The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "What? Are you still doubting my feelings for you?" she asked, sitting up against his chest, hurt apparent in both her expression and tone.

  He stroked her cheeks with both his hands. "No, love, not that. Just the way this has all happened so suddenly. And the appalling marriage you had to bear."

  Bryony shrugged. "He was a degenerate, true. But at least he didn’t beat me for no reason all the time the way many husbands do."

  He choked. "So you’re saying he did beat you?" Anger seared through him so acutely he felt sickened.

  "Well, sexually, I suppose you could say. Spankings and rough play if I didn’t do as he asked. He said it was a game, but it left bruises. Loved the hairbrush. Loved playing with my, um, bottom, trying to um, you know. Succeeding too. He said pain was all part of the pleasure, but some days I could barely walk. Sometimes he would force me, take me hard, degrade me, and leave me tied up, until one of the servants dared to rescue me."

  His look and tone was one of absolute outrage. "What sort of husband-"

  She shook her head and soothed him, pushing his tousled hair back from his clouded brow. "The kind who didn’t understand what it was to love and respect a woman. The kind who took pleasure in debasing the wife he only married for her money.

  "He never gave me a choice. He just grabbed and took and I had to let him for fear of the beatings if I was a naughty girl as he said. He said it was what whores like me deserved. But I swear to you, I’ve only ever been with him—"

  He shook his head vehemently. "You’re not a whore, do you hear me? You’re not a whore," he hissed. "You’re warm and loving and tender, and entitled to your own happiness and pleasure, within your body or outside of it.

  "You certainly never deserved to be treated like some animal, or harem slave. I admit I enjoy women as much as the next man, but it has to be mutual. It can’t be forced. Or paid for. Any woman I’ve ever been with indicated a mutual interest in me.

  "I’m sorry I’ve not managed to be as chaste as I would have liked, but I’m no philanderer or debaucher of women. One woman at a time, fidelity while it lasted, even if that wasn’t very long. I’ve never seduced innocent girls or committed adultery intentionally. Some women said their husbands were out of the picture. If I ever discovered they weren’t telling the truth, I was immediately gone for good. Yes, I was lusty in the Army during the war. But it was joyous coupling. Fun, not cruel."

  She smoothed her palms over his chest. "You don’t need to tell me that. I trust you. I’m here because I want to be."

  He allowed himself a small smile. "Well, now, I could hardly chase after you, could I?"

  She giggled. "Far from it. If anything, I forced you. I’m sorry if you were frightened."

  "Of you, no. Of myself, certainly. I want to make you happy. Forced, never. Encouraged, but certainly never forced, sweetheart." He kissed her, and laid her head back down against his shoulder.

  "Are you comfortable?" she asked. "I’m not too heavy?"

  "I wish you were more heavy. I would be sure this was real and not a dream, the product of my fevered fantasies about you ever since I laid eyes upon your lovely face and form."

  Her eyes twinkled. "Ooh, really, fantasies? Do tell."

  He blushed profusely and dared not meet her gaze

  "Now, now, you’ve seen a couple of mine," she scolded in a playful tone. "The least you can do is share a couple with me. Anything you want, you have only to ask."

  His eyes flashed with angry fire. "I don’t play harem games."

  Now it was her turn to blush. "No, I meant if you, well, um, needed help. Oh, gosh, that makes it sound worse, somehow, like you’re feeble or something. I just meant a different position in the bed, or if you wanted me to move up the bed to cradle your head. Or just move the pillows to make you more comfortable. If you need another blanket or anything."

  She had begun to rise from his side amid her confusion. He took her forearms gently, and stroked them up and down. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so churlish. I’m not insulted. It’s very thoughtful. And the only pillow or blanket I need is you."

  She traced his chin and sensual lips with one delicate finger. "Well, if you don’t have any fantasies you’re willing to share, darling, I have more have enough for both of us. If you’re willing."

  "If I’m willing?" he laughed. "Does the sun set in the west?"

  "Good then. I would simply adore it if you would please suckle my breasts," she said with a shy smile.

  "I would simply adore suckling them, my love," he said, his eyes sparkling.

  She moved over to the other side of the bed to adjust the pillows, and he worked himself down in the bed slightly. Rolling over half way, he wrapped both arms around her and buried his face in her ample cleavage, nuzzling and licking with delight. His hard hands kneaded her back and shoulders much the way she usually ministered to him.

  She arched against him, her own mouth opening wetly. She wriggled and bent her head until she could lave his ear and jaw line, causing him to shiver against her and draw one aureole deeply into his mouth.

  His right hand stroked down to her bottom to cup it against him more fully. He forced himself to relax and moved his fingers to the front of her instead. He began to tease her flesh, exploring all of her womanly delights with a breathtakingly leisured thoroughness.

  Her caught sob of passion and trembling limbs told him she was already ascending to her pinnacle of pleasure, on the edge. Still laving her creamy pink flesh, he lifted his eyes to observe with pride and urgent desire his effect upon her.

  Her purr of pleasure vibrated through her, tickling his ear. "That is sooo good. How I’ve yearned for you."

  "And I you. But you have me now, all of me. Just relax, let it wash over you."

  "Mmm. All of you. What a good idea."

  She moved her hips against his hand, but he was not sure who got the most pleasure. For she spread her leg wide over his waist, nudging his hand aside, and slid onto him. The tight unfurling within her squeezed him from tip to base in a rippling caress which wrung a cry from him so loud he was sure must have awakened the entire household.

  His mouth still buried against her breasts, he clung to her fervidly, wondering at his uninhibited and uncontrollable response. He had been with enough women in his time to have considered himself a man of the world. But nothing had ever prepared him for the cataclysmic contact with this remarkably lovely young woman. His friend. Now his lover. Soon to be his wife…

  "Marry me," he panted against her bosom, when he could finally marshal his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

  Bryony stared down at him, hardly able to believe what he had just said. The words were music to her ears. But did she dare say yes?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After Michael's blurted out marriage proposal, Bryony stared down at her lover, surprise and wounded pride warring in her visage. "It's very kind, but you don’t have to say that just because-"

  He shook his head. "You have made me, you make me, the happiest of men, Bryony. And I don’t just mean about this," he said, moving against her until the honeyed sensation began to glide through her all over again.

  "Ever since you came into this house, the joy you and the children have brought have gladdened my heart. Given me a reason to look forward to a new day."

  He took a ragged breath and confessed, "It was just about all up with me when you came to Blake’s house that night looking for a doctor for the boys. I was fully prepared to end it once and for all. I, well, I stole all the laudanum from Blake’s medical bag. Poured it off and made it look like the stopper had opened and it had leaked into the lining."

  Her eyes flew wide. "Oh no, love, no."

  "It’s all right. I didn’t in the end. As you can see, darling, I’m very much alive." He gave another teasing thrust which flooded her cheeks with colour.

  "You stopped me. Saved me. Your faith in me, and yes, your love. Even though I tried to tell myself it wasn’t the kind of roman
tic love I longed for, you’ve obviously cared about me from the start. You’ve never even thought to forsake me despite all the dark days in which I clung to my misery and pain, all the days I was so surly. The love of a fellow human being was a wonderful gift, dearest. But the love of a woman for her husband is an even greater one. That is if you’ll have me?"

  "Oh, my love, of course I will." She kissed him hard.

  The pair were not ashamed to show their happiness with a few tears, which each stroked and kissed away comfortingly. Until the comfort grew to something much more urgent and needy….

  Bryony smothered his face in kisses as she rose up over him, teasing the head of his throbbing manhood with the tiniest of strokes in and out at the very entrance to her paradise.

  Michael tried to push her down onto him fully, but she threw all of her weight forward to counterbalance his pressure.

  Just when he tried one last time, Bryony moved her hips along with his hands, until she was impaled upon him with one almighty stroke. Their climax tore through them like a hurricane until both completely collapsed.

  Michael was already on his back, his head lolling on the pillow. He was sure he did not even have the strength to take a single breath. Bryony fell forward onto his chest and neck, her face buried against his warm vibrant flesh. Her only sensations were the wonderful musky scent and taste of him as she lay there open-mouthed and panting.

  At last his arms crept up around her shoulders. Soothing her tumbled hair away from her face, he held her close.

  "I love you, Bryony. I don’t want to struggle against it any more. I don’t care who knows about us, our love. I need you like a flower needs rain, sun and soil. My parched soul drinks in all the delights you offer, in bed and out. You radiate warmth and happiness and a peace which fills me even when I’m plagued by the worst turmoil. And you nurture me, keep me warm and satiated and anchored. Together we create this thing of incredible beauty."

  She smiled up at him, her love shining in her eyes like a beacon in his darkness. "But it can also be very delicate, fragile even," she warned in a whisper.

  "Not if it’s tended correctly. Nursed properly, and allowed to grow."

  "If we marry, though, the announcement will be made public. They’ll know. They’ll find us," Bryony said with a barely suppressed shiver.

  "It depends on how hard they’re looking."

  She gave a short explosive laugh. "They’ll be looking, all right. They may well have the castle at the moment, but I have the keys to the kingdom. Please, darling, let’s just enjoy this for a while longer, until we’re sure they can’t hurt us. Every day you get stronger. Every day the boys get more hale and hearty, and love you more and more, just as I do. I don’t want anything to interfere with or corrupt their relationship with you.

  "I don’t care about money or titles or fancy houses. There’s nothing from my old life I want or need except the boys. I’m not just talking about Damien’s parents and family. There’s also my own. And yours. You know they’ll interfere. Perhaps in a well-meaning way, but it will be interference nonetheless."

  He nodded. "You’re right. But they’re bound to find out sooner or later. I mean, a big city is a good place to remain anonymous for a time, but we’ve been seen at the Baths together now, and-"

  "It’s all right. The Rakehells are your friends, are they not? They all care about you. We’ve already warned them not to mention me to anyone for the time being. And I’m using my mother’s maiden name, after all, as well as my middle name. I’m not so sure anyone will be able to match up Bryony Wells with Rhiannon Dalrymple."

  He stroked down her back. "That’s true. They would also have no reason to suspect that you had managed to get so far. Or find a decent place to stay, amongst good people. They’re no doubt looking for a milliner or laundry woman up North in Liverpool or Manchester. Perhaps a paid companion, of either the reputable or disreputable sort," he said with an angry twist of his full lips.

  "It is rather hard concealing the boys, though, when one has to undertake paid employment."

  He grimaced again. "They’re so arrogant and self-centered that they would never imagine in a million years that you would put them first, ahead of even your own welfare. They’d be certain you’d farm them out to some poor couple to get them out of your hair, especially if you were a paid companion. And I have to say, with the way you were raised, being a housekeeper is probably the last thing they would ever imagine for you."

  She nodded. "You’re right. It pains me to think how selfish I was until-"

  He kissed her hard. "Not selfish, love,"’ he said when he had lifted his lips. "Just ignorant of the world. You always had a good heart. You just had little chance to use it, wrapped up as you were in your own problems, your, well, your suffering." He trembled anew with rage and sorrow to think how terrible her marriage had been.

  She looked at him in confusion. "What is it, my love? What’s the matter?"

  "I get so jealous of Damien, so angry, I could spit. Wring his neck with my bare hands, if he weren’t already dead," he admitted in a grim tone.

  She kissed his cheek. "But he’s dead. Dead and gone, and can’t hurt me any more."

  "He’ll never be gone, don’t you see?" he rasped. "You have the boys as a constant reminder of what you suffered. Much as I love them, I hate that. I never want anything to cloud or mar your happiness. Those dreadful memories, the things you’ve had to do, tolerate—"

  She stroked his face lovingly. "No, darling, really. I love the boys. I see only the good in them. I fear for them, true, but they’re my children. The only thing Damien contributed to their lives was his seed. He never had anything to do with raising them.

  "As for my sorrow, he’s dead now. The marriage was terrible, but it all contributed to making me the person I am now, the woman you say you love.

  "As for being jealous," she said, stroking his cheek, "you have no call to be. Damien never touched my heart, body or soul the way you have. He couldn’t possibly have managed. He didn’t know how to share. It’s just as well, because everything he touched, he corrupted."

  He let out a shaky sigh. "I just wish I had known you before, when you were younger, untouched, unspoilt. Innocent and pure. So I could have kept you that way."

  Bryony smiled down at him gently. "Don’t you think I wish the same for you, love? To see you happy and smiling? Do you not think I’m jealous of all your past paramours?"

  He shook his head. "You have no call to be. It was just a meeting of bodies. None of them ever touched my heart. In fact, I prided myself I was lacking in that organ until I met you. Well, perhaps until I began to regret everything I had done during the war. And saw how happy my friends were once they were married.

  "I have to admit I sorely envied them. Not because I fancied their wives, or anything, but because they had found someone who made them so obviously happy."

  "Like Blake?"

  "Yes, like Blake. Or Philip Marshall. Or Alexander Davenport, even. Philip in particular was completely tormented by the past, yet he is exceptionally devoted to his wife, and vice versa."

  "The way I’m going to be completely devoted to you, I promise."

  "What about me to you?"

  She shrugged. "Oh, well, it’s different for me, I think. I’m the one who’s done all the running after you-"

  "What makes you think it’s different?" he asked quietly.

  She shrugged. "Just that men have their career and all sorts of entertainments, duties and distractions. Their wife is never the centre of their universe the way a husband is to a wife."

  "Darling, believe me, you are going to be the centre of my universe until the day death parts us. It is I who have to revolve around you and your world. The boys have needs which have to take precedence even over mine."

  "Oh, love, I don’t want to feel like we’re making any choices or sacrifices here. You need to get well and-"

  "And they are defenseless small boys who need to be safe and adored," Mi
chael said firmly. "I know you can adore me at the same time. I don’t want you to worry about my feeling second best. So long as I have you to myself in this bed, the rest doesn’t matter."

  She placed her palms against his cool cheeks, forcing him to look into her eyes. "It does matter, darling. We’re going to be a family. Everyone has to feel loved, needed, and above all, able to trust and have faith. I’m not going to give myself to you in tidy little parcels.

  "You get all of me, Michael. Love begets love. Don’t ever think for a minute that I won’t want or need you by my side, always. Or that you aren’t worthy of love."

  She ran her lips over his throat in a sensual caress that left him reeling with renewed and even more acute desire.