Chapter 26

CHAPTER26

Edwin had not intended to join his wife in her bedchamber, but after sipping tea and devouring a plate of scones, he had fallen victim to the fatigue he had been holding back since departing Lord Rotherham’s manor. As such, when she gently mentioned that she felt poorly and would like some company in case the sickness overwhelmed her, he could not say no. He was too tired to fight the opportunity to lie beside his wife, holding her until she fell asleep, so she might feel better.

“Might I ask you something?” she said, her head resting upon his chest, his arms around her.

He bent his head and kissed her soft, silky hair, inhaling the ghost of the intoxicating perfume she had worn to the ball. “You are supposed to be resting.”

“I know, but my mind is racing,” she explained.

He frowned. “You have a headache?”

“No, just… too many thoughts.” Her fingertips toyed absently with the buttons of his shirt. “And as I have you here, I hoped you might answer some of them.”

He was beginning to think she had foxed him, that she was not unwell at all. She did not look pale, she was not hot to the touch, she had barely sipped the water he had brought her, and she had not complained of any poorliness after they had retreated to her bed.

I suppose you thought I would not come if you asked, he knew. She would have been right.

“What would you like to ask?” he said, bracing himself.

She peered up at him. “I have been squeezing my doubts through a box mangle, Edwin, trying to figure out why you seem to desire me at one moment, and pull away the next.” She chewed her bottom lip, clearly anxious. “Perhaps, I am mistaken, but I think I have deciphered the cause.”

“Oh?” A chill ran down his spine. He did not want to discuss this, he did not want to tell her the truth; he just wanted to hold her.

She propped herself up on her elbow, half of her upper body covering half of his. The press of her soft, full breasts against his chest tightened his throat, awakening embers he had urged to be dormant. Yet, there she was, so lithe and inviting that just the way her hand rested upon his stomach was akin to someone clanging saucepans in the ears of his slumbering desire. It had no choice but to jolt upright.

“I had to think back to the time you told me there would be no physical relations between us, of any kind,” she said, hesitantly. “I remember asking if you were unwell, or if you did not favor women. You rejected both notions. But that was a confusion, in and of itself, for I doubted that any husband—a young husband, in particular—would want a marriage without that part of it. Nor have you shown you are entirely averse.”

Edwin closed his eyes. “So, what is your deduction?”

“Look at me,” she urged, and his eyes opened. “You see, I then thought of all you have endured, and all that you lost because of one man. Hatred can be a powerful thing, and you have more right than most to feel hatred.”

Edwin’s heart stopped, seeing in her face that she had figured it out. “Joanna, I—”

She put her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. “Allow me to finish,” she said. “You did not want a physical relationship with me because you do not want children. You did not want to continue his bloodline. You wanted—still want—revenge upon him, and that is the only way you can achieve it.”

A light breeze might have blown him down from the shock of what he had just heard, making it fortunate that he was already lying down. His darling wife, with all her wit and wisdom and charm and intellect, had concluded the truth without him having to say a word. He did not know whether to be awestruck or concerned. He supposed that would be determined by what she said next.

“It is why you balked at my… coy suggestion earlier,” she went on. “I understand now. I think that was the final piece I needed to put the puzzle of you together.”

Shame boiled in Edwin’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “I would have told you, one day soon.”

“Well, I forgive you for breaking our promise to be brutally honest. You may have this one instance as an exception, but do not do it again,” she urged, smiling sadly.

“Now, it is not my intention to persuade you or coerce you,” she continued, “but I would invite you to think of this instead—what greater punishment could there be for your father than for you to be blissfully happy, raising children of your own who will never know cruelty, who will never hear that man’s name spoken, who will be so dearly beloved that they will never fear anything. He will be forgotten, but you—you will be remembered, living on through the gentle hearts of sons and daughters and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

Edwin stared at her, his thawed heart cracking for a different reason. “You have seen this manor, my darling. It is no place for children.”

“It is the perfect place for children!” she protested. “Once I am done with it, it will be a paradise for children. And what child does not revel in eerie attics and locked rooms, for those parts of the manor that will take longer to improve?”

He had to admire her passion. “You are forgetting one thing, my darling.”

“What is that?”

“I am… concerned that a child of mine might look like him,” Edwin admitted. “I am worried that I would be cold toward that child, simply because of the resemblance.”

Joanna arched an eyebrow. “Do you look like him?”

“In part.”

“Then, that is nonsense, for you are nothing like him. You are not a fool, Edwin. You would see your child, know they were not like your father either, and likely love them more to ensure they did not become like your father!”

Throughout the past decade of solitude and grief and the pursuit of meager revenge, Edwin had never thought of it that way. Indeed, he had hated his own face for bearing any similarity to his father, but after discovering the portrait of his mother, he had come to accept his visage. Every time he looked upon the portrait of his mother, and saw himself there, he was soothed.

What if I were to see her in the face of my children? His heart twinged in agreement. What if I concentrated upon my wife’s contribution to their appearance? He tried to imagine it and, for the first time he experienced no fear when thinking of himself holding his own children. Instead, he smiled.

“You ought to hold a place in government,” he remarked, with a wry chuckle. “I am certain you would have every squabble and quarrel and predicament resolved within a year at most.”

A flare of excitement shone in her eyes. “You must remember, I was not trying to persuade you or coerce you.”

“And yet, I am considering something I never thought possible,” he said, gazing at her with more affection, more love than he had known he could feel.

She tilted her head to one side. “What might that be?”

He kissed her in response, holding her closer, letting his hand wander to the ample rise of her backside as she slipped her leg over his to push herself up his body. The moment she did that, he knew he was done for; there would be no going back from what followed, yet he discovered he no longer feared that, either. Her pull was simply too strong.

* * *

Joanna could not believe she had managed to convince Edwin that children, and the act of making children, might not be such a terrible thing. Of course, she knew he could still change his mind, but their progress seemed promising as he kissed her with that delicious, ravenous hunger that never failed to stir up a wildness in her.

Pressed flush to his body, she moved against him with every kiss, straddling his powerful thigh until the friction began to thrill her in places she was only just discovering. The air thickened around them, as if the bedchamber itself was holding its breath with anticipation.

“I do want you, my love,” he said softly, dipping his head to kiss her shoulder and up the curve of her neck.

“If you say ‘but,’ I shall scream,” Joanna replied, grasping his face and crushing a fresh kiss to his pillowy lips.

He chuckled against her mouth, the vibrations tingling. “It was reassurance.”

“Keep it that way,” she urged, easing her leg over his hip until she straddled him properly. There, she sat up and gazed at him for a moment. “You are real, are you not? I am not still in the boathouse, dreaming?”

He shook his head. “I carried you. I know you are not in the boathouse anymore.”

“Are you trying to say I was heavy?” She feigned outrage, coaxing another smile onto his lips.

“I would not dare.”

He rocked up to meet her, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist as his mouth found hers, their kiss frantic and desperate as they clung to one another. Spurred on by that unyielding need, Edwin’s fingertips found the Dorset buttons at the back of her gown. With skillful dexterity, he unfastened them one by one, never pausing in his eager kiss. Meanwhile, she undid the buttons at her sleeves, to avoid any awkward tugging later.

That done, he edged the fabric off her shoulders, following the movement of the fabric with his tender, searing kisses as he drew the sleeves down her arms. Once they were free of her, he peeled the front of the dress down to her waist, revealing the complicated bodice beneath.

“I… do not know what to do with that,” he admitted, staring at the whale-boned panels in confusion.

Joanna laughed. “It ties at the back.”

“Then, turn around.”

Joanna did as he asked, still straddling his legs. She smiled at the hesitant first tug as he loosened the ribbon, her body rocking slightly as he unfastened the tight lacing. But as the bodice finally released her ribcage and breasts from their whalebone prison, it was the greatest relief of her life, her lungs drawing in a great gasp as he drew the garment away from her.

But rather than asking her to turn back around, Edwin’s arms encircled her waist, his chest flat to her bare back. His lips grazed the nape of her neck, his hands sliding up over the swell of her breasts as if to protect her dignity. Yet, as his other hand ventured southward, she realized her delicious mistake. He was not trying to protect her dignity; he was relishing her bareness.

She gasped as his fingertips settled upon that strange and wonderful point of absolute bliss, arching back against her husband as he began to strum slow, teasing circles.

“Yes, my love,” she urged, testing the term of endearment. She had noticed him using it, though she had not pointed it out in case it spooked him.

I am loved. I am beloved. I am… the most fortunate woman upon this Earth, she cheered inwardly, her breath catching as she felt a hardness beneath her, straining between her thighs. She had never seen the cause of that sensation before, but she had a notion of what it was—she had read enough of her Ancient Classics to understand the gist.

“Say that again,” he murmured, catching her earlobe and grazing his teeth across it.

She arched her neck back until it lay upon his shoulder. “Please me, my love. Show me everything there is to know.”

All of a sudden, he twisted his body, curving around her until she was lying down upon the feather-stuffed mattress, staring up at him in delighted astonishment.

He flashed her a wolfish grin and let his hunger for her guide him, drawing his kisses all the way from her lips to her navel, pausing to lavish attention upon her pert and pink nipples until she bucked with desire. As he reached her waist, he gripped the crumpled upper half of her gown and eased it over her hips, skimming the silk down her thighs and calves, kissing every new territory of bare skin he was offered, until she was naked upon the bed. Even her drawers had been lovingly discarded.

“Heavenly,” he whispered, biting his lower lip as he stopped to appreciate her for a moment or two.

But, as with one of his paintings, it seemed he could not stop for long, not until he was completely satisfied with his masterpiece.

He kissed a new path from her navel to the warmth between her thighs, his tongue the paintbrush that struck vibrant strokes across the canvas of her pleasure. And he was a true artist, teasing her to the peak of unbearable, exquisite bliss, taking his time to ensure perfection.

“Oh, my love… yes, my love!” she gasped, digging her fingernails into the rumpled coverlets, raking them across the surface of the mattress, longing for the wave of euphoria to crest and sweep through her, as it had done the previous night. An intoxicant she could not get enough of.

A few minutes of tortuous delight later, her body rushed to that final peak; her muscles tightened, her stomach clenched, her thighs trembled, her breath caught in the back of her throat, all pieces of the painting that were, to her mind, his magnum opus. His work of true genius, brought to life through her.

“Edwin!” she cried out, throwing her head back. “Oh… oh, my love! My love!”

Ecstasy powered through every vein, transporting her to another world for a moment, as if pleasure that powerful had no place in the mortal realm. She had been flung headlong into paradise, and long did she wish to remain, her body aglow, her entire being ablaze with love and unity of the most ancient kind.

“Did that please you?” Edwin murmured, kissing her inner thigh.

She licked her lips, nodding deliriously. “Yes… but do not let me sleep. Do not stop there,” she urged, remembering the boathouse.

“I do not plan to,” he told her, smiling against her skin as he made his slow way back to her lips.

She grabbed him, kissing him hard, her body still pulsing with the fading ebb of what he had conjured within her. And as she kissed him, she unfastened his buttons in a hurry, shedding him of his clothes until he was as naked as she was.

Feeling his warm skin against hers, she glanced down for a moment, startled by what she saw. He did not have the physique of a hermit, though she had already suspected that. But she had not suspected that he would have a body that could have been forged by divine hands: a broad, muscular chest, a ridged abdomen that the laundress could have washed the household’s garments upon, and thighs that possessed carved lines of muscle she had not known existed. Two such deep lines curved in a “V” toward the part of him she had tried to imagine, but it appeared she had very much lacked the knowledge to fully envision the cause of his hard protrusion.

“Are you having doubts, my love?” Edwin asked, no doubt mistaking the astonishment on her face for fear.

She shook her head slowly. “None, my love.”

“If you are in pain, at any moment, you must tell me,” he urged. “I will cease immediately.”

She flashed him a smile. “Very well, but do not expect it.”

She had waited too long and worked too hard to back out now.

Still in a pleasant, warm daze from the intensity of her conclusion, she pulled him to her, kissing away his own fears with a desire that sharpened her senses and pushed away the sleepiness that might otherwise have claimed her.

Edwin kissed her back with equal fervor as he settled between her thighs. The pressure of his manhood pausing at the gateway to her sex made her breath hitch, her hips tilting up slightly as if some part of her already knew what to do. And with that slight tilt, he took his permission and eased inside her.

Joanna gripped his shoulder, her lips parted and frozen against his mouth as he filled her slowly. There was no pain, as he had warned, just a mild discomfort, like stretching a muscle that had not been used in a long time. And as he stilled inside her, allowing her to adjust to the new sensation, the discomfort quickly faded into excitement and a particular bliss that made her feel like she could take on all of society and win. A power, an intensity, unlike anything.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, worried.

She swallowed, panting out a breath. “No pain.”

“Do not lie to me,” he said.

“I promise, I am not,” she gasped, rolling her hips backward to feel the width and prowess of him more keenly.

His breath sharpened at her movement, his eyes flaring with that hunger she adored. With obvious restraint, he pushed back inside her, until he was buried to the hilt once more. But something had begun, and neither of them would cease until they were fully satisfied. At least, that was Joanna’s hope as she clung to him, urging him to withdraw, only to fill her again.

At first, they were uncertain, moving out of time with one another, but soon, they learned the rhythm of each other, tangled together upon the bed, a symphony of limbs and bodies and lips and tongues and bliss. A real masterpiece. With every powerful stroke of his hips, she met him with hers, unified in body and mind and soul until they were moving as one.

“Yes, Edwin!” she gasped, raking her fingernails down his muscled back, reaching for the solid curve of his backside. She dared to give his buttocks a mischievous squeeze, letting her hands settle there so she could drive him onward, pulling him deeper and deeper with each delicious thrust.

In the bedchamber, they were making art of a rare kind: a masterpiece of the physical, emotional, metaphysical, and audible. She had not known how wonderfully important sound could and would be, but when she heard him gasp and moan and whisper her name as if it were a sacred word, she realized there was more to lovemaking than she had suspected. Indeed, it was more glorious than she could have ever imagined, even in her wildest dreams.

“Joanna,” he murmured, sliding a hand between them. “My love.”

She arched her back as his fingertips found her swollen bud, painting expert brush strokes upon that sensitive spot as his hips pushed deeper. It was akin to adding a barrel of oil to a furnace that was already at a fearsome heat. His touch was like lightning, bolting through her, exploding her steadily growing ecstasy into an almighty, sudden burst.

“Oh… oh my… Oh, my love!” she cried out, clinging to him as that lightning strike splintered through her, ricocheting through every part of her, making her feel as if she had been transformed into something otherworldly. A divine being, made so because of his touch and his love.

And her cry seemed to call to something in him, as his hips moved with a delirious abandon, igniting fresh sparks that added to the tail end of her lightning bolt bliss, making it strike afresh within her. She soared upon that crackling energy, every muscle pulsing, every limb shaking, every breath ragged and fierce, while her hands smoothed across every part of him she could touch, her teeth gently biting into his shoulder as he came to a slow, intense shudder.

“Joanna… oh, my Joanna,” he growled, thrusting twice more before he stilled, collapsing into her welcoming arms.

She held him there, relishing the warmth and weight of him, nuzzling his hair as he buried his face in her neck, smiling.

“You are… a wonder,” he murmured.

She held him tighter. “No, my love, you are.”

“For once,” he said, chuckling, “let me win.”

She grinned, running her fingertips through his short hair. “Very well. Just this once.”

She did not point out, in fear of ruining the moment, that she had already won, the moment he gave her what she had desired. After all, with the pleasure still coursing through them both, it was clear that they were both victorious, for theirs was nothing like the marriages they had witnessed. No, theirs was a marriage and love for the ages; Joanna was certain of it.

Nothing could ruin it for them, now.