An Embarrassment of Riches (32 page)

‘A nightdress, please,' she said a trifle unsteadily to Miriam.

Miriam suppressed a knowing smirk and crossed to the generously sized bed, removing a confection of delicate white linen and lace from beneath a pillow.

There was a light knock on the door and Maura spun her head towards it, her heart pounding. It was a maid carrying a supper-tray.

Maura struggled to regain control of her breathing. She should have known that it wouldn't be Alexander. Alexander would not knock with such deference. She doubted if he would knock at all. If he wanted to enter her room the door would simply fly open and there he would be.

‘Shall I turn your bed down for you now, madam?' Miriam asked, circumspectly not drawing attention to the fact that it was inordinately early.

Maura picked nervously at the cold chicken on her supper-tray. ‘Yes … it's been a tiring day.'

Miriam kept her eyes carefully averted. No doubt it had been a tiring day. If she was any judge it was also going to be a tiring night.

They heard his approaching footsteps at the same instant and both of them were momentarily thrown into confusion, speaking simultaneously.

‘If that is all, madam …'

‘I don't think I will be needing you any further this evening, Miriam …'

The door was flung open and he stood on the threshold, his eyes moving from Maura to Miriam, to the barely touched supper-tray, the turned-down bed. He was wearing a white ruffled shirt, open at the throat, and black breeches that fitted snugly about his narrow hips.

Miriam didn't wait to be dismissed. With flushed cheeks she gave him a hurried bob and, as he stepped into the room, she sped out of it.

Maura looked around in vain for a robe. Although her nightdress was high at the throat and long-sleeved, she still felt agonizingly exposed.

He remained standing with his back to the now-closed door. ‘We made an agreement,' he said, and something in his voice reminded her that young as he was, he was accustomed to exerting authority and to being instantly obeyed. In the lamp-lit room his eyes were bold and black and frankly appraising. ‘It still needs to be fulfilled.'

Heat surged through Maura in a strong, hot tide. Their marriage had been an agreement before God. Since time immemorial newly wedded brides had bedded with husbands they scarcely knew. Her wedding-night was at least going to be an improvement on theirs. Her marriage had not been arranged for her. She had entered into it voluntarily. She had entered into it because she had fallen in love with him at first sight.

Her heart felt as if it were beating lightly and rapidly somewhere up in her throat. ‘About the stables … I ran away because …'

‘I know why you ran.'

He began to walk slowly towards her. She could smell his clean-starched linen, the faint tang of his cologne.

‘Then you understand …' Her lips were dry, the words strangling in her throat.

Unhurriedly he took hold of her by her wrists, drawing her towards him. He understood all that he wanted to understand. He understood that he was going to legalize a marriage that was going to disgrace him socially and, through him, his father. He was going to avenge the only woman he would ever love. And he was going to find release from ten months of agonizing celibacy.

‘I understand and I don't mind,' he said huskily, lifting her with ease into his arms. ‘A feather mattress is far more comfortable than straw.'

Her arms slid involuntarily around his neck. She could feel his heart beating, see the blue-black sheen of his hair as it curled low in the nape of his neck.

He walked across to the bed with her, laying her on the fragrantly scented sheets, looking down at her with an excitement fast reaching fever pitch. He had lived without sex for too long. From now on, although he would live without love, he was determined never to live without sex again.

He pulled off his boots, not bothering to darken the room. He had always made love in lamp-light at Josie Woods's and it did not occur to him not to do so now. Swiftly his shirt and breeches followed his boots on to the floor.

Her pupils dilated, night-black. She had never seen a man naked before. She had never realized how beautiful the sight would be. Nor how it would awe her.

The brass bedstead creaked beneath his weight. In unhurried deliberation he reached out for her, revelling in the feel of her hair as it spilled over his hands, groaning in pleasure as he drew her towards him and he felt the pressure of her lightly clad breasts against his chest.

He kissed her slowly at first and then harder, his hands running exploringly down her body, reaching for the hem of her nightdress, pushing it up towards her knees. Towards her waist.

Maura gasped, her arms tightening around the strong muscles of his back. Emotions and sensations she had never dreamed of flooded through her. His hands were on her naked flesh, sliding sensuously up the length of her legs, caressing her hips, moving lightly and teasingly over her tightly curled pubic hair. She was filled with a deep, urgent, delicious ache, every last vestige of modesty vanishing. She
wanted
him to touch her most private and secret places. She was hot and damp and she wanted to be pressed nearer to him, so near that they would cease to be two separate beings, but be one.

His hands cupped her breasts, his right thumb circling a rosy-pink nipple. Slowly, enjoying the response he knew he was awakening in her, he lowered his head, covering her nipple with his mouth, gently sucking and then brushing the crown of her nipple with the rough, arousing surface of his tongue.

Maura moaned, arching her back in an ecstasy of pleasure.

Alexander raised his head, looking down at her with a feeling of triumph. She wasn't feigning her response to him, as he had the sense to know that Josie's girls often did. Nor was she inhibited by modesty, as Genevre had understandably been. Her passion was genuine and deep and the knowledge increased his desire beyond all bearing.

His mouth once again sought hers and her hands slid up into his hair, her lips parting willingly, her tongue sliding deeply past his.

He could wait no longer. In a fever of need he pushed himself into her tight, moist, softness. There was a momentary barrier to his way and he could feel her tense and cry out in pain, and then he was thrusting deep inside her and her cries changed in tone and he was riding to the crescendo of his life, spending himself in an agony of relief.

For a long time afterwards they lay side by side, their breathing gradually returning to normal, their thoughts in tumbled chaos.

Alexander stared at the flickering shadows on the ceiling. When he had married her, he had anticipated consummating the marriage as an act of necessity and then never touching her again. He had known for some time that there was very little chance of such a plan of action being followed, and now he knew it for a certainty. He couldn't remember when he had last enjoyed such a feeling of well-being.

He turned to look at her, lying on one elbow. Her eyes were closed, her long eyelashes two lustrous fans against her still-flushed cheeks. She had been a virgin and, despite all she had told him of being brought up with the granddaughter of an English lord, the discovery had stunned him.

He had assumed her education and her knowledge of correct social behaviour to be surface gloss and nothing more. Although she was obviously able to pass as a lady, it had never occurred to him that she
was
a lady. She, after all, had agreed to marry him for no other reason than for financial gain. It had been the behaviour of a two-dime trollop and despite her appearance to the contrary and the explanation she proffered for her behaviour, that was how he had continued to think of her. Yet two-dime trollops were most definitely not virginal.

It was all very intriguing. He had initially assumed that once the newspapers knew of his marriage and emblazoned the news of it on every front page, her use to him would be over. Now he was beginning to have second thoughts. As long as they were together, his father's humiliation would continue. That in itself was reason enough for keeping her with him. Another reason was the loneliness he knew he would now feel without her. He had come to Tarna intending to stay until he had regained full strength in his still-weakened leg. When he had done so he was going to enlist; the war was still dragging bloodily on and he wanted a part of it before it came to a close. Yet life at Tarna, alone, would have drawbacks. There was no entertainment near by of the kind he was sorely in need of; no bored and willing married ladies; no pretty professionals.

He watched the soft rise and fall of her breasts and his sex began to stiffen again. There was absolutely no reason in the world why they should part just yet. He smiled to himself, highly satisfied by the outcome of his deliberations, and reached out for her once again.

Maura slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him in deep contentment. The unreasoning, primeval instinct that had prompted her into accepting his offer of marriage had been proved right. Love at first sight did exist. And would last life-long.

‘Alexander,' she whispered, uttering his name in intimate warmth for the first time. Her arms slid around him. ‘Oh, Alexander …
Alexander!'

When they were not in bed they were on horseback. For hour after hour they would ride along the bank of the Hudson. He told her of his friendship with Charlie and with Charlie's Uncle Henry; of the raffish race-meetings that were held on Long Island and Harlem Lane and of how they would attend them together when they eventually returned to New York; of how decent Powerscourt had been to him during the long months when he had been his enforced guest.

She told him of Ballacharmish. Of the lush, undulating parkland that surrounded it; of the rose-garden with its heavily scented blossoms from Provence and Persia; of the views of Lough Suir and the gorse-clad slopes of Mount Lùgnaquillia and Mount Keadeen. She also told him of Isabel, and of how they were close as if they were sisters, and of Kieron.

‘Kieron was a village boy?'

‘Yes, though the word village is the wrong word to describe Killaree. It's just a straggle of mud-walled thatched-roofed cabins surrounded by a handful of potato-patches and bog.'

Alexander could easily imagine it. He had seen a dozen such villages on his journey from Powerscourt's estate to the docks at Queenstown.

‘And did Clanmar's eccentricity extend to taking Kieron into his home, as he took you?'

They were making their way sedately on horseback through sun-dappled woods of oak and ash and she laughed and leaned forward and patted the horse's neck. ‘Not quite. It was Mr Fitzgerald, Lord Clanmar's land-agent, who first brought Kieron to Lord Clanmar's attention. Mr Fitzgerald had taken him out of the hedge-school in order that Kieron could help with jobs around the estate. When he realized how fiercely intelligent and able Kieron was he gave him more and more responsibility and Lord Clanmar began to take an increasing interest in him.'

Her pride, when she spoke of Kieron, was obvious. He looked across at her curiously. ‘And Kieron is related to you by marriage? He's an uncle? A cousin?'

‘Nothing so direct. His father was my mother's second cousin. What that makes Kieron and myself I'm not quite sure.' She flashed him a happy, dazzling smile. ‘We're kin though, and that matters in Ireland.'

He gave a non-committal grunt. From what Powerscourt had told him, kinship in Ireland was just another word for medieval tribalism.

‘And where is the intelligent and able Mr Sullivan now?'

His light flick of sarcasm was lost on Maura.

‘He's in Waterford,' she said sunnily, ‘acting as land-agent for Lord Bicester.'

Alexander's interest was temporarily caught. Bicester's estate was within riding distance of Powerscourt's.

‘I'm expecting him to write to me,' she continued, ducking to avoid the low-hanging branch of a tree. ‘I've written to both him and Isabel telling them of our marriage.' Her voice was thick with barely restrained laughter. ‘How I would love to be a fly on the wall when they read of it! Isabel will be incoherent, as for Kieron …' She paused, wondering how Kieron would react to the news. ‘Kieron will throw his cap in the air for joy.'

Her voice was a little less convinced than it had been when she had been speaking of Isabel, but Alexander was unaware of her flash of uncertainty. He didn't doubt for a moment that Kieron Sullivan would throw his cap in the air when he learned of their marriage. He wondered how long it would take for the begging letters to arrive. His well-shaped mouth tightened. Kinship or no kinship, he would see to it that Maura didn't respond to them. He'd be damned to hell before he became an almshouse for idle Irish.

The first letter to arrive at Tarna from across the Atlantic was from

Isabel.

My dearest Maura
,
I do not believe it! I keep pinching myself and re-reading and re-reading your letter and still I cannot believe it! What an incredible, what an amazing thing to have happened! How on earth did you dare to do it? What in the world would Granpapa have said? What will Kieron say? Oh, write back soon and tell me EVERYTHING. Is he handsome? He must be handsome or else he would not have swept you off your feet in such a manner. Is Tarna as big as Ballacharmish? You say that the Karolyis family is wealthy. How wealthy? As wealthy as Granpapa was? As wealthy as Lord Palmerston? As wealthy as the vulgar Mr Vanderbilt Granpapa once told us about? Write again SOON.

London is unbelievably dreary. I am not allowed out without a suitable chaperone and it seems to be beyond the new Lord Clanmar's capabilities to find me one! Oh, how I miss Granpapa and Ballacharmish! Oh, how I miss you! The moment I am free from Clanmar's tedious guardianship I shall SPEED to America and then you will be able to show me New York and Tarna and I shall be able to meet your wonderful Alexander! Fondest love and thinking of you constantly, Isabel