Daring Masquerade

by Margaret Tanner

  Sadness and loneliness overwhelmed her. As she settled into her blanket, a solitary tear slipped from her eye, followed by several more. She scrubbed at them with her fingertips, but they kept coursing down her cheeks.

  "What's wrong with you?" He rolled closer. "Hope you're not getting a cold."

  "I'm not getting a cold."

  "For goodness sake, you're crying. Why?"

  "You don't want me," she blubbered.

  "Oh, Harry." He gathered her close and she nuzzled her face against his shirt. "It isn't that I don't want you."

  "Make love to me then."

  "No."

  She recoiled as if he had slapped her face, and tried to pull away, but he held her tightly.

  "Go to sleep."

  "Why?"

  "For God's sake," he exploded. "We have to face your aunt tomorrow morning. It wouldn't be decent."

  "Why? She wouldn't know."

  "I'd know. Go to sleep. Please, you're making things difficult for me."

  "So you do want me?" Her heart lifted with hope.

  "Yes, damn it," he ground out. "Go to sleep while I've still got some control over myself."

  "I love you." She cuddled into his hard, warm body and wriggled into a comfortable position.

  "Stop it." He groaned. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

  * * *

  The next morning, they arrived at Auntie Bertha's house, a single-storied, rambling place with a neat garden. They had changed into clean shirts and pants, but she still felt disheveled. He didn't appear happy about his own shabby appearance, either.

  "Well, this is it. Auntie Bertha's establishment for genteel folk."

  Across the flagged verandah they went, and Harry banged the brass knocker against the door. The tall, grim-faced woman who answered stared at her without recognition.

  "Hello, Auntie Bertha, it's Harry."

  "Good Lord, Harriet. What have you done to yourself?"

  "This is Ross Calvert. Ross, my aunt, Bertha Martin."

  "Good morning, I'm pleased to meet you." He swept his hat off.

  "You better come inside. Can't have you loitering out on the porch. The neighbors might start gossiping." Sniffing slightly, she led them down a long, carpeted hallway leading into the parlor.

  "Now, what is it you want, Harriet?"

  "Do I have to want anything?"

  "You wouldn't come near me otherwise," she said bluntly. "Sorry to hear about Gilbert. I suppose you got him involved in some wild stunt."

  All warmth drained from Harry at her aunt's cruelty, but she defended herself bravely.

  "I would have given up my own life if it could have saved Gil."

  "Miss Martin." Ross said in an icy voice. "Harry had nothing to do with Gilbert's death."

  "Don't argue with her. Old witch has always hated me."

  "Harriet, how dare you speak to me like that?"

  "The war caused Gilbert's mind to go," Ross explained. "There was nothing Harry or anyone else could do to save him. He was hell bent on his own destruction."

  "What about you? Why aren't you off fighting?" Bertha went on the attack again.

  Harry jumped to his defense. "Ross was wounded at Gallipoli."

  "Leave this to me, Harry. You're only making things worse."

  "I suppose you want some tea?" Aunt Bertha's tone indicated she hoped they didn't.

  "No thanks," he said. "All I want from you is your written consent so Harry and I can get married."

  "You won't get it."

  "Why not? You'll be rid of me once and for all. I'll be his responsibility. Your Christian conscience will be clear."

  "A bit of religion wouldn't do you any harm. Your father fell down badly there. Of course, I blame your mother for that."

  "You leave my mother out of this. She made my dad happy."

  "Your father could have done much better for himself."

  "This is getting us nowhere," Ross interrupted. "I need your consent to marry Harry."

  "No."

  His cheeks flushed with anger. "I can keep her in the appropriate manner."

  "You don't look as if you have two coins to rub together."

  "I'm one of the Calverts from Devil's Ridge," he retorted arrogantly, every inch the public school boy and army officer.

  "Never heard of you."

  "I'm having a baby," Harry blurted out.

  Bertha flopped into a chair and started fanning herself frantically with a lace handkerchief.

  "Harry." His hard tone stilled her runaway tongue.

  "I'm fronting an Army Medical board in a few days, then I'll be off to France. We need to be married before I leave."

  "You Catholic?"

  "No. In normal circumstances I'd have banns read out at the local church, but there's no time for that now."

  "Very well, you leave me no choice. There's been enough scandal in this family already. If it got out about your condition, Harriet, I would be ashamed to show my face in church again."

  "We couldn't possibly have that, could we?" Harry sneered. "Dear me no, those pious hypocrites would have a field day."

  "Harry, be quiet," Ross ordered. "If you write a note giving your consent, we'll be off."

  Harry made to speak, but a hard stare from Ross stopped her. Aunt Bertha stomped over to the dresser drawer, took out a writing kit and quickly wrote out her consent.

  "You're welcome to her." She thrust the paper into his hand. "She's trouble. Always has been."

  "Thank you, we won't take up any more of your time," he said haughtily. "Don't bother seeing us out."

  "Yeah, we aren't going to steal your silverware." Harry fired off one last parting shot as she followed Ross into the hallway. "Miserable old bitch."

  "Keep that mouth of yours shut. I don't like liars."

  "I had to lie. She wouldn't have given her consent otherwise."

  "You'll push me too far one of these days, Harry, and so help me."

  "You don't have to marry me."

  "You think I would if I had a choice," he snarled. "I won't have any child of mine being called a bastard."

  His ferocious words slammed into her like a brick wall and she almost doubled up with the impact. They mounted in silence and rode away.

  Ross glanced over at Harry hunched in the saddle. He could not understand why he had spoken so brutally to her.

  "I'm sorry. I'm a mongrel for speaking to you like that. Let's get out of this town"

  "All right, whatever you think is best."

  She sounded as if all the life had been sucked out of her, and remorse washed over him. It was true; he didn't want to get married. Would never trust a woman again. If he could not have Virginia, he didn't want anyone, simple as that.

  Why the hell did he ever employ them? Why did he let his guard slip and give in to his carnal desires without a thought for the consequences? Had he secretly harbored the thought Harry might be the kind of girl who could look after herself? Truth be known, he hadn't thought of anything except his own sexual need. Now he had to pay for it. He didn't like it. Not one little bit.

  Did she deliberately trap him? Had it been any other woman he would have said yes, but she was guileless. What you saw with Harry was what you got.

  * * *

  Three weeks after their visit to Bertha Martin they married at the Presbyterian manse in the morning. Jack and Mrs. Bates attended as witnesses. After sharing a celebratory lunch, they caught the afternoon train to Melbourne.

  Harry wore a parchment-colored, voile frock with tiny green flowers embroidered all over it. On her bright curls perched a straw boater hat, trimmed with the exact shade of green as that on her dress. Ross had taken her shopping for some clothes, and for the first time in her life, she felt attractive.

  "I can't believe I'm really Mrs. Ross Calvert." She twisted the simple gold wedding band on her finger.

  "Well, you are."

  Sitting opposite her in the first class compartment, he opened up the paper to catch up
on the latest war news.

  Her eyes grew increasingly heavy as the train steamed along. She had not slept well over the last few days. Ross' moodiness combined with excitement about getting married interfered with her sleep.

  When they arrived in Melbourne, they took a motorized taxi to the Grand Hotel in Spring Street. What an exclusive place. A uniformed porter met them and escorted them into the foyer. So this was how the rich people lived. She watched as Ross signed a brown leather-bound ledger.

  A young, uniformed maid came up to them. "Please follow me Mr. and Mrs. Calvert. She led the way up a carpeted stairway to the first floor.

  The moment they entered their room, Harry threw her hat on the dressing table and kicked off her shoes.

  "This is nice." She bounced on the bed. "I've never stayed anywhere posh like this before."

  "It's not bad. I prefer Scott's, but we couldn't get in at such short notice."

  She had read about Scott's Hotel. Most of the landed gentry stayed there when they visited Melbourne.

  "Do you want to have dinner up here or in the dining room?" he asked.

  "The dining room please, unless you'd prefer not to."

  "It doesn't matter to me." He dropped into a brocaded armchair.

  A porter knocked on the door then brought in their luggage. Not that they had much, just a case each.

  "Thank you. Put them over there." Ross pointed to a space under the window.

  He put a sixpence into the boy's hand and he left all smiles.

  "You can do some shopping in the morning while I'm fronting the Medical Board," he said.

  "I want you to come and help me choose some clothes."

  "Surely you can buy a few dresses on your own, you don't need me. We'll go out to dinner somewhere. I'll take you to the Princess Theater in the evening, if you like, it's only a few doors up the street from here."

  "I thought I might visit Elsie, one of the girls I worked with at Littlejohns."

  "Sebastian Littlejohn?"

  "Yes. Do you know him?"

  "I've met him a couple of times, pompous ass. You mean you actually worked for the man?"

  "Yes, while Gil stayed at the convalescent hospital. I worked as a scullery maid." She grimaced. "Just for a few weeks. I had to be near Gil, and they lived less than five minutes walk away. It was a live-in position. I hated it."

  "Couldn't you have found something better? I mean a scullery maid, of all things."

  "I needed a job quickly. Not everyone is rich like you."

  "I'm not rich."

  "You went to Melbourne Grammar, you own a large cattle station. That's rich to me."

  She walked over to him and cupped his face in her hands. "You won't be sorry you married me. I'll be a good wife, I promise. I'll do anything to make you happy."

  "I'm sorry." He pulled her on to his lap. "I'm a moody bastard, but I'm anxious about the Medical Board tomorrow."

  She slipped her arms around his neck." We needn't go down for dinner if you'd rather not." She trailed off, gazing at the large, canopied double bed with its burgundy quilt and matching bolsters.

  "Not now." He sighed and put her to one side.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He stood up. Newly married to a pretty young woman, in fact Harry was quite lovely. He had been amazed at her appearance once she wore decent clothes, with excitement shining in her eyes and her mass of bright wayward curls bobbing in the breeze. Once her hair grew and she matured a little more, she would be a beautiful woman. Why wasn't he happy? He recognized the hurt bewilderment in her eyes, because he didn't act impatiently like any normal bridegroom on his wedding night.

  "We'll freshen up then have dinner," he suggested.

  They went down to dinner, and she could scarcely believe the opulence of the dining room. It glittered with silver and crystal. Domed lights, glazed with jewel-like colored glass and gold leaf moldings kept her swiveling her head upwards for yet another look.

  They began with leek and potato soup with little cubes of toast floating on top. Glancing at the other patrons, she immediately decided they were all wealthy, aristocratic types. The women, beautifully dressed in expensive gowns, made her feel insignificant and out of place. Ross took it all in his stride, probably went to school with some of the men.

  He ordered a bottle of wine. She sipped at hers, not particularly liking the taste. He ordered quail for them, and while it tasted nice, she could not help a twinge of pity for the poor little bird sacrificed for the dinner plate.

  She chose Chantilly trifle for dessert, Ross a selection of cheeses, and they finished off with coffee. He also had a glass of port. The meal was partaken at such a leisurely pace that when she glanced at the clock as they rose to leave, it was nine o'clock.

  He let her use the bathroom first. After she completed her toilet, she slipped on a long cotton nightgown, pin-tucked down the front and with Brussels lace trim around the neck and sleeves. Next to impossible trying to smooth her riotous curls down, they always went their own willful way.

  Ross sprawled on the bed wearing only his trousers, but he bounded up when he saw her. He let his gaze wander from her tousled head all the way down to where her bare toes poked out from under the hemline of her nightgown. She watched with hope kindling in her breast as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened, hopefully with passion.

  Once he disappeared into the bathroom she laid back the bed covers and slipped between crisp white sheets. Nervous anticipation built up as she waited for him to return. He sauntered into the bedroom carrying his pants in one hand. He was naked and so beautifully male, the breath caught in her throat. She heard the light click off, then he slid into bed and reached for her.

  "Oh, Ross."

  "Don't talk," he groaned, covering her mouth. With a hungry fierceness he forced her lips apart to gain access to the sweetness within. His hand cupped her breast and through the soft cotton of her nightgown, his thumb and forefinger laved her nipple.

  Her fingers tangled themselves in the whorls of hair on his chest, excitement surging through her when he trembled.

  "Take it off," he said, huskily. "I want to feel your soft, white skin against mine."

  She lay flat on her back and he knelt between her thighs. Suckling each nipple in turn, he then blew softly on them, such an exquisite sensation.

  Slowly, almost reverently, he moved down her body, touching, taking all of her for himself but obviously still wanting more. His fingers followed the same path as his mouth, causing shudders of delight to ricochet all the way through her.

  Harry burned with need, the intensity of her feelings so hot she did not know how to endure such heat without combusting. A roaring sound echoed in her ears. She closed her eyes to blot out everything but the magic of her husband's touch. He guided her hand over his body. Initially shy, she soon grew in confidence. Ross was her husband; she would do anything he wanted to make him happy. She moaned—she knew not what—when he rolled her over and drew her on his erect shaft. She was hot and moist, the aroused flesh quivering, ready to accept him, eager for him to lose his hard length inside her.

  "Move on me, darling," he gasped, giving a thrust of his hips.

  She put a hand on either side of his head and did as he asked. Her breasts dangled tantalizingly over his face and he pushed them together, drawing both nipples into his mouth so he could suckle them both.

  His knees tightened around her hips. He rolled her over so he once more had mastery over their lovemaking. He thrust slowly at first, deeper and deeper, faster and faster. Perspiration pouring off his body, mingled with hers, until they became a united entity.

  She cried out his name as his final, shuddering release came. She was filled with such rapture, such joy, she wondered whether she might have somehow died and gone to heaven. His head flopped against hers on the pillow as his body collapsed on top of her. The weight of him pressing her into the mattress was an exquisite agony in itself. Finally, he rolled away and they lay facing each other unt
il they fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Ross opened his eyes to find Harry curled up in his arms. He had no idea of the time, but the room was pitch black. He eased himself away a little so he could run the flat of his hand across her smooth, taut stomach.

  Sweet little Harry was completely uninhibited. Once he showed her what pleased him, she became ardent, eager to learn more, taking to their lovemaking with enthusiasm, as she did with everything else. No half measures with her. All or nothing.

  He should be the happiest man in Australia right now, and he hated the fact that he wasn't. Physically he could give her all the loving she needed, but emotionally was another thing. He still felt battered and bruised from Virginia. In time, Harry would want more from him than purely physical lovemaking, and he feared he would be unable to give it. That was the tragedy of it all. I have to give her a child, something she can focus all her love on, he thought desperately, reaching for her again.

  She acted drowsy at first, but his lips and hands soon woke her and she participated eagerly in his lovemaking. They slept again, and when he next woke up daylight streamed through a crack in the blind.

  Harry sleeps like a baby. He watched her for a time then lifted the sheet away so he could gaze upon her naked loveliness. How sweet she looked, with her bright curls running riot and one hand pressed up under her chin. So young and innocent, her fine white skin slightly grazed in places from the stubble of his beard. Why hadn't he thought to shave last night?

  He slid carefully out of bed so as not to waken her and strode, still naked, into the bathroom. By the time he bathed and shaved, he could hear her moving around. With a towel slung around his hips, he entered the bedroom and stopped dead. Completely naked, she stood laying out clothes for both of them to wear.

  Before he could stop himself, he blurted out. "You can't wander around like that."

  "Why not?" She pirouetted in front of him. "Are you embarrassed?"

  Clearly she was not.