He helped her undress then sat her in his lap and admired the woman who had just agreed to be his wife. His fingers toyed with her triangle of downy fur as he murmured, “So soft, and such a pretty light, pale color.” His probing fingers found her slick and wanting, her channel welcoming as he inserted his long middle finger and gingerly explored the dark, tight recess. He adjusted her and inserted two fingers. His palm cupped her mound as his thumb searched out her tiny, hooded nub. She cried out his name and thrust her hips out to meet him. She practically knelt in his lap to ride his hand.
“So responsive,” he crooned. She could feel his hardness against her bottom and wickedly rocked against it.
It had never been like this with Annaliese. Hell, it had never been like this with any woman. As she rocked back and forth, she attempted to stroke him by insinuating his length along the cleave in her ass.
“Oh, is that how you want to play the game,” he said, his voice but a harsh whisper. He stood and unceremoniously dumped her onto the bed. Before she could right herself, he grasped her ankles, pulled her to the bottom of the bed and spread her legs wide. He knelt at the foot of the bed and his face dove between her smooth thighs. He made expert use of his tongue on her womanly parts. He drove her mad with desire, and he drove himself to heights of passion he had never before imagined.
Her cries of, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” echoed from the high ceiling until they inevitably softened and she breathed out a sigh of, “Ohhhh, myyyyy,” as she lost herself in the pleasure, and gave him her surrender to his languishing tongue and lips.
With a final, lazy lick from the top of her slit to the bottom, he moved over her, kissing his way up her body. When he turned her face to his, his lips sought hers and he inserted his tongue and thoroughly kissed her, in the same manner in which he had just engaged it—piercing, thrusting, and mimicking the act his penis was desperate to employ.
“I have need of you—great need,” he breathed into her neck with a voice hoarse with passion. His hand gripped his manhood and he pulled the slick tip in long glides along her heated flesh.
What a bold confession, she thought. She shivered to realize that it was bliss to be needed by such a man as this. He was the type of man women dreamed of, and she knew that the words he had just spoken would be held close to her heart until the day she died. It was the pinnacle. He said he had need of her—great need. And she felt his “great need” sink into her. She reveled in each thrust as he pummeled her into the bedding, taking her in a most submissive fashion.
Her quick climax was unexpected, he had not thought her so close, but as he felt her come, heard her cry out and shatter, he roared with triumph. With three powerful thrusts he drove himself over the edge and lost himself in her. Her name was perfection on his tongue, though it took the harshest of breaths to expel it. Everything he had been denied was now his and he reveled in it. Rejoiced in it. Lost his heart to it. And he discovered that he believed in fairy tales after all.
Below Stairs
“He said tits! I heard him,” Lolly said over her shoulder, as she carried the heavy silver teapot through the kitchen to the wash racks. “Something about vying for her tits,” she said. “He did!” she exclaimed. Then as soon as she finished putting the big pot of water back on the hod, she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh Lordy, I am not supposed to be gossiping!”
“That be true,” Cook said, “but you are not getting away with that. Spill it. What else did he say to ‘er?”
“Summat about an apple tree and a blanket in the spring, and butterflies on Jonathan’s toes, or was it nose?”
“Tell ‘er the good part,” Foy urged as she dumped a tray of dirty dishes into a sink of soapy water. “If you don’t ‘hurry up and tell ‘er, I will!”
“Well . . . ,” she paused for emphasis, “he said he was goin’ ta marry her!” Both girl’s eyes shone bright with the news.
The swinging door burst open just then and Mrs. Cockrell came running in. “You’re not going to believe this!”
“The earl’s gettin’ married!” they all chorused, stealing her thunder.
“To Catherine!” she added, as she bustled into the room. “To our very own Catherine!” She looked over at Cook and then at Cora. “He said to prepare a feast, he did! We’re to celebrate! In a big way!”
Cook spun around, looking for her recipe book. Cora clasped her hands together over her heart. Both Lolly and Foy sank into chairs fanning themselves. It almost too much for them, they were swooning with delight, and a fair touch of envy.
“It was our bet that did it, Mrs. C,” Cora cried out, delirious at the news. “I will bake the most splendid cake! They will talk about it a hundred years from now.”
Jeb came in the back door in time to hear the last part. “If you mistake the salt for the sugar again, they surely will.”
Cora snapped her wet dishtowel against Jeb’s chest and instead hit him close to the belt line. “Hoi there, I may not be the earl marryin’ the likes of Catherine, but I too, would like to father a bairn one day!”
“Oh yes!” Foy gushed. “They’ll have more babies!”
“He’ll get another babe on Miss Catherine to make up for the one she lost, poor dear,” Cook whispered, her eyes filled with happy tears that ran over her cheeks.
“If I’m not mistaken, he’s upstairs with her workin’ on that this vera minute,” Mrs. Cockrell said.
They all looked wide-eyed at her. It was not even noon.
“No, they aren’t . . .” Cora whispered.
“Yay, they are,” Mrs. Cockrell insisted. “Saw ‘im carryin’ her up the stairs, Jonathan still latched on.” Her hand went to her cheeks and her eyes misted. “It were so romantic, he carried her like she was nothin’ more than a feather, all the way up those stairs. It was like in a fairytale, took my breath away, it did.”
Everyone in the kitchen let out a deep sigh. The earl was going to be happy again. It was a glorious day indeed. They all turned as one to begin preparing the biggest feast Sefton Manor had ever seen.
Chapter Thirty
Two days later they rode in the earl’s lacquered coach to St. Cuthbert’s in Churchtown. They were married by the Rev. Hesketh, who was delighted the earl was remarrying and providing his young son with such a young, lovely mother so soon after the passing of his own. The special license, the writ that made an exception to the posting of the traditional banns required, was only the second he’d ever registered. It spoke of the urgency . . . indeed the fleetness that was paramount in uniting these two in a matrimonial state. That it was so soon after the loss of his first wife was, of course, not noted in the register. It never was for the man merely seeking a return to normality for his household. But the reverend doubted that was the case. His keen eyes and knowing smiles, hinted at the true story—that it was not that the earl suddenly required an heir or a hostess, rather that the earl, assumed to have gone without satisfaction for many months prior to his wife giving birth, had ultimately required a lusty bed partner. And that perhaps another child would soon be needing the soft hand of this young woman to tend it. Catherine blushed at his blatant compliments while the earl ignored the raised brows and deftly placed innuendoes.
Thorne said his vows sincerely, meaning every word and trying to convey by his eyes, focused solely on his bride, that her agreeing to stand beside him, pledging herself to him, made him the happiest of men.
Never having seen a man so smitten, the reverend could only wonder at the woman standing before him. Clearly, she was not an aristocrat, not in manner or dress. And as she had been introduced to him as simply Catherine Cottingham, she was therefore untitled. That the earl had already sampled her charms was evident to his mind—no man of rank was so love struck without benefit of the carnal act to a woman such as this, beautiful as she was. For a man of the earl’s stature to marry so soon, a carnal act of some cons
equence must have transpired for him to want to tie this commoner to him for all time. And so quickly. It was telling indeed. And for several moments he assessed her form, shielded by the holy book he held high before him. His eyes practically bugged at the ample breasts straining her bodice, at the curve of her hips, the hint of long limbs, under a skirt falling from a small waist. Yes, he knew what the hurry was, and he could not blame the earl for rushing toward the honeymoon.
The earl and his new bride celebrated their noon meal at the Black Bull Inn, then toured South Hawse where the earl pointed out his new light bulb factory. Then they drove down to the harbor to watch the ships rock against the quay. It was a weekday afternoon and the hustle and bustle was everywhere. Men walked at a fast pace to meet ships, and carriages pulled alongside to await passengers. Street vendors hawked all manner of goods and ducked the gulls that were intent on their wares.
“It’s a lovely town,” Catherine said as she looked out the window at the sights passing by.
“It is. It’s just coming into its own now, thanks to the discovery of the rejuvenating aspects of salt seawater. The seaside bathing areas are drawing tourists from all over. The Southport Pleasure Pier is becoming very popular, and now with the Leeds and Liverpool canals assuring quick and efficient travel, it is soon to become a Mecca for those seeking the curative aspects for all their aches and pains.”
“The port is so busy. I do not remember it being so busy when last I was here.”
“When were you here?”
“When I saw Thomas off, almost a year ago now.”
“Well, it would have been the tide determining that, or certainly the time of day. It is mid-tide now. Ships will await the tide to go out. Were you here in the morning?”
“Yes, I remember the fog just lifting.”
“It must have been sad for you to have seen him off like that.”
“Unbearably so. But he had assured me many times that he would be back, so I didn’t think much of it. Not in a permanent sense anyway.”
“And you were not aware you were with child then?”
“No, I was not.” A look of sadness crossed her face, then she turned from the window to smile at him. “But I am a mother now, I have a son!”
“Indeed you do,” the earl said with a wide grin. “And, if I’m not mistaken, he will soon be demanding your company.”
She smiled back at him and he thought her the most beautiful woman in the world.
“And I . . . I will also be demanding your company,” he whispered as he leaned in for a kiss.
“You have it. We are together as we speak.”
“So you say.” He leaned toward the cabinet in the front and rapped soundly. A partition slid open and the coachman leaned down toward the grid, “Aye your lordship?”
“Take us home, Andrew. And dawdle if you will, we’d like to see the sights.”
“Yes sir!” The partition closed and the earl turned back to her. He reached past her and drew the curtain, then reached behind him and drew his own.
“I thought we were going to enjoy the sights?”
He sent her a wicked leer. “I am. And I assure you, I will be enjoying them very much.”
As the last curtain was jerked into place, the earl looked out in time to see a magnificent merchant ship coming around the bend. With his discerning eye he noted it was one of the modern, deep-hulled sailing ships his friends in import were currently raving about. It reminded him of a sleek frigate with its tiers of square rigging billowing in the wind and ample armaments displayed prominently on the deck to dissuade marauders on the high sea. But it was clearly commercial, and judging by the way it rode the swells, it was fully loaded. He did not stay his hand to watch the great ship make the turn and come into harbor. If he had, he would have seen the ship’s name, scrolled in fresh black paint across the starboard bow: The Catherine.
End of Part One
A sneak peak at:
Part Two
Chapter One
Thorne turned her to him after he had set her down by the foot of his massive bed. He’d lifted her, then carried her from Jonathan’s room the moment she had placed Jonathan in his crib. Now he looked into her eyes and was delighted with the passion he found there. Good Lord, the things he’d wanted to do to a woman . . . for so many years. He could hardly believe his good fortune, that this was his wife, and that she was biddable. More than biddable—she was fiery with lusts of her own that need to be fanned . . . then satisfied. He could not have been more pleased.
It had been many years since he’d had a woman look at him that way, as if she was eager to please him above all else. Now, if he could only be worthy. Thoughts of being with her, coupling with her—in nearly every room of the house—in every position imaginable, crowded his mind, making him weak-kneed. For a moment he didn’t know where to start.
Then she smiled and reached for him and he had no trouble forging a plan. The carriage sex of earlier in the day had been very worthwhile, he had discovered if one used the repetition of the swaying motion to their advantage, so much more attention could be paid to the little things, and he had learned that his new bride had the most sensitive, tiny little ears, and a spot in the crease where her hip joined her leg that was ticklish—in an extremely wonderful way. He could stroke it with his thumb, and she would buck and arch into him, making his thrusts go impossibly deep. She had nearly destroyed him with both her fit of giggles and her forceful grinding movements. He had never known one could love someone as completely as he loved her.
The house was quiet now, having settled from all the excitement of their celebratory return. Everyone had toasted them and enjoyed slices of an immense sugared cake that Cora had prepared to surprise them. It had been like something out of a fairytale, with a topper that was a music box suspended on a cage of spun sugar. It had been a gift from the staff and Catherine had shed tears over it, as it was so beautiful. The song it played was Clair de lune, clearly one of her favorites by her cries of delight when he had wound it for her. It was now front and center on Jonathan’s dresser as she had used it to soothe him to sleep.
Jonathan was to bed now, and Thorne relished the thought that he had the whole night with her—and the morning too, if he so desired. There was no one to hide from, no one he had to explain her presence in his bed to. With the exception of Jonathan’s needs, he had her all to himself. If he wanted to, he could forego his normal duties and make his new wife his sole concern for days on end. He pulled her to him, her back to his chest as he wrapped her hands around the bedpost and began to work at unbuttoning the back of her gown.
As he teased her with a few wickedly suggestive licks, he whispered softly in the shell of her dainty ear, “My Cat, my dearest Cat. You are mine now, and mine alone. There has never been a man happier than I am right now with you, as my countess, here in my arms, anticipating the joy of our coupling on this, our wedding night.”
She shivered. Thomas had called her Cat. He’d been the only one until now. She wondered if she should tell Thorne that, maybe ask him not to. It would always be a reminder of another man, another time, and the man who had given his seed to join with hers to create their son. The son that was lost to her now, along with the man who had shared another wedding night with her . . . and called her Cat.
But she didn’t want to ruin this moment, this special time with the man who was now her new future. She simply closed her eyes and sighed contentedly as she leaned her head back and rested it on his shoulder. Countess. She was a countess. She felt her dress being stripped from her, her chemise and under lacings being loosed and falling to the floor. His hands were cupping her heavy breasts, his thumbs flicking her taut nipples, and she forgot all about being a countess, all about being a wife, all about being a mother, and only about being the woman in the arms of the man who was showing her how much he loved her.
“Don’t let go,” he instructed as he removed the last piece of clothing, leaving her naked but for her garters, stockings, and strappy pumps.
His hands ran along her back, caressed her buttocks, and then he knelt to run them up and down her legs. “God, how smooth and soft your thighs are. I like these shoes, they accentuate your calves, flatter your trim ankles.”
“They are from the left and found closet. They were your mother’s.”
“I did not need to hear that. I will take you to the city; we will spend the day shopping for things bought with only you in mind. Things no one else has ever had use of. I want you to have all your own things. Things suited for only you, my love.” He ran his hand up the back of her thigh, letting his thumb graze the soft crease joining her leg to her buttock. He stroked her there, ran his thumb along her upper thigh and into the deep, hidden crevasse he found there, he dipped it into her slick opening. “You are wet for me. You are always wet for me. Do you know what it does to a man to discover that?” he asked, his breath harsh, his breathing raspy.
“No, tell me,” she asked, she too was out of breath from his probing touches.
He stood and dropped his trousers and smalls, stepped out of them, and gently kicked her feet apart. “Spread your legs, sweetheart, and I will show you instead.”
When he had her legs the way he wanted them, he stepped between them, gripped his cock with a tight fist and jerked it three times before placing it at her opening to slicken it in her silky wetness. “I can hardly breathe,” he said. “This is so heady, like heaven, and it’s all mine,” he growled. He bent his knees and shoved his hardness up inside her.
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