When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories (5 page)

S
ylvie took
to her bed for two days. She sent a note round to Edmund telling him she was unwell the first night. She’d refused to see him the following morning, pleading a stomach illness, and he’d penned a note saying she should contact him when she was feeling better. She’d read between the lines. He was very concerned for her, and angry that he couldn’t force his way in to see her. Last night John had stood beneath her window softly calling up to her in a chilling, singsong voice half the night. He thought he had her, that she would give in.

She’d cried out all her tears and made her decision. She would break it off with Edmund, and refuse to pay John his blood money. She wouldn’t be in that kind of debt to him. She would have to leave here, of course, even if John didn’t make good on his threats. She felt soul sick at the thought of losing Edmund and The Byrne. Before it had been a vague possibility in the back of her mind, now it was a crushing reality.

She wanted to tell Edmund at the vicarage, not here. That was not a memory she wanted to take with her from The Byrne. She dressed carefully in a sedate walking dress, proper respectable widow attire. Then she called for a horse, pointedly asking Jernigan for help mounting, ignoring John’s smirking face next to the horse.

When she arrived in Byrnham she decided to walk for a bit, and left her horse at the town stable. She was so preoccupied she didn’t notice the odd look the stable master gave her as he tipped his hat at the coin she pressed into his hand.

She stopped on the main street, looking in the dressmaker’s window at some samples there, and she heard two women conversing boldly right behind her.

“There she is. Can you believe the nerve? I heard it was her coachman, a boy not even half her age! Disgraceful.”

“Well, a widow married young, without a strong man to guide her, it’s trouble from the start. No sense of propriety, of right or wrong! The poor lad, forced into such an abominable union.” The woman clucked her tongue in shame.

Sylvie spun around to see two women a few years older than she. She knew them, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Hopplewhite. She’d worked with them on the parish charity board. They had always been pleasant to her, if a little distant. Now they narrowed their eyes at her in disdain, and then spun about, giving her the cut direct. Sylvie was horrified. She looked about and saw several people on the street watching, some in horror, some with approval. She saw pretty little Alice Bauer, the baker’s daughter next door to the dressmaker’s, glaring at the women as they walked by her.

Oh God, did Edmund know? Had he heard already? Sylvie began to walk quickly back to the stable, unable to face the people of Byrnham for even one second more. By the time she reached the blessedly dark recesses of the stable she was running.

E
dmund threw
himself from the horse after he reined it harshly to a stop in front of The Byrne. Alice Bauer had come running to the vicarage not half an hour past to tell him about Sylvie’s experience in Byrnham that afternoon. Alice had let it spill that most of the village knew he and Sylvie were involved, or as Alice put it, “head over arse for one another”. She had ranted about Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Hopplewhite who, according to Alice, were jealous and spiteful because Edmund hadn’t looked twice at their homely, unmarried daughters.

This had simply accelerated his plans, that was all. He had planned to enjoy the illicit nature of their present affair for a few more weeks before asking Sylvie to marry him. Common knowledge of the affair meant only that they would marry sooner. It need have no bearing on their relationship other than that, none.

So why was he so panicked? He could feel his heart trying pound out of his chest. He was panicking because he knew Sylvie. She was still so sensitive about their age difference. He didn’t understand it. To him it meant nothing. She was his soul mate, no matter their ages—the woman he’d been waiting for. And he knew she loved him, he knew it.

It was the other rumor. She’d as much as admitted she’d had another lover. Was it true? Was it this young coachman? And if so, was it also true that she had a predilection for young men? Was he only one in a string of younger lovers?

Jernigan opened the door, the stoic butler for once looking discomposed. “Mr. James,” he greeted Edmund, blocking his entrance.

“Hello, Jernigan,” Edmund said, trying to get around the older man. “I must see Lady Bartlebyrne at once.”

“Lady Bartlebyrne is not receiving today, sir,” Jernigan told him, his distress evident.

Edmund narrowed his eyes and glared at Jernigan. “She will receive me.” His voice was a low, angry growl.

Jernigan nervously cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. James, but she specifically said she was not home to you today.”

“Sylvie!” Edmund’s bellow echoed through the foyer. “Sylvie, damn it! Let me in!”

“Mr. James!” Jernigan gasped, shocked. He tried to close the door but Edmund shoved his foot in the way and pushed his shoulder against it.

“Sylvie!” he bellowed again.

“Let him in, Jernigan,” Sylvie said quietly from behind the butler.

Jernigan opened the door and stepped aside. Sylvie was looking at him, sad and wan, from the hallway. She turned and walked back toward her solar. “We do not wish to be disturbed, Jernigan,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word.

Edmund stepped through the door, noting the worried look on the butler’s face. “Don’t worry, Jernigan,” Edmund told him flatly, “I will take care of it.”

Jernigan sighed with relief. “Thank you, Mr. James.”

“It’s true,” Sylvie said as soon as Edmund closed the door. He looked so upset, she didn’t wait for him to speak. She couldn’t bear to hear what he had to say to her. He must be so angry, feel so betrayed.

“Which one?” he asked in a low voice.

Sylvie spun back around to look at him. God, he was so beautiful. Her heart ached at the sight of him. For a short time he had been hers. His words confused her. “What? What do you mean?”

Edmund stalked across the room to stand in front of her. “I mean which rumor is true? That you and I are in love, or that you fucked your coachman?”

Sylvie gasped. “People are saying we’re in love?”

Edmund looked as if she’d punched him. “Then it’s true, that you fucked your coachman?”

The pain in his voice made Sylvie wrap her arms around her stomach and bend over, overcome with guilt and shame and a deep sadness. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, it’s true.”

Edmund’s hands were rough on her shoulders as he raised her up, until she balanced on her toes, only his hold keeping her standing. “When? When did you fuck him?”

He was so intense, the anguish in his eyes so clear that Sylvie turned her head away, her eyes closed. “About a month ago, before you and I…” her voice trailed off.

Edmund shook her. “Before you let me lick me your pussy, and you sucked my cock? Before you made me beg for the chance to fuck your beautiful behind? Before that?”

“Yes!” Sylvie sobbed, and Edmund pulled her into a desperately tight hug.

“Then I don’t care,” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t care, Sylvie. God help me, I love you so much. Whatever happened before I came into your life doesn’t matter.”

“You were here,” she sobbed, determined that he know everything—determined to lay bare the extent of her perfidy. “You were here, and I wanted you so, Edmund. But I never dreamed that we would be together. After dinner at the Poole’s that night, he…he pulled over and took me, and I let him. I wanted you, but I let him!” She was sobbing so hard she could hardly speak.

Edmund’s arms fell away, and he pulled her over to the divan, pushing her down. It took her a moment to realize he’d gone to one knee before her.

“Marry me, Sylvie,” he asked quietly, his gaze intent, his hold on her hand bruising.

“Wh-what?” she stuttered, unable to believe she’d heard him correctly.

“Marry me.”

“But…but why?” She was dumbfounded. She’d never expected this, never in a million years.

Edmund smiled sadly. “For the usual reasons, at least on my part. I’m in love with you, you see, and in my world that means I want to marry you.”

“But…but we can’t!” Sylvie was aghast. He couldn’t love her! He was throwing everything away, couldn’t he see that?

“Why can’t we?” His mouth was set stubbornly. Sylvie had seen that look before, when he was determined to fuck her behind, when he wouldn’t let her say no. She’d given in then, and been glad she did. But not on this. She had to save him from his own folly.

Sylvie set her palm against his cheek tenderly. She sniffed, the tears still falling, but not quite so violently. “Dearest Edmund. I am too old for you. You are a young man. You deserve a young wife, who will give you children.” She looked away. “One who doesn’t have this kind of scandal in her past.”

Edmund surprised her when he stood abruptly, cursing. “God damn it, Sylvie! I am so damn tired of hearing how old you are. You are thirty-nine, not eighty-nine! Although even if you were, I would still love you.” He paced in front of her tugging on his hair in agitation. “You wear me out in the bedroom, Sylvie. You take all I can give you and then demand more, until I’m spent and utterly useless. If that is the sexual appetite of an old woman, I don’t want a young one!” He spun to look at her, his eyes blazing with determination. “You are beautiful, desirable, witty, charming, intelligent, kind—in other words, everything a man could want in a wife.” He fell to his knees again, his hands on her thighs, his look pleading. “Everything I want in a wife.” He shook his head. “I know I am not a great prize, Sylvie. Marrying me will be a rather large step down for you, socially speaking. But I love you. I love you more than anyone will ever love you. Please, Sylvie, please.”

Sylvie was weakening. “Children…” she said in a broken voice, but Edmund spoke over her.

“You are still young enough to have children, Sylvie. Lady Templeton just had twins, and she is forty-two.”

Sylvie started in surprise. “Twins? Are you sure? I hadn’t heard.”

Edmund gave her a lopsided grin. “I have the best sources for gossip in the parish—my housekeeper and my mother’s letters.”

Sylvie smiled back, but shook her head. “You must think more about this, Edmund. And I must quit The Byrne. The scandal will reach London soon, and I must see Geoffrey before it does.”

Edmund’s chin turned stubborn once again. “Would you marry me if you were pregnant, Sylvie?”

Again, he’d taken Sylvie by surprise, and she answered without thinking. “Well, of course, Edmund, but we both know I’m not— What are you doing?” The last was asked with alarm as Edmund pulled her to the floor. He hands grabbed her legs and spread them, pushing her skirts up.

“I’m going to fuck you.” His response was spoken conversationally, but his hands were hard and determined.

“
E
dmund
!” Sylvie cried as she heard her drawers rip, his hands strong and forceful as he tore them off. She couldn’t stop the thrill that shot through her, the cream that immediately coated her sex at his rough treatment, at the thought of his cock in her. Edmund’s hand cupped her as his finger slid hard inside her. She moaned and arched her back and he grinned triumphantly.

“You are always so ready for me, Sylvie. Have you any idea how hard it has been to deny myself this for the past two weeks?” He thrust his finger in over and over, his palm grinding on her clitoris, and Sylvie writhed beneath his assault. “I’m going to fuck you, Sylvie. This,” he fucked his finger into her and hooked it, rubbing up and down on the secret spot inside her that only he knew, the one that made her cry and beg, “this is mine. After today there will be no more barriers between us.” Sylvie cried out, thrusting against his hand and he laughed, truly amused. “Even angry with me, even playing the martyr you are a siren, Sylvie. This cunt was made for cock, my cock.”

Edmund pulled his hand out and began to roughly unfasten his trousers, his hands shaking. Sylvie was panting, wanting him desperately, but equally desperate to stop this madness, to get away before he did something he’d regret. As he worked the buttons on his pants, Sylvie tried to push back, bracing her feet on the floor and crawling backward. It was hard to get purchase he had her legs spread so far open. She hadn’t gone far when he grabbed her ankle and hauled her back toward him, his pants open, his cock jutting out, angry and red and gorgeous. Sylvie felt a shudder rack her body as her pussy clenched in need at the sight of it. She kicked out at him, and he tightened his grip, grabbing both legs. He raised her legs until they were bent over his shoulders and he fell over her, so she couldn’t bring them down, couldn’t escape. His control over her drove her wild, her nipples so hard each brush of her chemise over them torture, her slit so wet and aroused that she ached, actually ached, for his cock.

“Please, Edmund, please,” she sobbed.

“What, Sylvie?” he whispered dangerously, braced on his arms as he fit his hips to hers, his cock rubbing in the cream that coated her nether lips. “What do you want?”

Sylvie shook her head in distress while her mind screamed,
You! I want you, Edmund!
She bit her lip to keep the words locked inside, hoping if she didn’t say it, he would give up this insane idea. But also hoping he didn’t give up, hoping against hope that he’d thrust his glorious cock inside her and fuck her until they collapsed, exhausted, and then fuck her again. She sobbed at her selfishness.

But she didn’t need to speak. Edmund knew her better than that. “You want
me
,” he growled as he thrust into her hard and deep. His penetration was powerful, rough, and felt so good Sylvie couldn’t contain her scream as she threw her head back and arched into him. He thrust once into her and ground his pelvis against her sensitive clitoris and Sylvie came. She could no more control her reaction to finally being fucked by Edmund than she could control the tides. She sobbed his name and tightened her legs around his neck, holding his cock deep inside her while she worshipped it.

“Yes, yes,” Edmund told her, holding his cock deep for her, letting her fuck herself on it, on him, her orgasm wild, out of control. When she fell back to the floor panting, he began to fuck her in earnest. “Now that that one’s out of the way,” he said roughly, “let’s see how many more times I can make you come before I spill inside you, Sylvie.” He thrust in and out in a hard, fast rhythm, different than when he fucked her mouth or her ass, where he’d been gentler, slower. This was a driving, furious fuck, full of passion and anger and determination. Sylvie thrilled to it, devoured it and drove herself against his pistoning cock until sanity returned.

“No, Edmund, no,” she cried, pushing him back with her arms. He grabbed both wrists and gathered them in one hand, pinning them over her head. She was completely at his mercy, and from the heat in his eyes he knew it. His thrusts gentled, became slower, deep and grinding, and Sylvie saw stars, the pleasure was so intense.

“Yes, Sylvie, yes,” he answered her, but she had forgotten her earlier cry. She forgot everything but Edmund and the feel of him filling her, over and over, forcing pleasure into her until she was like a cup that overflowed, a never-ending fountain of pleasure.

“God, Sylvie,” Edmund breathed as she locked her legs around his neck and opened herself completely to him. He leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was ferociously possessive, a claiming and a promise. Sylvie tasted her tears on his lips, and kissed him back with abandon. His cock glided into her pussy, the wet sound of flesh on flesh the only one in the room save their panting breaths. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. Edmund’s pace increased, his body straining. She knew he was going to come deep inside her, that his seed might take root there, that he wanted it to, and she selfishly urged him on with softly murmured words and with the lift and embrace of her hips and hot, wet passage.

“I’m going to come, Sylvie,” he ground out, his hips pressed tightly to hers, unmoving. He held there until Sylvie looked at him, and triumph filled his eyes. His hips moved against her, once, twice, and she felt the delicious friction of his cock inside. As he began to come, his face contorted with pleasure, Sylvie was graced with another orgasm, a climax that reveled in the hot seed flowing into her, the strong, virile man fucking her so deeply, and the words of love that poured from his lips.

When it was over, Edmund gingerly lowered Sylvie’s legs and she groaned.

“I may not be an old woman, but I may possibly be too old to do that very often,” she joked. Edmund laughed, his spirit light.

She’d said yes. Not with words, but with her eyes, her face, her body. She’d accepted his climax inside her. Even now his seed might be bearing fruit. They were to be wed. Edmund rolled to his back, still buried inside Sylvie, pulling her on top of him. He closed his eyes against tears of happiness. And he felt like a complete idiot. He was not generally a poetic, romantic fool. But Sylvie, Christ. She was his.

“Edmund?” she asked, concern in her voice. “Are you having second thoughts?”

His eyes flew open to encounter her worried ones. “Only about ravishing you on the floor. I think my knees shall be bruised for a fortnight.”

She straddled him more comfortably and leaned forward to rub her nose on his. The motion moved his over-sensitized cock inside her, and the sensation was a hot slash of pleasure. His back arched and he groaned. Sylvie laughed. “I shall make it up to you,” she whispered as her mouth opened on his. Her kiss was tender and hungry, as Sylvie’s kisses always were. He never grew tired of her insatiable hunger for him.

She trailed gentle kisses down his jaw as his cock softened and pulled from her warm sheath. “Tell me,” he asked. She froze for a moment and then lay her head down on his shoulder. He could tell she knew exactly what he meant.

“I’ve told you, really. On the way home from the Poole’s, John pulled the coach over on that lonely stretch of road near Harker’s field. I didn’t know what was wrong. Then he opened the door and stepped into the coach. He closed the door behind him, but even in the darkness I could see him unbutton his trousers and he was hard. I was so lonely, Edmund.” She pressed her nose into his neck, her voice trembling. “I wanted you. I’d been burning for you every night, and had no hope of ever having you. I needed something to ease me. He was…” she paused, clearly distressed. “He was just a cock in the dark, Edmund, very like the dildo you gave me. Not real.” She pushed off him and sat on the floor next to him. He rolled to his side to face her, and leaned on his elbow.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, seeing the shame and distress on her face.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and nodded. She sniffed and looked up at him with trepidation. “That’s not the end of it. When I went to tell him the other day that it couldn’t happen again, that he would have to leave, he threatened me.”

Edmund sat up then, alert. “What do you mean? Threatened you how?”

Sylvie sighed and gestured around them. “Threatened this—to tell everyone about him and me.” She looked down and folded her hands in her lap. “About us. He knows about us, Edmund.”

Edmund snorted. “Apparently most of the parish knows about us, Sylvie. But the other, it’s unconscionable that a gentleman should tell tales of a lady.”

Sylvie was shaking her head. “He is no gentleman, Edmund.” She bit her lip. “He tried to…to grab me, in the stable. I had to bite his lip to get away.” She was shaking, and Edmund felt murderous.

“I will take care of him, Sylvie. You aren’t to worry anymore. When I am done, no one will believe his tales.” She looked so upset that Edmund deliberately changed the topic.

“Hmmm,” he said, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turning her face this way and that. “I must be losing my touch.”

Sylvie looked adorably confused. “What?”

“I have not fucked you insensible. I do not care to leave my lovers until they are insensate with pleasure.” He grinned, but Sylvie’s eyes filled with tears.

“Is that a way to get back at me?” she whispered. “To tell me of your other lovers?”

Edmund gathered her in his arms and lay down on the floor again with her draped across his chest. “No, my darling, it is my very awkward way of saying we both have pasts that are best forgotten. From this moment on there is only me and you, and no one else, ever.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, rubbing his cheek on the hair that had fallen there, breathing deeply of the scent that was pure Sylvie—pastries and sex.

“You mustn’t say that, Edmund,” she murmured, arching her neck to the side to give him more room as his lips began to roam.

He groaned and dropped his head to the floor. Christ, he thought she’d given up protesting. “Sylvie,” he said, exasperated, “will you stop?” He lifted his head and glared at her. “You are not going to get rid of me, so you’d best get used to me.”

“Edmund—“ He cut her off with a kiss. If he fucked her long enough, perhaps she’d forget her foolish worries and marry him.

Sylvie kissed him back but he could feel her reservation. It was so unlike her he pulled away, lingering against her lips for a moment.

“Please don’t worry, Sylvie,” he whispered. “I will take care of you. I want to take care of you.”

Sylvie smiled, the effort a little forced, and Edmund remembered his earlier feelings of panic.

“Well, I hate to be the one to point this out,” Sylvie said, giving him a quick kiss, “but we are rolling around on the floor of my solar, fucking in front of the windows in the middle of the day.” She pushed up on his chest with her hands and smiled wryly. “And Jernigan knows we are in here alone, with orders not to disturb us.”

Edmund felt relief wash over him. Was that all she was worried about? He gave her a roguish grin. “True, but he also knows I plan to marry you.” He grabbed her arse and squeezed and Sylvie yelped. “And I can’t very well get dressed with a beguiling wench lying invitingly across my very interested cock.”

Sylvie scrambled off him, to his regret, but she was right. This was not the time or place.

“Oh, goodness, Edmund, why didn’t you say something?” Her hands flew to her cheeks, pink with embarrassment.

He laughed. “The day I complain about a warm, willing woman spread across me like a wanton blanket is the day they’ll lay me in the ground.” He adjusted his trousers as he lay there, closing them, and tried to tuck his shirt in.

Sylvie laughed delightedly. “You look like a dog scratching his back the way you’re wiggling around down there.”

Edmund gave up on his appearance and pulled Sylvie back over on top of him. She squealed with surprise. “Edmund! I thought we were getting up?”

He buried his nose in the warm hollow behind her ear and kissed her. “You were too far away. And besides, I’m decent now.” She relaxed in his embrace, and let him kiss her. She was unable to remain passive for long and began to kiss him back, her passion rising. Edmund was considering moving behind the divan where no one would be able to see them through the window when an angry, insolent voice spoke from the terrace to their right.

“Well, now, sir, that’s the problem there. As soon as you let a woman on top in the bedroom, so to speak, you’re under her thumb out of it, my da used to say.”

Sylvie gasped and Edmund rolled, placing Sylvie beneath him, his back to the room, protecting her. “What the devil?” he cried, looking over his shoulder. A young man, built like a laborer, with a shock of dark black hair stood in the doorway of the terrace glaring at them. He felt an unaccustomed spurt of jealousy. This must be the coachman, the one who fucked Sylvie. He was attractive in a coarse, brutish way.

“Glad to see someone’s been scratchin’ her itch for me, Vicar,” the young man drawled as he leaned in the door. “Hate to think the widow’d let our little spat keep her from filling that hot little cunt.”

Sylvie whimpered beneath him and Edmund saw red. “What do you want?” he snarled as he rose to his feet, keeping Sylvie behind him.

The coachman laughed, the sound ugly. “What I’m due, of course. I serviced ‘er fair and square, and deserve my due.”

“You little bastard,” Edmund growled, taking a menacing step toward him.

The coachman laughed again. “What you gonna do, Vicar? Nothing, that’s what.” He scoffed in disdain. “You gentry, so afraid of what everyone thinks. Well I can make it better, can’t I? Tell ‘em what you wants ‘em to hear.” His look turned sly and calculating. “Or I can tell ‘em what I just seen. You and the sainted Lady Bartlebyrne fucking like animals in the parlor. Cost you a livin’, eh, Vicar?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Edmund said, his voice throbbing with anger.

“Oh, ho, that’s what the lady said to me, and I did it, didn’t I?” He laughed as he said it. Laughed about the horror he put Sylvie through this morning. Edmund didn’t think, he just charged.

“Edmund!” Sylvie screamed, but it was too late. He would only be satisfied with the little bastard’s blood.