SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  The two actors trotted off to polite applause. A moment later, a tiny, black-haired, navy-clad Napoleon entered in front of La Belle Alliance, taking an exaggerated double pinch of snuff before proclaiming in a juvenile voice, “Mon Dieu, it is too wet to fight this morning. I think I shall take a rest.”

  He sat gingerly in a chair piled with several cushions. An attendant came to his side to ask, “What should we tell the reporters?”

  “Tell them we have won, for victory is sure this day.” Napoleon reached for another pinch. “I shall drive Wellington to the sea.” He closed his eyes while the attendant fanned him with a newspaper.

  To the north, Wellington entered with four other soldiers. “It’s time to rally the troops,” he cried.

  Slowly, young troops with wooden swords flooded the large theatre—red to the north and west behind Wellington and Uxbridge, followed by a slower trickle of blue to the south near Napoleon, who had just begun to move. “We can’t wait for the Prussians. We must engage the French ourselves,” Jimmy yelled as he led the charge. The red and blue streamers flew at each other from across the large hall. Wellington rode the line and barked encouragement, but the battle wore on without a clear victor.

  Napoleon had a large pillow tied to his stick horse, and his attendant helped him on and off the awkward contraption. “My empire for a new arse,” he yelled as he climbed off the horse for the fifth time. The crowd roared with laughter, and the actor waited until he could be heard before crying, “I can’t see the battle—what’s going on?”

  “We are winning, Excellency.” His tall attendant yelled over the din. “Wellington is doomed.”

  “There’s no need to engage our right flank—we can win without them,” predicted Napoleon loudly, to the cheers of the crowd.

  Swords clattered and small bodies continued to fall theatrically.

  “We will lose to Bonaparte without more men,” implored Wellington as he rode the falling Allied line frantically. With a dramatic flair, he reared his horse and cried, “Give me sunset or give me Blucher.”

  Prussian Field Marshall Blucher raised his white feathered hat and a trumpet sounded behind him, rallying the group of boys with white streamers. “Charge!” he yelled, and he took off at a gallop into the top of the raging battle. The blue streamers turned and ran when they saw the new troops arriving. Napoleon’s aide helped the emperor onto his horse and both retreated off stage to loud jeers.

  With the victory won and Napoleon vanquished from the theater, Wellington shook hands grimly with Blucher. He then faced the audience and said loudly, “It has been a damned serious business, the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life.” He glanced at the moaning soldiers strewn about him and shook his head gravely. “Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle gained.”

  Julian watched him trot slowly off the stage escorting an injured Uxbridge, and he felt tears forming in his own eyes. Cathryn dabbed her eyes between her enthusiastic applause. Rune leaned over and spoke with a thick voice. “Should we help the wounded?”

  “Excellent idea.” Julian stepped off his platform and tapped a fallen body on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, my lord,” the lad said with a small smile as he accepted Julian’s offer of an outstretched hand.

  The boy’s hand felt like a doll’s, and Julian realized it had been years since he’d touched a child. The frailty of the thin limb awakened a protective streak he’d rarely acknowledged, and he resisted the instinct to offer a comforting embrace. A vision of holding his own son flashed before him as he released the boy with a somber smile. “Thank you, lad. You fought well.”

  The sea of small bodies stayed still until someone touched them. One by one, he and Rune helped raise the silent dead and heal the whimpering wounded. A minute later Cathryn and Violet were beside them, also involved in resurrecting the troops.

  It was an eerie task, and parents joined the group in subdued tones to hug their sons after the battle. Once the army was revived, Mrs. Fry appeared and suggested that Cathryn show the guests around while the main room was prepared for the meal. “Yorkshire pudding and sausage, Lord Ahlquist. Mrs. Aubrey says it’s your favorite.”

  “Indeed it is.” Or was. It had been a decade since he’d eaten such common food.

  Following Cathryn down long whitewashed hallways, past busy kitchens and dark private dormitories, he soon found himself in her small classroom. His nerves sounded the alarm when he realized he stood where Hedges had nearly raped her. His arm tightened around her. “Would you give us a moment alone, please?” he said to Violet and Rune.

  “Of course.”

  As the door closed behind them, he took Cathryn’s face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “I want to make this place right for you, love, but I don’t know how.”

  “You’ve done very well,” she whispered.

  “And you are everything I could want in a woman.” He kissed her again and forgot where he was. Even the terrors of the past week faded. Only Cathryn and her sweet lemon-scented hair existed. He nuzzled her neck as he whispered, “I’m falling in love with you, Cathryn.”

  She stiffened in his arms for a moment, and then she went nearly limp as she whispered back, “I’m falling in love with you, too.”

  His spirit soared, and he hugged her tightly before releasing her. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

  She clung to his arm. “And I believe you just vanquished the demon in this room.”

  * * * * *

  Cathryn was floating on a balmy river of good feelings as they left the city. Julian’s love cocooned her and she felt nothing could ever harm her again. Her triumphs in the London press, the goodwill of the queue of women, Violet and Rune’s friendship, and the outpouring of gratitude from the poorhouse residents added to her optimistic outlook. Everything was going to be fine. No judge in the country would force her to marry Hedges, and she would become Julian’s bride.

  His beloved bride. The sentiment filled her with awe.

  She turned to him sprawled beside her on the wide carriage seat. “You look very content, like a full pussycat.”

  “You’re correct. I am as content as I can ever recall,” he said with a smile.

  Frankly, she could stare at him all day and never weary of the view. Flawless features, lean but muscular physique, and his signature silken mane all worked to create an exemplar of her perfect mate. The fact that he was intelligent, and respected her intelligence, was a boon. Kind and generous, brave and skillful, loyal and witty, his finer qualities abounded. She was running out of descriptors for the admirable aspects of his person and character, and she kept forgetting his few flaws, so minimal were they in comparison to the whole man.

  She flushed as he drew her onto his lap. “You’re my tender fascination, Cathryn.”

  “And you are absolutely enthralling, Julian.” What she wanted now was complete immersion, and he read her thoughts. He made quick work of her outer garments and the cool air soon reached her bare breasts.

  He cupped each globe, rubbing his thumbs across the sensitive tips. “You’re magnificent.”

  He was the magnificent one, but she wasn’t about to argue. “I need…” What? A quick shag to calm her nerves? A long shag to exhaust her? How did one speak the unspeakable?

  His low murr reassured her. “I need you too.”

  She pressed against his hands and he welcomed her with a passionate kiss that set her head spinning. Lost in desire, she barely noticed his hands wander under her skirts until he probed her wetness and groaned. The sensations washed over her, leading to a dense yearning deep inside her.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded when he broke the kiss. “Dear Lord, Cat, I’ll never tire of you.”

  After his declaration of love at the poorhouse, she had new confidence. She’d never made love in a carriage, but the rocking motion might add a glorious effect. She shifted her position and straddled him. “Show me.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” His grin was lopsided as
he loosened his trousers, exposing his impressive erection. “Care for a ride?”

  Rising onto her knees, she poised herself above his shaft just as they hit a bump in the road, and he entered her with a long hard stroke. “Oh.” Thankful he’d already stretched her with his fingers, she relished the fullness.

  “Are you alright, love?”

  His love, she wished he would speak the words of thousand times. “Better than ever.” The carriage rocked gently back and forth, bringing pleasure with every movement. His fingers found the center of her bliss and her whimpers began. Being on top, she had control and she took full advantage. This was what love felt like at its best, deep admiration and lust merging into a never-ending stream of blissful sensations.

  His cock was beautifully hard, and every long thrust reached deeper, aided by the rocking of the coach. He reached places inside her rarely touched. One angle in particular enthralled her. She clamped her hands on his shoulders and rode him for maximum effect. This angle evoked new sensations, heat and pleasure careening off one another and building to a fiery crescendo. Glistening in her concentration to reach the climax, only dimly aware of his grunts and her groans, very aware of grinding against him, all her faculties were focused on her goal. Still clutching him, she tried to anticipate the movements of the coach to add to her pleasure. “Yes, yes, yes.” A hundred times yes, a lifetime of yes with this man. Her voice rose and rose until she was panting and ultimately…victorious. Bliss exploded into molten ecstasy.

  His cries followed her as he thrust wildly and emptied his seed.

  Heavy panting and the smell of vigorous sex filled the carriage, which kept rocking, eliciting delightful aftershocks of pleasure as they disengaged. “That was the first time I’ve ever truly made love.”

  “And I can say the same.” Another kiss full of promise. She left her skirts hiked up, just in case.

  * * * * *

  “Just beyond the lake lies the entrance to the grotto.” Julian pointed out the carriage window at an oval pond nestled in the hillside below the Burns’ Gothic mansion. “The baths are there. If we’re not too fatigued, we can enjoy them tonight after the meal.”

  Three dark turrets rose above the roofline of Gorham House, causing it to resemble a giant trident from a distance. Covered in blackened shingles and brown awnings, it bid a dark welcome. Even the flowers were brown, black and blue after the killing frost of the past week, dahlias and asters drooped lifelessly at the entrance gates.

  The gloomy images did little to dampen Cathryn’s spirits. “We have all week. I’m certain we’ll find time to explore it all.”

  “There are places I’ve never seen, and I’ve been here several times. Melina’s always adding something new.”

  Her lips were bruised from hours of kissing, and she knew her hair must be a sight, but she merely pulled her new amethyst bonnet over the disorder as the coach approached the mansion.

  When the carriage door opened, a footman held out his hand for her. “Welcome to Gorham House, my lady.”

  The red-coated footman was nearly as handsome as Julian, only smaller in stature. He wielded a dazzling smile that even a smitten woman such as herself could not fail to notice, and he proudly wore a cup of enormous proportions, as if he were prepared for the ballet. The round bulb jutted out from his breeches like a stepping-stone for a little person.

  Clearly, this week would challenge her prudish side.

  His eyes fell to her chest for an instant and his smile broadened. “My name is Ethan. I look forward to serving you, my lady.”

  Few men flustered her, but he managed the deed in five seconds.

  Julian followed close on her heels, and he responded for her. “Thank you, Ethan. I shall be serving Lady Sibley this week.” His tone held more mirth than jealousy, and Cathryn relaxed a smidgen.

  “Yes, my lord.” Ethan nodded as he closed the door of the carriage, but he shot Cathryn a wink before he turned away. Terribly improper, but Cat couldn’t resist smiling back.

  “Melina’s staff is…unusual,” Julian said as they approached the massive wooden arch of a door, which opened as they climbed the top step.

  His hand on her waist calmed her but her heart still raced as she considered meeting the reclusive author. She’d read every one of Melina Burns’ twenty-seven novels—some of them several times—and was an ardent admirer of her prose. Their brief correspondence had been cordial but businesslike, revealing little of the woman’s character. Knowing of Mrs. Burns’ purported sexual deviancy did not detract from the fact that the woman wrote entertaining and engrossing stories, but it did add to Cathryn’s discomfort over being acquainted with her.

  The enormous front hallway glowed an unexpectedly warm welcome. Ivory silk paneled the walls, dozens of gilded mirrors reflected glowing candelabras and a museum’s worth of pale statuary all gave the vast space a light aspect Cathryn had not foreseen from the murky exterior. A wide marble staircase circled to the second floor and led to a set of large casement windows that seemed to magnify the late afternoon light. “I’ve seen smaller ballrooms,” she whispered to Julian as she unbuttoned her cashmere cloak.

  Two spectacularly attractive footmen with very prominent bulges took their coats and hats as he responded, “Melina puts on theatrical productions here. She likes to make an entrance.”

  “Lord Ahlquist,” came a deep female voice from the top of the stairs. “I thought I’d scared you away for good last time.” A petite dark-haired woman clad in a diaphanous sea-green Egyptian-inspired costume, with vast quantities of gold adorning her neck and wrists, drifted gracefully down the stairs. “I’m so glad I was wrong.” The costume’s lining kept it from being obscene, but the cut and close fit highlighted the author’s fine figure.

  “Mrs. Burns offered me employment when I last saw her,” he whispered as the attractive woman approached.

  “You fit her mold, that’s clear.” Cathryn glanced around at the score of striking servants bustling about.

  “Lady Sibley, it’s an honor to finally meet you.” Mrs. Burns dropped into a deep curtsy, and her golden headdress glinted in the candlelight. “Fiona writes highly of you, and your articles in the press were brilliant.” She stood slowly and faced Cathryn, coming barely to her chin and looking closer to thirty than forty. “You are a hero, Lady Sibley.”

  A suffusion of pride straightened her spine. “No, it’s you that deserves the accolades, Mrs. Burns. I simply adore your books. They were my chief enjoyment during my mourning.”

  The author’s black eyes danced at the compliment. “Thank you.” Her eyes narrowed briefly as she assessed Cathryn, and she extended her hand with a smile. “Then we meet as equals. I’m Melina.”

  “Cathryn.” She shook her hand with a surge of pride. To be Melina Burns’ equal—that was a jarring thought.

  “I’m relieved to see you both looking so well, after the dire accounts in the press. You’ll want to freshen up after the long ride,” Melina said as she glanced around. “Alouette will see you to your rooms and be your personal maid during your stay.”

  A pretty young blonde girl with large bosoms that threatened to overflow her low bodice stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy as Melina spoke. “Bring them to the Egypt room for drinks after they are settled.”

  Julian seemed not to notice the bouncing flesh displayed for his regard. Alouette assessed him most improperly, but he kept his eyes on his hostess.

  “Has Giles come with you?” Melina asked Julian.

  “No, but he’ll follow in a few days.”

  “I did scare him off, didn’t I?” More pride than remorse in her voice.

  Julian chuckled. “Perhaps a tad.”

  “There’s a story I want to hear,” Cathryn said as they headed towards the stairs.

  “We have a few other guests joining us for dinner, mostly locals. Alouette will show you costumes if you wish to dress the part.”

  Cathryn looked to Julian for clarification. “Every night is an optiona
l masquerade at Gorham House. Tonight is Egyptian, I presume.”

  Melina nodded as she drifted off towards a gilded door. “You have fabulous legs, Julian, you should wear a skirt this evening.”

  Cathryn burst into laughter. “Lord Ahlquist in a skirt?”

  “It’s not happening, love.”

  “You have the hair of a pharaoh.” Melina chimed as she disappeared from sight.

  Alouette led the way as Cathryn asked him, “What will you wear?”

  “As much as possible. Melina’s been known to play very naughty games when the guests thin out.”

  “Oh, dear, then I should…?”

  “Wear as many accessories as you can manage and don’t agree to any amusements.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dinner was a prolonged affair, with a variety of succulent game meats and poultries, as well as a dozen delectable side dishes. Waterloo dominated the conversation, with Melina asking endless questions about the morning’s reenactment. Cathryn did her best to keep the details interesting, with Julian adding colorful comments, but the other diners appeared bored. He sat across from Cathryn, and while she enjoyed the view, she felt bereft of his touch. When had two hours ever been so long?

  She was toying with a lemon tart when Melina rose and invited the ladies to join her in the orangery. As if sensing her thoughts, Julian made his way to her side before she left the elegant dining room.

  “We need not stay up late tonight, love. Another hour.” He took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

  She noted the fatigue in his heavy lids. “Don’t linger over your port and cigars. I promised Dr. Loudon I would care for you, and it’s been a very long day.”