by Nan Ryan
His breath shallow and ragged, Ladd managed, “I—I promised your father I’d have you inside by ten.”
“I know.” She nodded and sighed.
“It’s almost ten.”
“There’s always tomorrow and…” her words trailed away and she looked into his eyes, her hand remaining on his rigid flesh.
“Yes! Tomorrow,” he said, excitedly. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We can spend the entire day together.”
“We can,” she agreed. “As I’m sure you know, our mothers are going out to Spring Hill to attend a luncheon at Marie Lassat’s.”
Ladd nodded. “I heard mother talking about it. Something to do with the Mardi Gras.”
“Exactly,” said Laurette. “Marie Lassat is having a Twelfth Day get-together to celebrate the start of Mardi Gras.”
“Something our mothers wouldn’t dare miss,” Ladd said with a smile.
“Not for anything.”
It was the winter social season in Mobile and Marion Howard and Carrie Dasheroon were very much a part of the city’s elite Mardi Gras society. They were instrumental in helping to plan the Camellia Ball as well as a number of the other galas. The important luncheon they were to attend was at the luxurious Spring Hill mansion of the blue-blooded Marie Lassat, a woman who proudly claimed that her roots went back to the beginning of the eighteenth century when her family came over with Bienville on the first ship of French colonists to arrive in Mobile. Only the cream of Mobile’s aristocracy would be present. And that privileged Old Guard included Carrie Dasheroon and Marion Howard.
“They’ll be gone most of the day,” Laurette said simply.
“I’m sure they will.”
Both fell silent, planning, considering what they would tell their parents and where they would go to be safe and alone and assured of total privacy. Ladd came up with the solution. “Let’s go across the bay to Spanish Fort,” he eagerly suggested. “There are dozens of remote places over there in the dense woods beyond the village. We’ll find a spot where no one’s ever been.”
“Yes!” Laurette was quick to agree. “We’ll tell our parents that we’re going over to the eastern shore to have a picnic and that we might spend the day.”
“I’ll get Moses to drive us down to the harbor.”
“I’ll have Hannah pack a lunch and I’ll bring a blanket.”
“Pick you up at ten?”
“Yes,” she said, “Oh, yes. I’ll be ready, Ladd.”
He considered the import of what they were intending, of what she was saying. He looked at her for a long time, then said, “Are you sure, Lollie?”
“I’m very sure,” she said as she leaned up and brushed a kiss to his mouth. Against his lips, she whispered, “I love you with all my heart and soul and I want to belong to you completely.”
They couldn’t believe it.
They had aroused no suspicions when they’d told their parents of their day-long plans.
“A picnic in January?” was Carrie Dasheroon’s response. “Ladd, it could be quite cold tomorrow.”
“If it is too cold, you and Laurette can picnic here at the house,” said a smiling Douglas Dasheroon.
“Oh, good,” Marion Howard had said when Laurette told her and T.H. “I hated to leave you here alone all day. I have that luncheon I simply must attend and your father has business in town.”
“Why go so far just to have a picnic?” inquired T. H. Howard. “You know it may be too cold to be outdoors.”
That was it.
Nothing more was said.
Now, on Saturday morning, as the carriage rolled down Dauphin Street toward the waterfront, Laurette and Ladd held hands and said little, their thoughts on what was going to happen today and of how it could change their lives. They were not nervous, just reflective, quiet.
Fate had been kind, the weather was near perfect. One of those warm, sunny Alabama days that can occasionally occur in mid-January. The sky was a bright cobalt blue overhead. The still, heavy air was balmy. It might have been May, so warm and perfect was the morning.
Laurette sighed with contentment. The subtropical climate was one of the things she most loved about her Mobile home. That and the broad avenues shaded by rows of majestic oaks. Beyond the oaks, thick Saint Augustine grass lawns sprawled before stately, pillared mansions, neat white Creole cottages with green shutters and raised Gulf Coast bungalows. Intricate balconies graced many of the houses and decorative iron fences, fountains and lampposts were everywhere.
It was a beautiful, romantic city—the place she wanted to live in for the rest of her life. And, seated beside her in the moving carriage, was the handsome, loving boy with whom she wanted to spend all the rest of her days.
And nights.
Laurette looked at Ladd and smiled. He squeezed her hand, smiled back and said, “We’re almost to the levee.”
She nodded. The carriage was approaching downtown’s lush Bienville Square where towering live oaks with long gray beards of Spanish moss shaded the many lacy iron benches below. There friends congregated in warm weather to visit and gossip and enjoy band concerts. Just ahead was old Fort Conde and, beyond, the calm waters of Mobile Bay. South of the bay were the sugary white beaches of the Gulf Coast and the mighty ocean beyond.
When the carriage rolled to a stop at the busy docks, Ladd said to Moses, “You’ll pick us up at 4:00 p.m.?”
Moses grinned, nodded and said, “I’ll be right here waiting. You children enjoy your day.”
“We will,” they replied in unison.
“Thanks, Moses,” Ladd said, grabbing up the picnic hamper and blanket.
Waving goodbye to the beaming black man, Ladd and Laurette hurried down to the levee. Rushing up the gangplank, they eagerly boarded the waiting ferry, Cloverleaf, for the short ride across the bay. The ferry was crowded with people heading for the various settlements along the eastern shore: Spanish Fort, Daphne and Fairhope. And the lavish resort at Point Clear where Mobile’s elite, including the Howards and Dasheroons, spent at least four or five weeks each year escaping Mobile’s humid summer heat.
Once underway, Laurette pointed, directing Ladd’s attention as a host of white pelicans riding a warm air current circled an invisible tower before heading back out to the open Gulf. Midway across the calm bay, the pair turned their backs to the railing and gazed at the bustling city they were leaving behind.
It was nearing eleven when the Cloverleaf pulled into the wooden docks at Spanish Fort. Ladd and Laurette were the only passengers who got off. That suited them fine. They didn’t want to be going where everyone else was going. They wanted to be alone.
The sleepy shoreside fishing village was high above on the timbered bluffs. A rickety wooden staircase led to the top. The young, healthy pair raced up the steep steps without effort. When they reached the top, they stopped and once again looked back out over the water at Mobile in the distance.
Holding hands and laughing they walked into Spanish Fort. They didn’t stop. They didn’t slow down. They passed directly through the tiny settlement and were soon on a narrow, dirt road bordered by tall oaks and fragrant pines and dense undergrowth. The trail led directly east, into a thick, dark forest.
Less than a mile from Spanish Fort, Ladd stopped, took Laurette’s hand and led her off the dusty trail and into the timbered wilderness.
“Do you know where we’re going, Ladd?” Laurette asked, holding his hand as they negotiated the uneven ground and picked their way through thick underbrush.
“I’ll know when we get there,” he said and flashed her a boyish smile.
They moved through the woods, ducking low limbs, squinting in the deep shadow, going single file when necessary. Swallowed up by the deep-green forest, they walked a good half mile before emerging into a small clearing where a carpet of soft green grass covered the level ground, and at its edge a cold, clear stream rushed over the rocks toward the bay far below.
The couple stopped abruptly, looked around, looked at each othe
r and smiled, knowing they had found just the right place. Ladd lowered the hamper and the blanket to the ground.
Suddenly shy and tense, Laurette sank to her knees and began busily spreading the blanket on the grass. When she had finished, she sat down and impulsively took off her kid slippers and white cotton stockings. She wiggled her toes before rising back up onto her knees.
Ladd followed suit. He bent over from the waist, took off his shoes and stockings, then straightened as she smiled, kissed her fingertips and brushed them across his bare right instep.
He stood above, watching her, wanting her, wishing that he were not so ignorant about the art of love-making. He wanted so much to please her, to give her pleasure. He wasn’t confident that he could. He didn’t know nearly enough about her body. Or even his own.
Remaining on her knees on the neatly spread blanket, Laurette slowly raised her head, looked up at Ladd and caught the worried expression on his smooth, handsome face.
She, too, was totally ignorant to the ways of love-making, but she was intuitive enough to know what was going through his mind. She reached out and circled the back of his knee with her hand, laid her cheek against his thigh and looking up at him, said, “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Ladd. We’ve the rest of our lives to learn how to make love.”
Ladd exhaled with relief, thankful that the girl he loved was so perceptive and understanding. He put a hand to the back of her head, urged her face up and slowly sank to his knees to face her.
“If I live to be a hundred,” he said as his arms encircled her, “I will never love you more than I do at this minute.”
Laurette gripped his trim waist, pressed her face into the curve of his neck, kissed his tanned throat and said prophetically, “Yes, you will. By the end of this day, you’ll love me even more.”
Eight
For a long, tense moment the pair stayed there on their knees, unmoving, excitement and expectation now slightly tempered with rising apprehension. Ladd was afraid he would do something wrong, would ruin what should be beautiful. He was reluctant to undress. The sight of his naked body might shock and repulse her. She might change her mind about him, beg him to take her home at once.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Laurette finally asked, looking to him for guidance.
Ladd managed a weak smile, raised his shaking hands, cupped her pale cheeks and said, “Yes, I am, sweetheart. And if you decide that kissing is all you want, just let me know.”
“I will,” she said.
Her head fell back, her eyes met his and she shivered at the look of love in his beautiful blue eyes. His long arm encircled her waist and he drew her closer. He lowered his dark head, paused when his lips were a mere scant inch from hers, then kissed her.
He kissed her as he had never kissed her before. He held nothing back. All his love, all his passion, all his need was in that slow burning, totally commanding caress. Laurette sighed and melted against him, surrendering completely to the power and potency of that devastating kiss.
When at last Ladd’s heated lips left hers and he lifted his head, Laurette sagged weakly against him, her feverish cheek resting against his. Their hearts beating as one, their breath rapid and ragged, both shuddered with a mixture of anxiety and exhilaration. Ladd’s hand cradled Laurette’s head, then slid down the side of her throat to her shoulder.
Gently he sat her back and, looking directly into her eyes, urged the gathered sleeve of her square-necked, blue merino wool dress off her shoulder. Then he leaned forward, brushed a kiss to the pale flesh he had bared and began unbuttoning her dress. Laurette bit her bottom lip, but didn’t protest. Within seconds, he was taking her dress off, laying it aside.
Again Ladd kissed Laurette and as his lips moved provocatively on hers and his tongue stroked the sensitive insides of her mouth, his nimble fingers undid the hooks of her white batiste camisole. When all the tiny hooks were undone, his lips released hers. He hesitated for only an instant before sweeping the open camisole apart. Laurette heard his sharp intake of air and saw the muscles in his tanned throat move with his nervous swallowing.
“Oh, Ladd,” she murmured as he pushed the camisole’s lace straps down her arms and the wispy garment fell to the blanket.
Laurette’s first impulse was to quickly lift her arms and cover herself. She didn’t do it. Instead, almost immediately, she thrust her chest forward as Ladd’s burning eyes consumed her bared breasts with such blazing fire she believed she could feel their heat. Her soft, satiny nipples tightened in response and stood out in taut twin crests.
“You’re…perfect,” Ladd said huskily. “So incredibly beautiful.”
Laurette could tell by the shaky timbre of his voice that he was awed and pleased by the sight her. Which made her giddily happy. She wanted to be pretty for him. She held her breath when he lifted a lean hand and gently cupped her right breast. When his thumb brushed back and forth across the sensitive nipple, she exhaled anxiously.
Ladd’s hand left her and she watched as he hurriedly unbuttoned his white shirt, yanked the long tails free of his trousers and took it off. Laurette had only a second to examine his naked torso before he put his arms around her and drew her into his close embrace. Both sighed as their flesh made initial contact.
The feel of her bare, soft breasts resting against the flat, hard muscles of his chest was extremely pleasurable to them both. So much so, they sighed and sensuously rubbed against each other, enjoying the tingling sensation of Laurette’s diamond-hard nipples against Ladd’s firm chest with its smattering of dark, crisp hair.
Like children with a brand-new toy, they played for several thrilling moments until Ladd said against Laurette’s temple, “Let’s take off the rest of our clothes, sweetheart.”
He didn’t wait for her permission. He urged her up to her feet, lifted his hands to the tape of her full white petticoats. They came open and he hastily swept them down and off. Laurette, blushing now, stood before him wearing only her white, lace-trimmed pantalets. She started to sink back to her knees.
He stopped her.
“No, Lollie,” Ladd said softly, “Not yet.”
Laurette swallowed hard, nodded and then tensed when he slowly eased the lacy underwear down her wildly fluttering belly, over her flaring hips and past her dimpled knees. When the snowy-white pantalets pooled at her feet, Laurette put her hands on Ladd’s bare shoulders and stepped out of them. She closed her eyes.
Expecting him to come to his feet, she waited. He didn’t move. Finally she opened her eyes. And felt her bare belly contract sharply as he remained on his knees before her, his eyes focused squarely on the triangle of blond curls between her pale thighs. She felt a stirring low in her belly, a clenching of muscles, the feeling that his hands as well as his eyes were touching her there. Her face afire, she started to lower her hands and shield herself.
“No, sweetheart,” he said, and caught her wrists. “Let me look at you. All of you. Just for a minute.”
He released her hands and moved his own to gently clasp the curve of her hips. He exhaled heavily, then impulsively pulled her to him and pressed his hot cheek against her bare stomach. His silky hair ruffled against her, tickling her, thrilling her, causing her to tremble. And she knew that his beautiful blue eyes were closed because she could feel the restless flutter of his long dark lashes against her sensitive skin.
“My sweet love,” he whispered, his breath a hot flame. He turned his face inward, kissed her naval and lifted his head to look up at her.
“Ladd,” she murmured breathlessly.
He came to his feet before her, drew her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. With his burning lips devouring hers, Laurette could tell by the rapid, heavy beating of his heart against her naked breasts that he was excited. But she was far too naive to know how excited. The kiss deepened and as his mouth ground into hers and he pressed her to his hard, ungiving body, Laurette experienced a sudden dizziness and enveloping warmth, a new kind of hunger and need.
His broad chest felt good against her tender breasts and the fabric of his linen trousers, mildly abrasive against her bare stomach and thighs, felt somehow sensuous. Would it, she wondered, feel even better when he took off the trousers and stood naked against her?
She soon found out.
With his mouth still masterfully possessing hers, Ladd put his hands between them, swiftly flipped open the buttons of his tight trousers and gave both them and his white linen underwear a decisive shove. Her lips still clinging to his, Laurette gasped into his mouth as his clothes fell away and his freed flesh surged hotly against her. Stepping free of the garments and kicking them aside, Ladd wrapped his hands around Laurette’s thighs and pressed her closer.
She winced with wonder and surprise and finally tore her lips from his. Reeling, she clasped her wrists behind his head and clung to him, her innate sexuality swiftly emerging. She sighed and sensuously undulated her slender naked body against his tall lanky frame. Ladd groaned in response and thrust his slim hips forward, letting her feel the effect of his fully formed erection.
Laurette was at once dazzled and frightened by the potent male power throbbing against her belly. Instinctively, she knew that Ladd’s lean male body could give a female great pleasure. At the same time she felt certain they were not going to fit together. She didn’t believe that the hot, heavy flesh pulsing forcefully against her could possibly go inside her. That would, she feared, be absolutely impossible.
“Oh, Ladd, it…it isn’t going to work for us,” she whispered against his throat.
“What isn’t going to work, sweetheart?”
She lifted her head, looked up at him sorrowfully. “Making love. We can’t.”
Ladd’s heart thudded with disappointment, but he said calmly, “You know how much I love you, how much I want you, Laurette. But if you don’t want to make love, then we won’t.”