Chapter 2
Deliverance
Although this idea was very embarrassing to me, my guardian seemed to think nothing of it, so I tried to force my pounding pulse to relax.
He assured me that there were spare clothes here I could borrow, so I followed him down to a small private room to await dinner while the servants readied our quarters.
His leg brushed mine as we sat down and once again, I had to pretend like I wasn’t uncomfortably aware of his movements.
The room was dark-paneled and smelled like many nights of heavy beer, but when the pretty serving-maid brought a glass of cherry ratafia with the dinner of roasted fowl and potatoes, I shook my head.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
She flicked an uncertain glance at my companion, but he tapped big knuckles on the wooden table.
“Your father is dead,” Mr. Nightshade said carelessly. “Go ahead. You have been wanting to try ratafia, and here is your chance.”
Now how did he know I had always wanted to try the sweet-smelling liquor, only Papa and I were strict teetotalers?
“Maybe one glass wouldn’t hurt,” I conceded.
And then I took one tiny, little sip.
Oh, it was sweet on my tongue! Syrupy and thick, with a sweet cherry taste and a hint of cinnamon and cardamon.
Mr. Nightshade was watching me with those strange, dark eyes.
The ratafia was so tasty that it went down quicker than I wanted, and then it seemed no problem at all to drink the next one he poured for me, too.
After all, I was here with my guardian. And after two glasses of ratafia, even the rather tough old bird they had served us seemed almost edible.
“I suppose you would like me to find you a husband,” Mr. Nightshade said.
I flushed but set my chin defiantly.
“I can find my own husband.”
“Oh, can you?”
There was a malicious little light in his eye that made me want to prove him wrong.
But I was uncomfortably conscious that my reactions to him weren’t what they ought to be.
I was far too conscious of the motion of each tanned finger as he gripped his knife and fork, of the way each bite made the strong columns of his throat move.
And he was my guardian, too! It was all most improper so I had to put it out of my mind.
“I can take care of myself. But any assistance from my guardian is of course welcome,” I added belatedly.
“And how exactly am I supposed to marry off a penniless orphan girl?”
“I have other qualities!” I protested, taking another delicious cherry sip of my third glass of ratafia. “I am–good at running a household.”
“But do you know how to please a man?”
For some reason, his question made me giggle, and the more I tried to stifle my laughter, the more came out.
“Are men hard to please?”
My own response struck me as very funny, too, and my guardian’s head was cocked, a little smile tugging at his lips. So it was funny. And I was funny.
I felt bubbles of joy bursting out of me, and I felt warm, my cheeks flushing as I removed the black netting from around my face.
“Yes,” he said. “Men are very hard to please.”
“Well, then, what do they want?” I asked before reflecting on if this was prudent.
Well, surely it was prudent. Who was a more proper person to ask?
Mr. Nightshade looked sternly at me.
“I suppose you’re wanting me to show you how to please a man.”
“N-no, of course not!”
I felt embarrassed at the misunderstanding.
“That’s not w-what I meant,” I said, stumbling over my words.
“Isn’t it?” he asked coolly, and I felt my skin flush with a heat that wasn’t entirely embarrassment.
What had I meant?
“Men don’t like virgins,” Mr. Nightshade snorted. “Virgin cunny is very tight and unpleasant. They want women who know what they are doing. And I suppose you are not one.”
And somehow it seemed like such a ridiculous thing to be, a virgin.
“I’m not a virgin,” I said, taking another gulp of my drink and then trying to change the topic.
“What kind of husband are you looking for?” he asked.
And I said something that would have seemed quite inconceivable to me only a few days ago. Then, I would have said I wanted someone kind, gentle, well-bred, respectable, and concerned with doing good.
“I want someone who d-doesn’t always make the safe choice. Someone who takes a risk. That’s how they invented fire, you know! Someone had to be bold and take a risk.”
I knew Mr. Nightshade would understand exactly what I meant, but his face stayed expressionless.
“Sounds like a very unsuitable husband for a proper lady like yourself.”
By and by, supper was done and I was licking the last of the sticky toffee pudding from the tips of my fingers.
On my way out, I thanked the innkeeper profusely. Although I had thought he looked villainous when we first came in, now he seemed like a very jolly, good man. And even the barmaids with their low-cut dresses, now seemed like very good girls.
It was like I floated up the stairs. Our room was dark without a candle lit, which I was thankful for, because I still had to get undressed and into bed.
I could hear the sounds of Gideon getting ready to sleep in the corner as I fumbled with my buttons.
“C-can men tell if you are a virgin?”
“Oh yes. Now get in bed like a good girl.”
His voice was so low it seemed to rumble in my chest cavity.
But I could not, could not get these buttons undone. I had never gotten undressed without my abigail before.
“I’m s-s-s-so sorry, but could you please help—” I asked, stumbling forward in the pitch blackness, my hands stretched in front of me.
To my horror, they landed on a very hard, very naked chest. Gideon was not wearing a shirt.
I squeaked in dismay, my fingers dragging down his body until, to my further horror, they met a thick bulge between his thighs.
“You are a wicked girl,” he rumbled, his breath rasping down my throat. “Trying to seduce your guardian.”
I was too horrified at my actions to say anything, and he put one hand under my thick hair and gripped my scalp, bearing me over to the bed.
“Since you have been begging for it, I’ll take your maidenhead. That way it will be easy for you to please your future husband.”
In my lovely floaty state it was like I could not remember all the good and wholesome morals I had been raised with, could only twine my legs around his strong midsection.
Mr. Nightshade threw me back on the bed, harder than I expected, and then he was rustling under my skirts, his rough fingers scraping by my soft skin.
I wriggled in embarrassment at my excitement, each breath making my nipples peak almost painfully in my mourning dress.
“Wait—” I squeaked with sudden regret as his hands drew up my undergarments and the place between my thighs was pried open.
But before I could get out any more objections, his lips were on mine. I thought a kiss was meant to be gentle, but his lips and tongue were hard and demanding.
And then there was the pain, a pinched burning sensation as he pressed something so strange and thick into me that I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
I knew the general parameters of sexual congress from a very gossipy parlormaid, but still I was unprepared for the sheer size and weight of him.
My thighs ached as he thrust in and out with his prick and for a moment I almost screamed, but then he made a low grunting sound that sent a little shiver of excitement up my spine.
Other strange sensations intruded on me, an unfamiliar heaviness in my lower limbs, strange tingles in my cunny where he was driving his prick in and out.
Every time he thrust so deep that my back arched in the impossibility of taking him a centimeter further, but then as he dragged his cock back out, it seemed to hit any number of delicious nerves all the way, and soon I felt so heated and flushed down there that I was wriggling with discomfort that went beyond my soreness.
For a moment he pulled out, dripping liquid all along my naked bottom, then he flipped me without another word onto my belly and plunged into me again.
The second time it only hurt for a moment, my limbs feeling wet and loose, and this time I had to cry out as my cunny was pressed harshly into the rough bedding, and then the heavy tightness seemed to just snap inside me, making me convulse in a most unexpected manner.
The purest liquid warmth filled me and I felt intense, toe-curling pleasure.
This must be what Mr. Nightshade had meant by needing to lose my maidenhead before providing pleasure to men, because he was breathing heavily in my ear, the slap of our skin loud in the bedroom.
I drifted in and out of consciousness as more liquid filled me, running down my thighs now, feeling more relaxed than I ever had in my entire life, and I slept in sticky, luxurious pleasure.
And then some time later, I was woken with the ice cold shock of my guardian’s words.
“Now, of course, we will have to be married.”