by Nia Farrell
Neither man was pleased to see me.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” Edward practically glowered at me.
“Exercising. I’ve been told that it’s good for one’s health and well-being. I thought I’d stroll down and check on things. I haven’t seen the inside since the work started.”
I’d had daily reports from Daniel, of course, but my artist’s eye had not envisioned the transformation that had taken place. A wide expanse of swept stone floor stretched from the door through the nave, past the crossing and altar to the apse at the far end. The transepts on either side of the crossing extended left and right, beyond my line of sight. No doubt the far door led to the sacristy, where a succession of priests would have prepared communion, blessed oils, and consecrated holy water.
The temporary scaffolding was the only blight on an interior landscape that pleased me in the extreme. I could see movable partitions, hung with framed art. Display stands scattered with sculpted pieces. Working in the sacristy or one of the transepts would minimize the dust and help us conserve fuel, once we knew where heat was most needed.
Daniel took hold of my arm, as if he meant to eject me. “Let’s go, Lanie. I told ye this was no place for a lady, and nothing’s changed. Ye must wait until it’s safe and clean and ready for ye. I’ll fetch ye meself when it’s done.”
“What if I come back as Lane?” I whispered, all wide-eyed innocence. “I won’t need the codpiece. The rags between my legs make enough of a bulge to pass at a glance.”
“Nay!” he hissed. “I’m takin’ ye home. Can’t ye see Edward working his hand? He’s still pissed from when ye didn’t come to bed last night.”
“Yes. Well. I apologized for that, but really, Daniel. I felt I had no choice. It was like I was one with the stone, stripping away what didn’t belong to reveal the face that you saw. You know what it’s like for me. It’s all new to Edward, but I need him to understand my process and hope that he’ll accept it for what it is.”
“Ye cannot serve two masters,” Daniel growled, hustling me away from the abbey. “Edward’s human. Flesh and blood. Ignore him again, or put him second to your damned muse, and ye’ll do so at yer peril.”
Daniel yanked me from the street just in time to let two carriages meet. Gripping my shoulders, he spun me to face him. “Listen to me for once. I’m beggin’ ye. That ‘process’ of yers is going to get ye a hundred strokes if ye’re not careful. Christ, Lanie! I had a hard time with twenty-four. Fifty liked to killed me. If it’s an early grave ye wish for me, just keep it up.”
He tucked my bonneted head beneath his chin as he pulled me against him and held me for a long, fierce moment. “Ye’re wondrous bright and gifted in ways that most can only dream of, but ye need to pay attention and think things through a bit better than ye’ve been doing. Last night. Today. Just now.” He heaved a sigh. “Promise me that ye’ll try? For my sake, if not for yer own.”
“Yes.” I stroked his arm, regretting that I’d caused him such distress. The punishment that was my catharsis was torture for Daniel to watch, and there was certain to be more forthcoming. What and when and how much remained to be seen, but Edward was upset with me. Daniel told me nothing new in that regard. “Yes, I will. For you, Paddy.”
He left me at our door only after securing my avowal that I would not return to the abbey until Edward said so. In addition, he required that I have Edward approve what I would wear. I suspected that he could see a little Lane in my eyes, because I was still toying with the idea of returning incognito to the rest of the world, at least. But my Irishman knew me too well.
I spent the rest of the day chipping away at Patroclus, making progress at least. Exercise had seemed to exacerbate my monthly condition, and I babied myself after that, moving less, resting more, eyeing the whiskey when the cramping started in earnest. I chose willow bark tea instead, and an earthenware bottle filled with hot water in lieu of my cloth covered canteen, which was somewhere in my crated chattel.
Back in Chicago, as my body had adjusted to civilian life and diet, my stomach trouble started and my female complaints returned. By the time I had reconnected with Daniel, I blamed everything on my stomach and kept my secret safe. Now that my gender was known, I could be honest about that much, at least.
I let Babs know at lunch that I would likely want supper sent up. I had no idea what state I would be in when the men came home. As it was, they found me curled up in bed, holding the towel-wrapped bottle against my cramping belly.
“I’m sorry,” I told them, wincing. “I’m a little the worse for wear. How did the installation go?”
“Well enough,” Edward said smoothly, with no hint of lingering rancor in his voice. “The beams had swelled with moisture, and we had to make certain the wood was perfectly dry before they could be shaped. One beam had to be brought down and trimmed again, but it went in smoothly after that. The temporary supports will be fully dismantled by tomorrow. They’re beginning the window installations as well, likely finishing the day after. We’ll inspect it Saturday morning, after the final cleaning, but I fully expect to start moving things in this weekend.”
The news sent a thrill to my core. “Oh, Edward! I know I’ve said it before, but thank you. You’ve done so much for me. For us. Truly.”
Suddenly, I remembered that it was Wednesday. “What news of the election?”
“General Grant won,” Daniel crowed. “Seymour didn’t stand a chance.”
I sensed a trip to Bath in our near future and darted a glance at Edward. “Do you happen to know by how much?” I asked blithely.
“At least sixty-eight percent. Could go as high as eighty-four, once all the votes are in.”
“Yes. Well. We knew he would win. By how much was our question, wasn’t it, Edward?”
“Yes,” he said. “When an outcome isn’t in question, it comes down to percentages.”
“Well, then. Sixty-eight is closer to sixty than fifty-one,” I pointed out. “I’d like to talk about a trip to Bath, when you’ve the time.”
“Of course,” he said, smiling cryptically. “I believe I have a book. I can look for it. Bring it to you, hmm?”
There was something off about his easy acquiescence, but damned if I knew what. “Thank you, Edward. That would be lovely. And you’ll do Daniel tonight? Daniel’s massage,” I clarified when Daniel’s startled gaze flew my way.
“Of course. If you will excuse me, I have a book to find and a tray to send. I shall see you later, hmm?”
He kissed my forehead and headed downstairs, leaving me with Daniel and a host of questions exploding like a flock of birds inside my head.
Chapter Forty
“Paddy, does Edward seem a bit…off to you?”
My niggling sense of unease deepened when Daniel found his fingernails of sudden interest.
“He held his hand last night,” he said. “He’s holding it still today.” His brow furrowed, and he angled a telling look at me. “He’s itching to blister that bottom of yers, and he’s fetching a book instead. More than a bit off, if ye ask me.”
“Yes. Well. I’m sorry I said anything,” I sighed, smoothing the top sheet. “You have more important things to do than listen to my silliness—exercises and Epsom salts first and foremost among them. Take care to not overdo it, and don’t let Edward work out his frustration on your flesh. If his massage gets too aggressive, tell him immediately so that he can correct it. Sometimes I don’t think he realizes how strong he is.”
His strength was surprising, given his profession, something that he attributed to his daily exercises and nighttime exertions. Fencing and fucking, he’d once told me. At the time, I thought that he was perhaps joking, but Edward was more prone to subtle chides and small pokes than outright attempts at humor. Our professor was a serious man. Indeed, I had never heard him truly laugh. Chuckle, yes, but no guffaws, no belly laughs, no roaring reaction to someone else’s sidesplitting jokes. His was a drier, more urbane humor, a mark of
the intellectual that he was.
Daniel, on the other hand, was a purveyor of ribaldry and earthy humor. He’d have made a good court jester, back in the day. Or perhaps not. Given his disdain of the upper classes and their elitist shite, he’d likely have lost his head.
He loved playing devil’s advocate (as much as—if not more so than—Edward) when it came to politics. America’s fate had been decided, but England’s yet hung in the balance, with elections due mid-month to determine whether Benjamin Disraeli would retain his position as Prime Minister. The bet that the men had wagered between them was on how many conservative seats would go to liberal MPs. Edward predicted seventeen; Daniel hoped for a minimum of twenty.
“He knows exactly how strong he is,” Daniel said, his voice laden with meaning. “Thank Christ he’s got the control to go with it. A rare combination that’s saving yer hide for later, darlin’ girl. His mind is on tenting tonight.”
Tenting tonight. Our euphemism for messy sex on a protected surface. After covering the chaise for our shaving party, Daniel had remarked upon a rubberized shelter half that he’d seen during the war. A week later, a gum blanket had been delivered, custom made large enough for Edward’s oversized bed. Although we still decimated the sheets and towels atop it, the rubberized surface served to protect the mattress underneath.
But tenting tonight? That could explain why Edward seemed a bit off earlier, distracted during our conversation by his awareness of the bed next door, prepared and ready for more rounds of lusty, uninhibited sex.
I clenched my thighs and held that thought.
Babs prepared the lighter fare that I’d requested. Lucy brought it up with the book that Edward had mentioned, a privately published work on the history of Bath. Not surprisingly, its focus was more on Bath’s origins and Roman history and less on its most famous resident, Miss Jane Austen. Still, it was interesting enough to hold my attention while the men dined and Daniel received his massage. When they finished, the evening would be young enough that I could provide some diversion for Edward, quoting the pages on Aquae Sulis.
Overall, the program of exercise, salt baths, and massage that Daniel had embarked upon had yielded results far beyond the doctors’ expectations. He could do more and pay less for it than he had since he was shot. Now there were evenings when a glass of wine at dinner was sufficient to let him sleep. The rounds of whiskey that he once tossed back became the exception rather than the rule. Strangely—or perhaps not so strangely—Daniel’s improvement also had a positive impact on Young Frank. A bit stand offish at first, he’d warmed to Daniel almost begrudgingly, but the less that Daniel drank, the more that Young Frank interacted with him, eventually seeking Daniel out and asking him to teach him joinery and finer woodcrafting and such. Between the two of them, there was a growing stack of unfinished frames in common sizes, ready to be completed, either for Sydney or for myself.
I hadn’t yet told Sydney that she would be my Briseis. She’d hinted at it when I first mentioned the planned change in visages to offer us anonymity. Eventually she had asked me outright. When I refused to commit, she cajoled. She wheedled. Tempted and bribed, offering to do intimate portraits of Daniel and myself to keep and share with Edward, who enjoyed few things more than watching us make love. Tonight would be no exception, I could tell from the look on Edward’s face when he came to collect me. He was already aroused. Whether it was from having his hands on Daniel or thoughts of having his hands on us both, I couldn’t say, but his nostrils were flared, his face was flushed, and his erection was testing the strength of his buttons’ linen threads. He’d taken off his coat, but had left on his vest and rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the corded muscles of his forearms.
Edward flung back the sheets and scooped me up, carrying me through our shared door to his room, where my Irishman was waiting, already naked. The robe that Daniel had donned to cross the hall after his massage was draped on the back of a side chair. Within seconds, my chemise had joined it.
“Now,” growled Edward, his gaze fastened on the rise and fall of my breasts. “You worked far too late last night. Today you came to a construction site without permission and unaccompanied. Daniel, here, had to walk you back, which left me to deal with the details that he had been handling, until he returned.”
Edward fisted my hair and pulled, lifting my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, refusing to let me hide. “What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m sorry, Daniel.”
Edward dragged me to the bed and forced me face down onto it, with my legs dangling over the edge. I turned my head and saw his razor strop sliding past my face.
“This has your name and a growing number on it,” he rumbled. “To be worked off, eventually. However, tonight…” He smacked the cheek of my buttocks hard enough to leave a print. “It is my hand and your arse, then we are going to fuck some sense into you.”
Or fuck me senseless.
I bit my lip to try to keep from grinning, but not quickly enough. Smack! The bed shook beneath me. Tears sprang to my eyes, and my breath hissed between clenched teeth.
“Not so funny now, is it?” Edward spanked me again, alternating sides. “Daniel, if you please?”
Edward shoved his hand between my legs and dredged the dampness up my crack to lubricate my asshole. The next thing I felt was something pushing inside. Larger than a finger. Smaller than a prick. It burned like citrus on a fresh cut, or salt on a wound. Son of a bitch.
“Nng!” I bucked, gasping when the sting intensified a hundredfold. “What the hell is that?” I managed to choke out.
“Ginger,” Edward hummed. “Selected and carved just for you. I raided the pantry while I was downstairs with Babs, arranging for your supper. Daniel did a proper job of shaping it. Good job, my boy. I could hardly have done better myself.”
He sounded rather like a proud father, his voice smooth and resonant. But then his ass wasn’t pegged and burning like mine was. It was all I could do to squeak a plea for clemency.
Edward tsked and smacked my bottom again, several times in quick succession. “No,” he said, punctuating his sentences and underscoring his words with spanks. “The first few minutes are the worst, but it stays in until I’m done. Needless to say, we won’t be using that particular orifice tonight. I’ve no wish to encounter any remnants of ginger juice, and I refuse to squander the opportunity to finish inside you. Tonight is about your punishment and our pleasure. You’ll have to earn yours. Perhaps tomorrow. We shall see.”
Tears burst from my eyes, then. I sobbed into the mattress, burying my face in the towels layered in the center, where I normally would be, sandwiched in the middle or lying between them. There would be no release for me, no paroxysm, no ultimate pleasure. I was a vessel for their lust, a means to an end, with both of mine in question until Edward removed the ginger plug and ordered me to suck Daniel’s cock. The next thing I knew, Edward was driving into me, seating himself in one, heavy thrust that had him banging on the door of my womb.
“Yeeessssss,” he groaned, pulling out nearly his full length and driving in again, and again, fucking me before poor Daniel was in place.
Daniel walked around the bed and climbed onto it. Stretching out in the middle, he rolled onto his side, took his vein-roped prick in hand, pointed it at my lips, and scooted closer, closer, sinking his length into me as he advanced. When his tip gained carnal knowledge of my tonsils, he thrust one hand into my hair, flexed his hips, and began pumping his substantial length into my mouth.
Edward grabbed hold of my tender, reddened buttocks, adding to my misery, yet despite it (or perhaps because of it), I felt my own arousal, sharp and bittersweet, knowing that tonight, I was doomed to the outer circles of hell, denied even a glimpse of heaven. Daniel and Edward took me from both ends, focused on their own pleasure while making certain that my needs remained unassuaged, adding to my punishment.
They found their releases while denying me mine. Daniel cam
e first, exploding down my throat hard enough to make me choke, trying to swallow it all. I shuddered from the force of it, flailing like a fish and gasping for air when he finally unhooked himself from me. Enjoying my misery a bit too much, Edward filled my cup, climaxing with a sharp thrust into my depths, biting my back as he poured himself into me, churning his hips and mixing his seed with my flow.
He disappeared into the water closet. I remained where he had left me, knowing better than to move without permission. I did, however, wedge my hands beneath me, pressing against the menstrual cramps that had plagued me for much of the day.
“Up you go,” Edward said, smacking my bruised bottom. I yelped and scrambled to the middle of the bed, grabbing onto Daniel as if he could protect me until the next cramp hit.
“My boy, your hand, please, on her lower abdomen. Gentle massage. Warm the tissue. If it’s not enough, we’ll need to fetch her hot water bottle.”
Daniel rolled onto his side and turned me so that our bodies were nested, spooning like messmates sharing a tent. Draping one arm over my hip, he pressed his large, calloused hand on my belly and began rubbing, performing gentle massage over my womb. It was a sweet gesture but not what I needed.
Edward watched us, mostly observing, occasionally tracing the slope of my breast with his finger, gooseflesh rippling in its wake. I arched reflexively, wincing when my tender bottom pressed against Daniel’s hard, manly form.
“Beautiful,” Edward murmured, drawing circles around my pebbled nipple.
I bit back a moan. “Please, Sir. If either of us is to get any sleep, I’ll need my water bottle, otherwise Daniel will be doing this all night.”
Edward pinched my nipple and twisted it. “Not yet,” he said. Grasping my thigh, he pulled my leg over his forearm and slid into me, rocking me against Daniel, whose body reacted accordingly, his phallus thickening, lengthening, hardening, rising like a ramrod between us, poking at my waist.
