Portia Da Costa

by Diamonds in the Rough

  “Hush, sweetheart, there’s plenty of time to discuss all that when you’re rested. I can see you’re desperate to sleep now.” His pale eyes were gentle and kind. Sometimes those eyes could be sharp and fierce and coldly dismissive of all those who didn’t meet his exacting standards of intelligence, but that particular Wilson seemed to be off duty now, replaced by the solicitous husband, sensitive to her fatigue after a long, strange night. “Why don’t you rest your head on my shoulder and see if you can doze for a while? It’s been a most eventful evening, and I must admit I feel sleepy myself.”

  The offer was so tempting. Her eyes were so heavy. Maybe if she just closed them for a while, she’d feel more alert...and then she could properly tackle Wilson and the issue of her loving him to distraction.

  Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she found the smooth cloth of his overcoat felt like the softest pillow, and his arms winding around her were the warmest, snuggest blanket. Even the spicy tang of his shaving lotion was a soporific vapor. She snuggled up, loving the place she was in, and loving the man.

  As her eyes closed, and the embrace of Lethe claimed her, she fancied she heard him tell her again that he loved her.

  29

  Do You Love Me?

  Wilson stared down at his wife where she lay on the bed, wishing he could invent some mechanism to see inside the mysteries of her heart and mind.

  Do you love me, Della? Have you finally forgiven me for all my shortcomings?

  He wanted to touch her. He ached to touch her. She had become the only thing that made him feel complete. Yet she was sleeping so soundly now, after all the excitements and triumphs of the evening. She deserved her rest, and she’d barely even stirred when he’d divested her of her cloak and gown, and her petticoats and stockings and shoes.

  There was solace in just standing watch, though. In repose, her face was exquisite to him. Everything about it. His heart swelled with a little pride, knowing that with his help, she’d finally accepted that the shape of her nose and the tiny pink scars of chicken pox were not flaws. They were simply Adela, the kink distinctive and the scars the marks of fairy kisses on her skin.

  Wilson had to bite his lip in order not to laugh at his own ridiculousness. Was this what love did to a man? It must be, but he didn’t care. He could be both whimsical and analytical now, in the best of both worlds.

  Whether she loved him or not. If she did, he was a king, an emperor, raised up by her. If not, he would make it a priority to ensure that he supplied love enough for two and didn’t harm or annoy her in any way. Well, that he wouldn’t annoy her too much. He was no paragon, and he could be beyond disagreeable even when he didn’t mean to. But he’d try. Oh, how he’d try.

  “Do you love me, Della?” he asked again, framing the words inaudibly.

  The signs were good, and she certainly liked him quite a bit now, at least. She’d gone along enthusiastically with his scheme to retrieve the letters, one that would have been deemed outrageous by most other women of his acquaintance. His mouth twitching wryly, he tried to imagine Coraline subjecting herself to creeping around in the bushes of Devine’s garden wearing a tweed suit and no corset. She’d have told him he was ridiculous, and looked at him with disdain. Whereas Adela had plunged into the scheme with gusto and proved to be a valuable assistant. With a delicious flare for the nefarious and the dangerous.

  But that wasn’t Adela’s only enthusiasm. She was a willing and imaginative bedmate, too. Had some of that vigor come from her experiences with the gigolos? He had to face that fact, so he brought it out of its box to examine it.

  In the main, contemporary society was hypocritical with respect to women’s erotic desires. For many, still, it was as if they weren’t supposed to have them at all. But he knew Adela did have those desires. She’d had them in abundance that very first time, their first, and no doubt before. Despite their virginity, she’d enjoyed the experience as much as he had, that had been evident. And it was absurd and unfair that she be asked to expunge those natural physical feelings because his own thoughtlessness had spoiled everything, and other men had been too short-sighted to see her desirability since.

  Yes, Adela was entitled to have everything she wanted and needed, and if that had included carnal satisfaction in his absence...well, good for her! He wished he could have been those men, teaching her, and enjoying her...but what had happened could never be reversed, and the only rational thing to do was to accept it, and focus on the positive aspects.

  And it was certainly very positive that Adela knew what she was doing in bed, and knew how to please him.

  Oh, yes, indeed...

  Randy beast, Wilson Ruffington.

  He laid his hand over his crotch. He was rigid again, and the sight of Adela’s lush hair fanned over the pillow, and her smooth white throat, and her gorgeous pert little breasts beneath her pretty bodice, only hardened him more and more.

  She’d been the belle of the ball, no matter how blonde and pretty her sister was. Wilson had seen the men eyeing Adela, heat in their expressions, roused by the free, unfettered sensuality of her beauty, and the way her warm glow fired the cool glitter of the Ruffington diamonds into even greater brilliance.

  He’d noted their envy, not of the gems, but of the fact she was on his arm. The fact that they knew he was the one to possess her, and pleasure her, and be pleasured by her.

  The fact that he was the one she’d chosen to abide with, in fondness, in friendship, in companionability and in sensuality.

  And even in the absence of actual love, that was a precious gift indeed.

  * * *

  ADELA’S EYES SNAPPED open. She wasn’t sure what had awoken her, but when she looked around, she saw the familiar furniture and surroundings of her bedroom. The lamps were turned down low, but through a crack in the curtains, dawn light was showing pearly from outside. The clock on the mantel showed that the hour was now six-thirty.

  Wilson!

  The sound of even breathing, the sense of a warm, benevolent presence next to her, and a glance to her side revealed him lying stretched out on top of the coverlet, fast asleep. His dark curls were a tousled disorder; his waistcoat was undone and so was his dress shirt. There were studs scattered on the bed and presumably on the floor at his side of the bed, along with his shoes, because his feet wore only socks.

  Adela stirred, searching her own form with her fingertips, beneath the blankets. She wore only undergarments—bodice and drawers—and the rest of her clothing was strewn over the end of the bed. The Ruffington diamonds lay on the beside chest, gleaming in the low light: necklace, earrings and her divine new clips, all present and correct.

  Sitting up, Adela watched her husband closely. He didn’t move. He slept on, his lean face almost angelic in repose. She reached out to shake him, then snatched back her hand. She’d slept in her frillies. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her body felt far less than fresh, after a night of dancing, and before that creeping around in the undergrowth and being a burglar. Slipping from the bed as silently and with as little fuss as possible, she crept across the room, snatching up her wrapper as she went, and sought the refuge and modern plumbing of her private bathroom.

  Some while later, she peered around the door, and found Wilson sitting propped up against the pillows, writing in one of his many notebooks. He was wearing his dressing gown and his hair looked a little damp, as if he, too, had performed his ablutions.

  “Did you sleep well, Della?” He laid aside his book and pen, a tentative, almost boyish look in his pale, gleaming eyes. Wilson was the most confident man she’d ever known, but now he looked far from it. She wanted to race across and hug him and reassure him.

  “Yes, thank you. Well, just for an hour or two.” She joined him on the bed, kneeling at his side, reaching for his hand. “Look, Wilson, about what you said at the top of the staircase—”

  “It’s all right, Della. It’s all right. You don’t have to love me. I don’t expect it.” His hand curved arou
nd hers, tightly. “Over the years, I’ve behaved abominably toward you. I’ve tried to do better lately, but I’ve still been an idiotic ass sometimes.” He raised her hand and kissed it, with a kind of desperate ferocity. “I know you want us to stay married so your mother can see you as Lady Millingford. I want to stay married, but if you don’t, we can divorce at some later date. Or live separately. Whatever you choose. I won’t make life difficult for you.”

  Adela sighed. Sometimes men could be such dimwits, even the most brilliant ones.

  “Wilson Ruffington, for a man who’s a genius, you are the most towering imbecile sometimes! If you’d let me get a word in edgeways, I’d tell you that of course I want to stay married, and of course I want a proper marriage. One that lasts as long as possible.” She drew his hand to her mouth this time, and kissed it with just as much passion as he’d done hers. “I love you, you blithering idiot, isn’t that obvious? I have done since we were together back at Ruffington Hall.”

  Wilson grinned. Grinned like the famous Cheshire cat, his head raised in triumph. “I knew it! I knew it!” Lunging at her, he rolled her over onto her back, pinning her down, his eyes ablaze. “Minx! I knew you loved me, I was just waiting for you to admit it. But good God, woman, you’ve a damned peculiar way of showing it sometimes.”

  His mouth came down on hers, hard, yet tender. He seemed to be laughing as he kissed her, elated. The emotion was infectious and as Adela giggled, too, the kiss fell apart again. “You are such a smug creature, Wilson—and you’re a liar. You looked apprehensive just now.... I’m not sure that you were sure.”

  Wilson kissed her again, more in control this time, his tongue moving boldly. “Maybe I was, I don’t know,” he gasped, lifting up momentarily. “All I care is that now we both know, and we’re in accord at last, Jesu be praised for that!” Moving farther over her, he resumed the kiss, hungry and intent, rocking his body against hers, letting her know that, sweet and sacred though the sentiments were, delicious carnality, and his virile member, were on the rise, too.

  Adela wasn’t going to argue. Wilson’s hot mouth plundered hers, his strong body was pressed to hers and his cock was pushing against her, rigid and insistent.

  All was right in the world, because he was driven by love now, not simply lust alone. Wiggling beneath him, she opened her thighs, inviting him to do something about the situation.

  “Mrs. Ruffington, are you inviting me to make passionate love to you?” Wilson’s low voice was thrilling in her ear, and even more exciting was the way he nipped and nuzzled at her neck, while pushing his cock at her through their clothing. Thin layers of silk didn’t do much to mask its heat and solid intent.

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Dear God, you are such a saucy madam. It’s fortunate I’m such a modern man. A traditionalist might discipline his wife for such disrespect and impertinence.” Reaching beneath her, Wilson cupped the cheek of her bottom, squeezing it through her robe. Oh, how fond of caressing her there he was. And she loved it, too. She couldn’t help but wriggle harder, enticing him. “And you’re a lewd wench, dear wife. You always become enthusiastic in the most unseemly way when I play with your delicious bottom.”

  Unseemly? I’ll show you unseemly, you rogue.

  Sliding her hand between them, Adela reached inside her robe, finding the pit of her belly and the curls of her motte...then her clitoris. With her eyes boldly challenging Wilson’s, she began to pleasure herself, while undulating beneath him and rubbing her bottom against his hand.

  “Wicked woman!” he growled, half laughing, gripping her bottom cheek harder, his fingertips digging in, and dipping into the cleft, to stimulate her sensitive vent. “I’ll spank you for that.”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, do that. I’d love you to.” Adela squirmed harder, rocking her hips and rubbing her clit. She was possessed by desire, full of daring. She could do anything now. Knowing she was loved made her bold and full of relish for her own hungers and Wilson’s.

  He reared up, wrenching at the silk of her negligee, half tearing it off her, even while she still worked her own flesh. Pulling her hand away from her sex, he kissed her fingers and licked them, cleaning them of her essence, before returning to his task of stripping her. For a moment he held her hand again, preventing her from touching herself, but she fought him, staring up into his blazing silver eyes, and finally making him yield his grip.

  After a lick of her own fingertips, she applied herself to her task again, writhing and undulating against her abandoned robe, opening her legs wide so he could see every detail of her actions.

  “If you steal an orgasm, there’ll be retribution, madam.” His voice was so low, it almost seemed to vibrate, the thrum of it stirring her just where her fingers did.

  “I don’t have to steal what’s mine,” she purred back at him, redoubling her efforts, letting her fingers rove to her nipple, too, tweaking and twisting. The little pain seemed to fly to her clitty, enhancing the sensations, and fly to Wilson’s eyes, too, making their pale irises shrink and the pupils expand into black orbs of lust.

  “Wicked. Wicked. Wicked.” Cupping her cheek, thumb beneath her chin, he made her keep looking at him while he reached down, slid his hand close to hers and, hooking a long finger, pushed it into her vagina while she still pleasured herself. A heartbeat later, he pushed in a second digit, parting them to stretch her, and to ply the most sensitive areas inside.

  “Well, then, Mrs. Ruffington, finish what you’ve started. What are you waiting for?”

  Uttering a noise that came out part gasp, part moan, part grunt, Adela rubbed herself furiously, staring into Wilson’s eyes, forcing herself to keep her own eyes open. His hand around her face was unyielding, his fingers inside her demonic and just as taxing.

  It took but seconds for the crisis to bloom. As her channel clenched and the divine pulsations racked her sex, Wilson slid his thumb into her mouth, subduing her groans with a wicked pressure on her tongue. His fingers flexed inside her and the pleasure soared.

  Shattered by her climax, Adela wilted, but Wilson wouldn’t allow her respite. Withdrawing his hands, he flung off his robe, then, kneeling on the bed, draped her facedown half across his knees, half on the mattress. Her limbs were limp and her body still singing. Wilson’s rampant cock was like a burning brand against her hip.

  “Delicious, beautiful, decadent woman,” he intoned, punctuating each word with a lazy slap across her buttocks. There was no great force in the blows, but the heat of them reignited her, reenergized her. She squirmed, rubbing her puss against his thigh and using her whole body as a means to rock against his erection. “Insatiable siren,” he breathed, leaning over her, landing more slaps with one long hand, while with the other he dug around beneath her and into her cleft, to find her clitoris.

  As Adela braced herself against the mattress, he rubbed her with the side of his hand, then flicked the little button of her anus with a fingertip.

  Adela squealed, spending again, her legs flailing.

  “Yes! Yes!” she cried. “I love you, Wilson.... Yes!”

  This time he soothed her through the chaos, murmuring gentle nonsense words as she crested, hit the peak and then drifted down. Rolling her over, he folded her into his arms, then slid his hand down to her bottom again, to cradle the glowing, heated areas.

  Strange, there was no real pain in it, just the delicious warmth. A miraculous warmth that seemed to charge her sex with new energy despite her feast of orgasms. Reaching up to touch Wilson’s face, she told him with her eyes that she wanted more, the ultimate joining, his cock inside her.

  “Shall we join?” His voice was husky. She fancied it was shaking with emotion. His eyes were still both dark and light, lambent with desire.

  “Yes. I want you, Wilson. I want to feel your pleasure.”

  Those magic eyes widened, as if comprehending her meaning before she understood it herself. She wanted to feel him, share the most intimate contact again, in a way she’d never s
hared herself with a man since one day, by a river, in that summer of youth.

  She pressed her lips to his, and whispered against his mouth. “Never once, since then, untrammeled. I was always cautious.” Cautious, yes, but perhaps all along wanting to save that one thing for him, in case they were united. Flesh on flesh.

  “The same for me.” In his eyes she saw the same message, both the spoken and unspoken versions. He, too, had held back from that ultimate intimacy, perhaps for the same reason, perhaps because he was a scientist and an astute observer of life and its perils. She did not care which.

  “You could have a child.” The words were so soft she could barely tell whether he’d made an observation or asked a question.

  “Indeed I could. Would you want me to?”

  A shadow danced in his eyes for an instant. Was he cut out to be a father? Would the demands of parenthood be difficult for one sometimes so unworldly and detached, devoted to his scientific and philosophical pursuits? She rubbed her thumb over his lip, to prompt him without actually doing so...and as she did, a new thought occurred.

  Had he wanted a child with Coraline? Adela wouldn’t ask now; the moment was too delicate. Maybe another time? Whatever had happened, either he’d not cared enough for the Frenchwoman or she’d not cared enough for him, so it no longer mattered.

  “Yes!” His pale face glowed, and beneath her thumb, his beautiful mouth curved into a wide smile that was totally unalloyed with doubt. “Yes, I would.” He hesitated, his eyes reading her now, looking for truth. “And you, would you like to be a mother? I know it changes a woman’s life completely, perhaps limits her.... But I can help, and provide, ensure other help. We’re wealthy enough.”

  Adela laughed, patting his cheek. It was smooth. He must have quickly shaved while she was about her toilette. “Don’t worry, Wilson, I think I can manage to prevent my brain from turning to mush when I have a child. I shall endeavor to improve my mind with reading while the babe sleeps, and to continue my artistic efforts.” She winked at him. “Although it might be wise to broaden my range of subjects.”