Unto Death

by Lena West

  Lucy moaned, her hands rising to settle upon his.

  Stephen, thinking she meant to push him away, mentally cursed, only to feel himself growing rock-hard when instead, she pressed his hands more firmly against her.

  He could feel her heart racing, as his was, and pressed his lips to the tender skin behind her ear. Another breathy moan whispered from her lips.

  Turning her in his arms, he brushed the gentlest of kisses across her lips, then drew back, his eyes watching her, his hot, passion-glazed eyes holding her in thrall.

  Faced with the sight of all that delicious bare skin rippling over hard muscles just a few scant inches from her nose, Lucy's stomach fluttered. Her fingers tingled with the need to touch. Her lips with the need to taste. Unable to turn away, she suited actions to desires, her fears of discovery erased by the fire coursing through her veins.

  As always, Stephen's touch banished rational thought. She slid caressing hands over his chest and up around his neck. Leaning in, she ran her tongue along his collar bone, tasting a potent, salty mix of man and fresh perspiration that sent heat pooling in her abdomen. His breath hitched at her touch, and excitement fizzed through Lucy's veins. She hummed with pleasure when he dipped his head, stealing her mouth in a kiss that set their tongues dancing and their hands stroking and kneading. Lost in Stephen's kiss, Lucy barely registered his lowering her to the carpet of thick, lush grass on the creek bank.

  “You're overdressed, Lu,” he murmured, tugging her jacket down her arms, awakening her from the oblivion of passion.

  “No, Stephen. We can't. Not here. What if someone sees us?” Suddenly aware of where they were, Lucy drew back, wanting, but … “What would people think?”

  Stephen chuckled, his fingers already busy with the buttons on her blouse.

  “Relax, Lu. No-one will come. This is private property, and everyone else is still at work. We're the only ones playing truant. We're quite safe. Truly.”

  Even as he reassured her, he was slipping her blouse off, trailing kisses across the skin he was baring.

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Trusting Stephen, Lucy gave in to temptation, mutely lifting her arms to help him.

  It felt so terrifyingly daring, making love in the open air. Lucy shivered, but not from cold. A warm breeze wafted across their bare skin, and in the dappled sunlight she could see every move they both made as she couldn't in the dark of their bedroom at night. She watched Stephen suckling at her breast, her heart beating fast and tension coiling in the pit of her stomach. The warm admiration in his eyes when he leaned back to look at her made her feel beautiful.

  And quite, quite, wanton.

  She captured his mouth in a deep kiss, pouring her heart and soul into his keeping, at the same time stroking her way down his torso till her fingers closed firmly around his jutting manhood. Stephen's groan urged her on, and she pushed him over onto his back to explore her way to the treasure in her hands with soft, wet kisses and licks, whipped on by her husbands muffled groans and sharply indrawn breaths.

  When she saw the blunt head of his member before her eyes, she took a moment to study it, then, for the first time, tentatively set her lips to him.

  Tasting and swirling her tongue over and around him, she drew her tongue slowly along his length. Emboldened by Stephen's shuddering gasp, she took him more fully into her mouth, breathing in his musky male scent. Tension coiled tighter and tighter within her, and she instinctively began moving her mouth faster and faster upon him.

  “Lu. Lu, stop. You're killing me.”

  Stephen groaned, reaching between them to gently free himself from the delicious torture of her hot, wet mouth.

  “But you liked it, didn't you?”

  Pleasuring him had felt wonderfully right, and as arousing to herself as if he had been touching her, only now a sudden doubt assailed her. Doubt instantly put to rest with his next words.

  “More than anything, Lu-lu. I was going up in flames. Now it's your turn.”

  Using mouth and hands, he drove her higher and higher, till she felt she would explode.

  “Now, Stephen. Now.”

  Relief flooded over her as he nudged her knees apart, positioning himself between them. Lucy wriggled to accommodate him comfortably, feeling the pressure building again as the blunt head of his erection touched her moist flesh. At the last moment he held back, rearing up to study her as she lay spread out beneath him. Her pleasure changed to a frown when he slithered backwards, denying her the satisfaction she craved.

  “Noooo.” Lucy's protesting wail, drew Stephen's gaze back to her face.

  “Soon, Lu.”

  He kissed her belly, almost an apology, then eased his lips down till they were placing light kisses upon her nest of springy curls. Lucy reached down, running eager hands round his head, silently urging him back up. At the first touch of his tongue to the moist flesh hidden below the curls, she gave a breathless scream, her fingers digging into his scalp.

  “Stephen! What …? You can't.”

  But he could.

  He hadn't meant to share this deeply intimate form of lovemaking with Lucy. Having learned it from Isabella, he'd thought of it as something exclusive to their shared love; but Lucy's spontaneous pleasuring of him had been so generous, it wouldn't be fair not to return the favour.

  Using tongue and lips, he laved the tender entrance to her passage, finding the sensitive nub and drawing it into his mouth. Lucy writhed and panted, instinctively raising her hips to allow him greater access. His touch drove her up and up, unrelenting, until the tension broke, sending her essence flooding into his mouth.

  Lucy, still floating free in the aftermath, languidly clasped Stephen to her as he stretched himself out upon her. Raising himself on his elbows so as not to squash her, he kissed her, a deep satisfying kiss.

  “So, Lu-lu. How did you like that?”

  If she'd been a cat, Lucy would have purred.

  Stroking his lips with her tongue, she had been intrigued to taste herself on them.

  She'd known from Grandmama's instruction that women sometimes pleasured men with their mouths as she had today, although she had never imagined any man wanting to put his mouth down there on a woman. But it had been beyond imagination. So intense and … intimate.

  Surely a man would have to love a woman to do that for her. She almost blurted out how much she loved him, but at his prosaic inquiry, she found herself biting the words back.

  “Oh, darling, I don't have words to say how wonderful that felt. Only you know, you don't have to do it unless you like it too.”

  “I liked it Lucy. I liked it very much and have every intention of doing it again soon.”

  “Mmmm. That's so good, darling, because I can't wait to do it again either.”

  Stephen, every bit as smug as Lucy, noticed her eyes drifting closed, and nipped her shoulder.

  “Don't go to sleep on me here, Lu-lu. We're not finished yet.”

  He pressed his still rampant erection against her belly to demonstrate exactly how far from finished they were.

  Later, they lay back, completely spent. The raucous laughter of a pair of kookaburras in the tree high above them roused Lucy.

  “I guess we put on quite a show for them this afternoon,” she giggled, sitting up. “It must be time we were getting back. Help me up please, darling. I feel all stiff. The ground makes a hard bed.”

  “We came here so I could give you a swimming lesson, Lucy. Then you went and distracted me.”

  “Too bad.”

  Lucy giggled again, and bent to pick up her clothes, giving a squeal when Stephen swung her up in his arms.

  “What are you doing? Put me down. No. No, Stephen! You wouldn't dare.”

  “Course I dare, Lu-lu. Here we go.”

  With that he ran and leapt into the water with Lucy held firmly in his arms. In the end, the swimming lesson was so much fun they'd barely had time to scramble into their clothes when th
ey heard the whoops of a party of stockmen arriving for an after-work swim.

  That afternoon was high on Lucy's list of memorable moments. It was one she looked forward to repeating soon, and often. Apart from playing Adam and Eve in their own special Eden, the water had been so cool and refreshing in the relentless summer heat.

  *****

  When trouble struck, there was no warning.

  Drifting contentedly through her days, happy and carefree, Lucy had allowed herself to become complacent. Later, she tried to recall the events in their proper sequence.

  Thinking back, she was sure it began with a curious conversation she overheard between Colleen and Bridget the previous morning.

  She had been busy in the next room filling vases with flowers and greenery; not paying too much attention. She only thought of it now because their manner had struck her as odd.

  “Ye'll never believe it, Mam. I were shocked to the soles of me feet when Old Pete told me, when I fetched in the vegetables he'd picked ready.”

  Bridget had straightened from the dough she was kneading on the kitchen table, suddenly more alert to her daughter's prattle than usual.

  “Well, get on with the story girl. What won't I believe?”

  Colleen had glanced over her shoulder, then stepped closer to her mother. Even though she lowered her voice, Lucy still heard every word. None of it meant anything to her, so she hadn't thought about the incident till now, merely noting the oddness of it. They had both looked furtive, and Bridget had changed the subject so quickly when they became aware of her presence.

  “I'm tellin' ye Mam. Old Pete said young Josh Watson had been hangin' round the stables this mornin' waitin' for Mr Stephen ta come for 'is 'orse. What do ye think it means?”

  “Probably nothing at all. Get on with your work. And don't go blathering this around.”

  Lucy still couldn't see what there was in the gardener's gossip to warrant such a response.

  Josh Watson wanted a word with Stephen. About what? She frowned. Who was Josh Watson? She didn't recall the name, although she had met so many people recently it was no surprise to discover she'd forgotten someone.

  And why had Bridget warned Colleen not to talk?

  Did the curious incident have any bearing on her troubles this morning, or was it in reference to something else entirely? Lucy filed the name in her memory and considered the next out of the usual occurrence.

  As soon as dinner was over the previous evening, Stephen had changed, stopping to speak to her on his way out.

  “Lucy,” he'd said, in a hurry to be on his way. “There's been more trouble with dingos harassing the young calves. I'm going to see what I can do about it. Don't wait up for me, will you dear. I'm likely to be quite late.”

  He'd fetched his rifle and ridden out, in too much of a hurry to even kiss her goodnight.

  There had been some talk of dingos earlier in the week, but he hadn't rushed off then to hunt them down. She'd been sound asleep when he returned, and this morning he'd been up and finishing breakfast by the time she rose. Much earlier than his usual time. Usually, if he woke early, he reached for her and they’d make love before rising. She pouted, wishing he’d done so this time as well.

  He'd leapt to hold her chair out when she entered the dining room, but she, not he, had been the one to claim a kiss as she halted beside him.

  “I didn't hear you come in,” she'd said. “You must have been horribly late. Did you get the dingo that's been doing the damage?”

  “No, I didn't even catch a glimpse of him, the wily devil. Got to go, darling.”

  He'd given her a quick peck on the cheek then marched out, shouting to Deirdre to fetch his tucker-bag; then his feet had pounded down the back steps and he was gone.

  There had been an evasiveness in his attitude that had struck her as odd.

  Why would Stephen be evasive with her? She'd brushed the uneasy feeling it gave her aside, telling herself she'd imagined it. Really, there was nothing to alarm her, although he had seemed to be in an unnecessary hurry. He couldn't have been avoiding her, that was just plain silly.

  No, he had a lot to do and was in a hurry, that was all, she'd thought.

  Then.

  Now, added to the other small incidents, the idea didn't seem so silly.

  Lucy had made caring for their private rooms part of her own duties. Breakfast over, she'd gone back to make the bed and tidy up, clicking her tongue at the sight of Stephen's clothes from the night before strewn carelessly on the floor.

  One day, she promised herself, he will learn to hang his clothes up, or put them in the hamper if they need laundering.

  Bending down to pick up the soiled shirt, she recoiled.

  The shirt reeked of a strong, musky perfume that certainly wasn't hers. A very distinctive perfume she'd only smelt once before. She slumped onto the edge of the bed, the shirt clutched in claw-like fingers, nausea roiling in her belly.

  Isabella Cummings.

  Isabella Cummings must be back. God had not answered her prayer and sent the dreadful woman somewhere else. She was back. Back, and, the perfume on his shirt informed her, Stephen had been with That Woman last night; not out hunting dingos.

  Stephen lied to me.

  Rage bubbled through her, clouding her thoughts and Lucy had to fight hard to bring it under control, and not go storming off to wreak vengeance. She had been living in a fool's paradise, but no longer.

  This time she didn't fall apart; she couldn't afford the luxury.

  Although she came very close to throwing up, she didn't give way to the tears pressing against her closed lids. She breathed slow, deep breaths for quite a long time, thinking of nothing at all until she felt in control of herself again, then calmly stood up and carried the hateful shirt to the hamper and dropped it in.

  An automaton, she went about her daily tasks, holding her tumultuous thoughts in check until she could sit quietly, privately, in her own sitting room with the door shut and locked against her busy household.

  She poured a cup of tea, sipping at the comforting brew; taking stock of her life.

  11

  She has betrayed me! Destroyed me! Numerous incidents, each meaningless in itself, are rapidly adding up to an incontrovertible whole. I am sure I am right.

  She has betrayed me. Soon I'll have evidence enough to prove it beyond doubt; and when I do...

  In retrospect, Lucy realised it had been a mistake to rush headlong into marriage with a man she had only seen from time to time on brief visits.

  She might have felt she knew him, loved him; but she knew him as a childhood playmate, not as a man. Her love, back then, was no more than a child's romantic fantasy. A dream of love.

  Now, she had committed herself to sharing her life with him, and there was no going back.

  Although, she knew him better, and still believed she loved him, his obsession with That Woman, as today's awful discovery proved, reduced her to agonising confusion. She didn't know for sure how much of what she felt for Stephen was real, and how much was self-delusion. And she wasn't even prepared to speculate on his feelings for her!

  How could he be so loving to her one moment, then run off to his mistress behind her back? And what should she do, now she had uncovered the truth?

  Those rumours Hetty had passed on to Grandmama ought to have given her pause. Instead, she had ignored them, eager for her fairy-tale wedding to her handsome prince; who had turned out to more closely resemble the villain of the piece. Although … When she recalled their happiest dealings together, villain seemed too extreme a term.

  Surely some of it had been real. Was real. Surely Stephen wasn't that good an actor!

  But while he could be forgiven sins committed before marriage, there was no doubt whatsoever her husband was treating her very badly in continuing his liaison with his mistress.

  These things were so easy to see when one had recourse to hindsight. Lucy sighed, longing for someone to confide in. Someone whose advice she c
ould trust. No-one sprang to mind. There had not yet been time to form a friendship close enough for confidences of this intimate a nature. She set herself to apply logic to the situation.

  She had married Stephen, and marriage was for life. It said unto death in the marriage vows. There was no going back. Therefore, the only way to go, was forward.

  She could turn a blind eye and let Stephen continue his adulterous affair, making her a miserable laughing stock in the community when the truth became known, as it inevitably would.

  Or she could fight to save her marriage.

  Her hand cupped over the slight roundness of her belly. It was possible she was already with child, providing even stronger motivation to fight for her rights.

  Was there no-one she could turn to?

  Grandmama and Mama, upon whose advice she had always relied, were too far away. Sister Mary Magdalene, her unexpected saviour in Sydney, even further.

  Hetty McGowan? No. She was a thoroughly estimable woman, but she was still almost a stranger. One who would undoubtedly write to Grandmama with the disturbing news and upset her when she was too far away to help.

  Bridget Murphy? No. Her first loyalties lay with the Fortescue men. Thomas, her father-in-law? No, again. As Stephen's father, she couldn't rely on him to be impartial.

  Besides, how could she admit to any of them that she had been betrayed by her husband of less than two months? Pride forbade such a shaming confession.

  She was on her own.

  Sister Mary Magdalene had told her she would need sureness of purpose and the strength and courage to pursue it. Well, her purpose was sure. Her husband was committing a terrible sin, and even though she was not a Catholic, she firmly believed he was endangering his immortal soul.

  She was his wife. It was her bounden duty to restore him to his senses. To turn him back onto the path of righteousness and moral decency.

  And hopefully, save her marriage while she was about it.

  When Lucy picked up her cup, needing the comforting warmth offered by that great panacea, tea, her hands shook so badly she ended up sloshing quite a lot into the saucer. The small accident almost tipped her over the edge. Tears spilt over and trickled down her pallid cheeks, but she sniffed them back and dried her eyes.