by Unconquered
Miranda sat back in her chair and viewed the guests with amusement. The enormous amount of food that the Wyndsong cook and her helpers had so painstakingly prepared was being quickly demolished.
“When do you think they last ate?” queried Jared solemnly, and Miranda giggled.
“That’s a nice sound, wildcat. Dare I hope it’s a happy day for you?”
“I am not unhappy, sir.”
“May I get you something to eat, madam?” he inquired solicitously. “I have promised to cherish you, and I believe that covers feeding.”
She flashed him a genuine smile, and his heart contracted painfully. “Thank you, sir. Something light, if you please, and some white wine.”
He brought her back a plate with a slice of turkey breast, a miniature potato soufflé, some crisp green beans and yellow squash. On his plate were oysters, two slices of ham, green beans, macaroni and cheese. Putting the plates down, he disappeared into the dining room, then returned with two glasses of wine, one red, the other white.
She was silent as she ate, and then suddenly she said softly to him, “I wish they’d all go home. If I must smile sweetly at one more old lady, kiss one more slightly tipsy gentleman …”
“If we cut the cake,” he said, “and then you throw your bouquet a little while after that, they will have no excuse to stay. Besides, it will be dark early, and our guests will want to be off the water, and safely on dry land by then.”
“Your sound logic amazes me, husband,” she said low, blushing at her daring use of the word.
“I long to be alone with you, wife,” he returned, and her blush deepened.
They cut the wedding cake with the usual ceremony, and as the desserts were offered to the guests, a maid passed among them with a tray of specially boxed tiny pieces of cake for the ladies to take home so they might dream of their true love. Miranda allowed a decent interval to pass, and then she ascended partway up the stairs with much hoopla and threw her bouquet. It flew straight into Amanda’s outstretched hands.
Shortly afterward she and Jared stood at the front door of Wyndsong House bidding their guests farewell. It was only three-thirty in the afternoon, but already the sun had begun to sink into the west over Connecticut.
Then the house was quiet, and she looked up at Jared with an expression of great relief. “I warned you that I hate big parties,” she said ruefully.
“Then we shall not give them,” he answered.
“I imagine I should see to the servants.”
“It is not necessary today. They have their instructions.”
“I should give Cook the menu for dinner.”
“She has it.”
“Then I shall join the ladies, sir. I assume they are in the family parlor.”
“Everyone is gone, Miranda. Your mother and sister left with your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, and your cousins. They will be spending the rest of the month at Torwyck, with the Van Steens. Your mother is especially eager for a long visit with her brother.”
“We are alone?” She edged nervously away from him.
“We are alone,” he said quietly. “It is, I believe, the usual state for a bride and groom on their honeymoon.”
“Oh.” Her voice was suddenly very small.
“Come!” He held out his hand to her.
“Where?”
His bottle-green eyes swept toward the staircase.
“But it’s still light,” she protested, shocked.
“Late afternoon is as good a time as any. I don’t intend to be bound by the clock when it comes to making love to you, my dear.” He took a step toward her, and she retreated farther.
“But we don’t love each other! When this marriage was first agreed upon I attempted to gauge our suitability in intimate matters. You were not interested! You laughed at me, and treated me like a child! I assumed, therefore, that this marriage would be in name only.”
“The hell you did!” he growled, striding forward, and swept her up in his arms. Christ, she was a warm armful. For a moment he buried his face in her cleavage, and breathed the sweet scent of her. She trembled against him and, raising his dark head, he muttered fiercely, “Not for one minute have you ever believed in your heart that this would be a marriage in name only, Miranda!” Then he mounted the stairs, carrying her, and strode down the hall to their bedroom. Kicking the door open with his booted foot, he set her firmly on her feet; spinning her around, he began to undo her gown.
“Please!” she whispered. “Please, not like this!”
He stopped, and she heard him sigh deeply. Then his arms went around her, and he said softly against her ear, “You drive me to violence, wildcat. I will call your maid to help you, but I will not wait long.”
She stood rooted to the floor as she heard the door close. She could still feel his arms around her, strong arms, arms that would not be denied. She thought about what Amanda had told her of lovemaking, and she thought of the terrible feelings Jared caused in her.
“Madam? Madam, may I help you.”
She whirled about, startled. “Who are you?”
“I am Sally Ann Browne, ma’am. Master Jared chose me to be your maid.”
“I have not seen you on Wyndsong before.”
“Lord no, ma’am. I’m Cook’s granddaughter from Connecticut.” Sally Ann went behind Miranda and began unfastening her gown. “I’m sixteen, and I’ve been working for two years now. My old mistress, she died, poor soul, but then she was near eighty. I came over the water to visit my granny before I looked for a new position, and lo and behold there was a place available right here.” She drew the gown down, and helped Miranda step out of it. “I’m a good seamstress, and I do hair better than anyone. Despite her age, my old mistress was one for keeping up with the latest fashions. God rest her.”
“My h-husband engaged you?”
“Yes, ma’am. He said he thought you’d be happier having a maid of your own, and one nearer your age. My word, that old Jemima was put out at first, but your sister says to her, ‘And who’ll take care of me, Mima, if you don’t?’ Well, that pleased Jemima so much she never gave me another thought!” Sally Ann worked as quickly as she talked and soon, embarrassed, Miranda found herself nude. The maid handed her a lovely simple white silk nightgown with a deep-scooped neckline and long, flowing sleeves edged in lace. “There now, sit down at your dressing table, and I’ll brush your hair. Lord, what a lovely color it is, like silver gilt.”
Miranda sat silently as Sally Ann chattered on, and her sea-green eyes began to focus on the room. The deep-set windows with their cushioned, creweled window seats faced west. The walls were painted a pale gold with off-white ceiling and woodwork. The furniture was all mahogany, the largest piece within the bedroom being a bed in the Sheraton style with tall reeded and carved posts. The festooned canopy and skirt were a cream-colored printed French cotton with a tiny lime-green sprig called toile de Jouy. For a moment Miranda could not take her eyes off the bed. She had never seen anything so big! With an enormous effort of will she tore her eyes from the bed to concentrate on the room’s other furnishings. There were candlestands on either side of the bed, each with its own silver candlestick and snuffer. Across from the bed was the fireplace with its lovely white Georgian mantel, and a facing done in tiles painted with examples of local flora. To the left of the fireplace was a large wing chair upholstered in dark gold damask satin. To the right of the fireplace was a Philadelphia piecrust tripod tea table of Santo Domingo mahogany with three carved ball feet, and two New York mahogany side chairs with seats upholstered in a green-sprigged cream-colored satin. The window hangings matched the bed hangings, and there was a beautiful, rare Chinese rug done in gold and white on the floor.
“There you go, ma’am. Lord, if I had such hair, I’d be a princess!”
Miranda looked up at her maid, really seeing her for the first time. She smiled. Sally Ann was a big-boned, gawky girl with a homely face and an engaging grin. Her hair was carrot red, her eyes b
rown. She was freckled, and altogether as plain as white cotton. “Thank you, Sally Ann, but I think my hair an odd color.”
“Is moonlight odd, ma’am?”
Miranda was touched. “There’s a bit of the poet in you,” she said.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“No. You may go, Sally Ann.”
The door closed behind the maid, and Miranda rose from her dressing table to explore further. To the left of the fireplace was an open door; peeping in, she saw what would now be her dressing room. It was newly furnished in a Newport highboy and a bombe chest. She ventured further, and discovered that his dressing room, with a Charleston chest-on-chest, was behind hers. The room smelled of tobacco and man, and she nervously fled back to the bedroom and sat on the window seat. The sky was flame and lavender, peach and gold with the sunset, and the bay was dark and calm. The trees, leafless now, stood in black relief against the sunset.
Hearing him quietly enter the room, she remained motionless. He crossed the floor noiselessly and sat next to her, his arm slipping around her waist, drawing her back against him. Silently they watched the day flee west and the night fill the sky, turning it deep blue, the horizon edged in red gold, the evening star silvery bright. His fingers drew her gown down from a shoulder, his lips pressed a kiss on the soft skin. She shivered, and he murmured, “Oh Miranda, don’t be afraid of me. I only want to love you.”
She said nothing, and the other side of her gown was lowered to meet the first, then pulled quickly away to her waist. His big hands were cupping her breasts, gently crushing the soft flesh, and she gasped as he turned her toward him, and began kissing the twin delights. “Ohh, please, Jared! Please!”
“Please what?” he muttered thickly.
She smelled the brandy on his breath, and was surprised. “You’ve been drinking!” she accused, feeling braver, and pushing him away.
He gazed up at her, and she started at the look in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been drinking, wildcat! Dutch courage, they call it.”
“Why?”
“So I won’t lose my nerve with you, my bride. So your pretty protestations followed by your quick temper will not deter me from my purpose. Oh, I’m not drunk, Miranda, far from it. I’ve had only one snifter, just enough to harden my heart against your pleas.”
“How can you want me, knowing that I don’t want you?” she demanded.
“My dear, you don’t know what you want. Virgins, it has been my experience, are at best a capricious lot. Let us rid you of that disadvantage, and then we’ll see!”
He stood up, pulling her after him, and the loosened gown fell to her feet. Then he swept her up and carried her to the bed, where he dumped her unceremoniously. She scrambled to get up, and he, half out of his dressing gown, was caught at a disadvantage. She looked around frantically, but there was no refuge. Warily, they faced each other across the bed, she on one side clutching at the coverlet to cover her nakedness, he on the other, massive and nude.
She eyed him defiantly and he was entranced by her beautiful little breasts with their big nipples. They heaved with outraged passion, and to possess them once more he was tempted to mayhem. Miranda, seeing his preoccupation, sneaked her first hard, close look at a masculine body. His shoulders and chest were quite wide, tapering to a flat belly and slim hips. His legs were very long, as were his narrow feet. His chest was lightly furred in dark hair which turned into a narrow strip running down from his navel to the darkened triangle between his legs. She pulled her eyes quickly away, avoiding his sex, and looked up into his cool, level gaze.
She stood rigidly as he walked around the bed and pulled her into his strong arms. His mouth found hers, and when he felt the first measure of response he gently forced her lips apart and tenderly took her mouth. His silken tongue caressed hers with an ardor that left her faint.
She was weakened by her own passion. Feeling it, he fell with her back onto the bed, never taking his lips from hers. She lay atop him and, shocked, felt his hard, masculine body beneath hers. His muscled thighs were covered sparingly in soft, dark hair, and she swore she coud feel the blood pumping in his legs. The softness of her belly lay atop the hardness of his. His hand caressed her long back, her rounded buttocks, and she struggled to escape his touch, tearing her head away from him with a sobbing, “No!”
In answer he rolled over onto his side, pinioning her beneath him. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her breasts, his lips traveling to her belly. She caught at his dark head with frantic fingers, and he groaned with frustration, but moved upward again to nurse on her lovely breasts as his fingers searched for her. When those elegant fingers found what they sought, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Easy, wildcat,” he soothed. “Easy, my little love.”
“Oh don’t! Please don’t!” she begged, half sobbing.
“Shh, shh, wildcat, I won’t hurt you, but I must know.” His fingers gently probed her.
“Kn-kn-know w-what?” Oh God! She was beginning to ache so terribly. “No!” A finger thrust into her, and gently moved back and forth with a tantalizing motion that she imitated with her hips, involuntarily pushing up to meet him.
He kissed her mouth, tasting the salty blood where she’d bitten her lips. “I must know,” he answered her, “how tightly lodged your virginity is, Miranda. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to, my love.”
“H-hurt me?” Her voice was edged in hysteria, and Jared heard it.
Gently he withdrew his finger from her trembling body. “Did your mother speak to you of a wife’s duties, Miranda?”
“No. She said only that when Amanda and I wed, our husbands would tell us all we need to know.”
He swore softly. His bubbled-headed mother-in-law might have eased the way. And then his bride said:
“Amanda has told me some of the facts of life.”
“What has she told you?” he asked, prepared to hear a babble of nonsense, and when she repeated her sister’s tale, he nodded, surprised. “Amanda’s story is basically correct, wildcat. One thing I do want to tell you now is that the first time is hard, for the shield of your virginity must be broken and it will hurt you.” She trembled, and he reassured her, “Only for a moment, my love, just a moment. Here, my darling, touch me as sweetly as you did a few weeks ago.” He guided her hand to his manroot, and she caressed him, brave again.
He was already hard, and her soft touch brought a groan from him. “I want you to look at it,” he said. “Only the unknown is fearful, my darling. I want to love you, not frighten you.”
She raised her head, and her eyes traveled fearfully downward, widening as they reached their goal. The banner of his manhood stood tall, a pale tower of ivory, veined in blue. “It’s so big,” she whispered, and he smiled in the dimness of the firelit room. In her innocence she was unaware of the truth of her words, for he was bigger than most men.
He reached up and caressed her face. “I want to love you,” he said in a deep passionate voice that sent a thrill through her. “Let me love you, my darling.” The hand slipped down to her shoulder, her arm, to the curve of her hip. Gently he pressed her back among the pillows, and placed tender little kisses on her lips and quivering breasts. “Don’t be afraid of me, Miranda.”
She found her resistance weakening. At that very moment she couldn’t understand why she was fighting him. She wanted to be done with her damned virginity, and have the mystery solved. Once it was, she would surely be free forever of this hunger that raged in her. Placing her palms flat on his chest, her sea-green eyes gazed into his bottle-green ones, and she was amazed by the intensity of passion she saw there. She realized with surprise how great his restraint actually was just then, and the realization touched her.
“Love me,” she whispered to him, “I want you to love me.”
As he swung over her his eyes glittered in the reflecting firelight. He sat back on his heels, letting his hands wander over her, and Miranda grew warm and langu
orous at his touch. She watched as if her mind were separated from her body, and he smiled at her curiosity. His fingers teased her nipples, and they grew small and tight, and hard. His hands continued to caress her, moving constantly over her excited body. Her breathing began to quicken as did his hunger to possess her. Still, he restrained himself.
Her long, pale-gold hair was tangled now, and a fine moist sheen covered her body. Very gently, his hand slipped between her thighs, and she cried out softly. “Easy, my love,” he gentled her, and his fingers sought to again part her nether lips. She was trembling, and he knew that to delay any longer would be cruel. Guiding himself to the portal of her innocence, he gently thrust forward. She cried out in pain and he stopped, giving her body a chance to grow used to his invasion.
“Oh, my love,” he whispered hungrily, “just a little more pain, only a little more and afterward I swear it will be only sweet.” And then his mouth covered hers, absorbing her sob of pain as he drove through her maidenhead, sinking his manhood to its hilt into her tender body. He kissed the tears from her cheeks, gently moving back and forth until, to his intense delight, she began to imitate his movements, pushing her slender hips up to meet his downward motion.
The pain had been terrible, and when his great shaft first invaded her, she did not think she could bear it. But the pain began to fade, and in its place grew a delicious, stormy passion. It overtook her. Suddenly she wanted him. She wanted him! She wanted this proud and tender man who rode her so gently. She wanted to pleasure him, she wanted to be pleasured.
She sank her little teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder, and he laughed softly and increased the pace of his thrusts. Her nails raked his back, and he teased, “So you bite and scratch, eh, wildcat? I can see I must tame you into a house kitten.”
“Never!” she whispered fiercely.