by Tia Siren
Rotham stood from the parlor chair in which he had been sitting when Catherine walked in. She went up to him without hesitation, and he took one of her hands and bowed his head so that he may kiss it.
“My dear Lady Catherine,” he said.
“Duke Rotham,” Catherine said, bowing slightly. “What brings you here?”
“Well it isn’t much of a nice day, I must admit,” the Duke said, nodding his head towards the nearest window. “I’m afraid the cold winds are coming a bit sooner than I would like, but I am going on a trip and wanted to extend an invitation to you.”
“A trip?” Catherine asked, and for one wild moment she thought for some reason that Duke Rotham would be going where Dom was.
“A hunting trip,” the Duke said. “Fox of course. At this time of the year, they are simply teeming on the countryside.”
“You wish me to hunt?” Catherine asked, somewhat shocked. The Duke laughed.
“No, my dear, I wish you to come along. Many of the men have their wives come, or the ladies they fancy. There is a series of cabins, we all stay in when hunting out past Westerfield. The women befriend one another, and manage to fill our bellies when we return each evening after a long day.”
Catherine was already shaking her head, and he saw that and stopped speaking.
“I’m sorry, Duke,” she said. “Hunting…. I abhor it… to even be around such cruelty, I must admit my stomach would not be strong enough for it.”
Duke Rotham smiled, but the young woman could see the disappointment in his eyes, there was no way he could hide it.
“There is no cruelty when I hunt,” Rotham said. “It is a match of wits and speed,” he went on. “To catch a fox, you need both.”
“And dogs to rip it apart,” Catherine said, suddenly emboldened, but by what she didn’t know.
Duke Rotham shook his head softly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He paused. ”You know, I would ask that young man who you are so in love with about cruelty,” he said.
“Dominick?”
“Yes, the young soldier.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Catherine stuttered, and the Duke laughed, not in a spiteful or mean way, he was simply genuinely amused.
“Of course you are, my dear,” he said. “But I would implore you to ask him about his past. Ask him about Ginger Street.”
Catherine looked up at the Duke, trying to decipher what he was speaking of. She knew Ginger Street. That was the small street in a town some distance from here, where Dom and his regiment had been set upon by the locals suddenly, three years ago. And that was all she knew.
“What do you speak of?” Catherine asked, wishing the Duke would just be plain with her.
He shook his head. “It is not for me to say, it is for him to tell you,” he said. “But I assure you, I am not a cruel man, and I will make you happy when we are married. I don’t think your soldier can say the same. He can say it, but he can’t live it.”
“I will marry you because it is expected of me,” Catherine said in a low, soft voice. “But I will not love you.”
And with that the meeting was at an end, and Duke Rotham turned and exited the room. Catherine watched him go, her head, and heart, a ball of confusion.
The days stretched on without Dominick, and Catherine found herself often sad, often on the verge of tears, without ever really understanding why, or having something happen to her which would make her feel that way. There was just an uncomfortable sadness that rested upon her shoulders, as though she had draped herself in a blanket wet with cold water.
One day, after a light lunch in the garden with her mother and sisters, Catherine remained at the table after it had been cleared and the others had gone.
The garden was her favorite place to be on the grounds, with it’s thick and prickly green bushes, and flowers of any color one could imagine. It was growing cold, however, and none of the flowers were in bloom, and it made Catherine’s mood only grow sourer.
“Something troubles you, sister,” Rebecca said as she returned to the garden and sat across from the younger woman.
“What are you speaking about?” Catherine asked.
“A blind man could see it,” Rebecca said with a laugh, and the sound was so mirthful, so happy, that Catherine couldn’t help but join in herself.
“It’s that obvious?” she asked.
“Indeed. I would even wager a guess as to what the problem is.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Well,” Rebecca began, “the love of your life has been gone for going on a month, now, and has many more to go. Meanwhile you’re betrothed to a man you don’t love, and worry that your nuptials will be forthcoming.”
Catherine smiled and nodded. “Quite right, about it all.”
“Would you care to hear my advice?” Rebecca asked.
“No, but I believe you’ll tell me anyway.”
Rebecca smiled. “Right. Forget about Dominick. He is a nasty boy with nasty thoughts. The Duke is a true gentleman. A man of honor.”
Catherine shook her head slowly. “If only it were that easy,” she said, and then she stood and moved from the table.
With days less than three months left until Dominick returned home, Catherine was given the news she had feared was coming. Her father called her into his study, and when she entered she was surprised to see Duke Rotham sitting across from her father, with a small table between them, on which sat two glasses of sherry.
“My dear,” her father said as he stood. He was a round man, tall and strong but gone soft in the middle. His face was fat and red most of the time, but almost always cheerful. It helped that he was often drunk, and as he kissed his daughter on the cheek she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Duke,” Catherine said shortly, with a slight bow. If it offended the Duke, he did not show it, and her father made no mention of it at all, so the conversation began.
Her father wasted no time telling her the news.
“You two shall be married, on April the fifth,” her father said.
“What?” Catherine said, her face full of shock. She turned to the Duke. “I’m not ready! I thought there would be time.”
The Duke smiled softly, and reached out and took his betrothed’s hand. “My dear, I would wait forever if not for your father. He yearns to see a daughter married, and I shouldn’t hold that from him any longer.”
“It will be a grand wedding,” her father said, slapping the Duke informally on the back.
Catherine felt tears well in her eyes, but she was determined not to let them fall. She didn’t want the Duke to see her cry.
****
The Months passed slowly, and each new day brought a new wave of pain. Until, finally, the day came where Catherine woke and was excited. There had been word late that night that Dominick’s regiment had come back in the middle of the night. Diana had been the one to tell Catherine, waking her up in the dead of night. Catherine didn’t think she'd be able to go back to sleep, but she had, just an hour before dawn.
She was dressed quickly and then went out to get the carriage before her father could. Samuel was there already since the sun had been hanging in the sky for just under an hour by then. She climbed into the carriage after relaying her desired destination, and they set off.
Dominick lived on his father’s land, in a small cottage on the corner, near the river. The carriage pulled in front of the house, and Catherine dashed out before it had even fully stopped. She knocked on the wooden front door and waited impatiently for Dominick to answer. He took so long in doing so that she was worried Diana had heard incorrectly, but then the door was opened, just a sliver, and Dom was peeking out.
“Dom!” Catherine shouted, forgetting the fact that Samuel sat waiting on the carriage, and she leaped forward, forcing the door open, and threw her arms around the young man. She pressed her lips to his
“Catherine!” Dom said, trying to pull her off.
“What is it?”
/> “Samuel.”
“Oh, who cares, he’s not even looking,” She said, glancing over at the old man. In fact, he was busying himself with eating an apple, and looking off into the distance. He was a particularly good servant and knew how to look away when he was really paying attention.
“How did you know I was home?” Dominick asked, and it occurred to Catherine that he was speaking lowly, in a voice barely more than a whisper.
“I had heard… that you arrived last night. Why are you acting strangely?”
“I’m not acting strangely,” Dominick said. For the first time, she noticed that he was dressed hastily.
“You don’t seem excited to see me,” Catherine said.
“I can see you later, I’m just tired,” Dominick said, but then another voice spoke up, from inside Dom’s small cottage. It was a woman.
“Come back to bed,” the woman called. Dominick looked as though he had just been punched in the stomach, and for a moment Catherine balled up her fist and considered doing just that, but then instead she remembered herself, and she spun without a word and marched back to the carriage. She climbed inside and spared a look back at Dominick, expecting him to be coming after her, but instead she saw he was simply standing in the same place he had been, and her anger grew so great it felt as though she could breathe fire.
She had Samuel take her to Duke Rotham’s manor, instead of her own home. He was home, and was let in by a servant, and he met her in his parlor. He offered her a drink, but she didn’t speak. She walked up to him, more boldly than she had ever done anything in her life, and she pressed her lips to his. He was surprised for a moment; she could feel his body tense against hers, but then he gave into it, and his arms went around her, and her kissing him became them kissing each other.
There was a lounge sofa there, long with an arm on one end and along one side, and Andrew Rotham lost himself. He had been surprised; he had only meant to kiss her, but then he was taking her up into his arms and lifting her to the sofa. He sat her upon it and then sat beside her. Their kisses were passionate, deep and long. Their tongues danced together, and he tasted her, a taste of strawberries and cream. He tasted like a man should; like Dominick never had. Bourbon, a hint of cigar smoke. It was intoxicating.
The parlor was open, anyone of the servants could walk in, and Andrew often had guests, but neither of them seemed to care at that moment. She lay back, pulling him along. He was atop of her. But then he broke away.
“We shouldn’t… the wedding night…” he breathed.
“Now,” she said. “I want to now.”
No man could resist a woman as beautiful as Catherine Dalton saying that, and so Duke Rotham didn’t even try. His hand went to her bosom, there were buttons there, but he simply grabbed the material and pulled, and the buttons popped off, and her breasts came spilling out. His hands were strong, his fingers long and packed with sinew. He groped at her, and she felt her nipples harden against each of his palms.
He bent his head and moved his hands, and his lips replaced one hand. He licked in a slow circle around one rosebud nipple, the deep red of rich wine. Catherine threw her head back. She moaned. He caught the sound with his mouth, stifled it. Her hands were at his waist, and she fumbled to open them there. Finally, she did, and his member came forth, engorged and hard and throbbing in the air along with his heartbeat.
Her delicate fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned in her ear. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and she nodded.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Andrew took a hold of her gown, pushed the skirt up over her hips. She wore hose, but they only went to her thigh so that they could be left on. Her small-clothes were another story, and these he pulled down quickly.
Her mound was exposed, slick with desire, a pink line in the midst of her pubic hair, the same auburn color as her hair. He positioned himself between her legs and then used his hand to guide himself in. He went slowly and looked down into her eyes. She looked uncomfortable, bit her lip when she felt a slight pain.
“Are you alright?” Andrew asked his bride to be, and she nodded.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her voice on the edge of pleading. And so he didn’t.
He went slowly at first, pushing into her, and then pulling out. Her hands were on his back, and then one was on his head, gathering a fistful of his hair.
He couldn’t keep the slow pace, though. She was so tight, so pristine, it excited him and his hips began to move more quickly. Catherine had never felt such pleasure, and it wasn’t long before a wave of pleasure ripped through her body, starting at her loins and then spreading to her lower stomach. Her stomach spasmed, her vagina tightened, gripping onto Andrew's cock more tightly than it had been before, and then he couldn’t hold back, and he was coming. His mind raced, and he pulled out of her as he came, and thick strings of semen erupted from the tip of his penis and landed on her exposed stomach. Andrew reached down, taking himself in his hand and finished, a quick tug on his penis and more sperm was there, sitting in a mess on her belly.
He helped her clean up, and they spent the day together. It was wonderful, Catherine couldn’t argue that. They ate lunch and rode horses afterward. He read her his favorite poetry, and she told him her favorite bawdy joke though she didn’t tell him Dominick had told it to her years ago.
At night, they lay in bed together, after their second round of lovemaking in the day. Catherine was hot, her body covered in a slick sheet of sweat. Once again, Andrew had refused to ejaculate in her, though this time she had used her hand to finish him off, and he had shifted so that his sperm would land on her breasts. In all, it was rather exciting.
“What made you change your mind?” Andrew asked her as they lay, trying to catch their breath.
“I just grew up,” Catherine said, not wishing to get into the real reason.
“Well, we shouldn’t have done that once, much less twice. It won’t do to have a pregnant bride on her wedding day.”
“You finished outside of me,” she said softly. “It will be fine.”
“That it will. Still, I think it best if we refrain from that until the wedding night. As much as it pains me to say it.”
“You’re right, Duke Rotham,” Catherine said.
“Call me Andrew,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.
He turned over and snuffed the lamp on the small table next to the bed, and was quickly asleep. But Catherine couldn’t sleep. She lay awake in the inky darkness, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering if she had made a mistake. By the time the morning light came streaming in through the window, she knew she had. She had only wanted to make Dominick jealous. The way she had been jealous. When Andrew awoke, she made an excuse to leave, and he allowed her to take his carriage home.
She avoided everyone for the day, taking her meals in her room, under the pretense that she felt sick. What she had done grew on her conscious, a big pit of guilt that resided in her stomach, the same place her orgasm had settled.
****
The night after she had slept with Andrew, Catherine was woken by a tapping on her window. She sat up in bed and pushed the canopy out of the way. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There, at her window, so many feet in the air, was Dominick. She rushed to let him in, not caring that she was in her nightgown. He climbed in through the window.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she shut the window once more.
“I had to see you,” he said. “I felt terrible about the morning last,” he said. “I’m not a smart man, but I’m smart enough to know I need you in my life. I can’t let that Duke take you from me.”
“We have no choice!” Catherine said,
“Be with me now,” Dominick said, taking her hand. “Let us worry about it in the morning.”
Catherine pulled her hand from his. “The Duke, he tells me he knows something about you. Something horrible, something about Ginger Street.”
Dominick sighed. “It is my burden,” he said. “Believe m
e when I say that. Come now, I’ve missed you.” He bent and kissed her, and she let him.
“I’m terribly upset,” she said. “Mad at you.”
Dom looked at his childhood friend, his love. “Catherine, with everything in my power, I will make it up to you.”
Catherine nodded, and she couldn’t keep a small smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. He kissed her again, and this time she returned it. And then she took his hand and pulled him to her bed.
Dominick needed nothing else than that; he took control, practically ripping the nightgown from Catherine's body. He tossed the torn material to the ground, and then his hands and mouth were on her breasts. Where the Duke was gentle, slow and sweet, Dominick was like a hungry wolf. He pawed at her, bit her.
He stood up suddenly and undid the front of his pants, and then let them fall to the floor. His penis was hard, jutting out in front of him. He took Catherine by the arm and pulled her off of the bed, and then pushed her to her knees. His penis bobbed in front of her, and she looked up to him. She knew what he wanted, but she had never thought to do that before. She had used her hand on him before, and he had rubbed her breasts, and that was the extent of their physical relationship to that point. Now she had been deflowered, but this was new to her.
He thrust his hips forward, and the head of his penis rubbed against her lips. She parted them slowly, and he went inside her mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, not like the way she thought it might be. There was a bitter taste at the back of her throat, and then he was pulling out of her mouth. He held her there, a hand in her hair at the back of her head, and he controlled the movement with his hips. Finally, Dominick couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled out of her mouth and bent, lifting her up and all but tossing her onto the bed.
He climbed atop her, and she opened her legs to him. He slid inside.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She was wondering whether he would be able to tell that she was no longer a virgin, and since he didn’t seem able to, she winced and nodded. “It’s alright,” she said, and that was the only time he asked.
