Chapter 35
Cynthia
Friday
I lie in the bed, unable to sleep. Based on the darkness outside the window, it must still be too early to stir. An odd heaviness weighs on my chest as I listen to the soft patter of rain as it strikes the town house.
Father wrote to me. Mother added on. Both are furious. Both plan to see me this afternoon.
This should be a happy occasion. I should be thrilled. Why then do I lie here feeling nauseous?
I turn to my side after fluffing the pillow, hoping to allow a bit of coolness to touch my skin, but it doesn’t work. Even when I toss off the blankets, I feel feverish and warm. Not sick. I don’t have any of the hallmarks of one who is ill.
It must be nerves. I’ve never been married before, so I don’t quite know what to expect. Groaning, I pull myself out of the bed and dip a rag in the basin. The cool water is a boon to my fractured nerves, calming me enough that I can lie back down and go to sleep.
This time, when I wake up, the sun streams through open curtains. I blink at the bright light and squeeze my eyes shut, causing the maid to chuckle.
“Come now. It’s well past time for you to be awake. Her Grace is most anxious to see you at breakfast.”
I rise and look about, thankful that the nausea is waning, but something still feels a bit off. Though I can’t quite put my finger on it, I prepare for my day. No doubt I would just rather not see my parents.
My head throbs as I come down for breakfast. Teresa and Joseph sit there, speaking to each other in low tones.
Do they know yet? He was there that night, but not so much as a word has been spoken to me since.
I have spent most of my time in my room, feigning illness, but that has never stopped Teresa either.
So there’s a chance I may come out of this unscathed. At least until my parents arrive.
“Well, good morning, Cynthia,” Teresa cries out. “Come, gather your breakfast. We have much to talk about.”
Joseph chuckles and shakes his head before hiding his face behind the paper. My fingers tremble as I put some meats, cheeses, and bread on my plate and sit down.
“Well?” Teresa asks, her eyes sparkling.
“Well, what?”
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“I- I guess that depends,” I stammer. “Is there anything you’d like to know?”
“Oh, stop stalling,” she cries out. “Norhaven? Henhaven? It all happened so quickly. Come, you must tell me everything! Of course, we miss all the fun.”
Drat. I should have known Joseph would tell her. “I’m not sure fun is quite the word for it, and you were ill yesterday, as was I. I felt it would be better to take to my room to process everything.”
“And,” she chuckles, squirming in her seat. “Now that you have your thoughts together?”
Taking a deep breath, I give her a shortened version, just highlighting the important bits. She sits there in rapt attention, just smiling as if I’m telling her the best news in the world.
“You get to marry him!” she shrieks, earning a wince from Joseph. “Oh, this is incredible news! And when is the wedding?”
“I have been told it is tomorrow. Though I cannot say to the location. Only a carriage is going to take me there. More than likely it will be in one of the Barrington parlors. I can’t see there being any time to coordinate a lavish wedding. At least not with the hint of scandal about it.”
Teresa gives an odd smile, but says nothing. It’s as if she knows something but refuses to tell. Before I can ask her, the door to the breakfast room opens.
The footman comes in with a large box, drawing all our eyes to him. “A parcel for Miss Campbell.”
My fingers tremble with excitement as I open it up. There, on top of a white bit of muslin, is a card. I’d recognize Charles’s handwriting anywhere.
My most darling bride-to-be,
I have something in this box for you to wear on our wedding day. Do heed my advice and unpack it carefully if you are in front of others. The top layer is perfectly suitable for them to see, but what’s underneath is for your eyes only.
The discomfort I caused you when I took your bottom hole was unforgivable.
I aim to correct that. The item at the bottom is to be worn in, well, your bottom.
There is lubricant to ease its passage. Be sure to wear this as you pledge your vows to me so that our wedding night can be as pleasant as possible.
Yours for all eternity,
Charles
My bottom hole? Even now, arousal gathers at my lower lips. Is it at all possible to make such an intrusion feel good? Curiosity eats at me as I lift the first bit of cloth.
Teresa angles her head, curious, but can’t see what’s inside. Which, honestly, is good for me since it allows me to take in what I’m seeing in relative peace. Tears gather at my eyes as I run my hands over the jewels. So delicate, so beautiful, so close to the color of my eyes.
Underneath them is another note. I pull it out and smile as my betrothed writes to me. This is the love I wanted. This is what Henhaven could never understand.
To my delectable minx,
Nestled in this bit of fabric is a set I wish for you to wear on our wedding day. The jewels are peridot to match your eyes. Fear not. I will not wax poetic about the stone’s properties or how they came to be. This is not, thankfully, my area of expertise.
I will, however, speak volumes about your eyes. How they dazzle in the sun and almost rival these ancestral pieces. They light from within when you’re happy and turn darker when you’re sad. My favorite, however, is when you’re in the throes of passion and they turn solid black from arousal.
I cannot wait to see them turn after I pledge my love to you for all eternity. When I take your virginity, I will be staring at your eyes the entire time. I will seduce you until I can only see a sliver of that magnificent green. Then, and only then, will I divest you of your maidenhead.
Only one more day, my darling. Just one more day, and I will have you in every way that a husband can have his bride.
Forever Yours,
Charles
I hold the letters to my chest, unable to comprehend the man who wrote them. Until now, I didn’t know a poet’s soul lay in his chest. Heat fans my cheeks as I sit there, stunned and far happier than I have a right to be.
“Please let me see,” Teresa begs, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You look so happy. I must know what is in there.”
“Perhaps it’s of a private nature,” Joseph grouses as he turns the page.
“But they are not yet married. What could he possibly give to her that wouldn’t be scandalous?”
He pulls down the paper enough so that she can see his raised eyebrow, sending her into a fit of giggles. “I concede. Forgive me, Cynthia. Is this a gift I am allowed to see?”
With delicate hands, I pull the necklace up to show her, followed by the bracelets.
“Oh, Cynthia,” she breathes. “They match your eyes perfectly.”
“They do. They really do! They don’t quite match my dress, but I don’t care. I will wear them with pride. Oh!” I cry out as I shift the jewels. “There are pieces for my hair as well!”
“The maids will have such fun preparing you tomorrow.” She sniffs as she dabs her eyes. “You are going to make such a beautiful bride.”
Emotions clog my throat as I hold the box to my chest. “Please forgive me. I’d like to bring these up to my room and have a moment.”
“Understandable!” she says as she waves me off.
Rushing up the stairs, my heart pounds in my chest. What object could he have waiting for me at the bottom of the box? As soon as I get into the room, I lock the door behind me and carefully take out the jewelry.
There, at the bottom, like he promised, is an oddly shaped bit of metal. I hold it in my hand, marveling at the coolness. Soon, however, it heats up to match my temperature.
Turning it over, I note Charles’s personal crest on the base. If I wear this, I’m wearing his personal stamp of ownership. I grab the vial and turn it about, watching the oil swirl in the sunlight. And, of course, as with everything else, there is a note at the bottom.
My addiction,
This dilator has been commissioned by the best silversmith in all of England. My crest is affixed at the base so you will know exactly who you belong to. As you come down that aisle to me, your bottom will burn as it stretches you out, preparing you for my cock again.
This time, it will be far more enjoyable.
Consider it a physical apology from my body to yours.
Simply apply the oil to your bottom hole, teasing it as you insert a finger or two in order to get the oil inside.
Then, drizzle some on the dilator itself to lubricate it as you insert it into your backside.
The part with my crest is the base. It will sit nicely nestled between your buttocks until I remove it after our vows.
Now then, my obsession. I cannot wait to strip you down inch by inch, pulling off your bridal finery as I claim every inch of your body with my own.
One day is still far too long. I desire you. I ache for you. I burn for you. Allow me to make up for the time we’ve lost together. Allow me to bend your body to my will, to make you mine forever.
Your Master,
Charles
My insides cramp as I read and re-read the letter. Heat fans my face as I continue to fondle the metal, touching it, rolling it about in my hands. He wishes for me to insert this?
The metal is bulbous, with varying sizes going from rather small to obscenely large. Does he truly think I’ll manage to get it inside me?
Glancing back at the door to make sure it’s locked, I grab the vial of oil and hoist up my dress. Touching myself back there is quite shocking, but the arousal it brings is far more than I expected.
Perhaps it’s because I’m doing it to myself and can set the pace. For several breathless moments, I drag my oiled finger around the rim of my backside, softly moaning as I tease myself. I’m going to have to insert it sooner or later.
As my finger breaches the hole, everything tenses. Instead of pain, however, it’s the most wonderful pleasure. I slide in and out, just as the letter commands, spreading the oil deep inside.
Taking a breath, I notch the metal at my back entrance, jerking a touch from the sudden chill as it kisses my flesh.
Soft whimpers claw at my throat as I push the object in.
My breath comes in ragged pants as I strain in the silence, doing my best to take my time, yet also chasing the pleasure as it pours through me.
Charles was right. This is nothing like that night. There is no pain here, only a slight burn and erotic heaviness. It’s certainly not as big as he was. But then, I’m only past the first hump.
I bite down on my lower lip to keep from crying out as I push some more, forcing myself open on the second one. The burn is a bit more intense, but still something I can handle. I lie there on the bed for several moments, feet planted into the soft covers, knees splayed in such a scandalous manner.
One more to go. Can I do it? Can I take it?
Closing my eyes, I picture Charles there, coaxing me, guiding me as I push it in. I would certainly be his good girl as I impale myself on this rigid metal.
The last hump presses against my opening. Sweat beads at my forehead. I have to do this. I must do this. It’s his request for our wedding. He must believe I can obey.
Pulling part of the blankets over, I bite down on them, stifling the moans and whimpers as I push, bearing down, forcing the metal to open me up and slide inside. It’s a struggle. It’s as if my body fights it, not wanting to allow it to go in.
Suddenly, my body opens, relaxing just enough for it to push through and slide in. Everything tenses as the whisper of release flutters through me. It’s not enough to feel as if I’ve actually achieved it, but it’s close enough that it gives me hope for my wedding night.
Lying there, I nearly sob as my bottom ring snaps shut over the smaller bit of metal in the base, leaving a strip outside that runs along the crack. My chest heaves as I draw in oxygen, desperate to breathe as the metal lies heavy within me.
Pleasure sparks through my nerves as I roll over, shifting so I can stand and see what walking toward Charles would look like. With every step, arousal floods my system until I’m thoroughly distracted.
I go to raise my skirts again, desperate to touch myself, when a soft knock at the door has me throwing them down once more.
“Forgive me, Miss Campbell, but your father and mother are here to see you.”
Bollocks.