by Jane Lark
She thumped his shoulder with the heel of her hand. “Take off your boots!”
At that he leaned back and then shifted to sit on the edge of the bed letting his legs hang over. Ellen climbed down to take off his boot, still wearing only her stockings and garters.
He lifted his leg.
“That is a nice view,” Edward drawled his fingers touching her hip.
The man was insatiable. “Edward!” But as she spoke his boot loosened and slid off. She pulled off his stocking too.
He lifted the other foot for her attention and his lips touched her back as his fingers busied themselves enchanting her and stealing her concentration.
His second boot loosened and fell to the floor along with his stocking. But his hand gripped her hip and stopped her sitting back as he stood instead.
With his breeches at his ankles, his tall strong body embracing her and his clever hands working their art she fell into oblivion again, leaning on him and letting him have his way. Then they were seated, she on his lap, her legs around his, her back against his firm chest as he loved her with slow determination.
He was the key to her existence this man, filling her completely, so deeply inside her in every sense, body and soul. It made her feel wickedly erotic, indecently so, the scandalous being she had seemed to be, but had not been for the past years. In Edward’s arms the feeling excited her.
When he rose he turned her to the bed and kissed her back as he showed her how he wanted her to kneel, on all fours. She could barely breathe, hardly think. Dear Lord. His muscular thighs pressed to the back of hers and his hips struck her buttocks. A cry of ecstasy escaped her throat, rising from the bottom of her lungs.
There was tension in his grip and an element of ruthlessness, but there was devotion and respect too. She felt adored. She ascended into blissful rapture and felt him follow.
That was his last gift to her today. There could be a child now. She was not unclean anymore. She was his wife.
After a moment he tumbled her to the bed, pulled her into his arms and rained what felt like tender, cherishing kisses across her face. She captured his nape, and pulled his lips back to hers, feeling victorious and then smiled and whispered. “Does it make me wicked if I liked making love as we did? I have been the mistress of three men and none of them used that pose.”
His forefinger traced the line of her jaw. “Sweetheart, you could never be wicked. You do not have a single wicked bone. But I’m glad that at least I am the first in some form on our wedding night.”
Ellen felt her eyes fill with tears which brimmed over. His thumb wiped one aside.
“I didn’t mean to distress you by saying that. I’m sorry. I don’t care about what’s happened before, Ellen, its past. From today, we’ve no history, we’ll make our own.”
Ellen held her breath. There was a past she could not escape, not when she had John, but she would not burden him with it. She trusted him, but she refused to let him look that demon in the eye on their wedding night. She hoped he never would. And if he did she would cling to her rock, Edward. She would hold on for dear life if she had to, no matter how badly the storm grew about her, or how much the tide pulled her back. She’d fight to keep him. He’d hauled her from the wreck she’d made of her life and she was holding fast to him until they reached calm water; if they ever could.
“You’re sad?”
“Happy,” she answered. “I was thinking about the things that have happened. I feel as though this is all a dream. Don’t pinch me. I don’t want to wake up.”
His fingers gently slipped to pinch her earlobe in response. “It’s no dream, sweetheart, you’re here.”
“Yes, still here,” she whispered back.
~
Waking with a start, Ellen heard someone tap on the bedroom door, the instinct of years and restless dreams, throwing her into a place of fear. Moving to rise she realised her body was weighted down, restrained by a muscular thigh bracing her legs and an arm which lay idle across her midriff, its palm resting on her naked breast.
Edward, she hadn’t dreamt this.
The slight knock struck the door again. She lifted Edward’s hand trying to wake him. “Edward.”
“Mm.”
His hair was tussled and stubble shaded his jaw. His long black eyelashes flickered and lifted, and his dark blue gaze focused on her. He smiled.
“Wake up.” she urged, as his fingers slipped from her hold and returned to squeeze her breast. “Someone is knocking.”
“Mama? Papa?” John’s call came from beyond the door.
Ellen threw Edward’s hand aside, scrambled off the bed to retrieve their clothing from the floor and set the cluttered pile on a chair, then hurriedly pulled on her underwear, glancing at Edward who’d risen and was slipping on a dressing gown.
“Mama!” John called again.
“Just a moment, John,” Ellen answered as Edward moved to unlock the door, waving her back to bed.
She slid beneath the tussled sheets and was smoothing them out across her lap as Edward opened the door.
“Good-morning, son.”
Ellen’s heart skipped a beat at his words. They were not a pretence since he was still half asleep. They’d been spoken from the heart. She watched Edward lean forward to look out of the door, his head turning right and left. “No nursemaid, John?”
Still in his nightshirt, John frowned and grunted. “I am not a baby. I came down on my own.”
“Did you indeed.” Edward spoke with a smile on his lips and in his voice. “Well then, young man, you had better come in and see your Mama while I ring for some chocolate.”
A broad grin stretched across her son’s face as he glanced upwards, sending a look of hero-worship at his new Papa. Heavens, Edward was turning out to not only be her rock but her son’s too.
If Edward knew how much he had truly taken on his shoulders, he may not be smiling then, her conscience whispered. But Ellen refused to heed it. Instead she gave the man who was her saviour a closed lipped smile of thanks and was rewarded with a broad answering grin in acknowledgement, as he tugged the damask bell rope.
“I suppose breakfast in bed is in order,” he laughed as John launched himself on to the bed and snuggled up to her, his arms reaching about her neck.
Giving her son a squeeze, she kissed the crown of his head as Edward slid beneath the sheets beside her.
“What shall we do today, Papa?” John chimed, animated with excitement.
Could a heart burst with joy? Ellen wondered. But not wishing him to overwhelm Edward she sought to pacify him. “Perhaps your new Papa shall want a day to himself, John. He has been travelling for days remember.”
“Hardly,” Edward scoffed. “It is our honeymoon, Ellen. No, I think today we shall go shopping, you need clothes.” Edward’s arm then slotted about John’s shoulders pulling him from Ellen’s hug to hold him in a more masculine, confidential and exclusive embrace. “And then we can look for something for you, John, a pony perhaps?”
“A pony!” Bouncing up John turned about, kneeling to face them both, full of enthusiasm.
“You need not spend your money, Edward.” Ellen began to rein this in. Edward was a second son after all. He’d freely admitted he would need to work to support them. She did not want him spending rashly just to please her and impress her son, nor did she want to place him in debt.
His gaze met hers, visibly reading her thoughts. “I have enough for this. I wish to treat you and John, and I expect you both to enjoy being spoilt.”
With that the door was tapped again and bidding the maid enter, Edward ordered breakfast.
An hour or so later the bed covers were sticky, and John also, after drinking three cups of chocolate and eating three slices of bread with jam. Taking her son’s sticky fingers in her hand, Ellen led John from the room and back upstairs, to pass him into the care of his nursemaid.
“I like my new Papa, Mama.”
“I know, sweetheart. Are we not very l
ucky to have him?” Unexpectedly John spun about, securing his arms about her waist.
“You won’t send me away again, Mama, will you?”
Ignoring the instant rush of tears to her eyes, Ellen held him tight in return, the two of them clinging to each other in the way only two people who’d known separation could. “No, John,” she lied, unable to face the possibility of the truth. She would never let him go by choice, but so many times the choice had not been hers. Then bending to kiss his sticky cheek, she prayed she would have control over it, but even as she did so, she felt the web of lies, of half-truths, weaving about her, hemming her in. “Never willingly,” she said more quietly, then in a more bolstering voice, rising back up she patted his shoulder, “Now run along to your room, the quicker we are ready, the quicker we may look for that pony of yours.”
She was going to enjoy today. She was going to relish it and not feel guilty. She was going to look for dresses and be Edward’s wife and thumb her nose at fate. And if her father came—when her father came—she was not going to hide from him anymore. She was going to make him face her—face what she’d become. She wanted to be visible again.
~
Edward glanced at Ellen. She was seated on the other side of John. The three of them squeezed onto the seat of the trap as it jolted along and John held the ribbons. Edward had let the boy take the reins when they’d left the busy road.
They’d spent the morning shopping and John had been bored, despite Edward taking him to buy some sweets while Ellen purchased her unmentionable things. She was wearing a ready-made day dress now, which had been quickly tacked to fit, and she’d been clearly glad to get out of the tired, conspicuous, evening dress. John was wearing old clothes, which Margaret had found in the attics, his or Rob’s, to save the necessity of purchasing another full wardrobe. Ellen had needed everything of course. He’d even insisted she purchase a ball gown, and she’d chosen a daring style and requested that it be decorated with red ribbon, a light of marked decision in her eyes. It had cost a considerable amount, but he refused to baulk at the expense, and he was not going to avoid the next expenditure either. He was looking forward to seeing both their faces. He’d sell the phaeton and the matching pair of horses he’d left in London to cover it, he’d have no need for a flash racing vehicle as a steward.
Firmly grasping John’s smaller hands, Edward helped steer the curricle through the gates of Park House.
“Where are we?” Ellen asked, warily viewing their surroundings.
Meeting her gaze, he smiled. “At Park House, the home of my dear friends Lord and Lady Forth.” At that statement, she blushed crimson. She’d seemed in a defiant mood in the shop, purposeful, although he didn’t understand what had charged her up. But her confidence and motivation apparently ebbed now, she looked at first deflated, as though struck, and then angry as her manner changed again and became coldly rigid. She was steeling herself, setting up her damned armour.
Blithely ignoring her reaction Edward continued, looking at John. “Forth just happens to be brilliant at breeding horses.”
The drive opened on to the circle which fronted his friend’s property and Edward helped John draw the curricle to a halt, congratulating the boy.
They were met at once by a groom in smart royal blue livery who took the horses’ bridles.
Edward jumped down and then lifted John down after him, saying, “Shall we see what we can find, young man?” John grinned, nodding and Edward offered his hand to Ellen. In contrast, she was unsmiling and looking starkly towards Forth’s large fashionable house.
“Edward! I cannot tell you how excited Julie has been ever since we received your note.” Edward looked to his friend. Forth had come out of the house and strode across the gravel. “I know you have come for business but she has already sent for tea. I presume you will allow her an opportunity for introductions before we visit the stables? I have to say you surprised us. It’s certainly out of the blue.” He was smiling profusely beneath his waxed moustache and a lock of wavy short blond hair hung over his brow. A true country gent, was Forth. He was shorter than Edward and half a dozen years older. Their friendship had been forged in the first years that Edward had taken on his father’s estates. While Robert wasted his time abroad, Casper had been a guiding force, the brother Edward had lost.
“Are you not going to introduce us?” Casper prompted with a look that shifted from Edward to John and then Ellen, at which point Edward watched his friend physically step back.
“My, my, you captured a beauty in the capital.” Then remembering his manners, Forth extended his hand. “My pleasure, Lady Edward.”
Dropping a shallow curtsy Ellen set her hand in Forth’s. “My Lord,” Ellen responded, clearly reticent, her skin still deep red.
“And this is my son, John,” Edward stated.
Stepping forward, John bowed deeply. When he rose, Edward found his hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, pride swelling his chest and broadening his smile. The lad was well-bred.
“I am pleased to meet you, John.” Forth acknowledged the boy with a friendly smile. “We will of course pick you out the very best pony I can find.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” John responded quickly.
“Have I missed the introductions?” Julie’s voice rang out across the drive and in an instant her arms were about Edward’s neck in a jubilant welcome and she pressed a kiss to his cheek, before pulling away.
“Edward, what news!” Breathless with enthusiasm, she turned to John, bracing his face in her palms and bending to press a brief kiss atop his head, thereby stunning the boy to silence and turning his skin as crimson as his mother’s.
“But I know who you are,” she said straightening up still gripping the boy’s face in her hands, “you are, John. And, my dear…” Her hands fell away from the boy as she turned to Ellen, stopped and stared, her mouth falling open, momentarily silenced. But not for long, quickly recouping she stepped forward and took Ellen’s hand between her own. “You must be, Ellen. You can have no idea how happy we are for you. You shall find no better husband than Edward. You will come in for tea?”
Edward watched a strained smile form on Ellen’s lips and taking up John’s hand again, he moved to stand at her side and pressed a hand to her back. She was clearly uncomfortable. Julie’s exuberant greeting had daunted her.
“Thank you, Julie, we gladly accept,” he acknowledged.
“Wonderful,” Julie breathed and instantly slotted her arm through Ellen’s, to draw her away.
Ellen looked back across her shoulder, passing Edward a disconcerted glance as he and John followed behind. He could do little but smile in answer as he wondered at the cause.
While they drank their tea it became more and more obvious Ellen was extremely uneasy. The atmosphere was thick with tension. As the cliché said, he could have cut it with a knife.
Julie went to extremes to ingratiate herself, while Ellen simply refused to engage.
Then when Julie mentioned Eton she inspired an indiscreet show of emotion from John who announced bluntly that he did not wish to go back. Following this, Julie changed the subject and asked about Ellen’s family, saying Ellen looked familiar.
Even though he didn’t know the truth, Edward would swear his wife lied when she said they came from the Cornish coast, pronouncing Julie would certainly not know them.
The conversation then progressed to how they had met, and Ellen left it to him to answer with a look that said, you got us into this. He told Julie they had met at an entertainment event in London, and the moment he’d seen Ellen across the room it was love at first sight. It was true after all.
Obviously not amused, Ellen apologised for not inviting his friends to the wedding in a stiff, cold voice and said she’d wished it to be quiet.
The conversation becoming so similar to systematic torture, Edward made the decision to remove to the stables.
When they reached there, things eased a little as their attention turned to the ho
rses, and John picked out a piebald pony. But then Edward turned Ellen’s attention to the surprise he’d planned for her.
The grey mare he’d picked was beautiful in looks, temperament and speed. He’d admired the animal for months but it wasn’t a man’s horse. Now she was going to be Ellen’s.
When Ellen saw her he felt her grip tighten on his arm. He did not meet her gaze. If she was reproachful he didn’t want to know. This was his indulgence, a wedding gift. Edward lowered his arm and clasped her hand instead, drawing her towards the stall, from which the grey was being led. With a pearlescent white coat, the mare was a magnificent looking specimen of horseflesh, standing at fifteen hands, and although good tempered, she had a considerable pinch of spice to her personality. She and Ellen would suit so well.
He felt Ellen being drawn to the animal as her hand slipped from his. “Edward, she’s beautiful.” Her voice was quiet and reverent, her eyes on the mare, glittering with childlike want, she pressed her palm against the horse’s cheek. It turned its head into her hand.
He’d known when they left London she had an instinctive or excellent knowledge of horses and now it was proven again as she seemed to immediately connect with the mare. Her gaze sparkled with uncontrolled pleasure. Whatever had made her uncomfortable here had clearly slipped from her mind on sight of the mare. After a moment she turned to look back at him.
“You’ve bought her for me?” she said, her voice full of wonder.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and rested a hand on her hip, patting the mare with the other. “She’s a wedding gift. I knew you would appreciate her.”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, her voice broke, but then she continued on a whisper, for his ears only, “I’ve not had a horse since I was young. Thank you. I’m truly touched. You’ve done too much for me, for us, far more than I can ever repay. I have nothing to give you.”
Pulling her closer to his side, her buttock brushing his hip, he bent and kissed her temple, then whispered back, “I have you and John. There’s no debt Ellen.” Then more loudly he added, “I’m glad you like her.”