The Infamous Miss Ilsa

by Laine Ferndale

  She kissed him, a little peck, and pulled back to take his hand. “Then lead the way.”

  She followed him up the carpeted stairs to the lobby and then across it to the grand stairway that led up to the rooms. They went slowly, to keep a careful watch for guests and staff, and to allow Theo to choose his footing carefully. Despite their snail’s pace, her heart raced from the risk.

  She was so focused on getting to Theo’s room without being seen that it was almost a surprise when they actually arrived. He opened the door quietly and then tugged her in after him into the dark room. She heard Theo turn the lock and then felt his hands on her waist.

  “Should we risk the light?” he murmured. “There’s only the one, and it’s bright as day.”

  “Electric lights are so unromantic. But I want to see you. Can you open the curtains?”

  “Wait right here.” She heard the shush of heavy drapery being pulled apart, and a pale shaft of light washed over Theo and across the bed. “I think the moon’s full tonight. That’s lucky.”

  “Very lucky,” she agreed. She made her way to him, around the big four-poster bed that loomed huge in the room. She slipped back into his arms, suddenly feeling a buzz of nerves. This would be his first time. It would be her first time with him. She wanted it to be perfect, and she knew that nothing ever was. She sighed, and he stroked her hair.

  “Second thoughts?” he asked. It was strangely reassuring to hear the waver in his voice.

  “Never. I’m just thinking of how many buttons and buckles I’m going to have to undo before I can see you naked.”

  He grinned, his green eyes washed out to grey in the moonlight. “Then allow me.” He slipped out of his coat, dropping it to the floor, quickly followed by his waistcoat. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar one-handed as he toed out of his shoes and socks. Her mouth went a little dry as she watched the way his shoulders pulled at the crisp linen of his shirt. He might have a weak leg, but his physique more than made up for that in other areas. He wasn’t bashful in stripping off above the waist—she’d see it all already, after all. But his fingers hovered over the buttons of his trousers, and she smiled a little at his hesitation.

  “My turn,” she whispered. She slid her hands along his waistband and then undid the rest of his buttons. He was hard for her, tenting the front of his underwear, and she swept her palm across his straining erection. He drew in a sharp breath, and she stepped back.

  “I have buttons too, you know.” Theo gave a wolfish grin. Despite some fumbling, together they stripped her down to her chemise in no time. Without the support of the corset, her breasts felt low and heavy until Theo cupped and gently hefted them in his palms. She leaned into his hands, and he sighed before pulling her down with him into the plush velvet bedspread. She wriggled out of the chemise, and he groaned softly, bending to kiss one pink nipple, circling and sucking.

  He shifted to tend to her other aching breast, and she gasped as the cold air touched the wet traces of his kiss, hardening her nipple to the edge of pain. He kissed and nibbled his way back up to her lips, and they lay face to face, touching and caressing. The position was so familiar, and yet his body was so different from her memories. He was bigger, stronger . . . hungrier. She pushed off his drawers, running her hands down his firm thighs before sweeping back up to palm the hot weight of his cock. He plunged his tongue deeply into her mouth in response, and she closed her fingers around him, gently gripping his hard length.

  His hands roamed over her shoulders, down her back, along the tender creases at the tops of her thighs. She stroked him rhythmically, matching her movements to the pulse of their kiss, and soon he was thrusting helplessly into her hand.

  “Stop,” he gasped, breaking their wild kiss. “I can’t. I’ll—”

  She released him, smoothing her hand down his flank. “Is this good?” she asked. “On your side?”

  He nodded. “Will . . . will it work for you, like this?”

  She only smiled and lifted her upper leg up and over his hip—the position nestled his cock just were she wanted it. Judging by Theo’s whimper of pleasure as he slid between her thighs, it was exactly where he wanted it as well. She rocked against him, the wet friction dragging a guttural moan from his lips. His hand left her breast and closed around the swell of her hip, pulling them together even more tightly without actually entering her. She moved against him again and again, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply, hungrily, as she rode his shaft towards her own pleasure.

  “What do you want, Theo?” she purred into his ear.

  “Oh God. I want you. I want—”

  “Do want to be inside me?”

  “Please,” he almost sobbed, incoherent with urgency.

  “You have to say the words. I want to hear you say what you want.” His breathing was all groans and whimpers, his hands gripping her bottom and the nape of her neck hard enough to leave marks.

  “I want to be inside you. Now.” She tilted away to slip her hand between their bodies, guiding him in. He was so achingly hard, slicked with her desire. And then he thrust home, filling her so deeply that she tipped her head back and cried out. The sudden pressure against her clitoris tumbled her over her own precipice, and she gasped as she shuddered apart around him. He pumped desperately—once, twice, three times—before he was locked in the shuddering grip of his own release.

  They strained and undulated together, riding out the aftershocks of pleasure, until finally they were motionless except for the heave of their breathing. Distantly, Ilsa realized that Theo had somehow found the self-control to withdraw and spend against her thigh. She smiled to herself as she discretely used a corner of the sheet to tidy up. Of course Theo would think to take care of them, even now. Then a second, bittersweet realization: he didn’t want to be tied down any more than she did.

  Theo exhaled a deep, satisfied, gust of a sigh, and she smiled against the hollow of his shoulder. This was enough. This was more than enough, and she would enjoy it while it lasted. She stretched lazily, enjoying the slide of the silky-soft bedsheets against her skin, and then let Theo tuck her alongside his warm, lean body. She snuggled close, and he folded one arm behind his head and curled the other possessively around her shoulders. He looked, she thought, quite smug for someone who’d only had sex once.

  She caressed the coarse, dark hair of his chest, wishing there were more light. She’d never really had a chance to enjoy the view of his front, but if it were anything like his back . . .

  “Do you think anyone would come looking for us if we just stayed here for the next few days?” he asked.

  “You could probably get away with it, but some of us have real jobs,” she said with mock seriousness.

  “I told you before, I’ll hire you on as my nurse. Problem solved.”

  “I’d be a terrible nurse. I’d boss you around in front of your patients, and you’d end up dismissing me without a reference.”

  “I won’t stand for any insubordination,” he agreed. “And then there’s the issue of propriety.”

  “Of what?”

  “If you were my nurse, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to chase you around the examining rooms and kiss you in front of the patients.” He pinched her bottom playfully, and she wriggled to slap his hand away. “No,” he went on, laughing, “it wouldn’t do at all. I suppose I’ll just have to marry you. Then I can work you all day long without even having to pay you.”

  “That,” she snipped, “is probably the most honest description of marriage I’ve ever heard.”

  “No, hear me out. We’ll get married, and then of course, we’ll have to go on a honeymoon for whole a year. Nobody has to work on their honeymoon. We’ll pawn all the wedding gifts to pay people to bring us all our meals in bed. This is a brilliant plan.”

  “Brilliant,” she agreed. “I’ll still boss you around terribly, though.”

  And that was when he took her hand in his and stared straight into her eyes. �
�Marry me, Ilsa,” he said, with complete sincerity. “Marry me, and you can do anything you like.”

  Chapter 14

  Ilsa pulled back from him, putting a scant inch or so between their bodies that felt like a mile. “Wait. Are you being serious?”

  “Why would I joke about something like that?” He shifted onto his side to face her.

  “Theo, you can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Seriously want to get married.”

  “Well, not this exact instant. But I thought . . . ” he trailed off. “Being with you in Vancouver was the last time I was really happy. And now by some miracle, we’ve found each other again, and we still make each other happy. Why shouldn’t we get married?”

  “We can make each other happy,” she assured him. “We just don’t have to rush into anything.”

  “All right.” He had to keep his cool. This could all be a misunderstanding; perhaps she truly didn’t realize how serious he was. “How long would you have to wait for it to count as not rushing?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I didn’t expect any of this.”

  “That’s my point. Exactly. This is a gift, darling. We should take it while we have the chance.”

  She sighed. “What about your parents?”

  “Hang my parents.”

  “No. If you want to be serious, let’s be serious.” He closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, so that only their arms were touching.

  “Do you really want to talk about my mother? Here? Right now?”

  “Yes. I do. Say we run off together tomorrow. Elope and show up on their doorstep married until death do us part.”

  “There would be a scene. We’d all survive.”

  “She would murder me with her bare hands. And then your father would cut you off without a penny for the rest of your life.”

  “I’d support us. Set up a practice.”

  “With what money? Do you have any idea what it would cost to set up an office? Not just the rent. You’d need fixtures, and the licensing, and all those bandages and knives and things.”

  “It would work out! I’m a doctor, not a ditchdigger. I could take out loans. The first few months would be hard, yes, but—”

  “You have no idea what hard is like. None. I’m sorry, but you don’t, and you wouldn’t like it.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “I know I couldn’t do it on my own. That’s why I need you with me. You’d be my partner. Every doctor needs a good nurse.”

  “I don’t want to be a nurse. I barely held myself together during Jo’s labour, and I certainly couldn’t do it for a dozen strangers a day. I told you what I wanted, and it’s not nursing.”

  “You mean the little store?”

  “Yes. The little store.” He could feel her tensing in his arms.

  “But you wouldn’t have to do any of that if we were married,” he reassured her. “I’d take care of you.”

  “That’s sweet of you. I’ve been waiting ever so long for you to sweep in and rescue me from all my plans.”

  Theo sighed. Every time he tried to reassure her, it only seemed to drive her further away. This had seemed so simple in his head. Of course they would get married. Of course they would be together. He had never even considered anything else. “I didn’t mean it as if you’re helpless. I meant that I’ll support you. If you want your own store, we’ll get you a store. Let me help.”

  Ilsa was quiet for a long moment. “I want to open a store for myself. By myself.” She reached out and touched his arm very gently. The gesture was so close to pity that it curdled his stomach. “I thought you had your own plans,” she said softly.

  “My plans all involved you,” he managed. Of all the confessions he’d made to her, somehow this one felt the rawest. Little gusts of cold air swept under the windowsill, tracing icy patterns against the sweat drying on his skin and amplifying how very naked he suddenly felt.

  “Oh. That’s . . . Theo, I’m flattered. I really am. But I’ve never seen myself getting married. Not to anyone.”

  He hoisted himself up onto his elbow. “So all of this. This was . . . what for you? A fling?”

  “I should get back to Wilson’s.”

  She clearly wasn’t interested in giving him an answer, which was, he supposed, answer enough. So he just watched her as she slid out of his bed and starting dressing. She kept stealing quick glances at him, as if waiting for him to speak, but both his brain and his mouth had dried to a husk. Somehow things had once again ended with him wordlessly watching her leave, just like when she’d been dragged from his bed all those years ago.

  “Can I see you again before I leave for the holidays?” he finally asked.

  “When do you go?” She came back to sit beside him, and that was familiar, too. He felt just as helpless and miserable and inadequate right now as he had when he’d been bedridden and the only thing Ilsa had wanted from him was a checkers game. He took her hand anyway, trying to make the motion seem affectionate and not desperate.

  “In a week. Next Monday.”

  “I don’t know. I want to. But with the baby everything’s so . . . ” She waved her hand vaguely. “You’ll be back soon though, right?”

  “Not until after the new year. It’s okay,” he said, releasing her hand and drawing the covers up to his chest. “Have a merry Christmas if I don’t see you before I go.”

  “You too, Theo.” And she kissed him, an almost chaste goodbye of a kiss, and she was gone.

  • • •

  When Ilsa got back to Wilson’s, the kitchen was empty. She closed the door with a bang, hoping that the noise would alert Jo to her presence and she’d come downstairs. She needed her friend right now.

  Had she made a mistake? Not in sleeping with Theo; she was quite pleased about that part, actually. But now he wanted to marry her, and he clearly expected her to trot around behind him playing the role of long-suffering nurse and housewife for the rest of her life. She had not spent the past three years researching and saving to find herself taking orders from anyone. Not even from Theo.

  If she’d met him again years from now, when her business was established, she would have considered marriage. Or if Theo were someone different, with a different family, maybe it would work. But marrying each other, right now, could go only one of two ways.

  The worst-case scenario had been her first thought. Theo’s father would disown him, and even if Theo got a practice up and running, it wouldn’t flourish. Not with the weight of a scandal pushing down on it. He just didn’t understand how things would be, the two of them alone against the world. He’d always had a safety net. He’d never felt the fear of not knowing if he’d have a place to sleep at the end of the month or how he’d afford to eat if the price of eggs went up. And he couldn’t exactly get a job on a fishing boat or in a warehouse, so her shop would have to support them both. She’d seen men made bitter and resentful by far less.

  The other picture wasn’t as grim, at least not at first. His family might grudgingly acknowledge her, and he’d have access to their resources. Maybe they’d even be able to go to Europe so he could continue his education. He would enjoy his lucrative profession, and maybe she’d even have her “little store.” His friends’ wives would find her “seamstress hobby” just darling. They’d say how sweet Theo was for indulging her in it. But it would inevitably become a distraction from the duties of being a rich man’s wife, a doctor’s wife. She would find herself closing the shop early to attend a gala, then opening late to have some professor’s wife over for tea. Her customers would drift away, and one morning she would wake up and all she would be was Mrs. Theodore Whitacre, Wife of Dr. Theodore Whitacre.

  She needed an outside opinion. When Jo had been falling in love with Owen, she and Ilsa had had so many dawn conversations. But now . . . she sighed. Her door banging had only woken the baby, who began crying. No, it wasn’t a cry. It was a shriek that would drill its way into your ears no matter where
you were in the house. The baby had somehow discovered a unique pitch designed for maximum suffering.

  Ilsa would have to keep herself company and keep her own confidences. She trudged up the stairs, remembering how Jo had plopped herself down and refused to budge until Ilsa had told her the whole story about Theo. On the second landing, she stopped outside the Sterlings’ bedroom door that, unusually, stood open. Jo was up, walking in circles with baby Sarah. Maybe she would come downstairs after the baby quieted and they would be able to talk. It didn’t take long to feel silly standing outside of a married couple’s bedroom door. Ilsa climbed the last few stairs to the third floor and her room.

  Upstairs, she changed out of her wrinkled dress and hung it in the armoire. The baby’s wailing cut through the floorboards. She squeezed her eyes shut in sympathy. But behind her closed eyelids, the images sprang unbidden: how she had moved her hands down Theo’s naked body, how warm and quiet it had been with just the two of them snuggled in bed, how easily they still fell into conversation. Why did she have to like him so much? For the first time in a very long time, Ilsa wanted to cry. But she refused to do that. This house had reached its quota of crying for today.

  Instead, she retrieved her hatbox from under the bed. She lit a candle and sat down at her small desk.

  Dear Mr. Hayley:

  Thank you for your prompt response. I am happy meet you on January 8 at noon in the Woodward’s cafeteria. Please also arrange for Mr. McPherson to be in attendance, since I would be grateful for his expertise in the matter of commercial real estate.

  Sincerely,

  I. Pedersen

  The act of writing the letter, of taking a next, decisive step towards independence, settled her. She would let matters cool down a bit with Theo, for both their sakes. They could see each other again, to assure him that there were no hurt feelings and no regrets, before he returned home for Christmas next week. Without encouraging him too much, though. Surely she could walk that line.

  But then one day turned into two, and Sarah came down with a case of croup, and before Ilsa knew it, the week had flown by. She would have to meet him at the docks, publicly, to say good-bye now. It would be formal and awkward and people might talk, but she couldn’t just let him leave without saying goodbye. She got up early to get ahead on her chores and carve out an hour or two, but then an argument flared between some patrons over breakfast, and she had to ask one of them to leave. The others sat in sullen silence, and it took all her focus to cheer everyone up. She hurried through the dishes and raced upstairs to put on her coat and her boots when she smelled smoke.