17. Catherine
Ihad been at Rosewood Manor less than a week when I got my monthly flow. I was more pleased to see the bright splash of blood than I had ever been, because I knew it meant I would have another few weeks to figure out how to escape St. Erth before he filled me with a baby. I also knew gentlemen did not visit one when one’s blood was flowing, as it was known to be very bad for the liver.
I would have one whole week free from St. Erth!
Although I had been informed married gentlemen and ladies usually spent the night in separate chambers, for some unfathomable reason my husband insisted on either staying in my bed or dragging me into his, every single night.
A few days ago I had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion in his bed, and when I arose in the middle of the night, I had gone sleepily into my own bed. But I had barely gotten settled when my enraged husband had kicked my door down and dragged me bodily back into his bed, where he threw me down and fucked me angrily.
I could not understand it.
Then a clever idea came to me. Perhaps I could get even more time away! Then I might have the ability to think up a way to foil his plan for revenge. St. Erth wouldn’t know how long my flow would last. As long as I wore a guard-napkin he would not know when I stopped! It would be very inconvenient to wear one, but worth it if it kept St. Erth away from me.
Shortly after arriving at Rosewood Manor, I had written a letter to my parents. I wanted to assure them that I had arrived and, I hated to admit to myself, I was anxious to get the true story of what had happened with St. Erth’s mother.
Surely there had been some mistake. It must be another of his tricks.
A short letter from home had arrived, and I retreated into the sitting room after dinner to read it in peace. St. Erth usually took his port in the library first.
I read the letter through several times in a row, not comprehending the words.
There were no assurances that what St. Erth had said was a lie. Most of the letter was taken up by my mother’s lamentations. They had had to give up their London home early, and not without pawning several of her favorite pieces of jewelry. Papa’s signet ring had had to be pawned to cover the cost of his gambling debts, and Mama was sure that St. Erth had been the one behind the shopkeepers refusing to extend them any more credit.
And all this fuss over a lightskirt Papa can barely remember anyway!she wrote with indignation.
My stomach sunk. This was not what I had hoped for from the letter! I wanted a defense, some explanation for why St. Erth’s mother had been turned away when she was ill.
This only seemed like confirmation that what St. Erth accused Papa of was true!
I sat down at the writing desk, determined to get the truth out of them, but was startled to see St. Erth stride into the sitting room. Usually he came in later, after he had taken his port in the library first.
“I’m still. . .I’m still. . . my flow. . .” I stuttered, but he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Are you suggesting I cannot go into any room in this house I choose?”
“I-of course not, my lord,” I said, confused. “It’s j-just that you normally don’t come in here right after dinner.”
“I want you to play for me,” St. Erth said, taking a sip of his port glass.
“I thought maybe you’d want to go see your. . .” and my voice trailed away again. It wasn’t proper for wives to say anything about anyone their husbands chose to see.
“Oh?” said St. Erth, stepping closer behind me. “Would you like it if I took a mistress?”
“You can,” I said, maybe too eagerly. “I won’t mind.”
There was a beat of silence for a moment and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
Then his hands curved around my neck, and I felt his cruel mouth on my throat, bending to sink his teeth into my flesh, making me squeak with surprise.
“No, little kitten, I don’t think I will,” he said coldly. “I think I’ll stay here and play with you.”
His other hand moved down the front of my body, skimming my small breasts with his big hands, my nipples unwillingly taut with the contact.
“My monthly flow—” I began hesitantly, and with a sudden motion he pulled sharply up on my guard-napkin, causing the strings holding it together to snap.
With another swift motion he yanked up my dress.
I tried to squeak and move away but he held me tight with the other hand, his arm like a bar across my chest.
My husband shoved down my undergarments, and my guard-napkin was bared before him.
He made a satisfied hum.
“Get away from me!” I moaned weakly.
But St. Erth ignored me and moved his fingers down, swiping them across my most private parts. Then he raised them into the air, turning them so the sunshine gleamed on the tiny scarlet drops.
“Healthy,” he said in a satisfied tone. “You have a healthy womb for me to fill.”
I could only watch in horrified shock as he twisted his hand again and turned his fingers over his glass of port, letting the bright drops fall into the light golden wine.
Then St. Erth tipped up his cup and swallowed the whole thing, licking his lips in a way that made uncomfortable prickly heat break out all over my whole body.
My throat felt tight, like I was choking, a heated flush spreading across my body.
What manner of gentleman was he to do such a thing?
His eyes met mine and his cruel beautiful mouth twisted up in a smile. He bent and retied the strings of my guard-napkin tight against my body.
“Go to the piano,” he ordered.
I moved, the prickly heat on my body making my skin feel uncomfortably tight, like something wanted to burst out of me. As I sat down to play, St. Erth kept his hands on me, one big hand spanning the back of my neck, his fingers spread open to cover as much of my flesh as they could. With his other hand he took a lock of my hair and began to wind around his hand until my scalp fairly ached with the sensation.
And still I played on, my fingers flying and stumbling over the keys. Music had always been my solace, something I was so proud of.
But my mind was buzzing with uncertainty and confusion.
What kind of man was he?
Why did he insist on being so close to me?
Watching me play every night
Refusing to have a mistress
Demanding I sleep in the same bed with him, even on my monthly flow
I shivered uncontrollably.
When he was done with one lock of hair, he’d move on to the next, pulling it free of my pins and winding it tightly around his palm.
Then he suddenly released me and bent close to my ear.
“There’s nothing wrong with your mouth, wife,” he said. “Come over here.”
And I knew what he meant, what he wanted.
And what he would do to get what he wanted.
So I got up and went, following him to the heavy wooden chair in the corner, and I sunk to my knees before him, his cock already hard, that muscle throbbing in his jawline.