Fen’s eyes widened. “Oh but-” she broke off.
“Yes?” said Linnet encouragingly.
“Well, Oswald doesn’t really do any of those things. He’s, well-” Fen watched as Archie squished the bread between his fingers. “Quite reserved in many ways.”
Linnet nodded. “That is certainly the impression he gives. And yet-” she jiggled Archie on her knee. “I have certainly heard some interesting tales since your marriage which have made me wonder…” she broke off with a smile.
“Made you wonder?” prompted Fen, as Archie reached for a second piece of bread with his other hand.
“Finish with that one first, dearest,” advised Linnet. Her son ignored her, and she turned back to Fen. “I wondered if perhaps Oswald is not quite so different from Mason after all.”
Fen pondered this in some confusion. Mason Vawdrey seemed like a terrifying ogre to her. Oswald was more like a dark prince under a spell. “What stories did you hear, I wonder?” she asked with misgiving.
“Oh well, the one where he dragged Sir Thane down the corridor in nothing but his night-cap until he renounced all claim on you. That one’s my favorite.”
“His claim on me?” echoed Fen, quite mystified.
“Oh yes, we heard at least four versions of that story which reached us even at Cadwallader. In my favorite version, Sir Ambrose offers his every family treasure from his coffers in exchange for your return. ‘For no jewel’, quoth he, ‘could compare to the one I have lost, which was peerless.’
Fen’s mouth dropped open. “But that’s not what happened at all!” she protested, shocked.
“Oh, but it’s such a good story, don’t you agree?” asked Linnet enthusiastically.
Fen stared. “I never even heard it before!” And it gave her a nasty reminder of that wretched play of Mr Entner’s.
“Of course, Oswald is something of a villain in that re-telling,” admitted Linnet. “But sometimes the villains are so much more intriguing than a dull, worthy hero. Don’t you agree?”
Fen had no idea how to respond to this. Luckily Archie chose this moment to hold out both chubby, buttery fists towards her.
“Oh, look at that,” crowed Linnet. “He wants to come to his Aunt Fenella!”
“Does he really?” asked Fenella. With nervous hands she heaved the boy onto her own lap. He tipped back his head to solemnly look at her. “You’re a fine big boy,” she told him.
Archie let out an ear-splitting screech.
“What is it?” Fen gasped.
“Oh naught,” his mother replied airily. “He’s just testing out his lungs.” She looked at her son with maternal pride. “Isn’t that right, my dearest?”
Archie dropped a piece of mangled bread on Fen’s skirts and then looked up at her to see how she accepted this beneficence.
“Thank you?” Fen ventured.
He beamed.
“You’re very good with children,” said Linnet generously.
“I haven’t really had much experience,” admitted Fen.
“You can’t tell in the least,” Linnet assured her.
**
As she undressed, Fen thought furiously about ‘The Tragical History of a Lady Most Foully Betrayed’. She would have to send word to Hester tomorrow and see how she was faring with her read-through. Something would have to be done about it. After her conversation with Linnet, she had some vague idea that a re-write could solve all her problems. As it stood, the play was terribly gloomy. The betrayed lady was a virtuous martyr, upon whom misfortune after misfortune was heaped, until she died of a broken heart. Her faithless husband abandoned her in the first act. She was forced into a loveless re-marriage in the second act and in the third she expired. But perhaps, thought Fen, if the play was re-written, then she would not be viewed afterward by everyone as some kind of forlorn victim? Or perhaps, if the second husband could be turned into a villain instead of an uncaring, ambitious sort, then surely people would know that it was not Oswald?
“Fenella?”
Fen looked up startled, to see Oswald looking at her in the mirrored glass. Had he asked her something? “Your pardon,” she said hurriedly. “I did not catch what you said.”
He frowned and lowered his wash cloth. “I said, I hope the arrival of more Vawdreys does not discomfort you.”
“Of course not,” she said, laying her dress over the back of the chair. “Linnet and the children are very pleasant company.”
“Then why do you look so worried?” he asked bluntly. “Is it my brother, Mason? His bark is worse than his bite, I assure you.”
“It’s not that at all,” Fen assured him. “I was only thinking through some…hypothetical matter.”
He rolled his eyes. “Is Eden Montmayne dragging you to philosophical debates now?” He went back to washing his neck. “My advice,” he said. “Is not to accompany her, if you don’t care for it. You can say no.”
Fen bit her lip, and laid her stockings over the arm of the chair. “Would you rather be viewed in history as a villain, or a victim of circumstances?” she asked. Then added rashly: “I think I’d rather be a villain.” Maybe that was it, thought Fen, dropping her garters. The foully betrayed woman could be depicted instead as a scheming villainess! Then everyone would know it wasn’t her! She stooped for her bright green garters and clutched them to her chest. It was sheer inspiration! She would ask Mr Entner to re-write the roles on the morrow!
Oswald straightened up and gave her a quizzical look. “You, a villain?” he repeated, unlacing his tunic.
“Yes,” agreed Fen enthusiastically.
Oswald cocked his head to one side as if considering it. “And what villainy would you be guilty of?” he asked.
“P-poisoning?” she suggested uncertainly.
Oswald’s lips twitched, and she thought for a moment he would laugh.
Fen felt unaccountably annoyed. “I could be a villain if I wanted to,” she said, plunking a hand on one hip. She cast about wildly for something other villainous women could perpetrate. His gaze seemed to linger on her, and Fen remembered she was stood only in her thin shift. “I could be a scheming seductress,” she said unthinkingly. To her surprise, the humor seemed to drop from Oswald’s face.
His eyes travelled over her and seemed to darken. “Prove it,” he said in a husky voice and threw down the cloth he was drying himself with.
Fen caught her breath. What?
He crossed the room, and to her disappointment, instead of drawing her into his arms, he brushed right past her and walked toward the bed. Fen swiveled on her heel to turn and watch as he climbed onto the bed. Unusually, he was still wearing his white linen braies. Fen frowned, her husband always slept naked. He settled on his back, his arms folded behind his head.
“Come and seduce me, Fen,” he said, and crossed his ankles.
Something about his casual pose, irritated her. Did he think she couldn’t?
“I will,” she fired up. Then lapsed into a thoughtful silence, as she cautiously approached the bed. One glance at his tented braies assured her he was not as indifferent as his pose suggested. “You did lock the door, didn’t you?” she asked momentarily distracted.
He definitely smiled at this. “Yes, stop stalling for time, madam wife.”
“I’m not,” she frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. Thinking of Linnet’s words, she placed her hand on his muscular belly. From his reaction, she guessed it was not the reassuring touch her sister-in-law had spoken of. Oswald’s stomach muscles rippled beneath her touch, and he gave a muffled noise of surprise and something else. Her eyes flew to his.
In answer to the question in her gaze, he said “I thought you would kiss me first.” To Fen’s surprise, he sounded slightly breathless. He withdrew his hands from behind his head and reached up to grip the headboard. “Don’t stop.”
Fenella had left her hand where it lay, and at his words, she traced the bunched muscle with her fingertips. This time he drew in a sharp brea
th, before letting it out again on a shudder. Fen was enthralled. She had no idea how she was doing it, but it was definitely working. A notion struck her, and before she could lose her nerve, she stood up from the mattress and drew her shift over her head, before dropping it on the floor. The flickering candlelight was hopefully more flattering than the cold light of day, she thought hopefully as she turned slowly in a small circle, displaying herself for her husband to view. Her gaze flew to his for reassurance, and she was almost scorched alive. Oswald Vawdrey’s gaze was searing. He hadn’t moved an inch, and his eyes were glued to her. Emboldened, she clambered onto the bed, trying to make her movement fluid, then swung a leg over his, so she settled across his muscular thighs.
He groaned at this and shifted under her slightly. She knew a moment’s panic that she might be too heavy, but before she could voice it, he ground out.
“Move higher up, Fen.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“You could say that.”
She glanced down at his burgeoning crotch area and shook her head. ”Not yet,” she said, remembering his own unhurried explorations of her body. She felt tingly and a little breathless at this point herself. He huffed, and she placed her hands daringly on his inner thighs. His body jerked, and he let out a startled exclamation, half sitting up.
“I need to take these off,” he muttered, reaching for the ties on his braies.
“Why did you leave them on?” she asked, intrigued.
“So you could take them off me.” He gave a short laugh. “I thought you might run short on seduction ideas.”
“I can take them off,” she objected. “Let me.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “There’s only so much I can stand.” He had them untied and Fen climbed off him with a sigh, as he efficiently shucked them off.
“I was supposed to be seducing you,” she reminded him, reaching for the top bed sheet.
“You are,” he said thickly and caught her wrist. “Don’t disappear under the bed clothes.” He pulled her back over him, as he fell on his back. Fen settled awkwardly in his lap. His hands were on her backside now, squeezing and fondling her.
“Um,” she started uncertainly.
“You’re still in charge,” he told her.
Sadly, thought Fen, now she really had run out of ideas! Absently, her hands fell down to lightly pet the part of him bumping insistently against her soft belly.
His hips pressed forward hard and his eyes closed. Fen could see the vein in his neck strain. “Fen,” he panted.
Oh. Now that he definitely liked. Tentatively, she closed her fingers around his thick staff and lightly squeezed.
His grasp on her behind tightened, and he muttered something she couldn’t quite make out. She ran her thumb up and down his turgid length, and then dipped below to lightly trace his balls.
His eyes flew open and their gazes met. Fen felt herself melt in what she glimpsed there.
Feeling flushed and reckless, she pressed forward and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. His mouth opened beneath hers and, daringly Fen slid her tongue into his mouth. Their kiss exploded in wet, molten heat. Fen rubbed her bare breasts against his chest and wound her arms around his neck. His hands slid around from her buttocks to her hips and he pulled and pushed her against his hard maleness, until he was where he wanted to be. Fen wrenched her mouth from his as she confusedly realized she was still on top.
As if aware of her thoughts, he murmured, “Trust me, it works this way too.”
Fen nodded, her eyes wide as he seized her thighs and pulled her down onto him as he thrust up, until he was fully sheathed inside her. Fen whimpered at the sensation of fullness, which felt considerable from this angle. Tentatively she dropped her knees down onto the mattress on either side of him. “How does this..?”
“Give me a moment,” he said tightly. “Don’t move yet.”
Move? Fen sat still, feeling him throbbing inside of her. Which must mean he really liked it, as he never achieved rapture before her. Fen cautiously sat up straight, gazing down at him. A few locks of his dark hair had fallen forward onto his face. He was so handsome, she thought misty-eyed, even more so than when he was a youth.
Oswald’s eyes flicked open and focused on her. “Gods,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I’ll last long.” He reached up and palmed her heavy breasts, making her shiver. Then he slid one hand down the middle of her belly, dipping between her legs. When he touched the slick, warm folds there, surrounding his hardness, feeling where she took him into her body, Fen shuddered. His other hand was still at her breast. As one thumb rubbed over and around her nipple, the other found the sensitive pearl between her legs and began to move in the same motion. Pleasure streaking through her body, Fen threw her head back and began to rock forward and back as the feelings intensified, and seemed to swirl where she felt him, hard and thick, giving her what she needed. His hand at her breast slid down to grasp her hip, encouraging its fitful movement to take on a more purposeful stroke.
“Move on me, Fen,” he urged, his voice gravelly and rough, lacking the usual polish. Anxious to please him, and find her own relief, Fen fell forward, planting her palms on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. She shifted her hips over him, making him grunt and groan, even as she bit her own lip to stifle her own. She huffed and puffed grasped the bedsheets as she rose and fell over him. “Wait,” she gasped at last when she felt like her arms were too wobbly to support her anymore and she couldn’t keep up the pace. “I’m-“
“Too good at this,” he groaned, releasing the headboard and rolling her over onto her back. Fen arched her back and wrapped her legs around his hips, as she felt the beginning of her own release. To her surprise, he only drove into her twice, when with a muffled roar, he pressed her into the mattress and spilled his seed inside her. Fen tightened her clasp on him and they lay in a tangle for a few heartbeats, breathing heavily.
When he lifted his head from her shoulder, he looked a little shaken. “I think you’ve proved your point. You’re a very effective seductress.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” marveled Fen. Oswald kissed her again, lingeringly before stretching out and curling around her, his hand on her stomach. Fen fell asleep without even once thinking about the wretched play.
**
The next morning, Fen woke groggily to find Oswald had already left. She crawled out of bed and started to wash with the half full jug of tepid water still left on the side. She had a slight feeling of dread already when she thought about Mr Entner and his play. Trudy poked her head through the door just as she was finishing her ablutions.
“Oh milady, I wasn’t sure as you’d be rising yet.”
“Not to worry, Trudy,” Fen assured her, drying the back of her neck. “Could you please put me out some clothes for the day. You’re much better at picking them than I.”
Trudy beamed and hurried into the room. “You’re sure you don’t want more hot water?” she asked as she started pulling out stockings and a clean shift.
“No, thank you. Are any of the rest of the family at breakfast yet?” asked Fen nervously.
“They’re all sleeping in after their journey yesterday.”
“Excellent,” murmured Fen. With a bit of luck, she could slip away for her sitting with Signor Arnotti without any awkward exchanges first. She hurriedly pulled on the gown of emerald green with gold flowers embroidered down the sleeves, and sat fastening her front lacing as Trudy brushed and dressed her hair. “This is a lovely dress. I must tell my husband to stop buying any more. I must have a dozen at least.”
“Don’t you have to wear your plum colored dress for the painting?” puzzled Trudy as she pinned the veil to her coif at the back of her head.
“Oh, not today. He said he’d finished his preliminary sketches of my figure. Next he will be studying my face. He’s concentrating on the way the light falls and such,” said Fen vaguely, having no idea how painters worked.
“Good thing we’ve
put your hair out of the way then,” murmured Trudy smugly as Fen donned her enamel ruby ring and her pearls.
“You think of everything, Trudy.”
“You’ve had two letters come this morning, milady. I put them on the table for you to have when you break your fast.”
“Two letters?” asked Fen in surprise as she rose from her chair. While it was true she was expecting a letter from Orla, she had no notion who the other could be from. She made her way into the adjoining room and only just bit back an exclamation at the sight of who loomed there, wolfing down a large platter of salted fish and white bread.
“Oh! Good morning, my lord,” she faltered as she pulled out a chair opposite her brother-in-law, Mason Vawdrey, Duke of Cadwallader. He was a rather imposing sight to have to confront at this time of the morning.
His eyebrow rose at her formal greeting. “You’d better call me Mason,” he said abruptly. It was clear he took no pleasure in the thought.
“Thank you, I will. And I hope you will call me Fenella,” she said cheerfully. “I thought for a moment you were Roland. You must be something of the same height.” She looked around distractedly for Bors.
“He’s not here,” said Mason.
“Who?”
“Roland.”
“I’m looking for my dog,” Fenella explained. “Though in truth, they are usually to be found together. Roland seems determined to purloin Bors’ affections. I’m convinced he lets him sleep with him, though he denies it every time and claims he sneaks into his chamber in the night.”
Mason looked at her and Fenella pressed her lips together. Was she talking too much? She knew some gentlemen did not wish to be prattled at so early in the morning. But she was nervous and couldn’t seem to stem the tide.
“Roland has stolen your dog?” Mason repeated blankly. He looked at her sternly, as if convinced she was making it up.
“To all intents and purposes,” Fenella agreed and reached for a piece of bread.
He considered this a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug and recommenced chewing.
Fen turned over both her letters and was surprised to find that one was from Gil. Her brother was not known for the frequency of his correspondence. Indeed, she had received only one dashed-off note from him since he had returned to Sitchmarsh, nearly two months ago. She broke his open before Orla’s and frowned down at her brother’s scrawled hand with a sigh. It seemed even worse than usual, she thought distractedly, taking a mouthful of salted cod. And no wonder, for on scanning the first two lines it seemed her brother had written it in something of a temper. She blinked at his vehemence. He was being ‘pursued by a harridan’ who turned his house upside down, he complained, ‘and blighted his life’. Fen’s eyebrows rose. She by no means admired her brother’s taste in women, but she doubted that the current fancy, a buxom widow, would have shown her hand before she had her feet firmly under the table. Fen had always thought Sarah Yondy to be a rather unpleasant woman who hid her sharp edges behind a cooing tongue. She wondered what could have happened for Sarah to have dropped the coy façade she usually employed around men. Unfortunately, the next paragraph was a mess of ink blots and crossing-outs. Though she stared and held the page to her nose and then away from her face, the full length of her arm, she could make nothing of it. She turned it over in defeat and found her brother seemed to expect her to do something about it! ‘I beg you will call her off her quarry, your own poor brother, whom she has backed into a corner and looks to wolf down in one bite’. Fen lowered the page in consternation. Whatever could Gil expect her to do about Sarah Yondy? She hadn’t spoken to the woman in at least three years and they had never been friends! Gil had finished with a flourish and signed himself off ‘your beleaguered brother’. Well, she thought it was beleaguered, though it could have just as easily been ‘badgered’ or ‘bludgeoned’.
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 33
