Love Then Begins (3 page)

The joy that washed over and through him at her open honest acknowledgement of both her worries and her willingness was so unexpected, yet so gratifying, that he abandoned his efforts to cover his own eagerness with mundane, non-threatening activities. “Now who’s quoting poetry—rendering me quite powerless to resist,” he caught her waist and drew her up close.

“My defences are down, my lady,” he said, “do you wish to charge or is this where I introduce my counterattack? But first, might I suggest a change of battlefield? Where the plains are softer and the grounds more appropriate for strategic advancement.”

She looked at him in mocking sternness.

“I am not quite sure I like these analogies of war and combat. I much prefer the amorous star.”

He gathered her up into her arms and swiftly moved them out the door and to the staircase.

“I feel like summoning the staff to witness my progress,” he said. “This is a great moment for me: I am carrying my wife up to our marriage bed and this is the last she will be seen for many, many days . . . ”

...Its Best Life

The
sounds of freezing rain pattered on the window, rousing the new Lady Baugham from her drowsy state. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband in the dim light, lying with his hands folded behind his head and looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Sleeping in the nude was wonderful, she decided as she slowly stretched her body between the soft and warm bedcovers. It could either be early or late in the day—it was hard to tell. The room was dark but there was a fire burning in the grate. The house was quiet but she had seldom felt so awake and rested in her life.

Lifting her head from the pillow, she propped herself up on her elbow and ran her finger along his chest. She wriggled a little to feel the sheets against her naked skin again and at the same time close the distance between them. She had never thought being physically so close to another human being could be like this. Soft skin, soft touches, teasing fingers, hungry lips, hardness in soft places, the strange natural rhythm of push and pull, ebb and flow, so intensely feeling everything and yet oblivious to anything else outside the sensations and the need and the single-minded pursuit of more . . .

Holly blushed and the sheets around her seemed to caress the very places her memories from last night had brought back. She felt the sheet fall down her back as she crawled closer to her husband and propped herself on her elbow to study his form. She could not see much in the dim light, so she decided her work would be better performed through touch.

His shoulder blades made fascinating ridges in the middle of all that smooth, muscular flesh only to gracefully descend into the valley of his spine. Small bumps all along the way met her fingers as she slowly explored. There was a mole on his waist. And one just above his shoulders. The soft flesh on his neck was creased and a prickly stubble had sprung up where his chin began. She patted it slowly. She wondered if he could feel her touch through his sleep. Did he mind? He had not seemed to mind last night. In fact, he had taken her hand and asked her to. “I’m yours now,” he whispered, “you own me. All of me.”

“You’re not asleep, are you?” she softly asked.

At first there was no response, but slowly the head on the pillow moved and a pair of blurred blue eyes turned upon her.

“If I deny it, will you continue?”

She was glad of the dim light in the room as she blushed again, feeling a strange mixture of shyness and daring as she resumed without saying a thing, a little more hesitantly now that he was watching her. Moving her hand back to his bare skin, she slid it down and let it rest in that familiar feeling hollow that was the small of his back. She remembered, in the whispering, intimate darkness of the night before, grasping him right there with both hands, needing to bring him closer to her, and she remembered her hands sliding further down too, as she was allowing them to do now. But now he was relaxed and he felt different. Quiet. And still. More quiet and still than she had ever seen him before.

A little further and she reached the back of his legs and, remembering the sensation of his own touch on her, she allowed her finger to run up and down the soft skin where they touched together. He remained just as still, just as quiet as before, but she allowed herself a tiny smile of triumph when she realised that he was no longer quite as relaxed. But then, she realised, neither was she.

“Mmm,” he said. She wondered what that meant. It was a satisfied sound, it came from deep within him, reverberating through his body—she could feel the noise he made under her hand. She wondered at all the things she had learnt since last night and at all the things she still did not know. Well, she had no qualms about finding out.

She slowly spread out her fingers over his bottom and felt the coarser skin under her palm. Then she slid down on the other side of him, touching the hipbone and feeling her arm encircle him. In one long movement he turned away to his side, until he was facing her, forcing her to follow.

“Good morning,” he said.

She smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

“Extraordinarily. Fantastically. Marvellously. You?”

“Very well.”

Her hand was awkward, slung over his hip, and she let it slide down his stomach. Suddenly, she involuntarily flinched and looked down at where her hand had surprisingly enough encountered something far from the expected softness her explorations had encountered up until then.

“Oh!” she said, automatically pulling her hand back.

“Oh?” he repeated and she knew he was smiling, could feel his shoulders shake slightly and she could not help but feel a bit silly herself at her spontaneous reaction.

“Don’t laugh,” she defended herself, “It’s just that . . . I didn’t expect . . . ”

He shifted position a bit and slid his hand along her waist and hip and down her bottom, pulling her in close.

“I think you had better learn to expect it,” he murmured into the hollow between her shoulder and neck, “if you are going lie here beside me in such a state.” He brushed his lips over the sensitive skin, whispering between kisses, “Or if you’re going to touch me like that, or any time you happen to be in the same room as I am, or the same house. And if you insist on breathing in and out in that adorable manner . . . I really cannot be held accountable for my reactions.”

Last night she had learned that there was nothing to fear from his touch, his body, his desires, and she could not help but marvel at the effect her touch had upon him. Tentatively she allowed her hand to return to where it had been and she continued her earlier explorations. She heard a sharp intake of breath, felt his body tense and it was her turn to smile.

“You don’t . . . mind?” she asked slightly sheepishly, feeling him pause in his kisses and caresses. “I mean . . . it’s so early. At least I think it’s early. And we were so . . . late last night. You’re not . . . tired still?”

She so much hoped he would not be tired. It was strange, but his reaction to her touch suddenly made her feel very . . . hopeful. She felt powerful and with that sense of control came a desire to draw him closer, both to submit and be submitted to. Last night she had followed, suddenly it seemed as if she could lead. It was exciting. She hoped he did not feel that she was presumptuous or too bold and that she could perhaps tell him what she wished to do, where she wished to go.

“Mind?” he groaned, his lips against her shoulder. “Oh love . . . No, don’t stop. I . . . want you to.”

“You want me to?” she questioned softly, flirtatiously.

“Oh, yes!”

But his almost desperate agreement caused a momentary flicker in her confidence.
He wants me to . . . wants me to do what?
were her panicky thoughts. What if she did the wrong thing? What if she did something stupid? She froze. How was she supposed to know about any of this? What made her think that she had the ability to make him feel the way he made her feel?

He must have felt her hesitation because he took her hand and gently guided her, showing her what he needed and she relaxed once again.

Slowly her other hand joined the first one in its grip and slowly her finger tips ran up and down him. The way his breath came hard against her naked skin told her she had at least begun well enough.

“Like this?” she whispered.

“Yes. That’s. Good.” his low voice rose from between her breasts.

The stronger sex can be so weak and the weaker sex can be so strong
. . . she remembered those words from her cousin Elizabeth’s letter and at last she knew exactly what they meant.

Gradually she grew bolder, trying a touch here and a touch there, gauging her success by his response and his own touch on her. His breath came heavy, his caresses stronger, and she could feel his urgency grow.

She reached further down, and felt where the hardness gave way to new softness. The smooth skin to rougher hair and a different texture. A roundness. A heaviness. Familiar yet unexpected shapes.

“Oh!” she said surprised.

“What?”

He was leaning over her on his elbows now, his face momentarily raised from its own exploration of her skin.

“I never knew about . . . this. These?”

There was a momentary silence, and then suddenly there was a burst of laughter in her ear, and there was a distinct alteration in the mood and urgency of the moment.

“What?” he said again, laughing so hard he was scarcely able to breathe. “You didn’t . . . how could . . . You’re a teacher, Holly! How could you not know?”

She sat up, sheets sliding off of her, feeling slightly offended.

“That is not exactly the sort of thing—things—teachers at girls’ seminaries are supposed to know. And I just didn’t
realise
. . . ”

Wiping away tears from his eyes, Baugham could not help himself. When she did not continue, he had to ask.

“You didn’t realise what?”

The laughter was contagious and soon Holly was fighting the urge to smile as well, even if he was having entirely too much fun at her expense.

“I mean . . . ” she said, “are they always like that? Isn’t it rather . . . in the way?”

This produced another round of mirth, which was compounded when he noticed her eyes surreptitiously darting downward for a better look. He reached up to kiss a bare breast that was just too inviting to ignore any longer.

“I suppose I’ve just learned to live with it,” he chuckled, “However, let me assure you that I am completely normal in this aspect of my physiology. But, honestly Holly, how did you not notice anything last night?”

“Well,” she said defensively, “there was so much new last night: places, feelings,
things
that . . . ”

He turned over on his back, threw off the sheets and stretched his arms over his head luxuriously.

“Here you are my love,” he declared still smiling. “Examine away till your heart’s content and I promise I will answer your questions about any further strangeness of my anatomy. Just be warned that I will be claiming the same privilege once you are finished.”

As much as she felt like she should leave him in his smug glory, or at the very least attempt to smother him with a pillow, she found that she really did not want to go anywhere—and that she was actually somewhat interested in doing just what he suggested.

She ran her finger down his stomach, following that trail that would lead her to such an unexpected source of both physical and intellectual amazement. Then she smiled at him in the dim light and removed her hand.

“Oh, but now I’m not admitting to being nervous again.”

He returned her gaze and for a moment the world was still—in suspension. Then he sat up and leaned over to kiss her arm from her shoulder to her wrist.

“Come,” he said softly and took her hand, “let me show you something else then.”

She let him pull her towards him and slowly lift her up to straddle his lap. She gave a gasp as he guided himself into her and little by little she moved her legs to encircle his back. She looked down at him and unmoving as they were, to her amazement she could feel him grow and settle into her.

He looked up at her, his hands very gently resting on her hips but otherwise completely still.

“Can you feel me?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“As I said earlier, you own me.”

Instinctively she arched a little closer to him and pushed her hands into his hair. He winced but obviously from pleasure. The power she had felt earlier returned to her in a rush and she shifted a little backwards again. He let out a sigh and then she understood. Slowly—as slowly as she knew how—she moved over him. All the while he looked up at her and his eyes were filled with admiration and pleasure. For the longest while, he did nothing, but when her movements became more urgent and she could not stop herself from bending in closer to him, kissing him, running her hands down his back and chest, he reciprocated, mirroring her movements as she showed him where she wanted to go.

Placing his hands on the small of her back, he pulled her closer with each of her thrusts, supporting her already frantic rhythm. Slowly, something started bubbling inside her. It pushed and built up a pressure rapidly and as the dams burst to release the pressure, she crouched over him and buried her face into his neck.