by Darcy Burke
“What changed your mind?” He caressed her back from hip to shoulder.
His kisses. “The flowers.”
He laughed exultantly and brushed his nose against hers, tightening his grip around her waist. Feathering a kiss on her lips, he whispered, “Not the chocolates?”
It had been when he’d taken on the local bully, an authority no-one even questioned, and won. And how he’d brought her with him so she was part of the feat. “The chocolates helped.”
And how kind he’d been to Annie. He deserved her trust. “We should ask Father Didcot to publish the banns this Sunday.” She punctuated every other word with a kiss. “You should come back to my house. No one else need know.”
“Mm.” He made a teasing sound of pleasure. “Are you suggesting fornication, my love?”
“Yes.”
He released her and reached into his pocket, pulling out the little ring and the certificate, slipping the latter into her reticule. He regarded her with somber brown eyes. “Will you wear this ring?”
“Will you indulge me?” Now she’d freed herself to want him, it was a driving need in her.
“Not until you wear the ring,” he said in a singsong.
She allowed him to take her left hand in both of his and slip the ring onto her fourth finger. Raising her hand, he leaned over and kissed her knuckles before he turned her wrist and placed the softest of kisses into her palm. Lydia felt another surge of craving.
“Now, let’s go to the vicarage and arrange to be married immediately.”
“But you said...?” She pouted as seductively as she dared.
“If you think I’m going to do anything more than kiss you senseless in the public road, when we’re not yet married, you have sorely misjudged me.” His eyes gleamed. “I mean for us to be together, not be caught like naughty youngsters.”
Her delighted laughter rang out across the field.
Chapter 16
They were married in the parish church. Lydia had produced the death certificate for Father Didcot before he’d call the first banns with all the nonchalance of one who hadn’t acquired the paper illegally only days ago.
Annie was incandescent as her bridesmaid, taking the role very seriously, even as she struggled to stand properly. Elizabeth was still looking after her, holding Annie’s hand as she walked down the aisle behind Lydia. The whole village was there, but Lydia only saw one person. Alfred.
Once, she’d been a middle-class girl with aspirations of marrying an earl. Now, coming from poverty to live with a darling man, she saw lucidly. This was her Cinderella story. A modest teacher was her prince charming. Better still, whenever she caught Alfred’s eye, his gaze was full of promise and heat.
In the parlor they talked about plans. The improvements to the house or whether to move to a larger one, where to find suitable premises for the school, and what to do about Mail Coach becoming excessively noisy. Alfred’s gaze flicked between her and the clock. And the knowledge he was waiting, nay willing, it to be late enough for them to go to bed warmed her. Eventually, Annie had gone to bed and it was time.
Alfred offered her his hand as they ascended the stairs. His arms were around her as soon as the bedroom door clicked behind them. His mouth was hot and demanding and he pulled her body flush with his. She reached up to his shoulders, strong and lean under her palms, and dragged him to her with equal force.
All their restraint went. He kissed her ferociously, his hands exploring her back, her waist, and growling with frustration at the encumbrance of her skirts.
“My wife, finally,” he groaned. “Let me touch you. I want…”
“I know, husband.” She wanted that too. She nuzzled her cheek to his. “Will you help me undress?”
His black pupils were gratifyingly large, even as he laughed. “I doubt I’ll be much help.” He put her away from him and looked into her eyes as he took a deep breath. “I’ve never done this before.”
Recognition crept through her like a black cat stalking a bird. He’d waited for her. This brilliant, beautiful man was all hers.
“We’ll work it out.” The two of them, together. Because she counted nothing she’d done before, without love, as the same as being with Alfred.
He chuckled.
That was a start. The right start, love and laughter. “I want to feel your skin next to mine. Undress me.”
“Like a present.” He ran his hands down her sides, lingering over her breasts, sending tingles through her. “A very well wrapped present.”
“The buttons are here.” She was breathless with want as she undid the flap that covered the laces of her corset.
“This is...” His fingers lingered, stroking around her waist with the last button. “I might never understand the complexities of your clothing.”
“You’ll get better.”
“Yes.” His eyes were suddenly serious. “I hope I will. I hope I’ll have experience every night and morning of how to most efficiently undress you.” Cupping her jaw with his hand, he kissed her thoroughly, plundering her mouth. His thumb rubbed on her cheek with a tenderness in contrast to the hunger of his lips.
He wasn’t smooth like a rake, undressing her without her even realizing. Neither was he coarse, ripping off her clothes in a fit of destructive passion. He was the middle way. A man waiting for her approval, kissing her honestly and deeply. This wasn’t a punishing kiss, or a practiced seduction, it was sheer passion, for her and her alone.
“Well, you’d better show me how to undress you.” He held up his hands, sly challenge in his eyes.
“I can’t do that.” It would be too wanton. Too much like a young imprudent woman with a man who’d never respect her.
“Leave it behind.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss into the sensitive flesh of her palm.
“What?” The kiss, intimate and innocent all at once, seemed to course through her. She looked into his brown eyes and saw only love.
“Leave it all behind.” He moved his lips to her wrist, leaving a tingle of heat. “Everything that happened in the past doesn’t matter now. It’s just you and me.”
Her hand was cupped in both of his, cherished. His breath seemed to impress his words into her. For ten years the past had been the present, with a risk of discovery and a burden of shame. The freedom he’d given her percolated from her wrist to her core and beyond to her extremities. He made her brave.
“Now,” he said, voice smooth and dark. “Take off your clothes, my love.”
She quaked, but not with fear. An intoxicating mix of excitement and nervousness jumped in her belly. She felt his scorching observation on her skin as she peeled off her dress, the friction of the fine wool wedding dress on her skin was unbearably erotic. Her confidence built as the garments fell. His gaze caressed her as she removed each layer and her heartbeat accelerated accordingly. Her petticoats tumbled to the floor in a froth of white cotton. She ought to feel vulnerable being watched as she stripped off her defensive garb, but feminine power coursed through her. Reaching to her waist she tugged the bow and released her miget bustle.
“Smuggling a basket,” Alfred observed wryly, but his eyes were full of heat.
“Affordable fashion with extra storage,” she quipped and offered him the bustle to examine.
He took it and cast it aside, never taking his gaze from her. “I like you better without it.”
She smoothed her hands over her corset, boned lines covered with cotton. The laces were easy enough to release, but it wasn’t so elegant, taking off a corset. A corset held in all the wobbles and squeezed her waist. Her body wasn’t that of a nubile young woman any longer. She had flesh over her hips and lines across her stomach. Her heart fluttered at the thought he’d find her too curved, too old and for a second she froze.
It was just the two of them, she told herself as she lifted the loose corset over her head. Courage. She must have courage.
“Ohhh.” His exhalation sounded like a prayer. “I’ve dreamed of you but yo
u’re more beautiful than I could imagine.”
How could words strengthen and melt her?
“I can help with this part,” he said, striding toward her. He bunched her chemise and dragged it over her sensitized skin as he lifted it off, leaving her bare.
“Too tempting,” he murmured and lowered his head to her breasts. His mouth on her nipple sent delicious shocks through her. She’d thought her breasts too large, not as perky as they’d been when she was young, but it was impossible to hold that concern when pleasure flew. Gratification warred with greed. She wanted to grab his head and hold him exactly where he was. She yearned to see him naked and finally touch his skin.
Greed won. She fumbled at his coat lapels, distracted by escalation in his attentions to her breasts. His coat slipped from his shoulders onto the floor. Her sound of triumph became a moan of pleasure as he grazed his teeth on her nipple. Tacitly, it became a game. She tried to undo the buttons on his waistcoat, and he grabbed her bottom, pulling her to him so his erection pressed to her belly. She wouldn’t be dissuaded, but neither would he. Her success removing his waistcoat was punished by ardent kisses trailing up to her neck and back down to her breasts. Tugging his shirt from his trousers caused him to retaliate by sneaking a hand between the join of her drawers, making her gasp as he cupped her sex. When she finally got his shirt off him, he’d undone the ties on her drawers and thrust a finger into the soaking place between her legs.
They tumbled onto the bed, clothes finally shed, each intent on their own exploration and the pleasure of the other. One day she’d familiarize herself with each gorgeous part of him while he did nothing but let her. Right now, his need fueled hers. His arms were muscled and his whole body was lean, but she couldn’t fully appreciate that because his thumb feathered her nipple, soft yet enough to send sensation to her core. She stroked the dark hair smattered across his chest, down to where it trailed from his belly button and became thicker. His cock jutted up from the black curls, magnificent. Her body throbbed with need. As if he knew what the sight of him did to her, his fingers returned to her wet slit, gentle, then distracting, then adamant. Their mouths met in a hot jumble of a kiss.
“Lie above me.” She tugged his shoulder. Without shame, she opened her legs to make a place for him. He groaned but obeyed, settling himself over her.
“How am I supposed to restrain myself when you’re laid out beneath me?” He braced his arms each side of her head.
“You’re not.” She gave him a wicked grin. “You’re supposed…” She reached down. She guided his member until the tip rested at her entrance. They both gasped. He felt too big, but she was slick. The seconds stretched out as they felt their contrasts and their potential.
“That feels incredible,” he panted out.
She was slick, pouring out at the edges. This was tantalizing, the edge of fulfilment.
“Push.” She smiled. “It’s about to feel even better.”
He nudged forwards, stretching her. He felt so good, so right. She stretched her legs out wider to accommodate him, but even as slippery as she was, she gasped as the head of his member pushed through.
“Lydia,” he stopped and whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.” But his eyes begged to permit him more, his arms vibrating with the effort of stillness.
“Please,” she gasped. “More. I want you inside me, now.” She grabbed his buttocks and tried to bring him further into her.
“I’m yours to guide.”
“Thrust.” She dug her nails into his skin. “Hard.”
He groaned and sank fully into her. They remained like that for a long moment, fully joined, his hips resting against hers, nothing between them. His chest pressed on hers and their mouths touching, sharing the same air.
Then they were moving together, his hands stroking, holding, and grasping and she was doing the same. She needed him closer, all the time closer. Wild need caught her like a gale tosses a leaf. Wrapping her legs around his hips she urged him on, holding his face between her hands to kiss him deeply. The sensation built in her as his skin rubbed on hers as he thrust. Her orgasm exploded through her. As the pulses subsided, he followed her. His rhythm went frantic and she kissed his jaw as he cried out with pleasure.
As she relaxed into sleepy bliss, she smiled wryly to herself. It hadn’t lasted long, but then it was their first time.
He dragged the covers back and pulled her to him, tucking her head onto his shoulder and his arm wrapped across her shoulders. She was wrapped in the warmth of him and the blankets.
“Don’t you want to put night-clothes on?” He was utterly beautiful, even in the dark. A layer of cotton might help her sleep rather than want to touch him all night.
“No.” He kissed her nose. “I want to spend as much time as possible skin to skin with you. Holding your hand during the day, your back next to my chest at night.”
He was so matter of fact, it soothed every last fear. She’d done the right thing. She could trust him. “I love you.”
“That’s a relief.” There was a smile in his voice. “Because I adore you.”
Epilogue
Since opening the new Elmswell school, they’d both been absurdly busy. The premises had been the fortuitous chance of an estate neighboring Sir Thomas coming up for sale. But hiring teachers and their program of activities for the children was time consuming. In addition to the usual subjects, they’d included astronomy, reading from a huge library of books and pamphlets, and orations from local people. Sir Thomas was the first to agree to talk, then the local union leader. When others heard the union leader would talk to children, it was surprising how quickly they wanted to ensure the youth heard their opinions too.
Their flock of chickens had increased in size substantially, in line with their egg requirements. Most of the children boarded and so required breakfast. The day pupils, even from better-off families, often had eaten nothing before school. A boiled egg had seemed a simple solution—they could be handed out, with a slice of bread, before morning class. The result was no rumbling bellies in the morning. The teachers reported the children were paying more attention too, so they’d instigated it as a daily routine, complete with some children helping collect the eggs and clean the chickens houses out every day.
It was just after Lydia had finished supervising this task and was washing her hands when she noticed a carriage at the front of the school.
Alfred had mentioned an enquiry from a family about enrolling a boarding pupil and she’d dressed accordingly, in a pale blue linen dress that spoke of modest charm. The pupil was a young lady just a few years younger than Annie, apparently. Too young to be away from her parents, in Lydia’s opinion, but perhaps such a child would be better off in the caring environment of their school.
“Darling.” Alfred came into the scullery as she was washing her hands, closing the door carefully after him. He came up behind her at the sink, touched her waist and put a soft kiss on the side of her neck. “Mm. I’m so distracted by how beautiful you are.”
A shiver of pleasure went down her back. His proximity was enough to spread warmth all through her. Even when she was washing her hands and there was a more pressing issue than indulging the lust that ought to be sated by their ample nighttime activities.
“The new pupil?” she enquired archly.
He dropped another kiss, just under her ear, before stepping to the side and releasing her. “Would you like to speak with this potential student on her own, then decide if you want to talk to the parents? The grandparents are here too.”
Lydia raised her eyebrows and scrubbed at her hands. “The whole family. Maybe you’re right, I’ll talk with the child and see if she really wants to come to a school, away from the pressure of her family.”
His mouth stretched in acknowledgement. “I’ll have her wait in the parlor for you.”
She reached for a towel to dry her hands. “I’ll just remove my apron then come now.”
Alfred smiled, little lines aro
und his eyes creasing. He held out his hand to her, worry furrowing his brow. She dropped the towel and grasped his hand.
“All will be well,” she assured him. “If the child doesn’t want to come to school, we’ll sort it out.”
He squeezed her hand, looked into her eyes, and left.
Hanging up her apron, Lydia smoothed her dress and checked the hem for anything undesirable. Then she headed for the parlor. It took her a moment to see the little girl, sitting on a sofa, swinging her legs as she waited.
Her breath caught in her chest. Pale blond hair, not so well caught in a red ribbon that the swirl wasn’t evident. Her frame was slight, her hands fidgeting, and her eyes were brown. The girl was the image of Matilda at the same age, apart from the eyes. Restless, cute, with nascent beauty that was too big a word for a small girl with a nose that was still snub. But brown eyes. If she’d been pacing around the room disobediently, she could have been Lydia herself.
“Good day.” The girl looked at her curiously.
It was a measure of Lydia’s disconcertedness that she hadn’t been the first to say something. “Welcome.”
It was a coincidence. It couldn’t be her niece, Matilda’s daughter. That was ridiculous. Alfred would have said something.
Except, he might not have. He wouldn’t have wanted to get her hopes up. But hadn’t Matilda written, years ago, and said that Lord Lakenham had dark brown eyes?
The girl was watching her with speculative patience.
“I—I’m Mrs. Lowe. I’m the house mistress here. What’s your name?”
“Catherine.”
Lydia’s mouth fell open. “Catherine,” she repeated. That was her mother’s name. It was also the name of her niece, since Matilda had named her daughter for their mother.
“Yes.” The girl, Catherine, pressed her lips together, eyes wide.
“And your parents?” Lydia’s voice was faint.
“Papa is Lord Lakenham and Mama is Lady Lakenham.”
Her heart stopped. Alfred had said the whole family were here, including Catherine’s grandparents. She must have let out a cry, because Catherine’s face wrinkled in dismay.
