Sweet Surrender (18 page)

"Ha!  There’s nothing that could keep me from salacious conduct.  I could misbehave in the grave."

"I’m sure that’s true."

"It’s all we men think about, you silly girl.  It’s all we want."

"I know.  I’m a midwife, in case you weren’t aware.  I constantly deal with the results of male wrongdoing."

"We don’t have to create any babies."  He grinned.  "There are all sorts of ways we can occupy ourselves."

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Are you still a maid?"

"Yes, you oaf.  How crass of you to inquire."

"Imagine every wicked deed your virginal little mind can conjure, then multiply it by ten."

"We’d remove our clothes?"

"It wouldn’t be any fun if we didn’t."

"
All
of our clothes?"

"I certainly hope so.  You’ve seen me naked, and if you don’t return the favor very soon, I can’t predict what I might do."

"Once we’re undressed, what would happen?  We’d engage in fornication?"

He laughed.  "You make it sound like a boring science experiment.  It’s quite a bit more pleasant than that."

"I’ve never done it before," she huffed.  "I’ve heard varying opinions as to what it’s like—mostly that it’s an enormous chore."

"Grace, you’re in
my
bed.  I have no idea what type of country dolts you’ve previously encountered, but with me, it will always be wonderful."

She snorted with disgust.  "You are so vain."

"I might be terribly vain, but I’m also telling the truth.  You’ll love it.  Trust me."

"I don’t trust you.  That’s the problem."

She stared at the ceiling.  She worked it over, calculating the angles, the consequences.

"Promise me something," she finally murmured.

"What?"

"If I agree to proceed, you can’t leave me in trouble.  You claim to be experienced, so I can’t end up—"

"You won’t get pregnant," he hastily said.  "We’ll be careful."

"And promise me that—for the remainder of my stay here—you won’t dabble with anyone else.  If your mistress arrived, or I saw you chasing after the housemaids, I couldn’t bear it."

"I’ve never chased after a housemaid in my life, and I don’t have a mistress."  Well, he had three of them in Alexandria, but he didn’t suppose he should mention it.  It was highly unlikely any of them would stroll in the door.

She glared at him.  "You haven’t promised."

After his treatment by Susan a decade earlier, he’d shunned monogamy, and whenever it was demanded of him, he’d vanish in an instant.

But he wanted her so desperately.  It was an easy vow to make. 

"So long as you’re at Milton Abbey, I won’t trifle with any other female."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Because I shouldn’t be doing this, but you overwhelm my better sense, so I don’t trust you but I’ve always thought I should try it, and I’m—"

Her nervous chatter humored him, and he cut her off.

"Grace?"

"Yes?"

"Be silent." 

She looked so forlorn, and he hated to have her fretting and unhappy.

"It will be all right," he whispered.

He wouldn’t give her the opportunity to worry or reconsider, so he began kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.

She was a very passionate creature, and she quickly adapted to whatever he showed her.  She didn’t flinch away or hide herself, didn’t ask him to stop or slow down.  She watched him leap into the fire, and she leapt with him.

He kept on until she was thoroughly relaxed, until her limbs were rubbery and her inhibitions quashed.  Then he started to gradually disrobe her.

He removed her shoes and stockings, her gown and petticoat.  He took down her hair, brushed through it with his fingers to spread it over her shoulders.  All the while, he coaxed and soothed and praised.

She wasn’t wearing a corset, but a functional chemise and drawers, and as he tugged them off, he nibbled and bit and nuzzled and licked.  She chuckled and sputtered and blushed like the virgin she was, and he reveled in her calm acquiescence. 

She was an odd combination of innocence and pragmatism.  From her work as a healer, she understood male and female anatomy.  She comprehended the mechanics of what was to transpire, but she was clueless as to the pleasure to be found along with the technicalities.

For a moment, he felt horridly guilty. 

When he engaged in sexual relations, he romped with trollops who knew what they were about.  He’d never previously lain with a maiden, and when he was so experienced and she was so naïve, it was awful of him to coerce her.

But he was eager to fornicate, and she was beautiful and willing and available.  Why not proceed?

He came up on his knees and tugged off his shirt.  Then he wedged himself between her thighs and stretched out atop her again.  As his bare chest connected with hers for the first time, they both hissed at the sensation being produced.

"You’re so pretty, Grace."

"You sweet-talker, you."

"It’s your turn to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me that you’ll never regret this, no matter what happens in the future."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No.  Are you?"

"No."

"I want you to always be glad."

"I always will be."

"I’m worried because you can’t really grasp what it’s like until it’s over."

"I realize that fact.  I’m not a green girl."

"I know.  I just…just…"

"Jackson"—she sounded exasperated—"I’ll never regret it, and I’m glad I decided to let it be you.  I’ve waited too long to try this."

It was such a rational, deliberate comment.  Obviously, she had very low expectations as to what it would be like, and it occurred to him that he probably wasn’t capable of making the event as special as it should be.  He’d boasted of masculine prowess, but he was a corrupt fellow who wallowed with concubines and whores.

She should have someone better, someone decent and kind.  She deserved a wedding in a church, a fancy dress, her family and friends in the pews, an open recitation of vows that would lead to a quiet consummation later in the evening.

What she
didn’t
deserve was a hasty deflowering by a man of bad character who had no good motives and even fewer honorable intentions toward her.

She must have perceived his reservations because she rested a soothing palm on his cheek.

"Don’t be afraid," she murmured.

"I’m not afraid," he claimed, but he suspected he was.

"You said it will be all right, and I’m sure it will be."

"Yes, I’m sure it will be, too."

"I want this.  I want
you
to be the one."

"I want it, too." 

He truly meant it, but as he studied her, he had to look away.  She was such a powerful person, and she held such sway over him.  The enormity of what they were about, the gravity of it, was weighing too heavily.

It’s just sex, Jackson,
he scolded. 
You’ve done it hundreds of times before.  Get on with it!

The chastisement worked, as well as her lifting her hips, the subtle shift bringing her directly where she needed to be.  He was reminded of his purpose, of the goal, and instantly, he couldn’t remember why he was hesitating. 

He was still wearing his trousers, and he unbuttoned the flap and released his phallus.  He wedged the tip into her sheath, and she tensed, providing stark evidence that she wasn’t quite as composed as she seemed.

"Are you going to do it now?" she asked, frowning.

"No, let’s enjoy ourselves a bit."

The reassurance calmed her.  He dipped to her breasts, laved and massaged them until she was writhing with delight.

He continued to nuzzle and nibble, as his fingers drifted down her tummy to her woman’s hair, to the spot where all her carnal arousal was centered.  He dabbed at it with his thumb, as her passion rose, her body growing taut.  Finally, she was swept away.

She arched up and cried out, and he clutched her thighs and thrust into her.  He flexed once and again and again, and he was buried to the hilt.

"Oh…my," was all she said. 

He kept himself very still, letting her acclimate to her new situation.

"Are you all right?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Did I hurt you?"

"A little."

"It will pass."

"It already is."  She smiled tremulously.  "We’re not finished, are we?"

"No, but almost."

"Show me."

He could feel her relaxing, the moment too precious for words, and he lost his control.  He pushed into her twice, but that was all he could manage.  Her virgin’s blood, coupled with her tight, hot sheath, drove him to the precipice.

Madly, he withdrew and spilled his seed on her tummy.  He pumped it out over and over until he’d spewed every last drop.  His hips ground to a halt.

He rolled onto his back, and they lay frozen, side by side, not speaking. 

He wasn’t sure what to say to her.  It had been hurried and bumbling, as if he was a schoolboy with his first girl.  He was embarrassed by his performance. 

What must she think?

There was a nightstand by the bed, and it was stacked with washing cloths from when he’d been incapacitated.  He grabbed one and wiped his seed from her belly.  She watched him, her face blank, so she appeared composed and unruffled.  It was difficult to believe she’d just been deflowered—and in such a rapid, clumsy way, too.

"Well, my friend," he said, "what is your opinion?"

"It was…interesting."

"
Interesting!
" he huffed with mock outrage.  "You’re supposed to gush and flatter me."

"You know I’m not very good with compliments—especially when they rush to your head so fast."

"You’re so mean to me," he pouted.  "Stroke my ego—just this once."

Looking shrewd and wise, she nodded.  "It was very nice."

"Yes, it was."

"But different than I imagined it would be."

"How so?"

"It was very physical and very quick.  From stories I’ve heard, I assumed it might last—"

"Ah!  You’re wounding my male sensibilities again."  He swatted her on the bottom.  "It was quick because you arouse me beyond my limit."

"What a perfectly lovely thing to say."  She leaned in and kissed him.  "Can we do it again?"

"In a minute, you little minx.  Let me catch my breath."

"You seem like such a burly fellow.  Must you have a break in between?"

He laughed and laughed.  "Once I’m able to proceed, you are in for it."

"Tough talk, Mr. Scott."

"I’ll show you," he warned.  "Just you wait and see."

"I will wait.  Take all the time you need, you old, decrepit dodger."

He drew her nearer, so she was draped across his chest.

"What happens next?" she asked.

"We do this as often as we can—until we’re sick of each other."  He glanced down and grinned.  "How many times a day can we sneak away?"

"Fifteen or twenty?"

"At that rate, you’ll kill me, but what a way to go."

They were quiet then, with her caressing a hand down his arm and thigh.

"Would you rest now?" she said.

"I’m not tired," he insisted, but he yawned.

"I don’t think you’re as hale as you claim, and I don’t want you to have a relapse."

"I won’t relapse."

"You never know.  Let’s not tempt fate."

He thought they’d already tempted quite a lot of fate.  They’d done precisely what they shouldn’t have.  Where would it lead?  Where would it end?

He couldn’t begin to guess.

"If I doze off"—he was wearier by the second—"will you stay in here with me?"

"Yes."

"You little liar.  You promised you’d stay last time, but you didn’t."

"I like you much better than before.  I wouldn’t dream of leaving.  Besides, I’m nursing you.  I have to be close in case you need me."

"Yes, and I’m positive I’ll
need
you constantly."

Feeling sated and satisfied, he drifted off, but when he awakened several hours later, she was gone.

He could smell her on his skin, on the sheets, and in the air.  The aroma tantalized and frightened him. 

He wanted to jump up and race off to find her.  He wanted to pine and drool and mope and fall in love, which he would never do.  Love and commitment were for fools, for idiots.