3

“Everyone is gone, Miranda. Your mother and sister left with your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, and your cousins. They will be spending the rest of the month at Torwyck, with the Van Steens. Your mother is especially eager for a long visit with her brother.”

“We are alone ?” She edged nervously away from him.

“We are alone,” he said quietly. “It is, I believe, the usual state for a bride and groom on their honeymoon.”

“Oh.” Her voice was suddenly very small.

“Come!” He held out his hand to her.

“Where?”

His bottle-green eyes swept toward the staircase.

“But it’s still light,” she protested, shocked.

“Late afternoon is as good a time as any. I don’t intend to be bound by the clock when it comes to making love to you, my dear.” He took a step toward her, and she retreated farther.

“But we don’t love each other! When this marriage was first agreed upon I attempted to gauge our suitability in intimate matters. You were not interested! You laughed at me, and treated me like a child! I assumed, therefore, that this marriage would be in name only.”

“The hell you did!” he growled, striding forward, and swept her up in his arms. Christ, she was a warm armful. For a moment he buried his face in her cleavage, and breathed the sweet scent of her. She trembled against him and, raising his dark head, he muttered fiercely, “Not for one minute have you ever believed in your heart that this would be a marriage in name only, Miranda!” Then he mounted the stairs, carrying her, and strode down the hall to their bedroom. Kicking the door open with his booted foot, he set her firmly on her feet; spinning her around, he began to undo her gown.

“Please!” she whispered. “Please, not like this!”

He stopped, and she heard him sigh deeply. Then his arms went around her, and he said softly against her ear, “You drive me to violence, wildcat. I will call your maid to help you, but I will not wait long.”

She stood rooted to the floor as she heard the door close. She could still feel his arms around her, strong arms, arms that would not be denied. She thought about what Amanda had told her of lovemaking, and she thought of the terrible feelings Jared caused in her.

“Madam? Madam, may I help you.”

She whirled about, startled. “Who are you?”

“I am Sally Ann Browne, ma’am. Master Jared chose me to be your maid.”

“I have not seen you on Wyndsong before.”

“Lord no, ma’am. I’m Cook’s granddaughter from Connecticut.” Sally Ann went behind Miranda and began unfastening her gown. “I’m sixteen, and I’ve been working for two years now. My old mistress, she died, poor soul, but then she was near eighty. I came over the water to visit my granny before I looked for a new position, and lo and behold there was a place available right here.” She drew the gown down, and helped Miranda step out of it. “I’m a good seamstress, and I do hair better than anyone. Despite her age, my old mistress was one for keeping up with the latest fashions. God rest her.”

“My h-husband engaged you?”

“Yes, ma’am. He said he thought you’d be happier having a maid of your own, and one nearer your age. My word, that old Jemima was put out at first, but your sister says to her, ‘And who’ll take care of me, Mima, if you don’t?’ Well, that pleased Jemima so much she never gave me another thought!” Sally Ann worked as quickly as she talked and soon, embarrassed, Miranda found herself nude. The maid handed her a lovely simple white silk nightgown with a deep-scooped neckline and long, flowing sleeves edged in lace. “There now, sit down at your dressing table, and I’ll brush your hair. Lord, what a lovely color it is, like silver gilt.”

Miranda sat silently as Sally Ann chattered on, and her sea-green eyes began to focus on the room. The deep-set windows with their cushioned, creweled window seats faced west. The walls were painted a pale gold with off-white ceiling and woodwork. The furniture was all mahogany, the largest piece within the bedroom being a bed in the Sheraton style with tall reeded and carved posts. The festooned canopy and skirt were a cream-colored printed French cotton with a tiny lime-green sprig called toile de Jouy. For a moment Miranda could not take her eyes off the bed. She had never seen anything so big! With an enormous effort of will she tore her eyes from the bed to concentrate on the room’s other furnishings. There were candlestands on either side of the bed, each with its own silver candlestick and snuffer. Across from the bed was the fireplace with its lovely white Georgian mantel, and a facing done in tiles painted with examples of local flora. To the left of the fireplace was a large wing chair upholstered in dark gold damask satin. To the right of the fireplace was a Philadelphia piecrust tripod tea table of Santo Domingo mahogany with three carved ball feet, and two New York mahogany side chairs with seats upholstered in a green-sprigged cream-colored satin. The window hangings matched the bed hangings, and there was a beautiful, rare Chinese rug done in gold and white on the floor.

“There you go, ma’am. Lord, if I had such hair, I’d be a princess!”

Miranda looked up at her maid, really seeing her for the first time. She smiled. Sally Ann was a big-boned, gawky girl with a homely face and an engaging grin. Her hair was carrot red, her eyes brown. She was freckled, and altogether as plain as white cotton. “Thank you, Sally Ann, but I think my hair an odd color.”

“Is moonlight odd, ma’am?”

Miranda was touched. “There’s a bit of the poet in you,” she said.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

“No. You may go, Sally Ann.”

The door closed behind the maid, and Miranda rose from her dressing table to explore further. To the left of the fireplace was an open door; peeping in, she saw what would now be her dressing room. It was newly furnished in a Newport highboy and a bombe chest. She ventured further, and discovered that his dressing room, with a Charleston chest-on-chest, was behind hers. The room smelled of tobacco and man, and she nervously fled back to the bedroom and sat on the window seat. The sky was flame and lavender, peach and gold with the sunset, and the bay was dark and calm. The trees, leafless now, stood in black relief against the sunset.

Hearing him quietly enter the room, she remained motionless. He crossed the floor noiselessly and sat next to her, his arm slipping around her waist, drawing her back against him. Silently they watched the day flee west and the night fill the sky, turning it deep blue, the horizon edged in red gold, the evening star silvery bright. His fingers drew her gown down from a shoulder, his lips pressed a kiss on the soft skin. She shivered, and he murmured, “Oh Miranda, don’t be afraid of me. I only want to love you.”

She said nothing, and the other side of her gown was lowered to meet the first, then pulled quickly away to her waist. His big hands were cupping her breasts, gently crushing the soft flesh, and she gasped as he turned her toward him, and began kissing the twin delights. “Ohh, please, Jared! Please!”

“Please what?” he muttered thickly.

She smelled the brandy on his breath, and was surprised. “You’ve been drinking!” she accused, feeling braver, and pushing him away.

He gazed up at her, and she started at the look in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been drinking, wildcat! Dutch courage, they call it.”

“Why?”

“So I won’t lose my nerve with you, my bride. So your pretty protestations followed by your quick temper will not deter me from my purpose. Oh, I’m not drunk, Miranda, far from it. I’ve had only one snifter, just enough to harden my heart against your pleas.”

“How can you want me, knowing that I don’t want you?” she demanded.

“My dear, you don’t know what you want. Virgins, it has been my experience, are at best a capricious lot. Let us rid you of that disadvantage, and then we’ll see!”

He stood up, pulling her after him, and the loosened gown fell to her feet. Then he swept her up and carried her to the bed, where he dumped her unceremoniously. She scrambled to get up, and he, half out of his dressing gown, was caught at a disadvantage. She looked around frantically, but there was no refuge. Warily, they faced each other across the bed, she on one side clutching at the coverlet to cover her nakedness, he on the other, massive and nude.

She eyed him defiantly and he was entranced by her beautiful little breasts with their big nipples. They heaved with outraged passion, and to possess them once more he was tempted to mayhem. Miranda, seeing his preoccupation, sneaked her first hard, close look at a masculine body. His shoulders and chest were quite wide, tapering to a flat belly and slim hips. His legs were very long, as were his narrow feet. His chest was lightly furred in dark hair which turned into a narrow strip running down from his navel to the darkened triangle between his legs. She pulled her eyes quickly away, avoiding his sex, and looked up into his cool, level gaze.

She stood rigidly as he walked around the bed and pulled her into his strong arms. His mouth found hers, and when he felt the first measure of response he gently forced her lips apart and tenderly took her mouth. His silken tongue caressed hers with an ardor that left her faint.

She was weakened by her own passion. Feeling it, he fell with her back onto the bed, never taking his lips from hers. She lay atop him and, shocked, felt his hard, masculine body beneath hers. His muscled thighs were covered sparingly in soft, dark hair, and she swore she coud feel the blood pumping in his legs. The softness of her belly lay atop the hardness of his. His hand caressed her long back, her rounded buttocks, and she struggled to escape his touch, tearing her head away from him with a sobbing, “ No! ”

In answer he rolled over onto his side, pinioning her beneath him. He kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her breasts, his lips traveling to her belly. She caught at his dark head with frantic fingers, and he groaned with frustration, but moved upward again to nurse on her lovely breasts as his fingers searched for her. When those elegant fingers found what they sought, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Easy, wildcat,” he soothed. “Easy, my little love.”

“Oh don’t! Please don’t!” she begged, half sobbing.

“Shh, shh, wildcat, I won’t hurt you, but I must know.” His fingers gently probed her.

“Kn-kn-know w-what?” Oh God! She was beginning to ache so terribly. “No!” A finger thrust into her, and gently moved back and forth with a tantalizing motion that she imitated with her hips, involuntarily pushing up to meet him.

He kissed her mouth, tasting the salty blood where she’d bitten her lips. “I must know,” he answered her, “how tightly lodged your virginity is, Miranda. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to, my love.”

“H-hurt me?” Her voice was edged in hysteria, and Jared heard it.

Gently he withdrew his finger from her trembling body. “Did your mother speak to you of a wife’s duties, Miranda?”

“No. She said only that when Amanda and I wed, our husbands would tell us all we need to know.”

He swore softly. His bubbled-headed mother-in-law might have eased the way. And then his bride said:

“Amanda has told me some of the facts of life.”

“What has she told you?” he asked, prepared to hear a babble of nonsense, and when she repeated her sister’s tale, he nodded, surprised. “Amanda’s story is basically correct, wildcat. One thing I do want to tell you now is that the first time is hard, for the shield of your virginity must be broken and it will hurt you.” She trembled, and he reassured her, “Only for a moment, my love, just a moment. Here, my darling, touch me as sweetly as you did a few weeks ago.” He guided her hand to his manroot, and she caressed him, brave again.

He was already hard, and her soft touch brought a groan from him. “I want you to look at it,” he said. “Only the unknown is fearful, my darling. I want to love you, not frighten you.”

She raised her head, and her eyes traveled fearfully downward, widening as they reached their goal. The banner of his manhood stood tall, a pale tower of ivory, veined in blue. “It’s so big,” she whispered, and he smiled in the dimness of the firelit room. In her innocence she was unaware of the truth of her words, for he was bigger than most men.

He reached up and caressed her face. “I want to love you,” he said in a deep passionate voice that sent a thrill through her. “Let me love you, my darling.” The hand slipped down to her shoulder, her arm, to the curve of her hip. Gently he pressed her back among the pillows, and placed tender little kisses on her lips and quivering breasts. “Don’t be afraid of me, Miranda.”

She found her resistance weakening. At that very moment she couldn’t understand why she was fighting him. She wanted to be done with her damned virginity, and have the mystery solved. Once it was, she would surely be free forever of this hunger that raged in her. Placing her palms flat on his chest, her sea-green eyes gazed into his bottle-green ones, and she was amazed by the intensity of passion she saw there. She realized with surprise how great his restraint actually was just then, and the realization touched her.

“Love me,” she whispered to him, “I want you to love me.”

As he swung over her his eyes glittered in the reflecting firelight. He sat back on his heels, letting his hands wander over her, and Miranda grew warm and languorous at his touch. She watched as if her mind were separated from her body, and he smiled at her curiosity. His fingers teased her nipples, and they grew small and tight, and hard. His hands continued to caress her, moving constantly over her excited body. Her breathing began to quicken as did his hunger to possess her. Still, he restrained himself.

Her long, pale-gold hair was tangled now, and a fine moist sheen covered her body. Very gently, his hand slipped between her thighs, and she cried out softly. “Easy, my love,” he gentled her, and his fingers sought to again part her nether lips. She was trembling, and he knew that to delay any longer would be cruel. Guiding himself to the portal of her innocence, he gently thrust forward. She cried out in pain and he stopped, giving her body a chance to grow used to his invasion.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered hungrily, “just a little more pain, only a little more and afterward I swear it will be only sweet.” And then his mouth covered hers, absorbing her sob of pain as he drove through her maidenhead, sinking his manhood to its hilt into her tender body. He kissed the tears from her cheeks, gently moving back and forth until, to his intense delight, she began to imitate his movements, pushing her slender hips up to meet his downward motion.

The pain had been terrible, and when his great shaft first invaded her, she did not think she could bear it. But the pain began to fade, and in its place grew a delicious, stormy passion. It overtook her. Suddenly she wanted him. She wanted him! She wanted this proud and tender man who rode her so gently. She wanted to pleasure him, she wanted to be pleasured.

She sank her little teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder, and he laughed softly and increased the pace of his thrusts. Her nails raked his back, and he teased, “So you bite and scratch, eh, wildcat? I can see I must tame you into a house kitten.”

“Never!” she whispered fiercely.

“Yes!” he said, and his body took control of hers, thrusting deeply, quickly, until she surrendered with a little cry and slid rapidly away into a shining, whirling world.

He had meant to hold back at her first climax, meant to double the delight for her, but it was too much for even such a skilled lover as Jared Dunham. The look on her face, a look of disbelief and wonderment followed by total joy, destroyed his control, and his warm seed flooded her. “Oh, wildcat!” he groaned.

His recovery was far quicker than hers, and as he rolled away from her she lay half-conscious, barely breathing, her lovely body still vibrating. Plumping the big goose-down pillows, he moved himself into a sitting position, drew her into the protective circle of his arms, and pulled the bedclothes over them, noticing as he did the blood on her ivory thighs. Oh wildcat, he thought, I’ve taken your innocence, and your girlhood is really gone. You must be a woman, now, and I wonder if you’ll ever forgive me. I tried to be gentle, for, God help me, I love you.

She stirred against him, and her sea-green eyes slowly opened. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then she reached up and caressed his cheek. He shuddered slightly, and she said softly, “Do I really do that to you?” He nodded, and although her face remained unchanged, a tiny look of triumph flickered in her eyes. “Did I please you, Jared?”

“I wasn’t aware you wanted to, Miranda.”

“Not until the end,” she admitted candidly. “Not until I began to see how wonderful it could be, and then I wanted it to be wonderful for you, too! Oh, Jared!”

“You pleased me, Miranda. You pleased me very much, but it’s only the beginning. There is more … much more, my love.”

“Show me!”

He laughed. “I’m afraid, madam, that you’ll have to give me a few moments to recover. Besides,” and he became serious, “you’re but newly opened, my darling, and may yet be tender.”

She had already forgotten the pain of her deflowering. Hot passion racing through her veins, she was eager for more love. Pulling back the bedclothes, she playfully reached for his manhood, but suddenly a look of horror crossed her face. “Jared! You’re bleeding!”

He swallowed his laughter, silently cursing her mother again, and said, “No, sweetheart, I am not bleeding. It was you, but it won’t happen again. It was only the proof of your virginity.”

She looked down at her thighs, blushed furiously, and said, “Oh, I forgot!” and then: “Dammit, Jared, I am weary of all this innocence! What else don’t I know? Are all girls my age such ninnies on their wedding nights?”

“You are more innocent than some women your age, Miranda, but as your husband my vanity is better served by it than by too great a knowledge. From now on you may ask me anything that puzzles you and I will do my best to teach you all I know, my darling.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and was flattered when she returned his kiss, her ripe mouth pressing against his mouth, tasting him, nibbling at the corners of his lips. He let her have her way, thinking as he lay back what a daughter of Eve she really was.

Her newly awakened ardor increased until he could no longer ignore it, and he quickly shifted so that she found herself beneath him. He teasingly nuzzled at her breasts, and was surprised when she drew his head down, murmuring, “Please.” He willingly obliged her, suckling on the sweet fruits until she moaned and writhed against him, pulling him atop her, spreading her slim legs in invitation.

“Oh, wildcat,” he murmured, touched by her eagerness, caressing her tenderly in an effort to take the edge off her highly excited state.

“Take me, Jared,” she said urgently. “Oh God, I burn!”

She was not to be denied. Amazed by her passion, he drove deep into her eager body, reveling in the softness of her. He gloried in her tight sheath, which enclosed his pulsing shaft in a passionate embrace. Then through the fires of his lust he heard her cry out. Her body arched and, for a moment, their eyes met and he saw the dawning of knowledge in those sea-green depths before she fainted with the force of her orgasm.

Passionlessly he released his seed, and withdrew from her. He was stunned, amazed by the woman who lay so motionless, barely breathing, caught in the throes of la petite morte . An hour ago she had been a trembling virgin, and now she lay unconscious as a result of intense desire. A desire that she might not truly understand yet.

Again he took her in his arms, holding her close, warming her fragile body with his own. She was so young, so new to passion, but when she woke it would be in the tender safety of his love.

She moaned softly, and he brushed a tangle of hair back from her forehead. The sea-green eyes opened, and as the memory of her recent passion returned she flushed pink. Jared laughed softly, reassuring her, “Miranda, my sweet and passionate little wife, I fall at your feet in rapt admiration.”

“Don’t mock me,” she said shyly, hiding her burning face in his chest.

“I’m not, love.”

“What happened to me?”

“ La petite morte. ”

“The little death? Yes, it was like dying. It did not happen the first time.”

“It doesn’t always happen, my love. You were overwrought with desire. I am quite impressed with you.”

“You are laughing at me!”

“No, no,” he hastened to reassure her. “I am simply astounded by your reaction tonight.”

“Then it was wrong?”

“No, Miranda, my love, it was very right.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I want you to go to sleep now. When you awake we will have a late supper, and afterward, perhaps we shall work on refining your marvelous natural talent.”

“I think you are very wicked,” she said softly.

“I think you are very delicious,” he returned, laying her back against the pillows and tucking the bedclothes around her.

She fell asleep almost immediately, as he had known she would. He lay next to her, and shortly joined her.

There was no late supper for them, for Miranda slept through the night, and, to Jared’s surprise, so did he. He awoke when the first gray light of dawn lit the room. He lay quietly for a moment, then realized that she was gone. His ear caught the sound of activity in her dressing room. He stretched lazily, rose from the bed, and padded on bare feet into his own dressing room.

“Good morning, wife,” he called cheerily as he poured water from the porcelain pitcher into the matching basin.

“G-good morning.”

“Damn! This water’s cold! Miranda …” He stepped into the connecting door.

“Don’t come in here!” she cried out. “I am not dressed!”

He yanked the door open, and strode through. She clutched a small linen towel to her body, and he yanked it away. “There will be no false modesty between us, madam! Your body is exquisite, and I take great pleasure in it. You are my wife!”

She said nothing, but her eyes widened and she stared at his midsection. He looked down at his swollen manhood and swore softly. “Damnation, wildcat, you certainly have a powerful effect on me.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Why ever not, wife? ”

“It’s daylight!”

“Indeed it is!” He took a step toward her, and with a shriek she ran from the dressing room. With a shrug he picked up her half-filled pitcher of warm water and, whistling, carried it back into his dressing room, splashing the contents into his basin. He washed himself, then strolled with feigned casualness back into the bedroom where she was frantically trying to dress.

He slipped up behind her, put an iron arm about her, and with mischievous fingers pulled open her blouse and fondled her left breast.

“Ohh!”

The blouse came off, as did her breeches and lacy little drawers. He turned her around to face him, and she beat on his chest.

“You are a monster, sir! A beast! An animal!”

“I am a man, madam! Your husband! I wish to make love to you, and by God I shall!”

His mouth came savagely down on hers, forcing her lips apart, his tongue seductively caressing, forcing the honeyed fire into her veins. She pounded against him, but he ignored her as if she were an insect and forced her back onto the bed. His body lay the full length of hers, and she was pinioned between his strong arms.

This time his mouth grew soft and passionate, coaxing the sweetness from her until she moaned. His hands roamed freely, sliding beneath her, down her long back, cupping her buttocks, drawing her against him in an embrace so torrid she actually felt her body was being scorched by his.

She tore her head from his, gasping for breath, and while she was distracted he moved low, his lips teasing her shrinking belly, his tongue flicking out suddenly to taunt the inside of her thighs.

“Jared! Jared!” she whispered, pulling at his thick, dark hair.

He shuddered. “All right, my love,” he said reluctantly, “but damn, you’re so lovely there. One day I won’t heed your pleas, and then you’ll want it as badly as I do!” He pulled himself up and, straddling her quickly, took her with a restraint and tenderness that amazed even him. “Come with me, my love,” he crooned, moving smoothly, feeling the storm building within her. At the moment she crowned the tip of his pulsing shaft with her love juices, he released his own boiling tribute.

Miranda felt drained, yet full; battered, yet cherished; weak, yet strong. A great calm filled her, and she slid her arms around him. “You’re still a beast,” she murmured weakly in his ear.

He chuckled in reply, “I’ve loved you well, madam, in full daylight, and the house still stands.”

“Villain!” she hissed, squirming away from him. “Have you no shame?”

“None, wildcat! None at all!” He rolled over and looked down at her. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“What, sir! You are insatiable!”

“For breakfast, my love, though I regret to disappoint you.”

“Ohh!” she turned pink.

“I’ll be happy to oblige you again afterward,” he promised, climbing out of bed, chuckling at her look of outrage. “I’ll have Cook send you a tray, for you’ll need all the rest you can get, Miranda. I intend making the most of our time alone before your Mama and sister return.”

She watched him disappear back into his dressing room. Laying amid the tumbled bedding, she felt strangely relaxed. He was a rogue, she thought, but then and a small smile lifted the corners of her kiss-bruised mouth she was finding she had a weakness for rogues. Not that she’d admit that to him at least not yet!