by Darry Fraser
Georgie stood and waved her away impatiently. ‘Just tell them I’m ready before my nerves are the undoing of me. I’m heartily sick of all this fuss.’
Deborah stood back. Her mouth pressed into a line before she said, ‘I will let Mrs Kate know.’ She left the room.
A few minutes later, Kate arrived. Deborah followed her in, hovering with a tray holding a cup of water and a small glass bottle.
Georgie was pacing the small room, clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘I don’t feel as if I can—’
‘My dear, I definitely think it’s a good idea to take a restorative before the ceremony. Your nerves seem quite unstable.’
Deborah tapped a little of the contents of the bottle into the cup, stirred it with a silver spoon and bade Georgie drink.
‘What is it?’
‘For your nerves.’
‘I don’t need that.’
Kate lifted the cup from Deborah and pressed it into Georgie’s hand. ‘Yes, you do.’ Kate folded her hands over her stomach. ‘It will help. Of course you feel nervous, it’s only natural. But there’s nothing to be worried about. Go on, drink.’ Kate watched the mixture disappear as Georgie swallowed. ‘That should steady you,’ she said and patted her arm. ‘No need for hysterics now. You will want to enjoy yourself, my dear. Remember that,’ Kate said, and with a glance at Deborah and a nod of her head, she left Georgie to the maid’s care.
Deborah made a small fuss about Georgie’s dress, and patted her hair needlessly. ‘We can go now, miss. Buttons is waiting to drive us to Mr Arthur’s office.’
Georgina didn’t acknowledge her. She took the small bouquet of tightly budded roses in pink and white and let Deborah guide her to the stairs.
From there her memory blurred. She barely recalled the drive to Conor’s lawyer’s rooms, where she was to be married. She could have slept for a week instead.
The ceremony seemed short and Georgie didn’t remember the details.
She did remember seeing the registrar, a funny little man whose hat and coat looked too big for him, and that he spoke to Conor just before they began the ceremony.
‘Miss Calthorpe looks a wee bit unwell, Mr Foley.’
‘Not at all. She is perfectly fine, aren’t you, my dear?’ Conor squeezed her elbow.
‘I am a bit—’
‘Ten extra pounds for your wonderful service, Mr Abernathy.’
Mr Abernathy proceeded smoothly with the ceremony, a new note tucked into his coat pocket.
The weight of the wedding band as it slipped over her knuckle to sit gleaming and smug on her finger was foreign, out of place. The ruby engagement ring sat beside it and as Georgie looked at her hand, it seemed as if it were not hers.
What have I done?
Stricken, she looked about for help, but in that instant, Conor pressed a kiss on her hand and squeezed it. That ended any more thoughts she had.
I am married. I am now Mrs Conor Foley.
She did indeed feel strange.
Foley led Georgie up to their floor and led her inside her room. ‘You may wish for some time to prepare, Georgie,’ he said.
Georgie shook her head vehemently but remained silent. She wanted to yell, but couldn’t. She didn’t even know what she wanted to yell about, and besides, that would be so completely unacceptable it would be embarrassing. She simply stood inside the doorway and looked at him.
Her throat was parched and her lips dry. ‘I would like a cool glass of water.’
He touched her face tenderly and said, ‘I’ll send Deborah for you.’
He left. She turned to see a bath had been placed near the window, a little waft of steam rising from it. It distracted her for a second or two, then Deborah entered carrying towels, a large bar of soap, and a sponge.
Another downstairs woman followed behind with a pitcher. ‘Water, miss,’ she said without making eye contact and left it on the dresser before departing.
‘Mr Foley requested a nice hot bath for you, miss,’ Deborah said and then placed her hands on Georgie and turned her around. Georgie smarted, realising she was about to be undressed. ‘Mr Foley thought you would feel much better after a good bath.’ Deborah’s skilled hands unbuttoned the dress as deftly as she had buttoned Georgie into it.
‘He sent you in to help me bathe?’ Her head was woolly, her thoughts slow.
Deborah smiled and nodded. ‘You’re a married lady, now, and your husband requires, ah … ’
Georgie stepped out of the dress as Deborah guided it from her body. The pearl was left dangling on her bare chest. She stood in her stockings, which Deborah carefully removed by rolling each one down her leg while Georgie, a little light-headed, leaned on her shoulder.
She swayed, and reached out for Deborah as she stepped into the bath. She looked about for the soap, but Deborah was already lathering silky bubbles, and began to run them over her back.
Georgie sighed despite herself, the exquisite satiny touch thrilling her. ‘I can bathe myself.’ Her voice sounded unlike her own, dreamy and inattentive.
‘Mr Foley requested I help you.’
Deborah led her to the bed and sat her in the towels. Moving swiftly to the bureau, she withdrew a nightgown, almost a replica in satin of Georgie’s wedding dress. The nightgown sheathed Georgie’s body, her breasts straining at the low-cut bodice held together by a little tie. The hem was shorter over the ankle than she was used to, but to Georgie the gown looked grown-up and elegant.
With her body perfumed and clothed, her hair brushed out of the pins and hanging long at her back, Deborah left her side without a word. On her way out, she gathered up the wet towels and the discarded wedding gown.
Georgie’s head reeled and she fell back on the bed. Although Deborah’s ministrations had been gentle and careful, she was still unprepared for what she had been told to expect. She stood up to pace as her door opened.
Conor stepped inside her room and closed the door behind him. He had bathed, his hair was wet and slicked back behind his ears. He was in breeches and a shirt open at the collar, his feet in soft leather brogues. Staring at the expanse of his broad chest and the ginger-coloured hair sprinkled across it, Georgie gave a tenuous smile.
Kate had explained what to anticipate, and some time before, so had Josephine, but Georgie had no idea of how one reacted to proceedings. It was the man who dominated and demanded, she’d been told, but she couldn’t even imagine anything else.
Perhaps it would be as she’d always believed … Conor would not be interested in doing that … thing.
‘You look absolutely beautiful, Georgina.’ He reached out gently and took the pearl droplet in his hand. With it, he tenderly drew her towards him and kissed her fully and softly on the mouth. He bent his head and kissed her bosom, rising and falling above the opening of her dress.
‘Should I undress?’ She stood rigid as he kissed her on the mouth.
He opened his shirt, the hair on his chest glistening in the low glow of the lamplight. She reached up to touch him, trembling, but he took her hand.
‘Turn around,’ he said and guided her back towards him to stand between his legs. He pressed his hands about her waist and slipped them down over the nightdress to hold her hips. He drew her body closer and as she moved against him, both his hands came up from behind to cup her full breasts and tease her nipples.
Then his fingers found the shoulders of her gown. He traced the lace to the front and slowly pulled the tie at her bodice. The satin fell from her shoulders and her arms slipped out. The nightgown slid to her waist and she clutched at it, fearful of her nudity before him.
Shivers sped over her bare flesh but the moment she sought the warmth of his body, turning to him to hide, his hands were on her. He kissed her neck and shoulders. His mouth lowered to her breasts. She cried aloud at the exquisite pull in her belly as he suckled the nipple thrusting forward for him. The urgent thrill tripped through her body.
His rough, whiskered face buried in her breasts sent ti
ngles between her legs. His broad powerful hands held her body firmly as he nuzzled and suckled. Every inch of her skin his face and tongue and mouth touched was aflame with a hunger she never knew existed. Her breath became ragged and shallow.
He picked her up and placed her on the bed.
Conor allowed the flimsy fabric of the nightdress to remain covering her lower body. He pressed his face over the junction of her legs through the gown and Georgie burned with the heat of his breath on her private place. She gasped aloud and he pressed harder.
He came up to kiss her, full mouthed and languid. When she slid her hands tentatively down his back, he pulled away.
‘Not yet,’ he whispered, and ran a finger along the line of her hip. Confused, she pulled the nightgown back up to cover her breasts but he brushed it away. His hand fell over her lower belly and he grazed the plump mound between her legs, watching her face as she pressed into his hand.
He kissed her mouth, and sucked her lips. She pushed up to meet his fingers, but he teased her and persisted with the gentle stroking, just out of her reach.
Georgie thought she would go mad with need. Her head shifted from side to side, her nightgown bunched around her waist as she squirmed, and she pressed her body closer to his. His warm hand slid over her bare thigh, stopping before the joining of her legs. She opened thighs and he touched her privacy, a slick finger sliding a little way in …
Her breath caught.
Then, with a grunt, he rolled off the bed.
Startled, she stared at him. He pulled the gown from her body, stared at the sight before him: firm rounded breasts, a triangle of dark hair covering her sex, slim waist and slightly rounded belly. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, slid his hands under her buttocks, dragged her down the bed and pushed his face between her legs, his hot mouth open and wet on her.
Pleasure rolled through her …
She purred, gasped and tried to push him away but he came up powerfully and smothered her face and neck with hot, sucking kisses. He nuzzled and licked her breasts, nibbled the nipples until they hurt. He plunged lower until she could feel his hot demanding tongue inside her most female area.
He had one large hand under her buttocks and had pressed a finger between the cheeks, forcing her to stay close to him.
She writhed.
He sucked high up on her sex and her hips bucked beneath him, a pulse driving her …
He flicked that pulse with his tongue. She cried as a new wave of pleasure crashed through her. His fingers slid up to her breasts, rolling the hard nipples. She cried again and he buried his face into her, squeezing her buttocks, kissing and sucking and licking the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Then he parted her and licked and licked until she soared out of her mind as wave after wave of ecstasy engulfed her.
Exhausted, mindless, boneless, she sank.
He ran his tongue along her legs. He planted a wet kiss on the tuft of dark, damp, curling hair, and when she cried out that she could stand it no more, he threw off his shirt and came to lie on the bed beside her.
She rested, her tongue touching her parted lips. He pulled her to him. His big, powerful arms gathered her close to him and they lay together quietly.
‘Perhaps next time,’ he murmured.
Georgie barely heard him. Revelling in the physical, she hoped he would bring her to such heights again, and soon. She waited quietly, totally absorbed in the fever rolling through her body. She listened to his heart beat under the broad chest and rubbed her face in the coarse hair there. How replete, how fulfilled, how … released.
Never in her wildest, most private thoughts had she ever believed she could feel like that, and by those means. She wondered sleepily why the only parts of him that touched her private places were his tongue and his fingers. Josephine had told her of more. Much more.
She shivered a little, remembering the total lack of modesty, and looked to see whether he was pleased.
He was watching her, his face sombre. ‘Next time, my love,’ he whispered.
He had not removed his breeches.
She wondered if perhaps she hadn’t pleased him.
Georgina nestled closer, her strong, young body beside him, relaxed and content. Conor knew how inexperienced she was, and how there was a possibility she wouldn’t know enough of sexual relations to question him. He was a little pleased. There would be no difficult explanations as long as he could keep her happy and satisfied. He could mould her into the wife he wanted.
It hadn’t been very difficult to give her pleasure.
His poor shot-up, decrepit appendage, his excuse for a penis, would do him no good, no matter how he wished—willed—it to be different. The fucking Boer’s bullet that sliced a meaningful chunk of cock clean through be damned, and the field surgeons who clumsily stitched him up and give him a bent and useless tool.
Be thankful, he was told. He’d wished for death.
When that didn’t happen, he healed and, later, distracted himself with pleasuring women in other ways. There’d not been too many complaints. To the contrary, the majority of his partners had become clingy and grasping of his attentions. It interested him greatly to know other men were not as adept as he at relieving a woman of her tensions. He’d laughed at that. They didn’t know what they were missing. He had perfected his art, hoping one day someone would ignite the fire in him once more.
But his body would not respond. Did not respond, not even to Georgina.
He closed his eyes yet again to feel the tease of urgency only to have it recede beyond his grasp, a tantalising promise of what once had been. He licked his lips and tasted bitter disappointment.
He had been ready to take a wife.
Georgina had, in ignorance, long ago told him she had no desire to have children, and he took it at face value. He could never have children, and the doctors had assured him there was no cure for his condition. But he’d hoped with Georgina he would feel something. Something more than the elusive twinge which was, they told him, only in his mind. Georgina would be utterly loyal to him and never betray him, he was sure. He would keep her happy at home and satisfied in the bedroom. He had chosen well after a long wait to find someone suitable.
He had changed his will—Angus and Mr Wardle had witnessed it—as she had requested. Not without reservations. A woman was not ready to handle all her husband’s affairs, no matter what the law said.
However, he had not lodged it and wouldn’t. He would write another will, have it witnessed by another office of solicitors and lodge that.
He moved her under the covers, blew out the lamp, stripped naked and slipped in beside her. She reached for him and he held her close, drifting into a light sleep.
In his heart, he knew she was not enough.
Georgie lay beside him, bewildered.
The light was out, which was what she had been told would happen, but Conor Foley was going to sleep. She didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t happening like Josephine had said, nor as Kate had explained.
Perhaps they hadn’t known everything, after all. Perhaps she had been right all along about Conor and he wouldn’t want to indulge in the things they said every man would. She smiled to herself. She was right. Nothing Conor had done to her was anything to be frightened of. She gasped as little delicious thrills began again in her belly. It was most enjoyable. All those feelings she had experienced before were definitely her ‘lusts’, as Josephine had said, and now there was no need to feel bewildered about them again.
What perfect things to have experienced.
When she drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on her face, she dreamed. Even though it was her husband’s hands on her body awakening the fire in her again as she slept, it was of Dane MacHenry she dreamed.
When Georgie woke one morning later that week, the sunlight streamed in to her room and warmed her face. Oh, today would be a lovely day for a ride.
She dressed with care, then disappeared after her breakfast to meet with Buttons in his she
ds. She came back to the house light of step and went looking for her husband. She found him in his study.
‘Conor, it’s the most marvellous day. I’m ready to choose a horse. I have instructed Buttons to take me to the Domain Street stables later this afternoon. I hope you’re free to come with me,’ she said, standing at his desk.
His expression took only a moment to change from pleasant to ugly. ‘Buttons will not take you.’
‘Why ever not?’
He shot to his feet, his chair crashing into the heavily laden bookshelves behind him, and charged around the desk. ‘Because I will instruct him otherwise. And if you persist with Buttons, I will dismiss him.’
Georgie’s delight crumbled as fear iced through her. ‘You wouldn’t do that to the poor man! All I want is to have my own horse. You agreed—’
He grabbed her by the arms and shook her roughly. ‘Did you not hear me at the time, woman?’ His hot breath, already stinking of cigars and rum, flew in her face. ‘I said I will choose a horse for you. Until then no riding for you, no horses. No visits to the stables.’ His hands on her arms were biting and his shouts rang in her ears.
He gave her another cruel shake and thrust her away.
Georgie’s head snapped back, and her hair fell out of its pins. Bone-deep pain flared as the blood returned to her arms. Heat prickled her neck and her jaw ached as she clenched her teeth.
Manning, the butler, burst into the room. ‘Sir, I heard a terrible crash and—’
‘Get out.’ Foley’s face was ruddy, his eyes narrow.
Manning stepped out the door, and closed it swiftly.
Georgie stood shaking in front of Conor. She watched stonily as his shoulders squared and he stamped back to his seat, pulling it upright and back on its feet. He tugged at his sleeves then sat. After a deep breath, he pushed a hand through his hair, picked up his quill and continued at his bookkeeping.