by Jax Lusty
Innocent Immigrant
Ménage Marriage
Colonial New Zealand Romance
Book 1
By Jax Lusty
© May 2015 Jax Lusty
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author at [email protected], except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Jacqueline Sweet
Proof reading by Christy Smith [email protected]
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Readers ...
EXCERPT
WARNING
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
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EXCERPT
Griff and I settled Katie in bed, each seeking a goodnight kiss before leaving her to rest. She responded with a hesitancy that turned to tender sweetness, swelling my cock.
Griff was in the bathroom when I went through the house, snuffing the lamps and checking the doors and windows were locked. We decided not to lock Katie’s bedroom door in an attempt to show her we trusted her, which in turn might help cultivate a reciprocal confidence in us.
As I passed his bedroom door, Griff called to me. Inside his room, I drank in the sight of him sitting naked on the edge of his bed, his beautiful cock standing stiff.
I hardened fully, knowing exactly what he wanted although I waited for his instruction.
He pointed to the floor between his spread thighs. “On your knees, Ari.”
I hurriedly stripped, tossing my clothes in a pile, feeling the instant relief at having my cock freed. Kneeling between his thighs, I felt the wiry hair of his legs as he pressed them against my sides to keep me in place. The tip of his cock glistened, and I ducked my head to swipe my tongue across it, enjoying the sharp taste of his salty lubrication.
Griff groaned and took a fistful of my hair. “Fuck, Ari, I’ve been ready to explode since that little minx wriggled and pushed so deliciously on my cock when she lay across my lap. I don’t think she had any idea what she was doing.”
WARNING
This story is set in Colonial New Zealand and uses British spelling for some common words.
In accordance with the rules of Māori language, the plural suffix -s has not been added when a Māori word is used in a plural context.
CHAPTER 1
KATIE ~ Auckland, New Zealand 1896
What an unusual time to feel seasick.
Fifty-two days on a steamship, and the moment I stepped onto the dock at the end of my voyage, my stomach quivered with waves of nausea. Having become accustomed to the pitch and roll of sea travel, my disturbed sense of balance made hard work of adjusting to terra firma.
My arrival in Auckland coincided with the first day of the New Zealand spring, 1896. However, this shift in seasons—when I would have expected autumn had I still resided in the Markham Home for Girls Out of Situation, in Leeds, England—was one of the easier things to accustom myself to.
Adapting to becoming the wife of a complete stranger in a matter of days would require a lot more effort.
Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour sparkled with such brilliance when we sailed in, and we gathered on deck to take our first good look at our new country. On our left was a large volcano, thankfully dormant, named Rangitoto, and we soon rounded North Head on the northern shore of the harbour to get our first glimpse of Auckland itself.
Somehow, everything appeared brighter than what I’d ever seen at home. The colours were more vivid, the sea a brilliant blue, the hills a richer green. Only the buildings appeared dull in contrast.
Once the ship had docked, and we had alighted, it was time to bid farewell to my travelling companions. Mary Cooper and Janet Johnson, with whom I’d shared a berth, were staying in Auckland. All three of us had come from various Girls’ Homes, and each of us was here to marry the strangers who had paid for our passage. How I wished I was staying in Auckland with them, but my lot was to travel onwards to the mining town of Kotuku on the east side of the Coromandel Peninsula.
We were met by a brusque lady representing the Auckland Mission who whisked Mary and Janet away. She pointed me towards the shipping agent’s office, where I could wait until it was time to depart on the small steamer for the overnight coastal journey to my new home.
As I made my way along the wharf, I caught my first sighting of one of the indigenous Māori. It caused me quite a shock, even though we had often spoken of the natives when aboard the ship.
This was a fine man, tall with mid-brown skin and a glossy, full head of hair. His face was completely adorned with fierce-looking tattoos, and the muscles springing on his bare arms were also heavily decorated. He looked directly at me, taking a moment to sweep his gaze across my body, and my blush did nothing to convey my indignity as I cast my own gaze quickly to the ground.
I’d never witnessed such blatant leering, and even though he dressed as one might expect to find a European, I felt certain he was dangerous and savage. There had been much talk on the boat of their warring and lust for human flesh, and this man before me seemed exactly the sort of character we’d warned each other to be wary of. I shivered and hurried on to the shipping offices, where the throng of Europeans made me feel it was a safer place for a single woman.
For the final part of my journey, I spent the night on SS Ondine, a coastal steamer that would take me to the peninsula, but my concern about my future meant I was unable to enjoy any rest.
On our passage out from England, Mary Cooper had shared a book she’d been given: Advice on Being a Good Wife. The chapter concerning marital relations between husband and wife had certainly been well studied during our voyage, and the little information we’d gleaned had left the three of us shocked and somewhat fearful. For such a monumental event, the chapter appeared woefully inadequate, and I was left with more questions than those it answered.
Not one of us had even so much as held hands with a young man, and having received no guidance from the people who ran the homes for displaced girls; we were innocent of such things.
Janet, the oldest of us, had done her best to allay our fears. She explained that the good Lord would not have designed something to be so atrocious if the act itself did not result in the provision of more children for His kingdom.
I had taken whatever solace I could from that idea.
The man I was to marry went by the name of Sid Watson, an emigrant originally from Cornwall. Mr. Watson had written, in a rather shabby hand, that he had done well for himself as a gold miner. He had paid for the cost of my passage, sending along with his letter a few pounds he had to spare to see me through until m
y arrival in Kotuku. I hoped and prayed he would be a kind husband and that I would take well to the village where I was to make my new home.
The final part of my sea journey came to an end shortly before daybreak, and a small group of us stood on the deck of the steamer, peering through the half-light towards the coastline. I presumed the village of Kotuku must sit behind the hills visible on the shore because the smattering of buildings just beyond the beach was certainly not of the size or number that would make up a township. Moreover, I could not see any evidence of a wharf at which to disembark.
There was a lot of noise and fuss as the steamer dropped anchor, while the sun brightened the sky to the deep red shade of early dawn. Launched from the beach came a large rowboat that the mate on the deck beside me called a punt. The dozen or so other passengers I’d shared my journey with gathered about, and I noticed the lowering of a rope ladder over the ship’s side. My heart dropped with it. Surely this was not to be our method of disembarkation?
“Come along, Miss Masefield. We’ll have you ashore in no time.”
I stared at the first mate, my chin falling to my chest when he indicated towards the ladder. By this time, the unusual double-ended rowboat had successfully navigated the large waves so that it was almost alongside our steamer.
The first mate must have noticed my alarm, for he spoke kindly now. “We’ve been doing this for years, miss. Come along, ladies first.”
For me, this was little assurance. I for one had not been doing this for years. “I...I don’t think I can.” I peered over the rail, watching the punt rise and fall with the dark sea swell against the side of the vessel.
“Many ladies have done so before you without a single mishap.”
He grasped my arm firmly, and when I looked towards the other passengers their faces scarcely hid their impatience. Everyone seemed eager to be ashore.
My gait was hesitant on the rolling ship’s deck, and I was steadied by the mate, who kept his firm hold on my arm. Beneath me was the tender-boat manned by three men. I wondered what Mr. Watson would think if he knew its occupants were about to have a view up my skirts before he had even seen my face.
“Step over to the ladder now, miss, I’ve got you.”
I looked down into the face of a handsome man standing in the dinghy, his legs braced wide for balance, beckoning arms held aloft. He was powerful and rugged, with brown hair ruffled by the strong offshore wind. I hoped the strength of his arms was as reliable as they appeared.
The side of the ship where the ladder was attached had a small gate in the railing that was swung open so that I didn’t have to raise my leg high to climb over it. The soles of my boots were worn smooth, and I was concerned about losing my footing on the ladder. However, the restlessness of my fellow passengers meant I had little time for more than a quick prayer before I made my way through.
The first mate guided me with a hand on my forearm and helped me to find with my foot the top rung of the ladder.
“You’re safe with me, miss; down you go.”
With much care, I made my way, one cautious step at a time, towards the punt. The sea smashed about the side of the steamer, sending spray that chilled my stockinged legs. I had another moment of concern about my modesty when the breeze rose to fill my skirts like a sail. They billowed around my thighs and without a free hand to clamp the hem down I was at the mercy of the men below, whom I trusted to avert their eyes. As I reached the final rung, firm hands again gripped me, this time at my hips.
“Well done, miss,” the man said.
It was his gaze I had held from the ship’s deck. My skin burned where his hands clasped, and I liked to think that it was my heightened state of fear causing the intense feelings in my body. The punt was unsteady with our shifting weight, and the man quickly passed me to another standing at the rear of the boat.
“Sit down there, and stay as still as you can. You’ll be on shore in no time.”
I looked up and saw another woman coming down the ladder. Hers was a swift, practiced descent. In her favour, the wind eased, and she did not have the misfortune I experienced of billowing skirts so soon she was seated on the wooden bench alongside me. This went on until we had all passengers in the boat. Under the power of the three men—two handling oars, and the handsome one handling a long sweep that he used to steer—we were propelled towards shore.
The sea was still mighty with large breakers hurling themselves at the sandy beach, but this was no deterrent to the men who propelled the dinghy. With seemingly effortless skill, they positioned the boat to ride in on the waves, and with a sudden thump that jolted everyone from their seats, we had reached the shore.
This time I was the last to leave, and the boat shifted and bumped as each passenger was helped to the beach. The men were piggybacked, and with alarm I saw the middle-aged woman alongside me scooped up and carried until she was clear of the waves. She had mentioned to me she was a local, so was clearly accustomed to this mode of transport.
Again the dark-haired man beckoned me, and I stood, clinging to the edge of the boat, my stomach quaking at the idea of him taking me in his arms.
“Up you come,” he said, and without preamble he scooped me against his broad chest, one arm supporting me behind my knees with a firm grip on the outside of my thigh, and the other cradled around my upper back.
His size almost engulfed my light frame and for a moment, I wondered if this was how a well-loved child felt when carried by her papa to bed. Given up to the orphanage at three years of age, I had no experience of fatherly love.
My porter was thigh-deep in the sea, and after only two steps towards the shore, there was a shout as a large wave caught the punt, sweeping it towards us. Before he had time to react, the boat crashed into his back, and I felt him stumble, the force of the blow plummeting us face-down into the sea.
The cold water stole the air from my lungs, making my chest tighten and the drawing of breath impossible. The gentleman landed on top of me, forcing me under the water, but he quickly rolled, got to his feet and, with a hand around my chest, hauled me to the surface.
He was laughing!
In response, I could only splutter and spit the seawater from my mouth, still choking and trying to draw breath.
“First time that’s ever happened,” he said. “I usually prefer to offer a warm welcome to Kotuku...I’m sorry your welcome was cold and wet.” And with that he laughed again.
I would have been indignant, but I was still in a complete state of shock. My dress was soaked and clinging to my body so that I knew my breasts, although small, would be plainly evident to this man. I presumed my husband-to-be waited on the shore, and I wondered what impression this would give him.
“You can put me down now,” I informed him.
“Not until we’re safe onshore, miss. I have to be seen to be doing my work properly.”
“If that’s what you call a job well done, then there must be a sorry lack of good men in this town.”
“Well, aren’t you the fiery one!”
Not usually; in fact, I was surprised by my outburst. It had come from a need to protect myself against the newly-awakened wild emotions that this man’s presence stirred in me. Our clothing clung, wet against wet, as he carried me to shore. He had set the other female passenger onto the sand as soon as they were clear of the sea, but his firm hold as we crossed the beach suggested he had no such idea for me.
“I can walk from here,” I informed him.
“I’ll take you to the path. Being as soaked as you are, the sand will stick and make you even more uncomfortable.”
I swear he gave me an extra squeeze to emphasise his statement.
Off the beach, we continued along a small path through the sand dunes until we came to a large warehouse situated at the edge of a dirt road. There he set me down, giving me the chance to take toll of my state.
“Tell me who is here to meet you, and I’ll locate them.”
For a moment, I hoped that
when I said the name of the man who had brought me to this country, my porter would turn out to be that man. “Mr. Watson...Sid Watson.”
With this information, the handsome gentleman inclined his head and raised one eyebrow.
“So, you’re the secret that Sid has been hiding?”
“A secret?”
“That’s right. Sid was bragging about a surprise coming for him this month. Said we’d all be green with envy. I can see why.”
I looked towards the small gathering of people who waited near the warehouse. They all stared back and unused as I was to being an object of attention, I stepped further from my bearer to give myself distance and hopefully retrieve what I could of my dignity. “I expect Mr. Watson is here to meet me. Can you point him out?”
“Well, this is difficult.” The man’s face had grown solemn, and he held out his hand. “I’m Griff Tucker. Pleased to meet you.”
I offered my hand to his. “How do you do, Mr. Tucker? My name is Katie Masefield. Is Mr. Watson here?”
“Why don’t you come with me, Miss Masefield?” he said, turning on his heel and walking swiftly inside the building. I entered behind him and looked around an open area with desks and cabinets, but he continued walking to a small hallway where there was a door to an office. I wondered if he was taking me to see his employer, to explain how he had dropped me in the sea, before I made a fuss in public. Instead, he ushered me into an empty office and settled me in a chair.
“Wait there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
The office was well furnished with ledger books stacked neatly on the desk. Through the window, I could see drays with enormous wheels pulled by three horses that stood calmly, chest deep in the sea with the waves smashing around them. Alongside them a number of burly men transferred goods from the punt to the wagon to be brought ashore. The men of the colony were certainly strong from their labour and the sight of them gave me a pleasing image with regard to Mr. Watson.
I had seen so many remarkable sights in one day that I hadn’t been able to take everything in. Now, I expected, I was to meet my fiancé.