Abbie wiped her eyes. At least he is trying, she thought, even if it was in the most awkward, stilted, emotionally-dead way possible. The tone of his voice never wavered, and his eyes stared steadfastly away from her. “I would like that,” Abbie said.
“It is settled, then,” His Grace said. “I shall see you then.”
He left her, only stopping to bow briefly before turning and pacing from the room. That night, Abbie relived their wedding night. She knew it was wrong to think about such things, but when alone in her bed, the events would come back to her. She would imagine the way they had rubbed each other, touched each other, and the way he had thrust into her. Then he had pulled away from her and spilled his seed upon the sheets. “I am sorry, my lady,” he had said, before retreating from the room and from her life for five months. She had never talked of matters concerning the flesh, and she never would – not to Mother, nor to one of her “friends” that visited the estate every few weeks – no, she was far too embarrassed and it was far too improper. But she had to wonder. Had she done something wrong? Had she angered His Grace – her husband – in some way?
*****
On the morrow, she and His Grace walked the grounds, as he had promised. They broke their fast together – in silence – and then emerged into the cold May sunlight which shone in icy beams through the clouds. Abbie tilted her head to the light and let it rest upon her face. It warmed her reddened cheeks and she smiled. His Grace offered his arm, and Abbie took it tentatively. Apart from a few times when he’d been home and they’d had guests, he rarely took her arm.
They walked in silence around the lawn and toward the woods. His Grace seemed awkward; he kept chewing upon his lip; or opening his mouth as though to say something, and closing it directly afterwards. Abbie sensed that he either wanted to say something or felt obligated to. She wanted to say something, too, but she did not know what. She felt distant from this husband of hers. She felt as though he was a stranger. No, he was a stranger and there was no getting around that. She knew that he saw her as naught more than a token. He had admitted it. How could they bridge this gulf? Could it be bridged?
“The weather is lovely,” His Grace said, in uncertain tones.
“Yes,” Abbie agreed, because the silence was becoming unbearable. “It is, isn’t it?”
They made desultory and ultimately pointless remarks about the weather, and then they reached the woods. “Do you wish to walk further, my lady?”
“I place it in your hands, Your Grace.”
“Then we shall.”
His Grace led her into the woods fringes of the woods, where the foliage wasn’t so thick, and they saw the occasional rabbit. His Grace sighed after around fifteen minutes of further silence, and then turned and faced Abbie. “What do you want from me, my lady?” he said.
“Your Grace?” Abbie said, astonished by his frankness.
“You want something from me, my lady,” His Grace said. “I can tell. It seeps from your very bones. It pervades the very air around you. There is a need in you and I fear I am insufficient for it.”
“Are you a cold man, Your Grace?”
“You know the answer to that,” he said stiffly.
“Perhaps I wish for you to thaw a little, Your Grace,” Abbie said shyly, lowering her eyes.
“And how does one thaw?” His Grace said. “I serve the King, and the service of the King is a hot pursuit, I am afraid. Death, adventure, heartache, loss—loss most of all. France has been terrible to me. But all I do is in service of the King.”
“Even marrying me, Your Grace?”
He looked into her eyes; his expression was hard. “Yes, my lady,” he said slowly. “But perhaps I should explain why I chose you, and not another lady? Would that help?”
Abbie shrugged. “It may.”
His Grace nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I saw you and your family once before. It was four years ago, in London. You were with your father.”
“I do not recall seeing you, Your Grace!” Abbie exclaimed. I think I would remember.
“No, my lady,” His Grace said hurriedly. “You did not see me, but I saw you. I was in a hansom, on my way to Buckingham, when I passed you and your family. Your mother was in a frightful mood. She was pointing her finger at your father and I remember thinking, I pity the man!” Abbie smiled; Mother could be a fiery vixen if riled. “And then my eyes turned to you. I asked my companion, who was a minor lord, if he knew you. Yes, he said, you were Miss Abbie Bain, of Somerset. You must have been one-and-seven then; and you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.” His words were flattering, lovely, but his tone hadn’t changed. It was still the same matter-of-fact tone. He was not serenading her, or even making love to her. He was merely stating the truth as he saw it. “When the King came to me and told me I must take a wife, I knew it had to be you. I made a point of finding out if you were married, and when I discovered that you were not, I made a point of making you my wife.”
“But, Your Grace,” Abbie said, struggling to take it all in. That had been a frantic day in London: visiting with Father’s old friends, only weeks before he became a full-time degenerate. “But,” she went on, “why have you waited until now to tell me? Why not share this with me before now, Your Grace?”
“I did not want us to be close,” His Grace said starkly. “I did not want to be close with my wife. But now I have been banished here—for eight months. Perhaps it will make it easier having me about the place if you know why I chose you over richer, nobler ladies.”
“Does it not embarrass you, Your Grace?”
“Does what not embarrass me, my lady?”
“Stooping so low.”
“Stooping?” His Grace almost smiled. “I am not stooping. Once you have experience war, the very idea of stooping is ludicrous. Abbie—”
Her Christian name hung in the air. Suddenly the atmosphere was intense and serious. Abbie looked up into his eyes. She struggled not to bite her lip. He really was very handsome. He clenched his strong jaw and went on: “Abbie, please, I want you to be happy. I do not wish to be seen as a brute by you, by my wife.”
“Then why, Your Grace,” Abbie said, but her voice faltered. “Then why—on our wedding night—did you—”
“I do not wish to speak of that,” His Grace said. “I do not wish to speak of matters like that.”
Abbie stared at the ground and nodded submission. They walked back toward the lawn arm-in-arm. Abbie had never felt so close yet so far from somebody in her life.
*****
May turned to June, and June to July, and as the weather grew hotter. His Grace stayed cool. They walked the grounds together and broke their fast together each day, but the gap between them only seemed to grow wider. He never slept in the same bed as her, and rarely visited her in her bedchambers. When he did, he stayed clear of the bed. Abbie began to think sordid, dirty, treacherous thoughts, thoughts unfit for a lady. She began to imagine what it would be like for him to sneak into her bedroom one night in the dark, and then—
But she would break the thoughts off, for they were not worthy. His Grace was her master, and she would serve him in any way he saw fit, even if that meant not serving him in one particular way. One day, in the middle of June, His Grace announced that he wanted to take her into the country for a picnic. It was just to be him and her (and the footmen and carriage-driver, of course). Abbie readied by dressing herself in one of the gorgeous dresses His Grace had moved into the large wardrobe upon their marriage.
“Do not push him, dear,” Mother said. “Do not push him. He has invited you into the country. That is enough for now.”
“Yes, Mother,” Abbie said, as the maidservant combed her hair.
His Grace lifted her into the carriage and climbed in after her. He looked straight ahead, almost past her, through her, and Abbie felt her heart slump. But then – with a physical struggle – he turned his head and regarded her. “You look—lovely,” he said, in his stilted way.
/> “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“—Zack. You are my wife. It is only fitting you use my Christian name.”
“Thank you—Zack.”
It was the first time she had used his Christian name. It sounded strange on her tongue.
They stopped at the edge of a lake. A table and chairs were swiftly laid out for them, and they had a luncheon of fresh fruit, bread, and meat. When they were done eating – mainly in silence, with a few inconsequential remarks about the beauty of the surroundings – His Grace took her arm and led her around the lake. The footmen and the carriage-driver waited patiently, almost statue-still, at the picnic site.
“Is this the sort of thing one does to win a lady’s heart?” His Grace – Zack – said in his monotone voice. “I must admit, I am woefully unpracticed.”
Sometimes Zack would seem like a cold, stern, unloving man; other times he would seem like a shy, young boy. “I believe this is the sort of thing one does, yes,” Abbie said, smiling warmly up at him.
He met her eye and then looked away quickly. “Why do you do that?” Abbie said.
“I am sorry?”
“Why do you look upon me and then look away so swiftly? Do I frighten you?”
“Yes—you do,” he said. “You frighten me very much. You are very beautiful.”
“And it frightens you.”
“You make me scared of myself, my lady, Abbie. You make me feel things one has only heard about.”
Abbie knew she risked appearing too forward, but she was intensely curious and they were alone. “What things, Your Grace?”
“Bodily things,” Zack murmured. “When I look upon you, impure thoughts enter my mind, thoughts that are unworthy of your beauty. I—I have very strong bodily feelings for you, Abbie.”
“And yet you stifle them?”
“Yes,” he said plainly. “I stifle all feelings these days. It makes living easier.”
“Perhaps you should kiss me!” Abbie cried, and immediately regretted it.
Jezebel! she chastised herself. Harlot! What sort of lady are you, to say such a thing? If Mother knew, she would disown you! You are lucky if His Grace does not cast you aside for your forwardness.
But Zack only looked down upon her. Sun reflected off the lake, the rays dancing upon the surface. “Would you like that?” he said, licking his lips quickly.
“Yes, yes, I think I would.”
“We have not kissed since our wedding night,” he said.
“No, we have not.”
“But if I kiss you, my lady, I may want…other things.”
Abbie’s heart began to race. Suddenly she felt as though she were not beside a lake with her husband, but beside a lake with a strange, dangerous man. She closed her eyes; and when she opened them again His Grace was looking at her with an intense expression, like an eagle sighting its prey in the shrubbery, preparing to dive. When he looked at her like that, her skin pricked.
“I am afraid I am awkward,” His Grace said. “Can you forgive me, my lady?”
“I can,” Abbie said.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
“Kiss me, then,” Abbie said wildly.
Zack lifted his hands to her face and stroke her cheek. “Your skin is so smooth and soft,” he said. He stroked her cheek and then moved his hand around to her hair, mussing it. He leaned down to her and placed his lips upon hers. Almost immediately, an animal was unleashed within them both. Abbie breathed heavily and opened her mouth willingly when His Grace pushed his tongue into her.
Their lips and their tongues danced, pulsating with pleasure, and this his hand moved dangerously close to her breast, moving over her bodice. Her nipples hardened and tingled with pleasure. She knew this was a scandalous thing they were doing: kissing in the open like this. But in this moment she did not care. All that existed for her was His Grace’s lips and his hands upon her dress, squeezing her breasts through the fabric.
“I have been thinking of late,” he said, breaking off the kiss.
“Your Grace?”
“I did not want a child when I first married you,” he said. “That is why—but I have been thinking. A Duke ought to have an heir, don’t you think, my lady?”
“Yes,” she agreed instantly.
He looked up and down her body with improper and dangerous lust. “Perhaps one touch, here, where nobody can see?”
He reached forward and touched her leg through her dress. Abbie knew she should not allow it, not allow even her husband to touch her like that, here. But she couldn’t stop him. He was too strong and his touch was too full of pleasure. He moved his hand up her leg and moved his fingers up and down on her womanhood through the fabric of the dress. Abbie bit her lip as pleasure moved through her: pent-up pleasure that had been building for months. His Grace rubbed faster and looked into her face with fascination as she bit her lip and craned her neck.
“It truly feels that good?” he said.
“Yes,” Abbie moaned. “I feel incredible when you touch me like that.”
“What if I went further down?” His Grace said, looking around like a naughty boy. He bent down and put his hand under her dress. He moved his hand up her leg and under her undergarments until his hand rested upon her womanhood with nothing in between. He rubbed her there, bare, nothing between his fingertips and the sweet spot upon her womanhood. “How does that feel, my lady?” he said, constantly searching the woods, constantly making sure that no one would catch them in this scandalous act.
“Amazing,” Abbie breathed, unable to focus as pleasure coursed through her. “Amazing,” she repeated.
He nodded, and rubbed her quicker and quicker, over and over, and Abbie had to bite down to stop from screaming. He rubbed her so hard that pleasure came, a huge pleasure, a pleasure she had not felt before, even on their wedding night. It washed over her and now she did moan out, before His Grace clamped a hand over her mouth.
When it was done, His Grace removed his hand. “I am glad,” he said, “that you enjoyed it.”
“I want to give you pleasure, Your Grace—Zack,” Abbie said.
“Tonight,” His Grace said. “Tonight. Wait for me.”
*****
Abbie was barely able to contain her excitement when she went to bed that night. Usually she lay awake thinking of her husband. And tonight he was actually coming to her. She knew what they had done near the lake was unorthodox (to put it euphemistically) and she knew that if Mother were to find out she would scream in outrage. But she didn’t care right now. Right now, all she cared about was waiting for His Grace to visit her bedchambers. She kept seeing his face in her mind’s eye, the boyish fascination that had filled it when he touched her, as though he never knew a woman could respond to a man in such a way.
Every noise outside her bedchambers was attributed to her husband. When the floorboards creaked - perhaps a skulking servant – she sat up in anticipation, only to fall down disappointedly when he did not come in. She thought over the past months with a sense that she had greatly missed out, that she had no lived life to its fullest possibilities. She and her husband could have shared so much pleasure, if he had been here, if he had shown her any attention.
But tonight!
Tonight is the night, she thought, her heart racing in her chest. Tonight is the night.
She waited for two hours, the moon a solid blue orb framed in her window, and then her door creaked open. She sat up, mouth open, panting. She felt as though she had been standing on a precipice, and now she was tumbling over. His Grace’s form was outlined in shadow: wreathed in shadow. She felt conspiratorial and naughty.
“Abbie,” Zack said. “Abbie, I cannot see a thing. Where are you?”
“Here, Your Grace,” Abbie said. “I am here.”
He fumbled his way to the bed and sat at the end of it. “I want to touch you again,” he said openly, his voice inflectionless. “I want to touch you; and I want you to touch me.”
Abbie’s mouth went dry when
he said that. He was speaking slowly and carefully, as though he weighed each word before he spoke it. “We haven’t made love since—that night,” Abbie faltered.
“Shall I come to you?”
“Yes, if you like.”
He moved up the bed until he was sitting over her. She lay back and stared up at him, his features only delineated by the faintest outline of shadow. He reached down and touched her face. “My lady,” he said. “Would you—it may sound strange—but would you suck my finger?”
For some reason unknown even to herself, this request sent shivers of pleasure through Abbie. She reached up and found his hand. His forefinger was erect. She guided it to her mouth and sucked the end of it, and then sucked it deeper and deeper, sucking it all. He moved his finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked it, and his eyes were two wide-open orbs in the darkness, moonlike orbs. “Oh, my lady,” he moaned. “Yes, yes…”
As she suckled his finger, he reached down and rubbed her womanhood. He pulled off her nightclothes, tearing them. She didn’t care. She kicked away the torn remnants so she was naked beneath the sheets. His hand searched, and then found her hole. He touched it, tentatively at first, and then pushed his finger inside of her. She almost bit the finger that was in his mouth when he did that. Her womanhood opened for him and he massaged her insides, going deep and touching a white-hot spot of pleasure. She moaned and sucked at the same time.
Then he touched her hand. “May I?” he said.
She nodded as she sucked.
He guided her hand to his manhood, which was hard beneath his breeches. “Wait a moment,” he said, and stood. He took off his clothes: first his shirt, and then his breeches. His manhood was huge and hard, standing straight up, like a solider at attention. He sat back down and pushed his finger inside of her once more. Then he took her hand and placed it upon his manhood. She grabbed it hard, and then rubbed it up and down. He moaned as she moaned; and they hung like that for a few minutes, lost in mutual pleasure.
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