by Millie Adams
‘Briggs...’
‘Didn’t you want to live your fantasy tonight? Of going to a ball? Of having a man meet your eyes across the room and find you irresistible?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice a choked whisper.
‘I find you irresistible.’
She looked at him, her eyes wide, glittering, even in the moonlight.
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do, Beatrice, or we would not be out here.’
‘I thought perhaps you just wanted to walk.’
‘As much as I want to walk, I could take one in Grosvenor Square whenever I wished. I don’t wish to walk with you.’
‘What do you wish for me?’ she asked, her voice hushed.
They walked deeper into the garden, and he knew that they had to be deeper there before he risked answering her question.
‘What do I want from you?’ he asked as soon as the hedgerows enshrouded them completely. ‘Everything. Nothing less. I should have you kneel before me, Your Grace. I should have you do whatever I ask. Beg me to take you in hand and punish you for being such a temptress.’
Her breathing had quickened, he could hear it. Feel her pulse moving through the two of them. ‘You are in bad need of a punishment for what you have done to us both, don’t you agree?’
‘I don’t... I don’t know.’
‘You don’t have to know. You must only answer, yes, Your Grace. That is the only answer that will do.’
The pause she took was only a breath. A twinkle of starlight and nothing more, but it felt like an eternity.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Your Grace.’
Flames licked at his veins. Arousal pulsing through him so dark and heavy he thought he might be drowned by it.
They turned the corner, and he found a bench, perfectly situated there in the garden, such a private spot. And it was a bit early yet for others to be making their way out here for trysts. At least he hoped so.
And even if not.
She was his wife.
‘But here we are in a garden,’ he said. ‘In all things I have in mind for you... Not here.’
‘Why are you teasing me?’ she asked, her voice breathless.
‘I am very, very serious,’ he said. ‘I can assure you.’
He gripped her chin, tilted her face up, and kissed her. He had kissed her before, but it had been nothing compared to this. This was... He was not being careful with her. For the way that she looked at him, the way that she acted as if he had done her harm by not finishing what they had started in his garden back at the town house...
Tonight would either inflame her desire for more or would cure her of her need for him altogether. Either way, it would be fun. The kiss was bruising. And she gasped as he licked deeper and deeper into her mouth, bit her lower lip, before sucking it hard.
She did not have any skill. But what she lacked there she made up for in enthusiasm. She was gasping, arching her body against his, trying to get closer. Trying to get everything.
‘Be still,’ he said.
And she responded. That note of authority in his voice made her entire body go limp against his.
‘I will give you what you need. I promise.’
She whimpered, and he bit her lip again. ‘Do not doubt me. Trust me.’
He moved his finger down to where the fabric of her dress met the plump flesh of her bosom. He pushed his finger beneath that gap, letting it drift around that curve, and he felt goose pimples break out over her skin.
He knew that her nipples would be tight beneath her undergarments. And he wanted deeply to pull the top of her dress down, reveal them and suck them again. But, not now. He would not risk exposing her so thoroughly here.
A light touch was not his preference, but he could tell that it tormented her, and that, he did enjoy.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please.’
‘You will not get more until I say. You will not get release until I allow it. You are mine. My wife.’ The words sent a lightning bolt of arousal through his body. ‘Your satisfaction is my responsibility. It is also your reward. And it will not be claimed before I allow it.
‘You know what I mean, don’t you? Your release. What you experienced when you shattered in my arms in the garden.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I understand.’
‘Have you ever felt that before? When you are alone in your room, did you ever put your hand between your legs and stroke yourself?’
‘I...’
‘You’re a clever girl. You discovered that pain makes you feel powerful. That it thrills you. Did you discover how much touching yourself between your legs could thrill you?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘I see. And what is it you do? When you’re alone in your room? What is it you do when you cannot sleep?’
‘Sometimes... Sometimes I dig my fingernails into my palms. I do that when I am afraid. I was doing it the night of the ball, when I was trying to get up the courage to...’
‘I see. So you have given yourself pain, but never the pleasure to go with it.’
‘I like it,’ she said.
‘Good. So do I.’
‘Do you... Do you give yourself pain?’
He chuckled. ‘No. I like to give it.’
And he could see, in that veiled expression, there in the garden, that his answer terrified and thrilled her all at once.
‘But right now,’ he said. ‘There is something else. Something else I must do.’
He lowered his head and scraped his teeth along her collarbone, and he hoped, belatedly, that he had not left a mark. If so, she would have to retrieve her pelisse immediately.
He enjoyed residual marks on a woman’s skin from lovemaking, but he admitted that marking one’s own wife before having to go back into a ballroom was likely not the best thing.
He sat her down on the bench. And it was true, he preferred a woman on her knees before him, but, he had always known the power inherent in what he wished to do to her. So many men refused. Or were not skilled in the act.
And he had found that there was as much power to be had in branding a woman with pleasure, as guiding her in doing the same to him.
There was a tipping point, where pleasure could be used as torture, and this was one of the most effective ways he had found to do it.
They would not have infinite time here. But it would be enough.
He knelt before her and began to push her dress up over her knees. She locked them together.
‘What is the matter?’
‘I...’
‘So sweet,’ he said. ‘You really are an innocent, aren’t you?’
She nodded. ‘You know that I am. The only ways in which I am not innocent are ways I was marked by your hands.’
‘I delight in that,’ he said. ‘I should like to mark you all over.’
‘Briggs,’ she said, shivering.
‘Spread your legs for me.’
‘I...’
‘Spread them.’
She did so, and he pushed her skirts up the rest of the way, revealing that delightful triangle of pale curls at the apex of her thighs.
And his mouth watered.
‘You are beautiful,’ he said.
He pressed his thumb against that source of her pleasure that he knew was there, smoothed it in a circle, and listened as she cried out in pleasure.
She was wet.
Their kiss had done its job. Their conversation had done its job.
He shifted, pressing two fingers against her swollen lips down there, trapping that little bud there between them, rubbing his fingers back and forth, careful to avoid what she really wanted.
She was moving her hips back and forth, desperately seeking more.
And he loved it. Gloried and
revelled in it.
Then he put one leg of hers up over his shoulder, and another, bringing his face down so it was a scant inch from the glorious, wet heart of her.
‘Briggs...’
But he did not allow her to speak. Did not allow her to say the next word. He fastened his mouth to her, moving his tongue in firm, rhythmic strokes across her flesh.
He knew what she wanted. And he would give it to her. Almost.
He feasted on her, deep, long. Until she was panting, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
He found no particular pleasure in that, other than knowing that she was desperate for him. And for what only he could provide.
He took her close to the edge, then denied her. Pushing a finger inside her narrow, tight channel as he continued to feast on her. Took her to the edge, and then pulled back, pulled away.
She was mindless with need. Begging.
‘Soon,’ he said, working his finger in and out of her body. ‘Soon you can come.’
‘Please,’ she said.
‘Not yet.’
‘Please, Your Grace.’
Her words shot all the way to his sex, causing it to pulse.
He wanted her. Wanted nothing more than to satisfy the ache in his loins. Instead, he pushed another finger into her body, and bit down on her. She screamed, her orgasm sending a shock wave through her body, and then his.
And when it was done, he sat down on the bench, gathered her up in his arms and held her close while she sobbed out the rest of her pleasure. Held her until she quieted.
Then he rearranged her skirts, made sure that her hair was in place.
‘I cannot possibly go back in,’ she whispered.
‘Why not?’
‘I... Not after... You...’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have no such qualms.’
‘How nice for you. But that was singular for me.’
‘It was singular for me,’ he said, tracing his thumb down the side of her face. ‘You are extraordinary.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You were right. You are mine. And...’
‘I never said I was yours. You have said it. Frequently.’
‘All right. You were right in that this is your life. And as I have some measure of control over it... Dammit. Beatrice, I like to see you happy. I did not like the idea that once we left here tonight the joy that I saw on your face here would end. And selfishly... The way you look in this dress...’
‘You like the dress?’
‘I am bewitched by it.’ It was nothing less than the truth. Except, perhaps it was. Because perhaps it had less to do with the dress and more to do with her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, restless.
‘Thank you,’ he said, feeling amused. ‘That’s your response?’
‘I am flattered,’ she said.
‘Beatrice...’
‘What now?’
‘Tonight? Tonight we will go back inside, and you will enjoy this ball all the way to the finish. We will go home. You will sleep. Tomorrow morning, I will have your favourite breakfast made.’
‘You would not ask what my favourite breakfast is?’
‘What is it?’
‘Eggs. Bacon. And I like pastries and jam.’
‘All of them will be delivered to your room. Where you will take it as a queen. Then you and I will talk. And I will explain to you what will happen. What we will do. What I enjoy. And what our limits must be. And then... Tomorrow night after supper, when William is settled... I will show you.’
‘Briggs...’
‘Do you want this?’ He could hear the intensity in his words, but this was the most important thing. That she was giving this freely. With no reservation.
For he would lay out his every desire. His very soul.
And he had to know she would accept.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You don’t even know what I offer you yet.’
‘Because I trust you, Your Grace.’
The words sent a surge of desire through him.
‘Wait until I tell you everything. And then you may agree to it. Or not.’
‘I want more of this.’
‘It will not all be this, little one.’
‘Will it be more of what we had in the garden at the town house?’
‘Yes. And more.’
‘I enjoyed that.’
‘Good.’
‘What if I wanted...? Tonight. What if I wanted more tonight?’ She leaned forward, placing her palm flat on his chest, and he nearly felt dizzy with desire. He felt nearly overcome by his need to have her, and that was... Unusual. Typically, he had much better control over himself than this. But she was doing something to him.
Something he could not afford to allow her.
‘No,’ he said, keeping his tone gentle.
‘You wanted me to be honest with you. And I feel... Wonderful, but... Unsatisfied.’
He could relate.
‘It is of no consequence what you feel. You will learn to wait. And you will learn to wait until I tell you that you may have more. You must prove that you are able. You will prove your strength by waiting.’
‘I have always known I was strong,’ she said. ‘It is others who have assumed that I am weak.’
‘Then prove it. Prove to me that you are strong enough. To wait. And take whatever I have in store for you.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
* * *
When she woke the first thing she became conscious of was the smell of bacon.
She opened her eyes slowly and looked to see a tray beside the bed. A massive tray. Absolutely laden, not just with bacon, but with a near mountain of pastries that exceeded her every expectation, and certainly her every request.
The second thing she became conscious of was the fact that this meant he had kept his end of the bargain.
And that meant...
That meant the rest would be coming too. The rest. She still didn’t know what all of it was. But he said that he would explain it to her.
A rush of giddy joy filled her as she sat up in bed and reached out for the bacon.
She felt both lighter and more carefree, and more mature than she ever had in her life. What had happened last night had been a fantasy brought to earth. The sort of garden she had found escape in as a girl.
She had now found true desire there as a woman. Had found the truth of dreams fashioned into reality.
A need created in her, and satisfied so thoroughly she would never be able to forget either.
He was giving her what she wanted. He was. This was a real life. This life with Briggs.
It was hardly like Emma.
Okay, perhaps not. Perhaps it was not like Emma at all. He was, of course, an older man who had known her for quite some time, but there was no... It was not love, this thing between them.
And she would not claim to have had great expectations of love, not in her life. Not when she had spent so much of it being so desperately aware that she was broken.
There were some similarities of course, between the novel and her life. In that Briggs was a long-time friend of her family, and several years her senior.
But... She could not help but think about all the qualities that she had always liked about Mr Knightley. He was assured in his authority. And that was what she liked about Briggs.
His certainty. His authority. It had been what had always drawn her to him. Like a magnet. It was not simply that he was the best-looking man that she had ever seen, though he was. It was more.
A strange sort of twist happened low in her stomach.
It was an odd thing, what he’d said to her last night. That he liked to give out pain.
But then, she supposed she liked to receive it, and if th
ere was a person in the world who seemed made to receive pain, ought there not to be someone who enjoyed giving it?
It was as if they were two halves of a whole. Though that she and Briggs were each other’s half seemed...
Overly romantic.
She did not know how to reconcile the soft romance of books she had read with what seemed to exist between herself and Briggs. Last night he had done things to her that she had not been aware existed. Exactly as he had done to her in the garden here only two days earlier.
He was teaching her, without ever saying so, that there was a dimension of life she was not conversant in, and she desperately wished to be. But he had promised that she would be so. After this.
After tonight.
The thought made her nearly wild with nerves.
It was also somewhat pleasing.
She did wish that Eleanor was here. She would like very much to speak to her. To warn her about the sorts of intimacies that men like to take. Eleanor would be shocked.
For the first time in quite some time, she thought of Penny. Her friend who had been engaged at one time to Hugh.
Had her Highlander done these things to her? That strange group who had carried her off?
Penny, by all accounts, was happy. At least, she had indicated as such in her letters, when she had arranged for them to find help for a young Scottish girl called Mairi. Hugh had generously provided a reference for her to get into a very good school. Even though he was not ever going to forgive Penny for what he viewed as a transgression, he would not pass on any sort of harm to an innocent girl.
And once he had heard of Mairi’s plight, of the violation she had endured that had left her with child...
She sat there, stunned for a moment.
She had been left with child by a man who had... Taken something from her.
She had only vaguely understood these things, and her brother’s fury. But now she understood slightly better. She had wanted everything that Briggs had done to her, and she wanted to get more. One thing that was evident when he held her was his strength. And how greatly it overpowered her own. How easily.
If a man wished to force his attentions on a woman, there would be nothing she could do to stop it. How terrifying. How utterly horrible to have such intimacies taken when you were not desirous of the touch.
