Bride (37 page)

Her nipples were pale pink and uptilted. Struan tried, but found he could not avert his gaze.

“When tended by the man with whom you wish to enjoy such intimacies, these places are capable of causing exquisite sensations. But I implore you to learn those skills which will enable you to increase your ecstasy—and his. Your husband will enjoy
your
touches. He goes through life with a certain part of him restrained by clothing. This is a great trial, and you have it within your power to relieve the condition—for considerable periods of time if you so choose.

“To do so it is at first necessary for one's beloved to divest himself of his trousers, breeches, or whatever. Help him to feel comfortable about this development whenever you are alone. Possibly a dressing robe might be employed to assist in maintaining some degree of modesty in the event of intrusion.”

“Unbelievable,” Struan said, hearing the huskiness of his own tone. “You are truly amazing, my lady.”

“Only because you have allowed me to learn so much. Tell me if you think the following will be of assistance to husbands.” Her free hand came unerringly to rest upon his throbbing shaft.

“That, my beloved wife,” he said, barely able to form the words, “that is guaranteed to entirely
undo
a man.”

She frowned but kept her eyes on her book—and her hand on his rod. And Struan could not bring himself to deprive himself of the pleasure she brought him.

“I'm not certain how I shall incorporate that comment,” Justine said. “Perhaps a mere aside that a man's enjoyment of being held so approaches that of a woman astride a man's thigh.”

Struan groaned.

“There is something women do not learn until far too late,” Justine went on. “The part of a man responsible for
It
—an aside, ladies—I now know that
It
used in a certain way is nothing more than a euphemism for the joining of a man and wife via the insertion of his manly protuberance into her womanly passage.”

“I'm dying,” Struan heard himself say, as if strangling. “I am strangling, damn it.”

“You most certainly are not strangling.” No pity there. “Here, let us dispense with this foolishness. You feel you are strangling because all your energy—probably all your breath and blood, too—are engaged in trying to uphold the flag of masculinity against crushing obstacles.”

“Justine!”

“You say that entirely too often. Off with these breeches at once.”

He gave up. Sweat coated his brow, his back, and chest. He helped her with his boots and splayed in the chair while she unfastened his breeches and allowed him blessed, explosive release from confinement.

“There, there,” she murmured softly, massaging that which needed no further encouragement. “This really is a shocking abuse and explains the generally unpredictable nature of so many gentlemen. No wonder they are given to duels and rudeness and the like. Tell me, Struan. On the first occasion when we slept together you fell asleep, and this”—she stroked him from tip to base, a sweetly affectionate expression upon her face—“this became quite soft and, I should suppose, quite comfortable to you. Was that normal? Or would that, in fact, cause you some embarrassment were others to know of it?”

“Normal,” he managed to grind out.

She expelled a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness. My next question is whether you experience any relief from this condition when we do
It.”

“Absolute relief.”

“Wonderful! Then we shall do it often. No, more than often. We shall do it
all the time.
Your comfort is my mission in life, dear one.”

He attempted to rally. “I could not contemplate such a thing.”

“Piffle! Rest assured that the prospect is not at all without appeal to me. In fact, I shall make the sacrifice with alacrity. Struan, I hesitate to ask you this, but there is a certain urge I'm experiencing as I sit here … holding you.”

He rolled his head to one side. “Name it.” Could a man die of pleasure—and frustration excruciating enough to bring him near to madness?”

“Oh, no. You will think me most odd.”

“Name
it. Now!”

“I shall not name it. I shall simply do it. If you consider it unsuitable, you will let me know. If not, I shall have saved myself the embarrassment of risking ridicule for my words.”

He felt her warm breath the instant before she slipped her moist lips over the head of his penis and began to draw him into her mouth.

“Oh—my—God!” Struan sank his fingers into her hair. “Oh, yes. Yes.
Yes!”

He did not stop her to ask how she knew that what she did would shortly bring the relief she so desperately wished to afford him.

Justine's head moved over his lap. He looked down at her red-tinged dark hair spilling over his belly, mingling with the hair at his own crotch.

In the last instant, he attempted to draw back. Too late. His release came. Panting, he fell back, dimly awaiting her cries of horror. Instead, he found himself covered by the weight of her soft body, her breasts pressed to his chest, her face buried beneath his chin.

“Justine,” he breathed. “How … What made you do that?”

“You liked it, didn't you?”

“Oh, I liked it marvelously.”

“Well, today I considered the kisses when you put your tongue inside my mouth. They are a symbol of
It,
aren't they?”

Fog clung to the edges of his mind. Concentration didn't come easily. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Well, I decided there might be other ways in which pleasurable suggestions of the—the ultimate might be created. And I was right! You … That is, with the letting go of your … essence, shall we say, you are relieved of that painful swelling!”

Struan's eyes snapped open.
“Painful swelling?”

“Well—”

“You, dearest wife, promise to keep this simple husband forever entertained. There is much you have learned and much you have divined. And there is much you simply do not know.”

“But—”

“No. Now I will give you something new to write about.”

Leaving his breeches where they were, he changed places with his bright-brained darling. Depositing her upon the chair, he knelt where she had knelt—between her legs. He lifted her skirts, brushing away plucking hands that would have held cover over the scarred leg he'd already come to adore.

Without preamble, he bent to dart his tongue into already moist curls at the apex of her thighs.

“Struan! Struan, you will stop at once. You will … Aah!”

He smiled, breathing in the musky, utterly feminine scent of her. Holding apart plump little folds, he showed her another form of “symbolic” lovemaking.

Justine's hips writhed, and he grinned—and tightened his belly against his own renewed arousal.

When she sought to clutch him with begging fingers, he concentrated his attention on the swollen nub that would release her need. Within seconds she threw herself forward over his back and he knew her nails would leave evidence of this adventure on his buttocks.

She made no complaint when he carried her—still tossed over his shoulder—to her chamber. With what remained of their clothing flung aside, he joined her in the blue-canopied bed. She snuggled beside him—replete, as he was replete.

“Have we given you more to write about, sweetness?” he asked gently.

“Oh, yes. Much more.”

“You enjoyed—”

“I
loved
what we did. How fortunate I am. Now I know there is more than one way to reach the ultimate with one's husband.”

“Oh, yes.” Indeed. And this way would not cause him to live in fear for her life. He knew more than a small spear of guilt at what he contemplated. “Rest, my love. You must be tired, and I know I am.”

“Mmm. Very tired.”

“Sleep, then.” His problems were far from solved, but at least his encounter with the abbot had given him hope, and for now he would allow himself to enjoy this woman whom he loved. “Sleep very well.”

“Struan!” She sat so abruptly, he jumped. “My goodness, I became so engrossed I forgot.”

He stroked her back indulgently. “We will deal with Ella and Max's education. And I will take Devlin North aside and tell him the way of things.”

“No, no. Not that. A woman came today. Looking for you.”

Exhaustion threatened to take him. “A woman?”

“Yes. She said you promised she could come to you at any time if she needed help. She is not of genteel birth, but is certainly a most pleasant soul. And she is in need, poor creature.”

He opened his eyes in the darkness. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, she said it has been a long time since you last met. She has since married—to her dire regret, I'm certain. I know you will wish to fulfill your promise to her.”

Struan was awake now, and growing cold. “Where is this woman?”

“We put her in one of the freshly made-over rooms in the Grecian wing. Her gratitude was pathetic. I promised her that you would speak with her as soon as you returned. Then I forgot. Oh, dear.”

Struan rose to an elbow. “Did she give her name?”

“Of course. She is Mrs. Smith. And her husband is clearly a beastly person. Why, Struan, he has been beating her. She has bruises and old wounds.”

His clenching stomach unwound slightly. “She must have come to the wrong address. I know no Mrs. Smith.”

“Oh, but that is her married name. And she definitely knows you. Do you remember a lovely dark-haired woman called Glory?”

Chapter Twenty-two

“D
inna do it, Ellie.
Please.”
This Max was quite un-like himself. His freckles showed dark on his pale face and his green eyes shone with worry. “Caleb said there's them as has a mind to kill us all.”

Ella fixed her new green velvet bonnet more firmly atop her smoothly coiled hair. Tonight she must appear composed and mature. Tonight she would take steps guaranteed to shape the rest of her life.

“Say you won't go!”

She turned sharply on the stool before her glass. “Hush, Max. You'll have Caleb hammering upon the door, or sending Mairi to check on us.”

He pursed his lips and set down the tiny sand-colored puppy Devlin North had brought. “I'm goin’ t'shout. I'm goin’ t'give ye away for the mad one ye are.”

Ella crooked a long forefinger, signalling for Max to come near. When he stood before her in the oppressively paneled room, she got up and looked directly into his eyes. “There are things you do not know, Max. Dangerous things that threaten us. The longer we remain here and do nothing, the greater the danger becomes.”

His mouth fell open.

“Why do you think Papa has arranged for us to be here in the castle guarded like two criminals?”

Max shook his head.

“Why do you think these particular rooms were chosen—rooms with no windows, and doors so heavy an army couldn't breach them?”

“Nasty rooms wi’ weapons on the walls,” Max said, although those weapons were confined to the so-called sitting room. “A dungeon wi’ furniture in it.”

“A fine description. And we're here because we are in danger. There is someone who wants to kill us.”

“No,” Max whispered. “That was just a story t'make me do what Caleb wanted.”

“You are wrong.” Ella brought her nose close to his. “You have been so busy with your stories that you have failed to see how we are in the middle of a great intrigue. We were allowed to sleep at the Mercers’ because no one would think to look for us there. And our every move has been watched by people loyal to Papa just to ensure our safety.”

“Ye weren't watched when ye rode around like a wild boy!” Max announced explosively. “Ye said as much. Ye spoke of doin’ as ye pleased all day. And I wasna watched either.”

“You were. You simply didn't know it. And I lied. There, now you have the truth of it. I lied because I was unhappy and needed to pretend to myself that I was free. There was always someone watching over me.”

“Well … Well, then. Why? You tell me that, Ellie. Why would anyone want t'hurt two such as us who amount t'nothin’ between us? We're no one and ye know it.”

Ella looked away. Abruptly, she sat upon the stool again. He was right, they were nothing, but she couldn't bear to hear her own brother speak of himself in such a way. “Of course we are something. You are a very special person, a person with a brilliant future. You have a fine mind and it will be cultivated. And we have been fortunate. Papa loves us.”

“He's not our papa. We dinna even know who our papa was.”

“I don't care,” Ella said vehemently. “The viscount told us we were his children in all the ways that matter. And Lady Justine loves us, too. She told us as much.”

“Aye. D'you suppose Papa's told her we're not his bairns yet?”

“Ooh, Max, that mode of speech will not do if you are to move in Papa's society.”

“I'm not to move in it,” Max said, but his lower lip trembled. “He's not told her, has he? And when he does, she won't love us anymore. Rough bairns brought up wi’ travelin’ players. And me a pickpocket in London. And you—”

“Stop! Stop it, Max. That's all in the past.” And she would not allow herself to think of it.

“She'll not love us, I tell ye.”

“She will,” Ella said fiercely, taking her brother's hands in hers. “You listen to me, Max. Good people are good people, and Lady Justine is good. She would not know how to stop loving someone.”

“She'll stop soon enough,” Max argued. “She will.”

“No, she won't. She loves Papa and he loves us. She loved us before they were wed. Now we will be even more important to her.”

“And what if they have bairns o’ their own?”

The question had circled Ella's mind a thousand times in recent weeks. “I still say we'll never be turned aside. Learn to trust. And don't stop me from doing what I intend to do. Listen carefully and do as I say.”

“But where are ye goin”?” Max implored. “It's almost night, Ellie. I'm scairt fer ye.”

Impulsively, she drew him into her arms and hugged him. “Thank you. But don't be. We've been through a great deal, you and I. Tonight I'm going to do something to help us both, but, most of all, to help Papa. Max, I believe Papa is in terrible trouble.”