Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  “Come wi’ me! Leonard, don’t leave me!”

  Worried about her state of agitation, and feeling such a mixture of emotions in his chest that he couldn’t even name them all—although jealousy and pity were uppermost—Jason sat on the bed next to her. Knowing better than to jolt her out of her dream, he laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Marjorie. Everything will be all right.”

  “Leonard! Is’t thee?”

  Pain ripped through Jason’s chest. “It’s Jason, Marjorie. It’s Jason Abernathy.”

  With a gasp and a low cry, Marjorie opened her eyes. She stared up at Jason for a moment, confused. “I . . . I guess I was dreaming.”

  He nodded and tried to smile. “Looked to me like it was a pretty bad dream.”

  Lifting a trembling hand, she covered her eyes. “Aye, it was a vurra bad dream.”

  “I’m sorry, Marjorie.”

  “Nae. I’m sorry, Jason.”

  And then, to Jason’s utter shock, Marjorie sat up and threw her arms around him. Burying his head in her silky hair, he held on to her with gratitude, not unmixed with desire.

  “You’re a good man, Jason Abernathy. I didna believe it for a long, long time, but you are.”

  “Thank you.” He felt strangely humbled by her words.

  “And I want to make love wi’ you.”

  Startled, he said, “You do?”

  “Aye. I do. I want to know what it’s like. I do.”

  He accepted the invitation with joy—and a large dose of concern. “Are you sure about this, Marjorie?”

  She nodded. “Aye, I’m sure. I’ve not been sure of vurra many things in recent years, but I’m sure of this.”

  “God, I want you. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

  She laughed softly. “You didna act like it.”

  “I know it. It’s because I felt so guilty about my feelings. I’m sorry.”

  As gently as he was able, he kissed her. She responded hungrily, and he deepened the kiss, tracing her luscious lips with his tongue and gently prodding her mouth open. She moaned softly, encouraging him to be bold, and he lowered her onto the bed.

  Tenderly untying the belt of her robe, he caressed her stomach and feasted his eyes upon her. “You have a beautiful body, Marjorie. And your skin is like silk.”

  “I want to see what you look like, too, Jason.”

  His lips quirked into a slight grin. “I never thought I’d hear those words from your lovely lips, darling.”

  She responded to his humor with a smile of her own. “Nae, nor did I. But it’s true.”

  Her breasts were a delicious handful—not large, but beautifully rounded, and her nipples were hard and delectable. He took one of them in his mouth, and her soft gasp was music to his ears.

  “Och, Jason!”

  “Does that feel good, Marjorie?”

  “Are ye daft? Of course, it feels good. Oh, my . . .”

  That being the case, he proceeded to lavish more attention upon her. She was such a surprise to him. She responded with what seemed like glee, although glee and Marjorie MacTavish didn’t fit comfortably together in his brain, at least not in the same sentence. Nevertheless, when he realized she’d unbuttoned his shirt and had begun a tactile examination of his chest, he was more than a little pleased.

  Her responses to his ministrations were so gratifying, in fact, that he began to wonder if he’d be able to perform as well as she deserved. It had been more than three years since he’d been with a woman, after all. And poor Mai had been so fragile. It was probably a good thing that he’d had practice being gentle right now, since this was Marjorie’s first time—at least, he supposed it was.

  “Did you and Leonard ever make love, Marjorie?” He made sure his voice conveyed only interest and not criticism. There was plenty of misery and violence in the world, both of which deserved condemnation. Jason wasn’t about to judge people who were guilty only of loving each other.

  The question must have shocked Marjorie, though, because her eyes flew open and she said again, only this time with a trace of rancor, “Are ye daft? What kind of woman d’ye think I am? I’m not like Loretta, ye ken.”

  He chuckled. “I ken. I didn’t mean anything. I only wanted to know if this was going to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” She blinked those gorgeous green eyes at him and stopped what she’d been doing with her hands, damn it.

  “Well, it sometimes doesn’t hurt,” he said, wondering where his brain had gone begging that he’d even brought the subject up. “I only wondered.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ve nivver done this before.”

  Now that he’d cleared up the question of her virginity, Jason decided he’d be better off if he just shut up and continued. Her body was a wonder to him. He’d been right about her, too: she hid her passion under a cold exterior, but it was there. And he was stirring it.

  His own hunger almost frightened him. His hands shook when he unbuttoned his trousers. “Don’t be afraid, Marjorie. I’ll never hurt you.”

  “I know it, Jason.”

  He believed her and again, felt humbled. The feeling fled as soon as she touched his shaft. “Marjorie!”

  “I’ve never seen one of these before. How strange it looks.”

  If she backed out now, he was pretty sure he’d die. “It looks worse than it is,” he assured her.

  She laughed softly. “It doesn’t look bad.”

  Thank God!

  “I just didn’t expect it, is all.”

  “I’ll make sure you enjoy this, Marjorie. Don’t worry.”

  “Stop telling me not to worry, you gudgeon. I’m’na worried.”

  Thank God again! He nibbled on her breast, and she sighed with pleasure.

  “I’m almost thirty, ye ken, Jason. I want to know what this is like. I’m no Loretta, but I’m a human woman.”

  His hand tracing her body from her rib cage to her gently swelling hips, he murmured, “You certainly are.”

  “And I have human feelings.” Her hips arched, as if seeking something.

  He knew what it was, and he whispered, “We’re all human, darling, and we all have feelings.” He moved his hand, slowly and caressingly to the soft red thatch of hair between her thighs, his heart thundering, uncertain how she’d react to this intimacy. “Don’t be frightened.”

  A sharp slap on his shoulder worried him for a second before she said, “I’m not frightened, ye nyaff! Keep doing that. It feels like heaven.”

  So he did, and again he silently thanked his maker. He’d have hollered his gratitude to the celestial regions themselves, but he feared Marjorie might consider it a blasphemy. Jason knew it wasn’t. This was the physical expression of human love, and he honored it . . . as he honored this woman, whom he had come to love. He didn’t want to think about that now, however. He only wanted to feel, for the first time in years, the most intimate and magnificent of human interactions.

  Marjorie was moaning softly now, and her hips were arching in the sweet rhythm of love. Jason kissed her lightly, watching her, coveting her reactions to his stroking fingers. He could tell she was coming close to a climax. He was, too, for that matter, and he contemplated entering her.

  But no. He wanted to make sure she achieved completion this, her first time with a man. He could wait another minute or two. At least, he hoped he could.

  “Och, Jason.” Her voice was ragged and a little uncertain.

  “It’s all right, darling. There’s nothing to fear. Just let yourself feel it.”

  “Oh, Jason!”

  And her hips bucked, and her arms went around him, and he felt the most amazing series of spasms wrack her body. It was time for him now, dash it, and he took full advantage of the situation. Throwing a leg over her hips and poising for only a moment over her glistening body, he plunged inside her.

  # # #

  Marjorie gasped, shocked. From the most spectacular sensation she’d ever experienced, suddenly she felt as if she wer
e being torn asunder. Good heavens, was this what it was all about? She heard Jason’s ragged, “I’m sorry, Marjorie. I never meant to hurt you,” and her heart melted.

  “You didna hurt me, ye daft thing,” she whispered, holding him tightly and wondering how she could ever have fallen in love with him. But she had, God save her.

  The sensation was interesting after she overcame her initial jolt of alarm about being so intimately invaded. In fact . . .

  “God, you feel good.”

  Marjorie thought about that. Jason was at present plunging into and drawing out of her body in a most extraordinary manner. He was enjoying it, too, if she was any judge—and in this case, she believed she was.

  Suddenly, he shuddered, stiffened, and Marjorie felt for the first time a man’s seed pour into her body. How absolutely extraordinary. No wonder Loretta advocated free love. If a woman had no legitimate way to experience this, it probably would be worth sacrificing one’s moral code to do it.

  With that thought, Marjorie succeeded in totally scandalizing herself, so she decided it would probably be best if she ceased thinking altogether. It was easy to do, what with Jason’s limp body on top of hers, their perspiration mingling in a way that was . . . well . . . rather thrilling, actually.

  “Are you all right?”

  She could scarcely hear Jason’s voice. He sounded as if he’d just run a long, long race and had collapsed in exhaustion at its completion. She understood. “I’m vurra weel, thank you.”

  That was awfully formal. But Marjorie wasn’t sure how to react after the last few astonishing minutes. She was rather embarrassed, actually. How did married women face their husbands in the morning after doing this?

  Jason’s breathing slowed, and he pushed himself away from her, settling at her side, thus allowing her to breath more easily. His arm flopped onto her stomach and he cupped her body with his. The position was remarkably comfortable, especially when he sighed deeply and drew her close. How sweet. How . . . well . . . loving.

  Marjorie, settling in, decided to let him speak first, if he wanted to, since he’d had more experience of this act than she did. A lot more. She took a deep breath, and waited. Perhaps he would declare his love for her. Was it possible that he actually did love her?

  Probably not. While Marjorie didn’t believe all the things Loretta said about men, because some of them were so outrageous as to be incredible, she still understood that men and women had different attitudes about love. And lust. If it weren’t so, there would be no market for those poor, impoverished Chinese girls who were sold into prostitution and slavery right here in San Francisco.

  She’d been thinking and waiting for Jason to speak for quite a while before she realized he’d gone to sleep. His deep, even breathing was her first clue. Surprised that so phenomenal an experience for her should have put her partner to sleep, she dared whisper, “Jason?”

  He answered not.

  A little louder, she whispered, “Jason?”

  No answer.

  “Bother.” A tiny thread of resentment niggled in Marjorie’s heart.

  Now why, she wanted to know, should she harbor this gigantic feeling of awe and adoration in her bosom when Jason obviously considered this, her first experience with physical love, nothing more than a . . . a . . . a bluidy sleeping draft?

  She told herself that she was being unreasonable. Naturally, the experience didn’t mean as much to Jason as it did to her. She was being too sensitive. Jason was exhausted. He’d been through a lot recently.

  After stewing over that one for a few minutes, her resentment grew a centimeter or two. He’d been through a lot? Well, so had she! What’s more, she’s the one who’d been hit with the bluidy cudgel. And that was after she’d been hit with a bluidy fist. Well, perhaps it hadn’t been a fist, but . . .

  Anyhow, why was it that she was being battered and bruised? Was it because she’d done something wrong? Was it because she’d been foolish? No. It was because Jason Abernathy had decided to play the hero and rescue Jia Lee from the clutches of bad men.

  Not that Marjorie didn’t believe that Jia Lee deserved to be a slave or anything, but if Jason hadn’t brought her to Loretta’s house, Marjorie wouldn’t have been hurt. So far, it seemed to her that the score lay heavily in Jia Lee’s favor, as a matter of fact. As of this day—night, she meant—Jia Lee was recovering comfortably in Loretta’s house, and Marjorie had been brutalized twice.

  Perhaps she was being a teensy bit unfair. After all, Jia Lee had suffered a brutal beating first.

  And that wasn’t Marjorie’s fault, either. With a huff, Marjorie discovered within herself a strong disinclination to be fair.

  The attitude surprised her. Always before in her life, she’d bent over backwards to take the blame for whatever went wrong. This was thanks, in part, to her service as a White Star stewardess, and in even larger part to her upbringing, which had taught her that poor people were always to blame, even if nothing was their fault.

  She’d even been blaming herself for Leonard’s death since the ship sank. Yet the truth was that Leonard had, in effect, committed suicide when he’d refused to climb aboard the lifeboat with her.

  Damn him! Why, if Leonard Fleming hadn’t decided to play hero that night, Marjorie and he might be married and rearing a fine family this very minute! Instead, Leonard was dead—and a whole bluidy lot of good a dead man did anyone—and Marjorie had been living in a hell on earth for more than three bluidy years!

  Men and their heroic deeds. Loretta was right. Heroic deeds ranked right up there with the oppression of women in insane and irresponsible masculine behaviors.

  That being the case, and because she felt like a blooming idiot for having actually begged Jason Abernathy to deflower her, Marjorie eased herself out from under his arm. She felt a stab of soul-deep hurt as she did it, but she told herself that by taking this step, she was sparing herself not merely the embarrassment of seeing him in the morning, but also the humiliation of discovering that he didn’t give a fig about her. As Loretta might have said—indeed, she probably had said it a time or two—he’d only wanted sex.

  Well, he’d had it. And so had she. A shiver accompanied her into Jason’s well-equipped bathroom. In spite of her present state of resentment, she had to admit that making love with Jason had been quite a spectacular experience. And she appreciated Jason for having enlightened her. If she could only bear the pleasure of the event in mind, perhaps she could keep at bay the sense of loss and emptiness lurking just outside her psyche . . . at least until she got home and could cry in peace.

  Suddenly, she wanted to see Loretta. To talk to her. To tell her everything there was to know about herself. All at once, Marjorie felt stupid for having kept her past to herself for so long. She couldn’t remember why she’d decided to do so, either, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time. The plain truth was that all she’d accomplished was to shut herself away from the support of her friends was to deprive herself of the love and understanding of another woman. Moreover, Loretta was a woman who only had Marjorie’s best interest at heart, even though her means of accomplishing same often left Marjorie breathless with shock and consternation.

  A tear or two leaked from her eyes as she cleaned herself up. Dr. Hagendorf’s words came back to her, giving her a measure of comfort: you’re a survivor.

  Aye, she was that, all right, and she’d survive this, too. She would not allow Jason Abernathy to get her down. She wouldn’t.

  After she washed up and donned her clothes, and carrying her shoes, Marjorie tiptoed down the stairs and into Jason’s office. She almost suffered a heart attack when she turned on the light and saw a body on the sofa against the far wall. When the body blinked and sat up, she realized it was Lo Sing.

  Somewhat blearily, he said, “Miss MacTavish!”

  Marjorie pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh. I need to get home, but I didn’t want to awaken Ja—Mr. Abernathy.”

  “Uh . . . but don’t
you want to wait until morning?” He’d been sleeping in his shirt sleeves, and he grabbed his coat from the chair where he’d hung it. Looking embarrassed, he fumbled around, attempting to put on the coat.

  “No. I really must be getting along now.” Marjorie was approximately seventy times as embarrassed as poor Lo Sing, but she tried not to show it.

  “But . . . you can’t walk, surely. It’s not safe.”

  There was that problem. The relative lack of safety surrounding Dr. Jason Abernathy and his bluidy damned clinic was the reason she was here now, a former virgin, in a predicament. Marjorie frowned, trying to think of a way to get home that wouldn’t entail grave injury or death to herself. Not that she cared particularly, deeming life a waste of time, but Loretta would be crushed.

  “Let me call you a cab, at least.”

  Marjorie never would have thought about calling a cab, as her life to date had required her to be of service, not to be served, but the suggestion relieved her a good deal. As graciously as she was able, she said, “Thank you! That would be so kind of you.”

  So Lo Sing called a cab for her, and Marjorie waited nervously, fearing Jason would awaken and come downstairs in search of her. Evidently, his sexual exertions had knocked him out, because the cab showed up before he did. Damn the man.

  Marjorie was embarrassed when Lo Sing walked her out to the taxi and paid the fare for her. She shook his hand and thanked him, and her relief was almost as potent as her unhappiness when the cab—a motorized one this time—took off toward Russian Hill.

  Feeling a good deal lower than dirt, Marjorie stared dejectedly out the window of the cab as it rattled its way toward Lombard Street. She’d gone and done it now, she guessed . . . and she didn’t even find amusement in the fact that Loretta would be proud of her. Loretta was, at times, a remarkably fuddle-headed woman. She was also rich, which colored her outlook on life a great deal.

  And then there was Jason, who was an advantage-taker if ever there was one. And she’d been so trusting and innocent, with her knock on the head and her . . .

  “Fah,” she muttered, knowing that she was blaming Jason for her own lack of moral fiber.