by Jocelyn Kirk
****
The Duke of Simsbury felt a thrill he would have believed himself too jaded to be capable of as the girl he had desired for months was suddenly in his arms and clinging to him with all her strength. Her slender body actually pressed against his, and she felt as fragile in his arms as a reed swaying in the wind. He held her as hard as he dared, feeling her small high bosom against his chest and her dark hair all a-tumble on his shoulder.
Unable to help himself, he risked kissing the top of her head. When she did not stir, he let his lips slide to her neck. He caressed one delicate ear with the tip of his tongue, and she shivered but did not pull away. She was hungry for love, and he would never have a better opportunity.
“Come,” he whispered. He led her into the little room at the back of the shop, following the dim candlelight. The room contained two cots and a straight chair. He led her to a cot and bade her lie down. “You’re not alone,” he said. “I’ll stay and watch over you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She lay on the cot, and he sat on the chair next to her. In a few moments, he gently took her hand and caressed it. His caresses gradually went higher until she shivered as his hands drifted over her shoulders and neck. He eased himself off the chair and knelt next to the cot. She sighed as he kissed her hand and arm. She turned toward him with an expression of longing, and he sat on the edge of the cot and kissed her lips.
Willa felt a surge of passion as she received her first kiss, but her thoughts flew to James Scott. She had once imagined her first kiss would be with him, but in the last few months, she had come to realize that he loved another. Because she had always observed him closely when they were together, she had seen what no one else had seen: he loved Megan Garrick.
This had been a cure for her own lovesickness because she could not imagine any man looking at her after loving Megan Garrick. For a time, she had felt lonely and sad, but she was always cheered by the attentions of the Duke of Simsbury. Although everyone considered him to be a flirt determined to break her heart, he at least was a man—an important man—who admired her.
And now he was sitting in the dark with her, kissing her—which felt wonderful—and caressing her, which felt even more wonderful. She did not want him to stop; whatever the consequences, she did not want him to stop.
Willa felt her breathing quicken as the duke continued stroking and kissing her for several minutes before lying on the bed next to her. She stiffened with fear as his body slid against hers, but she did not repulse him. She did not want him to go away and leave her alone in the storm.
“Willa,” he whispered, “I love you. I’ve been afraid to tell you for fear you would laugh at me.”
She sat up and looked at him. His face was in shadow, but she could see the longing in his eyes as they gazed at her. “Laugh at you! No, I could not laugh at you, but…why do you love me? You could have anyone.”
He kissed her again. “You are the woman I want, the only woman I could ever desire as a wife.”
“As a wife? You want me as a wife?”
Again, he kissed her. “Of course I do. I’ve been courting you for months. Say one word, Willa, say yes.”
Willa was silent with shock and agitation. If she said yes, then she must marry him. Did she want to marry him? And then…what if she said yes and he was not serious and withdrew his offer the next day? But if she said no, he would leave her, and she did not want him to leave her. She felt protected in a way she had never felt before.
But she was a shopgirl! Why would an English duke want to marry her? He must not be serious!
She attempted to be wise and pushed away the hand stroking her arm. “I may not be a sophisticated woman as one finds in cities,” she said, “but I’m not so foolish as to believe an English nobleman wants to marry me.”
The duke slid off the cot and knelt on the floor. “Miss Willa McCrea, I hereby beg for your hand in marriage. There, does that satisfy you that I’m serious?”
“But everyone says you make a habit of breaking girls’ hearts. How can I believe you?”
The duke sat on the edge of the cot and took her in his arms. Willa melted against him as he kissed her deeply. She allowed him to push her down and kiss her neck and shoulders. Her breath surged with passion as he stroked her body, lower and lower.
“I am going to make love to you,” he murmured. “I am going to give you pleasure such as you have never known.”
“Oh!” Willa gasped. “No, you mustn’t!” But she did not push him away.
His hand lightly stroked the wildly pulsing area below her belly, and at that moment she was lost. She felt her thighs part as though they had a will of their own. “Oh…oh…” she cried as the gently stroking hand slid under her dress and caressed her most intimate places.
“Willa,” he whispered, “say yes, and tomorrow we’ll go to Reverend Ries and be wed.”
“Yes,” she whispered, gasping at the pleasure his hand was giving her. “Yes, yes, yes.”
****
Rosalie had dozed for a few minutes just before morning, but Bramble bumped his head against her leg and awoke her. “What is it, Bramble? Is someone coming?”
Bramble ran to the door, and Rosalie followed. She opened the door a crack and peered through, gasping as the early dawn light showed her a world gone wildly awry. Two great oak trees had snapped like matchsticks and lay across the lane. Wooden shingles, branches, and other debris littered the farmyard, and several barn boards lay among the torn and mangled rose bushes.
Bramble attempted to get through the door, and Rosalie let him out. The wind had died but still puffed in spurts like an angry child. She shaded her eyes and gazed toward the sea. Where there once had been meadows, a great expanse of sea water spread.
She became aware of movement; someone was trying to make his way around the fallen trees. She ran outside and in seconds was in the arms of Andrew Reed. His clothes were torn and his hands and face were bleeding, but he seized her as though she were the elixir of life. She held him, caring nothing for the spying eyes of the schoolgirls—at that moment caring for nothing in the world except this one man.
“Andrew, Andrew,” was all she could say as she held him.
Andrew pressed her hard against him and kissed her soundly on the lips. “Rosalie, my dearest Rosalie, I could stand like this with you forever and die happy in your arms, but I must not. I have not a moment to lose.”
Rosalie felt she would perish if she had to release him, but she did release him and looked directly into his face. “Andrew, tell me. Ben? James?”
“We were able to find James and the crew. They are ashore about two miles down the coast from here.”
“And Ben?”
He sighed and shook his head. “As we made for shore, we were thrown about by the waves and tide. The Thistle’s hull was still sound, but as we started to take down the mains’l so she wouldn’t broach, the stern slid to port and the boom swung across. It hit Garrick and flung him into the sea.”
“No! Oh Andrew, no!”
“The ship was pitching back and forth and dropping up and down. When the boom started swinging, the mainmast snapped and shattered the hull as it went down. The night was still dark as pitch, but we launched the dinghy and began to row. We shouted for Ben until we couldn’t shout anymore. We didn’t know where we were or which way to head until a few streaks of dawn showed us an outline of the shore. But we stayed offshore searching for him until we were too exhausted to do anything but row in.”
Rosalie sobbed, but Andrew did not hold her. “Rosalie, listen to me. The tide was still coming in when Ben was knocked into the water. There’s a hope, a small hope, it washed him ashore. We landed in a rocky cove, and though we searched on land for him and found nothing, we knew he could have been well hidden among the boulders along the shore. He could be unconscious—or dead—and either way, we must find him.”
Rosalie scrubbed at her tear-streaked face and attempted to be calm. “Bramble. You came for B
ramble.”
“Yes. James and the crew stayed in the cove to keep searching, but I came here to seek help, the kind of help only a dog, or a wolf, could give. Bramble could find Ben by scent if indeed he is somewhere in that godforsaken stretch of coast.”
“Yes! Yes, he could!”
“I’m going to saddle whatever horses are in your barn. Perhaps you’d better inform the others, as terrible as that will be. His sister and his fiancée—dear God!”
They parted. Rosalie ran inside and woke Megan and Elena. Barely able to keep from crying herself, she told them what had happened. After the first shock, they both declared they would go with her and help with the search.
“You cannot,” stated Rosalie. “As much as it hurts me to say that, you cannot. We have only two horses available. I must ride one of them, for Bramble won’t go without me.”
“Tell us what direction you’ll be heading,” Megan demanded, fighting to stay calm. “I’ll go to my brother’s farm and fetch his plow horse. She can carry Elena and me together.”
“We’re going south along the path by the sea. Andrew said the cove where they came ashore is about two miles from here.”
The schoolgirls and Mrs. Croaker began to awaken, and Rosalie hurried outside to avoid further delay. She ran to the barn and helped Andrew saddle, with Bramble trotting alongside. When the horses were ready, Rosalie called to the wolf, “Come, Bramble, we must find Ben!”
“Bramble, find Ben!” Andrew echoed. Bramble jumped about and emitted a brief howl, impatient to be off. They urged the horses on and cantered toward the sea.
****
Willa opened her eyes. It was early dawn, and the terrible wind of the night before was now silent. She shifted slightly, cramped on the tiny cot, and felt a body next to her. The events of the night before came back to her in a rush, and she gasped at the revelation.
He had deflowered her! Unwed, she had let a man have his way with her!
She felt sticky, and her next thought was of rising from the cot without waking the duke so she could wash herself thoroughly upstairs. She managed to climb over him and found her pantalettes lying next to the cot, along with his trousers and jacket.
The entire event came back to her in all its shameful details as she snatched up her undergarment and scampered upstairs. He had caressed her with his hand until she had experienced a sexual climax, and while she was in a vulnerable state in the seconds after it, he had thrust himself into her. It had hurt but not as badly as she’d heard.
Her body reacted to the memory. “Lord, I am wicked,” she whispered, “for heaven help me, I want to do it again!”
As she washed, arranged her hair, and selected a clean frock, she wondered what the duke would say when he awoke. Would he actually marry her, or would he laugh and stalk out the door?
A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “A fine dress for a wedding, Willa.” The duke walked into her chamber and took her in his arms before she could do anything but stare at him in shock.
He kissed her neck and made her shiver. “Last night,” he murmured, “was the most wonderful night of my life.”
Willa could say nothing, for his lips on her neck were inflaming her. “No!” she cried, as she summoned all her strength and pushed him away. “We were wicked last night, and we must not be wicked again!”
He smiled. “Yes, the wedding night came a bit early, but consider, my love; by tonight you will be the Duchess of Simsbury, and our lovemaking will be as innocent as the angels.”
“You still want to marry me?”
He looked at her seriously. “Yes, and last night you accepted me, so I hope you won’t break your promise.”
“But Your Grace—Good heavens, I don’t even know your name!”
“My name is Lionel Harding, Duke of Simsbury. You will be Her Grace, the Duchess of Simsbury.”
“But I don’t know anything about being a lady! A British lady, a duchess, good lord! What would your family and friends say? What would they think of me?”
She began to pace about the room, but he seized her by the shoulders. “Are you going to marry me, or are you not?”
She sucked in a breath so hard, she coughed. “Ye-yes, I will. I must.”
“Good. Then let us not worry over the future. It will take care of itself.”
He pulled her against him and whispered in her ear, “Do you remember last night when I was pleasuring you with my hand? Imagine how it will feel tonight when I do it with my tongue.”
Willa’s heart was hammering. Her young body, so long deprived of love and intimacy, reacted to his words, and she was humiliated to realize that she would marry him no matter what for the joy of once again being kissed and caressed.
“A man and woman can please each other in so many ways. I will teach you all of them,” he murmured.
He was breathing hard and holding her close, and Willa became aware that he wanted to start the lessons immediately. She attempted to step away, and after a moment’s hesitation, he let her go.
“You must promise me,” she said, amazed at her own boldness, “you will not do things—kissing and such—until we are wed.”
He smiled and nodded his compliance. “Very well, but for every hour I must wait, that will be one hour more that you will not be allowed to sleep tonight.”
Willa was distressed. “Don’t say such things to me, for I now know I’m a girl with wicked desires! A true lady wouldn’t feel as I do, would not want to—”
“A lady who does not desire the caresses of her husband could never make him happy,” he replied grinning. “But come, enough discussion. Let us go forth and awaken the Reverend Edward Ries.”
Willa nodded. She was excited and terrified, and still astounded he intended to marry her. Silently, she picked up her shawl, and together they made their way to the parsonage.
Reverend Ries’s curate was outside, sweeping storm debris off the walk. “The reverend’s gone to the country to see if the farmers need help,” declared the curate. “I don’t know when he’ll be back, sir.”
“Is there another minister nearby?”
“In North Stonington, about seven miles east. Reverend Wales is the man, and his parsonage is right near the village.”
The duke led Willa to the livery stable, and she was amazed and awed by her future husband’s status and the respect accorded him by others. He asked for a carriage and team, and a full equipage was immediately produced. The two horses were restive after the storm, and the duke asked for, and was given, a driver.
In a few minutes, they were trotting down the road to North Stonington, and when they returned four hours later, Willa was the Duchess of Simsbury.
****
Rosalie and Andrew rode as fast as they dared along the storm-littered trail, at one point jumping the horses over a fallen log. Sharp gusts of wind still gusted off the sea, and the weather had turned cold. Rosalie was grateful for her warm wool cape but concerned Andrew was still garbed in wet clothing and had no greatcoat. She would have gladly given him her cape, but she knew he would not accept it, so she said nothing.
When they reached the rocky cove, they immediately spied James Scott and his two crewmembers. They had managed to build a fire and were attempting to warm themselves and dry their clothing before resuming their search for Ben.
“Hallo!” called Andrew.
They all quickly reconnoitered and shared what little information they had. “We searched the whole cove,” declared James, whose face bore a look of sad hopelessness. “From the top of those rocks, we could see the boulder field continues quite some distance. We decided to rest a bit and wait for your return before going on.”
“Stay here,” said Rosalie. “I’ll go on with Bramble. If he finds…anything, I’ll shout for you.”
Andrew would have gone with her, but she could see that he was shaking with cold and exhaustion. “Stay here, Andrew. Whatever is to be found, Bramble will find it.”
He embraced her. “Take care
on the rocks.”
“I will.”
Rosalie called Bramble and strode across the sand to the great mass of boulders that lined the cove. The huge rocks were piled on each other like blocks thrown by a child, but the sea and wind had rounded their edges so they were no threat to Bramble’s paws. He bounded up them, following Rosalie as she climbed. When they reached the highest point, the wolf looked up and sniffed the air. The wind blew his ruff as he stood utterly still, testing the scents blowing in from the sea.
Rosalie thought it likely that he could smell nothing but the salty sea air, and she called him to follow her. The climb down to the other side of the rocks was more difficult, and twice she had to reach for Bramble to prevent herself from falling.
“If only I had four legs too,” she told the wolf. Bramble waved his tail and jumped down onto the sand. Rosalie scrambled after him.
The beach was nothing more than a tiny swath of sand. As Rosalie scrutinized the area, she was chilled by the realization, if Ben lay unconscious somewhere nearby, he could have been drowned by the tide.
“If by some miracle he’s still alive,” she said aloud.
Rosalie sat on the sand and called Bramble to her. In the tiny space between the boulder piles, the wind could not reach them, and she hoped Bramble would be able to smell something besides salt. She put her arm about his neck.
“Bramble, my dear friend, this is very important. We must find Ben.” Bramble waved his tail.
Rosalie stood, and Bramble watched her. “Bramble, find Ben! Find Ben!”
Bramble knew the word Ben and looked about, wondering why Rosalie would say the word when Ben was not present. Perhaps the man was nearby, and if so, Bramble wanted to see him. Ben was one of his favorite pack members and had the added advantage of always being willing to scratch his tummy. Bramble sniffed the air. He could do with a good tummy scratch, he decided, and catching the tiniest hint of Ben’s scent, headed up the next pile of boulders.
Rosalie had no notion as to whether Bramble scented Ben or not. She could do nothing but hope, although the wolf might have decided to hunt crabs among the tidal pools or chase rabbits in the meadow far above. She followed as quickly as she could and, in a few minutes, stood at the high point of the next boulder field.