Until, at last, with a gasp of rapture, Cressida’s desire reached its pinnacle, her world blacked to a haze and her body convulsed in a series of uncontrollable shudders.
Justin held her tightly as his orgasm came on the crest of hers and together they crumpled to the floor, tight in each other’s embrace.
* * * *
They awoke with a start as they heard the first stirrings of the servants in the basement kitchen.
“Quickly!” Justin pulled Cressida to her feet, buttoning himself into his breeches, smoothing her tangled hair with his fingers. They ran up the back stairs to Cressida’s chamber where Cressida collapsed, laughing, onto the bed.
“Fugitives in our own home,” said Justin, sliding in beside her at her invitation, still fully clad, and cradling her in his arms. His smile was wry when she saw him gazing down at her.
Cressida closed her eyes and exhaled on a sigh, thinking of her long, emotional, eventful night. Justin was here by her side, where she needed him to be. She had his love and support and always would, now.
But there were others not as lucky as she. Others who’d helped her achieve such fulfilment. Madame Zirelli. Cressida owed her friend and Justin’s past mistress a huge debt of gratitude, and Cressida’s sense of justice was keen. She could not shirk her responsibility. Not when the means were so within her power.
At noon, when they’d both slept off the excesses of the previous night, Cressida raised herself on one elbow and smiled down at her husband as he stirred into wakefulness.
“Cressy.” He reached up his hand and stroked her cheek with his forefinger. Her heart hitched as she saw the softening of his expression and thrilled to his deeply sincere admission. “I must be the luckiest man alive.”
She thought she might cry. “A loving marriage is the greatest gift a woman can hope for in this life, Justin.” She tried to think of any other woman who was as happy as she, but could not. “I have you, and I realise how lucky I am in a world where so many women suffer such great unhappiness through husbands that neither love, want, nor appreciate them.”
He drew her down beside him and, stroking her face, whispered, “I’ve always wanted you, Cressy. From the moment I saw you, it was love at first sight. You were so beautiful, but it was more than that. I saw such sweetness in your expression. Such kindness. I wanted to make you mine and to look after you…so that you’d be safe and protected from the world. I had no idea that such careful protection would lead to such unhappiness.” His expression was so sincere, and his silent pleading for forgiveness so poignant she felt her heart shift a little.
“You are the best of husbands. You mustn’t blame yourself for what I could not and did not know. But now I have Madame Zirelli to thank for making it clear to me.”
He was silent, waiting for her to elaborate, and she went on, “Madame Zirelli explained so much that I needed to know, but her own sad story is a reminder that we women are completely at the mercy of forces beyond our control. Justin, what do you know of Mr Richard Pendleton?”
“Richard Pendleton?” Though his brow was creased as if he had no idea where such a question had sprung from, he continued to stroke her face, his answer careful and considered. “A diligent, if retiring, young man. May I ask why you wish to know?”
“Didn’t you once say you thought he was marked out for great things? He’s very clever, isn’t he?”
Justin rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling, frowning, as if he had not the slightest idea where Cressida’s questioning was leading, though he continued his gentle stroking as Cressida went on, “I believe you have influence in the direction of his career? If he’s so clever, why’s he working in some no-doubt dark and musty corner, living on a hundred a year, or something similar? Surely you’ve guessed why I’m asking you? It’s because Mr Pendleton is the man to whom Madeleine Hardwicke has lost her heart.”
A look of dawning realisation crossed his face but his answer was disappointing. “Connections count for more than talent, though of course talent will generally be recognised, particularly if a young man is forceful and persistent enough.”
Cressida rolled over on to her stomach and raised herself on one elbow. Idly, she stroked Justin’s chest. “Which clearly means Mr Pendleton is not. Justin, Miss Madeleine Hardwicke is, as you know, Madame Zirelli’s daughter, and she is to be married to Lord Slitherton next week.”
“A fine catch for a girl with such a meagre dowry.” Justin’s tone was cautious. He spoke only the truth.
“Her mother…that is, the woman who took on the role of mother…is dying and needs the comfort of seeing her daughter settled, for it is true that Miss Hardwicke cannot marry for love if there is no money to support them. But, Justin, Miss Hardwicke loves Mr Pendleton. I saw them together last year when she was presented and so was shocked when Catherine told me she was to marry a man nearly three times her age—” She felt indignation rise—“because he can support her and Mr Pendleton can’t. Don’t you see, Justin? You have the power to change that? You can pull strings, see that Mr Pendleton receives the recognition he deserves and consequently is assured of an expectation that will enable him to offer for Miss Hardwicke.”
The patience in Justin’s smile as he fiddled with a lock of Cressida’s hair did not have the ameliorating effect for which he obviously strove when he objected, “My dear, Miss Hardwicke is to marry in three days’ time. For all your good intentions, three days is not nearly long enough to effect the necessary steps to achieve your undoubtedly well-intentioned plan. Besides which, the girl can’t possibly renege at this late stage. Think of the scandal.”
Cressida understood her husband’s sentiment. She, herself, had at first not considered that Miss Hardwicke had an option when it was her family’s decision to see her marriage to Lord Slitherton, with all its obvious benefits, go ahead. Now she understood the importance of making a stand for the sake of happiness.
The tone of her objection, however, was mild. “Would you condemn this poor young woman to a life of disappointment when a judicious word in someone’s ear could see her as happy as…well, us?”
Justin sent her a look she’d never seen before—lust and calculation laced with a good dose of humour. With deliberate movements he raised himself, carefully straddled her and then, when he’d caged Cressida with his body and she could feel his hot, heavy erection pushing into her stomach, he lowered his head and whispered hotly into her neck, “After last night, Cressy, you might confidently say that I’d be willing to put myself out a great deal to advance Miss Hardwicke’s happiness, and the collective happiness of your entire sex.”
Chapter Ten
Some days later after a great deal of legwork—both in the bedroom and in the course of the duties that Justin had undertaken on Cressida’s behalf—Cressida stretched luxuriously, and regretfully, as she heard the chime of the late hour, and sighed. “I wish we could stay in bed all day but we have a wedding to attend.”
“What time does Mary bring you your breakfast chocolate?” Justin sounded groggy, as well he might having expended such efforts lately on Cressida’s pleasure.
Without opening his eyes he took her left nipple into his mouth while he gently stroked her belly and hips.
Cressida drew in her breath at the familiar surge of sensation to her groin, closing her eyes and twisting in his arms in order to offer Justin her other breast. With difficulty, she managed to croak, “My very discreet lady’s maid will know by the dancing slippers I placed outside my bedchamber door that this is one morning she is not to bring me my customary hot chocolate.”
Justin regarded her with feigned shock through one opened eye. “I should be surprised at nothing concocted by my wife, ever again,” he murmured. “Certainly, I have learned that a well-planned seduction is not only the preserve of the gentleman. Now, my dear, did you not say we had a wedding to attend today?” His look was enquiring as he drew his finger through the slick wetness between her legs. “Should we perhaps concentra
te on the happiness of the very fortunate Miss Hardwicke, rather than our own?”
How quickly he could whip her into a state of desperate desire. Cressida, though, was equally conscious of his erection jabbing into her thigh as he continued his languorous pleasuring of her.
“I think we should certainly make a plan to be out of bed in…” She stopped on a pause which became a squeak. “Ten minutes, Justin, if Mary is to make anything passable out of my hair, which rather resembles a bird’s nest after the activities of last night.”
“I envy the lucky bird who makes it its home, then,” Justin said, playfully. “In either of your little nests,” he added, tickling her between the legs.
Cressida squealed as Justin threw himself on top of her and captured her mouth with his.
Lord, but her husband knew how to kiss. She knew now the heavy roiling sensation she felt in her womb was not attributable to the possibility of a living creature growing inside her but to the primal need to be joined as one with this man who was the axis of her life.
As his tongue thrust inside her mouth, the ache at the juncture of her legs became unbearable but he seemed insensible to her wriggling for he refrained from entering her. Did he not know what she wanted?
Finally he dragged his mouth away long enough to rasp, “Cressy, darling, the hour is growing advanced. We should be mindful of our responsibilities, both to Miss Hardwicke and to ourselves. You know I love you too much to burden you with another little angel so soon.”
“We took precautions twice last night,” she reminded him, archly, “and of course we’ll do so again. Justin?”
He shook his head, sadly, as he rolled off her. “Our precautions are working overtime and there are none that can be used right now, if you understand my meaning.”
“Please, Justin,” she begged hoarsely, “I want to feel you inside me. I want to make up for all that I’ve missed these long months.”
“We’ll spend a lifetime making up for that,” he murmured, kissing her lingeringly on the mouth. “We’ll enjoy every moment we have together, because our splendid union has been blessed in a way few others are, my darling.”
She caressed his smooth cheek with her fingertip, which she then laid gently upon his lip. “We conquered what kept us apart by bringing it into the open.”
“And we learned it was nothing more than fear. So insubstantial—”
“When words and this can heal all the hurt.” Cressida finished her sentence with energy before she scuttled down the bed beneath her husband, clearly catching him by surprise judging by his response as she took him in her mouth.
“You do like it, don’t you?” she demanded, coming up for breath, and was more than reassured by his groan, though before too long he was once more on top of her, grinding out through clenched teeth, “You don’t know what you do to me, Cressy, my darling. Right now I could refuse you nothing.”
Raised above her, his expression was grave and deeply reverential as he gazed down at her and in the brief silence she felt her brain and body swirl with love, lust and longing before craving for the physical held sway and she arched her pelvis up to meet his.
“Then come to me, Justin,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to revel in you as you revel in me. I’m not afraid like I was before. I know so much more and you can withdraw. Oh—”
For without further preliminaries he had taken her at her word and in an instant her body was filled with him as her world was once again dominated by the man who’d stolen her heart so many years before.
It was a more gentle possession than the passionate couplings of the previous nights. Gentle, thorough, intense and deeply erotic as he thrust into her, his movements in tandem with his tongue, leaving her gasping, exulting in the exhaustion that came from the energy expended in loving him.
Every nerve ending quivered at the contact and once again she thrilled at the now familiar but so deeply missed feeling that began at her toes and spread its all-encompassing wave of sensation up throughout her body before engulfing her in ecstasy. Only her husband had this power over her and she gladly offered him everything she had to give.
Her climax was deep and intense, racking her with shudders as he withdrew upon a groan to spill his seed beside her.
No, there would be no little angels joining their siblings in the nursery for a while, yet, should it happen by chance, Cressida felt strong enough to embrace a timely addition. The control and responsibility Justin shared with her and the reinforcement of his love were her reward for the pain that had gone before.
* * * *
Justin was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Cressida emerged wearing a fashionable gown of primrose lustring beneath a white fur-edged pelisse.
“Good morning, king of husbands,” she said, softly.
“Good morning, queen of wives,” he murmured, holding out his hand and indicating the door with a flourish. “Shall we go? I believe the time has come to show our support of the love match—a great institution, for all that I was sceptical of the merits of succeeding with your little scheme when I anticipated the damage to the reputations involved occasioned by the advanced timing. I am surprised Lord Slitherton was so easily appeased when it is well known Mrs Hardwicke could not have offered anything in the way of financial or meritorious recompense.”
* * * *
Well-wishers cheered the bride and groom as they stepped out of St Mary’s. The turnout might have been sparser, on account of a bridegroom less well connected than his predecessor, but the joy reflected on the faces of the bridal couple showed nothing but their own happiness.
Their closest kin had not abandoned them, nor had Miss Hardwicke’s fears been realised that following her heart would shorten her mother’s life. In fact, rumour had it that Mrs Hardwicke had rallied following the sudden support of her younger brother, Sir Robert, and his unexpected largesse in providing his niece with a handsome dowry.
Justin clasped Cressida’s hand and squeezed it briefly as several children cast rose petals from their rush baskets at the now serenely smiling bride and the grinning bridegroom, his unfettered pleasure a welcome contrast to the bemused diffidence he’d shown barely a week ago, when informing Cressida and Justin that his suit had been accepted. The intensely shy and quiet young man had been all but dragged out of his lodgings by Justin and his landlady, the redoubtable Mrs Sminks, to beg his love to take a chance on the promise of his imminent elevation and renege on the bridegroom for whom she felt nothing but abhorrence. Miss Hardwicke had been due to wed Lord Slitherton within days and, although the strength of her feelings for Mr Pendleton had been in no doubt, it had taken some persuasion to convince her that she was not going to be, indirectly, the death of her ailing mama.
Cressida considered herself justly proud of the current state of affairs and so felt a surge of pleasure and gratification when she caught sight of Madame Zirelli. Her former benefactress had brought tears to the eyes of the congregation with her pure, sweet voice in church earlier. Now, the brilliant sunshine that sliced through the lowering sky illuminated the rawness of Madame Zirelli’s feelings as she raised her head to peer past Annabelle Luscombe’s rose-trimmed bonnet in order to observe her daughter standing on the church steps with her new husband.
Sheathed in a fashionable gown of iris blue silk with opaque sleeves and a fetching bonnet adorned with tumbling roses, Madame Zirelli was a striking figure as she stood a little distance from the crowd.
The handsome gentleman who joined her appeared to think so too, remarked Cressida, pointing him out to Justin. Tall and distinguished looking, Sir Robert said something that caused his companion to jerk her head up and clasp her hand to her mouth.
A rustle of silk and the scent of pansies made Cressida turn as a familiar voice murmured, “Word has it that Sir Robert is in the market for a wife, and, by the cunning look on her face, the hired entertainment imagines she’s in the running.” The scorn in Catherine’s thin voice cut
through Cressida like a lance. She glared as Catherine went on, “She might sing like a nightingale but she’ll forever be tainted by Mrs Plumb’s. Naturally, I had to make it clear to as many as I could that that is where Sir Robert found his faded opera singer. I’m astonished she has the gall to mix with the invited guests.”
Justin looked strangely at his wife’s cousin. Catherine’s mouth was pursed as if she’d eaten a lemon.
“If you consider yourself more of a lady than Madame Zirelli I’d remind you to keep your voice down, Catherine. We are in a public square and Madame Zirelli is an opera singer whose reputation is in no way besmirched by the fact she lodges with Mrs Plumb.” He exchanged glances with Cressida, who laughed at her cousin’s shock when he added, “You may be surprised that my old friend Madame Zirelli is now an intimate of Cressida. Perhaps you would revise your opinion of her if you were to join us for dinner next week when we shall entertain Madame Zirelli and a selection of notables from the arts.”
Catherine, usually so quick with her acid rejoinders, was, for a second, rendered speechless. Justin continued, “For some weeks I attended Madame Zirelli at her lodgings at Mrs Plumb’s establishment on a legal matter just as I’d advised her of her rights eight years earlier, with regard to her then husband Lord Grainger’s ill treatment of her.”
“Lately, she has advised me on other matters—” Cressida’s smile was secretive as she looked first at Catherine then at her husband—“which have greatly facilitated my happiness.”
Before Catherine could snap closed her gaping mouth, their attention was diverted by the collective gasp that rippled through the crowd. The bride had tossed her bouquet over her shoulder and half a dozen young hopefuls were jostling each other with unseemly enthusiasm as it flew through the air. All eyes were on the trailing pink ribbons that secured the bouquet of white roses as it sailed in a graceful arc over the single misses at the front of the pack, to land neatly in the unsuspecting Madame Zirelli’s now demurely clasped hands.
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