by Sue Lyndon
“The only thing more beautiful than a landscape covered in freshly fallen snow is you, my sweet Cammie,” he said before crawling atop her again.
She parted her thighs and surrendered.
She was and always would be his for the taking.
Chapter Ten
Cammie glanced out the carriage windows at the streets of London. This was her first outing with Papa since their marriage. It seemed everything appeared much different to Cammie now that she was a married lady. Lady Cavendish to be exact. A shiver of excitement ran through her tummy and her toes wiggled in her shoes at the mere thought that she was indeed Lady Cavendish, now and forever. A small flush warmed her cheeks as she remembered all of the ways Papa had claimed her. Yes, she was well and truly his.
The view from the Cavendish family carriage as it rolled through the streets of Mayfair and the other prosperous neighborhoods of the city contrasted dramatically with what she remembered of the dank, dreary tenement section of town where she and her brother, Robert, had tried to scrape out an existence. So many years had gone by since then, it was hard for Cammie to even believe that period had been part of her life.
She peeked out the corner of her eye at the handsome man who was her husband and her papa. She could scarcely fathom the grand turn her life had taken. Married just over a week, Cammie had found herself happier than she ever imagined she could be. Fulfilled, satisfied, loved and cared for and all of this because of her papa. Oh, she supposed if she was really going back to the whole source of her life’s change in course, Miss Wickersham deserved the credit.
Now that Cammie was a little older and wiser in the ways of the world, or so she believed after a week of marital bliss, the realization of what might have happened to her had her brother been successful in his plan to hire her out as a scullery maid to a family known to be cruel and abusive with their servants—not that Robert realized it at the time—she did not blame him for it, but her life would have been drastically different.
She glanced down at her hands encased in a new pair of gloves with her monogram CC for Camellia Cavendish embroidered into the leather on the inner wrist of each glove and thought about what her hands might look like if she had spent the last six years working as a scullery maid rather than her current circumstance of sitting perched inside a luxurious carriage emblazoned with the Cavendish family crest. She now had a family. She belonged.
“What are you thinking about, little Cammie?” Papa asked.
“I am thinking about all you have been teaching me,” she said with a blush. “I had no idea of the things that married people did together,” she said. “Thank you for being such a patient teacher.”
“And thank you for being such a willing pupil.” Papa caressed her cheek. “In fact, that is why we are off to Mrs. Stilton’s Milliner shop today. I would like to get you a present to thank you and to honor you for being such a good wife.”
“Thank you, Papa, but you do not need to buy me hats for me to love you more.”
“But a new hat will not cause you to love me any less, will it, my dear?”
“Papa! You make it sound bad,” Cammie said with a laugh, her love for him growing every minute.
“You look very pretty today, my Cammie,” her papa said giving her a warm smile and squeezing her hand.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said. “You chose a particularly pretty dress for me today and I thank you for that.”
“It is one of my great delights to dress you each morning, my dear,” Papa said then winked. “Though it is second only to the great delight I take in undressing you.”
“Papa!” Cammie exclaimed. “You make me blush.”
“I enjoy making you blush. I enjoy everything with you, my sweet Cammie.” The affection in his eyes filled Cammie with awe. She never knew it was possible to be loved so thoroughly and completely.
“You are the best papa in the whole wide world and I thank you for everything you do for me. Are you sure that we need to go shopping for a new hat? The one that I’m wearing now is even more beautiful than the one I wore yesterday which is more beautiful than the one I wore the day before that.”
“Well, there’s always tomorrow then the day after tomorrow and the day after that and you will need beautiful hats for each of those days, my darling Cammie, and I shall make sure that you have them.”
Cammie looked up at her papa and said, “Are you certain, dear papa that your desire to have me properly hatted is not the result of your less-than-stellar talent at arranging my hair?” Cammie gave him a saucy look while holding back a giggle.
Quick as a flash, Papa had Cammie over his lap and administered five swift swats to her bottom and placed her back in her seat before she knew what had happened to her. “You are lucky, little Cammie, that we are not at home in your dressing room right now because I would use the hairbrush on you. That seems the appropriate punishment for someone who mocks my efforts at styling your beautiful hair.”
The giggle she had been holding back burst from Cammie’s lips. “Papa,” she said, “you are being very silly, though I must admit your skills are vastly improving.”
“It would seem, my dear,” Papa said, “that we are both teaching each other new things, are we not?” The meaning of his words and the look he gave her started slow heat burning through Cammie. Her face flushed and her kitty began to feel warm and tingly like it did so often when she was in her Papa’s presence.
“Papa!” Cammie exclaimed blushing and glancing about the interior of the carriage as though someone might hear them. “What a scandalous thing to say in public.”
“We are not in public.” And to prove his point, he slid his hand inside the bodice of her dress and cupped her breast while he continued to speak, the brush of his thumb over her ninny making it difficult for Cammie to concentrate on his words. “The only ones who might hear are the servants. My staff has been well trained, Camellia. Anything they see or hear they will keep private or they will find themselves off looking for a new job and well they know it.”
“Besides,” he said, giving her a lengthy glance from head to toe while he continued to fondle her breast, “it is no secret that I adore you and surely the staff is well aware of that, if not from your moans of pleasure, then possibly from your squeals when you are disciplined.”
“Papa,” Cammie gasped. The mere mention of her husband’s firm discipline, combined with the naughty sensations he stimulated in her breast made her lightheaded. “I really must insist. We are in public, people can see in the windows.”
Papa gave her a stern look as well as a particularly hard pinch to her nipple. “You must insist?” he asked, rolling the tip of her breast between his thumb and forefinger until she moaned and swayed in his direction. “Tell me, Camellia,” he asked, his voice a husky whisper, “who is in charge of you, body and soul?” The bodice of her dress was pushed to the side and his mouth took over where his fingers had been.
“P-papa, no,” she gasped again and tried to pull away. “You cannot do that.”
To her great relief, Papa raised his head from her breast, though the sight of her exposed nipple slick from Papa’s lips and tongue gave her the squirmies and part of her dearly wished he would continue.
Her relief was short-lived, however, because Papa gave her breast two quick slaps. “No? Did you just tell your papa no?”
“I would hate for us to be late for our appointment with Mrs. Stilton,” she said, hoping Papa’s penchant for punctuality would ward off further embarrassment.
Papa gave her a stern look. “The carriage moves at the same pace, regardless of whether I am enjoying the bounty of my wife’s body or not.”
Cammie had the squirmies again, but this time for a different reason. That look in Papa’s eyes did not bode well for her backside. And they were having such a lovely outing too. Had she spoiled everything? But, how could a proper lady travel about the city in the middle of the day with her bare breast out where anyone could see? She explained her
concerns to Papa. In response, he pulled down the other side of her bodice and gave her other globe two swift slaps before gathering both of her aching breasts in his hands and burying his face between them, his fingers and mouth working her into a frenzy.
Cammie’s head fell back against the upholstered seat, and she buried her hands in his hair. She ought to resist, she told herself, but it felt too good.
While he suckled her right breast, he used his free hand to reach below the skirts of her dress. Cammie gave a half-hearted moan of protest which was met with a slap to her kitty. “Cammie, your objections make me feel as though you do not trust me to know what is best for you,” he said before moving to tug at the peak of her other breast with his teeth.
“B-but, Papa, I do trust you.” Her voice came out ragged, his fingers in her kitty sending pulses of desire through her body.
“Then I would suggest you quit objecting and enjoy the climax Papa is about to give you.”
“No, Papa,” she said, as the waves of desire built and churned through her. “You know I make such loud and unladylike noises when I c-come.” She gasped as his fingers tugged at the nubbin at the top of her kitty.
“I know,” he said, taking one of her hands and pressing it to his cock. “I want you to feel how hard my cock gets when I hear your moans of pleasure.”
Even through the leather of her gloves and the fabric of his trousers, Papa’s desire for her was evident. She licked her lips, remembering the feel of his hard member between her lips.
“Papa,” she said, “I am about to c-climax.” Turning her face, she tried to muffle her sex sounds in the fabric of the carriage seat.
“Cammie,” Papa’s voice was hoarse, “do not turn away. Look at me. I want to watch you come, little wife.”
With a load moan that surely was heard by the footmen and drivers, if not the pedestrians on the sidewalks, Cammie exploded in a climax that left her panting and weak.
“Remember, in public you must address me as Lord Cavendish, or simply as my lord,” Papa said, righting her skirts and bodice. “Perhaps we will take care of my needs on the ride home.” Cammie noticed that his fingers were unsteady at the task and she smiled knowing she affected him as much as he affected her.
Before she could reply, and protest his suggestion that they engage in more carnal activities on the way home, the carriage stopped and a footman sprung into action opening the door for them. Papa exited first and waved the footman out of the way as he offered his hand to his bride and assisted her in descending from the carriage. Cammie’s face flushed and she kept her gaze away from the footmen, certain they had heard her cries of ecstasy.
Papa said a few words to the driver and then escorted his wife into the milliner’s shop.
Cammie gasped. Until this time all of her clothing had been provided for her and selected by others. Before Miss Wickersham, of course, she’d had very little clothing and certainly none of it had ever been made especially for her. Mostly what she wore were scraps and hand-me-downs and rags. When she arrived at Talcott House, there were clothes, but the garments were issued by Miss Wickersham. It was not unusual for them to have been remade from one of the older girls. Cammie was not so foolish or vain as to think Miss Wickersham should have provided a brand new wardrobe for each of her girls. All of that gave her an extra appreciation for the beautiful gowns, day dresses, hats, gloves, capes, boots, stockings and naughty undergarments which her papa had selected especially for her.
And now they had entered the most glorious haven of hats she had ever imagined in her entire life. She couldn’t wait to tell her dear friend Cynny, who had recently written to inform Cammie she would soon have a papa of her very own, all about this marvelous shop in her next letter. Hats of every style and color adorned the walls and an elegant woman rushed toward them. “Hello, Lord Cavendish,” she said. “How pleased I am to see you this morning.”
“Mrs. Stilton,” Papa said, taking Cammie’s hand and drawing her forward. “May I present my new bride, Lady Cavendish.”
Cammie’s heart swelled with pride hearing her papa refer to her as his bride, Lady Cavendish. Mrs. Stilton bobbed a curtsy to Cammie. “Welcome to my shop, Lady Cavendish,” she said. “I am honored to have you here and I hope that I can serve your needs.”
“You have a lovely assortment of hats and other items, Mrs. Stilton,” Papa said. “I think I would like to see Lady Cavendish in something in a pale blue to bring out the color in her eyes. Do you have anything that might suit?”
“Oh, most certainly I do, Lord Cavendish. Please Lord Cavendish, Lady Cavendish, won’t you step this way?” Mrs. Stilton escorted them to an area near the back of the shop with several large mirrors and a cozy padded seat that she pulled away from a dressing table so Cammie could sit down. “If you will simply wait here for just a moment I have several hats I think will be to your liking and I will bring them for you to try on.”
“If you do not mind,” Lord Cavendish said to Mrs. Stilton in a tone Cammie knew meant that whether Lady Stilton minded or not, Lord Cavendish would have his way, “I should like to select the hats myself. Perhaps you can come along and help me to bring them back here while Lady Cavendish waits.”
“Oh yes, of course, of course, Lord Cavendish. I would be happy to assist you in that way.” She rang a bell and a young lady of about Cammie’s age emerged from the back of the shop.
“Priscilla,” she directed, “please see to Lady Cavendish’s needs while I assist Lord Cavendish.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Priscilla acknowledged her employer before turning to Cammie. “My lady, may I bring you a cup of tea or other refreshments?”
It took a moment for Cammie to realize the young woman was talking to her. After years in seclusion at Talcott House, Cammie was unaccustomed to being in a shop and having someone her own age wait upon her.
“No, thank you.” Cammie smiled at Priscilla. She reminded her of Hyacinth and suddenly Cammie felt lonely for a friend. “It must be nice to work in a shop like this.”
Priscilla appeared taken aback. Cammie had likely overstepped a boundary by engaging the employee in chit chat. “Y-yes,” she said, “it is good to have a job, and I am glad I did not have to go into household service.”
“Yes, I would much prefer to work here too,” Cammie said.
“My lady, please forgive my forwardness, but I do not believe common employment is a concern for the wife of Lord Cavendish.”
Cammie flushed. “I am new to life as Lady Cavendish,” she said. “Sometimes I forget.”
Priscilla’s brows furrowed. Fearing she had shared too much, Cammie changed the subject. “Are you married?” she asked.
Priscilla blushed and glanced at the floor. “No,” she said, pausing as though debating whether to say more. “But,” she added, “there is a young man who makes deliveries here. We sometimes walk out together on Sunday afternoons. We are both working hard to save money so we can afford to get married, but after expenses, there is not much left over for either of us. Well, if he were to ask, that is...” Her voice drifted off and her face turned pink.
“Oh.” Cammie perked up. “How exciting. Please tell me more about him.”
“No, my lady, it is not proper. I have said too much already. No one is interested in me.”
“I am,” Cammie said. “It is a wonderfully romantic story.”
A bell at the back door signaled a delivery and Priscilla’s eyes lit up. “I must go,” she said with an excited smile.
“I hope it is him.” Cammie was nearly as excited as the shopgirl. She watched as Priscilla patted her hair and hurried to the delivery door. She would give anything to take a look at the young man who made her new friend blush so prettily. Glancing toward the front of the shop, she saw Papa pass a hat to Mrs. Stilton whose hands were already full. They would return soon. She dared not move from her seat. A shiver ran up her spine remembering how Papa had punished her when they first met and she had wandered into the garden without permissio
n. Her little kitty, already swollen and eager from the interlude in the carriage, quivered with the recollection.
The voices of Priscilla and the delivery man wafted in Cammie’s direction. The young man laughed and the sound of it triggered another memory, this one much further into the recesses of her brain. No, it could not be, she told herself, then turned to the mirror to examine her flushed cheeks. A fleeting reflection in the corner of the mirror caught her attention. With a gasp she swung around and charged toward the back of the shop, Papa and his rules forgotten.
She moved past a display of gloves, bumping half of them to the floor in her haste, and could just make out the delivery man’s profile. Robert. A flood of emotions swirled through her at the sight of her brother after so many years. He had grown to manhood, but she recognized the familiar features. Opening her mouth to call out to him, her movements were halted by a firm hand upon her upper arm.
“Camellia,” Papa’s breath warmed her ear, his voice low in warning, “did I or did I not instruct you to remain seated?”
Gaping up at her Papa, Cammie heard the bell above the back door jingle and knew her brother had left. Her eyes moved to try to catch a glimpse of him but Papa’s fingers closed more tightly on her arm. “I expect you to look at me when I am talking to you, Cammie. Have you forgotten the rules so quickly? And just look at the mess you’ve made. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady.”
Her heart sank. Not only had she missed her opportunity to speak to Robert, she had broken one of Papa’s rules, not to mention made quite a scene in the shop. Her bottom tingled, anticipating Papa’s reaction to her misbehavior.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she said, staring at the floor as Priscilla cleaned up the toppled gloves.
Papa did not reply. Disappointment emanated from him and Cammie hated herself for not living up to his expectations.
Glancing past Papa’s shoulder, she saw Mrs. Stilton arranging half a dozen exquisite hats near the area where Cammie ought to have been.