by Cheryl Holt
“I’d poke around in here,” he said as he drew away and lowered her hem. “It’s pleasurable for a man.”
“How about for a woman?”
“It can be—if the man knows his business in there.”
“Do you know your business?”
“Yes, Matthew made sure.”
“How?”
“He took me to his favorite whore and had her tutor me.”
“Captain Harlow did that?”
“Yes.”
“What an…interesting brother you have.”
“Don’t be so shocked. It’s fairly common in our world.”
“Not in mine. I’m discovering many things I never considered before. I feel as if you opened a secret door and allowed me to peek inside.” Suddenly she said, “I want to see it.”
“What? My cock?”
“Yes. Let me look.”
He wouldn’t be able to bear it. If he consented, she might not be a virgin when they were through. But she was so curious—and so bold. How could he refuse?
“I suppose you can,” he cautiously agreed. “Just for a minute, and you have to do what I tell you and naught else.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to control myself.”
“You needn’t control yourself.”
“One of us has to keep us on an even keel, or we’ll be swept somewhere we definitely don’t wish to be.”
He unbuttoned his trousers, and he clasped her hand again and laid it on his phallus. As her fingers closed around it, her eyes widened with surprise.
“It fits inside me?” she asked.
“Yes, it fits.”
“Put it in there.”
“No! It’s how babies are made.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d stick it in you and rub back and forth, and it creates a friction so a cream shoots out the tip. It waters your womb so a babe begins to grow.”
“That is the strangest comment I’ve ever heard.”
“I know. Girls never believe it.”
“Pull it out of your trousers,” she said.
“No.”
Yet she didn’t listen. She scooted down, yanking at fabric so the thing was right in her face. He should have stopped her, but his moral fortitude had flown out the window.
She was quiet, gaping, then she glanced up at him, appearing brash and dangerous to his equilibrium.
“You can stroke it if you want,” he said.
“Can I?”
She hesitated, not certain how to go about it, and he helpfully said, “Kiss the end. Fellows like that.”
“Kiss it? Seriously?”
“Yes, and suck it into your mouth. It’s a whore’s trick, and not what a wife would ever have to do, but men love it.”
“Is it why they visit whores?”
“It’s one of the reasons.”
The wretched trollop was game to try any stunt. Without pausing, she behaved exactly as he’d suggested, and he was so stunned that he yelped with astonishment and jerked away. His seed swelled in his loins, and there was no way to prevent it from bursting out. He flipped onto his stomach and spewed into the bedcovers as if he was a young lad.
It was humiliating, but then she was a virgin, so she couldn’t possibly fathom how he’d embarrassed himself. He peered over at her and started to laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“You are too wicked for your own good.”
“Am I? You like wicked girls though, don’t you?”
“Yes, I like wicked girls.” He motioned to the door. “Now let’s get you out of here.”
“I don’t wish to go. I thought I’d stay with you all night.”
“All night!”
“Yes. Everyone is busy with Clarissa and Captain Harlow. Who would know if I remain?”
“I would know.”
“Why must I leave? Did I do it wrong? Are you upset with me?”
“No, I’m not upset, but if you tarry for another second, we’ll wind up making a baby together.”
“Oh.” She grinned, finally comprehending. “Can I visit tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes.” He was anxious for her to depart before she became even more reckless.
“I’ll go then—so long as you promise I can come back.”
“You can. I promise.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then slid off the bed. He swiped at his phallus with the blanket, then he stood too.
“Tighten my laces, would you?” she asked.
He adjusted his trousers, then her clothes. Once she was mostly decent, he escorted her out, and he peeked into the hall, rather than letting her. With how brazen she was, she’d likely saunter out exactly when a servant was passing by. No doubt she’d love to be caught with Rafe.
But he’d played this game with others and knew the rules better than she did. He wouldn’t get caught.
“I feel all twitchy,” she said.
“That’s because I dallied with you but didn’t give you any actual pleasure.”
“Will you next time? I’m awfully uncomfortable.”
“We’ll see what I decide,” he muttered like a threat. “We’ll see what happens.”
He shoved her out, shut the door, and locked it so she couldn’t sneak in and tempt him again. And—lest she speak—he hurried to the dressing room, closing all the doors between him and her, and he slapped his palms over his ears.
If she knocked or called to him, he didn’t hear.
* * * *
Matthew was sitting in the steward’s office. It was located in the rear of the mansion, and the window looked out into the garden. It was a beautiful summer day, and Clarissa was walking on the groomed trails. She was wearing the lavender dress he liked, the one that made her eyes an intriguing shade of violet.
It occurred to him that an awkward silence had developed, and he shook himself and peered across the desk at Mr. Beasley who’d been the Merricks’ steward for three decades.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “I’m distracted this afternoon.”
“Understandable, Captain,” Beasley retorted.
“What were you saying?”
“I’m honored that you asked me to remain at my post, and I would be happy to serve you in any capacity you desire.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Matthew’s attention drifted again, his gaze wandering out to Clarissa. He enjoyed watching her when she didn’t know he was. Her pretty blond hair was down, pulled into a ponytail. Had she left it down just for him?
Beasley was droning on and on about the estate, how the ledgers were organized, what crops were planted, what was harvested.
Matthew and Rafe were returning to the army in two weeks, and Matthew was extremely worried about the property and what would transpire in his absence. He intended to speed Roland’s exodus, but Matthew was no fool and recognized that Roland would pester Clarissa. Angela would too.
The housekeeper, butler, and Mr. Beasley would keep an eye on Clarissa, would assist and protect her. If her cousins grew too irksome, Matthew would hire bodyguards to chase them off, but he didn’t want matters to deteriorate.
He wanted Clarissa to have an easy time of it while he was away. He wanted her to be glad she’d wed him, and if her cousins caused trouble the minute he departed, she’d be upset.
Suddenly he realized Mr. Beasley was waiting for him to reply, and Matthew said, “My apologies again, Mr. Beasley. I’m woolgathering.”
Beasley laughed and pointed to the garden where Clarissa was approaching the house. “It’s the day after your wedding, Captain. Perhaps you have more important things to do than talk about numbers and herd sizes.”
“I have so many chores to handle before I leave. I’m running in circles.”
“The ledgers aren’t going anywhere. They’ll be here tomorrow. Why don’t you see how your bride is faring?”
Beasley shot Matthew a sly look, from an older married man to a much younger one, and Matthew
grinned and nodded. “A stroll in the garden might be just what I need to clear my head.”
Feeling giddy and silly, he dashed out without a goodbye, like an adolescent boy suffering his first crush. By the time he reached the door, she’d already come in and had climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. He raced after her, catching her in the hallway.
They’d slept until noon, with him having awakened her off and on during the night to fornicate, but also simply to hold her and chat, the dark making it possible to discuss any topic.
When they’d risen, the servants had set up a table in his bedchamber so they could have a private breakfast, then they’d parted, with Matthew claiming he had a thousand tasks to accomplish. Which was true. So he’d only been away from her for a few hours, but it seemed as if it had been a hundred years.
“Hello, Mrs. Harlow.” He liked the sound of it more and more.
“Hello, Mr. Harlow. Are we keeping that name? Didn’t you tell me your father’s surname was Blair?”
“I’ve always been a Harlow. Imagine all the explanations I’d have to give if I changed it.”
“It would be a bother, wouldn’t it?”
“Definitely, and we signed all the documents at the church as Mr. and Mrs. Harlow.”
“Harlow it is then.”
She smiled, the joy of it pelting him, and it dawned on him that he was very, very happy.
She entered her suite, with him bumbling in after her like an eager puppy. She’d been picking flowers, her basket full, and he hurried over and took it from her, placing it on the table as she removed her bonnet.
The moment might have become awkward, but he dipped down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and the embrace grew in length and intensity. When he finally pulled away, they both sighed.
“Your hair is down,” he said.
“Just for you.”
“It’s pretty. I hope you’ll always wear it that way.”
“I will if we’re home, but if we have guests, I’ll have to mind my manners.”
“Yes, heaven forbid that anyone see your beautiful hair.”
“Yes, heaven forbid.”
They were next to a sofa, and he plopped down and drew her onto his lap.
“What have you been doing all afternoon?” he asked.
“Walking. Thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“You.”
“Me? It better have all been good.”
“It was.”
“Would you tell me if it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“Are you a little less fretful today?” he inquired.
“Quite a bit less.”
“I’m not so horrid, am I?”
“No.”
“Told you.”
“I’m not ready to give you any gold stars for merit, but you’ll do.”
“I’ll do?” He snorted with amusement. “High praise indeed, Mrs. Harlow.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Reviewing the ledgers with Mr. Beasley.”
“How utterly boring.”
“Yes, it was. He seems to be competent.”
“Yes, he’s very competent. I’m glad you retained his services. He’s been worried you might fire him.”
“No, I’ve investigated him. He’s exactly the person I need.”
Beasley had gotten the biggest raise in salary out of Matthew. The estate would thrive or fail under his management, and Matthew had to insure they stayed on the thriving side of the financial line. With some prodding, Beasley had confided that he’d be as relieved to see Roland leave as everyone else at Greystone. Did Roland Merrick have any idea how generally loathed he was?
Beasley would protect Clarissa, and it would be his main task. Matthew wouldn’t apprise Clarissa though. He wouldn’t let her know how all the servants would watch over her while he was away.
“Why are you so competent?” she asked. “Did Mrs. Harlow send you to school?”
“She taught me at home until Rafe came along. She was very bright and educated herself, but unfortunately she passed away in childbed.”
“I didn’t realize that. Rafe was reared without a mother?”
“I was his mother.”
“Poor boy.”
“Yes, with me guiding him, he barely survived. Mr. Harlow paid for some years of schooling for me, but once Rafe was old enough, we went to the army with him.”
“The army?” She scowled. “You grew up in army camps?”
“Yes. I’ve lived my life around tough, violent men and very few women.”
“That’s explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You not very gentle with the gentler sex.”
“I’m too used to shouting orders and having them obeyed.”
“I can tell that about you,” she said. “But I’m still not clear on why you’re so exceptional. You’re an orphan, and you had a bit of schooling from Mrs. Harlow, then you roamed in army camps. Why are you so remarkable?”
“You think I’m remarkable?”
“Yes.”
“I was born this way. Even when I was tiny, I was an autocratic tyrant. I liked bossing people and being in command. Mrs. Harlow enjoyed it and found me precocious, but Mr. Harlow didn’t care for it. He and I often butted heads.”
“You really suppose your parents were servants?”
“It’s what everyone assumed, but I have no idea. Why?”
“I’ll bet your father was a king.”
“A king!”
“Yes, you behave like a royal despot. It’s natural to you, and if I ever learn that you have noble blood running in your veins, I won’t be surprised.”
“If my father turns out to be a king, that means I’ll be a king someday, and you’ll be a queen. May I call you Queenie?”
“No, you absolutely may not call me Queenie.”
She laughed and laughed, the sound washing over him like cool rain.
He pulled her to him, and he kissed her for another long while. He was incredibly fascinated by her and appeared to be growing fond—when he hadn’t considered that fondness might blossom. He’d wed her for convenience’s sake, because he felt he should, because it felt right.
Yet he liked her very much. Who would have imagined it? Where would it lead? Where would it end?
She snuggled herself to his chest and rested there as he stroked a soothing hand up and down her back.
“Do you expect we’ll have children, Matthew?” she asked.
“It’s the usual consequence when two people fornicate like rabbits.”
“But do you want to have children?”
He hadn’t pondered it—the whole marriage had happened so quickly—but now that she’d raised the possibility, the notion appealed very much.
Life with the Harlows had never been pleasant, and there had just been Rafe as his brother. There were Harlow cousins, but Rafe’s father had been so unlikeable and away from England so much, that Matthew and Rafe had never spent time with the relatives. So he didn’t have any experience with a huge family.
But he believed, deep down, that he might have had a family once, that he might have had parents who’d adored him, siblings who were close. He didn’t know why he believed that, or why it might be true, but it was his most secret wish to have it again, to surround himself with what he was certain he’d lost somewhere along the way.
“I hope we have a dozen children,” he murmured.
“So do I,” she agreed, “and that’s a shocking statement coming from me.”
“Why?’
“I never thought I’d have the chance.”
“Then I’m delighted I can give them to you.”
She nestled nearer, and neither of them was in a hurry to have the intimate moment end. Ultimately he opened his mouth and the strangest question popped out.
“Would you go to London with me next week?”
She sat up. “To London? I would love that.�
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“Have you ever been there?”
“Yes, but it’s been many years. Why are you going? Is it business or pleasure?”
“It’s definitely not pleasure. I’m being feted at another ceremony.”
“For your heroics at the Royal Tempest?”
“Yes, and I’ve already told an important hostess that I’d attend her ball afterward. Would you like to attend it with me?”
“Yes. I’ve never been to a fancy ball, but I don’t have a suitable gown.”
“We’ll get one for you. Perhaps, while we’re there, we could have you fitted for a new wardrobe.”
“I don’t need a new wardrobe,” she protested.
“I know you don’t need it, but I want you to have it. Let me buy it for you. I have money that’s just lying around. I like spending it in a manner that will make me happy.”
She smiled and sighed. “All right. We’ll travel to town, and we’ll attend your fancy parties, and meet your lofty friends, and spend all your money. How does that sound?”
“Well, maybe we won’t spend all of it.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
She batted her lashes, and he snuggled her down again as he wondered what had possessed him to invite her. He had many tasks to complete in London, the main one being the problem of dealing with Penelope. She’d assumed he’d bring her to Greystone, but instead he’d wed and would stroll into the city with a wife on his arm.
Though he’d never discussed marriage with Penelope, she was secretly hoping he’d propose, which would never transpire. He’d behaved badly, so she’d be upset, and he hated theatrics and bickering. He had to avoid discord, but he doubted he was smart enough to find a peaceful conclusion.
Clarissa interrupted his miserable reverie. “Let’s eat our supper upstairs as we ate our breakfast this morning.”
“I can have you all to myself?”
“Yes, and we won’t have to sit in the dining room while Angela pouts and complains.”
“I knew there was a reason I married you. You’re smart as a whip.”
“I have one other request.”
“Anything, Clarissa. I told you. Anything that is in my power to bestow, you shall have.”
