A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

Before he could finish, she pulled her arms from the sleeves. And then she lay naked before him. “God, you’re beautiful,” Jourdian whispered.

  She saw him staring at her body as if tonight were the first time he’d ever seen it. “You have seen me without clothing before, Jourdian. Why is tonight different?”

  He slid his hand over her waist and rested it upon the gentle crest of her hip. “Before tonight, I could only see you. Tonight I am going to touch you. Touch every part of you until there is no doubt in your mind about what men and women do together in bed. And when I’m finished,” he added, pressing a light kiss to her shoulder, “I’m going to do it all over again.”

  “My heart is beating like a hummingbird’s wings.”

  A smile quirking the corner of his lips, Jourdian sat up and lifted her into his lap. Leaning over her chest, he took one rosy nipple into his mouth.

  “Jourdian, I am certain that I have caught fire.”

  “Not yet, sprite. But I promise you that you will.” Circling his tongue over the soft, puckered flesh of her nipple, he moved his hand from her hip, across the top of her thigh, and over the silken swell between her legs.

  “Sweet everlasting, what is this you do to me?” Splendor cried.

  He buried his face into the soft valley between her breasts, and when he spoke his lips caressed her skin. “I do what you tried to do for yourself.”

  “Oh, Jourdian, you were right,” she moaned. “The pleasure does not come from your leg, but from your hand!” She raised her hips higher, more firmly into his palm.

  Her head fell over the crook of his elbow, her long russet hair pooled upon the yellow coverlet, and it was upon that soft bed of copper shine that Jourdian laid her down again. Continuing to caress her breasts with his lips and tongue, he moved his hand lower, his fingers slipping over the softness of her femininity and into the warm moisture of her desire.

  “You, too,” Splendor whispered, squeezing the masses of muscle in his upper arms. “Let me do this to you, too. Show me the way. This feeling you give me… ’Tis a pleasure of which I cannot partake alone, Jourdian, but one I would like to share with you.”

  Her sweet generosity stirred his emotions. A soft, gentle feeling came over him, transcending his desire and making him want to please her more than he ever had another woman. “Later,” he managed to tell her. “Let me show you first.”

  “That is your wish?”

  “It is.”

  She granted his wish, and lay still and quiet.

  But her silence did not last long. The moment Jourdian slid his fingers between the satiny folds of her womanhood, she cried out loudly.

  “Shh! Do you want Emil to hear?”

  Splendor didn’t care who heard her. The only thing that mattered was finding release from the sweet ache caused by Jourdian’s fingers. Again, she cried out, this time louder than before.

  Jourdian realized he had to hurry, lest she bring the entire household running. He stroked her faster, and as he did, another sound joined her loud cries of pleasure.

  Music. The same enchanting melody he’d heard in the parlor yesterday.

  “Jourdian, please!” Splendor shouted when his intimate caresses slowed.

  “But that music—”

  “Don’t stop,” she panted, grabbing his wrist.

  Despite the fact that Jourdian could not understand where the strange but beautiful music was coming from, he continued his endeavors to gift Splendor with her first taste of ecstasy.

  Louder and louder the music became.

  “Sweet everlasting!”

  He knew she’d reached the peak of pleasure when her entire body began to tremble.

  The music reached its crescendo as well, playing so loudly that it fairly shook the walls.

  “Jourdian,” Splendor whispered, still quivering as bliss rushed through her. It was a tempest of profound sensation, this thing that held her fast, and Jourdian was at its center, holding her there, lifting her higher and higher still until at last the most beautiful pleasure she’d ever known swirled through her.

  “I have opened completely,” she gasped. “Like a bud spreading its every petal to the warmth of the sun, I have blossomed beneath the touch of your masterful fingers.”

  Jourdian knew he’d never heard such a dramatic description in all his life. He continued to caress her until she stilled and sighed. As soon as he knew she was replete, he started to comment on the music again.

  But he no longer heard it. Quickly, he rose from the bed. And so he didn’t see that Splendor had risen completely off the mattress and hovered above it. By the time he turned to face her again, she’d floated back down to the bed.

  “Jourdian, I have never known such pleasure existed.”

  “Existed,” he mumbled. “That music, Splendor…”

  “If this is what men and women do together in bed, Jourdian, I should like to do it morning, noon, and night.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” he answered absently.

  “Is something amiss?” Splendor asked.

  “That music—” Damn it all, he was going to find the source of the music right now! He crossed to the door, opened it, and stepped into the dimly lit hall. “Get in the bed. I’ll be back shortly.”

  When he vanished down the corridor, Splendor donned her silk shirt and followed him.

  “I told you to wait in the room,” Jourdian flared when she arrived by his side.

  “’Twas nay my wish to stay in the room, Jourdian. ’Twas my wish to go with you.”

  “You—”

  The opening of a nearby door cut him short. “I say, is the wedding night over already?” Emil asked as he walked out of his room into the hall, tying the sash of the dressing robe he was wearing. “What are the two of you doing out here?”

  “Emil, did you hear music a short while ago?” Jourdian asked.

  “Music?” Emil frowned, smiled, then neared his cousin. “No, but I can certainly understand why you did,” he murmured next to Jourdian’s ear. He cast an appreciative glance in Splendor’s direction. “The wedding night must have been a smashing success for you to have heard music, old boy.”

  Jourdian scowled at his cousin. “I tell you, I heard music. And I heard the same inexplicable melody in the parlor yesterday morning.”

  “You’ve been working too hard, Jourdian,” Emil replied, clapping his cousin on the back. “You should go on holiday. At the very least, you should take a few days off and indulge in a bit of sport.”

  Splendor grasped her husband’s arm. “What sort of sport do you enjoy, Jourdian?”

  He sighed with irritation. “I am not going on holiday, and I do not have the time for sport. What I want to do is understand where the blasted music is coming from!”

  “Oh, hello, Tessie,” Splendor said, suddenly spotting the little maid a short distance down the hall. “What are you doing?”

  Tessie approached with a tall stack of towels in her arms, and bobbed a quick curtsy. “Begging your pardon, Lord and Lady Amberville, but what with the wedding this afternoon I didn’t quite finish my work on this floor. I’ll be through in only a moment.”

  “Did you hear any music?” Jourdian asked her.

  “Music? No, your lordship.”

  “He heard music,” Splendor explained. “An inexplicable melody, and now he is determined to find its source.”

  With wide eyes, Tessie looked up and down the hall, at both walls, and then at the ceiling. “Music from nowhere,” she whispered. “Ghosts.” She dropped the stack of towels.

  They landed on Jourdian’s bare feet.

  “Ghosts!” Tessie wailed. “Oh, Your Grace, Heathcourte must be haunted!” Tears streaming down her birthmarked cheeks, she continued to wail.

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” Jourdian snapped at her. “And you will calm yourself this instant.”

  Splendor took hold of Jourdian’s arm again. “You are supremely wrong, Jourdian. There most certainly are such things as ghosts. I�
�ve seen many of them.”

  “Oh!” Tessie sobbed again. She fell to her knees, still cupping her cheeks.

  “There, there now, Tessie.” Emil tried to calm the frightened girl. “His Grace won’t allow the ghosts anywhere near you, will you, Jourdian?”

  “There are no ghosts!” Jourdian roared.

  “I will be happy to go through the house in search of ghosts,” Splendor offered. “If I find any, I will see what I can do to force them to leave. But really, Tessie,” she said to the wailing maid, “most ghosts are quite benevolent. Chances are if Heathcourte is home to spirits, they are kind ones you needn’t fear.”

  Jourdian rolled his eyes. “Oh, of all the—”

  “Of course, Heathcourte might house goblins,” Splendor ventured. “Goblins truly are wicked, and if I find any I will be forced to summon aid to rid the house of them, for goblins are surely the most stubborn creatures in existence. Is that what you wish me to do, Jourdian? Look for obstinate goblins?”

  He could do nothing but stare at her for a full minute. “That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever—”

  “Perhaps you have brownies,” Splendor thought aloud suddenly, tapping her finger on her chin. “A brownie is a hairy little man about twenty-five inches high. He likes to adopt houses, and when he adopts one he will look after that home.”

  “Splendor,” Jourdian said, “please—”

  “A brownie emerges at night to do work left unfinished by the human workers. All one must do to coerce him to do such chores is leave a bowl of creamy milk out for him, perhaps with a bit of bread and honey. But we must be careful not to insult a brownie in any way, for if we do he will punish us by shouting out our secrets for all to hear. He might destroy our clothing, pinch us while we sleep, or he could even beat us.”

  “Beat us?” Tessie cried. “Oh! Oh, Lord protect us!”

  “That is enough!” Jourdian shouted. “Splendor, one more word out of you, and I’ll—”

  “Very well,” she complied. “Just tell me if you want me to search the house for ghosts, goblins, or brownies. You know, we will recognize a brownie straightaway because some have no fingers or toes. Others have no noses. I will look for Heathcourte brownies, Jourdian. ’Tis the very least I can do in return for the supreme pleasure you just gave to me—”

  “No,” he interrupted before she could describe their lovemaking to Emil and Tessie.

  “What of your own pleasure, Jourdian?” Splendor asked. “Did you not say that first you would show me—”

  She broke off when she saw Jourdian’s cat creep out from within the shadows down the hall. “The cat,” she whispered. “Jourdian, he is hungry.”

  “Good night,” Jourdian said to Emil and Tessie as he kicked the towels off his feet. Taking Splendor’s hand, he led her back down the hall, leaving his cousin to deal with the hysterical maid and the stalking Siamese.

  Once back inside Splendor’s room Jourdian shut the door and turned on his bride.

  “Are you not going to find the source of the music you heard?” she asked before he could say a word.

  “Forget about the damned music. It must have been my imagination. You—”

  “Oh, do you have a good imagination? I so admire creative minds. Musicians, writers, poets, weavers, sculptors, painters… All are precious and needed in this world, is that nay your opinion as well, Jourdian?”

  “I am not going to discuss creativity of the mind, damn it all! I want to talk to you about—about…”

  Bloody hell. What had he been going to talk to her about? Damn her for always making him forget what he wanted to say.

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, he tried to recall what it was she’d said or done in the hall that had so angered him. After a moment, he finally remembered.

  “For God’s sake, why must you speak of such things in front of others, Splendor? What you said in front of Emil and Tessie was—”

  “I did not think that talking about ghosts, goblins, and brownies was such a terrible thing, Jourdian.”

  “I refer to what we did in bed! What we do there is private, do you understand?”

  She didn’t understand. “Is what we did… Did we do something wrong? Is that why you do not want anyone to know?”

  Reminded anew of her complete ignorance of the subject of sexuality, Jourdian took a deep breath. “No,” he said calmly, “we didn’t do anything wrong. We’re married. But talking about our bedroom activities is totally inappropriate.”

  Nodding, she returned to the bed and lay down, her head propped upon a mound of yellow-satin-covered pillows. “I begin to see. ’Tis a secret.”

  “Fine. It’s a secret.”

  “Is it a secret because Emil and Tessie have never heard of what we did in this bed? Are they as uneducated in the subject of bedroom activities as I was? If that is so, Jourdian, then we are obligated to enlighten them, for I assure you that my ignorance of the bed activity was a source of great frustration for me until you finally illuminated my benightedness. Would we nay do the same for our friends? Would we nay—”

  “Nay—I mean no we would not! And if you think for one second that you now know everything there is to know about lovemaking—which is what the bed activity is called—then you are sadly, sadly mistaken. There is more, Splendor. Much more. Indeed, I have barely begun to tutor you in the art.”

  “’Tis an art, this lovemaking?”

  “Yes, and I’ll not have you speaking of it with anyone but me!”

  Staring at him, she remembered the advice Emil had given her earlier. “I do not need to become angry to confront you. I need but a bit of courage.”

  Jourdian watched her rise from the bed and cross the room, her hair like a shimmering cascade of flame. When she stood before him, she tilted her chin up and raised one auburn eyebrow.

  “I have found sufficient valor to inform you that I do not care for the way you behave, Jourdian. I want you to be happy, and if you see to my needs and wants, you will be happier. Tonight is nay the time for talking, so I will refrain from telling you about myself. However, I shall take this opportunity to ask that you cease shouting at me, cease losing your patience, and cease treating me as though I were naught but an insect you could crush beneath your heel. Moreover, I ask that you embrace me at least fifty times a day and that you gift me with twice that many kisses. I also ask that you join me in bed for the art of lovemaking as often as I wish. That is, as soon as you have finished teaching me everything there is to know about it. As I ponder what you said, it occurs to me that there might be a few aspects about the lovemaking art that don’t appeal to me. If that should prove true, I would not want to do them. Now, what say you to my requests?”

  His gaze enveloped her like a dark shadow devouring a patch of sunlight. “What say I?” He reached for her waist and pulled her straight into him. “I say, Splendor,” he said, his lips a whisper away from hers, “that you will like all the many things I teach you about lovemaking, and you will most assuredly want to do them.”

  “That is not for you to say,” she murmured shakily, feeling that same sense of warm anticipation he’d made her feel earlier. “You cannot know what I like and what I do not—”

  “I will know, Splendor.”

  “But—”

  His kiss drank the rest of her words, his mouth settling over hers in a possessive manner he didn’t care to think about at the moment. His need for her burning through his blood, he thrust his tongue between her lips in a rhythmic motion, deeply, relentlessly, and with a silent demand that she reciprocate in kind.

  She obeyed instinctively, and slipped her own tongue over his bottom lip. Timidly at first, but when she felt his hands sweep under her shirt, smooth over her breasts, down her belly, and over her bottom, she responded with a boldness that surprised her, plunging her tongue into his mouth and pressing her hips directly into the hot, hard bulge at his groin.

  The fire in Jourdian’s blood grew with unbearable intensity. With one fluid m
otion, he swept Splendor into his arms and strode toward the bed. There he laid her on the mattress.

  “Jourdian, I cannot find the words to tell you how strong I am feeling at this moment. Your kiss filled me with such—”

  “The shirt,” he whispered. “Take it off.”

  She slipped out of the garment and held her arms out to him.

  “I’m going to undress now,” he warned her softly, his gaze pinned to her face. “Completely.” Carefully, he studied her expression for signs that would tell him she was afraid or unwilling.

  He saw nothing on her lovely face but joy. It shone from her smile and glowed from her eyes.

  He unfastened the front of his pants, then rolled the waistband down over his hips. As he slowly revealed himself to Splendor, he waited for her to move her gaze from his eyes to his loins.

  She watched only his eyes.

  Jourdian removed his pants and undergarments, sure that when he was totally naked she would take at least one furtive glance at his sex.

  “Are you afraid, sprite?” he asked when she did not examine his full length.

  “I feel fear only when your light silver eyes become the color of hard gray iron.”

  “Look at me,” he ordered sharply.

  “’Tis what I am doing, Jourdian.”

  Determined that she would see every inch of him before he continued with the bedding, he lifted his knees upon the mattress, one on each side of her hips, and straddled her. He took her wrists then, placing her palms on his thighs. Slowly, he pushed her hands higher until her fingers slid into the thick black mat of hair that shadowed his loins.

  “Look at me,” he demanded again. “All of me.”

  Seeing his command echoed within the silver blazes in his eyes, she lowered her gaze. Down his muscled arms and his corded chest. Over the flat expanse of his belly.

  And finally to his masculinity. “What is this magic you possess, Jourdian, that you can change the appearance of your body?”

  He saw a hint of curiosity in her eyes and heard a whisper of confusion in her soft voice, but she showed not a shred of anxiety. It was yet more proof that she had no idea of what he was going to do to her.

  Gently, he clasped her right hand and curled her fingers around his turgid arousal. “It doesn’t make you shy to see me this way, Splendor? To touch this part of me?”