Daring Masquerade (16 page)

"Couldn't you have found something better? I mean a scullery maid, of all things."

"I needed a job quickly. Not everyone is rich like you."

"I'm not rich."

"You went to Melbourne Grammar, you own a large cattle station. That's rich to me."

She walked over to him and cupped his face in her hands. "You won't be sorry you married me. I'll be a good wife, I promise. I'll do anything to make you happy."

"I'm sorry." He pulled her on to his lap. "I'm a moody bastard, but I'm anxious about the Medical Board tomorrow."

She slipped her arms around his neck." We needn't go down for dinner if you'd rather not." She trailed off, gazing at the large, canopied double bed with its burgundy quilt and matching bolsters.

"Not now." He sighed and put her to one side.

What the hell was wrong with him? He stood up. Newly married to a pretty young woman, in fact Harry was quite lovely. He had been amazed at her appearance once she wore decent clothes, with excitement shining in her eyes and her mass of bright wayward curls bobbing in the breeze. Once her hair grew and she matured a little more, she would be a beautiful woman. Why wasn't he happy? He recognized the hurt bewilderment in her eyes, because he didn't act impatiently like any normal bridegroom on his wedding night.

"We'll freshen up then have dinner," he suggested.

They went down to dinner, and she could scarcely believe the opulence of the dining room. It glittered with silver and crystal. Domed lights, glazed with jewel-like colored glass and gold leaf moldings kept her swiveling her head upwards for yet another look.

They began with leek and potato soup with little cubes of toast floating on top. Glancing at the other patrons, she immediately decided they were all wealthy, aristocratic types. The women, beautifully dressed in expensive gowns, made her feel insignificant and out of place. Ross took it all in his stride, probably went to school with some of the men.

He ordered a bottle of wine. She sipped at hers, not particularly liking the taste. He ordered quail for them, and while it tasted nice, she could not help a twinge of pity for the poor little bird sacrificed for the dinner plate.

She chose Chantilly trifle for dessert, Ross a selection of cheeses, and they finished off with coffee. He also had a glass of port. The meal was partaken at such a leisurely pace that when she glanced at the clock as they rose to leave, it was nine o'clock.

He let her use the bathroom first. After she completed her toilet, she slipped on a long cotton nightgown, pin-tucked down the front and with Brussels lace trim around the neck and sleeves. Next to impossible trying to smooth her riotous curls down, they always went their own willful way.

Ross sprawled on the bed wearing only his trousers, but he bounded up when he saw her. He let his gaze wander from her tousled head all the way down to where her bare toes poked out from under the hemline of her nightgown. She watched with hope kindling in her breast as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened, hopefully with passion.

Once he disappeared into the bathroom she laid back the bed covers and slipped between crisp white sheets. Nervous anticipation built up as she waited for him to return. He sauntered into the bedroom carrying his pants in one hand. He was naked and so beautifully male, the breath caught in her throat. She heard the light click off, then he slid into bed and reached for her.

"Oh, Ross."

"Don't talk," he groaned, covering her mouth. With a hungry fierceness he forced her lips apart to gain access to the sweetness within. His hand cupped her breast and through the soft cotton of her nightgown, his thumb and forefinger laved her nipple.

Her fingers tangled themselves in the whorls of hair on his chest, excitement surging through her when he trembled.

"Take it off," he said, huskily. "I want to feel your soft, white skin against mine."

She lay flat on her back and he knelt between her thighs. Suckling each nipple in turn, he then blew softly on them, such an exquisite sensation.

Slowly, almost reverently, he moved down her body, touching, taking all of her for himself but obviously still wanting more. His fingers followed the same path as his mouth, causing shudders of delight to ricochet all the way through her.

Harry burned with need, the intensity of her feelings so hot she did not know how to endure such heat without combusting. A roaring sound echoed in her ears. She closed her eyes to blot out everything but the magic of her husband's touch. He guided her hand over his body. Initially shy, she soon grew in confidence. Ross was her husband; she would do anything he wanted to make him happy. She moaned—she knew not what—when he rolled her over and drew her on his erect shaft. She was hot and moist, the aroused flesh quivering, ready to accept him, eager for him to lose his hard length inside her.

"Move on me, darling," he gasped, giving a thrust of his hips.

She put a hand on either side of his head and did as he asked. Her breasts dangled tantalizingly over his face and he pushed them together, drawing both nipples into his mouth so he could suckle them both.

His knees tightened around her hips. He rolled her over so he once more had mastery over their lovemaking. He thrust slowly at first, deeper and deeper, faster and faster. Perspiration pouring off his body, mingled with hers, until they became a united entity.

She cried out his name as his final, shuddering release came. She was filled with such rapture, such joy, she wondered whether she might have somehow died and gone to heaven. His head flopped against hers on the pillow as his body collapsed on top of her. The weight of him pressing her into the mattress was an exquisite agony in itself. Finally, he rolled away and they lay facing each other until they fell into an exhausted sleep.

Ross opened his eyes to find Harry curled up in his arms. He had no idea of the time, but the room was pitch black. He eased himself away a little so he could run the flat of his hand across her smooth, taut stomach.

Sweet little Harry was completely uninhibited. Once he showed her what pleased him, she became ardent, eager to learn more, taking to their lovemaking with enthusiasm, as she did with everything else. No half measures with her. All or nothing.

He should be the happiest man in Australia right now, and he hated the fact that he wasn't. Physically he could give her all the loving she needed, but emotionally was another thing. He still felt battered and bruised from Virginia. In time, Harry would want more from him than purely physical lovemaking, and he feared he would be unable to give it. That was the tragedy of it all. I have to give her a child, something she can focus all her love on, he thought desperately, reaching for her again.

She acted drowsy at first, but his lips and hands soon woke her and she participated eagerly in his lovemaking. They slept again, and when he next woke up daylight streamed through a crack in the blind.

Harry sleeps like a baby. He watched her for a time then lifted the sheet away so he could gaze upon her naked loveliness. How sweet she looked, with her bright curls running riot and one hand pressed up under her chin. So young and innocent, her fine white skin slightly grazed in places from the stubble of his beard. Why hadn't he thought to shave last night?

He slid carefully out of bed so as not to waken her and strode, still naked, into the bathroom. By the time he bathed and shaved, he could hear her moving around. With a towel slung around his hips, he entered the bedroom and stopped dead. Completely naked, she stood laying out clothes for both of them to wear.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out. "You can't wander around like that."

"Why not?" She pirouetted in front of him. "Are you embarrassed?"

Clearly she was not.

"No, but it's not the done thing."

"Why? You wanted me naked last night."

"That was different."

"You're a prude." She danced up to him and ripped his towel away. "Now we're both naked."

"Well brought up young ladies don't behave like this."

"No?" She suddenly flared up. "When their husbands make love to them, they lie like blocks of wood thinking of mother England."

He muttered an oath as he reached for his clothes.

"Is that how you want it to be?"

"Of course not."

She surveyed him with a hand on either hip, naked as a new born baby. "You don't like seeing me naked?" She swaggered a little.

He burst out laughing. "You'll be the death of me one day. Go to the bathroom before I let my baser instincts take over and drag you back to bed."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You mightn't, but the army would. I'll stroll down and get a paper, meet you in the dining room at eight." He glanced at his watch. "Gives you half an hour."

* * *

Right on eight, Harry skipped downstairs and saw Ross conversing with another man. She hurried towards them, then stopped dead. Ross' face had lost all its color, leaving his skin white and sick. The other man, short, plump and flashily dressed, chomped on an unlit cigar and flapped his arms around like a demented rooster.

"What is it?" She grabbed Ross' arm. "What's wrong?"

"I gave him a shock, I'm afraid," the stranger said.

Harry turned on the plump, pompous little man. "What did you say to my husband?"

"I congratulated him on his marriage, and told him I'd recently been wed myself."

"Virginia married him." Just three words, so anguished they speared into her heart with a force that almost felled her.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. Clyde Bromley at your service." He tried to bow from the waist but his fat stomach prevented him from doing so.

"The millionaire timber man?"

"That's me." He chuckled. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Calvert."

"You're the one who cuts down all the timber," she accused, "You ruin a town before moving on to destroy the next one."

"Progress, my dear, progress."

"Like hell it is. You rape the countryside, take..."

"Harry." Ross came out of his trance and cut off her angry flow of words. "Control yourself. Bromley." He nodded to the now furious little man and walked into the dining room, practically dragging her with him.

"Are you mad?" he hissed, almost shoving her into a chair. "Do you know who he is?"

"Yes. He destroys little timber towns."

"Enough. He's a multi-millionaire with friends in high places."

"Oh, that makes it all right, does it? He's so rich he can do what he likes?"

"No, I don't condone what he does, but he's a powerful man and would make a bad enemy."

"Are you scared of him?"

"No."

"I forgot. You're sticking up for him because he's married to Saint Virginia."

"Shut up."

"Please." She took his hand. "They deserve each other."

She watched him trying to pull himself together and her heart bled because he was in such pain.

"It's terrible loving someone who doesn't return your love," she said gently. "I know how you feel." Who would know better than her about the hopeless pain, the desperate longing that the other person's feelings might change.

"How the hell would you know?" He suddenly stopped. "Oh my God, I'm sorry."

"It's all right. You can't force someone to love you if they don't want to."

"I am fond of you." He reached out a fingertip to catch a couple of tears that somehow slipped out of her eyes.

"I'd be lying if I declared undying love to you. I'm incapable of feeling love for another woman."

She preferred brutal honesty to honeyed lies.

"How could Virginia marry a disgusting, fat toad like him?"

"Money. You said it yourself, he's a multi-millionaire."

"But she isn't poor. I know her family is wealthy and socially well connected."

"Virginia wanted his millions. He wanted entry into high society."

She ordered tea and toast; anything heavier would have turned her stomach. Ross ordered bacon and eggs and sat toying with it.

"What time is your appointment with the army?" she asked.

"Eleven-thirty."

"If we hurry up here, you could take me to a couple of shops first. People are staring at me because I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday."

"I didn't notice. All right."

He sounded so sad and wretched she wanted to weep for him.

They strolled down Collins Street, passing numerous fancy shops with outrageous prices.

"Buy whatever you want."

"They're so expensive."

"I can afford it. If you like something, buy it."

She had no use for a great pile of clothes. Once she got back to the station there was little likelihood of her going anywhere much to wear them. Finally, she bought a pale blue, crepe-de-chine blouse with raglan sleeves, and another pretty white cotton blouse with a stand up collar and mother of pearl buttons. It was a loose, shirt-like garment with a yoke. He picked out a cream colored silk suit with a full skirt and a matching loose sack coat.

"That's enough." She smiled, delighted with the purchases.

"No, you need nightgowns and undergarments. I'll wait outside while you choose what you want."

He strode off, leaving her embarrassed and at the mercy of the sales assistant, who sensing good business kept adding to the pile.

"You should have an evening dress, Madam, in case you want to go to dinner parties."

After deliberating for a couple of minutes, Harry chose a gown with a high waist and two tiered skirt in pale green. The bodice was a few shades darker and brought out the green in her eyes. It was of some diaphanous material, the foundation being a strip of matching lace mounted on flesh colored chiffon, finished with shoulder straps and some light drapery. Wickedly expensive and quite daring, but she fell in love with it.

"Oh please, that's enough." She waved at the pile of boxes covering the counter. She glanced around for Ross as the saleslady started adding up the prices. Harry caught his eye and he marched into the shop, checking his watch as he did so.

"Have you finished?"

"Yes, but I think I spent too much." Her voice wavered. "I could put some of it back."