by Lisa Torquay
And he let the ropes loose. He thrust deep, fast and mindless. Once, twice. She cried, her body squeezing him to ruin, as he lunged one more time and felt the spasms in complete delirium. Repeated squirts emptied him until he found peace.
They fell on her bed, as he pulled the covers over them, snuggling her close.
Aurelia opened her foggy eyes with the first light of dawn. She and Conrad entwined in a mess of limbs, bedcovers and warmth. He had held her in a cocoon of cosiness difficult to reject. She did not even want to if she was to be sincere to herself. She only lay on the mattress revelling in his presence, a pungent sense of contentment dominating her. He slept on his belly, half over her, his arm snaking around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His tepid breath feathering her skin, spicy scent assailing her nostrils.
She began to get too used to him roaming the manor, seeing him around all the time. Used to his visits to her bed with excruciating regularity. And rapture. Each time, he extracted from her escalating pleasure, weakening her little by little, making it intolerable to say no, to keep a distance. To ignore. The consequence? She continued wanting more, everything. But must not. She understood she must not, but he left no space for her self-defence, self-protection. Inch by inch, he neared her, consumed her body, her desire. Her longing. It became progressively difficult to keep her feelings safe. This scared her, with bleeding strain. Her heart constantly pulled to every direction on the compass, constrained. In these circumstances, she had to discipline herself to take one day at a time and be prepared for the worst.
He stirred as his nose grazed her throat as he rumbled pleasurably at her scent, his arm tightening around her. Oh, dear! This man would defeat her fiercest barricade if he continued in this smooth unyielding offensive.
“Good morning, she-wolf.” He murmured on her sensitive skin, teasing her senses.
Her fingers combed through his tousled midnight hair, relishing in its silkiness. “Good morning.” She started liking the epithet he had given her.
He enfolded her even more, his hand delineating her ribs, her hip, her thighs. “Hm… I presage this woman is going to be the end of me.” His nomad hand continued its trajectory.
“Why is that?” She asked hoarse.
His stubble mouth explored her cheek. “Last night you shattered me.” He nibbled her ear; she would soon become a puddle. “There was nothing left.”
“Poor soldier!” She uttered in false pity.
“The best torture a war prisoner could ever experience!” He muttered in her ear, his breath sowing goose bumps all over her.
“Indeed?” Her other hand descended along his athletic spine. She savoured this lewd power she seemed to have over him.
“Uh-huh.” He rumbled again, his head going perilously nether.
When his mouth encased her breast, words died away.
Aurelia stepped in the drawing room and a middle-aged willowy man sprang immediately from the settee. Bushy white brows shaded kind blue eyes.
“Lady Strafford.”
Hughes had informed her of the visitor, saying he wanted to talk to the Viscount. Since Conrad had gone out riding, she decided to see to it herself.
“I am Doctor Morrison, my lady.” He took her hand respectfully.
It had been more than a week since that… gratifying morning–followed by others even more so!
She curtsied politely. “How can I be of help, Doctor?”
In these last days, she had been out of sorts, a tad queasy and a persisting dizziness, but she thought it might be the hotter weather or something she ate. She had not called a doctor though. She had been around the estate the whole morning, but decided to come back for a cup of tea. Maybe it would settle her discomfort.
“Viscount Strafford wrote to me in London, my lady.” He smiled blandly. “It appears your father requires treatment. Is it a fact?”
Aurelia remembered them having confabulated about her father’s health and he mentioned he would write to London. He had not forgotten then. One more surprise to her already long list of his atypical behaviour.
“Oh, yes. Certainly, Doctor.” She gestured for him to seat and rang for tea.
They discussed her father’s condition over tea. His posture indicated an utterly competent professional, attuned to the latest discoveries in his field.
“We achieved recent developments in Gymnasticon, which is to say a range of exercises which help injured patients recover their movements.” He took one scone. “As a matter of fact, I have visited The Royal Centre Institute of Gymnastics in Stockholm; they are pioneers in this new technique.”
“I am glad to hear it.” She sipped her tea, its aroma soothing her. “I will accompany you to my parents’ manor to introduce you to them.”
Conrad came in that moment, magnificent in breeches and riding coat over vest, white shirt and neat neck cloth.
“Samuel!” He smiled and extended his hand.
“Lord Strafford!” The doctor stood up to greet the newcomer. “I was just explaining to your lady the new treatments available to her father.” They sat down, the footman serving her husband.
Both men talked for a while about their time in India, and what they had been doing since returning to England.
Aurelia’s hands modestly folded on her lap while she listened to them. Her gaze savoured her husband discreetly, pretending she paid attention to his talk. He should smile more times; she cogitated. With perfect teeth, his face turned even more handsome as his thin sensuous lips stretched spontaneously. She remembered his dark eyes perusing her warmly this morning and a pink shade coloured her cheeks. Their indolent early mornings started becoming a habit easy to get used to lately. Exceedingly so, she realised alarmed.
“Lady Strafford has just offered to take me to the Middletons.” Doctor Morrison was saying.
Yanked from her reveries with the mention of her title, she jerked up, maybe a tad too fast. Dizziness blurred her eyes, as she swayed, her hand groping for the settee arm.
“Aurelia!” Conrad was by her side in a fraction of a second. “What happened?” He held her shoulders and supported her.
“Only a bit dizzy.” She said, struggling to keep upright without shaming herself. “I reckon it to be something I ate.”
“Since when are you in this disposition?” The doctor interposed, clinically.
“For a few days.” She replied, checking her hair.
“Mayhap we should see to it, my lord?” He asked her husband’s permission.
“Of course.” He looked at her paleness, concerned. “I’ll see her to her chambers and call you momentarily.”
He helped her walk to the hall and, as soon as they were out of sight, he hauled her in his powerful arms.
She gasped. “You don’t need to carry me.”
“You don’t look well.” He retorted with finality.
She had never been carried by any man, let alone by him. Her sense of independence objected dully to that inutile gesture. The woman in her, though, imbibed in his strong arms and muscled chest against her shoulder. Inadvertently, she passed her arm around his neck, resting her imbalanced head on him.
When he settled her in her chamber sitting room, he called the doctor, remaining outside, and waiting.
Aurelia conceived all this fuss unnecessary for a simple upset stomach. Her practical personality would not allow for dramas. Nevertheless, she let the doctor examine her docilely.
“This is superfluous, doctor.” She protested.
“You might be right, my lady.” He rummaged in his medical bag. “Better to be sure, wouldn’t you think?”
“Oh, well!” She acquiesced reluctantly.
After poking her with the strangest instruments, he sat by her side.
“It is nothing to worry about, Lady Strafford.” He smiled blandly. “I am certain you won’t be surprised to hear you are with child.”
She gaped at him as if he addressed her using an Asian language. “With child?”
Her wide eyes still fixed on him; she absorbed his diagnosis with a knotted mind. With child? Goodness gracious! So soon? How on Earth?
“You must drink plenty of fluids. Perhaps one or two dry biscuits in the morning will alleviate possible malaises.” He continued advising. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ll talk to Lord Strafford.”
Absently she accepted his compliments and found herself alone in her sitting room. Her world spun in the highest speed, even if the dizziness had abated. She carried his child in her, she thought with wonder. Antithetic thoughts crossed her mind and conflicting feelings flooded her heart. His child. Her womb seemed to take in his seed with utter eagerness!
The first thing that surfaced was wonder. She carried the child of the man she had once loved; something she had dreamed of as a newlywed. So out of turn! Thinking of the new life that grew in her, though, melted her resistance completely. Happiness painted that. No doubt she would love this young life her body nurtured, it inspired her devotion already. Her gaze lowered, her hands held her middle, a soft smile designing in her elegant lips. She sighed.
In the study, Conrad appeared no less bewildered. “With child?”
“Yes, my lord.” Morrison smiled as the harbinger of good news. “Quite a natural development, I daresay.”
They had served together in India and had enough familiarity that the middle-aged man could say such things to him.
“Yes, yes.” Conrad said, his mind all on her. Slowly, he sat on the leather sofa before the fireplace, not in use at this time of day. “Is there any special care we need to attain?” He asked.
“Your wife is in good health. Nutrition and fluids, always.” He eyed Conrad directly. “And common sense, I would add.”
“I see.” He answered still surprised. He lifted his head to the other man. “I’ll arrange a carriage to take you to Middleton Manor, Samuel, with a message to my in-laws.”
“By all means, my lord.”
Alone in the study, Conrad gave free reign to is thoughts. They would have a child! The news unexpected but so welcome! Smug satisfaction invaded him. She would be the most beautiful mother in the entire world! Manly pride at his power to make a new life with her filled his chest. The future looked bright and full of hope.
Chapter Eleven
Past mid-afternoon, Conrad noticed Aurelia by the lake and walked to it. They had not talked since the doctor’s presence. She had stayed in her room and he in the study, unsure on how to go about it. The truth of it was he wanted to gather her in his arms and celebrate their recent news. He wanted to see her smiling at him, once at least, and include him in her thoughts, in her life.
Still, she sat by the pic-nick table, watching the lake in such a contemplative way. Distant, as if detached from him. At the sound of his steps on the gravel, she turned her head to him.
She dressed a simple dress in a watery blue colour which contrasted with her tightly pinned hair. The setting sun lent it reddish streaks and made her eyes more luminous. No other woman would look so exquisite to him.
“How are you feeling?” The first thing that came to his mind to say.
“Rather well.” She answered casually.
He sat on the bench in front of her. “I am only too,” he paused to find the word. “Gratified with the news.”
“I deemed it quite unexpected, in reality.” Her hands folded on the raw wood, her eyes wandering to the lake.
“Is it contrary to your inclination?” He asked tactfully.
A quizzical expression surfaced on her perfect features. “No, absolutely.”
Relief invaded him. He preferred a visit to Hades than give her reason for fretfulness. “I took it with a positive surprise if you must know.”
She shrugged noncommittal. “I understand this was one of your concerns.”
“True enough.” He responded. “It happened sooner rather than later, I’d say.”
“I defer to you.” She smiled faintly.
He fixed his eyes on her rosewood sun-filled eyes. “Do you want this child?” Although he had pressed her with an agreement, he wished to be clear about that.
“Most certainly. I never said I did not want to be a mother.” She lowered her lashes, hiding her thoughts. “I had given up the idea, though.”
For obvious reasons, he considered. His lack of commitment to their marriage, his absence. Guilt pierced him, one more mistake to add to his lengthy record. “I am glad to hear that.” He replied candidly. Up on his feet, he offered her his arm. “I believe it’s dinner shortly.”
She looked up at him, standing and placing her hand on his arm. They strolled to the manor in comfortable silence.
Late in the evening, Aurelia paced her bedchamber restless and tense. By the lake, she had been doing a lot of plans which she intended to put to practice. More restless paces and she wrapped her woollen shawl tighter around her prudish nightgown, tress falling over her shoulder.
The fatidic connecting door open to reveal Conrad in his pyjamas stepping in her room. With a halt, she turned to him, hands clutching her shawl. Why did he have to be simply the most… virile man in the world? It made everything staggeringly difficult.
He paused five feet from her. “I came to check if you need something.” He said in his deep voice. It travelled through her ears, down to unmentionable places.
“No, thank you.” She said, not comfortable enough to gaze him in his dark eyes.
“Is your stomach still upset?” His attention strolled over her in open appraisal.
“In effect, I am quite restored at the moment.” His fixedness perturbed her to the point of urging her to fidget; she tensed even more to maintain herself still.
He gave one step towards her. If he touched her, she would fall as a puddle in his carnal power.
“I would like to request you to go to the London house.” She blurted bluntly.
He froze mid-step, his eyes hardening. “What is this nonsense?” He asked irritably
She lifted her chin defiantly. “The deed is done. An heir is underway.” Calling on his promise to live in London sounded the reasonable action to take.
“I am not going anywhere!” He stated with finality.
She would be away from him; away from temptation, confused feelings. Turmoil!
“But the agreement…”
“To hell with the agreement!” He prowled forward, interrupting her. “I am not leaving you alone while with child.” A stony purpose in his tone.
“I have friends who will be here for me.” As she had had these past years, she inferred.
“I will be right here by your side!” He stopped close enough so she saw the gleam of single-mindedness in his dark eyes.
This became more arduous than she had foreseen. She turned from him and trod to the moonless night by the window. Something contorted in her guts, giving her a sense she was doing the wrong thing.
“I don’t want your nefarious influence over my child.” She obliged herself to admit.
“Our child!” He said behind her, his breathing touching her nape.
She gyrated abruptly to encounter his angry expression.
“True. Our child.” She had to comply.
“I have every intention of being a father to it!” She found an unshakable quality in his words, leading her to be uncertain about her request.
“Intentions are not actions.” She persisted. If she let herself go under his predominance, she would surely come out smashed by disappointment in the end.
“I believe enough time has passed for you to admit I have changed my ways.” He speared her with his intent gaze under his mussed midnight hair.
“I once trusted you would be a husband to me, not anymore.” She delivered with bitter conviction.
“I don't care what you expected formerly; this is pr
esent tense.” He grabbed her shoulders boring his stare in hers. “Stop living in the past!”
They remained battling their wills with their eyes for long seconds.
“Be a man of your word and go to London.” She attempted anew.
He released her, air going in through his nostrils, quick, temper flaring. “No! I will be here, near you, supporting you, whether you like it or not.”
“London is…” She started; to be curtly interrupted.
“By which, I mean,” He emitted as he stooped, clamped his strong arm around her thighs, hoisting her over his muscled shoulder. He strode to his bedchamber, kicking the goddamn door shut. “You will sleep here from now on, so I am close by if you need something.”
His movements so agile and economic, she had nothing else to do rather than watch her upside down chamber left behind with every step. Without giving her time to venture a single kick, he poured her carefully on his fluffy mattress, the covers pulled, ready for the night.
Dumbfounded, her head sunk in the feather-filled pillow, without her finding in her a minimum reaction.
“You rogue!” She hissed after too many seconds. This rogue would be her doom.
This she-wolf was going to be his downfall, Conrad concluded fiery. She unearthed in him so many ragged feelings he did not decide if he wanted to ravish her, hold her or run a thousand miles from her!
Possibly, the second, as he lay by her side on the bed, pulling the covers over them. She stretched beside him stiff, flushed with indignation. The fire on the fireplace threw a yellowish light over them, as both stared the canopy, mute, unmovable.
Upon hearing her saying she wanted him far from her, mercurial anger assailed him; but also made him chagrined. Would she not allow herself a tiny bit of trust? Not only in him, in herself, their life. The future. He did not accept he had overturned her confidence this much. Alright, so she had witnessed his unruly behaviour for three years, certainly conceiving he continued it in India. Albeit he had told her he did not comport like this while in service. Clearly, his telling her otherwise had not been enough. What about his actions after coming back? Did they not signalise anything to her? Perhaps not. Well, one of these days he would have to inculcate it in her hard-headed person.