Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

“Thank you, Christopher.” Her eyes were filled with a dawning shy hope and gratitude.

  Since she was awake, he kissed her once more, and enjoyed her response. Then he ran his hand soothingly over her forehead until her eyes shut again.

  Chapter 7

  At noon the next day, Katerina walked slowly and painfully into the little church where she would finally shake off the burden of her father's abuse for good. It was a small and plain building constructed of golden bricks. A single, simple rosette window, leaded but colorless, admitted light above a decorative arched entryway and wooden door. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the churchyard garden, now dormant under the grip of a frigid London winter.

  Her icy blue wedding dress, borrowed from the bishop's late wife's closet, fit badly, being both too short and too generously cut for her, but there was no help for it. Her white party gown had been ruined with blood. Thankfully, overnight, the bleeding had stopped, and the wounds once again scabbed over. She felt dreadfully stiff, but persevered as best she could, moving carefully so as not to upset her healing injuries. She leaned heavily on Christopher for support. They stood in front of an altar with a colorful stained-glass window behind, beneath a white barrel-vaulted ceiling, decorated with a wide wooden lattice.

  Thankfully, though sore and uncomfortable, today she did not feel faint. A good night's sleep and a tasty breakfast had helped immensely. She felt a fierce pleasure in the knowledge that while her father, undoubtedly, was searching for, he would never find her in time. It bolstered her confidence, this harsh, aggressive mood. Ironically, no matter how good she had been, she'd never been able to satisfy his demands. And now I'm was being very bad, defying him, and the rewards will be considerable. By the time he could ferret out the name of her companion, she would be wedded and bedded and out of his reach. Again, the unfairness of this situation for Christopher struck her, but she reminded herself that he knew what he was doing. At least I hope he does. And she would try to become a wife worthy of such a man. Someday, Lord willing, I'll succeed.

  The ceremony was as brief as Reverend Cary could make it. There would be no party to celebrate it, no elaborate meal, no dancing. As soon as the vows were completed, Christopher led his bride down the aisle, supporting her with his arm around hers, back to his carriage, in which they crossed town to his home; messy and cramped bachelor's quarters never intended to be shared with a woman. The whole living space consisted of only two rooms: a parlor and a bedroom. The parlor contained sparse furnishings, as little would fit into the narrow space. Christopher owned only a small sofa, of the typical style with a high curving back, solid arms that curled into a spiral, and short, square legs. It was covered in a turquoise colored fabric, tufted on the back and studded at the bottom. He also had two matching armchairs, white with a pattern of turquoise leaves, which complimented the sofa. I wonder if he's a bit of a dandy, or if Julia chose the furnishing. Katerina suspected the latter, as the style closely resembled that of the Bennett family home. A short-legged table stood in the center, littered with dirty cups and abandoned mail.

  * * *

  “Sorry about this, love,” Christopher told her as he escorted her over the threshold into the sitting room, “I'll look into finding us a home soon.” He swept a pile of jumbled papers from the sofa to the floor and urged her to sit, joining her and taking her hand in his. What a mess.

  “I'm just glad to be here with you,” she replied, lacing their fingers together.

  “Can I get you anything?” Courtesy had prompted the question, but he had little to offer in the apartment other than liquor, wine, and half a loaf of bread almost certainly too stale to eat. He took most of his meals in the hotel's dining room.

  “No, thank you,” she replied. “Can we proceed?”

  “With what?” he asked.

  “I'm not really safe yet, am I, Christopher? Isn't there another step?”

  He shook his head. There's no way. “You're not ready.”

  “It hardly matters. This has to happen,” Katerina insisted.

  “You're too badly injured,” he said, not finished arguing. This conversation can't truly be happening.

  “And if he finds me? Can he not take me away, have the marriage annulled?” she pointed out.

  “He could,” Christopher agreed reluctantly. Does she have to be right? Can I argue? I don't want to hurt her more.

  “And then I would die,” she stated in a hard, flat voice.

  Christopher broke eye contact, tracing the pattern of vines across the upholstery of the sofa. It's true.

  “Then there's nothing more to be said, is there? Let's go.” She tugged on his hand.

  “Kat, you don't know what you're asking,” Christopher protested.

  “You're right. You promised to explain it to me.” She regarded him with an unruffled expression that demonstrated her powerful innocence.

  “Do you have any idea what is involved in consummating a marriage?” he asked, hoping she had some clue.

  “My mother died when I was nine. I have no idea.”

  “Oh, Lord.” He sighed, steeled himself, and proceeded “Very well. This is going to be a difficult conversation. Are you ready?” She nodded. “All right, you know your woman's time?”

  “Yes.” She was already blushing.

  “There's an opening there… between your legs.”

  “Yes.” The pink in her cheeks darkened.

  “I have to fill it,” he said. He swallowed hard. Making love is so much easier to do than to explain.

  She blanched and then looked at him, bewildered. “With what?”

  “With my… my… let me show you.” He took her hand and guided it to the front of his trousers. Her eyes widened.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  “Yes. Of course.” But her eyes still asked so many questions.

  “It fits right in. And then, well, there's… a substance that comes out. I put it inside you, and, if the timing is right, and the Lord wills it, a baby is created.”

  “That's the consummation?” He was pleased to note she appeared curious rather than revolted.

  “Yes.”

  “And it causes bleeding?” she asked. Now you look worried, do you, love? Well rightly so. It's not a joke.

  “The first time,” he replied. There's a little… blockage inside you. Your maidenhead. I break it when I enter you.”

  “The first time?” Her delicately arched brows drew together. “How many times do we do this?”

  “Often,” he replied. “It's quite… pleasurable.”

  She raised one eyebrow.

  “You see, love,” he told her gently, “you're not ready. I married you to save you, but now you're my wife. It's for life, you know? I'm not keen on adultery. Disgusting practice. Therefore, from now on, you're my only source of sexual satisfaction. I don't want you to become… unwilling because we were intimate before we gave desire time to develop.”

  Though confused and embarrassed, she still pressed. “But there's no choice. We have to. I won't be safe until we do it.”

  “I know,” he replied, trying to explain his vague discomfort, “but it's also our first time making love together. You're giving me your virginity. All of that matters. I want it to be good for you, so you'll like it.”

  She considered his words. “Even if this time is… difficult, I promise I'll let you keep doing it until we get it right. I'm a wreck right now, but I don't want to stay this way forever. I want to be a good wife.”

  Christopher grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, my dear. That might make the difference.”

  “Shall we proceed then?”

  She was right, and he knew it, but he still had grave doubts. “Very well.”

  He helped her onto her feet and led her into his bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was small, barely room inside for a modest wardrobe and a bed, simple and unadorned, with good quality sheets and covers but no hangings or side curtains.

  “This is normally do
ne nude, you know,” he told her. She blushed but nodded. Turning, she let him open her borrowed dress, dropping it to the floor, lifting her bloodied chemise over her head.

  In the daylight, the wounds on her back looked even more terrible, and they extended almost to her knees. How many times had she been beaten bloody and no one tried to help? Too many. Well, no more. Abandoning this line of thought, he pushed back the covers on his bed, glad to note the cleaning woman had changed the sheets.

  He extended a hand and she gripped it for support, climbing onto the mattress.

  “Get into a comfortable position, love,” he instructed. “I'll work around what you can manage.”

  She lay down on her uninjured side, facing him, her arm under her head. From the front, she looked less desperately damaged, and he could focus his attention on her blushing cheeks, her pretty breasts and her soft thighs, and ignore the yellow and purple bruises on her abdomen. He undressed quickly and joined her, face to face, leaning in for a long sweet kiss.

  “You like kissing, don't you, little love?” he asked, his lips inches from hers.

  “Yes. Is that good?”

  Her hesitant eagerness charmed him, reminding him why all this had been necessary. “It's an excellent start. You know, if you open a little, I can give you an even better kiss.”

  “Really?” She sounded doubtful. She likes kissing that much, does she? Good.

  “Try it. Don't be startled though.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “You'll see.”

  Her lips parted. He lowered his mouth to hers again, pulling the pins from her hair to let the long dark strands fall all around her. How beautiful she is. Working up the desire to be intimate with her would not be difficult at all. He already desired her, but he really did want her to find joy in their marriage bed someday, and so he had to take her slowly.

  Stroking the silky strands, he let his tongue touch her lips. She drew in a deep breath but didn't protest, allowing his experience to guide them. Excellent. He entered her mouth. She tasted of tea and woman, and he worked her mouth gently for long moments while her surprise faded. Eventually, she began to respond instinctively to his kiss, touching his tongue hesitantly with hers. How nice. He let her explore for a few moments and then drew back.

  “Was that wrong?” she asked, her eyes filled with worry. It occurred to him that in her mind doing things wrong was not just embarrassing but potentially dangerous.

  He hastened to reassure her. “No, it was perfect.”

  “I feel like such a bad girl, being nude in bed with you.” Her eyes turned shy, though he would not say exactly ashamed.

  “Ironically, the same characteristics that make a bad girl make a good wife,” Christopher replied. “Now that we're married, love, you have every right and responsibility to share your lovely body and your sweet kisses with me, and I have the same towards you.”

  “Good. I like the way you touch me,” she said as his fingers stroked through her hair.

  “You haven't had enough affection in years, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I'll take care of that for you.” His words made her smile, nervously, but sincerely. “Now then, are you ready for a little more?”

  “Such as?”

  “You have lovely little breasts. May I touch them?”

  Confusion again. “Why do you want to?”

  Christopher squashed his frustration. It's not her fault she doesn't know. At least she has no preconceived notions. “I think you might enjoy the sensation.”

  “Is it allowed?”

  “If we had time, I would let you read Song of Solomon. If the scriptures glory in a man touching his wife's breasts, we have nothing to worry about.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “You're right. I'd forgotten that part.”

  “You read it?” His eyes widened.

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. Under the crushing weight of abuse, a passionate woman waited to be released. Something told him all the time it would take for her to heal would be worthwhile in the end. And so, he ran his hand up the length of her side, skimming lightly over the bruise, and stroked up to her collarbone. How beautifully slender she is. He traced his fingers down to the little globe. There really wasn't an excess of flesh there, but the nipple was lovely, and he caressed it tenderly, plucking it, making it rise under his fingers, and then gripping it gently.

  “Oh,” she sighed, “that's very nice.”

  “Good.”

  “Christopher, may I put my arm around you?”

  He beamed. “Of course. Yes.”

  She wriggled closer to him and laid her arm over his waist. The sensation of her warmth and softness against his body made his sex ache. Easy, lad. You'll have your chance soon enough. He transferred his attention to her other breast and she sighed again. She likes to be touched so far, thank the Lord. I don't think I could do this if she was protesting. Stoking and tugging first one tender peak and then the other, he listened carefully to each soft sigh and whimper, learning how her untutored body wanted to be touched. He claimed her lips again and she responded eagerly, opening to his questing tongue, twining hers around his, and even chasing it back into his mouth. Suddenly, her back arched, thrusting her hips forward so her pubic hair slid along his belly. The ache in his penis ratcheted up to near pain as it demanded satisfaction. Fighting down the urge to tumble her to her back and plunge in, he continued kissing her while he aroused her. I love how her body softens and relaxes moment by moment. She's such a good girl, so willing to let me try. And so, he fondled her tenderly. If only she were well, how I would delight in caressing her back, cupping her bottom, kissing her belly. Someday I'll show her all these pleasures. I'm sure now that she'll let me.

  At last, she was squirming with pleasure and it was time to move on to greater intimacy. He took her knee in one hand to lift and bend it, giving himself access to her.

  “It's very important that you let me touch you here,” he indicated her mound.

  “Why?” This time her confusion did not surprise him.

  “As I pleasure you, you will become wetter inside. Then, when I take you, it will be much easier for us both. Can you let me touch your private parts?”

  She didn't speak. Her eyes closed, but her leg remained bent, permitting the access. He stroked the coarse curls for a long moment. Already there was some dampness there, on the outside of her lips. Excellent. He spread the folds and touched her core. Wet. Wonderfully wet. Finding her portal, he dipped one finger inside. So tight, and there's her hymen, intact. So, her father hadn't molested her. That's one good thing out of the whole damned situation. He probed further, and she squeaked. He sighed. It's a thick maidenhead though, and she'll have some pain in the breaking of it. In the meanwhile, he wanted to give her more pleasure. His fingers slid through her folds, upward, until he found what he had been seeking, a little erect nub of exquisite sensitivity. She gasped, and he could tell she had not realized the spot existed before this moment.

  “Are you sure this is right for us to do?” she asked again in a breathy, uncertain voice.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “How do you know?”

  How to respond? The inspiration came like an answer to prayer. “My dear, if the Lord didn't intend women to experience sexual pleasure, would he really have equipped them with an organ that has no other purpose?”

  “I suppose not,” she replied, struggling through a visible blend of embarrassment and arousal to try for a neutral answer. She did not succeed in any way. Christopher grinned. I'm doing something right then.

  “Then let me touch it, he urged. “The more I caress you, the better our joining will be.”

  And then he kissed her while his fingers worked gently between her thighs. She's nervous, of course, but again she submitted without question. And just as he had predicted, moisture surged. Her breathing grew unsteady and ragged.

  “If you feel something building, don't
be alarmed. Let it happen,” he advised her. Her thighs tensed as the pleasure he was stoking built and built… and then burst.

  She squealed in startled delight as her belly contracted, her intimate flesh throbbed. He worked her through the peak tenderly; thankful he had been able to get her to orgasm under such desperate circumstances. “Very good, love. You're doing wonderfully. What an excellent wife you're going to be.”

  “Oh, that was lovely,” she sighed, her body relaxing.

  “Now do you understand why people want to do this?”

  “Yes.” Her cheeks glowed, but with satisfaction rather than embarrassment this time.

  He let her lean against him for a long moment, basking in the glow. He rested his arm on her hip and toyed with the ends of her hair. I'm so glad you let yourself enjoy this, love. I hope the rest won't be too upsetting.

  At last, she sighed. When she met his eyes, he could see reality had returned. “That wasn't really it, was it? You didn't do… what you told me about.”

  “You're right,” he agreed. “But now you're more ready. All right. Now, how do we do the rest? Normally I would have you on your back, but that won't work. On the side is too difficult, and I don't want you standing. Hmmm. How shall I take you?”

  Suddenly inspired, Christopher piled up a mound of pillows.

  “Here, roll over and lean on this.”

  She obeyed.

  “That should take some pressure off your back. All right, I'm coming behind you.”

  Damned strange way to take a virgin. Sadly, he could think of nothing else under the circumstances. It also gave him her whole damaged back, bottom and thighs to look at while he positioned himself. Poor darling. The terrible sight dampened his desire considerably, but it also reminded him why this was necessary.

  At least he was able also to look at her intimate flesh. What a pretty flower she has, innocent and untried, but drenched from her first orgasm. He spread the lips again, this time finding her virgin portal and aligning his sex with it. He pressed the tip into her, and she gasped.

  “Katerina, I know you have some experience tending injuries,” he said, or rather moaned as her luscious tight heat engulfed him.