Innocence and Carnality

by J. Alan Veerkamp

  The social hierarchy here would take some time to adapt to, but Blythe’s goading tempted me to slap the grin off his face. With a mallet.

  Either way, I was determined not to give in to his barbs. “It’s not something I grew up with, but I’m learning to adjust. My man is not impolite company.”

  Blythe turned to Harston. “So, boy—”

  “His name is Harston.”

  Blythe raised an eyebrow as he began again. “So, Harston, what do you do for our young Nathan?”

  “I’m his valet. I attend to dressing him and whatever personal needs he requires.” Harston sat upright and spoke with honor, yet I detected a soft tremor in his voice. Not surprising, Blythe intimidated him.

  I was as appreciative of my valet as he was of me. “Harston has been my trusted right hand for years.”

  “You dress and undress our pretty young lord?” A lewd smile spread over Blythe’s lips. “Oh, now that’s a right picture. How does one such as myself procure such a fortunate position?”

  “One such as yourself does not.”

  Ignoring me, Blythe leaned closer to Harston and lowered his voice a notch as if trying to pry a secret out of my valet. “Have the two of you ever taken advantage of the arrangement?”

  A furrow appeared between Harston’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

  “With all those private moments, you’ve never played with one another? I know what Rother asked for in a husband, but what about you, Harston? Any inappropriate requests from your young master? Any diddling before high tea with that trusted right hand?”

  Harston’s eyes went wide. “O-of course not!”

  “I’ve never done anything of the sort!” I couldn’t be more aghast at the suggestion.

  “Just thought I’d ask.” Blythe shrugged in a mock show of remorse. He leaned back and spread his massive arms along the back of the seat.

  Rother chuckled softly as he spoke. “Have a care, Blythe. Nathan’s brother teased him in a similar manner before dinner and Nathan nearly tore off his balls with his bare hands. In front of his shocked mother, no less.”

  “Finn deserved it.” I crossed my arms to reinforce my position.

  “Oh yes he did.” Rother seemed to find the memory far too fascinating, even if he agreed with me.

  Blythe cupped his groin in his huge hand. “He wouldn’t be the first young man to give my boys a rough handling.”

  There was no way I would let that vulgar remark go unanswered. “Are you going to sit here and let your servant talk to me this way?” The satisfied smile on Blythe’s face flattened at my response. My annoyance was somewhat soothed by the sight.

  Rother reached up and feathered his hand near my temple. “Blythe is needling you for effect. And you are giving him exactly the reaction he’s after. He knows his boundaries and would ultimately never cross the man who pays his healthy wage. Allowing him to speak his mind does not lessen my contract with you.” Rother’s tone took on a husky edge. “You’re mine, and you’d better not forget it.”

  Something about Rother’s possessive declaration disarmed me. The men’s bawdy humor was something I needed to learn to find some kind of comfort in, if I were to survive amongst them. Their coarse behavior rattled me, but I’d endured my brothers’ slights for years. This was no worse in its own way. I wasn’t about to be Blythe’s victim for the rest of his employment—however long that might be. If he didn’t learn to mind his manners, my spousal privilege would be used to cut it short.

  I leaned into Rother and brushed my fingers along his chest. “Is there any chance we can leash him and have him dragged behind the carriage?”

  My husband growled in approval.

  “Oy! That’s cheating!” Blythe’s protest came with a satisfying amount of outrage.

  “It’s tempting, my husband.” Paired with a sensual inhale, Rother leaned in and brushed his lips along my ear. “So very tempting.”

  My face heated anxiously. Having no experience at seductive behavior, I wasn’t sure Rother would respond. I could have easily made a fool of myself, but I proved to have some innate skill.

  Rother gave a feral grin to Blythe, his eyes twinkling with malice. “My man shirtless and manacled would be a prime entertainment. It would, however, be a waste of time, because we’ve already arrived.”

  The relentless vibration from the uneven street shifted as we turned. Pulling through a high iron gate, the carriage approached a four-story, bloodred house, with white trim and black shutters and rooftop. Balconies adorned the higher floors, looking out over the street. It lacked the grandeur I’d grown up with, in spite of how well crafted it appeared. However, considering the density, size, and facades the rest of the city buildings sported, it stood well above all the rest.

  The wheels gave a pleasant crunching on the paver stones as we followed the driveway around the side, to the rear of the building.

  “We have a private garden and entrance at the rear, away from prying eyes,” Rother said.

  A lovely little sun porch faced the lush garden behind the house. I could imagine taking a morning cup of tea surrounded by the fragrant flowers, hidden from the public. Once the carriage came to a stop, I couldn’t stop staring.

  Blythe slapped Harston on the shoulder. “C’mon, boy. Let’s gather the luggage and get it indoors.” The carriage lurched as they jumped overboard.

  “What do you think?” Rother’s pride in his home couldn’t be mistaken. He wanted me to love it as much as he did. However, I’d learned a lesson in how men of Marisol treated one another this afternoon.

  I grinned, giving Rother an obvious and deliberate teasing. “I suppose it will have to do.”

  Rother barked a laugh, clearly amused. “Come along, my husband.” He stood, taking my hand. “It’s time to go inside and meet the staff.”

  Chapter 5

  “IF I were getting married, I would be away for a lot longer.”

  Striding toward us was a striking vision of female beauty. Sepia skin contrasted the vermillion tresses spilling over her shoulders, framing a pair of intense eyes and full lips. I needed to tip my head upward. It was the only way I could look at her eye to eye. Her midnight-blue dress was simple yet tailored to fit, and accented her every curve, including her cleavage. The snug bodice held itself together with buckles and straps rather than the usual buttons. An unusual yet dynamic choice. Confident steps drew her closer to us, and I found myself fascinated, hypnotized by the rhythmic click of her heels on the floor. I imagined this was a typical reaction around her.

  “But then I’d miss your shining face, my dear.” Hand outstretched, Rother motioned toward her. “Nathan, this is my head of house, Alexandra.”

  I nodded. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Welcome to Delaga House, Nathan.” She reached up and stroked aside a lock of my hair. “I see Rother has excellent taste, as usual.”

  Her familiarity gave me pause, but she exuded a subtle dominance that quieted my unease. “Thank you. May I call you Alexandra?” Trying to follow by example and take on the more casual nature of Marisol life, I decided to not ask for her surname.

  A brilliant grin brightened her face. “That would be perfect.”

  “Head of house?” I took note of her manicured fingernails. “You don’t strike me as a housekeeper.”

  “I’m not. I make sure everything in Delaga House functions as expected.”

  “If this house were theater, Alexandra would be its director,” Rother said.

  The more I knew about Alexandra, the more settled I felt. “I’ll make a point to remember that.”

  Subtle creases marked the corners of Alexandra’s eyes as she smiled. While she might not have been an adolescent goddess, her beauty defied her age. In fact, I guessed her years somewhere in the range of my mother’s. “I like him, Rother.”

  A shrill cry interrupted us, spinning me out of Alexandra’s spell.

  “Rother! You’re home already!”

  “I’d neve
r be gone for too long, Vivian.”

  A waif with curly blonde locks bounded into the room. She was so full of energy, I had the feeling she might have pounced on Rother had Alexandra not laid a hand on her shoulder as she approached, halting her progress.

  An exaggerated pout curled Vivian’s lips. “It’s never the same around here when you’re gone.”

  Rother chuckled. “I would hope not.”

  “Am I still your best girl?” Hands clasped behind her back, she rocked on her heels, seeking approval.

  “Always.”

  Her playfulness, like her implied youth—she was nowhere near as young as she portrayed herself—somehow reminded me of my mother’s affectations. All of it for appearances, to draw a reaction from others. She was a touch too insistent and eager, with an air of insincerity hovering about her.

  I worked to stay cordial. Far too much of Marisolian culture lay beyond my knowledge. It was too soon to make a proper judgment about anyone. Vivian’s uniform marked her as a maid, but there was so little of it. Cut snug to her body, the black dress, adorned with nonfunctional bows, appeared too small, and the skirt hem sat at an indecent height. The sight of her visible stocking tops circling her thighs disconcerted me, setting the back of my neck and ears aflame, but no one else seemed offended by Vivian’s attire, so I tried to hide my reaction. Although, given how her expression soured as she caught my eye, I’d done a rather poor job.

  Her childish bearing evaporated. Vivian sauntered forward into Rother’s personal space and fondled the edge of his lapel. Her voice deepened into something altogether inappropriate, and she pressed herself against him in a way noblewomen did not. “Your new husband’s very pretty, but it’s hard to believe you went to all the trouble of marrying him.”

  Alexandra spoke with an air of caution. “Vivian….”

  Heedless, Vivian continued. “Tell me, Rother, who will entertain you when you get bored of your new little toy, like all the rest?” Without the slightest dignity, she rose up on her toes. Her fingers drifted to Rother’s neck and face, and by the way she licked her painted lips, I dare say she planned to kiss my new husband in front of me.

  Had she no shame?

  I startled at Vivian’s yelp when Rother snatched her head by the chin, fingers digging into her jaw. She struggled to balance on her toes. Her tiny hands scratched at his, as her hissing mouth pursed and distorted under the pressure.

  Rother’s words came with calm venom. “Unless otherwise requested, keep your tongue in your mouth where it belongs.”

  Jarred silent, I stood perfectly still, unsure of what to do. Vivian snarled back at my husband until she whimpered under his grip. Only then did Rother release her. “I suggest you mind your manners in the future.”

  Vivian’s cheeks flushed as she shook. The moment she noticed me watching, her glistening eyes narrowed and she advanced on me.

  “You think you’re so much better than us—”

  A wall in the form of Blythe appeared between us, bumping her backward with his mass. “Push off. Go find a knob somewhere to polish. It’s what you’re paid for.”

  After staring up at him for a moment, Vivian turned and stormed out the door. I blinked, unable to fathom Blythe’s interference, given his crass display earlier.

  Rother placed a hand on my lower back. “Forgive me, Nathan. That was not the homecoming I’d planned for you. Alexandra, did you make the preparations to my suite I asked for?”

  “Excuse me?” Alexandra crossed her arms over her ample breasts as her brow arched.

  Rother snorted. “Of course you did.”

  “Thank you. I’ll pretend not to have noticed your fleeting moment of doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a chat with our wayward maid.”

  Alexandra left the room, and the sharp, purposeful click of her heels could be heard long after. I stood unmoving, unsure how to take what I’d witnessed.

  “Blythe, help Harston get settled in. Nathan and I are not to be disturbed.”

  Hand still at my back, Rother led me through the rear foyer and a well-equipped kitchen. I saw a few people I assumed were more staff members, men and women, but he steered us clear of them, declining introductions. It made me wonder if dramatic outbursts were common amongst the employees here in Marisol. Not wanting to invite servant’s gossip, I waited until we moved into a rear hallway where we were well clear of them all before speaking.

  “Why in the world would you keep such an awful woman on staff?”

  At the end of the hall, we were graced by a wide stairwell. It reminded me of the private servants’ entrance my brothers and I used to keep from being seen by our parents.

  “Because in spite of her sharp tongue, she’s one of my best employees. But let’s not dwell on unpleasant things. I would finally see my husband upstairs. Alone.”

  I counted three flights of stairs before we stepped into another hallway lined with doors. Rother led me to the far end and through an open door, to what was clearly a sumptuous bedroom. The latch closing shut behind us jolted me. My pulse quickened, and I couldn’t stop from straightening my jacket needlessly.

  Turning a handle on the wall, Rother ignited the gaslight fireplace along with a series of sconces. Pulling a hanging chain, he closed the window shutters, blocking out the waning daylight, allowing an ambient glow to suffuse the room.

  There was no questioning Rother’s intentions. He prowled about the room, his hungry gaze never wavering from me for long. By law, as the elder member of our marriage, it was his prerogative to decide when to consummate. My purity’s expiration moved closer with each tick of the second hand. Excited and terrified, my heart attempted to rattle out of my chest with its ferocity. In some sad effort to distract myself, I examined the room.

  Rich fabrics, overstuffed cushions and pillows, lush carpet and rugs: everything about the house was comfort to the point of decadence. A bed, large enough for a group of men, dominated the main wall, mounds of pillows piled above the plump duvet. Everything looked clean and untouched. Alexandra’s influence, perhaps? A sumptuous chaise lounge and writing desk filled the spaces not playing home to the requisite wardrobe and side tables. A lavish en suite lay on the other side of a pair of open doors laced with windows.

  “All this traveling has left me feeling unclean.” Rother pulled off his riding gloves and threw them onto the chaise with a casual flick of his wrist. “I believe a bath would be in order.”

  I shuddered at the innocent suggestion laced with innuendo. “A… an excellent idea. I’ll call for Harston to prepare—”

  My words failed me as Rother stepped in close, our chests nearly brushing. He stroked along my shoulder and grazed my collar with his fingertips as he wet his lips.

  “You won’t be needing Harston for anything tonight.”

  Leashing my panic was a task. My anxiety held me tight like a criminal waiting to be nailed to a crucifix. In Deilian society, a parent typically discussed what their wedded child would face in the bedroom. It was the only appropriate time for intimate education. My parents had glossed over any such instruction, so all my knowledge was based on rumor and gossip, which left me feeling woefully inadequate.

  Rother whispered as he slid my jacket off my shoulders, “You have nothing to worry about. I want tonight to be something special for us both.”

  I stood passive as my husband dismantled my waistcoat at an excruciating pace, sweeping his fingertips along my sides as he skimmed back the fabric. Unfamiliar surges warmed my skin with each contact. With utter patience, he removed each layer, showing great competence in unfastening the more complicated items within my wardrobe. Rother’s skill seemed matched with his ability to entice and unnerve me. The process to divest a man of his Deilian fashion was time-consuming, yet Rother never lost interest or mocked me.

  No matter how nervous I was, I couldn’t deny my attraction as he peeled away the layers of my innocence. Rother was dashing, just shy of beautiful, and the firelight danced in his eyes, add
ing to his allure.

  Once he’d stripped me of my shirt and left me bare-chested, he paused. Rother’s breathing deepened as he grazed his knuckles with aching slowness over my exposed skin and nipple. A shiver raced down my spine at the sensation. He trailed his touch down my stomach, following the contours until he eventually dipped his fingers beneath my waistline. I gasped in discomfort, yet I couldn’t be sure if it was from the newness of his touch or how heated and confined I felt inside the chastity belt. With an adept grip, he took apart the clasp of my trousers.

  His fingers rode a path down my thighs, skimming the fabric away. Urged to step forward, I left the garment behind, adding to the growing pile on the floor. Rother continued, dropping down to remove my stockings until I stood vulnerable before him, clad only in the chastity belt. The mark of my honor. I was acutely aware how unequal our state of dress. Apart from his gloves, he had yet to remove any other article of his own.

  Kneeling before me, Rother reached into his pocket and produced the key. It had been within my power to remove the belt during our travels, but I’d resisted the temptation. Rother called me a delicious prize, and with all the insanity leading up to this moment, I needed to feel like a gift to be unwrapped.

  I froze, anticipation halting any chance of speech. With a simple turn and a quiet snick, the lock disengaged. Rother separated the belt and drew it down past my ankles until he could help me step free of the loathsome thing. I gasped at the air touching all of my skin at once. I struggled to resist covering myself. With dreamy eyes, Rother became the only person to ever see me so brazenly since I was an infant. I held my breath, praying for his approval.

  One word came out of him in a whisper. “Beautiful.”

  Since the day I stood before the Monarch, I hadn’t believed that word when it was aimed at me. Tonight, it took on new meaning. Rother rose and held out his hand as he shifted backward, a silent plea to lead me toward the bathtub.

  “One moment.” After collecting the stone paperweight from the writing desk, I walked to the discarded belt on the floor. Ignoring my state of undress, I knelt before the hated thing and, without another word, hammered the filthy garment with five years of rage and frustration powering my hand. By the time I tired, the delicate metal and gears were a twisted snarl of useless material. Setting down the paperweight, I stood with what was left of the belt in my hand. Every ounce of metal was flattened into an unrecognizable mass.