Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (23 page)

“How does it do that?” asked Jane.

“It deposits a secretion that heals any small injuries my continued mating causes within you. You will grow to appreciate it as the night wears on.”

He was right.

After their tenth mating, Jane lost count of how many times he fucked her and in how many ways. Damp tendrils of hair framed her flushed face, and her breath came in pants. But she was neither chafed nor sore.

His two appendages attended to her throughout the night, and she to them. She willingly took him as he needed and by morning felt thoroughly explored.

With the coming of dawn, all stimulation desisted. The Seeker tucked its length under his ballocks and retracted inside him until it disappeared.

Sighing, she fell asleep in his arms.

When she awoke it was nearly noon and Nick was gone.

She moved cautiously from the bed. Her muscles protested, but she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she should have been after a night like the one that had just passed.

She gazed into the mirror. Surprisingly, her neck and breasts were unmarked by his lips. Nowhere was her skin grazed or bruised. Only a mild, pleasurable sensation within both her nether channels remained as vivid reminders of the night.

The Seeker had done its work well. So had her husband.

She was happy, she suddenly realized. There was a new lightness of heart within her, resulting from a great burden having been lifted. It seemed Emma was in no danger of becoming like her. For no tainted blood flowed in her sister’s veins.

And now she had a name to put to her own strangeness.

“Faerie,” she whispered into the freedom of the cool morning air.

W
hen Jane joined Nick at breakfast, he kissed her in full view of the day servants. Though it was a shocking departure from the norm about which she should have delighted, she found she could only return his embrace listlessly.

The euphoria she’d experienced upon awakening had quickly passed. With startling speed, another feeling had taken its place.

Nausea.

It roiled in her belly now, threatening her enjoyment of breakfast. The aromatic concoction of eggs and tomatoes on the platter repulsed her. Even the lightly spiced tea sickened her. She pushed it all away and made a face.

“You aren’t hungry?” Nick asked in surprise. No doubt after last night’s exercise, he expected her to be ravenous. In fact, she was. Yet food repelled her.

“I am. I can’t think what—”

Suddenly, her color faded to a pale green, and her eyes widened in horror. She pushed from the table and dashed through the kitchen to the garden, where she was promptly sick in a bed of peonies.

“Is the signora unwell?” she heard one of the servants ask from behind her.

“Bring water and linen,” Nick directed.

With his assistance, she rose and was situated on a stone bench. She slumped with her forearms resting on her thighs, so wan and dispirited she scarcely noticed when he stroked her hair.

Footsteps clattered over the mosaic tiles toward them. It was the servant bearing his requests.

“Set it there and leave us,” he ordered. “All of you.”

She heard the door shut, and they were alone.

A fresh, dampened cloth ran over her mouth and face, bringing cool, welcome moisture. Nick handed her a glass of water that she drank thirstily.

She leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her. “I feel dreadful,” she told his buttons. “Perhaps the elixir last night didn’t agree.”

Nick glanced down at her. “It’s not the elixir that makes you ill,” he informed her baldly. “It’s the child I gave you last night.”

She looked up at him with a startled laugh. “Even you can’t manage to know such a thing so quickly.”

Dipping a hand inside her bodice, he lightly grazed her nipple.

“Oh!” She jerked and placed a hand on the fabric over his to stay his touch. “I’m tender.”

“Because you are with child.”

“More likely because of your recent attentions.”

His broad hand left her breast to spread over her abdomen, testing its contours through her skirt. “It’s more than that. Your belly and your breasts are swelling already. You have conceived. Your body knows it even if your mind hasn’t yet accepted it.”

She shook her head against his shirtfront. “It’s too soon for such outward changes. If I’m showing signs, conception must have happened between us some weeks ago. The herbs must have failed.”

In his certainty, Nick easily ignored such speculation. He’d known the exact moment his childseed had pulsed into her womb last night. But to share this physical confirmation of it with her was surprisingly enjoyable. He rested his chin atop her head, content.

“Jane, this is wonderful. Truly joyful news.”

When she made no reply, he pulled away to look down at her. “Aren’t you pleased?”

Her eyes were troubled when she spoke. “If it’s true, I’m pleased, of course. It would be a promise kept.”

He brushed the back of his fingers along her cheekbone and then encircled and caressed the back of her neck under the fall of her hair. “But other than that, are you pleased? Do you want our children, knowing they will have other than Human blood?”

“I will love any child of ours. But sickness consumes me, and motherhood seems distant at this moment.”

“Not so distant,” he murmured. “Satyr children are eager to be born. It will only be a matter of…”

She missed the remainder of his words as a new concern reared its head. “Does my condition mean you will discontinue visiting my bedchamber?”

His hand stilled on her neck.

“What I mean to ask is, will you visit me nightly as you have been? I apologize if my questions are inappropriate, but I don’t wish to be kept in suspense on this matter.”

He planted a brief kiss on her lips and then tucked her head to his chest. “I won’t come to you during your confinement.”

She flinched.

“Not because my desire for you will lessen,” he assured her. “Rather because it is the ancient way.”

“But how will you manage without my, uh, attentions—in the bedchamber?”

“It won’t be easy.” His hand curved her belly again, rubbing in gentle circles. “My desire to mate will only heighten during your time of gestation. However, I’ll manage. I have no choice.”

The way in which he would “manage” was precisely what concerned her. “Couldn’t we contrive some method of carnal relief short of an actual joining? Surely you’re creative enough to offer suggestions in that area.”

Yes, he had many suggestions he would like to offer her in that area. Even after last night, his cock throbbed with want of her.

Half a dozen Shimmerskins at once had never given him the pleasure his wife had given him last night. It struck an odd sort of fear in him. Perhaps it was best that circumstances forced him to distance himself during the child’s incubation. He couldn’t afford to become so besotted that he forgot other obligations.

“Denying myself is a necessary part of the process. It will lend strength to our offspring if I keep myself from you until its birth.”

It was what she’d feared he might say. She’d once overheard a maid complain to another that her husband didn’t find it enjoyable to couple with his breeding wife. So, in this matter, Human and Satyr were apparently alike.

“Very well,” she whispered, nodding. “Thank you for your consideration.”

He squeezed her against him, and briefly she felt cherished. “It is I who thank you. Only think, Jane, we’re to be parents.”

Jane hugged him back. She was delighted, but she was also afraid. How would her virile husband possibly do without sex for nine months? What if he sought out other women?

Six nights later, Jane lay abed with her back curved along her husband’s chest. Nick slumbered peacefully, wearing trousers as he had every night since he’d become aware of her pregnancy.

And she truly was with child. It was certain now. She saw new evidence of it daily.

Ironically, now that he’d proclaimed her untouchable, Nick had begun sleeping in her bed throughout the night rather than in his own. Though she welcomed his presence, it frustrated her almost beyond endurance. Want of sexual congress with her husband hounded her, keeping her from sleep.

Night and day, she thought of little else. His breath at her neck, a casual brush of a hand on her skin, or the shift of his warm thighs against hers—all were sensual torture.

Even now, the warm bulge at his crotch prodded her longingly through the fabric that confined it. It had been thus every night. Unable to bear it a moment longer, she reached a hand between their bodies to find and stroke him in the darkness. He was thick, ready.

She needed to touch skin.

Stealthily she unbuttoned his trousers. It took some minutes, but he didn’t awaken. She widened the gap she’d created in the fabric and fondled the column of hard heat she found within. When he groaned and rolled to his back, she took quick advantage.

Twisting, she ducked under the covers and moved lower over him. When her tongue found his tip, she swirled it over him. A fierce dart of lust flickered between her thighs. Never had she needed him more.

Abruptly, he came awake. He wrested himself away, his knee bumping her chin in his haste to withdraw. Strong hands reached below the coverlet and grabbed her armpits, hoisting her into the cool air.

Through the dimness, accusing sapphire met emerald need.

“What are you doing?” Nick demanded.

“Didn’t you like it?”

“Of course I—that’s not the point.”

He’d inadvertently aligned her crotch to his, and she helplessly rocked against him. His fingers flinched on her, but he didn’t push her away.

Sensing a chink in the armor of his resistance, she slid her arms around his neck and stroked her lips along his jaw.

“It’s been almost a week,” she cajoled. “I know you’re hurting. Won’t you allow me to lessen your strain?” His shaft twitched under the wet stroke of her labia.

He groaned, his will obviously weakening.

Lifting, she sought his crown with her frilled opening. Her private flesh was an aching void, pulsing with want of him.

She found him. Their eyes caught.

She read his grim desire and sensed impending victory. “Why not take the relief I offer?” she whispered, caressing his face. She spread her knees, letting her weight take her lower on him.

When her nether lips gapped over his crown, he came back to himself. He grabbed her hip bones and caught her to stillness.

“No, Jane,” he said firmly. “Though it pains me to say it.”

Miffed, she yanked herself away and grouchily watched him refasten his trousers. “In denying yourself, you deny me as well. Yet I have no say in the matter?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t you think I find it equally difficult to keep from you? For the good of our unborn child, we must deny ourselves gratification. In any form. That means you must not stimulate yourself by your own hand either. Do you understand?”

“How can this unnatural abstinence be of any benefit to our unborn child?” she argued.

He gestured futilely. “It’s not something I can explain. I can only say it’s the—”

“—Satyr way,” she interrupted. “I know, I know.”

Feeling rejected, she rolled away from him. Tears of frustration clung to her lashes, but she pressed her face into the pillow before they could fall.

Nick pulled her into the hollow of his chest, lending comfort in spite of her stiff resistance. Tucking her to him, he wrapped an arm over her, securing her wayward hands under his at her breast.

His voice was soft at her ear as he dropped a kiss. “It won’t be for long. We will bear it.”

Within seconds, he fell asleep, leaving her to endure the frustration of his nearness.

Thirty minutes later, his lips caressed her shoulder as he murmured in his sleep.

An hour later, his thighs slid along hers, momentarily forcing the hardness of his shaft into firmer contact with her wanting valley.

She sighed.

It was near dawn before she slept.

T
hree weeks later, Jane stepped out of a carriage at Izabel’s villa in Florence. She gripped the railing as she ascended the front stairs, her step ungainly and slow.

The butler’s eyes widened as he admitted her. “The signora is entertaining this afternoon,” he informed her doubtfully.

“And Emma?” asked Jane.

“Away,” he answered vaguely.

A letter had arrived that morning from Emma, begging Jane to visit. Though there was no particular news, the tone of it had been strangely worrisome. So worrisome that Jane had ventured out without consulting Nick, hoping to speak with her sister.

After traveling for hours, she refused to be deterred. “I’ll see myself into the parlor then, to speak with my…aunt,” she told him.

She stumbled over labeling Izabel as her “aunt” now that she knew it for a lie. However, she and Nick had agreed that the lie must be perpetuated. If the truth were known, Izabel would likely never allow Emma to come live at Blackstone.

Jane found her way into the parlor where her erstwhile aunt held court with several of her dearest friends. Izabel was the first to notice her. Her eyes fell to Jane’s waist, and she stood, her napkin tumbling from her lap. Her face was a picture of shock.

“You’re with child!” she blurted. “But my God. So huge!”

Her companions turned to stare with rounded eyes.

“Twins, from the look of you,” said Signora Bich.

“Or triplets,” said Signora Natoli.

Izabel and her friends exchanged loaded glances.

Jane hugged her bulky waistline self-consciously. She’d wondered if it hadn’t had swelled more quickly than should be expected. The women’s obvious dismay exacerbated her concerns.

Izabel’s expression quickly turned to one of delight. “But this is wonderful!” she said, moving toward her with outstretched arms.

The other ladies surrounded Jane, oohing and ahing. They patted her belly through her dress with overfamiliar hands, testing its shape and size as though it were an object apart from her. She felt disturbingly vulnerable without her stiff, protective corset, which she had of necessity abandoned weeks ago.

She sat down to escape their touch. “I have come to visit Emma, but your butler tells me she isn’t at home today?”

“Signore Nesta brought his children to visit. He and his mother have taken Emma out for the afternoon,” Izabel explained.

“Oh.”

Jane felt like crying at finding Emma gone. But then, the least thing made her a watering pot these days. Another effect of her condition was apparent in the greater opulence of her breasts. They’d become so sensitive that they tingled at the slightest rub of fabric. However, worst of all was the constant state of arousal Nick insisted she abide in.

The threat of the pox was a great weight on his mind, and vigilance against it kept him in the vineyard later and later. Each night, he returned home weary and fell to sleep with ease. Unlike her.

Was such abstinence truly necessary?

As the other ladies settled back into their circle of button-tufted chairs, Jane realized this was her chance to ask. It was an indelicate issue, but one that such experienced ladies could shed light upon. All had been wed at one time, and most had children.

“Am I unusually large then?” she ventured.

“You have the belly of a woman in her final month,” Signora Ricco informed her, popping a sweetmeat between her lips.

Jane swallowed. As the mother of six, the signora was in a position to know.

Signora Natoli nodded. “At this rate, you’ll be big as a house by the time you’re ready to give birth.”

Jane blanched.

“Stop frightening the girl,” Izabel chided. She inched forward in her seat and took her niece’s hand.

Disturbing, erotic images flashed in Jane’s mind at the brief contact. She drew her hand away, pretending to straighten her skirts. She was rarely able to meld with flesh other than Nick’s any longer, and only when another’s emotions were unusually strong.

“A woman was meant to be a vessel for her husband’s passion and to birth his children,” Izabel told her. “Motherhood is a blessing, isn’t it, ladies?”

The others in the semicircle dutifully bobbed their heads.

“We didn’t mean to cause undue alarm,” said Signora Ricco.

“No need to worry,” added Signora Bich.

“I’m trying not to,” said Jane. “It’s just that I’ve grown large so quickly. Nick has advised against it, but I wonder if I shouldn’t consult a physician?”

Izabel shot her a look. “Your husband knows what is best. You should obey his wishes.”

“I know he means well.”

“Is he a considerate husband then?” asked Signora Natoli, her eyes sharpening with interest.

Jane shifted uncomfortably. It was an opportunity to voice her concerns about Nick’s inattention in their bed, but she was reluctant. “Yes, most considerate.”

Signora Ricco leaned forward. “In all things?”

Jane looked around the circle of women. Their gazes were avid.

“Come now, speak frankly,” said Izabel. “We have all lain with men. And you’re no longer a maiden.”

Signora Bich glanced slyly at Jane’s belly. “Well, that’s obvious!”

The others tittered, and Jane felt tears gather again. “I shouldn’t speak of private matters.”

“Come, come, you’re now a seasoned wife. There is no harm,” said Signora Ricco.

“No harm indeed. Surely you must have questions about the impending birth of your child,” said Signora Bich. Her eyes surveyed Jane’s girth. “Or children.”

“Don’t leave them until it is too late and you’re in childbed,” Izabel advised. “It’s best to be prepared.”

The others clucked their agreement.

“I do have one question,” said Jane. “I hope it won’t shock you.”

“Yes?” asked Izabel. Though no one moved, Jane felt suddenly crowded. She plunged ahead.

“I—is it necessary for a husband to abstain from physical relations with his wife during her confinement?”

A hush fell. The women stilled, awaiting Izabel’s decision in the matter. Odd, since Izabel was the only one of them who hadn’t borne children.

“That depends upon the size of her husband’s male organ,” Izabel lied smoothly. “Is Lord Satyr especially well endowed?” She took a sip of tea.

“I have nothing to compare him to,” Jane murmured, growing ever more discomfited.

“More than seven or eight inches in length is considered quite well endowed,” said Signora Natoli.

Jane’s eyes widened.

Izabel returned her cup to its saucer with deliberate care before lifting her gaze. “Is your husband’s length greater than seven or eight inches?”

The women held their breath in unison.

“I haven’t, um, measured,” Jane hedged.

“Estimate,” suggested Signora Bich.

Jane shifted to the edge of her chair as though making to rise. “The hour grows late.”

“Wait! Don’t you have questions about the birthing itself?” asked Signora Ricco.

“Shall I attend you then?” asked Izabel. “Perhaps I should accompany you home and await the birth.”

“Capital idea, Izabel,” said Signora Bich.

Jane shook her head. “I haven’t yet thought of such things. I’m barely a month into my pregnancy.”

Signora Natoli choked on her tea. “A month! But—”

“Dear God!”

Jane swiveled on her chair to find Signore Cova standing in the doorway. His mouth hung open, and his astonished eyes were riveted to her enlarged waistline.

Izabel leaped to her feet and hurried toward him, skirts flapping. Wordlessly she steered him from the room. His voice echoed through the marble foyer beyond, returning clearly to be heard by everyone.

“That slut!” he accused.

Izabel’s reply, when it reached their ears, was an unintelligible murmur.

“You’re wrong! No one could get that brat-swollen so quickly,” Cova replied, his words like cruel darts. “And why else would Satyr have wanted her if not that she carried his bastard in her belly?”

Jane blanched. She set her tea aside and awkwardly attempted to push herself from the chair.

The other ladies offered assistance.

Again, Izabel’s soothing tone, but not her words, floated to their ears.

“Then another man plowed her if Satyr did not!” Cova bellowed in reply. “She was obviously already breeding when he offered for her. Even if he’d impregnated the very night of her wedding—”

Izabel’s voice rose on a sharp note. “Silence, Pier! This is no time to be upsetting the girl. I’m sure she’s developing at her own pace.”

Their voices faded farther away.

Jane made her way to the door and peered out. They were gone from sight.

Signora Natoli patted her hand where it rested on the doorjamb. “My dear, don’t let this upset you. Men sometimes lack understanding.”

Jane slid her hand from the blue-veined clasp. “I must go.”

The ladies followed as she slipped from the room and across the foyer to the front entrance. The butler opened the door, his smirk telling her he’d heard everything.

She stiffened her backbone.

The ladies trailed her onto the front porch. “You must come to any of us with any further questions,” one of them called after her.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Jane replied as the coachman assisted her into the carriage.

She wouldn’t return. But she would ask Nick to write to Izabel and request a visit from Emma, pleading his wife’s confinement as reason.

As her carriage pulled away, she hugged her belly as though to console her unborn child.

“Don’t worry what they think. I promise I’ll care for you and protect you. And I’ll love you,” she whispered. “No matter what you are.”

The women chattered busily in the wake of Jane’s departure.

“She’ll die birthing this one, mark my word.”

“As long as the child doesn’t die, her demise would serve our purpose.”

“How large do you suppose Lord Satyr’s cock is anyway?”

“Far larger than eight inches from the look on the girl’s face.”

“It bodes well for his offspring’s proportions.”

They snickered.

Izabel reappeared in the doorway, smiling broadly. “Ladies, things are progressing at an unexpectedly swift pace. It would appear we must step up our schedule.”