A Seven Year Hitch (22 page)

             
Reluctantly leaving her breast, Ross lowered his arm and bunching the material in his hand, pulled up her skirt until he had access to her shapely legs. Stroking erotically, he marvelled at the softness of her skin, tracing her calf; her knee; her thigh; until he reached the juncture where soft curls nestled. Distracting her with his kiss, he touched her and felt her moistness; confirming what he already knew, that she was ready for him. He parted her folds and touched her intimately, running his finger along the nub.  She gasped and he plunged his tongue deeper before withdrawing and plunging again, this time mimicking the move with his finger, pushing into her core.

             
Erica eyes flew open in shock, suddenly panicking at this hitherto unknown invasion of her feminine place. Her body was roused and seeking something more, but what she did not know. An overwhelming sense of shyness washed over her and a self-consciousness at being so intimately touched by this handsome man, made her hide her face from his probing look as she pushed on his chest.

             
Recognizing her sudden withdrawal for a virgin’s natural reticence, he curbed his own impatience and swallowed an expletive. If he didn’t bury himself in her soon he would go demented. As it was, a long, wakeful night stretched before him unless he could overcome her maidenly reserve in the next couple of minutes.

“Erica, look at me! Trust me! You are so gloriously wet, let me show you the acts of love.” He lay atop of her, holding her face between his hands, but she refused to meet his eyes and Ross could feel the heat of mingled desire and embarrassment flood her face.

“No, I can’t,” she whispered, knowing that she acutely wanted to complete what they had started, but was loath to gift her body to a man who lusted after her, but did not love her.  

“You’re torturing me!” he grimaced, taking a moment to rein in his heated passion.

“Very well,” he said, standing up, “I will allow you to escape but be warned, next time; and there will be a next time, I will take you.”

Prudently, Erica refrained from retorting; instead she dashed for the door, clasping the sides of her bodice together in one hand, and escaped before he could change his mind.

              The oblivion of sleep was what she craved but her body refused to rest. The scene in her sitting room replayed again and again in her mind and Erica tentatively touched her breasts upon which he had feasted a short while before. Her body still tingled from his caresses and ached for more and every time she closed her eyes, his face, etched              with passion came into clear focus. Sighing deeply, she turned onto her back and watched the first streaks of light flirtatiously dance across the ceiling.

If only, she thought, her husband had given a small sign that he held her in some sort of affection and not just as a possession to be claimed. Then, she would happily share his life and his bed. She knew he hungered for her physically, but lust without love could not be sustained and when it palled, he would then seek his pleasures elsewhere. Loving him as she did, only heartache, it seemed, awaited her whichever way she turned.

              Trevellyn, one floor above Erica, was also enduring an equally sleepless night. He was sexually frustrated and being tormented by images of his wife’s curvaceous body; her bountiful breasts, rounded hips but most of all by the glorious tightness of her. He knew she was close to yielding to him but appreciated there was still a concern that would not permit her to take the final, irrevocable step. Until he could fathom out and vanquish her anxieties he was in danger of losing her and that was not a tenable option.

Lying on his back, his hands locked behind his head, Ross sifted through his thoughts and memories for any clues that could shed light on the reason for Erica’s reticence. He dismissed it as being anger at their forced marriage and subsequent separation, for he was sure, she had come to terms with that. Any worries that he might curtail her business interests would have been banished tonight and he was unconcerned that she might love someone else because without doubt, he knew she was as deeply in love with him as he was with her. He smiled as he recalled all the signs, most of them subconscious ones; the unguarded expressions, the smiles, the touches, the looks.

He held his breath when realization suddenly hit him. She had never told him that she loved him, she had not needed to, but likewise, he had not told her either and if she had failed to read the signs, believing him to be only physically attracted to her, then she would hold back. He knew his wife well enough to know that love in marriage would be all important to her and that she would not want to settle for anything less. The key to creating a true marriage lay in uttering just three little but crucially important words, ‘I love you’

Turning on his side and watching the first streaks of daylight flitting across the ceiling, Ross could not prevent a huge grin. He would of-course embellish those three little words with avowals of undying devotion and adoration but at the very first opportunity he would go down on bended knee and declare them.

              Rehearsals were late beginning the following morning owing to the tardy arrival of the leading lady, who eventually turned up heavy eyed and yawning but full of perfuse apologies for having kept everyone waiting.

“Prima Donnas do not apologize!” Charlie enlightened her. “They throw tantrums and make ridiculous demands and think nothing of keeping their fellow thespians dangling.”

“And Charlie should know,” remarked Stephen, “He’s known one or two in his time!”

Charlie gave him a pained look and reminded him there were lad
ies present to which Fiona said, “Never mind that. Are they really so temperamental or is it all part of the act?”

Charlie fidgeted uncomfortably but finding no rescue was imminent answered her question.

“Most of them but some are pretty rational,” he mumbled.

“But not the last one, eh Charlie?” Gerald teased but only loud enough for Charlie and Stephen, who was standing close by, to hear.

“So why are you so popular with them all?” Fiona persisted.

A slight flush crept up Charlie’s face beginning at his neck and ending at his hairline where it clashed violently with his artistically arranged, red locks.

Taking pity, Erica saved him from answering but could not resist a little teasing of her own.

“Its obvious why, Fiona. How can they resist his boyish good looks and dimpled smile?” she proclaimed. “Not forgetting of-course that he is a veritable font of on-dits and can entertain them for hours with all the latest gossip.”

“I don’t believe it is his on-dits that hold their attention, my dear girl,” Ross said, “but you may be right about the dimples!”

“He tells me it is his enormous assets that keep them enthralled but I shal
l have to take his word on that,” Gerry added.

“Will you please cut it out?” Charlie said but whether anyone heard him was debatable for the men were snorting with suppressed laughter while the young ladies all looked enquiringly at each other.

“What’s so funny?” Erica asked Trevellyn.

“I’ll tell you later, I promise, but for the sake of maidenly reserve
,” he nodded towards Charlotte and Sophie, “we should discuss something else.”

“Let’s get back to work, shall we people?” Sophie glanced at the clock “We have a lot to get done before the grand showing at the end of the week!”

              Having been reminded of the urgency of his or her task, the rehearsals for the remainder of the morning went well with no further distractions interrupting the proceedings. When the lunch gong indicated the end of the session, the actors were cheerfully optimistic that this was shaping up to be their best performance ever, and that all would be ready for their audience.

“I cannot understand why we never thought of writing our own play before
,” Charlotte said. “It is so much more fun than some of the fusty old stuff we have done previously.”

“I agree,” Fiona chipped in. “So what is next year’s play going to be about Gerry?”

“Trevellyn and I have made our contribution to family entertainment and the arts world. Next year the mantle will have to pass to one of you.”

“I nominate Fiona,
” Erica said, “She’s always been good at spinning a yarn, or so Miss Trilby always used to say when we were at school!”

“Very funny!” Fiona retorted. “But I would not object to having a stab at it, providing you all promise not to criticize if it does not compare to this year’s effort. Gerry and Trevellyn have, after all, left us with a difficult act to follow.”

“Stick as close as possible to real life events, that’s my advice,” Gerry told her.

“Is that what you did?” asked Sophie, “Surely your play is pure fabrication.”

“Yes, Trevellyn, how much of your play is based on truth?” Fiona asked.

Trevellyn threw his brother-in-law an exasperated look before replying with enough nuance in his voice to make it sound that he was joking.

“Oh it is all true, Fiona. Even down to chasing my wife around the house in order to kiss her!”

Everyone laughed and Fiona slapped him playfully on the arm as they joined the rest of the family on the terrace.

              Ross had observed Erica’s tiredness. Her refusal to look him directly in the eye bespoke of some feelings of awkwardness after last night’s intimacy and although her manner towards him appeared normal, he had noted her reluctance when coming into any physical contact. He watched her saunter along the terrace and, thinking it prudent to give her some space, he turned away and joined his parents.

“Have you any updates to report, son?” His father wasted no time on social niceties but went straight to the point.

“I’m fine Father, how are you?” Ross could not resist saying and for the second time within a few minutes he was slapped on his arm, this time by his mother.

“I really must consider purchasing jackets with protective padding!” he said rubbing his hand along his opposite arm.

“Stop being so provoking Ross, and tell us how you’re fairing with our daughter-in-law,” his mother remonstrated.

“Oh very well, Mother. I have overcome most of her reservations regarding our marriage but have, I feel, one more obstacle to traverse. But, having said that, I am feeling confident that all will be sorted before the end of the house party.”

“That does not give you much time though,” said the Duchess, looking anxious.

“I still have two weeks grace eve
n if I don’t succeed by then,” he reassured her. “ I stipulated in our wager that I would require a couple of weeks without her family’s presence. At the time I had not realized how accommodating they would be in helping me with my quest.”

“It would however, be convenient to announce your marriage while the family
are still gathered together,” the Duke stated. “Is there anything we can do to assist you?”

“Actually Father, there is,
” Ross told him. “Could you ask her to show you the sketches made by her Great-grandfather on his travels around the world and those he did for the themed gardens? If I ask at the moment she will find some excuse but is not likely to refuse should you make the request.”
The Duke nodded. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them anyway!”

“And then you would like us to make ourselves sc
arce and leave you two alone?” his mother spelled out the rest of the plan so all were au fait with their particular roles.

“Yes, Mother. I trust you to drag Father away with you because otherwise he may become so absorbed in the paintings he will forget to go.”

“Very well, my boy, leave it to us,” his father told him. “Now may I suggest you mingle. If we ask with you nearby, she’ll smell a conspiracy.”

“How right you are, Sir. Until later then
,” and so saying, Ross left to engage Sir Richard and Aunt Clara in conversation.

             
Lunch was drawing to a close when the Duke attracted Erica’s attention and brought the conversation around to the drawings made by her Great-grandfather.

“Would it be too much trouble for me to see them, my dear?” he enquired.

Erica glanced suspiciously across at Ross but as he was deep in a conversation of his own and had not heard his father’s request, she relaxed and said; “Of-course, Simian, I would be delighted to show you.”

“
Would you mind if Stephen and I tagged along too?” Fiona broke off from her chat with Aunt Hebe to ask.

“No, of course not. The more the merrier!” Erica assured her, feeling more comfortable. If Ross had enlisted his Father in a strategy to get her alone it had just backfired somewhat she thought, smugly.

“Didn’t Trevellyn express an interest in viewing them?” Fiona added, deflating her smugness somewhat.

“Ross!” she called. “We’re off to the library in a moment to see those paintings you wanted to see, are you coming?”

“Absolutely. Providing, that is, Miss Wilmshurst has no objection,” he said, smiling at her.

“None at all, My Lord
,” she replied. With four other people in attendance, she reasoned, she would surely be safe from his persuasive kisses.