Mystified

by Renee Bernard

  Everything felt wet and so slick as he inched his way inside of her, stretching her and pleasuring her until—

  She winced as he filled her to the hilt. The pain was a bit sharp and shocking, but only for a moment, and then she needed more. She needed to know what it was she was reaching for. This unknown treasure that seemed so close and yet just out of reach.

  He pressed and retreated, pulling back until he was almost out of her completely, before forging forth again. Over and over he did this, driving her to the brink of madness, and then, just when she thought this could go on forever—and in some ways wished it would—he pressed against her, moving only slightly back and forth. Finding the part of her that would make her shatter.

  She cried out with the release, with the sheer ecstasy of it all. Her mind oblivious to all but the blinding pleasure that coursed through her body. And then, when he tensed and pulled her more tightly against him, grunting and growling with his own release, it felt as if another wave of delirium washed over her.

  They both calmed and then his body relaxed atop her, warm and comforting, and purely right, even if what they’d just done was far from pure or right.

  “May I ask you a question?” she ventured into the silence.

  “Mmm?” was his muffled response.

  “Is that the first time you’ve ever made love to a woman with orange hair?”

  His head popped up to see if she was joking or not, and Sam burst into giggles at the look of shock on his face. When he saw she was only teasing, he too began to laugh.

  “You are quite the little vixen, aren’t you?” he said, and then he set about to tickling her on her sensitive parts.

  “Don’t!” she squealed, laughing and thinking how very wonderful this moment was.

  That was, until there came a knock at the door.

  “Samantha?”

  Sam gasped as the panic settled into her belly. “It’s my mother!” she hissed, at which point Chad disappeared over the edge of the bed, stealing the counterpane and throwing it over himself. “Yes, Mother?” she called back, trying to sound as normal as possible while wondering where Chad’s clothes and boots had ended up.

  If Mother found him there, they’d have to be married. There would be no way out of it. Not that Sam wanted out, but she didn’t know anything about him. Did he have enough money to care for them both? Did he want to have children? Of course, that seemed like a silly question now, since she could most certainly already be in the family way after this evening.

  But just as important, what would her family say? They’d always made it very clear that they wanted advantageous matches for their daughters. Would she be ostracized if she married a mere mister? The thought of never seeing her family again weighed heavily alongside marrying a man she was quite possibly in love with.

  Mother peeked through the door. “Are you not asleep yet?” she asked.

  “I was just about when you knocked.” She pulled the bedclothes up to her neck.

  “You will freeze to death without your counterpane,” Mother said, marching to the bed.

  With every step she took, Sam panicked just a little more. “I’m hot!” she cried, praying to stop the woman in her tracks. “I threw it off just a few minutes ago. The fire is rather robust this evening.”

  Mother shook her head as if she couldn’t understand how she could be warm, and indeed, she was warm for an entirely different reason than she’d given.

  “Your hair is still orange,” she pointed out as she sat on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of where Chad lay suffocating beneath the counterpane. “I cannot believe you allowed that woman to sell you that silly potion. You should have known better. And now we must hope it washes out before the season begins. If I thought your natural color was a deterrent for gentlemen, well…let us hope someone cares more about your dowry than your hair color.”

  It was the same speech she’d already received several times over the last two days, so it didn’t sting quite as much as it had the first time. Not that it was surprising, but one hoped that one’s mother might have a little sympathy and understanding now and again. But not Lady Widcombe. Never Lady Widcombe.

  “Well,” she stood to her full height again and smoothed her gown. “I shall let you sleep. Goodnight, Samantha.”

  “Goodnight, Mother,” Sam mumbled back, and then breathed the greatest sigh of relief she’d ever released when the door to her chamber shut behind her mother. Then she scrambled to the edge of the bed and looked over. “Chad? Are you still alive?” she whispered.

  The counterpane went flying to reveal a very naked, very red, and very sweaty Chad Kendall. Sam’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her giggle.

  “I am so very sorry,” she said, and then sobered when he stood to his feet, his body, in all its glory, mere inches from her.

  “You think it’s funny, do you?”

  She came to her knees. “I think I’m glad she came in when she did and not a minute earlier.”

  “Indeed.”

  He took a step toward her and then gathered her against him. He was hard again, and she was throbbing, aching to know him a second time. He bent his head to kiss her and the world started to swirl.

  “I should go,” he whispered, pulling away. “And tomorrow, I shall ask for your hand.” Sam opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed a finger to her lips. “I’ll not let you spend any longer with a woman who treats you as she does.” He glanced disdainfully toward the door, and her heart swelled.

  “You are kind,” she said softly. “But it’s not so bad. I’m used to it by now.”

  “Used to it or not, I’m asking for your hand.”

  “But you heard her—”

  “Loud and clear. Besides,” he glanced at her belly as he pulled his pants on and tucked his shirt into them, “you could be carrying my babe.” Then he leaned over and kissed her one last time before removing himself from her room.

  Chapter 22

  Chad’s plan to ask Lord and Lady Widcombe for Samantha’s hand didn’t go quite as planned. Actually, it didn’t go as planned at all. For it to go anywhere near to plan would have meant that he’d have to be in the vicinity of the man and his wife, and since he’d not seen either of them all day, well…he’d not had the opportunity to ask. Blast it all. But there were rumors that their older daughter had run off with St. Giles in the dead of night, so perhaps they were still reeling from that bit of news. Chad couldn’t help but be a little annoyed with St. Giles for dashing his own plans, but then again, how was the man to know Chad was going to defile Lady Samantha last night?

  A smile came to his lips. Damn, but she was beautiful and perfect and so endearing, what with her orange hair and all. He’d never felt this way about anyone, and he only prayed his father hung on long enough for Chad to bring her home to him. He would love her too.

  Chad was wandering the halls, wondering what to do with himself before the wedding that night, when he caught a glimpse of dark brown hair lurking in an alcove. Well, if he couldn’t speak with Lord and Lady Widcombe, their mischief-making son was the second best thing, he supposed.

  “Would you like to come out, Toby, or will I be forced to chase you down?” he called.

  There was a pause and then Toby stepped out from the alcove and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “How did you know it was me?”

  Chad shrugged. “Just a hunch. But what are you doing there? Hiding from someone?”

  The boy shook his head. “Just bored, I suppose.”

  “Nothing to do with Lady Samantha holed up in her room?”

  Toby snapped his head to look at Chad, his eyes wide with shock. Then he tried to pretend he didn’t know what Chad was talking about. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?” Silence. He pressed further. “You really could have hurt your sister, you know?”

  And then it seemed too much for the child to bear, for he began spouting nonsense. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! I thought it was a
perfume, and I just meant for it to disgust you, I suppose, but then she went and put it in her hair, and—”

  “Wait.” Chad stopped walking and faced the boy. “What are you talking about?”

  Toby blinked up at him. “The perfume bottle—or whatever it was she came back from town with. I only added a little bit. I didn’t know what it would do.”

  “A little bit of what?” Chad wasn’t usually an excitable person, and yet, somehow, the Priske family had a way of turning him into one.

  “Lye,” Toby said sheepishly. “It was all I could find. The stuff smells so horrible, I thought it would ruin the perfume and make you…not kiss her anymore.”

  “Am I to assume you were responsible for the acorns, then?”

  Toby nodded his head, his eyes pointed to the ground.

  “And the slamming library door?”

  Another nod. So, no ghost at all. Just a trouble-making little boy.

  “I know St. Giles put you up to this,” he said, and at that Toby looked up to meet his eyes.

  “You do?”

  “I do. Not that he told you to do any of those things explicitly,” he added, not ready to let the boy off the hook completely. “But he did plant the seed, didn’t he?”

  Toby nodded.

  “I’m going to marry your sister,” Chad said, and Toby glanced up, just with his eyes.

  “You are?”

  “Barring any objections from your parents, yes. I am. Will you allow me to kiss her then?”

  Toby’s face screwed up into a look of disgust. “I suppose, if you really want to.”

  Chad couldn’t help but laugh. He supposed no brother wanted to think of their sister in that way. “I do,” he said. “I do really want to.”

  Chad and Toby went their separate ways when his governess finally found him. Apparently he’d run off again, fleeing from having to do his mathematics. But soon enough, the time came to leave for Adam Vail’s wedding. Chad still hadn’t spoken to Lord and Lady Widcombe, and he’d not seen Samantha all day either, so he had no idea if he was to expect her at the wedding.

  He arrived on horseback, and could tell immediately that this was going to be a raucous and lively affair. He thrilled a bit at getting to be a part of it, however out of the ordinary it was. Gypsies and gentle folk mingled with one another, awaiting the start of the ceremony, and Chad pushed through the crowd, hoping to see his lovely orange-haired bride-to-be. Of course, she’d have her head covered, which would make it more difficult to spot her, but—

  Chad stopped in his tracks as a girl with a red and black kerchief over her head turned, giving him a view of her profile. Her lovely, lovely profile. She’d come. And she looked radiant in her gown of red silk hugging her every curve. Curves he’d come to know very well the night before.

  She caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile before turning back to her cousin, the bride. It wasn’t until after the ceremony, when the dinner and dancing began, that he had a moment to speak to her.

  “You look ravishing tonight,” he murmured, coming up behind her.

  She didn’t turn. She kept her eyes on all the dancing couples in their whirlwind of skirts and scarves and tambourines. “I missed you today,” she said tentatively.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Do you dance, Mr. Kendall?”

  “Not like that,” he said, gesturing to the swirling dancers. “But I am always willing to try something new.”

  Chapter 23

  It was quite the most romantic night of her life thus far, and part of her thought that if she was allowed to marry Mr. Kendall, she’d have many, many more. They’d danced until well after dark, the moon shining down on them, the torches and bonfire casting the whole party in a warm, orangey glow. There was something entirely sensual and hedonistic about the whole thing, which was why her parents sat quietly off to the side, pretending to enjoy themselves for the sake of cousin Charlotte. But Sam knew better—they hated every moment. So when they came to retrieve her fairly early to take her back to the castle, it wasn’t really a surprise.

  Chad had already promised to come to her again that night, and Sam could hardly contain herself. Especially after dancing with him all evening.

  Once she settled into the carriage with her parents, she stared out the window, a serene smile on her lips.

  “You will cease your flirtation with that man immediately,” came Mother’s harsh voice in the darkness.

  Sam looked up, startled. She’d danced with him, but she’d not shown any other signs that she might have a tendre for the man. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

  “I will not abide being lied to,” Mother bit back. “Any fool could see the way you looked at him. And the way he looked at you, for that matter.”

  As if she were the only woman in the entire world.

  “You will cease your flirtation immediately,” she repeated. “Is that understood?”

  It was no wonder Cassy had up and fled in the middle of the night to marry St. Giles. But if she had to flee to marry a peer, then Sam certainly had to flee to marry a commoner.

  “Samantha!”

  “Yes, Mother. I understand.”

  But she didn’t at all. She knew she was blessed to have been born into the family she’d been born into, yet sometimes she felt as if she wore a pair of shackles, invisible to the world, impossible for anyone else to understand, but painful and constricting nonetheless.

  When they reached the castle, Samantha made a beeline for her room. Chad probably wouldn’t come to her for quite some time, but that would give her a chance to prepare for their imminent departure. She was no longer worried for her future—if he was poor and common, well, that was better than being wealthy and unloving, wasn’t it? Her own parents had been paired based upon names and fortunes, and theirs was quite an unhappy union. Sam didn’t want that for her life. She was finally seeing the light, and his name was Chadwick Kendall.

  Chad felt lighter and happier than he’d felt in…well, in a very long time. He was practically floating with the memory of dancing all evening with his beautiful Samantha. Even with her hair bound, she was the most captivating girl he’d ever laid eyes upon. She’d danced with abandon, her smile shining brighter than the torches that surrounded them, her laughter more melodious than the music. Everything about her spoke to him—to his very being—telling him to take hold of her and never let go.

  He hummed to himself as he untied his cravat and divested himself of his boots, thinking happily of tomorrow. Once all the will business was out of the way, he would ask for Samantha’s hand, and nothing would ever keep them apart.

  Chad stood from the little bench, leaving his boots on the floor, headed for his bed, when his heart seized in panic. Good God, he thought, for that was all he could do. Think and panic. Words froze on his tongue.

  A woman stood there before him, seemingly flesh and blood, in fashion thirty years out of style, her lovely blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. It took him a moment, but there was no mistaking who she was. She looked just like the portrait that hung in the Foxglove gallery. The largest one with the most prominent spot in the room.

  “Mother?”

  His heart ached as she smiled at him. Her beatific face so kind, so gentle. It was in that very moment that he realized what he’d missed out on, not ever knowing her. Not growing up with her to mother him and care for him. And when she spoke, it broke him even further.

  My son, she said, and as he covered his moistened face with his hands, he could feel her hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair, as he’d always dreamed she would do when he was a boy.

  Your father needs you. He sent you away but he needs you with him. He’s been so strong for you all these years, and now you must be strong for him. Hold his hand, comfort him as he slips into the next world, just as he did for me many, many years ago.

  “But the will…”

  Will be read whether you are here or not,
and the decrees carried out regardless. Your father needs you.

  She smiled sweetly at him, as a mother looked at her small child, and caressed his cheek with a cool hand. Chad reached up to cover her hand with his own, but met with his own wet cheek.

  You worry for the girl.

  He blinked at her. “How did you…?”

  She loves you, and you her. You will be happy together, as your father and I were. And she will wait for you. Now, go. There isn’t much time.

  “Wait!” He reached out for her, but she was gone, just as quickly as she’d appeared. But he couldn’t deny she’d been there, and he couldn’t dismiss the words she’d said.

  It was nearly two hours later when there came a knock at her door. She fully expected Chad to push through the door in the next moment, eager to avoid watchful eyes, but when he didn’t, Sam padded to the door and opened it herself. Only it wasn’t Chad on the other side. It was a footman. Thank heavens she was fully dressed.

  “Yes?” she asked, blinking up at the man.

  “Mr. Kendall asked me to deliver this to you.” He held out a folded piece of foolscap. “Goodnight, my lady.”

  Sam’s heart raced as she closed the door on the man and began to unfold the paper.

  My dearest Samantha,

  Please forgive my hasty retreat. If I explain to you why I am leaving, you will think me completely mad. So please rest assured that it is something I must do, and I fear that if I wait until morning to set off for Ivybridge, it will be too late.

  I will come for you in Somerset and we shall be married post haste. I only wish my father could meet the wonderful woman I am to marry, but alas, his days are numbered.

  I remain forever yours,

  Chad

  P.S. It was Toby who ruined your hair concoction, so you needn’t be cross with the apothecary anymore.

  Sam stared at the letter, scanning the words over and over, her heartbeat getting faster with each passing moment. Was it too late to catch up to him? She could go with him to Ivybridge—that was in Devon, if she remembered right. Not far at all. She could meet his father. It was perhaps the most foolish thing she’d ever thought to do, and yet, she couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. She’d never sleep anyway, and to stick around for the will reading would simply be tortuous.