by Aileen Fish
“Nicholas!” Her breath hitched, left her on a wail as she undulated wildly above him, bearing down and impaling herself on his fingers, her inner muscles clenching and tremors running through her limbs.
“Thank God,” he groaned as he allowed his orgasm to wash over him. He bucked against Emily, one hard hand clasping her to him, the other buried between her legs. He pumped his seed between them, wishing he could pour it into her tight cunny, wishing her pulsing inner walls were clasping his cock instead of his fingers.
“Soon,” he whispered against her damp forehead and the tangled hair plastered to it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emily rose early the next morning and rolled onto her back to stare up at the canopy above. She stretched, luxuriating in the cool crisp air, the first rays of morning sun slanting through the tall window, the pleasant ache of her thigh muscles and the tenderness between her thighs.
The things Nicholas had done to her last night, the ways he had brought her body to life above him, beneath him, beside him. It had been amazing, and he had yet to place that wonderful, hard, hot part of himself inside her. His cock, he’d called it, his voice a ferocious rumble.
“Cock,” Emily whispered the word in the silent room, tasting it on her lips. There was something wicked in it, something dark and dangerous.
She’d never known men and women did such things to one another at night. How could she have guessed that a man would use his hands, his long fingers, his open mouth and his tongue to give such pleasure, such perfect relief? She’d only ever heard women speak in whispers of quick couplings in the dark, of night gowns raised and furtive fumbling. A woman’s duty, they called it, something that must be endured to satisfy men’s animal urges and produce children.
Had those women, the neighbor ladies who had come to visit Mama as she lay recovering from one disappointing pregnancy after another, never experienced what she’d found in Nicholas’ arms? Was his lovemaking different, an aberration? Emily shivered at the thought, sighed to think that perhaps she’d found the only man on earth who knew such secret pleasures. Perhaps he was a wizard, a warlock of old, invested with mysterious powers over a woman’s body.
Shaking her head at the fanciful notion, she tossed back the covers and reached for her robe, wondering where Tilly was with her tea and toast.
No sooner had the thought entered her head, then the door opened and her maid came in carrying a tray before her.
“Oh, Miss Em,” she said when she spied her mistress sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m that sorry I’m late. I thought you’d be sleeping late this morning.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why,” Emily replied. “I told you last night I intended to ride out early this morning.”
“That was before that brawny man decided to spend the night, I’m guessing.”
“And how would you know where Nicholas spent the night?” Emily demanded on a laugh.
“I came in about half an hour ago and found him just crossing the room to his own,” she answered with a sassy grin. “The man’s got a purely lovely bum.”
Emily fell back on the bed laughing. “Oh, Tilly, you don’t know the half of it!”
“Finally figured out why Lady Margaret was praising his large hands, did you?”
Emily felt a blush steal across her cheeks.
“Well?” Tilly called out from the dressing room. “Never say you’re going to keep that tidbit from me!”
When Emily descended the stairs thirty minutes later she found Nicholas, Oliver, Lucinda, Bernice, Mr. Kildare and Lord Jamison waiting in the foyer.
“Are we the entire party, then?” she asked, her eyes capturing Nicholas’ for a moment. She smiled softly, felt her cheeks heat and looked away.
“No one else has come down yet,” Bernice answered. “Let’s hurry.”
“Shouldn’t we wait a few more minutes?” Lucinda asked. “I’m sure a few others intended to join us.”
“Exactly,” Bernice cried as she tapped her riding crop impatiently against her leg.
“I must agree with Lady Bernice,” Kildare replied. “We wouldn’t want Miss Calvert to miss her hot scones.”
Emily laughed at the handsome man, liking him exceedingly at the moment. She could do without The Nasty Baggage for a few hours.
It was a perfect morning for a ride, the air was cool, the wind little more than a breeze and the sun was shining without a cloud in the vast blue sky.
As they rode down the long drive, Emily frowned at her mount. Danny Boy was restless and itching to run and it was all Emily could do to control him.
“I’d best give Danny Boy a brisk gallop,” Emily told Nicholas, who rode beside her. “If I don’t he’ll be a beast all the way to the village.”
“I’ll ride with you,” he replied immediately before looking back at the others who were slowly ambling along behind them. “We’re going to run the devil out of Emily’s mount. We’ll meet up with you at the crossroads.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Jamison asked, cantering up to join them.
“Not at all,” Emily assured him. And then they were off. The three riders veered off the drive to the north, across a vast snow-covered field. They wound their way up a small hill and down into the valley below. In the distance Emily could see tenants’ cottages with wisps of smoke drifting from their chimneys and herds of sheep grazing. It was a pretty sight, peaceful, and Emily realized she was going to miss this land when she returned home in the spring.
They rode for nearly an hour, finally looping around the woods where Emily had met up with the wild dogs, and coming up on the rest of their party at the cross roads that led to the village.
The first thing Emily noticed as she cantered toward the others with Nicholas and Jamison just behind her was Bernice riding pillion behind Mr. Kildare. Oliver held the reins of her horse trailing behind him.
“What happened?” Emily asked as she came abreast of her friend.
“My horse threw a shoe,” Bernice replied. “We’re near enough to the village that we can take her to the smith to have her reshod while we shop.”
Emily looked to her right as Jamison rode up beside her. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut again, before shooting Bernice a hard look and turning toward the road into the village.
Bernice frowned, her green eyes following the man’s retreating back.
The village was quiet with only the occasional cart rumbling down the narrow main road.
“Oh, isn’t it lovely,” Lucinda gushed from beside her. “I do love a quaint little village.”
Emily smiled at the lady who had been raised almost exclusively in London, before leading the other riders off the main road onto Bloom Street, a smaller tree-lined lane that housed the bakery, a pub and tea room, a milliner shop, a curio shop and the apothecary’s shop.
She gave a little shiver, her gaze drawn inexplicably to the sign bearing the mortar and pestle, to the wide bay window with its displays of powders, herbs, elixirs, pestles and bottles. It might have been her imagination, for surely she was too far away to see anything in that window with any distinction, but she thought she spied a small blue bottle, delicate and fragile, with a dainty curved handle and a long, narrow neck.
Her hands flexed on Danny Boy’s reins as a thread of longing crawled up her spine, an echo of the craving she had lived with for all those months. She could feel it, like a snake burrowing beneath her flesh, insinuating itself into her blood, flowing through her to lodge at the nape of her neck. She stiffened in the saddle, her leg muscles clenching tight, her foot in the stirrup pressing against her mount’s side, in an effort to hold the yearning at bay.
Danny Boy, confused by the sudden pressure on his ribs and the tightening on the reins, sidestepped to the left, bumping softly against Nicholas’s horse beside her. He reached out a strong hand to clasp her arm just above the elbow.
Emily jumped at his touch, her eyes flying to his face.
“Easy,” he murmured with a cur
ious smile tilting his lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered, turning her gaze firmly toward the end of the road where Morton’s Bakery sat with its bright green awning above the door.
A fresh tray of scones was just coming out of the oven when they all trouped through the doors laughing and sniffing appreciatively of the wonderful scents of fresh bread and sugary cookies that wafted around the bright shop. Purchasing the entire tray of scones, they strolled back out onto the street, eating some of the warm pastries as they walked beside the shop windows. Oliver carried the remainder of the scones in a box for those house guests who had been left behind in the early morning.
Emily, her equilibrium restored by the sheer normalcy of the aromatic bakery and the idle chatter of her friends, stopped with Bernice to admire a pretty little set of silver filigree hair combs in the window of the curio shop while the others meandered across the street to the tea room.
“Aren’t they lovely?” Bernice asked, her face pressed to the glass like a child eyeing candy.
“Do you want to go inside?” Emily asked.
“Excuse me,” a deep male voice intruded upon them.
Emily spun around as she recognized the voice, dread shivering through her.
“Dr. O’Connell,” she stammered.
Dr. Theodore O’Connell stood on the sidewalk, the sun shining brightly over his shoulder, casting his tall sparse frame into shadow. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was looking down at her with intent gray eyes and his mouth drawn into a straight line above his square jaw. She’d seen that face in her dreams for months.
“Miss Calvert,” he greeted, his deep voice chasing over her nerves, setting off a ringing in her ears. “You look well.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
She felt Bernice’s eyes on her but could not seem to look away from the physician who had been called out to her aunt’s house just after midnight on a dark and rainy summer night.
“I think I will pop inside to look at those combs,” Bernice said with forced cheer.
Dr. O’Connell waited until Bernice disappeared into the shop to break the tense silence that had fallen between them. “Do not fear I will betray your secret.”
“No, of course not,” Emily replied, forcing her face to relax into what she hoped was a smile.
“How are you faring?”
“I am fine,” she answered automatically and cringed at the words. “I am well, perfectly well.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I saw your aunt a few weeks ago and she told me you were completely cured and back to normal.”
“Yes,” she agreed, ignoring the memory of those few terrible seconds as she’d passed by the apothecary’s window.
“I sent around a note requesting to call on you,” he said.
“We’ve had guests.”
“For two months?”
“No, of course not.”
“I understand it may be difficult for you to be reminded of that night and the weeks that followed, but I would very much like to visit with you. I have recently come from a symposium in Paris where the topic was opium addiction. I have gained some insights I feel would be of benefit to you.”
I am not an opium addict. Emily bit her bottom lip to halt the words that hovered on her tongue.
“Perhaps when your guests have departed?” he asked gently.
“I suppose that would be all right,” she agreed. “But really, there is no need. I have been good all these months.”
The sun shifted and Emily was finally able to see his face. She was surprised to discover his lips were not pulled into a harsh line, but rather smiling, a small dimple winking from his right cheek.
“I am quite certain you have been,” he replied. “But surely it is not a matter of good or bad?”
“No, of course not. That is not what I meant,” she murmured, confused all of a sudden by the gentle timber of his voice, and the soft smile on his lips. “I only meant I have had no relapses.”
“But the cravings remain.” He spoke the words she could not.
“Not so much now, only on occasion, very rarely,” she hurried to explain.
“I’ve learned a bit about managing those cravings.”
“Managing?” she asked hesitantly.
“Little things you can do to avoid them or at least anticipate and forestall them. And exercises you can utilize to lessen them when they creep up on you.”
“That sounds…” Emily stopped, took a deep breath. “That sounds beneficial. I must admit it scares me when they find me.”
“You are a strong lady, Miss Calvert.” He laid one hand gently on her arm and only then did she realize she’d wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to hold her jittery nerves inside.
“Sometimes I do not feel strong.”
“Everyone has those times when they feel weak and needy. And I do not mean only the opium and gin addicts. We all share those moments. It is how we react to them that demonstrates our strength.”
“Thank you, Dr. O’Connell,” she replied on a soft exhalation of breath. “I find I am glad to have run into you like this and I will send a note to you when our guests have departed. I would be pleased to have you to tea.”
“Until then, Miss Calvert.” He raised her hand gallantly to his lips and brushed a kiss over her gloved fingers.
Emily turned and watched him walk down the street, his long legs eating up the sidewalk, his hands swinging casually at his sides. When she turned back to the window before her, she saw Bernice watching her with a look of perplexity on her face.
“That gentleman is quite handsome,” her friend said some minutes later when they’d left the curio shop and entered the milliners so that Bernice could purchase a new pair of gloves.
“Dr. O’Connell?” Emily asked in surprise. “Is he?”
“Of course he is, so tall and poised. And that wonderful dark hair. I quite like a raven-haired gentleman.”
“I never would have guessed,” Emily teased.
“Yes, well, all things said, Dr. O’Connell is very attractive.” Bernice moved down the long counter, her hands trailing over the gloves displayed on its dark wood surface. “Did you make his acquaintance before or after your visit to London?”
“After,” Emily responded, wondering where this conversation was going.
“I see.”
“What do you think you see?” Emily demanded around a nervous laugh.
“Never mind. This pair, I think,” she told the shopkeeper, a short round man with a gleaming bald head and bushy white mustache.
“Mr. Kildare is a handsome man,” Emily said as Bernice took her wrapped gloves from the proprietor.
“Yes,” Bernice replied. “It was quite chivalrous of him to take me up on his horse with him.”
“I do not think Lord Jamison was impressed with his chivalry,” Emily pointed out.
“Mr. Kildare is a gentleman and others could certainly learn from his example,” her friend replied primly.
“What is the real story between you two?” Emily asked as she followed Bernice down a narrow aisle with tall shelves of fabric and ribbons.
“Me and Mr. Kildare?” Bernice asked, all feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You and Lord Jamison,” Emily replied though they both knew to whom she had been referring.
“There is no shared story between us, only my story. And it is long, and dreary, and seemingly without end.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It is past time I write an ending to the story. Perhaps not the one I had hoped for, but an ending nonetheless.”
“What will that ending be?”
“A happily-ever-after ending. The dark prince shall ride away into the sunset, the spell that has held the foolish princess in thrall shall be lifted, and she will go on to find true love. Or if not love, passion and friendship.”
“Are you quite sure love is more than passion and friendship?” Emily asked.
“You
tell me.” Bernice turned to face her with a smile. “You have clearly found both with Nicholas.”
Emily giggled, surprising them both with the girlish sound.
“Do tell,” Bernice urged in a throaty whisper.
“It is amazing, the things we do together,” Emily admitted, careful to keep her voice pitched low.
“In bed, you mean?”
“And in chairs. Did you know there all sorts of things a man and a woman can do together without risking the woman’s virginity?”
Bernice laughed softly, her breath tickling Emily’s cheek. “I am of the opinion most men wouldn’t recognize a virgin even as they breached her maidenhead.”
“Really?” Emily asked surprise.
“Truly, there is no need for a lady to worry about her maidenhead, or lack thereof. Especially not for ladies who spend time in the saddle.”
“Do you mean to say that riding might do away with one’s virginity?”
“Oh, yes, it’s entirely possible,” Bernice assured her. “And, honestly, what is all the fuss about anyway? Virtue, virginity, maidenheads, they are all relative terms, open for debate and interpretation. The only important thing is how a woman feels the first time she allows the man she loves to bed her. If she feels new and untouched, then she is.”
“Are you two ready to return to Lady Margaret’s house?” Lucinda asked as she came around the corner and turned into the aisle. “The gentlemen have grown bored and shall soon move from the tea room to the tap room if we dawdle in town any longer.”
“Ooh la la,” Bernice replied, linking her arm through Emily’s. “We wouldn’t want the gentlemen to get foxed in the morning. However would they occupy themselves for the rest of the day?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I don’t know that I even possess a maidenhead,” Emily told Nicholas that night as they lounged on his bed sipping whiskey amid a tangle of bedcovers.
