AgeofInnocence (6 page)

Stroking his back, she couldn’t help but compare him to what
she had with her first two husbands.

Every inch was muscled perfection. His wide shoulders gave
way to sleek arms that rippled when he moved or braced himself. A fine coat of
hair covered the lower half of his arms. She traced her fingers down to the tip
of his bony middle finger.

Her breasts were pressed into the firmness of his chest.

She couldn’t help but compare him—

No! There was no comparison. Ferd was magnificent and he was
hers. She would not waste a moment. She would not shy from his touch or turn
him away or pretend indifference. She would pour her heart and soul into caring
for this man. She would give more than she would take.

But Lettie was going to make demands. When the door to the
bedroom closed, she was going to have all that she wanted from her husband.

“There’s no hurry,” she said.

“Yes, there is.” His words were breathy and anxious. “I need
to be inside you, Lettie.”

She spread her legs, wrapping one of them around his thighs.
He thrust again and she thought he cursed.

Lettie helped, reaching between her legs, gripping his cock
and guiding him forward. When he was inside, he thrust hard. His intrusion was
deep, hitting her womb and causing a brief spasm of pain. She jerked under the
tender assault. It had been many, many years since she’d had a thorough
bedding.

When she winced, Ferd stopped, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you.” He
kissed her forehead, her cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m fine.” She cupped his face. “Keep doing what you were
doing.”

Men should not be so devastatingly beautiful, she thought.
How had he escaped the clutches of conniving mothers? How had no one noticed
that Ferd Ford was a rare jewel, a treasure?

He was full and hard inside her. Her sheath was stretched.
When she clenched around him the first pleasant spasms of arousal swept through
her. There was not a hint of softness on him—a body she could appreciate for
years to come.

He pushed into her again, his groan deep and throaty. Then
his hips jerked in several quick in and out movements. Lettie could feel his
tense urgency. He spilled then—harsh, guttural sounds attesting to his release.

She laughed lightly at his enthusiasm. Ferd rolled away from
her.

“Don’t go,” she said.

He grabbed for a robe that lay at the end of the bed.

“Ferd, what is it?” In this she had experience too.

He walked to the other side of the room and stared out the
window. She grabbed a blanket—two candles were more than enough to illuminate
the room and all that happened within. Behind him, she wrapped her arms about
his waist.

“I’ve upset you.”

He said nothing, a marital condition to which she had long
ago grown accustomed. She wasn’t going to have a third husband who practiced
taciturnity while she remained alone and lonely.

“Come to bed. Or you must talk to me.” She circled around
him, slipping her arms beneath his robe. Tense and unyielding, he remained
aloof, his jaw clenched.

“No, Ferd. You will not ignore me. I have waited too long to
have a man in my bed and in my arms rather than feeble caricatures.” Tears
welled up and she didn’t try to fight them. “Do you think I had a hope of
marrying someone like you after my first two marriages? I had all but given up.
To take a lover might work for some women, but not for me. I wanted someone
like you and now that I have you, I won’t give you up. I will make you happy,
Ferd. I will.”

Tears were not something Ferd understood, especially not
when it was a woman crying for him. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He gripped
her wrists and kissed the back of her right hand. He cupped her face with one
hand and wiped away the tears with his other.

“Am I not the kind of woman you are used to? Do you want me
to do something else for you?”

“It is I who should be asking those questions. I am not a
skilled lover. This is all so new to me, Lettie. I feel as though I am
disappointing you.”

“Oh no, Ferd. No. You are wonderful.”

To what did he confess?

“I have little experience. I’m not sure I can pleasure you
the way you want. Or need.”

If he didn’t tell her, he would likely be miserable the rest
of his life. In their short time together, Lettie had excited him in ways he
had not even imagined. Holding her in his arms was nothing short of torture.
Throwing her to the bed again would have been his heart’s desire except for
that small problem of immediate release.

Now that he had tasted her body, his cock seemed determined
to have only one thing—and that was
more
of her.

“But you have. And it will only get better as we learn what
the other enjoys. Come to bed.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. He was not
unwilling, just unnerved by the intensity of his desire and his inability to
control it. Lettie seemed to sharpen his growing cravings.

At the bed, she dropped the sheet. She crawled on the
mattress, her perfect, round ass an incredible temptation. Between her legs, he
glimpsed the puffy lips of her nether area and his cock stirred.

She rolled and spread her legs, revealing all of her
secrets. Ferd couldn’t find his breath or even the words to say thank you.

He watched, drugged and hypnotized, as her hand caressed
over her breast and down her stomach. Her fingers brushed through the dark, silky
hair that covered her mons and then she stretched and opened the skin covering
the swollen nub and tight sheath that brought him such pleasure.

“Take off your robe, Ferd. I want you between my legs, as I
did for you.”

The piper was playing a tantalizing tune. He sat on the bed
between her legs. She ran her fingers in slow circles—the pearly pink skin was
wet and folded on itself, exposing and then covering what he wanted so
desperately. When he reached for her, she used both hands to spread the folds wide.

Air escaped his lungs as if he hadn’t breathed in a week.

“Lettie.” He couldn’t say what he wanted. He couldn’t say
anything that would make sense.

He leaned to his side, braced on one arm. He curved the
other around her upper leg and kissed the soft white skin of her inner thigh.
When he started, the scent of her woman’s center filled his being and speared
through his cock, making it feel harder and longer than it ever had.

In all of his imagination he had not envisioned such wicked
sensuality. Where he had assumed demure acquiescence, he found intense desire.

Dewy moisture coated the apex of her thigh. He licked along
the seam.

Lettie moaned. He could not look to see if she was smiling
or if he pleasured her. He knew only that he wanted to taste the part of her
that was sacred and unique and wholly his.

There were different kinds of hunger. This hunger caused him
to bury his face between her legs and inhale her arousal and the faint musky
scent of her body. He used his tongue, swiping in one long pass as he took her
in. When his tongued touched the throbbing nub, Lettie gasped and said, “Yes.”

Skill might come with practice. He couldn’t wait to perfect
his technique, not when she was open and inviting. Not when he was crazed with
the need to have all of her.

Lettie’s hips pumped against him with slow, deliberate
thrusts. He sucked on the swollen nub, tonguing along the folds and then
thrusting into her sheath. Her hips gyrated under him. He used his fingers,
first one and then a second one, as he pushed deep.

She screamed and bucked under him and then went limp, her
chest heaving and her eyes closed.

Lettie took a few breaths and then reached for him. “More,”
she said.

Ferd was ready for more.

Her legs were still open and he crawled between them,
settling and feeling his cock brush against her wet skin. He wouldn’t last
long. He only wanted to push into the tight, hot passage and thrust until he
spilled.

She wouldn’t let him.

She squirmed in his arms until he gripped her thighs,
holding her wide. Ferd glanced between her legs. His cock hung hard, the tip
just brushing over the entrance to her sheath.

The intense need to thrust into her body was a stark
reminder of his failing years ago, but he was relieved that the fear of
humiliation was much less acute than the intense need bedeviling him.

He plunged into her, earning a startled gasp and then a
winsome smile. “Don’t stop, Ferd,” she said. Encouragement wasn’t what he
needed. He needed a bucket of cold water to slow the sharp rise of desire.

His breath escalated with each thrust until he was pumping
furiously. Lettie was beneath him urging him on.

“Deeper,” she said.

When he’d been with his first woman, he did not remember the
tight grip of her sheath or the slippery wetness. Or the heat that wrapped
around his cock and spread around his groin.

He thought Lettie was groaning as he penetrated.

It was him.

Again. Again. Again.

The pulsing release was coming soon. He started a count in
an attempt to last longer. To give her pleasure before he spilled into her. When
he reached ten, he started at one again. He reached ten a second time but by
then he could not breathe, did not believe he could hear and would have been
happy to die between her legs. Blood pulsed through his cock, making him as
hard as he had ever been. One. Two.

When he spilled, he roared. The first spasmodic release
caused his hips to jerk as he speared into her in one final deep thrust. He
held his body rigid over hers, as deep as he could fit, while a second and then
third ejaculation shot radiating pleasure through every nerve in his body.

He braced his arms, keeping himself poised over her so he
did not crush her with his full weight. His head hung down. His eyes remained
closed. Ferd should have glanced at her, assured her all was well but he still
thought about his shaft—his pulsing, aching shaft—still deep within her body
and how, God help him, he wanted to use her until she begged him to stop.

Ferd rolled from her body onto his back, wondering if he
would ever have another thought that didn’t involve swiving Lettie.

When Lettie woke the next morning, she was pleasantly
surprised that Ferd still lay beside her. If he was angelic at his daytime
best, he now appeared to have been blessed by the Creator himself in the
beatific and peaceful countenance he wore as he slept beside her. One of his
long-fingered hands lay over his bare chest.

During the night, he had awakened at least twice. He had
disturbed her getting from the bed. She had not asked why he was restless nor
did he ask her for more sexual pleasure, though she suspected that is what
plagued him.

Innocence was such a rare virtue.

Was he afraid to demand his rights as a husband? Was he too
gentlemanly to believe he could enjoy his wife as much as they mutually agreed?

The white linen covered his lower extremities but lay over
his body in revealing curves and bulges.

Lettie felt a surge of delicious selfishness. Ferd was all
hers.

She smiled at the revelation.

Then her heart filled with sudden pain and she nearly burst
into tears. Ferd might be the last and most honorable man in London. And that,
she knew, she did not deserve.

Oh, it was not good to covet such a man. He could be lost
just as easily as her first two husbands.

“Ferd,” she whispered.

He didn’t move but his eyes cracked open a wee bit and his
mouth drew up on one side in a rakish smile. Lettie rolled to her side and then
climbed over him, lying full length over his body. He slid his arm about her
waist, securing her. She curled one foot around his ankle, felt the hard length
of his cock against her stomach and entwined one arm about his neck. She
nestled against him perfectly as if he were made for her body.

An incredible surge of emotion washed over her again. This
time the tears dripped onto Ferd’s chest. He tensed under her.

“What is it, Lettie?”

“I don’t want to lose you. I know we’ve only just married
but the thought of you dying makes me sad.”

“Dying? My grandfather lived until he was eighty-seven. I
think you will have to put up with me for a good while yet.”

His hand soothed up and down her back, but she knew Ferd
really couldn’t understand her distress.

“I will probably outlive you,” he said, “and then where will
I be? And old man looking for a perky young wife.”

She shuddered from the tears but a laugh escaped anyhow.

It was clear she had found something good and wonderful in
Ferd. It seemed grossly unfair she might lose him as quickly as she had lost
her other husbands. Emotions were interfering with sound reason. Her first
husband had been much older and her second husband had been much older and not
in the best health. There, a perfectly logical reason to assume she and Ferd
would grow old together.

“You can’t go through your life imagining the worst.” His
hand stroked through her hair and she glanced up at him.

“It’s just that all I’ve had has been taken away. And I
vowed I would go through life happy as the proverbial lark, so don’t mind the
tears. I was just overcome for a moment.”

“If I promise to plague you until you’re old and gray will
that relieve your fears?”

“One day at a time is enough for me.” Lettie was well aware
of the emotional turmoil. She had respected her other husbands and been
thankful for the care and devotion they’d shown her.

Already she knew something about this marriage would be
different. She was in lust with her husband. And she was going to love him. If
she didn’t already.

* * * * *

Two months ago, Ferd had believed his life was over. Caught
and caged, he was sure misery was about to descend upon him. Maybe that was
part of his happiness. No. His delirious happiness.

Low expectations had yielded an amazing bounty.

They strolled along the Brighton boardwalk. The wind blew in
from the ocean in fits that caused Lettie to laugh. She’d finally given up and
removed her feathered bonnet, allowing the wind to blow through her hair.

Her skirts wrapped around his legs as much as they entwined
with hers.

She laughed again, her face to the wind. “If I suddenly
disappear, you might find me in York,” she said.

“Perhaps you wish to return to the cottage?”

“Never. This is glorious. If every day in England were so
full of sunshine and warmth—”

“We’d all be blown to York.”

“But we’d be together.”

“It is nice to have proof that the sun shines in England.”

“Indeed.”

Ferd liked the way she gazed at him. It made his rampaging
lust and childish giddiness seem normal—and something akin to utter
contentment.

When he glanced ahead, amongst the crowd he saw three of his
least favorite people walking toward him. And Lettie. He lowered his hand to
hers—a sad and reassuring gesture for him.

They were glancing at the women passersby, being the
unmannerly cads he had known they would grow up to be. For his part, he avoided
them after they left school. Ferd wasn’t a titled gentleman so circumventing
their petty jibes and taunts had been as easy as turning down the invitations
to parties where they would be in attendance.

He was well able to handle them now but they had the uncanny
ability to remind him of his youthful and insecure past.

Geoffrey Smith-Davis jostled Arthur Lowell who in turn
nudged Wallace Norton. No, it was beyond hope to think they would be anything
but asses.

He prayed they wouldn’t be uncouth beasts in front of his
wife.

“Well. Well. What do you know?” Smith-Davis asked, glancing
from him to Lettie.

“Smith-Davis.”

“Lord Elder now.”

The proper etiquette was to introduce his wife. “Gentlemen,
my wife, the former Duchess of Burnham. Mrs. Paulette Ford.”

He introduced them quickly. They had all inherited their
titles since they’d schooled together. Lettie smiled graciously and curtsied.
“My lords.”

“You’ve plucked from the highest tree, Ford,” Lowell said.

“I did not know you were interested in women…of such
stunning beauty.” Norton smirked and the others postured.

“He was reluctant, my lords, but I finally caught him.”
Lettie smiled, sure that her words were a compliment but only adding to their
secret glee.

Their grins broadened. “Oh, we don’t doubt that for a
moment, Mrs. Ford. Ferdie was never one to chase skirts. Your pardon, of
course,” Smith-Davis said.

“Will you be at the Royal Pavilion this evening, Mrs. Ford?”
Lowell asked. “Your invitation didn’t get lost did it, Ford?”

Ferd had been married less than two weeks. His invitation
would have been sent to his parents’ home. He would have been included on the
family invite. They knew this.

“We’ve only just married. I would prefer to spend my time
with my lovely wife,” Ferd said.

“But I’d wager she’d rather be entertained more thoroughly.
You should come, Mrs. Ford. I’m sure we can find a dance partner who knows all
the steps.”

“Oh, but Mr. Ford is a lovely dancer,” Lettie exclaimed.

He glanced at her but she was fully engaged with them.

“And a well-versed dance partner is so important, especially
since we will be dancing together for many, many years to come. And you know I
am a very good judge of a dance partner’s abilities. My previous husbands
thought they were good dancers but alas, at times, I could not even get them to
the ball. Such a shame really. A good waltz, when it is completed correctly,
leaves me breathless with joy.

“What about you gentlemen? I can’t imagine dandies such as
yourselves are interested in dancing. You are probably more interested in
fencing
with each other
than entertaining a lady of quality.” She held up her hand.
“There’s no need to deny it. I can tell dancing doesn’t interest you.”

If Ferd had walked up and interrupted this conversation, he
would have thought it perfectly amiable. Instead, they’d been pierced with Mrs.
Ford’s tongue.

She glanced at Ferd. An innocent, happy glance and asked,
“Mr. Ford, shall we be going?”

“Certainly.” Her arm was securely entwined with his and she
cast him an adoring gaze—one meant for their onlookers he suspected.

“Say, Ford, we are racing curricles tomorrow. We are looking
to fleece as many as are interested.”

“I’ll be there,” he said, without a second thought.

He would thrash them or whoever manned the reins tomorrow.
He was looking forward to it—an opportunity to…

“And why did you agree to such a contest with those men?”
she demanded.

“Lettie, this is my business.”

“Curricle racing is dangerous and those dunderheads don’t
give a fig about money. They challenged you so they could embarrass you.”

“It’s a long story but I don’t intend to lose.” Not when he
was considered one of the best all-around sportsmen in London. He did most
things well, thanks to years of practice. He was an especially good whip. His
horses in Brighton were purchased and bred with exactitude.

“Please don’t race them. Please.”

He faced her. In this pursuit he was confident and could
give her every assurance of his performance. “It would be impolite to refuse an
invitation.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“My darling, all will be well. This I can promise.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and exhaled. “Then I will
expect heroic tales for our children.”

“Legendary.”

As they walked he thought of those painful years and his
classmates’ behavior then and now.

They’d spent the years since Harrow being unrepentant rakes
with nothing but their families’ money for support. Ferd had turned his
grandmother’s inheritance into an estate and he’d used his time to better
himself. He should thank them. Their petty bullying had pushed him in more ways
than he cared to admit.

“Why did they behave that way? They were cruel. Cleverly
cruel and you allowed it.”

“We attended Harrow together. They never grew up. I allowed
nothing. They are what they are. But I must say, you handled them deftly.”

“Pompous arses. Do they think a married woman—three times
married, mind you—is too sheltered to understand their juvenile word play?
Doesn’t it upset you?”

“Lettie, their behavior upset me for years. And maybe it
still does but this past few weeks, I am beginning to see that they don’t
matter. I have achieved more than they will ever accomplish.”

“Oh?”

“I have a wife who makes me deliriously happy. That is nigh
impossible in London.”

“And she’s rich,” she added. She stopped and clutched his
arm before pushing to her toes and kissing his cheek. She whispered in his ear
and he laughed.

“Well, I am glad they will never know how well you do that.”

The sparkling mischief in her gaze turned serious. “Do I
make you happy?”

“Mrs. Ford, I think I might be the luckiest man in England
today. I don’t think it is going to be a hardship to grow old with you.”

“Of course you can say that. You’ll always be younger.”

* * * * *

Ferd and one of his stable hands dressed the horses and
rigged the yellow-and-black phaeton. He’d chosen a matched pair that he had
raced together many times this past year. Here in Brighton. He couldn’t help
but smile since he was assured of the outcome.

Lettie walked into the barn. Their gazes met. He would have
given everything but his life to have avoided this marriage. Now he would give
his life to keep her.

“You can ride along if you wish,” he said.

“I cannot. I might distract you and I would never forgive
myself if you lost. Do you really mean to do this?”

“I must. And yes, you are a distraction. I will be back
before you miss me.” He kissed her once on the lips and her hand made a quick,
subtle caress between their bodies.

“Do hurry.”

He kissed her again. “That is definitely a distraction I
don’t need.”

At the racing site, there were nearly twenty curricles and
nearly double that in onlookers. The entry fee was fifty pounds. Quite a haul
for the winner, but he wasn’t here for money.

Ferd was greeted by several friends but then he strolled the
field to examine his competition. Smith-Davis, Lord Elder, had a sharp-looking
team but they were no match for Ferd’s blooded bays. He was politely informed
that he was given a bye for the first round, which he cheerily accepted since
they were the ones about to lose money and reputations.

He declined drinks. Lettie was right. Curricle racing was a
dangerous business. The chaise of the vehicle was mounted high and sharp turns
were known to snag many an inexperienced driver. His wife would be displeased
to know that he had recklessly lost control of his horses and chariot more than
once.

The races were exciting. After each, money changed hand and
backs were slapped. He handily beat Smith-Davis in the quarterfinals. Norton
had gone out early so it was Lowell he would face in the final race.

The bays had been steady all day. His mind was full of
pleasant thoughts—winning, thrashing his boyhood foes and shagging Lettie. But
mostly he concentrated on the race itself, plotting the turns, where he would
position his horses and how he would soundly beat Lowell.

Once the final course was set, they were off. Lowell had
broken early at the starter’s signal and his team leapt at the crack of his
whip. Ferd’s horses responded to the excitement and set up a rhythm that
matched Lowell’s team. At the first turn they were neck and neck.

Ferd kept to the outside track. He didn’t mind the disadvantage
since he didn’t trust Lowell to race fairly. Lowell took the second corner in
the lead but Ferd held his horses even until they were in the straightaway.

With one final crack of the whip, Ferd spurred his horses
toward the finish line. Their stride was in perfect harmony and the carriage
raced ahead of Lowell’s team. They crossed the line nearly two lengths in front
of him.