Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret

by Christine Merrill

  She laughed, relaxing a little. ‘Some wives might worry about their husbands squandering time at gaming hells, or running up endless tailor bills. But if I need to find you, I shall check Tattersalls.’ Of course, some women would assume that their husbands passed the days with a mistress. She would not deny him, if he found her unsatisfactory in that respect. But she did not wish to think of that today. She much preferred to think of him sneaking off to a horse auction rather than leaving her alone.

  And riding was a pastime that they might share, if he was not overly protective of his privacy. If the day went well, perhaps she would ask him about purchasing a team and carriage for her use.

  Then she reminded herself of the true reason for their visit and fiddled nervously with her reticule. She had come prepared to spend the better part of the day in a bedroom somewhere in the house, not discussing bloodstock in the barn. She had lain awake most of the night, her mind in turmoil. The sudden alteration of plans left her both confused and disappointed.

  But Reighland did not seem to notice her mood. When the carriage drew to a stop, he bounded from it in his eagerness to see the progress made at the stables. He smiled back at her. ‘I must speak to the builders, if you can spare me for a time. You needn’t bother yourself with coming after me, if you do not wish to be around the animals. I will be done quickly, then we will pass the rest of the day together.’

  He appeared to be dismissing her. She had to remind herself that it was quite reasonable of him to put business before pleasure. The animals had been more than a hobby to him for some time and he was concerned for their care and welfare. It would be childish of her to stamp her foot and demand to be entertained every minute of the day. ‘Of course,’ she said with more grace than she felt. ‘I will acquaint myself with the house and the grounds.’

  He smiled in relief. ‘I have warned the servants to expect you and that they must attend to your every wish. Treat the property as your own. That is what it shall be, in a few short weeks.’

  It was a generous sentiment, but not totally accurate. If this land was not part of the entail, it belonged to Robert more than Reighland Court did. But that did not make it hers.

  ‘Perhaps, later, we shall have a picnic,’ he said, as though he sensed her pique. But as he did so, he was staring past her shoulder, probably at a horse.

  ‘That would be nice,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Very good.’ He gave her a short and familiar kiss upon the cheek, then hurried off, leaving her alone.

  She looked after him with disgust. It was no less than she should have expected from him, really. He could have at least assembled the servants and introduced her properly, at the house, before running off to inspect the new buildings.

  But she could not say she was surprised. It was what she had expected her married life to be like. She just had not expected it from Reighland, nor had she expected it so soon. But there would be time enough for formalities, once they married. For measuring the bedrooms as well. And at least in some small way, all this would be hers. She would be mistress of both of them and other homes besides—but only because she was marrying their master.

  She pushed her bitterness aside. She was to be a duchess. That would be consolation enough. It was a role she had been trained to take, almost from the first moment she could remember. She had always assumed that she would be a wife to some lord or other, managing households and servants, arranging for social gatherings, bearing and rearing children. But she had been imagining something along the scale of her father’s wealth. Clearly, this was much different. Everything would be done on a grander scale and with a larger budget.

  She smiled to herself as a streak of pure avarice appeared to counter any remaining resistance to the match. She would have to tell Robert of it, when she could find him. It would probably amuse him.

  At least her husband would have a sense of humour, she reminded herself. Robert was really quite funny. Understanding, as well. He cared for her and had proven it on several occasions. And now she was standing on as pretty a piece of property as she had ever seen, free to do as she liked.

  Freedom.

  That was what she had wanted, all along, but she had never believed it would come to her. Now it was finally here. The thought left her trembling with excitement. It was as though she had all the energy in the world and no idea how to expend it. Robert had said she could do as she liked. And he truly meant it.

  She walked towards the house, then turned away. It would not be that much different from other houses she had seen. Any tour of it was likely to turn into a list of duties for her: hangings to change, furniture to purchase and a critique of the menus and the servants. It would be much nicer to see the grounds, where there was much to be pleased with and no responsibilities.

  In the rose bower, a gardener presented her with a flower. She tasted strawberries behind the glasshouse and found them delicious. She followed a path from there down to the old stables, which were well kept and held an assortment of snorting, stamping beasts. ‘Excuse me?’ She looked to the first groom she could find, who gave her a quick bow. ‘I think I should like to ride for a while to look at the rest of the grounds. Can you direct me to a suitable animal?’

  He walked her down the row of stalls to a mare that looked not merely docile, but half-asleep. She touched the animal on the flank with a gloved hand and it barely raised the energy to switch its tail.

  She turned back to the groom. ‘Is there something with a bit more spirit? A jumper, perhaps?’

  ‘Are you sure, your ladyship?’ The groom looked back at her doubtfully. ‘The duke’ll have my head if I put you up on a hunter and see you tossed into a hedge.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear there.’ She pointed to a brute of a horse several stalls down that was stomping at the straw, clearly eager to be ridden. ‘How about this fellow? He looks to be needing some exercise.’

  The man seemed even more surprised by this. ‘We was told that the new lady was not much for horses.’

  ‘Where did you get that idea?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘From his Grace. He is off at the other end of the building right now, instructing the others not to frighten you by exercising the stallions.’

  ‘Is he, now?’ Then she laughed, remembering the outrageous lies she’d told on the first night. ‘The duke was mistaken. I assure you, I am a competent horsewoman. There will be no trouble.’ She glanced down at her dress. ‘This is not a habit, of course. But I do not care if it is ruined. And I doubt Robert will mind if I do not look my London best while visiting a farm.’

  She negotiated with the stable boys for a time and they settled on a chestnut gelding, a bit smaller than her first choice, that danced a little as the side saddle was thrown on his back.

  She patted his neck and talked softly to him, leaning her cheek against his mane. She could have a horse of her own. Several, she was sure. And although he had never spoken of them, she suspected Reighland had carriages as well and would not mind her having a curricle and team.

  But for now, she would ride. She set out on the path that the groom had recommended, which was sedate at first, but angled downhill, further away from the house, towards a little stream and a cluster of oaks. Freedom. The word seemed to echo in the beat of the horse’s hooves. The wind was rushing through her hair and she urged him to a gallop, hanging on to the pommel between her legs for dear life. Her sister would have told her to use sense, frightened her by talking of falls and reminded her firmly that ladies did not jump.

  But her sister was not here. And Robert need not know as long as she was careful. She pushed the horse towards the fallen log at the end of the field, sure that they could clear it together, and willed her mount to leap. They sailed up, over and down to earth again, in a perfect thump-thump-thump of hooves. She reined in; as she did so, she heard the soun
d of pursuit and a man’s angry shout.

  Robert. He had said she might treat the property as her own. But they had not discussed her sneaking down to his stables, or taking any of the horses. While he might be all right with her re-arranging the furniture, he might think something else entirely of her meddling with his livelihood.

  It had been a shame, because she had been so happy. She turned her horse and waited for the scolding.

  ‘Priscilla. What the devil?’ He was beside her now, reaching for the reins, staring at her crooked bonnet, her windblown hair and her flushed face. ‘You ride?’

  ‘Well…’ She wondered if an apology for the deception was necessary and then decided to brazen it out. ‘Yes, I ride. Does that displease you?’

  ‘You scared the devil out of me.’ He pointed to the gelding. ‘I thought he had got away from you. When you took the jump, my heart was in my throat.’

  ‘It was very foolish of me,’ she admitted. ‘It has been some time. And I am not properly attired. But the groom said this was a familiar path and the horse did not seem to mind.’ She offered the reins to him, preparing to be led like a child back to the stables.

  ‘You ride’ he said it again, dumbfounded, and pushed the leather back into her hands. Then he pointed. ‘There. Take the path that leads into the copse of trees. Canter. Stop when you reach the glade and wait for me. I wish to watch your seat.’

  She shrugged and turned the chestnut, kicking it up to the gait he requested. It rode like a dream and she remembered, if he was not too angry at her for this deception, that she might ride often, with the duke for a husband. By the time she reached the break in the trees, she could hear him, galloping to catch up. He swung out of the saddle easily and held out his arms to her, demanding that she dismount as well.

  ‘You ride.’ He was breathless, shaking his head in amazement.

  ‘I lied when I said I was afraid of horses,’ she admitted. ‘In truth, I quite like them.’

  He groaned and pulled her against him, all pretence of gentleness forgotten, burying his face in her throat. ‘You are perfect, you know that? The sight of you, on a spirited horse…’ He groaned again and pushed her to the ground.

  ‘You are not angry?’

  He fell on top of her, his mouth on hers, his hands on her waist, kissing her as though it were the only way he could tell her his mind. It was rough with happiness and surprise, and as exhilarating as the ride had been. His tongue thrust into her mouth and she submitted weakly, moulding herself to his body, absorbing the solid strength of him.

  When he withdrew, he pushed himself up on an elbow to smile down at her. ‘I am overcome.’

  He was more than that. She could feel him large and hard through the fabric of her skirt. She felt her mouth go dry and reached up to finger the cloth of his shirt. ‘I know that I might have been hurt. But it had been so long… And you said I must treat the place as my own.’

  ‘That horse is the very devil. But you handled him well.’ He pushed open the spencer she wore and rested his hand on her heart. ‘And there is barely a quiver here. You fearless creature.’ He gave a low dark smile and let his hand slip to the side to cover a breast, massaging. ‘Let us see if I can raise your pulse for you.’

  ‘Your Grace…’ She grabbed at his wrist, but it was too late to hide her reaction. Her nipples had pebbled at his first touch.

  He paused. ‘Can you not call me Robert? And as you do it, remember that I have promised not to hurt you.’

  ‘Robert.’ She sighed, remembering that she sometimes thought of him as her Robert. She had nothing to be afraid of. With a little effort, she might lose herself in the moment, for what he was doing felt quite nice. He was right. It made her heart skip and her breath catch in her throat to feel his hand resting against her breast.

  ‘My dear?’ He was asking for permission to continue.

  She released his hand and tugged at the ribbon that gathered the neck of her gown, loosening it for him. Then she closed her eyes. She felt her clothing pushed down and out of the way, then the rasp of his gloved finger against her nipples. It was the barest touch, like his first kisses had been, maddening in its subtlety.

  She arched her back and pressed upwards against his hand, only to have him draw further away and continue the gentle torture of it until she whispered, ‘More, please.’

  ‘As you command.’ He murmured the words into her skin, replacing the dry touch of leather with the wetness of his tongue, circling, laving, teeth nipping, mouth sucking, his hair brushing gently against her chin and his whiskers scratching against the fabric of clothing that had fallen about her waist. He was slow and methodical with his kisses, not sparing an inch of her, even though she had buried her fingers in his hair to urge him on.

  And just as she felt the first flutter of orgasm, he pulled away. ‘Robert,’ she said, more urgently, opening her eyes.

  He was reaching for her skirt, tugging it up to free her legs of the excess cloth. ‘It is time that our lessons progressed beyond a walk. After what I have just seen, I am sure you are ready for a gallop.’ He drew a finger up the inside of her leg and she felt a little frightened, until she reminded herself that he was only touching stocking. They were not even the flimsy nothings he had bought for her in London, but sensible wool hose to protect her legs.

  Still, the pressure of his hand against them burned her skin. The leather of his glove was on her bare leg and now it was resting on the place where her legs met. She gasped as he wagged his finger from side to side against her body just as he had done on her breasts. ‘Did you lie to me when you said you were afraid of this?’

  ‘Yes. I mean… No.’ She had been afraid of something very different than what she was feeling now. This felt more like a reward than a punishment. A flood of sensations was building in her and she fisted her hands in the grass at her sides.

  He paused, pressing lightly down upon her. ‘I was able to be patient with you, to wait unfulfilled, because I had doubts that we would suit. You did not ride. How could I marry a woman that could not share my one joy with me?’

  ‘You could keep me at home and pay your mistress in matched bays and silver fittings for her saddle.’ She was gasping as she said it, but the image in her mind of Robert rolling in the sheets with another was unpleasant. She worked to focus on the feeling the tip of his gloved finger was creating, which was most extraordinary. She circled her hips against it, trying to push herself over the last boundaries of satisfaction.

  ‘Or I could take you in a field of wild flowers, as I mean to do now.’ He took his hand away for a moment and ripped a handful of bluebells and showered them upon her face.

  ‘And how do you know I will allow it?’ But the thought did not frighten her nearly as much as it once had.

  ‘I can give you no choice,’ he said. ‘After the sight of your sweet bottom in a saddle, I am hard as stone and desperate for relief. I cannot ride in this condition, my love. And you have led me miles from the house. I doubt I could walk, if I tried.’

  ‘Then it would be churlish of me to refuse you,’ she said. Especially as he had been so patient with her. And he had called her his love, just now. Had he ever done it before? She could not remember.

  Perhaps he had felt that same rush of emotion, just as she had on realising that her one true dream was realised. ‘I seem to be in some distress as well,’ she admitted. ‘I expect it is what you are doing with your fingers.’

  ‘Bothers you, does it?’ His finger returned and he drew another slow circle against her. ‘Do you wish me to stop? Or does it leave you wanting more?’ He stroked relentlessly against her, making her body feel like a hot, wet void.

  ‘More,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps, if you were to use your hand, inside of me…’

  ‘No,’ he said, with a small smile. ‘If I am without re
lease, you can hardly expect me to oblige you. But if you need filling, I have just the thing for you.’ With a last flick of his finger, he did something. She was not sure what, but it was as if her body was a hand that had given a single great grasp, only to come away empty.

  He rolled off her on to his back and undid the front of his trousers. Then he turned his head to her, where she lay at his side. ‘If you wish further satisfaction, I would be happy to help. Do as you will with me.’

  She rolled towards him and leaned on her elbow to look, preparing to be frightened. But her body was telling her otherwise. If there was a problem in the previous experience, she was sure it must have been that Gervaise was inadequate, and surprisingly graceless, for a dancer. Robert was—dear God—Robert was just what she needed. She pulled off her gloves and reached to circle him with her fingers.

  His member twitched against her hand and he sucked in a breath. She felt an answering twitch inside of herself, just as the moisture of her body was echoed with a single drop from him. She rose to her knees and touched him more boldly, taking him in her palm and stroking him, watching his fingers spread wide, digging into the earth to keep from grabbing her. ‘I am not hurting you, am I?’ Although how she could be, with such gentle petting, she was not sure.

  ‘Of course you are, darling,’ he said, through clenched teeth. He searched for her with his hand again, brushing against the same tender spot. ‘You must be familiar with the agony of knowing that pleasure is so close.’ He gave a tortured laugh as she ran a finger over the tip of him.

  He responded with a touch that made her gasp. He was right. It did almost hurt to know that something wonderful was so very close. She was nearly as distressed as he was and definitely feeling incomplete.

  So she sat up, took a breath to steady her nerves, then spread her legs and straddled him, letting her skirts form a curtain and then reaching beneath them. If she could not see, it might be easier. Or perhaps more difficult. For if he did not mean to help her, how would she know what to do? But when she touched him to her body, she was suddenly quite sure what she wished to do. She wanted to use him shamelessly, to sooth the place that he had touched with his finger. It was what he was made for, surely. Silky flesh, slipping against her own, sending spirals of pleasure through her body, raising the heat inside.