by Cheryl Bolen
She gave a mock laugh. "Me? Jealous of mousy Sally? Really, my lord, do you not have eyes in your head? Am I not possessed of far more beauty than . . . your wife? Do I not possess more wealth?"
"The physical attributes you possess, I fear, are greatly offset by your vicious tongue and want of good manners."
She stomped her slippered foot. "How dare you say such things to me!"
"Unlike you, Miss Johnson, I speak the truth."
Even as they filled with tears, her eyes narrowed to slits. "You will pay for maligning me in such a manner."
She turned away from him, but he closed his hand around the top of her arm. "You will never again malign my wife, Miss Johnson, or I shall see to it that there is nowhere on English soil where you or your family will ever be received."
With that final, bitter retort, George stormed back to his wife. He was not unaware that half the assemblage had witnessed Lord Sedgewick administer a blistering set-down to the humiliated Miss Johnson.
* * *
That night, carrying a torch, Betsy Johnson slipped from her darkened bedroom and made her way to the mews located on the back side of their block. Her father's money ensured that their stables could be located adjacent to their impressive house.
Even though she barely eased the stable door open, the noise set the horses whinnying in their stalls. Holding up her lantern so she could see better, she located the crude wooden stairway that led up to the sleeping loft of their groom, a young man named Ebenezer who was no more than a year Miss Johnson's senior.
As she came to the top of the steps, she heard the rustle of straw from Ebenezer's mattress. Since she no longer needed stealth, she settled her boots loudly on the floor where Ebenezer's straw bed lay.
The groom, wearing a rumpled nightshirt, bolted up when he saw his lovely mistress standing not ten feet from him. "What brings ye 'ere at this 'our, miss?" he inquired, quickly covering his bare leg with the sheet.
"You," she said throatily, her hand moving to stroke her breast, making slow, sensuous circles around her nipple. Then, before his startled eyes, she began to unfasten her dress. His eyes widened as her pale blue gown slipped to the floor.
Betsy Johnson stood before him wearing only a thin linen chemise that was nearly as transparent as glass.
The freckle-faced young man's mouth dropped open and he turned his gaze to the wall. "Really, miss, you ought not to be 'ere doin' these things."
She strolled toward him, lifting off her chemise as she sank onto his straw mattress. "Look at me, Ebenezer. Turn around," she rasped.
He slowly turned, his eyes falling to her breasts that were the size of apples, tipped with rosy, pointed nipples. He drew in a long breath.
"Let me feel you, Ebenezer," she whispered huskily, sliding her hand beneath his nightshirt, closing her hand over his engorged shaft. "Ah, I see you're ready for me."
"But miss--"
She drew closer to him and could feel the heat of his breath as she settled her lips on his, her hand sliding possessively over him.
"Do you know where I want you to touch me, Ebenezer?"
He swallowed hard. "No, miss."
"Between my legs. I'm like hot, melted butter. Just for you."
She drew her thighs apart as she faced him, and he obliged her.
Her hips began to rise with his movements, and she clenched herself tightly around his finger. "Faster, Ebenezer!" she urged through breathless gasps.
He went faster.
In feeble increments, she lowered herself to his mattress. "Now, Ebenezer, now! I want you."
Groaning, Ebenezer rolled over on her and eased himself into her.
"Harder, Ebenezer!" she urged. "Come into me harder."
Grunting hungrily, the groom began to pulse into her with frenzied thrusts until she screamed out her pleasure, her voice as ragged as his. With one final thrust, he cried out his own bestial pleasure, then collapsed over her.
She did so enjoy this. Those silly girls at Miss Worth's had never guessed what she was doing climbing from her dormitory window at night and prowling the streets of town, lifting her skirts for any man staggering from a public house.
Oh yes, she had craved these illicit unions since she gave Simms, the underfootman, her virginity at the age of twelve. Not that Simms had wanted it. He protested that she was an innocent young maiden, but his protests died out when he found her fully developed naked body squirming beneath his bed sheets one night.
She had been a most mature twelve-year-old. It was because of Papa's books. Her father, as wealthy as a nabob but blissfully ignorant, had thought to become a fine gentleman by purchasing two tons of leather-bound books for the Johnson library. Neither her fool father nor fool mother had ever opened a single one of the books.
Ah, but Betsy allowed the books in the library to nurture her. There was one particular book . . . she would wager her own papa was unaware of how very many sexual positions there were. And her papa was a lusty man, himself. More than once she had peered through keyholes to watch him take his pleasure on buxom housemaids.
Almost always, her corpulent father was on top.
He was not nearly as adventuresome as his only offspring. There was not a position Betsy Johnson had not tried.
She ran her hand over Ebenezer's hard buttocks. He was obviously more experienced than the new footman, who had a propensity to come much too quickly. No doubt, Ebenezer's age accounted for his experience. The footman was but seventeen. She looked forward to furthering Ebenezer's experience.
"Did you enjoy me, Ebenezer?"
"Aye, Miss Johnson."
"Should you like me to come back again?"
He lowered his face to hers and kissed her. "Aye, Miss Johnson."
"I will pleasure you as you've never been pleasured before, Ebenezer." Her tongue traced her own lips. "There is, however, something I wish you to do for me."
"Anything, Miss Johnson," he said, his hands greedily stroking her bare breasts.
"There is a very vile man upon whom I should like for you to spy. Mostly at night, I'm afraid, but don't worry about missing me warming your bed. I vow you'll not go wanting for my favors."
She drew closer and sucked his tongue into her mouth. "Shall we have another go at it, love?"
Chapter 13
Miss Primble did not look at all as Sally had pictured her. For one thing, she was much younger. The new nurse was no older than Sally's own two and twenty years. Which meant that she must have come to her "lambs" who were now at Eton when she was little more than a girl, fourteen at the most. Awfully young to take on such responsibilities, Sally thought. Even though she was much younger than expected, Sally immediately decided that her youth was a good thing. After all, Georgette and Sam liked Sally above all others, and she was but two and twenty. The children would likely be more comfortable with a younger woman. The Curmudgeon was forty if she was a day.
Another thing about Miss Primble that Sally had not been prepared for was her plumpness. Sally decided she must be a very good eater indeed. She only hoped Miss Primble's affinity for overindulging would not influence Georgette and Sam. They both looked perfect just the way they were.
Sally, with a welcoming smile, strolled up to the new nurse. "I'm so happy you were able to come so quickly." She glanced at Miss Primble's valise. "First, allow me to show you to your chamber." Sally gave Adams orders to carry up Miss Primble's valise.
They walked up the stairs to the second floor. The first room they came to was Sam's, which Sally indicated to the nurse. The next was Georgette's, and next to Georgette's was a small room for Miss Primble. Sally showed her the room, which lacked a bed though it did offer a comfortable chair. "You will sleep in the children's room," Sally informed her. "Actually Georgette has taken to sleeping alone quite well since her former nurse left. But Sam's just barely two, and I prefer that someone stay in his room with him. He is frightened of the dark. He's such a baby still," Sally said in an indulgent voice.
; Miss Primble nodded. "I 'ope he doesn't miss his former nurse too dreadfully."
"He doesn't."
Miss Primble shot a quizzing gaze at Sally.
"I dismissed her because she was not particularly pleasant to the children."
"How could someone be mean to God's most precious little creatures?" the outraged nurse asked.
Sally smiled. She liked Miss Primble very much indeed. "Come, let's go to the nursery."
Miss Primble followed Sally up the last flight of stairs to the children's nursery. There, Georgette was dressing up the big cat, and Sam was standing on a stool gazing out the window at the horses that perpetually passed in front of their town house. The tot had become completely fascinated with horses, and he never tired of looking at them. Sally had decided she really must speak to his father about procuring a pony for Sam. Of course, he was far too young to sit one by himself, but she saw no reason why she could not grasp on to him as he sat a gentle mount.
"Sam! Georgette!" Sally called, "Your new nurse, Miss Primble, has come. Please come and greet her."
Sam turned back to the window, but his sister dropped the discarded baby bonnet that was in her hand, walked up to her new nurse, and prettily said, "How do you do, Miss Primble?"
Despite her size, Miss Primble nimbly dropped to her knees to face Georgette. "I am doing very well now that I've come to Bath to take care of you and your brother. You must know I am depending on you to help me take care of little Sam. Do you think you can you help me, lamb?"
A smile on her face, Georgette nodded.
"Tell me, does yer brother like to rock in a rocking chair?"
Georgette nodded again. "With Miss Spencer—I mean, with Mama."
Miss Primble sent a questioning glace to Sally.
"I'm actually just the children's stepmother," Sally said with disappointment. She far preferred others to think she was the children's true mother because that's how she liked to think of herself. "I've only been Lady Sedgewick for a month."
Miss Primble rose to a standing position. "But you're . . . you're so concerned, so loving. I took you for their real mum."
Sally beamed. "I'd like to think of myself as their real mother. I've known them all their lives." She lowered her voice. "Their mother died on childbed with little Sam. I'm most likely the closest thing to a mother he's ever known. Their previous nurse was rather an ogre."
Miss Primble's eyes narrowed. "There ought to be special place in hell for those what are unkind to children."
"She really wasn't unkind," Sally explained. "It was more that she was never, ever kind."
Miss Primble frowned. "A pity."
"There's something I should like to tell you," Sally said. "Both the children love to be read to. They especially like The Life and Perambulation of a Mouse."
Nodding, the nurse waddled over to the rocker and dropped her considerable weight onto its seat. "Sam!" she shouted.
He spun around.
"Don't stand there, ye little goose. Come sit on Miss P's lap so as I can read to ye." She reached down and picked up the book that they loved their father to read to them.
Sam's eyes rounded as he jumped off the stool and came running to Miss Primble.
She gathered him up and set him on her wide lap. "I'll need ye to turn the pages for me, lad."
He nodded his little head.
Smiling, Sally backed out of the room, knowing at last that her children were in good hands.
* * *
Hazard was not his game, George decided. The devil take it—and the twenty quid he had already taken. George got up from the table at Mrs. Glenwick's gaming establishment and moved to the vingt-et-un table where Melvin, the quieter twin, sat. "Any luck?" George asked.
"A bit."
George tossed his coin on the table. "I daresay your brother wishes he could say the same. He's down rather heavily."
"Our pockets would be a great deal heavier if we didn't feel compelled to always be in Bath with our friends."
"As would mine." George peered at the card that faced down. Not good. Another deuced seven! "But it is so deadly dull in the country. No mills. No horse races."
"No Miss Avery's."
"Blanks and I aren't as enamored of Miss Avery's girls as your brother and Appleton are."
"I should hope not. The both of you are married men, though I'm at a loss to know when either of you have a chance to bed those lovely wives of yours. You're with us lonely bachelors every night of the week."
George went rigid. His sleeping arrangements with Sally were not Melvin's affair. Of course, he would greatly dislike for anyone to know of his complete abstinence from sexual relations, and he would as lief not have others know why he had married Sally. His lack of interest in her as a woman could humiliate her. Already, she had been humiliated over the devious Betsy Johnson's accusations. "There's a lot to be said about making love in the daylight," George said.
Melvin smiled slyly. "The woman's body is a lovely thing to behold."
Quite oddly and completely unsummoned, George conjured up a vision of Sally lying in their bed, offering her slip of a body to him. Even more surprising was the profound physical effect such a vision elicited below his waist.
Melvin turned over his card. "Vingt-et-un!"
Frowning, George indicated his need for an additional card. It was a queen. He threw in his cards and watched Melvin scoop up his winnings.
When play began again, Melvin said, "I don't understand you or Blanks at all. If I were to be blessed with a lovely wife, I assure you I'd be in her bed early every night."
The fellow had to be talking about George's sister. Glee was a reputed beauty, though she was merely a pesky little sister to George. A pity Sally was not deemed attractive—except by Mr. Higginbottom. Upon reflection, George decided he would never again imbibe Higginbottom ale. Couldn't tolerate a man who would prey on innocent young women like Sally. Even if that prey did include the offer of marriage.
As the dealer turned over her card, George thought of Sally's naked flesh, and he grew more rigid. Sweat beaded on his brow. The lady he had married really was not so unattractive. Though her skin was a bit darker than that acceptable by fashion mavens, he rather liked its tawniness. Her face was free of any type of blemish, and her teeth were straight and white. Her smile was actually quite nice, and he found her large chocolate-colored eyes sultry, even sensuous. A pity her hair was so deuced straight, and a pity she was so very thin. But, then, she was shaped much like Diana, who had also been slender. And Diana's naked body had been a feast for his greedy eyes. And greedy hands.
"Will you come to the races tomorrow?" Melvin asked.
"When have I ever missed?"
"I suppose Lady Sedgewick is too new a bride to complain over your many absences."
"Lady Sedgewick is not noted for her meekness. She has no problem confronting me with the error of my ways. It's my belief she does not disapprove of my nocturnal activities."
"You're not painting a very flattering picture of your own prowess in the bedchamber."
George stiffened. "I assure you Lady Sedgewick is a well- pleasured woman." He disliked lying to his lifelong friend, but he disliked more the idea that Melvin would think George did not find Sally desirable. The poor girl had given up enough to become his wife. The least he could do was allow others to think he found her desirable.
They both lost the next hand, and Elvin tossed in his cards and stood. "I'd better rescue my brother while he still has enough money for Miss Avery's."
George chuckled as he strolled to the faro table, where Blanks was at play. "I believe I'll be on my way home now," George said. "I've been most generous to Mrs. Glenwick thus far tonight."
Blanks turned to his friend. "Wait just a moment and I'll give you a lift in my gig."
Riding was better than walking. A pity George could no longer afford to keep a gig. If his luck didn't turn, he'd have to sell the carriage and the matched bays next. Not a welcome proposal at all
.
* * *
Early mornings were Sally's favorite time of the day. That was the only time she was completely alone with her husband. Because they were in the intimacy of their own bedchamber made their time together even more welcome. She had grown so completely comfortable with him, she no longer blushed when he beheld her in her skimpy night shift.
During these private mornings they discussed the day that awaited, or they told each other what happened on the previous day. Sally kept him abreast of the children's activities.
It seemed to her during this brief, glorious interlude each day that she was truly married to George. Her eyes would rake over his powerful body and she would fight the urge to stroke the dark hair that formed a V on his mighty chest. She came to think of his body as belonging to her, for he presumably shared it with no one else. His well-muscled body was like her dear papa's last letter to her: something she received succor from but shared with no one else.
This morning he stirred back and forth for a moment, then opened his eyes and offered her a lazy smile.
"Miss Primble came yesterday," Sally said to him as she watched him come awake. She was lying beside him, resting her head on her hands.
He moved to his elbows, fluffed up his pillow, put it in back of him and sat up. "Will she do, do you think?"
Sally's eyes danced. "I believe she will."
"Do the children seem to like her?"
Sally copied him, punching her pillow and fitting her back to the bed's headboard. "It's really too early to say. She was very good about enlisting Georgette's "help" with Sam. You know how Georgette enjoys feeling needed. It seems to me Miss Primble plays to that need in your daughter."
"And Sam?"
"She's the first person—besides me—that Sam has ever willingly gone to. She hadn't been in the nursery five minutes before she had him snuggling in her ample lap."
His green eyes sparkled, and a lazy grin tugged at his mouth. "She's a large woman?"
Sally nodded, then burst out giggling. "You should have seen Sam nestled into her rolling bosom. He looked so utterly content."
