Chapter 21
His grandfather’s words filled his thoughts of late. The curse. If nothing else, it had made his family infamous. It had also brought unwanted attention. Their blood ties to the late Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, were removed by several generations. How did the connection go? His grandfather was fourth cousin to the author of Frankenstein? Or was it third?
Riordan had never met them, as the two branches were not close. Though they shared a number of progressive causes, his grandfather couldn’t abide William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft’s husband. He leaned toward anarchism—far too radical for the earl. Besides, the man contacted the earl more than once before his death in 1836 looking to borrow money, as did his wife before him. To Riordan’s grandfather, that was well past enough, and he decided to have no further dealings with them.
Did a version of the curse touch the other branch of the family? There was solid evidence. Mary Wollstonecraft died in childbirth at the age of thirty-eight. One of her daughters reportedly committed suicide at age twenty-two. Mary Shelley’s first child, a daughter, did not survive birth. Then Mary found herself a widow at twenty-five when her husband, the poet Percy Shelley, drowned in Italy. But death touched all families. Riordan remained dubious, yet cautious about the curse.
As an educator, he was open to interpreting and learning all he could. The curse could not be completely dismissed. Once, when he and Aidan played in the dusty attics of the ancient Wollstonecraft Hall, they came across a neglected trunk. Locked, of course, but that would not deter fourteen-year-old boys filled with curiosity. Once they broke the lock, the insides turned out to be a disappointment. No gold coins or other treasure, just moldering ledgers. Aidan had stomped off in disgust, but Riordan stayed behind to investigate.
As Garrett had stated, generations of Wollstonecrafts suffered devastating losses of loved ones, mostly female. All were meticulously catalogued in the ledger, but one entry stayed with Riordan. It was written in 1704, by the ancient Earl of Carnstone. In visiting an infamous Scottish sorceress, he begged her to remove the curse, as he had lost his second wife to illness. The woman claimed only a love bond by all the living men of the family during a lunar year would break the curse.
What could it mean? That every living Wollstonecraft man must fall in love within any twelve month period? Unbelievable. And unrealistic. Regardless, the sobering proof of the endless rows of gravestones dating hundreds of years back would give any man cause to believe. Should he live his life as Garrett does, far removed from romantic entanglements, or instead embrace the overwhelming feelings of love coursing through him?
Three nights ago, he shared something rare with Sabrina. A desire he’d never known. Since losing his virginity at seventeen, he’d gained knowledge in the art of love. With each affair he learned a new technique; when to love with slow purpose and when to engage in wild sex. He enjoyed both equally and believed that in any intimate relationship there was room to explore both aspects.
But he was also a considerate lover, mindful of a woman’s pleasure. And her trepidations. Sabrina had plenty. Over the next several weeks he would show her that sex did not have to include the violations she’d been subjected to. His anger flared at the thought of her miserable husband.
Riordan glanced down at his beefsteak sandwich. He’d decided at the last minute to not go home for luncheon break today. Instead, he stayed at the school in order to make up lesson plans for the coming week, leaving Saturday and Sunday free. Spend it with Sabrina. He yearned to move beyond sizzling kisses and her touching him. God, how he wished to see her lying flat, her legs spread, him feasting as she writhed and moaned, culminating in her release.
They would get there. The vision formed in his mind, and he was lost in the erotic fantasy and did not hear a young lad enter the schoolroom.
“Are you Mr. Riordan Black?”
His attention returned to the present. “Yes, I am.”
The lad touched his forelock. “Delivery for you, sir.” Riordan fumbled in his pocket, found a shilling, and passed it to the boy. “Thank you, sir.”
He handed an envelope to Riordan, turned on his heel, and departed. There, on the reverse of the sturdy envelope was the wax seal of the Wollstonecrafts; a large wolf standing on a stone, howling at full bore. Breaking the seal, he pulled out the papers.
From his father. Riordan frowned as he read: Do not become angry, Riordan, but I have set a tentative date for the annulment hearing, with the understanding that if Miller Kenworth does not hear from you by the end of November the appointment will be henceforth cancelled.
The option is there if you wish. I did say I would not interfere, but I wanted to use our family’s influence to our advantage in order to procure a date as soon as possible. As you stated, you are of age, and the decision is ultimately yours. Regardless of my initial reaction, I will abide by and respect your judgment.
As I respect and love you. Forgive my harsh words. Riordan paused, his annoyance dissipating. A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. You are not your brother. Chalk up my irrational and emotional behavior to worry and concern, not only for you, but for Aidan’s mysterious disappearance.
Love, Papa
Julian Wollstonecraft had not used “Papa” since Riordan and Aidan were small boys. The affection and love in this note touched him. Leave it to the inventive Viscount Tensbridge. Did his father believe him not capable of handling this situation? The note stated the decision was his. However, he now understood why Aidan bristled under their father’s firm hand and high expectations.
A postscript he’d missed: Garrett has hired an investigator in London, a former Bow Street Runner by the name of Edwin Seward, to begin the search for Aidan. I will keep you apprised of any updates.
Folding the paper, he slid it into the envelope. He had at least two weeks to decide when to inform Sabrina of this. It would be an early exit. He would not keep this information from her. Enough secrets lay between them already. As soon as she learned his true identity, and the fact that her father had not put up a settlement, she would know the money had come from him.
How would she react? Anger for his high-handed interference? Another man controlling her life? Or would she look beyond and see that all he wished was to give her what she most desired: her freedom. A chance to live an independent life. He’d wanted to protect her from the hurtful knowledge of her father selling her. For when it came down to it, he wanted Sabrina to choose between a life with him or the life she originally planned.
Not that a life with him would be stifling. He would give her freedom, property, money, anything she wished. For he truly believed all women should have rights, own property, and not be chattel to heartless, soulless fathers and husbands.
In the interim, they would continue on. Investigate this attraction. These passionate emotions. The unspoken love pulsed between them with a force of a gale storm. He must know what her feelings toward him were before suggesting they make the marriage permanent, or before revealing about the money. When he mentioned the idea at the registrar’s office she’d been horrified. He wanted her to be thrilled at the prospect. Happy.
Exhaling, he turned his attention to his schoolwork.
* * * *
Riordan no sooner arrived home when he swept Sabrina into a crushing embrace and a hot and fierce kiss. A smile curved about his mouth when she threw her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with equal passion. How gratifying that she’d lowered her defenses and accepted the desire within.
Clasping her face, he laid kisses on her temple and cheeks, while her alluring citrus scent surrounded him. Hell, he was hard. To the point of pain. She gazed up at him, a look of complete trust and warmth. “What did you do today?” he murmured.
“Oh, Riordan. I made a pie. With Mary’s help, of course. We sat and peeled the apples, she showed me how to make a crust and roll it out. Flour was flying every which way! She had to return to the inn, so I assembled it and baked it myself.” She hugged him. “I learned to light the stove, and I followed Mary’s directions closely and the pie turned out wonderfully.”
He lifted his nose and inhaled. Apple and cinnamon. He hadn’t noticed it when he first entered the cottage, for he was too wrapped up in feminine softness and luscious lips. “Let’s have a piece while it is still warm.”
Her brows furrowed. “It might spoil supper, but it isn’t much, a chicken and potato soup….”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Won’t spoil my supper. I love apple pie. Let’s see this wondrous achievement.”
With a broad smile, she hurried to the kitchen. Riordan removed his coat and rolled up the cuffs of his shirt, then removed his neckcloth. In such a short period, they’d become comfortable in each other’s company, enough that he could relax like this. Or walk about the room in nothing but his drawers. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Sabrina laid small plates and forks on the table. Nothing matched, for they were donations from various households in the town. Finally, she brought out the pie and a knife. Never had he seen her smile as broadly, and his heart hitched in his chest at the sight. She sat the pie on the table. It did look delicious; the crust was golden and small wisps of steam swirled from the slits on the top.
He took his seat, eagerly anticipating the treat. God, he could become used to this. There was a lot to be said for domesticity and all the benefits it brought.
Sabrina served him a generous slice, then waited for him to taste it. His fork cut through the flaky crust with ease. He lifted the fork and placed the pie in his mouth, savoring the warm apple and the tang of the cinnamon and nutmeg on his tongue—then his throat closed over and he choked. He couldn’t swallow, so he spit the half chewed pie on the table.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sabrina cried worriedly.
“Salt,” he croaked. “You added salt instead of sugar.”
She grabbed his fork, cut off a small piece and brought it to her mouth. Her pink tongue darted out to taste it and she grimaced. “Oh, no. You see, they’re in glass containers, I must have mistaken….” A giggle slipped from her throat as she laid the fork on the table. “Salt instead of sugar.” Sabrina did the most wondrous thing: she began to laugh. Not her usual rare and brief giggle, but a full-on laugh. She pointed at him while holding her stomach with her other arm. “You…you should have seen your face.” Another peal of laughter escaped her.
She was beautiful. Happy. By the time he’d vaulted from his chair and came to face her, she was already wiping tears from her eyes. Riordan clasped her arms. “I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. Do you remember what I said, about how I longed to see you laugh for the pure joy of it?” She nodded. “You’re doing it now, and it is music to my ears.”
“I ruined the pie….”
“Ruin a hundred pies and it would not matter to me. I would rather see you happy and taking delight in life.” He kissed her. It didn’t take long for the heat to flare between them, and he took the kiss deeper, tangling his tongue with hers. All thoughts of taking things slowly dissipated into nothingness. He trailed his lips across her cheek, down her supple neck, and up again to nibble on her earlobe. “When Mary comes later, inform her she will not be needed tomorrow night,” he rasped.
“Why?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’ll be preparing you for bed. And if you ask me politely, I will be joining you in it.”
A moan escaped her, which merely stoked the roaring flames within him. Riordan pulled her close and she softened all around him. “I want to be patient, and I will if you ask me.” He clasped her breast, his thumb running across her erect nipple. “Come with me to the bedroom. Let me give you pleasure like you gave me. If you like it, tomorrow night we will do more.” He cupped her rear and brought her in tight against his erection. “But only if you wish it. Tell me, Sabrina. Put voice to your desires.”
To his utter surprise, she reached behind him and grasped his ass, squeezing it until he moaned. “Come with me to the bedroom. Give me pleasure.”
Riordan did not need any further encouragement. Sweeping her up into his arms, she squealed as he ran into the bedroom. Mittens, curled up on the rug, lifted her head to give them a nonchalant look, then continued her nap. Riordan slowly lowered Sabrina to the floor, keeping her close against him. She stared into his eyes searchingly, as if asking what comes next.
“I’m going to slowly remove your clothes. How many layers is up to you. Agreed?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip. Sabrina wore a large apron over her light gray wool dress. He moved behind her to work the knot free. Considering what she’d revealed about her marriage, it was a safe bet she’d never reached a sexual peak. Why would she? Her husband was a reprobate and a rapist. “I am going to caress and kiss every bit of exposed skin. Suckle your breasts, and as I do, insert my fingers inside you and stroke.” Sabrina gave a sharp inhalation of breath at his wicked words.
The apron fell to the floor. Riordan encircled his arm across her chest, leaning her against him. “Tell me to cease and I will. You have my promise. Any time you’re uncomfortable, let me know.”
“How experienced are you?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“Not as much as you may think. But I’m a quick learner. I have learned this: sex is an intimate act, and when emotions are in the mix it makes the experience all the more intoxicating. When you touched me the other night? I’ve never experienced such soaring heights before. Not with any woman. Only with you.”
“Oh. How wonderful,” she whispered.
He kissed the crown of her head. “It will be for you as well. I know it.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” She laughed brokenly.
“I will say this once and never mention it again: your relations with your brutal and cruel husband were not based in intimacy or emotion, but in hatred and humiliation. Let us banish those memories forever.”
A great sob left her throat, and he hugged her tighter, holding her close as she calmed and softened in his arms. He turned her about to face him and kissed her tenderly.
Breaking the kiss, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes. Let us banish the memories.”
Nodding, he slowly unbuttoned her dress down to her waist. Already the creamy mounds of her breasts were visible, peeking out from the top of her corset. The sight caused him to harden further. He pushed the dress off her shoulders, then pulled it down past her waist until it pooled at her feet. Her corset was not the heavily boned one that women in the upper classes wore, but of a malleable linen. It had front laces, and small blue roses sewn into the stays.
He next removed her two petticoats. Sabrina stepped out of her shoes. She wore blue knee-length drawers and white stockings. He got down on one knee and glided his fingers up her shapely leg to untie the strings of her stockings. Placing her foot on his thigh, he pulled off one stocking and tossed it aside. Sabrina curled her toes and kneaded his thigh. He did the same with the other leg.
“Shall I remove more?” he questioned.
“Not tonight. Mary will be by soon. Will it be all right? Are you able to…to…”
“Gain access to your most feminine attributes?” He moved his hand up her leg and slipped it between them. She gasped at the contact as his fingers delved into the slit in her drawers and brushed by her curls. “I will manage.”
He stood and led her to the bed. It was not wide at all, barely room for the both of them. But if he lay on his side, it could be accomplished. Once they were on the bed, he skimmed his fingers along the top of her breasts, across her bare shoulders and down her arms. Her breath caught and held as he tugged at the laces at the front of her corset, loosening them. When he kissed the tops of her breasts she exhaled, and it ended on a sensual moan. He kissed the hollow of her throat, moving upward until their lips met. Heat flared and he plundered, giving all he had, everything he felt.
Already this had moved beyond any experience with other women. The desire was inexplicable. Never-ending. Complete.
Breaking the kiss, he started removing the pins from her hair. Sabrina gazed up at him, her expression, though tense, also showed trust. Again he was humbled. Gathering the pins and laying them on the small table next to the bed, Riordan ran his hands through her golden-brown locks. As silky as her skin. He laid the strands across the pillow. “You are beautiful,” he murmured.
Her eyes glistened. “Thank you. Though I’m not as firm as I once—”
He laid the tips of his fingers on her lips. “That you are four years older means nothing to me. Nothing should matter in this bed but you and I. The pleasure we give each other.”
Trailing his fingers downward, they tangled in the laces once again. With slow deliberation, he pulled them apart. Sabrina’s ample breasts rose and fell with each exhale. Dear God, they were stunning. Large enough to fill his hand and more. The nipples were coral pink and pebbled.
He cupped one gently, his thumb brushing past her nipple again and again. Sabrina moaned, her back arching slightly. The sight of her pleasure was more than he could bear. He leaned in and suckled her, squeezing her ample breast as he did.
“Oh!” she gasped. His heart nearly burst when she slid her hand at the nape of his neck and pulled him in closer. His free hand trailed down her side, taking a leisurely journey across her curves. Her legs parted, and a smile curved across his lips as his fingers found her dampened curls. Parting her folds, he inserted two fingers. Tight. Oh, so tight.
Sabrina writhed and he stilled—had he hurt her? When another moan escaped her, he continued his ministrations. As he stroked in and out of her, his thumb rubbed her sensitive nub while he continued to lick and suckle her breast.
“Heavens…what…”
“Let yourself go, Sabrina. Embrace the sensations. Own your desire.”
The words must have been what she needed to hear, for she relaxed and the moans increased in volume. He watched her, committing this to memory: her eyes closed, her hips slowly undulating with each stroke of his fingers. Yes. She was close.
With a final arch of her back she cried out, her body shuddering as ripples of pleasure moved through her with her release. God, he was ready to explode. He pulled his hand of out her, unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, reached in and stroked himself, once, twice, three… He groaned, his body shook. The damned intensity of this. What would it be like to be deep inside her heat? His head hit the pillow and he pulled Sabrina next to him. She still shook, her breathing as harsh and raw as his. He kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?”