by Sue London
“I’m sorry it is in such a rush.”
“You were always full of surprises.”
George sat down on the pew at the front of the church and Casimir sat next to her. “Do you know people everywhere?” she whispered.
He smiled and tapped his boot against hers again. “Perhaps.”
“So you know a dozen languages and people everywhere. Are you older than you look?”
“Not a dozen languages. Not yet. And I’m twenty.”
“Really? I’m twenty.”
“And you don’t speak a dozen languages yet?”
“No, only four.”
“You’re woefully behind. I don’t see why I’m marrying you.”
“You said you don’t speak a dozen yet!”
“Yes, but a man should improve himself through his marriage.”
“Casimir!”
He laughed and caught up her hand to kiss it. “And that’s precisely what I’m doing. Improving myself.”
“And here I thought you were a hopeless romantic, full of poetry and soulful wondering.”
“Is that what you want? A poet?”
“Don’t ask me to define something I can’t explain. All I know is that I want you.”
His smile brightened and he leaned forward to kiss her. “I like that answer.”
The reverend had returned and cleared his throat. “We can begin whenever you’re ready.”
It might have been the middle of the night and only the three of them in the church, but Reverend Forst didn’t skimp on the proceedings. The ceremony was in German, so George had to concentrate to follow it. But it was all strangely magical. The church glowed in the delicate candlelight. Casimir gazed at her as though she were precious to him. The reverend was a blend of sweet and solemn that lent the entire affair a charm it might not have otherwise had. For this moment out of time she wasn’t in a hurry, she wasn’t travel-weary, she wasn’t worried about anything other than forging this bond with the man she loved. It seemed like it was taking forever and then suddenly it was over and Reverend Forst was having them sign the church registry and a small copy for them to take as evidence of the marriage. Casimir signed in both places first and then chatted with his friend as George signed as well. The reverend folded their copy into waxed paper and placed it into an envelope for safekeeping. It was so tiny that George was afraid of them losing it, but Casimir slid it under his waistcoat. They chatted with the reverend for a few more minutes and promised to write when they were safely to England.
As they left the church Casimir held her hand, their fingers threaded together. “How are you this evening, Mrs. Rokiczana?”
“Exhausted but quite pleased with myself. How are you, Mr. Rokiczana?”
“I am delighted with myself. And my wife.”
She stopped, right there in the middle of the path to the posting inn, and wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing her head into his shoulder. She loved him so much. Please, she prayed, please, please, please let him love me as I love him. I could not stand it if he left me.
Casimir caressed his hand over her back. “Are you all right?”
She stepped back and nodded. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Casimir opened the door to their lodgings for the night. Though small and cramped under the eaves, it was at least private.
“Do you want a fire?” he asked, leaning against the door. He set their candle on the bureau.
“No, it’s warm enough.” She unbuttoned her spencer while looking around their small room. She was elegant and lovely and now she was all his. He could almost weep in his joy and gratitude.
“I’ll need you to rely on your imagination again,” he said, pushing away form the door.
“Oh?” She turned to look at him, curious.
“Yes. You must imagine that it isn’t some ungodly hour of the morning, and that we haven’t been traveling in these clothes for two days. In fact, if your imagination is up to it, I suggest you pretend that we are well-rested and freshly bathed.”
“Of course we are,” she agreed, pulling pins from her hair. He watched her taking her hair down and realized he had never seen it thus. Golden waves flowed down over her shoulders, light as a cloud. She set the pins on the bureau near the candle and turned her back to him, sweeping her hair forward over her shoulder. “Would you like to help me with my gown?”
“Of course.” He could hear that his voice had roughened. The delicate ties holding the back of her dress together made his fingers feel oddly clumsy but he determinedly made headway.
“I can wriggle out of it without loosening, but it’s easier this way.”
Having loosened the ties he eased the cap sleeves off her shoulders and kissed her there. As he kissed his way to her throat she let the dress fall to her feet and leaned against him.
“You wear a corset.”
“More places to hide knives.”
“We really must curb your obsession.” He set to loosening the strings on her corset and sent that to the floor as well. He pulled her against him, running his hands over the thin lawn of her chemise to feel her subtle feminine curves. She turned and backed away, lowering the chemise as she did. It pooled on the floor around her as she stood in front of the bed. Lean, sensuous, with high, small breasts and long legs. She unsnapped the dagger that had been strapped to her leg and let it fall to the floor on top of her chemise.
“I not only have a wife, but a bodyguard. How economical of me.”
“Am I your wife yet? Or is there a… technicality?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, spreading her thighs wide and leaning back on her hands. The blood left his head in a rush and he was fairly sure he was having a heart attack. But all that mattered was getting across the room to her, with as few clothes remaining as possible when he got there.
*
George blessed every one of Madame Blythe’s lessons when she saw the look on Casimir’s face. He may have lost a button or two pulling his clothes off and still had his boots on when he covered her body on the bed. He kissed her with more passion than he ever had before, caressing her hip, her breast. When she reacted to his palm skipping lightly over her nipple he moved his mouth there, suckling and licking. She forgot her seductive victory in the heat of his ministrations. Her hips instinctively rocked against him, seeking more pleasure. He moved a hand down to her cleft, gently teasing her folds, but could tell from his harsh breathing that he was as impatient, as ready, as she was.
“Casimir. Make me yours.”
“Gini, have you done this before?”
“No, but I know how it’s supposed to go.”
“I don’t want to hurt you and right now I’m not sure I can be gentle.”
“Casimir,” she pulled his face up to look at him. “Yes you can.”
He kissed her, then watching her eyes he guided himself into her the first time. It pinched a bit at first and she was surprised at how long it took for him to slide all the way inside. He closed his eyes on a moan for the last few moments, biting his lip. She felt stretched, invaded. It felt different, but good. As though he were a missing part of herself finally put back in place.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Yes. You just feel so good. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think you should move again.”
He opened his eyes and watched her as he withdrew and pushed back inside. She felt a thrill run up her spine. She smiled and wrapped her legs around his hips, tilting to give him deeper access. He kissed her lips, stroking his tongue inside her mouth as his hips started to set a rhythm to their lovemaking. The insistent push of him inside her changed from novel to interesting to enthralling. She felt her skin break out with goose bumps and a liquid heat low in her belly coalesced into contractions. He stroked harder into her, calling her name. She dug her nails into his back, struggling to be closer to him, to make this feeling last forever. The last time he said her name was almo
st a grunt before he stopped, breathing hard and kissing the side of her neck.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Please tell me we’ll do that every night.”
He chuckled against her skin. “If you like.”
“They told me it could be like that, but I didn’t believe them.”
“I hesitate to ask who ‘they’ are.”
“Don’t you have friends who talk to you about sex?”
He laughed again. “Hmm, I see.” He slid down her body, kissing her as he went. When he kissed her hipbone she could feel that liquid heat pooling in her belly again.
“What are you doing?”
“Enjoying you. But,” he said, rising off of her and sitting on the edge of the bed, “I also need to take my boots off.”
She scooted down. “I can help.”
“Not only a wife and bodyguard, but a valet as well? This is everything that a nobleman on the scrimp could hope for.”
She gave him a wry smile and knelt down to take hold of his boot.
“I also failed to realize the utter luxury of having a beautiful, naked woman remove my boots.”
After she pulled off the second one and the trousers he had pushed down past his knees, she crawled up to his lap on the bed.
“In fact,” he said, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her up against his renewed erection. “I think I may have the best wife ever.”
George felt her heart melt a little more.
*
Casimir worried that he had hurt her, but she seemed happy. He hadn’t seen any blood. Perhaps she wasn’t a virgin, but she had been awfully tight. Thinking about how tight and wet she was made his member throb. He wanted her again and she seemed willing. He moved her to lie in the middle of the bed. Not another hasty fuck with his pants around his knees this time. Not that he could regret it, it was one of the high points of his life. But he loved her, he worshiped her, and he wanted to show her that. He ran his hands over her body, learning every curve, every angle. She tangled her fingers in his hair, watching him with curious, lust-filled eyes. When he found a spot that made her gasp or hiss he would put his lips to her and taste, tease. After ten minutes of his ministrations she was writhing and breathing in choked gasps. He touched his thumb to the pearl between her legs while sliding two of his fingers inside her, and she bowed up from the bed on a moan. He suckled on her nipples that had hardened like pebbles, and rubbed her pearl until she was begging him to push inside her. He finally relented, holding her hips steady as he stroked long and hard into her. With her hips and hands she encouraged him to go faster, harder. He lost track of where she ended and he began as her body tensed around him like a fist and he raced to his own completion with his face buried in her hair, smelling orange blossoms.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
George woke up to the sound of knocking. She rarely slept so deeply, but with Casimir’s warm body half-covering her own she felt like she could sleep for days. He rose up on an elbow and called out, “Yes?”
The innkeeper’s wife called through the door. “Your man is anxious to leave. Will you be wanting anything to break your fast?”
“If you would be so kind as to wrap up something for us to take with us, we would appreciate it.” His words were for the innkeeper’s wife, but his eyes were on George in the dim light. She stared back, just as enthralled with their connection. Once the woman’s footsteps shuffled away he leaned down to kiss her again. “How do you feel?”
She shifted a bit, testing her muscles. “I’m sore in places where I didn’t know I had places.”
He chuckled and kissed her cheek, nuzzling into her hair. “Then I suppose it’s good we need to move on.”
She ran her hands down his arms, feeling the muscles and hairs, so different from her own. He rose up on his elbow again, watching her as she explored his body in ways she had been too distracted to do last night. She had seen naked men before, but none of them had been hers. She was intrigued with every aspect of him. Her fingers trailed over his chest and down to his ribs.
“If you keep this up we won’t be getting on that carriage this morning.” His voice was husky and low. She looked up at him with a mischievous smile and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He cleared his throat. “Especially not if you do that.”
He kissed her slow and deep while she rubbed her hand up and down his shaft. She shouldn’t encourage him, she really was sore. But she couldn’t help herself. Madame Blythe had filled her head with knowledge that she suddenly had a practical use for. Based on the low growl that Casimir made in his throat, that use was in driving her husband helplessly insane. He broke their kiss and moved down her body to her breasts, effectively removing his hardened member from her reach. She gave a frustrated huff and buried her fingers in his hair. Shortly he had her gasping and writhing under him again. Then he stood up.
She scrambled to the edge of the bed. “Where are you going?”
“Getting dressed. You have a wedding to get to.” He tossed her chemise on top of her and then slapped her thigh playfully. “You have to get dressed, too, or I’m carrying you out in the blanket.”
She pulled the chemise over her head. “You’re a terrible tease.”
“I’m wounded. I thought you knew that about me and married me anyway.”
She stuck her tongue out, but joined him in quickly dressing from the clothes they had scattered last night. When she retrieved her hair pins she saw that half of them had been doused in candle wax when the flame had guttered in the night. “I don’t have enough clean pins to put up my hair.”
Casimir wrapped his arms around her from behind and set his chin on her shoulder. “Leave it down.”
“People will think me wanton.”
He ran a possessive hand down her belly. “You have a point. We wouldn’t want them knowing the truth, would we?”
“Women of my station are not wanton,” she informed him primly.
“Then what was last night?”
“Doing my duty for God and country.” She couldn’t keep up her prim facade and laughed. “That’s what the old biddies say about one’s marital duties. Think of England.”
“Then I can only hope you’ll be so patriotic every night.”
She turned and looped her arms around his neck. “They wouldn’t have to be so patriotic if they just married a man who made them feel wanton.”
“So the Lady from England admits that she is, in fact, wanton.”
“Only in certain circumstances.”
“It would please the chamber if you would iterate the circumstances in which you are wanton.”
She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “When you kiss me. When you dance with me. When you touch me. When you look at me…”
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on hers. “Unless you wish to take up residence in Nuremberg we should leave before I endeavor to make you wanton again.”
When she turned to leave he chased her from the room and pinched her bottom.
*
Casimir held his wife tight against his side, his feet crossed at the ankle on the opposite seat of the carriage. They had run out of idle chatter some time ago and he was fairly sure that Gina dozed. He watched the countryside rolling by outside the window. He should be far more upset than he was. In two days he had redirected the course of his life. But in this moment all he could feel was content. Pleased.
Last night certainly had something to do with that. He couldn’t wait until they were able to indulge in bedsport again. He caressed his fingers over the arm she had curled against his chest. She shifted with a soft sigh and he held as still as he could in the swaying carriage to keep from waking her.
“Speak to me in your language again,” she murmured.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. I just love to hear your voice.”
So he told her about his childhood. About the forest, how quiet it was at night. About his mother’s dumplings and his sist
er’s love of rabbits. He told her the good things, because those were all he wanted to think on for now.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The night in Frankfurt was a blur and Cologne was only glanced from outside the carriage window as they continued their pell-mell dash to London. They were spending this night in a village that George hadn’t even heard the name of. The travel was an odd combination of forced inactivity and exhaustion. Her husband helped her strip down to her chemise and seemed content to pull her into bed to sleep as they had done the night before. They could be to the port by tomorrow night if they arose early enough. But George was intrigued by how easily she had come to think of Casimir with the possessive term husband. Once they were lying in the bed she stroked her fingers over his eyebrows in the darkness.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Touching you.”
He chuckled. She loved that sound. It was intimate, seductive. “I can think of better things for you to touch.”
“Pervert.”
“Absolutely.” He rolled her onto her back and kissed her throat. “Is there anything you would like for me to touch?”
“Everything?”
He growled and squeezed her hip, his lips covering hers in a heated kiss. Madame Blythe had taught her the ways of seduction and sensual manipulation, but her education had been woefully short on explaining the emotions that she was feeling now. Along with the sexual excitement that was coursing through her veins there was something else. A sweetness, a rightness that she had never felt before meeting her husband. He had effortlessly elicited those feelings from the start, and over time they had only grown.
He pulled away from their kiss. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Only a fear that you’ll break my heart.
