by Cheryl Holt
He reached into his trousers and pulled out his cock. He shoved the tip into her sheath, and though she was desperate to relax, it was all too odd, and he was acting so cold and distant.
She arched up and, almost instinctually, tried to scoot away when she didn’t actually want to scoot away. And he was holding her tight, so she couldn’t have wiggled free even if she’d attempted to.
“Calm down,” he told her.
“I’m calm. It merely feels peculiar.”
“Let me get inside you. Once the worst is over, you can enjoy it with me.”
“I’m enjoying it now,” she claimed, and she sort of meant it.
She was relieved they were proceeding, but when she’d envisioned them in the throes of amour, she’d assumed it would be much more romantic. With him being so surly and abrupt, it was more like a boring science experiment where they had to take each step in the proper order.
He started flexing his hips, pressing his phallus into her, then drawing it out, then pressing it in. She kept squirming, trying to move away, trying not to move away, but she was simply too unnerved by what was occurring.
“Just a tad more,” he murmured.
“I’m hanging in there. I…”
He gave a hard shove, and he was completely impaled, all the way to her womb. Then—finally!—he smiled down at her, and there was her Rafe, the Rafe she loved, the boy of her dreams, the boy who would become her husband.
She felt like weeping, but she wasn’t sad. Her emotions were jumbled and chaotic, her body struggling to acclimate to its new situation.
“Did you survive it?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Can I finish? Can you bear it?”
“Can I bear it? Of course I can. Whatever you want is fine, Rafe.”
He studied her as if she might be lying, and she gazed back at him, pretending to be serene and untroubled. It was extremely difficult, feigning composure like that. She was eager to pummel him with questions, to suggest they pause until she was less unsettled.
Yet she wasn’t about to tell him that. She was anxious for him to continue so he’d be happy, so he’d understand she was perfect for him.
I’ve got you now. No matter what you imagine, no matter what Captain Harlow might say, you’re mine.
“Hold on,” he said. “It will be over in a minute.”
“Shouldn’t it last longer than a minute?”
He snorted. “Next time, we’ll shoot for longer. Right now I’m about to explode.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you drive me wild, Eddie.”
She grinned. “I do?”
“Yes, so be quiet and let a man fornicate in peace.”
Though he’d claimed it would last a minute, it ended much quicker than that. He thrust three or four times, then yanked away, his wet cock on her belly as he pumped against her stomach, his hot seed spewing onto her skin.
Eventually he groaned and collapsed onto her, and it was strange and intimate and very thrilling. They stayed like that for a bit, then he slid away, which was the scariest moment. What if he hadn’t liked it? What if she’d done it wrong? But she couldn’t have, could she? Her sole participation had been to lie there with her legs spread. There hadn’t been many chances to make a mistake.
He went into the dressing room and returned with a towel. He leaned over her and wiped away the traces of their misbehavior, then he wedged a second towel under her bottom.
“There might be some blood from your being deflowered,” he explained. “I don’t want any of it to stain my sheets.”
“Why not?”
“Because the maids would guess what we’ve been up to.”
“Ah…” she mused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Then and there, she decided to ensure there was blood where it shouldn’t be. She’d love to have the maids gossiping.
He stretched out beside her, and they were nose to nose, giggling like impish children.
“What did you think?” he inquired.
“It was very physical.”
“The first time is awkward.”
“I agree.”
“You’ll figure it out, and then it will become more fun. We can do it as much as we like, but we won’t be stupid and get caught.”
“No, not that,” she fibbed. She hoped they did get caught—and soon.
“I couldn’t pace myself. I’ve lusted after you for so long, I couldn’t slow down.”
“You’ve been lusting after me? Truly?”
“Yes, Eddie. I mean, look at you.” He gestured down her naked torso. “You have the greatest breasts I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you.”
She recognized it as a compliment, but with how he’d phrased it the comment didn’t seem especially flattering. He might have been staring at a whore, comparing her to doxies he’d used in a carnal way.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now we doze, then we try it again.”
“Can I stay in here with you tonight?”
“Yes, but you have to be in your own room before the servants are up.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Better than what?”
“You were awfully grumpy when we left the ball.”
“I was furious with my brother.”
“Over his mistress and how he treated Clarissa?”
“Among other things, but a hearty tumble always improves my spirits.”
“It’s improved mine too.”
“I didn’t realize your spirits needed improving.”
“I didn’t either but I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“That’s what I like about you, Eddie. You’re such a merry girl. Don’t ever change.”
“I won’t.”
He shifted her and spooned himself to her back, a lazy arm draped across her waist. With their ardor ebbing, the temperature had cooled, and he tugged the quilt over them, nestling them in a toasty cocoon.
It was the best part yet, this quiet interval after their passion had been spent. They were silent, contented, and she focused on every tiny detail, implanting them in her memory so she’d never forget.
At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because some time later someone kicked the bed very hard and crudely muttered, “For fuck’s sake!”
Eddie scowled, not quite able to yank herself to consciousness, then the bed was kicked again, and the same voice snapped, “Wake the hell up. Both of you wake up, right now!”
Eddie came up on an elbow and glanced over to find Captain Harlow looming over them. He was still in his dress uniform, his trousers perfectly pressed, his boots shined, his medals gleaming in the dark. He was prepared to commit murder.
“Captain Harlow?” she weakly said. “What are you doing here?”
“The more pertinent question, Miss Edwards, is what are you doing here?”
“I can explain.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve got two eyes in my head.”
Rafe hadn’t stirred, and Captain Harlow whacked him on the shoulder. He jerked awake.
On seeing his glaring brother, he mumbled, “Oh, shit.”
“You’ve certainly put the nail in your bachelor’s coffin,” Captain Harlow raged.
Rafe sat up, yawning, as he claimed, “It’s no big deal, Matthew. We’re simply having a snuggle.”
“Is that what you’re calling it, Rafe? Is that how Miss Edwards intends to describe it? A snuggle? Somehow I can’t imagine that being her opinion.”
Rafe frowned. “Eddie and I have an understanding.”
“You do, do you?” Captain Harlow scoffed. “She’s a maiden, Rafe. What were you thinking?”
Eddie chimed in with, “I wanted it to happen, Captain. I begged him.”
“Begged him!”
“He constantly refused—he was very gallant about it—but I wore him down. Please don’t be upset, and please don’t blame him.”
“I can’t handle this
on top of everything else.” He sighed with exasperation, his glower condemning and disgusted. “I’m leaving for Greystone.”
“But it’s the middle of the night,” Rafe said.
“Dawn’s about to break, and I have to talk to Clarissa.”
“Good luck with that,” Rafe snottily chided.
“Keep your smart remarks to yourself,” the Captain said. “I’m departing immediately. I just came in to tell you.”
“Thanks for letting us know.” Rafe was being much too snide.
“You two pull some clothes on,” the Captain told them, “eat breakfast, then haul your lazy butts to Greystone as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, sir.”
Rafe gave a mocking salute, and the Captain whacked him again, harder and alongside the head this time.
“I swear to God, Rafe,” the Captain fumed, “when you show your sorry face at Greystone, I will beat the living daylights out of you for being such an idiot.”
“Hey,” Rafe retorted, “I’m not the one who brought my wife to London while my mistress was prancing around. Who’s the idiot, hmm?”
The Captain looked as if he’d hit Rafe again, but instead he took a deep breath, deliberately calming himself. “I won’t dignify that with a response.”
He spun and stomped out, the sound of his strides echoing down the hall until they faded completely.
“Shit,” Rafe cursed as he flopped onto the pillow. “Oh, sorry, Eddie.”
“I agree. Shit.” It was the only occasion she’d ever spoken the horrid word aloud, but the situation definitely seemed to call for it. “What should we do?”
“I’m not about to decide in the dead of night. We’ll doze for a bit and wake up at a decent hour. And then we’ll worry about how to start our morning.”
“The Captain ordered us to proceed to Greystone at once.”
“The Captain can screw himself blind. Be quiet and go back to sleep.”
* * * *
“Where is Captain Harlow?”
“In London.”
Clarissa peered over at Angela. They were in the front parlor at Greystone, seated across from each other on the sofas, with Roland lurking in the corner.
Clarissa had rolled in very late, when her cousins had been in bed, and she’d slipped up to her old room without announcing her presence. Needless to say, she’d caused a stir among the servants when she’d appeared at breakfast.
With her being Captain’s Harlow’s wife, and their not making a fuss upon her arrival, they assumed they’d failed her. But Clarissa couldn’t abide anyone making a fuss. She simply wished her circumstances could return to how they’d been before she’d wed.
When she’d merely been the poor relative at Greystone, she’d understood her place in the world, had understood her true role.
Now she didn’t understand anything.
“Why didn’t the Captain travel with you?” Angela asked.
From her smirk, Clarissa figured Angela knew why, but was eager to hear Clarissa’s reply so she could gloat over Clarissa’s downfall.
“He was busy with events in town.” Clarissa kept her expression carefully blank.
“Too busy to escort his bride to the country? He’s so incredibly vain. It’s out of character for him to allow you to traipse off alone.”
“He doesn’t own me. I wanted to leave, and I did.”
“Without your husband’s permission? My, my, Clarissa, how very bold you’re growing.”
“Aren’t I though?”
Clarissa had thought she was anxious to be home at Greystone. As catastrophe had struck in London, Greystone had seemed like her only safe haven, but she’d forgotten what it was actually like. It had never been a refuge, and she had no friends.
Roland and Angela shared a furtive glance, one that indicated sneaky plots and secret confidences, and Clarissa was out of patience with both of them.
“Why are you snickering?” she snapped. “What’s wrong?”
“We’re not snickering,” Roland insisted. “We’re simply concerned about you. If the servants who accompanied you from town are correct, you’ve quarreled with Captain Harlow, and apparently it was quite vehement. Have you lovebirds split already?”
“What if we have?” Clarissa blandly replied.
“Will he be returning to Greystone? Should we be expecting him?”
Her cousins were so smug, so infuriatingly superior, and Clarissa yearned to rail at them. But why waste the energy?
“I’ve been curious about something,” she said to Roland.
“What is it?”
“You encouraged me to accept the Captain’s proposal, but did you know much about his private life?”
“I knew enough.”
Angela chortled, and Clarissa silenced her with a glare, then spun to Roland. “Were you aware of how he carried on in London?”
“How he carried on?” Roland asked. “Are you referring to his mistress?”
“Yes. You’d heard about her?”
“Everyone has. Why? Did your husband fail to inform you of his predilection for debauchery?”
So…Roland had deliberately tossed Clarissa into the lion’s den. She was too worn down to be upset by the news. Nor was she surprised by it.
“You two have always hated me,” Clarissa said. “What did I ever do to either of you?”
Angela supplied the answer. “You mean besides eat our food, breathe our air, and generally leech off us for the past fifteen years?”
“Yes, besides that,” Clarissa flippantly responded. “Your father invited me, and I was an orphaned little girl. Would it have killed you to be kind to me?”
“Why would I have bothered?” Angela sneered.
Roland butted in. “Now, now, Clarissa, let’s not bicker. We don’t hate you. As of this moment, you’re our favorite person.”
“Why is that?”
“Because—with you being the Captain’s wife—you’ve arranged matters to our satisfaction.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m so glad I could be of service.”
“When will your husband arrive? I’m positive he’ll chase after you. He’s too arrogant not to.”
“I really don’t expect him.”
Angela chuckled crudely. “Tumbling Penelope Bernard, is he?”
The comment riled Clarissa as nothing else ever had, and it took every ounce of fortitude she possessed to keep from marching over and slapping Angela to the floor.
Instead she spoke to Roland. “Why are you still at Greystone, Roland? I could have sworn you were supposed to be gone.”
“I’m about ready,” he vaguely stated.
Angela added, “I fail to see how his plans are any of your business.”
There were no signs of his preparing to depart, but then he lived in the gamekeeper’s cottage. Perhaps the foyer over there was filled to the ceiling with traveling trunks, but she doubted it.
“I don’t care if you leave,” she said. “I don’t care if you remain. You’re certain Captain Harlow is on his way to Greystone. You can discuss it with him.”
“I intend to.”
Roland’s remark sounded like a threat, but he was the least menacing man Clarissa had ever met. Vain, yes. Irksome, yes. Conceited, yes. Idiotic, yes. But dangerous? No.
She felt exhausted and ill, and she had no desire to spend another second in their vile company. She rose and started out.
“Where are you going?” Angela asked.
“For now, to my room. But I’m opening the Dower House, so after I’ve rested, I’m taking some servants to scrub and polish. I’m moving over there.”
“I was moving there,” Angela complained.
“You can stay here in the Abbey.”
“How magnanimous of you to give me permission.”
“I’m not giving you permission,” Clarissa said. “I’m telling you I don’t care. You and your brother can fuss with Captain Harlow, and I’m guessing he’ll have p
lenty to say to both of you.”
“I wouldn’t guess he’ll have much to say at all,” Roland muttered.
He and Angela shared another furtive look, as if they were conspirators, as if they had secrets to which Clarissa could never be privy. When she’d been a child, their slights and snubs had hurt her. Anymore, she was too exasperated to worry over their schemes.
On the journey back to Greystone, she’d pondered her future, and ultimately she’d decided she simply wanted to be alone and build a life that didn’t include Angela, Roland, or Captain Harlow.
She’d live in the Dower House with Edwina—if Eddie chose to join her there. Clarissa would carry on as she always had, as if she was a spinster, as if she belonged nowhere and was connected to no one. She’d been content that way, and once she had some time to regroup, she was confident that she’d regain the sense of equilibrium that had vanished with the Captain’s arrival.
She’d stupidly fallen in love with him. She’d let herself be bowled over, had let herself be charmed and fascinated. Yet hadn’t she known better? Hadn’t she warned herself to keep her distance, to remain detached?
He’d shot into her world like a comet, lighting it up, igniting it so it was sizzling hot, but the flames had sputtered out quickly enough. She was standing in the ashes of what might have been, and it was a forlorn, heartbreaking place.
As she reached the hall, Roland called, “Where will you be? I’d appreciate it if you’d continually apprise me of your whereabouts.”
“Why would I?” she mumbled to herself, and she glanced back. “I told you, Roland. I’ll either be in my room or at the Dower House. If you need me—and I can’t imagine why you would—send someone to fetch me.”
“I will need you very soon. Make sure I can locate you.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be on pins and needles until then.”
She whipped away and hurried out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Matthew rode along the country lane, approaching the turn that would take him into Greystone. Though he was worried about how he’d mend things with Clarissa, he was enjoying the scenery, reflecting on how lucky he was to have been awarded the property.
