An Untitled Lady (13 page)

His hand stopped a moment. “I see I have been remiss. Give me a day or two, and I’ll rustle up an invitation or a concert. Tonight I’ll write introductions to two of the wives of men I do business with. You’ll be thick with friends and acquaintances in no time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She had one answer, at least. She was a merchant’s wife. She’d known few of their sort, but those at least had some schooling. She prayed it was true here in the over-practical north, too, or whatever would they have to talk about?

{ 14 }

After a quick, nearly silent supper on her new, folding dinner table, which might be pressed to seat up to six, Maddie retired upstairs and dressed for bed. The maid-of-all-work needed to return home for the evening, and Mrs. Willis wasn’t sure her fingers were nimble enough for the hooks at the back of Maddie’s dress. She would need to order dresses that hooked in front, dresses made of good Mancunian cloth.

Nash had agreed to the purchase of two dresses, with three more after she’d had time to discover which styles would suit her. He had not agreed to the clothes press and cabinetry, saying he’d see if Deacon had castoffs first.

“We’ll not live here forever,” he’d said, as if that were an explanation. She couldn’t foresee living in any place that could not use a good press or bureau. Even ships must have presses, if ladies were aboard.

Her head ached from learning about the house and fretting over everything else. Her back ached from the interminable carriage ride in an over-tightened corset. Despite it all, she could not bring herself to just tuck into her new husband’s sleeping area.

The bed looked rather like a landlubber furniture-maker’s image of a ship. Dark mahogany sides curve slightly inward, gripping the mattress at the edges. The posts held curtains that were little more than canvas, which would be good to keep the light out but bad for air circulation.

The maid had not let down the curtains. Maddie loosened one of the ties and a trickle of dust drifted down. Apparently he did not need the privacy.

Well, she certainly did. She pushed the panel down, casting dust into the air and down the floor, and then jumped back away from the worst of it. The canvas was lighter than she expected.

Each of the three sides exposed had its own curtain, stopped by the mast-like posts at the corners. By the time Maddie had all three down, the air in the room was cloudy. She went to the window and opened it. The temperature was a little cooler, soothing, but the consistency was much like the inside—except the outside air carried that blackish soot from the chimneys of the manufactories. She trusted the soot would drop and the air here on this floor, well off the ground, would be clearer. A light breeze fanned the curtain in.

She missed the smell of the sea, the shadow of salt she used to taste on her tongue from the air in Bath. Here, the air had a vague metallic finish, sharp but in a different way.

She was surprised that the master bedroom faced the street. But also glad, for she could see a dark figure walking with Nash’s long stride down the street. He’d gone to check on something at the warehouse again. It looked like she would be forever competing with that building for her husband’s attention. If only she could enlist its help.

She pulled back from the window so he wouldn’t see her, and continued to observe him. From his slouch hat to his multi-pocketed coat, he looked the moderately prosperous merchant. His sloping step was not as bow-legged as many of the gentlemen who rode every day, and he had lost much of that shuffling gait sailors used on land.

She heard him turn the key in the door’s lock—another difference from the country—and step inside.

A shiver of fearful excitement swept through her. They had performed the public ceremonies to become man and wife. Now they would perform the private ones.

She wanted his hands on her, his solid warmth, his lips. Oh yes, those lips.

He opened the door, a candle in his hand. He looked at the canvas curtains, and then saw her at the window. She felt naked under her night rail and wrapper, and tucked her arms around her waist.

“Don’t be nervous.” He set the candle on the stand beside the bed away from her, and walked to the chest in the corner opposite.

“Do you need your man?”

“No man. You could help me with my boots?”

Maddie found that small domestic chore eased her nerves. Until he spoke again.

“Is that a new wrapper? It’s quite sheer. I believe I can see your shadows.”

She looked down. The hint of dark at the tips of her breasts was obvious. She watched in shame as the pale skin around them flamed pink.

“I don’t want you wearing that around the house.”

“Of course not.” She wouldn’t dare. She tried to cover herself, but felt the heat pink her chest and wash up her face to the roots of her hair.

“Good.” His voice roughened. “I don’t wish to share you with anyone.”

She looked up, startled. He took her elbow and pulled her toward him. She settled carefully onto his lap.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

The ridge in his pants burned where it touched her thigh. She could hear his quick breaths.

“I want you, Maddie. Are you ready for me?”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed, a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “You’re not, then. Help me with my shirt.”

His shirt had more buttons than she expected. “I thought most shirts had ties.”

“They do. I’m wearing my inventory, as they say. We have far too many buttons on hand. Why not set a trend for the men?”

She undid a button at his cuff, her finger running along the pulse point in his wrist. He inhaled sharply. “Should I wear buttons, too?” They might be easier for Mrs. Willis, as well.

“I should think so,” he said, capturing her hand and pulling it up to his mouth. He gave the palm the gentlest of kisses. She closed her eyes and forgot about Mrs. Willis.

The kisses continued down the inside of her arm, past the indent of her elbow. They paused as he pushed her wrapper off her shoulder, and then continued on the prickled-hot skin of her upper arm. With his other hand, he massaged across her shoulder to her neck, pulling her closer to him. She pressed her hands into his chest.

Her head fell back, her neck aching for his favors. With his thumb, he teased her lower lip. By the time his lips replaced his thumb, hers had already swollen with promise and an ache that was starting to grow familiar.

Maddie opened her mouth eagerly. She loved this part, when their breaths mixed, their tongues joined. The movement took all her attention, the loneliness and worries of the day washed away.

She wished the kiss could go on forever, but too soon Nash broke it. They sighed in harmony. His chuckle drew a small smile from her. She liked the deep dimple on his left.

He pushed a stray curl back from her forehead. “Shall we dispense with the rest of my clothing and try the bed? It’s a dashed sight more comfortable than this chair.”

He gripped her under the knees, his other arm behind her shoulders and stood, lifting her easily. As she turned her head to see where the edge of the curtain was so she could pull it aside, he kissed the tender space along her neck under her ear.

She pulled the curtain back slowly, opening the bed to the moonlight from the window. He bent and gently lay her on top of the covers. “Stay there,” he said, and then shrugged out of his shirt. His chest was wide and strong, as if it were he who carried the bolts and bales in the warehouse. Small wonder he’d had no trouble toting her.

He turned a bit to push his pants down. His rounded buttocks and powerful legs shone in the bluish light. He was just as magnificent without clothes as in them. He turned and stepped into the bed so quickly she got only a glimpse of his manhood. But that quick peek told her he was ready for plowing, as the farmers put it.

“I don’t wish you to be frightened.” He sat at her hip, his bent leg hiding his manly tool. “I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. I understand that it may not be so the first few times.”

He reached out, running a palm down the side of her face. She breathed him in, wanting him closer. Wanting to please, to not disappoint.

She took his arm to draw him in. He pushed up to his knees and settled himself to her side, pulling her to her side. She wanted to look down between them, but her gaze skittered away. He smiled, and taking her hand, pulled it down to his center.

“It’s nothing to be frightened of.” He pushed her hand onto his shaft. It was warmer than she expected, pulsing with life. She kept her hand still for a moment, and then wrapped her fingers along the thick width of him.

He groaned, moving his hips. A shock of elation shot through her. She moved him with just a touch. Surely she could do this.

Then he was kissing her again, faster and harder. She could feel whispers of an echo of what their tongues were doing in the movements of his shaft against her hand. She nipped at his tongue with her teeth, and the shaft jumped.

A dark flash of imagination cut through her mind, and she gasped, drowning.

She’d heard this before, and it was bad. A bad thing. She was bad. A bad thing.

Before she knew it, she was all the way off the bed away from him, on the floor. The closed curtain surrounded her. She scrambled to slide under the bed, but the wooden sideboards went all the way to the ground.

She was in a pit, with snakes all around. Warm pulsing snakes. They were huge and growing larger. She was small and shrinking. She cried out.

“Madeline!”

Something grabbed her shoulder, a python ready to bite. She shrieked and tried to get away, but it held her in its hard jaws.

“Maddie!”

Someone whispered her name. A good voice, strong. She shuddered, and the snake’s head on her shoulder melted into a warm hand. The legion of vipers on the floor slid away until all that was left was the dust of the curtain and her nightgown, twisted around her.

“Come back to bed.”

Nash’s arm slid under her armpit, pulling her up. Once her hip hit the bed, he pushed to embrace her.

“What happened?”

“A nightmare. Was I sleeping?”

“Not exactly.” His voice carried concern, and not a little bit of ruefulness. “I’ve never experienced that reaction to my lovemaking before. I must be out of practice.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled away, and gazed at her face a moment. “Why?”

“It’s my fault. I ruin everything.”

“Who told you that?”

“Just look. You aren’t even excited by me anymore.”

Nash chuckled. “Hearing your partner shriek in terror is not the best aphrodisiac, true. Maddie, I want you. I like your smell, and your taste.” He bent down and licked her exposed shoulder. She froze, and then forced herself to relax. “I like the sound of you and the look of you. I never meant to frighten you.”

“You still want me?”

“I do. But I want you to feel the same. If you can.”

“I can. I was. Then.” She shook her head. Where had that image come from? Nothing in her life had been remotely as terrifying as that nightmare.

“It’s all that fire and brimstone they feed you at church. You’ll find it’s not at all like that.” He pulled the covers down and she wriggled into bed. He slid down beside her.

“Don’t you wear anything to bed?”

“I haven’t. I can change if you wish it.”

“Must I be naked, too?”

“Only if you wish it.”

“Do you wish it?”

He turned her on her side away from him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into his front, as if they were spoons. “Does this frighten you?”

She listened inside. Where had that screaming bit disappeared to? “No.”

He sighed against her neck. He kissed the lobe of her ear, and then whispered, “I would love to have your skin next to mine, in passion or in sleep, but only if you, too, wish it.”

“I like this.”

“Then I like it, too. Your hair smells of honeysuckle.”

They lay together, and gradually the muscles in her legs relaxed. Her shoulders eased. Her breathing became more regular. Her zigzag thoughts started to slow. It had never been so easy to fall asleep.

* * * *

Nash did not fall asleep. When he was sure Maddie was deep under, he gently pulled his arms back, pressing the covers in place around her. He rolled over and up to sit with his back against the headboard, his knees up.

What the hell?

Having a wife was already more work than he’d expected. He’d hope his bride would shriek, true, but with pleasure. This one’s voice held pure terror. He devoutly hoped the Willises hadn’t overheard.

Something had hurt her, something fierce. Had she spent years at the feet of some vicar who equated pleasure with sin—or death? Had her headmistress been a secret sadist, teaching her poor charges how filthy they were? She’d read too many of the wrong sort of books?

He’d seen the terror well up, her gasps for air forcing her eyes wide and dark. She’d fought to find her breath, to warm to him again, and she had—until another wave knocked her away and out of the bed. She had passion enough. He grew harder at the memory, and shifted his position. But then—the abyss.

Nash cursed himself in a whisper. He had worked so hard to pull this wedding off quickly, but had forgotten that marriage followed hard upon it.

His wife had no idea of Manchester, no friends, no relations. He did not know her habits, her likes or dislikes. Would she enjoy a concert or a poetry reading, or was she a dancer and gossiper?

He had not known her a week, and not even seen her half those days. He did know that she was cut adrift, looking for purchase, and he had failed at anchoring her. What had Mrs. Willis said? He’d dumped her on the stoop like so much cabbage. His housekeeper was kindness itself, but perhaps a bit fearsome looking to a stranger.