Fortune's Bride

by Roberta Gellis

  “Oh, no,” she murmured. “I am only afraid of passing the line of what is pleasing. I am so very ignorant.”

  “There is no line,” Robert said firmly. “Anything that gives us both pleasure in private is right and proper, so long as it is kept private.”

  Esmeralda lifted her eyes to his, smiling wryly. “My good sense tells me that such a warning implies we are already beyond the line.”

  Robert’s grip on her tightened, and he drew her closer. “Who knows?” he remarked. “But I doubt we are the only couple who has ever shared a bath.”

  “If we share this one, it will be by miraculous intervention.” Esmeralda laughed, looking at the pan in which she had barely fit, and then said hastily, “No, Robert. If you pull me against you, I will have to sponge your coat again.”

  “You are right,” he admitted, promptly letting her go. “And that will only waste time. Besides, it will be much more fun to kiss you when we are both soapy.”

  “I am sure this is wrong,” Esmeralda said in a small voice, watching him tug off his coat. He laughed aloud, raking her with his eyes. “You are growing more and more outrageous,” she complained, but bubbles of joy were exploding inside her. “Robert, really, when you think of this tomorrow, will you not also think I should have checked you and put on some clothes?”

  “Before you finish your bath?” He had his shirt off and kicked off his pumps as he unbuttoned his pantaloons. “No, you ninny. When I think of this tomorrow, I will be trying to discover something still more outrageous to make you blush. You are very pretty when you blush, Merry. It makes your eyes shine.”

  He began to push off pantaloons and smalls at the same time and had his wish, for Esmeralda blushed hotly again. Not knowing what else to do, she knelt and emptied the dirty water from the pan. When she looked up, he was standing very close, and her eyes widened in astonishment. Before she could move, he knelt beside her and took her in his arms.

  “Do I frighten you, Merry?” he asked gently.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It…it seems impossible, but I know—”

  “I was drunk last night,” he said. “I’ll be more careful. Don’t think about that now. Let me wash your back.”

  But it was more than her back he attended to, and it was not only the sponge he ran over her body. And he took her place in the pan and urged her to wash him, allowing her to grow accustomed to handling him. She grew bolder slowly, finding his sighs and wordless exclamations as exciting as the caresses he lavished on her even while she bathed him.

  Like most other young men of his class, Robert had read a fair amount of erotic literature. In fact, it was the only reading aside from military history and theory that he did voluntarily. His physical experience, however, was limited mostly to camp followers, upon whom he wasted no time. Both parties, in fact, were concerned more with the speed and completion of the act than with elegance or technique.

  During periods in England, Robert had tried one or another high-class courtesan, but those experiences, although much pleasanter, had been blurred by the intake of far too much wine. The fact that he had been so drunk also obscured the details of his previous night’s lovemaking. Actually, this time with Merry was Robert’s first experience with a gentlewoman when he was stone-cold sober. He had never enjoyed anything so much in his life and was quite determined to discover whether the rapturous litanies in the books he had read could be reproduced by putting into practice the techniques described.

  Esmeralda was only too ready to assist him in this laudable purpose. She had come to the conclusion that she had already offered enough protests to prove her maidenly modesty. She thus put away all doubts, determined as she had been from the first to enjoy every moment of what had been an impossible dream and nonetheless had come true.

  The light was failing by the time they got around to drying each other off. The water had long since cooled to room temperature, but neither of them noticed. Robert carried Esmeralda to the bed then and lay down beside her. Both were nearly ready, owing to the lingering caresses they had mingled with the more practical activities of washing and drying each other, and there was a special delight in the sweet, clean smell and taste of each other’s fresh body.

  Innocent and curious, Esmeralda copied every movement of arousal Robert practiced on her. He was so perfectly beautiful to her that there was no part of him she was unwilling to caress with fingers, lips, and tongue. His disjointed remarks were somewhat puzzling to her at first, for he would sigh, “Oh my God, how wonderful,” and then, almost instantly, “no, don’t.” And when, obediently, Esmeralda paused, he would whisper, “Please, please, again.” She understood later, however, when he groaned, “Stop, Merry, stop. I’ll go too fast, and I’ll hurt you.”

  But by that time, Esmeralda did not think anything could hurt her. And, in fact, when Robert finally mounted and entered, the pain of stretching only seemed to excite her more. She thrust and writhed against him, impelled by age-old instinct, for she no longer really had any conscious thought. Her body independently sought a satisfaction she did not know existed. It came in explosive spasms of pleasure that wrung moans and near shrieks from her.

  Her frantic movements had surprised Robert. By and large, the army whores lay still, unwilling to waste unnecessary energy. The courtesans had, of course, simulated pleasure—or may really have felt it, since Robert was a dish that did not come often to a paid companion’s table—but they had complete control. Merry’s total abandonment was new to him and, coupled with the long foreplay, brought him in moments to an unthinking state of instinctive drive toward climax in which the convulsive spasms of her body completed his act as well as hers.

  Robert, more accustomed to the results of sexual activity, recovered first, although this particular experience exceeded any in his memory. Faint tremors still ran from his groin through his abdomen and down his thighs, but he became aware of Merry gasping for breath under him and he tried to lever himself up to relieve the pressure on her, only to discover that his arms were shaking and weak as reeds.

  “Good Lord,” he said softly, and then, with a shock, he associated the sounds that had rung in his ears during his climax with his wife. “Merry,” he whispered urgently, “Merry, are you all right?”

  “It’s hard to breathe,” she said faintly.

  A second, more determined attempt to raise himself succeeded, and Robert tilted sideways. “God in heaven,” he mumbled, “I was right out of my head. I didn’t even realize you were screaming. What—”

  “I wasn’t screaming,” she interrupted. “At least… I guess I was, but…but not because…” She hesitated again, and then said quickly, “You didn’t hurt me, Robert. I liked it.”

  He did not respond at once, lying quietly and thinking over the experience. The first thing that came into his head was that a man was a fool to bother with whores when a wife could provide more pleasure. Then he laughed softly. His wife did because he had the good sense to tell her not to be afraid to be playful. The thought brought a rich sense of satisfaction, and he sighed and stretched.

  “You aren’t displeased?”

  That ridiculous question made him open his eyes, which had been closing. “Displeased?” he repeated in a bemused voice.

  “I thought perhaps my…my exclamations had disturbed you.”

  Robert began to laugh. “I don’t think a full cannonade could have disturbed me.” He slid an arm under her neck and drew her close.

  “I am very glad to hear it,” Esmeralda said, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder, “because I don’t think I could have refrained. I mean, I had no idea I was going to make all that noise. Perhaps you should have warned me.”

  “I should have warned you. How the devil was I to know you would screech like a banshee?” He was amused, but after a moment he remembered Merry’s habit of smoothing everything over and he asked rather anxiously, “Why did you cry out like that, Merry? I thought I had hurt you a
gain, but you said not. Was that only for my sake?”

  “Oh, no. No. It was…I don’t think I can explain. I never knew a person could feel so…so much. But…but it was perfectly splendid!”

  Anxiety was dissipated into a pleasant sense of pride. Robert yawned, tensed, and then relaxed his legs, which were coming back to normal but still felt limp and heavy. His whole body was deliciously languorous, and the air coming in the open window was just cool enough to make Esmeralda’s warmth against him an added pleasure. His eyes closed again. He felt the movement of the jaw and the deep intake of breath that indicated Merry was also yawning.

  “But I think,” she continued in a very drowsy voice, “that you had better put your hand over my mouth next time. After all, we would not want everyone to think you were murdering me.”

  Robert chuckled softly. Those two words “next time” fell very pleasantly on his ears. “I will,” he promised, his voice showing he was smiling, “that is, if I’m in any state to remember at the moment.” But he did not really care whether the whole world heard her. He was not in the least ashamed of making his wife sing out in pleasure. And, as he dropped off to sleep with the sound of Esmeralda’s deep breathing near his ear, there was probably not a happier man in the entire world.

  The morning brought no diminution of cheerfulness. Robert found washing, dressing, and shaving much pleasanter now that he did not have to hurry for fear of embarrassing Merry. In the past, he had sometimes sensed her attention and wondered if he was offending her. There could be no doubt now. They went down to have breakfast together in the kitchen, laughing when Esmeralda again asked Robert to bring water and warned him against spilling it.

  “No fear,” he had replied. “I’m not distracted now by wondering whether you are putting me off.”

  “Oh, no,” she said lightly. “I shall be a model wife.”

  She meant it more sincerely than Robert could know, but the words reminded her that she still had not confessed her adventure at Roliça and that Robert would be sure to hear of it from M’Guire. It was the very worst time to tell him, too, she thought, with transport ships right offshore. If her adventure convinced him that she would be safer in England, she could be packed off onto a transport ship within hours. She could not bear the thought of losing the precious joy that Robert’s body could bring her for months or even years.

  When he returned, she glanced at him sidelong nervously, as she put the food on the table. At first, Robert was fully occupied with his meal, but he had grown sensitive to Esmeralda’s moods. Something pricked at him. Still, he had almost finished eating before he suddenly pinpointed what was bothering him and put down his cup.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

  “I have a spyglass,” Esmeralda burst out desperately.

  Robert blinked. The remark was so far out of any context with which he could relate that it almost seemed his wife had lost her mind. “What?”

  His unbelieving question brought forth a tumbled story in which Dom Aleixo and the spyglass seemed to have exerted some mysterious influence that induced a French soldier to climb up the tower of San Mahmed church to steal Boa Viagem because Esmeralda had not been able to see the battle from the house on the hillside in Amiais. Robert sat listening with eyes wide open and a dropped jaw.

  “But there really wasn’t any danger because Carlos was there, on Luisa, you know, and he killed him because he didn’t understand that I was really riding away. And I will never, never do it again, I promise. Indeed, I promise most faithfully, even though Dom Aleixo wouldn’t take the spyglass back.”

  “But I saw Carlos when I left my horse in the stable yesterday afternoon.” Robert sounded confused, and his eyes were slightly glazed.

  “Oh, Carlos will never do it again, either. It was only because I had screamed, you see, not because I was in any danger, but only to frighten Boa Viagem.”

  Robert closed his eyes for a moment. He had heard his mother and sisters offer similarly incomprehensible explanations to his irate father. Robert knew that he was being led up the primrose path. The question was whether it was worthwhile to spend the time and effort to untangle the real facts. He opened his eyes.

  “Just tell me how you got Boa Viagem down from the church tower by screaming,” he asked blandly.

  Now it was Esmeralda’s turn to look stunned. “How I got what?”

  “Never mind,” Robert said. “I only wanted you to know that I may not have understood what you said, but I am not such a fool as to be led around by the nose.” It had occurred to him that the mention of Carlos gave him an easier source for discovering the truth. He pushed back his chair.

  “I promise I will never be so foolish again,” Esmeralda vowed desperately. “Don’t send me to England, Robert.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “No,” he said, “I won’t do that. Not unless we get into serious trouble here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There was, however, no news of any threat from the French, nor was it Carlos who explained Esmeralda’s adventure to Robert. Carlos had remembered Robert’s remarks with regard to the cutting of French soldiers’ throats, and he was keeping out of his master’s way. Robert got what details he could from M’Guire, which was just as well because the big Irishman was not inclined to give much credence to what he thought were a young and excitable foreigner’s exaggerations. As told by M’Guire, Mrs. Moreton had been startled by a wounded French straggler, had screamed, frightening her horse, which had carried her out of the Frenchman’s power. But Carlos had heard her screaming and had rushed to the rescue, acting to save his mistress before thinking.

  Of course, Robert was not pleased by Esmeralda’s carelessness in riding around in a war zone, but she had already expressed contrition and promised not to act so foolishly again. Nor could he say much to Carlos, since he was caught between needing to praise the boy for risking his own neck to protect his mistress and blaming him for going too far. It was best, Robert thought, to allow the incident to slip away unremarked.

  He had enough to keep him busy through the day, too. It was no easier to disembark Anstruther’s men than it had been to get the troops ashore at Figueira. The surf on the beaches was tremendous, and the slope of the land into the sea made the water too shallow to allow the ships in close. Despite the best efforts of the landing parties, several boats were overturned, and supplies and lives were lost. Having investigated the slow and arduous process of the landing, Sir Arthur sent a party to the tiny village at the mouth of the river, saying, “Moreton, anything called Porto should have ships, or at least boats, and a way to get the boats ashore. See if you can get the people down there to show you.”

  Robert’s Portuguese was much improved, but there were still gaps in his vocabulary. Up until now, he had been concerned with draft animals, supplies, and questions about numbers of men and guns of the enemy. Ports, ships, and the maneuvering of such vessels were out of his range. He struggled for a little while, meeting unexpected opposition for so innocent a request. He suspected from the villagers’ apprehensive expressions that there was some basic misunderstanding. Then he remembered that Merry had said something about the villagers with whom she had lived being fishermen and that she might have the right vocabulary as well as being more fluent in the language.

  Robert considered briefly whether it was correct to bring a woman into a military matter and decided quickly that it would be far better to involve Merry, who knew how to hold her tongue, than to spend all day arguing with people, only to discover they did not understand what it was he wanted. And indeed, when Merry arrived, Robert found that he had somehow implied that he wanted to take the boats of the local residents to sea. Once Robert’s real intention was clarified, he had no further difficulty. There was a passage at the mouth of the little river but whether it was suitable for Sir Arthur’s purpose remained to be seen.

  Having served her purpose, Esmeralda, with characteristic good sense, promptly s
aid polite farewells and was escorted home. She and Robert had exchanged no more words than those necessary and only one glance that was not directly associated with the business in hand. Nonetheless, Esmeralda returned to her lodgings in the best of spirits. Her adventure in Roliça was a dead issue, and her usefulness had again been proven.

  More secure than she had ever been, Esmeralda decided that the moment had come to announce her father’s death, her marriage, and her temporary residence in Portugal to her bankers. She went out into the village and purchased paper, pen, and ink. And in the same shop, which seemed to carry everything, she was delighted to find a thin muslin in a delicate shade of pink that she felt would be most satisfactory for a nightgown—an item of attire about which she had not previously worried but which now seemed very necessary.

  Instead of writing the letter to her bankers, Esmeralda spent the entire day cutting out and sewing up her new nightgown, but she got very little use out of it because she barely put it on before it was off again. She did not find this any source for complaint. She was, in fact, much flattered by Robert’s lazy remark, after they had made love, that she was a source of naughty inspiration because he didn’t usually… His sentence was oddly truncated, as if he had been about to say something more and had decided it would be unwise, but Esmeralda was able to finish it herself quite easily.

  The next day she did write her letter, but she had no opportunity to give it to Robert. The convoy carrying Acland’s brigade had arrived, however, it was late afternoon before the ships were brought inshore, and the disembarkation went on until it was too dark to see. Most of the men did get ashore and were left to sleep on the beach, but when Robert came up to their room it was very late, and he was in a white-lipped rage.

  Esmeralda had been sitting by the table, mending one of Robert’s shirts by the light of the lamp. She jumped to her feet when her husband slammed the door shut and, seeing his face, cried, “Oh heaven, what is wrong?”

  “Sir Arthur’s been superseded. That…that dotard Burrard is here, in the Brazen.”