Scandal

by Heather Cullman

  "Caro is right," Amy said with a nod. "Besides, if the act were as awful as Helene claims, I am certain that we would have been told something to that effect in order to prepare us."

  "Ah. But if we were told, we might refuse to marry, so it stands to reason that we should be kept ignorant of the horror that awaits us," Helene reasoned.

  Julia had to admit that what Helene said made sense. Besides, why would her mother lie? Considering the Duchess of Hunsderry's eagerness for her daughter to make a brilliant match, it would hardly serve her purpose to lie about the bridal bed in a manner that would discourage rather than encourage Helene toward marriage. That being the case, it must be true-it had to be true! Fear welled up inside her, making her feel sick with dread. And the experience was bound to be all the worse for her-brutal even-since her groom was a commoner.

  Wrestling with her now almost overwhelming panic, Julia reminded herself that Gideon was a particularly well-bred commoner. And what was it that Helene's mother had said on the subject of the bridal bed and breeding? Oh, yes: The better bred a man, the gentler he was in the bridal bed. That being the case, a man's breeding could surely overcome his commonness and gentle him in the marriage act. Couldn't it? Clinging to that faint hope, she choked out through her fright, "Surely a commoner as well bred as Mr. Harwood will be as gentle as an aristocrat between the sheets?"

  "I am afraid that he shall not be able to help himself," Helene replied, casting her a sympathetic look. "Blood will tell, you know, and even the most tame commoner will revert to a savage when faced with his most primitive urges."

  "Well I, for one, refuse to believe it. Any of it," Amy stoutly declared. "I am certain that Mr. Harwood will make Julia rapturously happy, both in and out of the marriage bed."

  "As am I," Caroline said with a decisive nod. "As much as Mr. Harwood loves our dear Julia, he is bound to treat her with gentleness and respect."

  Rather than comforting her, as her friend had so clearly intended to do, Caroline's words merely deepened Julia's sense of foreboding. Gideon did not love her, which meant that he would most probably do nothing to control the primitive urges of which Helene spoke.

  "Yes. I am sure you are correct, Caro," Mina added, though unlike Amy and Caroline, she did not look at all convinced of what she said.

  Helene shrugged. "We shall see."

  For several moments thereafter the women remained silent, each lost in her thoughts on the subject. Then Mina tremulously inquired, "Is there nothing good that can be said about the bridal bed?"

  "It is where babies are made, which is a very lovely thing indeed," Caroline replied, giving Mina's arm a squeeze.

  "And where jewels can be earned," said Helene with a sly smile.

  "Jewels?" the other women exclaimed in perplexed unison.

  Helene nodded. "Or gowns, or a coach-and-six, or whatever else a woman desires."

  "Meaning?" Amy quizzed with raised eyebrows.

  "Meaning that if you must endure a man's lust, you might as well use it to your advantage." Helene nodded again. "Mama says that if a woman is cooperative and makes the act pleasurable for her husband, then he will give her anything she wishes. She told me that you have only to see which women in the ton are sporting the newest and richest jewels to know which ones are willing to pleasure their husbands between the sheets. Men, she says, are easily led by their lust, and a clever woman will use it to get her way."

  Julia's breath caught in her throat as she considered the possibilities of what Helene had just imparted. If what the Duchess of Hunsderry said was true-and again, why should she doubt her?-then perhaps she could pleasure Gideon into taking her siblings into his home. What did it matter that she would have to suffer pain and indignity to accomplish her goal, just as long as it all worked out to her satisfaction in the end?

  That left only the question of how one pleasured her husband in a manner that would allow him to be led. Though it shamed her to do so, Julia forced herself to ask, "Did your mother by chance, um, say how a woman should go about pleasuring her husband?"

  Helene shook her head. "When I asked-"

  "You actually asked your mother such a thing?" Amy ejected, eyeing Helene with new respect.

  Helene shrugged. "As I said, I was thirteen. I was far too young to know that it was unseemly to ask about such things."

  "And what did she say?" Julia prodded, trying not to sound too desperate.

  Another shrug from Helene. "She said that a man liked to have his private parts fondled and that if a woman obliged him, he would finish the act quickly and thus spare her much of her trial. She also said that if a woman is especially talented at fondling, that she might satisfy her husband without having to endure him thrusting his male part into her female one at all, though she did not explain how it is done."

  She shook her head. "I am sorry, Julia, but the only other piece of advice she shared with me is that a woman should take a snifter or two of brandy before going to her husband in order to make the marriage act more tolerable."

  "If you like, I can tell you what I read in Papa's books," Amy offered with one of her twittering giggles.

  "Many of the acts described involve intimately fondling a man."

  Though Julia would have rather been flayed than admit her need to learn about performing such vulgar acts, she made herself smile and say, "Please do. And thank you." As Amy launched into an enthusiastic and graphic description of what she had read, making Mina gasp aloud in shock, and Julia blush and tremble in turn, Julia resolved that she would do everything in her power to give Gideon the greatest pleasure of his life, no matter how painful and mortifying it might be to her.

  By the time she was finished with him, Gideon Harwood would be her lust-led slave.

  Chapter 13

  She must look tempting, smell enticing, move with alluring languor, and . . . and . . . what else had Amy said? Julia frowned, her index finger drumming a tense tattoo against the bottle in her hand as she searched her nerve-tangled thoughts for the oddments of her friend's instruction. She must . . . must . . . ?

  Hmmm. Her frown deepened, only to ease in the next instant as her power of recollection returned. Oh. Right. She must speak in a low, seductive voice, if she must speak at all, which Amy had said was highly unadvisable since one of her father's books alleged that men did not like conversation with their pleasuring.

  Satisfied by the accuracy of her restored memory, Julia nodded. Yes, that was correct. Furthermore, she must remember to feign breathlessness when Gideon took her into his arms, so as to make him think that she had been rendered breathless in anticipation of his manly attentions. Nothing pleased a man more than a woman desirous of his attentions, or so another of the books had said. Once in his arms she must fondle him in the mortifying manner Amy had described, after which she must lie pliant beneath his husbandly assault, accepting whatever horrors he inflicted upon her with a smile and an enraptured sigh.

  Her already wavering courage abandoned her completely at the prospect of that last, driving her to lift the bottle she held for the fifth-or was it the sixth time?-in the quarter-hour since her maid had left her alone to await her groom. Though the etched-glass toilet bottle normally contained the strawberry water to which she attributed the much-envied clarity of her complexion, she had taken Helene's suggestion under advisement and had replaced the cosmetic with brandy she had filched from her father's library sideboard. Praying that the inebriant would indeed ease her coming ordeal, she brought the bottle to her lips, grimacing in preparation for the harsh flavor and the burning sensation that had chased the fiery liquid down her throat during her first few samplings.

  To her surprise, it tasted less caustic than before, the burning now little more than a mellow rush of warmth that seemed to radiate through her veins, heating her blood and stalling her growing trepidation. Pleased by the effect, she took another, deeper drink. Then another. And another, vaguely noting as she raised the bottle yet again that she had consumed more than half i
ts contents. Now feeling somewhat more in control of herself, she turned her thoughts back to Amy's instructions, arranging them in an order that would best suit her purpose. That done to her satisfaction, she nodded and took another tipple to reward her initiative.

  All right, then. Time to prepare for her husband-pleasuring. Consulting the list in her head, she determined that the first order of business was to make certain that she looked as tempting as possible. Taking another drink as she went, Julia purposefully marched into the dressing room that adjoined the bedchamber to which Gideon's housekeeper, the briskly efficient Mrs. Courter, had shown her upon her arrival at the town house earlier that evening.

  Like the rest of Gideon's residence, well, at least that of it she had thus far seen, both rooms were decorated with an easy elegance that was as cozy as it was pleasing to the eye. She particularly liked the landscape pattern on the wall covering in the bedchamber, with its lush garden scene and colorfully plumed birds. And yes, she had spent more than a passing moment admiring the gracefully carved tester bed, her eyes dazzled by its richly embroidered silk drapery and coverlet, though at the present she preferred not to dwell overly long on that particular piece of furnishing. Now coming to a stop before the long Cheval glass that stood in the far corner of the blue, gold, and white dressing room, she turned her attention to taking stock of her appearance, sipping from the bottle as she considered her reflection.

  Though she had no idea how a bride being led to the marriage bed slaughter should look, Leonie, her French lady's maid, who had been overseeing Julia's appearance since she was sixteen, had seemed to have an idea of her own and had thus prepared her charge accordingly. Gazing at herself now, garbed but barely in an almost transparent night rail with a low, lace-trimmed neck and tiny puffed sleeves, made up in soft cream linen, she decided that the woman might indeed have known what she was about. To be sure, if what Amy's father's books said was correct, and men truly were titillated by the sight of a woman's unclothed form, then Gideon would most definitely find her attire tempting . . . provided, of course, that he found the figure so blatantly displayed beneath the wisp of fabric pleasing.

  Wondering, for the first time in her life, if her unclothed figure could be considered attractive, Julia lifted her gown, gathering it above her breasts to scrutinize her nude form.

  Hmmm. She was well enough, she supposed, though she knew from the brief glimpses she'd had of the demirep, as Amy referred to the beautiful creatures she claimed served as rich men's mistresses, that her figure lacked the lush ripeness those women possessed. Indeed, though her bosom could not by any means be termed meager, it was not nearly as imposing as the bosoms of those women, which always seemed in danger of spilling from their perilously low bodices. As for the rest of her body . . .

  She dropped her gaze lower, critically studying the faint indentation of her waist and the almost nonexistent flare of her hips. Aurelia said that she was shaped more like a boy than a woman. Examining herself now, Julia had to agree. Certain that a worldly man like Gideon would never find her slight figure tempting, she pivoted to view herself from a profile, searching for an angle from which she might look more voluptuous.

  Her body looked surprisingly better from the side, softer and more feminine with the rounded curves of her breasts and backside adding the much-needed contours to her boyish form. Struck by inspiration at the improvement, she arched her back, striking a pose that exaggerated the flattering effect.

  Perhaps, just perhaps, if she took pains to arrange herself so that Gideon viewed her from this angle when he entered the room, he might not notice her shortcomings. Yes, and if she promptly rushed into his arms and began doing those- those-things!-to his body, he was certain to be far too preoccupied by his lust to notice her lack of shapeliness. Pleased by her plan, she raised the bottle in salute to her brilliance, letting her hem drop back to her ankles as she drained the remaining brandy in a single gulp. Setting the now-empty bottle on the floor beside the mirror, a soft belch escaping her as she straightened back up again, she turned her thoughts to her next piece of husband-pleasuring business: She must smell enticing.

  Now feeling strangely carefree, she sniffed first one shoulder, then the other, trying to ascertain whether or not she met with that criterion. Esprit de Rose. She nodded and smiled. Excellent. Wanting to make sure that the rest of her smelled as sweet, she lifted the front of her gown to her nose, her gaze drawn to her wedding ring as she inhaled. The ring was unlike anything she had ever seen before, a distinctive design of interlocking twists and swirls, the significance of which Gideon had explained after the marriage ceremony as they had been driven to her parents' home where the wedding feast was held.

  Her gaze traced the gold-wrought loops and angles. The design spelled Harwood, something she could see quite clearly now that Gideon had explained the arrangement of the letters. A pleasurable shiver ran up her spine just remembering the gentle tickling of his fingertips against the flesh of her hand as he outlined each letter in demonstration of his explanation. Repeating the caressing motion over and over again as he spoke, the sensation of which had made her feel strangely weak and boneless, he had then gone on to tell how a Harwood ancestor had designed the ring three centuries earlier as a tribute to the woman he loved.

  The ancestor, he said, had been a fierce, bold knight, whose pride in winning the heart and hand of a beautiful baron's daughter had led him to bestow upon her a wedding ring bearing his name, thus marking her as his own for all to see. Both the ring and the tale had been passed down through the subsequent generations, becoming a wedding tradition that Julia found enchanting to the extreme.

  Enchanted all over again just thinking about it, she decided that the ring was the most wonderful piece of jewelry she had ever owned. Though it was not the same one the knight had given his ladylove, the original having disappeared along with Gideon's brother, Caleb, the fact that Gideon had bothered to have a replica of it made just for her, so as to include her in his family tradition, made her feel wanted. Welcome. A part of a family to whom the word "family" meant everything. In her mind it had been the most gallant thing a man had ever done for her, a courtly act worthy of the knight from whose loins Gideon's family line had sprung. A-

  Knight? And a baron's daughter? Her breath caught in her throat as she was struck by a startling new revelation: since Gideon's line had come from the union of a knight and a baron's daughter, then he was not completely common. Not in entirety. Of course, Gideon himself could not in any way be considered a nobleman, or even gentry, since a knight's title could not be passed down through the generations. But as Helene's mother had said, blood would tell. So perhaps enough of his ancestors' genteel blood remained in his veins that it would temper his common blood in the bridal bed and thus prevent him from abandoning himself to his primitive urges. Before she could fully contemplate or rationalize her new theory, there was a soft rapping at her bedchamber door.

  Her head was now whirling in a way that made her surroundings look strangely tilted. Julia weaved her way to the dressing-room door, clutching the jamb to steady herself as she called out across the bedchamber, "Yes?"

  "It is I, Julia. Gideon."

  Gideon? Oh, heavens! She pressed her hand to her mouth in dismay. She was not ready. Not nearly so. She had yet to practice moving with alluring languor-and then there was the matter of her voice. No doubt she would be required to say something, and she had yet to test her voice to discover which tone sounded the most seductive.

  "Julia?"

  She sighed. Oh, well. There was no help for any of that now. She would just have to do as best she could. At least she would look tempting and smell enticing. Of course, in order to do the former, she must first strike her selected pose. Thus prompted to action, she charged into the bedchamber, stumbling twice in her unsteadiness. Stopping in the middle of the room, which seemed to list first this way and then that way beneath her gaze, she glanced frantically around her, searching for the perfect setting in w
hich to display herself.

  Aha! The bed. Naturally.

  Another knock. "Julia? Is something amiss?"

  "A moment, please," she called out, noting with chagrin that her voice sounded unnaturally shrill. Lowering it an octave and injecting a breathless quality, she repeated, "A moment." Better.

  Now arranged at the foot of the bed, standing in profile with her back arched and her arm raised to brace herself against the bedpost, thus compensating for her queer lack of equilibrium, she dropped her voice yet lower and called out, "Please enter."

  He promptly obliged, only to stop short on the threshold, stiffening as if caught off guard by her appearance.

  She graced him with what she hoped was a provocative smile, tipping her head to fix him with a languid, sidelong gaze. "Yes?"

  He cleared his throat and nodded in response. "I am sorry to disturb you, Julia. I see that I have interrupted your nightly ablutions."

  "Do not apologize. You are welcome to interrupt me any time you wish," she replied in a caressing voice.

  He frowned, eyeing her as if he did not quite know what to make of her performance. "You are most kind, my dear. However, I promise that I shall not detain you long, since you are no doubt weary from the day's festivities."

  "I assure you that I am not the least bit tired. And I very much wish to be detained by you." She practically purred the words, adding a suggestive emphasis on the word "detained."

  Gideon raised his eyebrows, taken aback by her double entendre. There was no mistaking her meaning. Not with the way she postured against the bedpost, wantonly displaying her body in a garment that left nothing to the imagination. Not with the blatant invitation in both her voice and smile.

  She wanted him to exercise his husbandly rights, and she wanted him to do so now.

  That she would desire such a thing was completely unanticipated, unprecedented by so much as a hint that she would ever wish their marriage to go beyond name alone. Perplexed by her contrary behavior, he lowered his raised brows into a frown.