by Bianca Bloom
I could not stomach the idea of Mrs. Barlow paying the nurse for another night. I was already dependent on this family for my room, board, and income, and now I was to depend on them for protection as well. Sick with anger, I decided that it would not do — I wanted as little as possible to be owed them.
“You need not,” I told her. “I am feeling much better, and can certainly look after myself.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not pretending that you are a shrinking violet, miss. But are you quite certain that you can protect yourself? This is not the easiest household to live in, and I’ve many more years of knowing that than you have.”
“I will be quite safe,” I told her. “Only I wish to be alone.”
Once she left, I wondered whether I was alone. Part of me was thrilled that I could soon give Miss Courtenay her comeuppance, but another part of me still doubted. Luke Barlow had not exactly been at my side all week, only coming in once to tell me that we were to be married. And apparently, nobody but the vicar and the Archbishop of Canterbury knew of our plan. Luke had been given ample time to tell his family, and apparently they knew nothing.
Then again, he had seemed very excited to see me earlier. And could he really be seriously considering marrying Miss Courtenay, now that he had an alternative?
That thought was enough to send me straight to sleep. It was comforting that, apart from her willingness to stay in the Barlow household and her beautiful singing voice, there was nothing in particular that could redeem Miss Courtenay. She hardly seemed a formidable rival.
I woke in a fog, forgetting that the nurse was no longer with me. “Nurse Britton?” I called, and heard only a rough laugh in response. “Here you are, girlie,” said the voice, as the man set his candle down on the floor and lumbered toward the bed. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Before I tried to defend myself, I managed to unclose my throat just long enough to scream. I meant to say “Help!” but all I could manage was a loud shriek.
At first, I thought that I would be able to get around the old man. Climbing out of my bed, I walked toward the window as he got on top of the bed.
But that was my fatal mistake. In my eagerness to get out of the room, I miscalculated the distance that I had to run. The bed was very close to the door, and the old man knew it.
I recalled, chilled by my fear, that the vicar had described his horrid history. How he was used to preying on young girls. And that knowledge must have been what allowed him to grab at my shift as I tried to get out of the door. With his tight grip, he was pulling me into the hall before I had a chance to think of my next move.
“Don’t pretend to be shocked, girlie,” he said, putting his fingers in my hair and another arm over my backside so that I could not get away from him. “No, you should not act so shocked.”
And with that he laughed, trying to kiss my neck as I stopped moving, paralyzed with horror. I knew that if he tried to bed me there in the hallway, I would suffer for that event for years.
“It’s a cruel world,” my mother used to tell me, warning of that very act. “If a man tries to take your virtue, Alice, use everything that you have and fight.”
But I could not use my fingers, or my teeth, or even my voice. It was as if old Mr. Barlow had removed every possibility of movement from me.
And just when I was squeezing my eyes shut, hoping that the whole thing would be able quickly, he crumpled down, enabling me to crawl out of his grasp after we both fell.
A small figure was hissing at him, hitting him with a poker.
“Quickly,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into a nearby room.
A moment passed before I realized that I was locked safely in Lillian’s bedroom. It was quite still, except for the sound of the old man limping and cursing as he walked away down the hall.
“You can sleep in this room tonight,” she said to me, her voice not quite steady.
“And your mother?” I asked.
Lillian only shook her head. “She ran off when I opened the door. She’s probably too ashamed to face you.”
She gestured to the bed where her mother usually slept. “The bed is free for you. I am only sorry we have such poor accommodations.”
I fell on the bed, suddenly too tired to act the proper governess. “Under the circumstances,” I said wryly, “Any accommodation would be welcome.”
“I am sorry,” she said, and began to cry.
I went over to her, feeling both sad for my little charge and as if I were the one who had a right to be crying.
“All will be well, Lillian,” I told her.
“Yes,” she sniffed, “But you asked mama to help you, and she didn’t. What are we to do tomorrow night, and the night after? I am afraid grandfather is uncontrollable, and mama will not let Miss Courtenay see the way we live in fear of his nighttime wanderings.”
I smiled wryly. My own problem would be solved by marriage, and perhaps my position as a new Mrs. Barlow would allow for a new arrangement with the old man. Why the family didn’t simply lock him into a closet each night was beyond me, if he did indeed pose such a danger.
“You needn’t worry,” I told her. “I will find a suitable solution in the morning. I will promise you that.”
Lillian shook her head, glancing carefully at the locked door. “But what if mama will not hear your solution?”
This made me smile, and I lit a couple of additional candles, knowing that the threat posed by the old Mr. Barlow more than justified the expense. “You needn’t trouble yourself. I can handle your mother.”
16
The next morning, I did not have to worry about any trouble at breakfast, as the merry party set off at daybreak. Even so, it was the one morning when I would not have had any trouble staying awake. My stomach was twisted with nerves, and I could hardly put on my best gown without wondering what on earth I was doing.
Luke had been thoughtful enough to commission one of the grooms to take us into the village in the family’s lesser coach, so though it did not leave ample room for conversation, at least not too much time passed in which the silence might have seemed awkward.
It seemed at first as though the church would be completely empty, but the vicar had brought his wife and mother-in-law in to be our witnesses.
“After all,” he said, “There will be enough gossip as it is, particularly with this being a special license. And don’t think that I approve of your breaking an engagement, young Mr. Barlow.”
At this, Luke did have the grace to blush. “Didn’t you do something similar yourself?”
The vicar’s wife raised her eyebrows. “He did. Threw over the girl that he was supposed to marry to go to Scotland with me. And I thought both his mother and mine would kill the pair of us! Didn’t I, mama.”
The old lady shook her head. “I still might do, if you do not let me sit. Get on with it, then.”
With equal measure of joy and terror, Luke and I stepped up to the altar. When I spoke the vows, it was as if I were suddenly conversant in a foreign language. I was familiar enough with them, to be sure, but I had never expected to hear myself say them.
When Luke put the ring on my finger, I was shaking, and seeing a wedding ring on his hand made me realize that motivation was irrelevant. Even if my first thought had been that I wanted someone to protect me from my evil pursuer, what I had gained was a husband.
It seemed like a miracle.
When we left the church together, it was as man and wife. Or husband and wife, rather, since I had always objected to the “man and wife” phrase on a matter of principle.
And from the looks that the man next to me was giving me, the most important thing to him seemed to be that he was a man and I was a woman. We may have gotten the religious stamp of approval for our union, but the feelings in both of our hearts were far more savage.
17
When we arrived back at the house, I gave my coat and hats to the servants as usual. And we stood in the great hall, ma
n and wife, at least in the eyes of the law.
I blinked at him. We had neither of us planned any further than this moment. Certainly, given that our marriage was not parentally sanctioned, we were not going to be able to indulge in the luxury of a honeymoon.
“Would you like to visit the library, Mr. Barlow?” I asked him, just as he said, “Are you in need of any refreshment?”
A cake would have been fitting for the occasion, but I had not prepared anything, and knew that he probably had not either.
We stood there like two statues, until he took my arm. “Come with me,” he managed, strain apparent in his voice.
And we fairly floated up the stairs, all the way to the hallway where my room was. But instead of turning down toward my room and Lillian’s, we went the other way, into the room that I knew to be Luke’s.
Once there, neither of us said a word. I wanted to take off my shoes, but there was nowhere to sit but the bed. And so I stood by the door, trying to get my boots off, wondering if I could possibly be inside Luke Barlow’s bedroom, and whether he could possibly be my husband.
Apparently so, because he soon tired of my efforts and, taking my hands, began to kiss them.
I snatched my hands away, tilting my face up towards his so that he had to kiss me.
And kiss me. And continue to kiss me.
We moved over to the bed as if drawn there by some mystical force, and fell inelegantly down. I was next to Luke, and then on top of him, and many minutes passed before we even thought to take off our shoes.
When we did, it was because Luke got off me, took his own shoes and stockings off, then insisted on removing mine. After he pulled down the stockings and revealed my feet, he kissed them without thinking.
I thought that we might be able to stay there all afternoon, rubbing against each other through too many layers of clothing. Though Luke was heavy, insistent in his caresses, he was not so bold as to raise my gown until I suggested it myself, after fumbling for several minutes as I attempted to undo his fall.
“Are you certain?” he asked, losing his breath as he looked on me, then down at the hard rod that he held in his right hand.
“Yes,” I murmured, putting my hand over Luke’s. After all, he required my help as we attempted to shift positions, and I had to guide him in.
However, he needed very little guiding after that. He began to drive me into the bed, so quickly that I wondered whether he was angry. But when he moved so that I could see his face, I noted how twisted it was, not angry but flush with passion. Then he held my shoulders and groaned, nearly crying as he died inside of me, trembling and hammering into me all the while. I cried out, too, his pounding awakening every jot of my desire.
It was only after Luke’s furious thrashing had subsided that we managed to find the leisure to remove our clothing. He did not undress me, but watched in fascination as I removed my gown, unlaced my stays, and threw off my shift. He touched my bosom with reverence, and I touched all of his body with amazement and admiration.
He bit his lip, as if he meant to ask me something, but then I could see him reconsider.
“What is it?” I asked, as we got underneath the covers, either to keep warm or to cover up the fact that we were each a little embarrassed by our bare figures.
“I thought,” he said, turning a little red. “Well, I thought that ladies underwent a similar transformation. But I have not seen that in you, and I hope that I have not been lacking.”
“A peak of pleasure, you mean?” I asked, smiling to see him so discomfited. “Well, yes, we do. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes,” he said, with such seriousness that I giggled.
“You shall,” I told him, looking into his eyes as I reached one hand down to the one area that I knew was critical to my delight.
At first, his eyes on me made me shy, and I turned onto my stomach, covering my eyes as I let my fingers tremble on the little hill of flesh that suddenly was in control of my voice, my thoughts, my entire body. But Luke, greedy for the sight and feel of me, pulled me over onto my side and began to kiss my neck, then stroke my hair.
After that, I knew I should not be able to last, and I had to put my beloved finger’s in my mouth to muffle my screams. Before I ended things with a few quick strokes, he drew me so close to him that I could scarcely breathe.
After he had seen and felt my first death, Luke could not wait for the next one, though he insisted that he wished to play a rather more central role in bringing it about.
And again, I had to draw on my superior knowledge of such practices, getting on my hands and knees before him.
He knew that he ought to get on his knees, but poked and prodded at me before I drew a hand around and brought his tackle inside. Once I had done that, it did not take long for both of us go catch the new rhythm, and for me to work my fingers up to the tiny bump of flesh that allowed me to join Luke in grunting and moaning. In fact, my ecstasy of a few minutes before did not seem to change anything about my body’s responsiveness. In fact, I was even more eager to be pleasured again.
And unlike when I was alone, my own joy was far less predictable. When Luke reached around to touch my neck, and shoulders, and bosom, I felt a new spark and could barely control myself.
“Wait,” I managed to whisper, but I did not even know whether I was speaking to my husband or to myself. Because I could not wait. In an instant, I was shaking with surprised joy, my body bouncing and clutching at my husband’s.
It was more than he could withstand. Instead of simply going pink and getting hard, as he had done when he watched me before, he growled and bounced against me with such fury that I was afraid we might both be injured.
It was then that I felt the strange sensations that I had noticed the first time, and when Luke took himself out of me, it was plain that he had simply been unable to withstand the sight.
“Oh, darling,” he growled, pulling me to him. “You are exquisite.”
I would have told him the same, but I decided that I preferred to kiss him instead, running my fingers over his prick and knowing that it would not retain its reduced size for long.
And he could not object.
18
It was amazing that neither of us starved that night. Every so often, my insides would rumble in protest, or I would be able to hear quite clearly that Luke’s stomach was long past empty. But each time he thought of getting up, he fell back into bed. And each time I made to get dressed and go and grab something, Luke held on to me. Apart from a tactful knock at the door from Higgins, which Luke answered by saying that he didn’t need anything to eat and Miss Quinton had told him that she had decided to rest, we were not disturbed at all.
“Mrs. Barlow,” I corrected him after the fact. He only answered with a smile and a kiss. And if I was worried that he did not respond to me by saying something about how I was now Mrs. Barlow, I did not have the time or foresight to tell him.
Once, Luke’s death was so violent that I thought he had fainted, and I insisted that he find some food.
“How can I leave my bed when there’s a beautiful woman in it,” he asked, seeming quite honestly perplexed.
“You can provide for the woman, who is starving,” I said, and he tried to simply hold me, stroking my back in the way he had just discovered that I loved.
“I can provide her with caresses,” he murmured, beginning to stroke my shoulders again.
“Not sufficient,” I insisted. “I require food.”
Of course, when Luke finally did manage to don his dressing gown and seek out some sort of sustenance so that neither of us would become incapacitated by our exertion and lust, he found a tray sitting neatly outside his door with cold meats and fruit.
The thought that Higgins might have figured out precisely why his young master was not emerging from the room filled me with shame. “Do you think that we might be caught,” I whispered to Luke, who was somehow managing to show the same rapturous enjoyment of both my breasts and a
slice of cold ham at the exact same time.
“Caught, perhaps,” he whispered back. “But, I must remind you, we have been perfectly virtuous.”
I nearly laughed. “What, eating meats in this bed without any of our clothes on? If this were known, it would be enough scandal to fill three counties! Or perhaps four, if many of the counties here are as starved for recreation as your household appears to be.”
I thought this might offend him, but he only laughed. “We have been joined in wedlock, and with the approval of none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. What happens between the curtains of a married pair’s bed cannot be scandalous, provided there is nobody there but the two married parties themselves.”
This made me smile. For, although the library in Woodshire was not a terrible one, I had almost certainly got my hands on far more smut than Mr. Luke Barlow could ever dream of. I knew things that married couples did that would have shocked him.
Putting down my plate, I ran a hand up his inner thigh, then let my lips follow until they were moistening the low-hanging fruit underneath his newly hardened prick.
“Nothing that we could do in this bed would be shocking?” I asked, deepening my kisses as my new husband’s eyes fluttered shut. “Nothing at all?”
19
In the morning, I woke with the sun. For an instant, I panicked, knowing that another late arrival at the breakfast table could very well spell the end of my days in the household.
Then I remembered that I was the new Mrs. Barlow. I would never be far from the household now.
Still, it would be wise to begin the day with an appearance at breakfast. I knew that our announcement was likely to spark some blows, and thought we might as well get them all over with at once.
Luke did not like this idea.
“Stay here,” he murmured, his arms around my waist as I stirred. “Don’t leave the bed.”
