He was wearing a dark red silk banyan and the oddest looking slippers Rose had ever seen. They were claret silk with highly pointed curled up toes. She giggled. Benedict looked down at his feet where Rose was staring.

  "I'll have you know that these are extremely rare, they are from the Far East and very exotic. I am one of only a few gentlemen in England to own a pair."

  Rose snorted. "I am not surprised. I shouldn't think many men would want them!"

  Benedict frowned and studied his feet. "You dislike them?" He sounded so young and so hurt that Rose gave in and howled with laughter. Benedict grinned and though she protested, giggling and squealing for mercy, he easily rolled her over. A couple of smacks landed on her wagging bottom before he proceeded to tickle her mercilessly. Spluttering with mirth, Rose managed to roll over onto her back and Benedict grabbed each of her wrists in his hands. He held them above her head and suddenly they were laughing no longer.

  An intense, predatory look swept across Benedict's face and Rose swallowed nervously. There was no time for nerves because he lowered his head and took her mouth with his. He kissed her as he had done only once before—the time that he had thrashed her with his father's riding crop. The kiss was full of hungry urgency that uncoiled a hither to dormant need, one deeply hidden within Rose's female core.

  The moment her husband's hand cupped her breast and his thumb began circling, stroking and teasing her virgin nipples, Rose mewed. Shock as well as wonder filled her as incredible sensations began awakening within her body. For the first time in her life, strong, male hands took the hem of her nightgown and slowly drew it up to expose her naked body for his pleasure—and for hers. Fingers encircled her ankle and then began to slowly slide up her leg, caressing every inch of her skin, stoking the fire beginning to burn inside her hotter and hotter. A strangled gasp came from her throat when his hand cupped her mound and squeezed gently and rhythmically. The kiss that had started it all changed as his tongue came into play, lancing in and out of her mouth, matching the rhythm of his hand upon her soft center. As a single finger dropped and pressed against her clitoris, Rose arched and very nearly unseated Benedict from the bed. "Easy girl… easy," he murmured against her mouth.

  "I am not a darn horse!" Rose retorted pulling herself upright irritably. Truth be told, she was frightened of her own wanton response to Benedict's intimate touch; surely these powerful feelings were abnormal for a well-bred young lady such as herself? After all, Rose might not be English aristocracy born and bred, but she was a gently born colonial girl of some means and worth.

  Benedict cursed himself for spoiling the moment. Still, they had all night and best to take it slow with a virgin, a first for him, and he certainly wasn't about to ruin Rose's first time by rushing things. He had taken the urgency from himself by seeing to his hungry pego while Rose had slept. This meant that he could control the pace of their lovemaking with his brains and not solely his voracious cock.

  There was a knocking at the chamber door. Benedict rose from the bedside and went to open it. Two maids carrying a copper bath traipsed in, placing the tub on the far side of the room, away from the large four poster bed. They were followed by what seemed to be a never ending line of footmen all carrying pails of hot water which they tipped into the bath before leaving, each with a respectful nod of their head toward their master.

  Rose pulled the bedcovers up high under her chin. She would never get used to having this number of servants and Benedict had called this 'a skeleton staff'!

  Benedict instructed the head footman to leave a tray of supper outside their door in an hour's time. He ordered they be left undisturbed for the rest of the night, unless he called for someone.

  Rose slunk down under the covers after everyone had left. "I shall need Eloise to help me with my bath."

  Benedict shook his head negatively at her as he moved across the room to the bed. Rose shivered, he looked so very masculine, his dark hair loose about his shoulders, his eyes glittering in the flickering candle light and a determined set to his jaw. He was standing over her now and for the first time Rose realized that he was probably naked beneath his robe. She felt flushed and uncomfortable, unsure of her new husband's expectations.

  Without so much as a by your leave, Benedict ripped the covers back from Rose's quaking body and scooped her up into his arms.

  "You can't, put me down! Benedict…" Rose protested before falling silent—realizing that he could and he had. He seated himself in an easy chair by the open blazing fire with Rose held on his lap. Benedict stroked her arm.

  "In a moment, darling, I am going to remove your nightgown and place you into the bath. I shall bathe you tonight and I have no doubt many more times in the future. You will listen to my commands and obey them without question, Rose. Tonight I shall make you my wife but I promise that I shall go at your pace and if anything I do frightens or indeed worries you, then you are to tell me. Do you understand?"

  "Well, I…"

  Benedict shook his head and tapped her hand. "Do you understand, Rose?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Now stand up." Benedict pulled Rose's nightgown up and over her head, flinging it away onto the bed. Rose moved to cover her breasts and her mons but Benedict shook his head again.

  "No, place your hands by your sides. I wish to look at you, for you are a veritable goddess, my darling." Embarrassed but flattered, Rose did as he bid and dropped her hands to her sides.

  All Benedict's senses drank her in, from her swelling bosom, her curving waist and the swell of her hips to the delightful golden curls that covered her mound. She was delicious and she was all his! Leaning forward, he kissed her shell-like belly button and Rose gently hissed with surprise.

  Next he led his bride to the tub and helped her into the hot water. As she slid into the enveloping warmth, Rose sighed contentedly. Benedict took the skein of her hair and twirled it expertly into a knot on the top of her head, thus protecting it from the wet.

  "How do you know how to do that?" Rose asked curiously, frowning with the returning memory of Margaret's insinuation.

  "I have a young sister if you recall. She adored sitting upon my lap, insisting that I play with her hair when she was younger."

  Benedict soaped his hands and ran them over Rose's shoulders, and she groaned with pleasure.

  "What is that heavenly scent?"

  "Lilyofthe Valley. I thought that it would suit you. The water has b
een scented with Lily of the Valley bathing oil as well."

  "Benedict?"

  "Yes?"

  "Why does Thomas Wigglesworth want to marry Lady Margaret? She's such a horrid, sour faced girl!"

  "We-ll, Thomas's grandfather was a wastrel and a gambler, he lost the family fortune and the hereditary right to the title 'Sir' was stripped from their family. It was the most dreadful disgrace. Thomas needs funds, which Margaret has but he also has need of prestige. I think that if Thomas makes a good marriage, the King may well reinstate the hereditary 'Sir' once again. King George likes Thomas, but he dislikes Lady Amelia and her daughter Margaret, so he was only too happy to join in the conspiracy to trap Margaret."

  "Poor old Squiggleworth. She will make his life a complete misery. He is such a gentle soul and with his nervous stammering and stuttering…" Rose jumped, startled by the bark of laughter that erupted loudly from Benedict.

  "Like most other ladies, you have totally misjudged Thomas. Lady Margaret is in for one enormous shock. Thomas loves rude, arrogant ladies. He fell in love with Margaret years ago when she first gave him a crushing put down. Let me tell you that Thomas's choice of implement for correcting wayward young ladies is a cane. In fact, he has a whole arsenal of canes and switches. Mark me, the Lady Margaret will become a different woman after she is wed to dear Thomas and I'll wager she might be one we might even come to like!"

  Rose squirmed a bit causing the water to ripple around her. "Oh! Um, though I think Margaret's behaviour is sour and vitriolic, I can't imagine something so dreadful. Though I suppose it won't be that awful through all the many petticoats she wears."

  Benedict stopped his shoulder massage. "She won't be wearing any clothing if she is caned, sweetheart. Punishment for wives is always given on the bare."

  Rose had no idea how to reply to her husband's information. It was several moments before she murmured, "Ooo, that is even… Oh..."

  Benedict grinned as it dawned upon Rose that this would now apply to her as well. He took the opportunity of her momentary distraction to slide his hands down from her neck to cup her rosy tipped breasts, soaping the soft mounds and tweaking the burgeoning buds with his fingers.

  "Mmm, hmm, all naughty wives, even you, Rose, are spanked on the bare. It behoves you to behave and then such a thing will never even occur."

  Benedict knew that at some point his lovely Rose would end up with her bottom bared ready for his hand or strap or, at the very worst, his riding crop… but never the cane. Benedict had never liked the implement much but he acknowledged that each gentleman was entitled to his own preference.

  "Yes, yes, of course, that will never happen to me, I shall be such a model wife." Rose nodded her head emphatically, emphasizing her point. Benedict grinned behind her back. His bride was adorable in her naivety. Slowly he let his left hand slide down between Rose's parted legs. He cupped her mound and trailed a finger into her folds. Rose sighed but made no protest and, after a moment or two of toying with her, Benedict stepped back and shed his banyan.

  "Sit forward, my darling; I am climbing in behind you." Rose looked up sharply and wished then that she had not… for Benedict was naked and his pego was simply huge!

  Benedict slid into the tub behind Rose and pulled her back into his embrace. The water had lost its heat but was still warm and pleasant. His hands covered her beasts and toyed with the buoyant, luscious handfuls. After a while, he slid one hand down to her mons and resumed circling her clitoris with his thumb in a languid and rhythmic motion, not too fast and not too slow, building and building again that tension within his bride's virginal folds.

  When Benedict could hear her soft gasps and feel Rose's body's response to his manipulation, he inserted a finger inside her slick quim. Rose gave a delightful little mew and Benedict's cock gave a spasm in response. Faster and faster he plunged with his finger until he felt Rose coil and gasp. Knowing she was at the precipice of an orgasm, he pressed her nerve filled nubbin harder with his thumb. That was all it took for Rose to experience her first amazing, exquisite and ecstatic release.

  While she was still boneless and biddable, Benedict flipped his wife forward, her head and shoulders hung bent over the edge of the tub. He told her to brace her hands upon the carpet. Benedict then reared up behind her delectable arse and lined his aching member up with her pink and pouting folds. Benedict thrust, pushing home, onwards through the barrier of her hymen, until he was finally seated deep within his wife, Rose was his… finally. He knew that he would not last long but that didn't matter, the difficult part was over and he could take his time exploring his wife's body and teach her new tricks without the fear of hurting her. Her barrier was breached and Rose was his for now and ever more. His hips jerked as his essence roiled from inside his shaft, the violence of his release making Benedict shout aloud with the almost agonizing pleasure.

  After he dried her and tucked her into bed, Benedict had fetched Rose a tray filled with small delicious treats, vol au vents, tiny beef puffs, sweetmeats, tiny spiced sausages, sugared fruits and chocolate dipped nuts. As Benedict fed her and petted her, Rose felt muzzy, dazed but elated. She had mated, it had not been difficult and now it was done.

  When Benedict removed the tray and laid down beside her, pulling her into his arms Rose assumed it was to sleep and so she was shocked when she felt the turgid length of him rising up against her hip. Before she could question, Benedict's mouth descended onto hers and she was lost again in a sea of passion and sensation that overrode any other thought or deed.

  This time, Benedict placed his head between her thighs. He nibbled and licked her womanhood until Rose was sure she would rip the hair from his very head with the depth of her excitement. When finally he entered her, Rose thrust her hips with an involuntary movement which seemed to encourage Benedict to surge powerfully in and out of her slippery core until Rose wanted to bite and scream and… then it happened again… the overwhelming ecstasy that picked her up and flung her high up into the stars. Rose loved it all so much that Benedict most obligingly sent her soaring several more times that night, before exhausted, they fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, twined in one another's arms and utterly satiated.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The happy honeymoon continued and Benedict was delighted that Rose was such a willing pupil to his erotic tutoring. His final lesson had been in the art of fellatio. Benedict knew that Rose needed to practice this particular act to become proficient and it was a tutoring task he much enjoyed carrying out.

  Trouble arose on the final day of their honeymoon, when Rose decided that the time had come to raise the thorny problem of Margaret's insinuations about Benedict's relationship to Nancy. They had breakfasted in the dining room for the first time that week. Up until that morning, they had been eating together in the massive four poster bed.

  Breakfast within English stately homes was generally a more casual arrangement, with breakfast food set upon the sideboard, the family helping themselves to what they wanted. It was an informal meal, the only meal in which the servants did not wait and serve. Consequently, it was an ideal time for Rose to raise the issue that Margaret had slyly mentioned.

  She waited until Benedict had eaten his cooked meal and was buttering toast before she spoke. "Benedict, when I was in the powder room at the Queen's Palace, Lady Margaret accosted me and told me a secret that I need to ask you about."

  "Hmm…?"

  Benedict was deep in thought as he'd just opened an interesting note from a well-known jockey, Fred Jones, who ridden horses for him successfully once before. The man had written to ask if he could ride Devil in the Trial Stakes at Ascot next year. Should he allow it? Was the horse ready for such a race?

  "Ben! You're not listening to a word I say!"

  "Hmm..?" Benedict looked up and gave an absent minded smile before lowering his head to his letter again. A sudden pain on his forehead caused him to look up, at which point he was hit full in the face by a hot, but not scalding, cup of tea
.

  Rose took one look at her husband's face and giggled. That would teach him to ignore her! Her laughter faltered when Benedict wiped his face with a napkin and got to his feet. A thunderous expression darkened his face. Rose decided that perhaps now wasn't the moment to question her husband about Nancy's parentage. Picking up her skirts, she dashed from the table and ran for the stairs. Benedict's furious roar followed her, almost stopping her in her tracks with fright. Continuing her flight, Rose decided it would be sensible to allow the gentleman time to calm down before she approached him on the subject again.

  Benedict could barely believe that Rose had first lobbed toast at him, followed by dowsing him with a cup of tea. Well, at least it meant that he not been proved wrong when he initially thought that by the end of the week, his lovely new wife would end up across his knee. She would appear eventually he knew and then, by Hades, he would punish her. He would enjoy disciplining her wholeheartedly for her hoydenish, childish behaviour. Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he went to retrieve his note from Fred Jones, the jockey. He sincerely hoped that it wasn't ruined by the wet tea as he needed to reply forthwith.

  Rose explored the enormous London house that was now her home having relaxed after she realized that Benedict was no longer chasing her. Really it was a delightful house, much larger than she had first imagined. There were thirty bedrooms in all, which she supposed was nothing compared to the two hundred or so bedchambers at Merriton but nevertheless, for a city home, it was impressive. Benedict's and Rose's own five roomed apartment was separate from the rest of the house. Up on the first floor, through its own entrance door on the landing, was situated Benedict's bedchamber—and hers too now, she supposed—Benedict's dressing room, her dressing room, his withdrawing room and her drawing room.

  Beatrice and Imogene shared a same sized apartment on the opposite side of the house to theirs and the entrance door to that apartment stood directly across the landing from Benedict and Rose's own.