Epilogue
Gwendolyn leaned over the old oak cradle that had held the last few generations of Montgomerys.
Her five-month-old daughter lay fast asleep on the soft linen sheets, her tiny thumb in her red mouth and her golden curls spread over the small embroidered pillow.
Her little yellow blanket had been pushed aside and Gwendolyn pulled it over the child’s tiny limbs.
She rested her hand on her daughter’s soft cheek, a soft light of affection glowing in her eyes.
She did not turn around when footsteps sounded softly behind her in the nursery. Roland came up close to her and slid his arms around her waist, fitting her perfectly against his hard body. She didn’t turn around but leaned against him, her smile shifting to one of more intimacy and expectation.
Roland kissed the top of her head. “Are you ready to come to bed, my lady?”
Gwendolyn’s answer was to turn around in his arms and lift her face to his. He lowered his lips to hers and brushed them with a tantalizingly light touch. She moaned and her lips opened to tempt him farther but he pulled away. “Not here,” he murmured.
Gwendolyn blushed at her temerity but Roland held her eyes with his. “Your passion and openness are wonderful, but what I want to do to you would shock Nanny Robbins.”
Lord Montgomery kissed the cheek of the baby girl he had adopted as his own and held Gwendolyn’s hand as she did the same. Bidding goodnight to Nanny Robbins, the newly-married couple walked hand-in-hand to the baron’s bedroom.
Gwendolyn’s heart was beating faster and faster and her palms felt damp. She wiped the hand Roland was not holding surreptitiously on the side of her dress and hoped the dampness she could feel in her hands would not disgust him.
Their engagement had been quick and although Roland had visited Gwendolyn every day, they had not spent much time alone together.
Many nights, after he had left Gwendolyn had lain awake, imagining what his kisses would feel like and whether she could bear the hurt of penetration without disappointing her husband.
And now there was no delaying the act of marriage. Roland would expect her to be a wife to him in every way but she wasn’t sure if she could fulfill his needs.
They had entered the large bedroom, dominated by a heavy four-poster bed, covered in a deep green eiderdown with a collection of pillows and cushions in complementary reds, blues and golds, invited a weary person to find rest.
But rest was the furthest thing from Roland’s mind. He was pleased to note that Whitcombe had placed a bottle of champagne and two glasses on a table near a small sofa. “Come, love, this couch is very comfortable and it will be good to rest for a bit. A glass of champagne will be refreshing.”
Gwendolyn froze. The spacious, pleasant room distorted and the bright candlelight dimmed. All she could see was the stuffy sitting room in the Cartwright’s house where Robert had taken her. The nausea that an overindulgence in champagne had brought about resurged and she felt dizzy.
“Love? Love? Gwendolyn, it’s all right.”
Her first instinct was to push the man in front of her away. “No, no, I must get back to the ballroom.”
“Breathe, my love, breathe.”
Firm arms held her still and a solid body gave her a center of focus.
It took her a minute to recognize Roland’s voice.
She followed the gentle instruction of his words and her head cleared.
Her fingers entwined around the edge of his waistcoat.
She kept her face pressed against him, embarrassed to look into his face.
He said nothing for a long while, just holding her, his hands moving slowly down her back. Her breathing slowed down.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the middle button of his coat.
His left hand took hold of her chin and he tilted her face upwards. He looked steadily into her eyes, the hazel of his eyes flecked with green, filled with tender understanding. Gwendolyn swallowed and blinked her eyes hard.
“My darling, there is no rush. I want you to be comfortable. I won’t do anything that you’re not ready for.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes opened wide. “I am comfortable. Will you kiss me? Please?”
Roland smiled. His answer was to bend his face to hers and touch her lips. It was just a light brush but the tingles sent shivers down Gwendolyn’s back.
Roland deepened the kiss, urging her lips to respond to the pressure of his and increasing the ripples of desire that flooded her body.
He was so focused on her, each movement of his hands and mouth carried his affection for her, that she soon forgot the bitterness and heartache of her experience with Robert Walker.
She gave herself to her husband, opening her mouth to invite him deeper. He responded, his mouth crushing hers and his tongue filling her mouth as he savored her. He sucked gently on her tongue and then harder and she rose onto her tiptoes to be closer to him.
As the kiss continued, Roland maneuvered them towards the bed, the champagne forgotten. He broke the kiss just as his knee bumped against his bed. Gwendolyn looked at his, her wide eyes dazed and her mouth glistening as she panted for breath.
Roland’s lazy smile reassured her that he had found pleasure in their first kiss and she grinned at him, running her hand along the side of his neck and resting her fingers just under his chin.
She could feel him swallow as her fingers pressed lightly into the smooth skin.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing her onto his lap.
She was startled and a tad uncomfortable.
She wriggled against his hard thighs, settling her bum just where his legs joined.
And then she squirmed again as the hard rod of his cock rammed against her buttocks.
He pulled her against his chest. “Better sit still for a moment,” he cautioned.
The confused expression in her eyes almost made him chuckle but he was exerting as much control as he could to keep his cock from erupting right then and there.
It also reminded him that even though she had a child, she was, to all intents and purposes, innocent and needed to be coaxed gently into the pleasures of the wedding bed.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he pulled the hairpins from her hair, dropping them to the floor.
Her curls tumbled down in a shower of gold that covered her shoulders and framed her face.
He ran his fingers through the silky tendrils, enjoying the softness.
Light tugs made her scalp tingle and threads of pleasure shot through her like shivers of lightning.
Gwendolyn impatiently pushed Roland’s coat off his shoulders, and he helped her remove it, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. She had already begun unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat and it was only the work of a few seconds to remove his neatly tied cravat.
In contrast to her fevered ripping and tugging to get his clothes off, he moved slowly, undoing each tiny button at the back of her dress with agonizing precision. His fingers brushed her skin with butterfly kisses.
When Gwendolyn had bared Roland’s chest, she leaned back for a moment and studied the hardness of his muscled chest. His nipples had tightened into sharp points and she pressed her finger against it before squeezing gently between her thumb and forefinger.
He groaned and she giggled and then leaned forward and covered it with her mouth, letting her tongue flick back and forward.
His groans deepened. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his cock under control.
Each moment, his blood was heating to a higher pitch and it was becoming more and more difficult not to toss Gwendolyn onto the bed and make her his wife in every sense of the word.
Gwendolyn’s dress and stays were loose and he pushed the soft muslin off her shoulders, enjoying the sweetness of her flesh. He kissed and licked as if he had no other purpose in the world than to familiarize himself with the taste of her.
Gwendolyn leaned her head against his chest, her hands roaming over his arms and muscles, and let the sensations of Roland’s caresses sweep her into a state of bliss.
Every nerve in her body was alive and dancing with joy and she began to rub her swollen tits against him, to ease some of the heightened sensations that made her feel as if her body could no longer contain her. As she rubbed, the front of her dress fell forward, baring her breasts.
Roland leaned her back in his arms and covered her chest in kisses, focusing on her breasts, pressing the soft mounds and lapping the flesh until he reached the areola.
Her nipples tightened into sharp points and he sucked gently.
Her moans and mewls became groans and she bucked on his lap, thrusting her breasts higher.
All thoughts of propriety and modesty fled.
Roland shifted her until she was divested of her dress.
Her soft thighs fell open, exposing her pussy, red and wet, tempting him to explore.
He moved his hand along her thigh, stroking firmly and when he reached the private place, so different now from the night he had helped her give birth, his fingers slid along her labia.
She stiffened as the intensity of feelings increased and her body pulsed with pleasure.
His fingers were quickly wet with her essence and slipped easily along the swollen flesh. He rubbed rhythmically, moving up and down but not touching her core. She began to whimper and beg, “Please, please, please, please,” she chanted almost incoherently, thrusting her hips up.
Roland raised his hand and slapped it down against her swollen flesh. She yelped as tendrils of pain slithered through her, transforming into streams of lava and heating her whole body. She cried out and clutched his arm as she writhed uncontrollably on his lap.