The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 20

  “Not today, little lady,” Archie said with quiet finality. “Not today.” Valentine pouted but didn’t cry as her father lifted her into the carriage and passed her to Neve. Valentine stared out the small window, still angry enough not to take any interest in the strange man who appeared at the church and was now coming home with them. It might be the seventeenth century, but they were a family just like any other — a family that would be decimated within the year.

  Simon took a sip of ale and sighed. To warn Neve of what was to come would be incredibly cruel, but to say nothing seemed cowardly. But what could he tell her? He had no idea what was going to happen or when, and to cast a shadow on Neve’s already fragile state just seemed wrong. Simon had never seen a happily married couple firsthand, but after witnessing the glow of affection between Neve and Hugo, he realized that’s what marriage was about. Romance and passion based on respect, friendship, and a deeper kind of love, which burned less bright than the initial heat of lust, but was a steady flame which kept you warm for the rest of your days, or until death did you part. And that’s something he never thought he could have with Heather. They were both too selfish and too independent to ever achieve that kind of a union of souls. Why was it that the people who seemed to achieve that purity of love seemed to always lose it?

  Simon drained what was left in his cup and set it down with a decisive thud. He wasn’t going to say anything to Neve; he just couldn’t. He had no right. Whatever happened was going to happen regardless; all he could do was offer her sanctuary should she ever need it.

  Chapter 42

  Frances smiled shyly as she bid everyone goodnight, and turned to go upstairs. Normally, the bride and groom would go up together, eager to escape the raucous encouragement and bawdy advice from the inebriated guests, but Frances asked Archie to give her a few minutes to herself before coming up, so he was still in the parlor, drinking with the men, and good-naturedly accepting bits of wedding night wisdom from Arnold and Bill. Hugo gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead, and Neve smiled in encouragement, knowing that Frances had nothing to fear. Frances threw a final glance at Archie, whose look of naked longing turned her knees to water.

  She’d anticipated this night for nearly three years, but now that it was here, she was paralyzed with anxiety. Frances refused to think of her wedding night with Lionel, but memories of making love to Luke were still fresh. The experience hadn’t been unpleasant or painful, but neither was it what she’d expected. She enjoyed the attention and the caresses, but felt no real passion or pleasure, glad to see Luke go and leave her blessedly alone. Frances was sure that Luke had done everything right, so it had to be her. Perhaps she was incapable of enjoying the physical aspects of love as other women supposedly did. And who knew if they were even telling the truth.

  Frances was sure that Neve did not fear intimacy with Hugo, but was too embarrassed to ask her outright, and her only other points of reference were her scheming maid, Sabine, in Paris, who seemingly lied about everything, and the ladies of Louis’s Court, who giggled prettily and blushed as they gossiped about their lovers. If there’s anything that Frances had learned over the past few years, it was that you couldn’t really believe anyone, especially people who had something to gain by pulling the wool over your eyes. She did trust Neve though, and the warmth and ease she saw between Neve and Hugo made her believe that a happy marriage was possible, not that they didn’t have their ups and downs. Hugo’s reaction to Elena’s death had taken Frances by surprise, since she’d always viewed Hugo as stoic and indestructible, but seeing the depth of his grief only made her love him more, for he wasn’t just her savior and guardian, he was a man who truly loved, and in her experience, that was a rarity.

  And Archie loved deeply, too. Frances had no doubts about the depth of Archie’s feelings for her, but would his love for her change if she wasn’t able to respond to him as a woman should? He’d enjoyed plenty of women in his day, so he would be quick to notice if she failed to have the proper reaction. What if she didn’t please him? What if he turned to other women to satisfy his needs now that they were married?

  Frances’s hands shook as she tried to roll down her stockings. She was more nervous now than when she was thirteen and about to be deflowered by a virtual stranger. She loved Archie with all her heart, so to disappoint him in any way would surely kill her. Frances tossed the stockings to the floor and reached for a decanter of brandy thoughtfully provided by Hugo. Perhaps the liquor would help. She was on her second glass by the time Archie came up and shut the door firmly behind him. He just stood and looked at her for a moment, his smile lazy and indulgent, but it seemed to falter as he realized the extent of her panic.

  “Franny, don’t,” Archie murmured as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her waist, simultaneously removing the glass from her trembling hand and setting it on the mantel.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t work yourself up. I know what you are thinking, and there’s nothing to worry about. I won’t hurt you, not ever.”

  “That’s not what I was worried about,” Frances replied, wondering if she should share her fears with Archie. She tried to relax, but her back was rigid against his chest, and her hands felt cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth.

  “Then what is it?” Archie asked, clearly concerned. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “I’m afraid I won’t please you,” she mumbled as she turned in his arms. She needed to see his face to know if he shared her concern.

  “I reckon there’s only one way to find out,” Archie whispered as he pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his own. Archie’s kisses had always been tender and sweet, but this kiss was possessive and demanding — the kiss of a man who would no longer be denied. Frances stiffened in Archie’s arms as he turned her around, undid her lacings, and helped her out of the bodice and skirt. Frances was left in her shift, which she hugged about herself, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Archie had never seen her unclothed. What if he thought her too skinny or lacking in bosom?

  Archie didn’t insist that she remove her chemise the way Lionel had. Lionel made her turn around while he looked at her appraisingly and stroked himself, enjoying her terror as his cock thickened and grew longer in his hand. But Archie just let her be. He removed his own clothes, but kept his shirt on, still modestly covered. Archie poured a glass of brandy for them both and handed one to Frances. “To us, Franny,” he said, but waited to drink until Frances took a sip of her own brandy. The fiery liquid did help and made her feel slightly less agitated, but the more she chastised herself for being foolish, the more anxious she felt.

  Archie took the empty glass from her and set it aside before coming up behind her. He didn’t pull her against him as she expected, but moved her hair away from her shoulder and planted feather-light kisses on her neck, eventually catching her earlobe between his lips and sucking gently. Shivers of pleasure raced down her spine, making her legs feel weak. She thought that Archie would now take her to bed, but he seemed in no rush. He moved back down to her neck, lifting her hair with one hand and kissing her nape before paying court to the other side. Frances relaxed a fraction and allowed herself to lean against Archie as he wrapped his arm around her middle. She could feel his arousal against her lower back, hard as a wooden cudgel.

  She felt momentary panic, but it meant that Archie wanted her, and she was pleasing him. The thought helped her relax, and she let out a small sigh as she closed her eyes. Archie’s warm hand crept up to her breast, and he slid it inside the shift, cupping her and caressing her nipple. Frances hardly noticed when she arched her back to press her breast into his hand, or when Archie pushed down the shift to expose both breasts. He gently rolled her nipples between his fingers, making her moan with pleasure as she savored the sensation. She felt a strange ache somewhere deep in her lower belly, as if her body were asking for something, but she attributed it to her nervousness.

  “May I?” Archie asked as
he came around and lowered his head to her breast. Frances buried her fingers in his hair as he sucked on her nipple, sending ripples through her belly which seemed to culminate between her legs and make her feel strangely moist.

  “Oh, Archie,” she breathed as he continued to suckle her breasts. It felt so different from when Gabriel had nursed, gumming her nipples until she nearly screamed from the pain.

  Frances didn’t protest when Archie slid her shift over her hips, leaving her completely exposed. She was no longer embarrassed, but pulsing with a yearning that was unfamiliar to her. Was this what it meant to feel desire? Frances wondered dazedly as Archie pushed her onto a settee and sank to his knees in front of her, pushing her legs apart. Frances let out a startled gasp and dug her hands into Archie’s shoulders as his tongue slid inside her, moving slowly and deliberately until her legs were vibrating with tension, and her senses swam with indescribable pleasure. Archie pulled her lower down and continued his exploration, using his fingers to penetrate her while he teased the small bit of flesh which she’d never paid much attention to before his tongue brought it to startling life.

  Archie lifted Frances’s legs and placed them on his shoulders. He buried his face deeper between her legs as his tongue probed her with deadly intent and his fingers continued to work their magic. The sensation was so intense that all thought fled from Frances’s brain as she gave herself up to the pleasure Archie was giving her. She suddenly felt as if something came undone within her. Her womb began to convulse and she threw her head back with a cry of surprise. She was quivering all over, waves of exquisite pleasure washing over her, her limbs heavy and languid.

  Archie looked up at her, his lips moist, and his eyes shining with satisfaction as he moved up, pulled off his shirt, and covered her body with his own. “You look like you need a few minutes to recover, my sweet,” he said innocently as he kissed her hard, grinding his hips against hers. Frances didn’t want to recover. She wanted more, so she arched her hips against Archie’s in mute demand.

  “Yes, madam,” he whispered into her ear as he slid inside her and began to move. He felt big and hard, but she didn’t resist him. Frances wrapped her legs around him and began to move with him, urging him to go faster. She had no idea what she was doing, but at this point she was being guided by pure instinct.

  “Please, Archie,” she gasped as he pulled back for a moment then thrust into her hard.

  “Please what?”

  “Please don’t stop.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” Archie promised as he grabbed her hips and lifted her pelvis for deeper penetration. Frances cried out in ecstasy as she surrendered all remaining control to her husband. Her body was no longer hers, but an instrument that Archie was playing with such skill that it sang in his hands, and made the type of exquisite music it never knew it could.

  Frances went limp as a rag doll as Archie collapsed on top of her, his body damp with perspiration. He was still inside her, but he no longer stretched and filled her as before. He seemed vulnerable somehow now that he was no longer hard, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as a joyful smile spread across her face.

  “Is it always like this?” she asked him as he looked down at her, clearly satisfied with his efforts.

  “No.”

  “No?” Frances asked, a stab of disappointment piercing her heart.

  “No, it gets better.”

  “How can it possibly get better?” Frances asked, confused. What more could he do to her?

  “Franny,” Archie said with a wicked smile, “there’s going to be a rosy blush on those cheeks in the days to come as you imagine all the things I will do to you as soon as I get you on your own.”

  “And will you do those things?” Frances asked innocently.

  “Only if you ask me to,” Archie growled and bit her earlobe, making her squeal.

  “I don’t ever want you to feel that you have no say and must submit to me whether you want to or not. I will never force you or use you unkindly, Frances.”

  “That means more to me than you can possibly imagine,” she said as she took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. Frances was shocked to feel Archie growing hard inside her again, his eyes clouding over with desire, but he held back, waiting, his body poised on the brink. Frances gazed at him in confusion as she moved her hips against him, but he remained motionless, his eyes on hers. Did he not want her again? Frances wondered. His body indicated otherwise, but he didn’t seem in any rush to make love to her again. And then she understood.

  “Make love to me, Archie,” she said as her cheeks blazed crimson. She’d never demanded anything before, but if Archie didn’t take her now, she’d burst. Her body was thrumming, the point of their joining wet with longing.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Archie replied as he plunged into her, banishing all further thoughts from her head.

  Chapter 43

  After seeing our guests off, Hugo and I went to join Simon in the library. He’d been understandably reluctant to join the party having been in the past for only a very short while. It was a shock to the senses, so to have to immediately socialize with people he’d never met and try to come up with the right historical responses was daunting, to say the least. Besides, he’d just made a life-changing decision, and although Simon seemed to have no regrets, I was sure that he was putting on a brave face. He might not have been ready to marry his Heather, but he’d been with her for several years, and must love her to some degree if their relationship got as far as the altar. Perhaps there would be recriminations tomorrow, especially after spending what was supposed to be his wedding night alone in a strange house filled with people he’d only ever heard about, mostly on Halloween. I recalled Max telling me about a spooky tale he’d made up about the restless ghost of Hugo Everly haunting Everly Manor on Halloween to scare a young Simon.

  Simon had been dozing by the fire, but woke up and sat up straighter as we came in, eager to talk. I knew he was full of questions, but planned to present him with an abridged version of events. We hadn’t seen or heard from Max in over two and a half years, so most likely, he was dead. There was no point in tarnishing Max in Simon’s eyes, especially when the younger man clearly grieved for him and missed him. Also, now that Simon was here in the seventeenth century, I didn’t want to give him any encouragement to stay. I didn’t think he would want to, but if he believed that his older brother was alive, he just might decide to go in search of Max, which likely wouldn’t end well, especially for Simon.

  Hugo had just finished telling Simon about his visit to the twenty-first century, leaving out the more colorful bits about Max’s attempt on his life, and making the whole episode sound like a delightful holiday which he had fond memories of. No mention was made of the frustration or lack of direction that Hugo had felt during those months, or the deep-seated desire to get back to his real life where he was a man of rank and property, a man able to offer me marriage and a better station in life.

  “So, you were able to avoid arrest by wearing colored lenses and coloring your hair?” Simon asked, clearly impressed with Hugo’s ingenuity.

  “I don’t suppose I would have fooled too many people in the future, since changing your appearance is not unheard of, but with no benefit of photography or forensic evidence, it was easy enough to pull off here,” Hugo replied modestly. “No one truly knows what you look like unless they’d met you in person, and a general description in a broadsheet is worthless if it’s inaccurate.”

  “You know about forensics?” Simon asked, gaping at Hugo. He had a hard time accepting that Hugo could talk to him on his own level, still distracted by the clothes and trappings of seventeenth-century life.

  “Rather a fascinating subject,” Hugo replied with a small smile.

  “Was it difficult for you to come back?” Simon asked, giving Hugo an appraising glance.

  “Yes, and no,” Hugo replied noncommittally. “Coming home always feels right, even if the home in que
stion is not perfect.” Hugo threw me a guilty look, realizing that there’d be no coming home for me. “But, of course, I was acutely aware of the ignorance and lack of scientific progress in my own time, especially in medicine. I had visited the dentist in the future,” Hugo confided, “and although it wasn’t a very pleasant experience, he was able to save a tooth which would otherwise have had to come out at some point, having been bothering me for some time.”

  Simon was oblivious to the change, but I’d noticed the sudden tightening of Hugo’s mouth as his eyes slid away from Simon. He was thinking of Elena, and what modern medicine could have done for her had we had the foresight to act in time. There would be that “what if” all our lives, no matter how much time had passed since our baby’s death.

  There was a sudden knock on the door, distracting me from my morbid thoughts. Ruby entered the library, curtsying to Hugo as she always did. He’d told her repeatedly that it wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Sorry to disturb yer lordship, but Michael is crying and won’t settle down. I think he might have a bellyache,” she added apologetically. “He doesn’t normally eat so much afore bedtime, but he did overindulge on some sweetmeats.”

  I was just getting to my feet when Ruby interjected, her face a mask of embarrassment. “It’s his lordship he wants, me lady. He’s asking for his papa.”

  Hugo was instantly on his feet. “Do excuse me, Simon. I’ll come back as soon as I can. In the meantime, my wife will keep you company.” Hugo bowed to Simon from the neck. The formality was unnecessary, but it was too deeply ingrained. Simon made to rise to his feet, but Hugo held up his hand to forestall him before leaving the room.