Chapter Fifteen
As George laid in bed that night, she could not help thinking that it had been a delightful evening. She would not have thought it possible, but she had enjoyed talking with her husband even more than the dancing and kissing at the ball. Tonight, he had been the one to instigate the conversation. And though they had talked for almost two hours, she could not remember a single criticism in the whole time.
He had shared a favourite book with her. Even though she had her own copy and knew it as well or better than he did, she had read it again for his sake.
As she had done so, he had been staring at her. Her body grew warm at the memory of his gaze and she pushed the bedcover off, causing Sargent to groan in his sleep. She could not blame him. The memory of those dark eyes fixed on her would make sleep impossible.
He had not been angry. There had been no reason for it. But the intensity was much more than casual interest. Had he wanted to kiss her again? Then why had he not done so? It was not as if they needed to fear discovery. They were in their own home. The servants would think it quite normal should one of them accidentally catch newlyweds kissing in a public room. If the idea bothered him, he could have suggested that they go to bed. Even now, she could open the connecting door between their rooms.
And then what would happen? Somehow, when she imagined the scene, she could not see beyond the first kiss. He would hold her. He would kiss her. Then, suddenly, they would be unclothed, like the people in the paintings at Vitium et Virtus.
She frowned. It was not a very accurate imagining, if that happened. There was no fumbling with buttons or laces, no calls for a maid to undo a troublesome knot, or requests to wait, just a moment, while one put shirt studs or eardrops on the dresser where they would not be lost.
Instead, one moment they were clothed and the next they were not, as if there was some reason to hurry. Once her clothes were off, she would know exactly what to do that would make him happiest, for he would be smiling as he had tonight instead of frowning like he usually did. He would call her his beautiful love and not a troublesome nuisance.
She remembered him that first night, disciplined yet angry, waving a cat-o’-nine-tails and driving the lechers away from her. She had never seen a man so fierce, so powerful, and so attractive. The libertine residing just beneath the carefully civilised veneer he presented intrigued her. Before he had rescued her from Sir Nash and been forced into a proposal, he had bought her. What would he have done had the auction been in earnest?
She stretched in bed, imagining herself at the mercy of Frederick Challenger.
He would touch her breasts, which somehow seemed to think and feel on their own at times like this. They did not precisely itch, but they were so eager to be touched that she had to clutch the bedsheets to keep herself from rubbing her nipples.
There were other places that wanted touching as well. And that, she was pretty sure, had to do with the act of procreation. One did not grow up in the country without learning a few facts about reproduction. She had learned far too much of horses until the grooms had shooed her away from the stallions and mares.
But it could not be the same with people. For one thing, gentleman could not manage to wear such tight pants, if they were anything like horses. And mares did not seem to enjoy what happened very much. There was a lot of stomping and snapping.
But if what humans did was unpleasant, then surely she would have heard something about it. Women complained about childbirth, but not the act that caused it. And all the women in the paintings at Vitium et Virtus had seemed happy enough, as had the female guests she had seen leading gentlemen up the stairs.
When the moment came for her, if it ever did, she prayed that she would know what to do. Frederick would not think her bothersome or stupid. He would think she was wonderful and would tell her so repeatedly. Then they would lie together in the bed, still naked, and there would be more kissing and no arguing at all until after they got up.
Because, no matter how good it might be in bed, and how good it had been tonight, she was sure there would still be arguing. Perhaps there was something that she could do that would render him not quite so totally unreasonable. But short of a blow to the head that left him permanently dazed, she could not think of what it might be.
At supper, he had claimed that he had no immediate plans to return to London. But even if he came to her bed, he would go eventually, back to the club he had forbidden her to enter. She had not seen him do anything particularly scandalous, when she had been there. But she could not imagine him forgoing the pleasures that he was not sharing with his wife.
He would be there and she would be miles away, wondering about him. She would be tossing in bed as she was tonight, her skin hot, her body tingling, wanting whatever it was that women got when their husbands thought of them as a wife and not an inconvenience.
She could not stand the thought of it any more. To be so near to him but still alone was agony. She slid out of bed and, without bothering to grab a wrap or slippers, slipped out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the front door of the house.
She ran through the yard, feeling the cool grass between her toes. It was a warm night. The moon was full and so bright that it was almost like walking in daylight, but there was not enough breeze to dry the perspiration that made her nightgown cling uncomfortably to her body. She paused for a moment, weighing the wisdom of her plan against how pleasant it might be. Then she turned her steps toward the pond.
It was not really an escape, she reminded herself. She was still on the property. But with each step she took she felt more peaceful than she had since the kiss on the balcony. It was not as if she wanted to get away from him. No matter how hard it was, it was better than being married to Nash Bowles. But that did not make this marriage right.
Her parents had been happy together. But more than that. She had seen the love in them when they had looked into each other’s eyes. It had been something she’d expected, when she had begun to search for a husband. But as she had watched other girls accept offers with little more than lukewarm affection, she had begun to see just how rare a thing such shared feelings must be. To find that she was falling in love with Frederick Challenger, of all people...
Perhaps it was not love at all. Maybe it was only lust. She had never felt that before. Perhaps the two were indistinguishable from each other. It was perfectly normal to be attracted to a handsome man. But it would be foolish to fall in love with a man who’d spent most of their acquaintance looking at her as though she was a broken toy that needed to be fixed.
She reached the edge of the pond and bent over it, cupping her hands and scooping up the clear dark water and splashing it on to her heated face.
She was not in love. If her feelings were more than temporary infatuation, she would begin to care that they were not reciprocated. Then, she would begin trying to follow his rules and trying to act normal to please him. Since she had no idea what normal was, she would likely fail. Even if she succeeded, there was no proof that it would be enough to win his heart. It was just as likely that he would raise the bar once she had reached it and become even more strict.
She dipped a bare toe into the water, watching the silver trail of tiny waves in the moonlight. It was some consolation that, if she had to be alone, it was at least a beautiful evening. The song of night birds was loud in the still air. The water at her feet was as warm as a bath.
Did she dare to swim in it? Frederick had promised her that the land around his home would be as much hers as it was his. What was to prevent her from enjoying it? Without another thought she stripped her nightgown over her head and spread it on a bush to keep it from the damp grass. Then, she waded into the water and dived for the centre.
This was what she had needed. Her worries seemed to melt away with the water. When she broke the surface, the drops clinging to her arms were as bright as diamonds. She splashed in front of her, watching the ripples and laughing softly at the wonder of it all. Perhaps it would not be so bad to be alone if she could have more nights like this.
With a few easy strokes, she was back to the side again and threw herself down on the mossy bank to let the air dry her skin and hair before returning to the house. She closed her eyes and watched the silver light still patterning the inside of her eyelids.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
She opened them, expecting to see a cloud on the face of the moon. Instead, the dark silhouette of a man was blocking the light. She gasped and reached for something to cover herself, then stopped. It was far too late to worry about such things, even if she’d had a robe within reach.
‘What the devil are you doing?’ Her husband’s voice brought the first chill to the night air.
‘I should think that was obvious,’ she replied, trying to keep the fear from her reply. How long had he been watching her? It did not matter, for he could see her now, lying at his feet as naked as a pagan offering.
But he did not appear to be moved by the sight of her. ‘If you wished to swim, we could have gone to Bath for the waters. Or you could have gone to Brighton and dressed appropriately for it.’
‘I could have dressed to swim,’ she said, squinting up to try to decipher the expression on his face. There was no point in bothering, for it was most certainly disapproval. ‘Have you ever tried to swim in the costumes allowed to women, on such rare occasions that we are encouraged into the water?’
The silence of his response was answer enough.
‘Nor have you been carted into the water like freight in a bathing machine,’ she said. ‘It makes no sense to be wheeled into the deep and hauled back again, just to avoid getting mud between one’s toes.’
‘If you find the process of going for a ladylike sea bath so objectionable, you should refrain from the water altogether.’ There was a curious quality to his voice now, as if he was barely maintaining control of something.
‘But I like to swim,’ she said. ‘It is quite liberating.’ She made an expansive gesture, only to remember that when one was still totally nude, it did not do to debate the merits of athletics.
‘You are quite liberated enough for one evening, I think,’ he said, snatching her nightgown from its branch and tossing it to her.
‘And, as usual, you are more constricted than I thought it was possible for a man to be,’ she said, scrambling to her feet and clutching the fabric between her hands.
‘Constricted?’ His face was still in shadow, but she could imagine the look of anger that must be there. ‘I’ve a good mind to show you what happens when constraints are removed.’
‘I wish you would. Then perhaps I would not think I had married an unbearable prig.’
Words failed him. He responded with a feral growl and closed the distance between them with a single step, yanking the nightgown from her hands and casting it aside. Then, he seized her, pulling her to him and smothering her mouth with a ferocious kiss.
There was something in it beyond passion and beyond need. His mouth was open on hers, his tongue questing along the seam in her closed lips. She refused to open them for him, angry that he could forget the kindnesses of a few hours past and return to his old ways the first time she disappointed him.
His hands squeezed her bare bottom to elicit a gasp that gave him free access to her mouth. He thrust his tongue into it, retreated and repeated. It moved in her mouth, a low commanding pulse, as if he could reset the beating of her heart to the rhythm of his choosing.
He broke away, messaging the flesh beneath his hands in the same slow tempo. ‘I am an insufferable prig named Frederick. Say my name. You say it often enough when we are in public and you do not have to mean it.’
Of course she meant it. It was as if he was claiming that she did not know how a noun worked, which was utter nonsense.
‘Say it,’ he repeated, and moved a hand between them to squeeze one of her bare breasts.
‘Frederick,’ she gasped, surprised at the longing in her own voice.
‘Georgiana,’ he answered, as if speaking her name was some kind of reward. The slow massage continued, one hand pinching her nipple, the other rocking her hips against the wool of his breeches, moulding them to the hard bulge pulsing behind the flap. ‘You commented before on the paintings decorating the walls of Vitium et Virtus. How closely did you look at them?’
She shook her head, afraid to admit or deny lest he decide to punish her by sending her back to the house alone.
‘It does not matter. I will explain them to you, now.’ His voice was low, silky. Not precisely menacing, but definitely dangerous. And yet, it did not frighten her.
‘There is a particularly nice oil of a nymph surprised while bathing,’ he said. ‘This nymph stripped bare in the moonlight in a pond where a gentleman might look out of his bedroom window and see her. And what do you suppose he did to her?’
She did not know. But she was sure that she was about to find out.
‘The sight of her made his cock hard.’ He stepped away from her long enough to capture one of the hands that were resting at her sides, pressing it against his breeches.
Then he slipped his hand between her legs, his fingers teasing, stroking her opening with a single fingertip. ‘And then he put it deep inside of her.’ Slowly, his finger slid into her body, just as he described.
The touch left her so weak that she clung to his shirtfront for support. In doing so, her own hands grazed the sides of her naked breasts. The sudden shock of pleasure she felt was nothing like the gentle tingling she’d imagined. She had never known that it was possible to feel so much. Every inch of her skin was awake to him.
As it had been on the night at the club, he had not bothered with cravat or waistcoat. There was only the linen of his shirt separating them. But this time, it was damp from the water that had been on her body and clinging to his chest. She could feel the heat of him and the angry beat of his heart next to her as his finger moved in and out.
Then it was gone, sliding forward, spreading wetness to another, even more sensitive spot. As he toyed with her, he kissed her again, his tongue back in her mouth. She fought against it, wanting to be free to tell him how good this was, to scream in pleasure into the night sky.
But he refused to let her go, as if he would swallow the joy that burst from her as wave after wave of shudders racked her body. Her knees trembled and the place he had touched her throbbed with need for the thing he had promised. When he released her, she fell to her knees before him, no longer able to support her own weight.
He stood quiet, staring down at her for a moment. When he spoke, his words were like a tongue licking her skin. ‘You do not know what you are offering, do you, my sweet? Perhaps some day I will show you. For now, I think I shall have you in a way that is as conventional as you accuse me of being.’
He stripped the shirt over his head and dropped it in the grass beside her nightgown. Then he undid the flap of his breeches and let his manhood spring free.
She stared at it for a moment, dazed by the nearness of it. Then he dropped to his knees as well and pushed her gently backwards, down into the moss of the bank. He straddled her waist and ran his palms down her body to cup her breasts again. He was saying something, but for a moment she could not hear. She was too lost in the feeling of his thumbs pressing against her nipples, drawing slow circles around them, pinching them, almost to the point of pain, and soothing them with feather-light touches.
‘...teased me long enough.’ His words were almost loud enough to overcome the pounding of the blood in her ears. ‘If you mean to cavort naked on the lawn, then do not claim to be surprised by what is about to occur.’
But she was surprised. The last few moments had been full of revelations. She expected the next few moments would be nothing short of miraculous.
He leaned forward to kiss her breasts, taking them into his mouth just as he had drawn her tongue into it when she had tried to cry out. She clutched at his head, twining her fingers in his hair, and gave up to the feeling with a sigh.
Then it occurred to her that she could touch him just as he had touched her. She reached down, searching for the part of him that was straining towards her, circling it with her hands, and sliding up the length of it to cover the wet tip.
‘Dear God!’ He released her breasts and sat straight up as if his entire body had spasmed in shock, just as hers had done earlier.
‘Am I doing this right?’ she asked breathlessly, stroking him again, spreading the wetness down the length of him.
‘Vixen.’ His hands were clutching at the moss as he took a slow sucking breath, as if fighting for control. Then he covered her hands with his own and showed her how to touch him, before reaching out again and covering her breasts, rubbing the nipples with his thumbs. ‘It is right. But it is wrong as well. I want more from you.’ One hand slid between her legs and the fingers settled inside of her, matching the rhythm of her strokes. ‘I want this from you.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, tightening her grip on him, ever so slightly, and increasing the speed of her strokes.
He dipped his head forward and his teeth grazed the side of her neck, just as the stallion had done to the mare. His fingers thrust harder into her, deeper. ‘It will hurt the first time. But not after that.’
Which meant they would do it more than once. At the thought of it, the feeling was taking her again, making her wonder why people did anything but this. ‘Do it,’ she said. ‘Quickly.’
‘Soon,’ he answered, pushing her legs apart with his knees and spreading her wide with his fingers. The last few thrusts with his hand were rough, possessive. Then he seized her hands and pulled them away from him. ‘Touch yourself,’ he ordered, and she had never been so eager to obey.
She clutched her own breasts, squeezing them between her fingers, as he grabbed her hips and entered her with one quick thrust.
It hurt.
She pinched herself as a distraction, surprised to find that she liked the pain. He thrust again. And again. And then, suddenly, he arched his back and seemed to pour himself into her before sagging back, limp.
‘That was all?’ she said, surprised.
‘Because you touched me,’ he said, sounding smug. Then he rolled them so that he was lying under her. ‘Did you finish?’
‘Finish what?’ she asked, breathless.
He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. ‘If you have to ask, then the answer is no. Sit up. I want to see your face when it happens.’ His hands were on her shoulders, pushing her up so she could sit, straddling his body.
She looked down at him, confused by the demand, until he took one of her hands and pressed it to the place where they were still joined, tracing a spot with his own fingers before dragging her knuckles over it.
Oh.
He was right. There was something left unfinished inside her, like a bubble ready to burst.
‘You will be even more beautiful when you come,’ he whispered, moving her own hand against her. ‘And if I am inside you, I can feel the muscles of your body hugging mine.’
‘Oh.’ She’d said it aloud this time, unable to stop the sound.
‘When we make love, I want to know that you have been pleased to the point of exhaustion. It is your right to demand this from me.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, but this time it sounded like a moan. And she did not want to demand, so much as she wanted to beg for him to continue what he was doing.
‘Make me touch you,’ he said, stroking the still-tender place where his body disappeared into hers. ‘Or touch yourself and let me watch. The sight of your climax will make me hard.’
‘Ah.’ It was as it had been before, but even better. She could not control the shaking of her body, or the sounds coming from her mouth. This was what she had been missing, what she had wanted, all along. And as he had promised, she could feel him again, swelling to fill her.
Slowly, the ecstasy subsided to pleasure, like a banked fire that could spring to life at any moment. In the corner of her eye, a shaft of moonlight revealed the house and its rows of darkened windows where anyone might have been watching. ‘What have we done?’ she said, in a whisper and tried to pull away.
‘What we should have done from the first night,’ he said with a satisfied smile, holding her tight. ‘If I had known it was going to be like this, I’d have let you seduce me ages ago.’
‘I seduced you?’ Since she’d had no idea what she was doing, it seemed unlikely.
‘With every word, every gesture, every look, from the first moment we met,’ he said.
‘We should probably not have done it in the garden, though,’ she said glancing back at the house again.
He laughed softly under her. ‘It is too late to agree with me now.’
‘We had best go inside,’ she said. But if she was honest, she did not want to. The slight movements of his body under hers hinted at things yet to explore.
‘When I have finished with you, Wife,’ he said. He had called her wife with a possessive pleasure that sent another thrill through her body. This was followed by a buck of his hips, as if he was urging her to movement.
‘What if someone sees?’ she said, tightening on him and feeling the beginning of another tremor.
He grabbed her by the waist and rolled until she was stretched out beneath him, receiving another thrust of his hips.
‘Then let them look.’
And then, nothing mattered for quite some time.