The Liberation of Miss Finch

by Diane Gaston

  It was outrageous, but could he resist? He was already powerfully aroused. He’d wanted her since he’d been hardly more than a youth, before he’d even known the intense pleasures of lovemaking.

  He shook his head. “No, there is more to it. What if you conceive a child?”

  She nodded. “I thought of that, too. It is likely that Mr. Wilden will bed me on our wedding night. That is what men do, is it not? There is so little time between then and now that any child would be thought Wilden’s.”

  Claude turned his head as if she’d struck him. Did she think that was all there was to it? Did she think that he could bear knowing a child they created together would be reared as another man’s?

  But could he bear another man introducing her to lovemaking? He wanted to be the man to show her the wonders of love.

  She stepped closer and put her arms around his neck. “Please, Claude. It…it is unlikely that there will be a baby, but if there is, the child will be my joy. Because it will be your child, too. Please see this my way. I want this. I want something wonderful to remember.”

  Her scent intoxicated him. Her body was soft. Her breath, sweet as nectar. Without another rational thought, he seized her by the waist and pulled her against him. While he savoured her soft curves against his hardness, he lowered his lips to hers.

  She made a sound of pleasure and stood on tiptoe to give him full access to her mouth. Eager but unpractised, she touched her tongue to his, warm and moist. His senses reeled.

  She tasted like ambrosia, but he was a fool if he thought a simple taste of her would be enough. Claude pulled the ribbons of her robe loose and stripped it off her shoulders. With shaking fingers, Louisa untied her nightdress and let it fall to the floor.

  Claude’s gaze drank in skin as smooth as cream, breasts full and high, waist narrow.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her against the pillows.

  He gazed at her again, at her long legs, at the thatch of hair at their apex.

  “Do I please you?” she asked, her voice no more than a breath.

  “You please me, Louisa.” The timbre of his voice was deep.

  She gazed back at him while he removed his trousers and drawers and pulled his shirt over his head.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my.”

  He supposed she’d never seen a man naked and aroused before.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Do I please you?”

  She made a throaty laugh. “Very much.”

  She rose to her knees and reached for him as he climbed on the bed to face her. Knee to knee, mere inches separated them. He touched her cheek, and she turned to plant a kiss on his palm.

  More than anything Claude wanted this first time to be pleasant for her. He’d been enough in the world to know that men often neglected a woman’s pleasure. He’d been taught, though, what pleased a woman. Perhaps he’d learned just so he could give the fruits of his knowledge to Louisa. A gift to her from a man who had nothing else to offer. It was a consoling thought.

  At least he hoped he was giving and not taking. He hoped he was doing this for Louisa and not for himself, because he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  He kissed her again, a gentle kiss, but one she returned with enthusiasm. He relished her response and once again vowed to give her the experience she desired.

  He slid his fingers down the length of her neck, willing himself not to hurry, although he burned with desire. He stroked her arms and her back until her head lolled at the sensation.

  She lay against the pillows, relaxing under his touch. Slowly his fingers found her breasts. As he moved his hand lightly over her skin, she sighed in pleasure. Gradually he increased the pressure of his touch, until his palm brushed her now-erect nipples and the fullness of her bosom filled his hands. His need grew and his muscles trembled with his restraint.

  He paused and she covered his hand with hers. “More. Please.”

  “I assure you there is more, Louisa,” he murmured into her ear and swept his hand through her silky hair. He wanted to seize her and slake his desire.

  Instead he increased his tender seduction. His hand slipped lower and lower until reaching that completely female part of her.

  She gasped.

  He waited until she had relaxed again. Careful to move gently and slowly, he continued to explore her secret places, increasing his own agony.

  She tensed, aroused, as was he. She clutched at him and her hips rose to meet his touch. He did not disappoint her.

  Slowly he eased his fingers inside her, carefully giving her body a chance to adjust to what would come next, what was becoming nearly impossible for him to delay.

  “I…I…I do not know if I want you to stop or not. I don’t know how to say what I want,” she cried. “Does that make sense?”

  He would show her. “I know precisely what you mean.”

  He positioned himself over her and, perhaps by instinct alone, she opened for him.

  “I will not hurt you,” he promised, hoping this was true. He wanted nothing to hurt Louisa, ever.

  “I do not care,” she replied, her voice tight. “Just go on.”

  He eased himself into her, careful to be as gentle as possible. She still made a sharp cry.

  He stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

  She shook her head. “It…it feels unlike anything I ever—” Her voice cut off.

  He looked her in the face. “Do you wish me to stop?”

  She gripped his shoulders. “Just stop asking me questions!”

  He almost laughed.

  Except other urges took over. He moved in and out of her, not surprised that she matched his rhythm perfectly. They fitted, he and Louisa. He felt that way about no one else in his world.

  That thought was his last coherent one. His need grew and he moved faster and faster, giving in to the sensation, relishing Louisa.

  He felt her pleasure build along with his own. Together they writhed through the waves and waves of ecstasy they’d created. When his body brought him to the climax, hers came, as well. She shook in his arms, whimpering as the waves of release washed through her.

  Together they relaxed in languorous satiation.

  “Oh, my,” she said after a time. “That was splendid.”

  He did allow himself to laugh then. Joy filled him, spilled over and flooded everything.

  She rose onto an elbow and looked down on him. A laugh burst from her, too, her eyes sparkling, her face flushed. He grabbed her and like two giddy, playful children, they rolled together on the bed.

  Nothing in his life had ever been as wonderful as this moment, and, very likely, nothing would ever be this wonderful again.

  Chapter Six

  For three glorious days Louisa and Claude made their way to Ascot. With their copy of Cary’s New Itinerary in hand they plotted their course. Much of their journey was on the Great North Road, parts of which had been built over ancient Roman roads.

  Louisa fancied that she and Claude rode in the footsteps of the Romans. She loved the bustle of mail coaches, private carriages, wagons, and other riders who shared the way with them. Every moment brought new sights and new experiences.

  But the nights offered so much more. Because she shared Claude’s bed, the nights were ecstasy.

  Never had Louisa imagined relations with a man would be so pleasurable. Never would she regret losing her virginity to this man, who had once merely been her friend and now was so much more. The first time, Claude had given her one new sensation after another, leading to a convulsion of pleasure that exceeded anything she could have imagined. She’d thought surely nothing could be better, but each succeeding lovemaking surpassed the others.

  Imagine it. She, who had never been anywhere or done anything, reveled in the wanton glory of nakedness. To feel his hands upon her bare skin was bliss. The touch of his fingers on her breasts created waves of glorious sensation inside her. But when he touched her most pr
ivate places—words could not describe the rapture.

  Another surprise, she delighted in his nakedness, as well. His body was ridged and hard-muscled, as if honed by hard work. She loved to trace her fingers over the rough shadow of his beard and run her hands down the peppering of hair on his chest.

  Not in a millennium would she have believed she’d relish exploring a man…down there…or thrill to wrapping her fingers around his erect male member. Whoever could guess quiet, dutiful, poor relation Louisa Finch was secretly a harlot! She giggled at the thought and pined for their next night together.

  Near Ascot.

  Mid-morning they reached the nearby village of Egham where they would stay for the racing days. After leaving their bags at an inn there, they rode to Ascot Heath.

  The Heath was a bustle of people, walking everywhere, riding in fine carriages or sporty phaetons drawn by beautiful horses. It was very like a town fair and much the way she remembered Newmarket had been on racing days. Several hundred booths were erected on the Heath, offering food and drink and games of chance.

  Even Odd wheels spun, and men shouted when the ball landed in its slot. Men rolled dice at hazard booths. Thimble-riggers fleeced their marks. Sharks and pickpockets mixed with exquisitely tailored gentlemen and finely—or gaudily dressed ladies.

  As the hour of the first race approached, they bought a racing card and, after studying it, placed their wagers. They joined the crowds assembling for the first event, filling the grandstands or watching from their carriages and wagons.

  Suddenly a roar rose from the crowd. Amid much fanfare and shouts of “Long live the King,” George IV arrived to take his place in the Royal Stand.

  “Look, the King!” Louisa had never dreamed she would have a chance to see the King. She leaned forwards to get a better view. Claude had maneuvered them to a spot with great visibility. Everything, Louisa thought, was happening to perfection.

  The first horses paraded before the King and took their places. Souvenir, owned by a Mr. Stonehewer, was the favorite, but Louisa had insisted on staking their money on a horse named Bobadilla. He was to be ridden by a new jockey who’d come from the North expressly to ride this horse, and her father always told her that new jockeys had more to prove.

  The starter dropped his hat and shouted, “Go!”

  Louisa crossed her fingers.

  The horses were off. Souvenir quickly set the pace and, running at top speed, pulled away from the others.

  Except for Bobadilla.

  Bobadilla matched the favourite’s speed, and soon the two horses were neck and neck.

  “Run!” Louisa shouted.

  “Go, man,” Claude cried, as if the jockey could hear him. “Keep her in hand!”

  Nearing the finish line the two horses were still in a virtual tie, and Louisa thought she might explode in excitement.

  “Come on,” she cried. “Come on!”

  At the last moment Bobadilla’s jockey threw himself forwards and won the race by a head.

  Louisa forgot any semblance of decorum and jumped up and down. She threw her arms around a laughing Claude, who twirled her in a circle.

  They had won a great deal of money. Their time together was magic! Nothing could spoil it.

  They settled their wagers and made their way back to the stables.

  As they rode back to Egham, Louisa asked, “What time do you meet with the breeder tomorrow?”

  “Eleven,” he replied. “With any luck I should be able to fetch you from the inn before the day’s races begin.”

  “That would be lovely.” Except that Louisa had other plans.

  Claude and the man he was to meet would be venturing into parts of Ascot that women were not welcome to visit, the racing stables themselves. She had no intention of missing the chance to see the horses up close. Her plan was foolproof, assuming Claude would agree.

  Of course he would agree. He, of all people, understood her passion for horses. He understood all her passions.

  “Are American races different than English ones?” she asked.

  “Not much different.” He glanced over at her. “Although they never shout, Long live the King in America.

  She laughed.

  “Why did you leave America, Claude?” she asked. He’d never talked about it.

  He did not answer right way. “There was no reason to stay.”

  “What about your horse breeding work?” To have created such fine horses must have been quite exciting.

  He frowned. “My employer and I had a disagreement.”

  “About what? Did he dislike the horses you bred? Because they were not for racing?”

  He shot her a glance. “That was part of it.”

  “That is ridiculous. Surely you bred racing horses, too. Did he not know that breeding does not always produce desired results?”

  Their horses took several more paces. “He did not know anything.”

  She was even more puzzled.

  Claude faced her again, his eyes filled with pain. “My employer was a woman.”

  Chapter Seven

  Claude fell silent, remembering that episode in his life. He would tell Louisa why he left Tennessee, but not now, not on horseback.

  He waited until they reached the inn and arranged to have their meal brought up to their room. While they climbed the stairs, he wondered if he could make her understand.

  Their food was brought to the room—bowls of soup, plates of boiled fowl, and wine.

  When they sat down to eat, she said, “Very well, Claude. Will you tell me now why mention of your former employer turns you so morose?”

  He took a breath. “She was more than an employer.”

  Her brows rose.

  He sipped a spoonful of soup before beginning. “I was eager to travel to America. I thought it would be one country where a man would be judged by his deeds, not his birthright.”

  “Did you find that in Tennessee?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not when my employer owned slaves. It is difficult to believe in equality when you work beside men who are considered property.”

  She broke in, “But that is not why you left.”

  “No. I merely told myself that I would never own slaves—if I owned a farm.” He smiled wanly. “I was content for a long time, gradually working my way up to more responsibilities, learning to wager on the races, and winning quite often.”

  “So what happened?” She took a sip of wine.

  He put down his spoon. “My employer made me her stable master.” He looked directly into her eyes. “And took me into her bed.”

  Louisa glanced down. “I see.”

  He stared into his wineglass. “I thought she considered me her equal, her partner.” His insides twisted with the memory. “She made it very clear I was not in her class and never would be. I was a mere employee, only one step above her slaves.”

  She whispered, “How awful for you.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “It taught me my place. It taught me that class cannot change, no matter how much I wish it. I’ll not forget again.”

  Even with Louisa, he did not forget. If the differences in their status could be overcome, he would not give her up in a precious few days.

  Louisa glanced up at him. “Did you love her?”

  “I once thought so.” But that was before he’d found Louisa again. “Not anymore.”

  He held her gaze and neither of them spoke.

  Finally she reached for his hand. “You know, Claude, a woman can never have equality. Unless a woman has wealth and property, like your employer, she must always be subservient to a man.” She squeezed his hand. “We all merely do the best we can with what life gives us. You have done very well. Creating beautiful horses. Winning lots of money.”

  He stared into the brown depths of her eyes. So accepting of him. Of her own fate.

  He loved her, he realized. Never more than at this moment. But the differences that separated them were insurmountable. She was of the E
nglish aristocracy, no matter her lack of fortune. He would always be a stable worker, no matter how considerable his wealth.

  He raised their hands to his lips and kissed hers.

  She smiled, though tears glistened in her eyes. “We must seize happiness where we can.”

  That much was true. This was their moment for happiness, this adventure, this idyllic time.

  Abandoning the food, he stood and, still holding her hand, pulled her from her chair. Facing her, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a kiss meant to show that his love would always remain, even after they parted.

  She responded eagerly, pressing herself against him with a hunger that matched his. When their lips parted, she slipped the coat from his shoulders and he shrugged it off. He quickly rid himself of his waistcoat and shirt, as well.

  She stepped back and undid the fastenings of her riding dress. While Claude removed his boots and stockings, she undressed, an erotic performance of which she was totally unaware.

  It aroused him even more.

  Soon they tumbled upon the bed, free of clothing and eager for lovemaking. Claude devoured her with kisses, trailing from her lips to her neck and finally taking her nipple into his mouth. She moaned in pleasure, her nails digging into his skin.

  Claude’s need for her grew as intense as his emotions. He wanted to show his love for her. He wanted to give her all of himself, in this moment, in their brief time together. If they must part, he wanted to pour every ounce of passion into the time they had left. Their lovemaking was the wildest it had ever been, rough and untamed. They explored each other as if they would never again have the opportunity, as if this were the moment of their parting.

  Louisa squirmed beneath him. “Please, Claude,” she begged, kneading his skin with her hands.

  He could not help but oblige. She urged him on, and he felt as if he could not wait a second longer.

  He entered her and she cried out with pleasure. Immediately the rhythm of their bodies drove the sensation higher, as if they were galloping towards their release, as they had galloped on horseback over the fields of Lancashire.