by Ann Stephens
Her face contorted. “Kieran, it burns. I don’t think I like this part at all.” She struggled in his arms, panicking.
He gentled her as best he could. “It will this first time, sweetheart. Shhh, it will hurt less if you relax, I promise. There, now, breathe slowly. Good girl, that’s right.”
She tried to comply. He felt her relax marginally and inched in farther, only to feel her tense again. He sighed and lifted his head to look into her eyes.
“I’m afraid the best thing to do is get this bit over with quickly.”
Her voice caught. “Anything, please.”
He brushed a strand of hair out of her pain-filled eyes. “It’s just this once, darling, I swear it.”
Then, lifting himself slightly on his elbows, he thrust home, the glorious experience of sheathing himself in her hot moist body mitigated by her cry of agony.
He held her close, whispering to her how brave she was, how good she felt around him, as he waited for her to adjust to him. Kissing each firmly closed eye, he moved experimentally. When she did not cry out again, he asked her if it still hurt.
“The less you move, the less it hurts.” She gazed up at him anxiously. “Do you think you could refrain from making any large movements?”
“Yes, I can.” Her body clasped him so tightly, he knew it would not be long before he climaxed. Grasping her hips, he made small circular thrusts, rubbing against her mound. She rewarded him by flooding with moisture, allowing him to move more freely.
Within seconds, his pent-up climax burst. He ground against her over and over, burying his face in her shoulder as he exploded inside her.
Much later, after his heart had returned to normal and he had arisen long enough to blow out the lamp, he lay on his back and stared up at the top of the berth. Diantha slept soundly, curled up against his side. He did not know what to make of the intensity of their lovemaking. He did know he would not be seeking out a mistress for the time being.
He frowned in the dark. He had assumed that after he consummated his marriage, he would conduct his life much as he always had, with the exception of having a hostess established in his house who would also produce the next generation of Rossburns. Had he just considered remaining faithful to his merchant-class wife?
No. No matter how she enticed him in bed, the fact remained that she lacked the intelligence and sophistication that he sought in his mistresses. He would enjoy the pleasure she offered until it palled. It always did. He had never so much as spent the night through with a woman and he was not about to start now.
Diantha nestled a little closer to him. Pulling the counterpane up higher on her chilled shoulder, he decided to stay a while longer.
Chapter 5
“Milady?”
Diantha started awake at the sound of Florette’s voice through the door. Groggily she wondered why the maid did not enter with her morning tea tray as usual. Then images of the previous night flooded her mind.
“Oh no!” Recalling her unclothed state, she flung the sheets aside, hunting for the flimsy nightdress. She raised her voice. “I’ll open the door directly.”
Locating the lacy garment at the foot of the berth, she got to her feet and pulled it over her head. Eschewing the nearly transparent wrapper that matched it, she grabbed a silk one instead, hastily shoving her arms into the sleeves.
Just as she grasped the door handle, she looked back at the bed where Kieran had introduced her to so many sensual delights the night before. Her eyes widened in horror at the splotch of blood clearly visible on the bottom sheet.
“Coming!” Darting to the bed, she flipped the bedclothes up over the telltale sign of last night’s activities. Anxiously looking over her shoulder, she scurried back to the door and swung it open, hoping she did not appear as flushed as she felt.
“That smells heavenly. Thank you, Florette.”
Diantha thought she noticed a quiver of amusement at the corner of the Frenchwoman’s lips, but was too flustered to pay close attention. Where was Kieran? Did gentlemen normally leave after conjugal relations?
“How is your ladyship feeling this morning?” Setting down the tray on a small stand with raised sides, the maid placed a lump of sugar in a porcelain teacup with a pair of tongs. After pouring the steaming liquid into it from a matching pot, she placed a thin slice of lemon into the cup and brought it, balanced on its saucer, to Diantha as she sat on the bed.
“Fine, of course. What else should I be?” Diantha inhaled, relishing the citrus scent. After a sip of the sweetened liquid, she smiled her thanks to Florette.
The middle-aged servant bustled between her room and the dressing room, setting out that day’s dress and accessories.
Diantha finished her tea and stood up to return the empty cup to the tray.
“I’m ready to dress now.” She turned toward the dressing room and froze.
Florette had pulled the sheets off the bed in order to replace them with clean ones. The bloodied muslin lay heaped on the floor.
Diantha stared at it while her suddenly numb mind tried to think of something to say.
Shaking out fresh sheets over the mattress, the maid smiled kindly over her shoulder. “I asked the cook to heat some water for a warm bath this morning, if you would care for one.”
The nightgown, the doubled berth, and knocking before entering this morning. Diantha wanted to curl up into a humiliated ball on the floor. “How did you know?”
“An educated guess, ma mie. His lordship’s ‘change of plans’ were quite obvious. And he appears to be un homme d’action, not at all the kind to wait once he makes up his mind.” She peered at her closely. “Did he treat you well?”
Apparently taking Diantha’s speechlessness as a “yes,” the servant put the finishing touches on the berth and ordered her into the dressing room.
“I will wash these myself, very discretely, and inform his lordship that you will enjoy a late breakfast. Meanwhile, the stewards will bring the hip bath and hot water.” She let herself out.
Diantha, somewhat reassured by the woman’s matter-of-fact manner, slipped into the dressing room so that no one would see her en déshabillé. A bath did sound wonderful. Last night’s pain had subsided even before sleep overtook her. Only a few twinges remained and a good soak in warm water would eliminate those.
She supposed she should feel guilty for not replacing her nightgown after they finished last night. But Kieran’s attentions had left her too sated to move, and his solid body felt so good to curl up next to. She could not recall the last time she had slept so well.
* * *
She discovered that she had quite a hearty appetite that morning. Settling herself at the table in their suite, she smiled at the steward and unfolded her napkin as he brought her a plate.
When the door to Kieran’s room opened, she looked up hopefully. Her heart sank a little at the entrance of his valet, but she greeted the man courteously.
“Forgive the intrusion, my lady!” The servant stopped short and bowed, his Scottish accent deepened by surprise. “I merely wished to use the passage from this room. I will go around from Lord Rossburn’s instead.”
She gestured to the passage door. “Please, proceed. Normally the room is empty at this time of day; you had no way of knowing otherwise.”
She addressed him again, fascinated by his speech. Kieran’s voice, trained by years at English boarding schools, usually held only a trace of a burr. “How does the voyage suit you so far, Davison?”
“Verra well, your ladyship.” His polite expression changed and he gave her a genuine smile. “And I hope your ladyship is feeling well this morning?”
She shot him a sharp look, but his face betrayed nothing more than benign civility.
“I am very well myself, thank you.” She nodded her dismissal and turned to her breakfast.
The steward had cleared the table when Kieran finally made his appearance. Judging from his windblown hair and overcoat, he came from a walk on the deck. Greet
ing her formally, he removed his coat and gloves, while the steward piled the tableware on a large tray and left. She stood up, planning to visit the saloon.
“You weren’t at breakfast.” To her shock and delight, he kissed her full on the lips. Softly, he added, “How are you feeling this morning?”
She pulled back in annoyance. “Why is everyone asking me that? I am fine.”
“Truly?” He scanned her face as if trying to see into her mind. “When Florette informed me you would eat later, I feared that I had offended you last night.” He took her hand. “Or worse.”
“Offended me? How on earth can you ask that?” Without thinking, she linked her fingers with his.
He cleared his throat. “I understand that some ladies don’t care for lovemaking.”
She stared at him. “Really? How odd.”
She had no idea why this should make him burst out laughing, and said so in no uncertain terms.
“I believe they object to some of the more improper aspects of it.” A twinkle lit his eyes.
She considered his words. “I suspect their husbands are doing it wrong.”
“Oh, you’ve become an expert after one night?” His grin robbed the words of any ill intent.
“You seemed to think I did well enough!” He bowed, acknowledging the hit. She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Even the most carefully chaperoned girls hear conversations they should not. I’ve overheard more than one of my mother’s friends whisper about their husbands causing discomfort.”
“That should never happen again.” His emphatic words startled her. As though to lighten the conversation, he changed the subject.
“I came down to ascertain your well-being first, and then to ask if I might escort you around the deck.”
Relief flooded through her that he still wanted to spend time in her company. “That sounds much more pleasant than reading. Wait here, I shall get my hat and mantelet.”
She hastened to put on her outdoor clothes and return. Kieran crooked his arm for her. “I’m delighted to take priority over the saloon.”
She chuckled. “Only because I have no access to a library, mind you.”
“We shall visit a bookstore when we stop in London. What kind of reading do you enjoy?” With that, they set off down the corridor.
By mutual consent, Kieran did not come to her bed that night, but their concord lasted only until the following afternoon.
Diantha stormed into her cabin, all but slamming the door behind her.
Florette, seated near the porthole to mend a flounce, looked up in surprise, then rose to help Diantha out of her mantelet.
“Milady, what has happened to disturb you? The walk with Mrs. Haddon did not go well?”
Diantha furiously ripped her hat from her head, partially ruining the fashionable curls the maid had pinned up earlier that day. “The promenade went well enough. Until I found my husband.”
“Oh?” Florette retrieved the elegant creation from its landing place on the floor.
Diantha freed herself from her wrap. “Mrs. Had donand I came across him as he admired a pendant of Senhora Henriques.”
“That does not sound particularly terrible.” The maid smoothed the hat’s ribbons prior to putting it away.
“He was tracing the filigree work with his finger.” She paced the room, skirts rustling. “While she was wearing it!”
“Ah!” The older woman’s face cleared as enlightenment dawned. “Tsk, on a small boat like this, milord should have known he would get caught.”
Diantha took another turn around the room, fuming. “Smiling up at him and batting her eyelashes like something out of a penny dreadful—”
Florette made a sympathetic noise. “I am so sorry, milady. How humiliating for you.”
“—at my husband, which he would do well to remember.” The lacy nightgown of two nights before caught her attention as it lay on top of a pile of neatly folded clothes. “You can put that thing away. If he thinks he’s coming back to my bed anytime soon, he had better think again.”
“Milady, please calm yourself. This back-and-forth is making my head spin and you have ceased to make sense.” At the servant’s blunt words, she stopped.
Florette coughed slightly. “Men behave like that. And your husband is known for enjoying the company of women.”
“I’m a woman.” She looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Why can’t he enjoy my company?”
The Frenchwoman tutted. “You must make him enjoy your presence. Don’t make scenes over his little indiscretions. Charm him, captivate him. Make him feel welcome. As a wife, that is your best hope.”
A bitter laugh escaped her at the maid’s earnest words. “Yes, I know. Hide my real feelings, tolerate his indiscretions. That is a wife’s path in life.”
“Oui, milady.” The maid rolled up her sewing and prepared to leave. “I am sorry.”
“I want another path.” Diantha whispered the words, then stopped the other woman. “Florette, could you find something in my wardrobe in which I might look remotely attractive at dinner this evening?”
A slow smile broke across the Frenchwoman’s face. “I am sure I can, milady.”
True to her word, the maid found a few dresses which did not rob her skin of color and make her brown hair dull. “I think my mother expected me to wait until after the honeymoon to wear this.”
“Most of your wardrobe looks like it was chosen for someone else, milady.” Florette carefully coaxed a curl to lie over Diantha’s shoulder. “There isn’t a great deal to choose from.”
“My mother invariably selects colors that suit her.” Diantha turned her head slightly, admiring the effect of the rich brown curl against her fair skin. “That looks very well! Thank you.”
“I found a length of ribbon for a choker as well. If you will allow me.” The maid tied a length of black velvet around the younger woman’s neck.
Diantha stood up. “I just hope I can find the courage to leave our rooms in this gown.” The only ensemble suitable for dinner was an evening gown of aqua satin that exposed her shoulders and the very tops of her breasts. Although acceptably low for a married woman of her station, she had never exposed so much skin before. Florette smiled and settled a silk shawl over her shoulders.
Kieran waited outside her door, impeccably dressed in a frock coat, embroidered vest, and dark ascot tie. A glint of admiration sparked in his eyes before he raised an eyebrow at her more formal dress. She stared back at him coldly before taking his proffered arm, and they walked to the saloon in silence.
She expected the other passengers to look askance at her as well, but several of the matrons present greeted her with obvious sympathy. Evidently gossip about her husband and Senhora Henriques had spread. Seething, she nevertheless put on a pleasant demeanor during the meal and exerted herself to converse amiably with the other diners, including her husband.
The senhora kept her distance until after the meal, when she approached them. “Lord Rossburn, how nice to see you again. And your very young wife.” She nodded to Diantha.
“What a lovely ensemble.” The older woman cocked her head to one side. “I quite understand why one would not wait for an appropriate occasion to wear it.” Turning to Kieran, she tapped him playfully on the arm with her fan. “I beg you not to scold her, my lord. I recall how confusing society was when I emerged from the schoolroom.”
Diantha’s temper kindled at the woman’s mocking smile. She placed a hand on Kieran’s arm. “You must have an excellent memory to recall events that far back, madam. I can only hope mine works as well when I attain advanced years.”
A few smothered laughs could be heard throughout the room. Kieran’s eyes turned to aqua ice. “You must excuse us, Senhora. Lady Rossburn is feeling tired this evening, and I must escort her to her room.”
She resisted him when he started out the door. Another ripple of amusement spread through the room. At this, he simply put his hand over hers where it rested on his ar
m and pulled her after him.
“You made a fool of yourself in there.” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he towed her along the narrow passage.
“Why not? You had already done so with that horrid female.” She struggled to keep up with him, her tightly laced corset preventing her from catching her breath.
“And if you had just ignored her, it would have blown over easily enough.” He opened the door to her room and thrust her inside. “She’s the one who would have looked like a fool.”
Diantha refused to be treated like a naughty child. “And I suppose you would overlook a man who offered you an insult.”
“That is entirely different.” He twisted the door handle and escorted her inside. “Good evening, madam.” With a bow, he left again, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Florette silently helped her out of the satin gown and into her nightclothes. Diantha lay awake long after the maid had left the room. In the early hours of the morning, she heard Kieran return to his room. Imagining him in the senhora’s arms, she pounded the pillow several times in frustration, then buried her face in it to stifle her weeping.
Kieran’s feet thudded along the passageway as he paced back to the saloon. The wretched girl had attended a finishing school near Paris. Surely she had developed some grasp of basic social behavior among the worldly French.
A wife never publicly acknowledged her husband’s flirtations with another woman. It simply was not done. Besides, he only intended to amuse himself, not seduce. The senhora, while a delightful shipboard diversion, would play no part in his life after the voyage. Nor did he harbor any illusions that she regarded him as anything more than a pleasant episode.
Females had thrown themselves at him since his school days and he delighted in the physical pleasures so many of them offered. Nearly every married man he knew strayed eventually. Once he and Diantha lost interest in one another, he expected he would too.
Without an overcoat, the brisk night air penetrated his evening wear as soon as he stepped onto the promenade deck. Surely she knew that as his wife, her position in society was unassailable. She would have the protection of his name and title for the rest of her life. In return, he expected her to behave in a manner suitable to her position in society.
