Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (68 page)

Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could impair. Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the altar might next fall on herself. Robert Martin and Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three, were the first to be married.

Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the Campbells. The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and they were only waiting for November.

The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley. They had determined that their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow them the fortnight’s absence in a tour to the seaside, which was the plan. John and Isabella, and every other friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse — how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent? he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as a distant event.

When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable, that they were almost hopeless. A second allusion, indeed, gave less pain. He began to think it was to be, and that he could not prevent it — a very promising step of the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise, that his daughter’s courage failed. She could not bear to see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected; and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the event were over, his distress would be soon over too, she hesitated — she could not proceed.

In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse’s mind, or any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the operation of the same system in another way. Mrs. Weston’s poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkeys — evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered. Pilfering was
housebreaking
to Mr. Woodhouse’s fears. He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law’s protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependence. While either of them protected him and his, Hartfield was safe. But Mr. John Knightley must be in London again by the end of the first week in November.

The result of this distress was, that, with a much more voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix her wedding-day — and Mr. Elton was called on, within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin, to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse.

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. “Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it.” But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.

Mr. and Mrs. Knightley were safely ensconced in the carriage after the wedding celebration before Mr. Knightley informed Emma that they were to be staying at Donwell Abbey that night. They would be leaving the next morning for their honeymoon trip.

Emma heard him, but was finding it hard to concentrate on words. All she could think of was what would occur once they reached their destination: the wedding night.

She had been thinking about it nearly non-stop since their interlude in the parlour. She was now a curious mix of anticipation and terrified beyond belief. She already knew that her George could make her feel wonderful. But she also knew that a man could make her feel horrible — her experience with Mr. Elton had proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

And so the trip to Donwell passed without Emma marking it, and before she knew it, they had arrived and Mr. Knightley was handing her out of the carriage and escorting her inside. They made it all the way to the stairs leading to the sleeping quarters before Mr. Knightley stopped.

He grabbed Emma’s hand where it was resting in the crook of his arm. “Emma,” said he with a touch of humour, “I am not going to eat you alive, dearest. You can relax.” He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Though we are to live at Hartfield, Donwell is now your home as well.”

He seemed to be waiting for her to acknowledge his words, but for the life of her, she could not manage even a nod. His smile dimmed somewhat. “Er — shall we have supper?”

Now Emma managed action: a vigorous shaking of her head. No, she could not wait until later to do —
whatever
it was they were going to do. Her heart would beat out of her chest long before supper would be over if she were required to wait. She managed in a small voice: “No — let’s go to bed?”

Mr. Knightley’s response was a gentle, soft smile. “Oh, my Emma.” He looked over her face carefully. “I love you so, but I am afraid
I
am not quite ready to go to bed yet.”

Emma looked at him in disbelief and could immediately tell that he was not in earnest. A very unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, and the tension between them vanished immediately. “Oh, yes,” said she very seriously. “Of course you are not. I do not know what I was thinking,
husband
.”

Mr. Knightley had been on the verge of a laugh, his lips opening to emit a chuckle, but at her reference to him as husband, he sucked in a breath. “Hmm,” he hummed. “
That
is a wonderful thing to hear.”

He turned until they were toe-to-toe and ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, pulling her in for an embrace. “Emma,” he whispered into her hair. “My
wife
.”

A tremor moved through Emma’s limbs, and she clutched him to stay upright. Suddenly, she was filled entirely with anticipation and no fear. She raised her head from the crook of his neck to press a kiss against his jaw. The muscle in his cheek leapt beneath her lips — and, encouraged, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.

With a great sigh, he wound his arms further around her and crushed her to his chest before his lips descended upon hers. The kiss quickly escalated until they were both breathing heavily, their hands beginning to roam. His ran up and down her back, hers across his shoulders and chest.

Emma began making little mewling noises against Mr. Knightley’s mouth as his hands descended down her back and paused momentarily at the small of her back before descending further, gently cupping her bottom and drawing her hips closer to his. She could feel his desire for her pressed into her stomach, and with a moan, she tucked her hips in tighter and kissed him deeper.

He drew back from the kiss with a hiss. “Emma,” said he, staring straight into her eyes. “I am ready for bed now.”

She nodded and the next instant, she was swept up into Mr. Knightley’s arms, and he was carrying her up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

They reached Mr. Knightley’s room in seconds, and he kicked the door shut behind him and carried her over to the bed dominating the centre of the room. With a gentle kiss to her lips, he let her legs slide down his body until she was once again standing in front of him, and then he began to kiss her passionately once again.

She felt the buttons of her dress loosen as his fingers moved over her back, and she realised he was undressing her. That only created a burning desire within her to undress
him
. Her hands turned frantic as she moved his jacket off of his shoulders. He stopped working her buttons for the few moments it took him to shake out of the jacket, and then he resumed his work.

His tongue began creating that delicious in and out rhythm as her dress fell away, pooling around her feet. She tugged at his cravat, and his hands replaced hers, undoing it quickly while keeping up the kiss, and then it, his waistcoat, and his shirt were discarded, and she was touching his bare chest for the first time.

Emma flattened her palms across his pectorals, and he gasped against her lips, pulling back and gazing at her with dazed eyes.

His hands came up to wrap around her wrists, and he pressed her hands more firmly against his skin. “Your fingers burn me,” he whispered briefly before pressing another more desperate kiss to her mouth. “Want to feel more of your skin,” he breathed against her lips. And then her shift was gone — lifted up over her head and fluttering to the floor.

With an embarrassed gasp, Emma crossed her arms over her breasts, but Mr. Knightley did not even pause long enough for her to feel the sharpness of her embarrassment. His arms flew around her, and her world suddenly tilted until she found that they were lying on the bed, him beneath her, she sprawled naked along his body. The fabric of his breaches rubbed against the outside of her thighs as he opened his legs and let her fall between them.

It helped that they were no longer standing, that she was not completely exposed to his eyes. And the feel of his chest against her breasts
was
exquisite.

She smiled nervously — innocently, at him, and he returned her expression with a half-smile so full of love, she felt her insides softening farther.

“You are so beautiful,” he said in a murmur, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her face close for another kiss.

His kiss was languorous this time — His tongue firm and insistent. Soon she was lost to all thought but the sensation of his skin against hers, his mouth on hers, his hands roving her skin and coming to settle across her naked bottom. He squeezed, and she moaned around his tongue, moving with his gentle insistence against the rod pressed to her stomach.

He groaned and the sound rumbled through his chest and her breasts. Out of curiosity and desire, her hands began to move, too, descending from his chest to his abdomen. The ridges of muscle there bucked beneath her fingers, and she continued southward until her fingertips brushed across the length beneath his breeches.

His fingers flexed roughly on her flesh, and he groaned so heavily it sounded like pain.

Emma snatched her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

His hand found hers and directed it back to its quest. “Definitely not,” assured he with that beautiful smile. This time when her fingers touched him, he guided them, shewing her how he liked to be touched. The noises he made as her fingers roamed were awakening new responses in her — body and soul. And it was not long before she wanted to be touching him skin-to-skin. She began an unpractised tugging at the fall of his breeches, and his hands quickly replaced hers, doing the job in seconds. Then her bare palm was touching him.

He threw his head back with a groan. “Oh,
Emma
,” he said, moving his hips beneath her hand, flexing into her palm. She watched in wonder as he began to move against her hold, that part of his body both beautiful and utterly masculine at the same time.

“You cannot look at me like that,” he gasped, reaching for her chin and directing her gaze to his face. “Not if you want this to last for much longer.”

She very much wanted this to last, and so she followed the entreaty in his eyes and leaned forward to kiss him.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and pulled her up until she was straddling his hips. The slick, hot centre between her thighs met that firm length she had just been holding, and Mr. Knightley’s hands on her hips directed her to slide against it. The tip of him brushed against her bundle of nerves over and over, his ridge creating the most glorious friction. She soon picked up on the rhythm on her own, and ground against him to an increasingly frantic pace.

She had to pull from his kiss to gasp in air, and he groaned to the ceiling and helped her increase the friction by moving against her. She felt that peak approaching, moving quicker and burying her face in his neck.

“Oh —
George
,” she moaned as she began to unravel. As she hit the top of her pleasure, she bit into his neck, and he shifted beneath her, changing the angle of his movement to thrust into her up to the hilt.

The cry of pleasure that had been in the back of her throat morphed into a cry of pain. At the same time, he cried out nearly as loud as she did.

She froze, blinking back tears.

His arms changed in their hold, cradling her gently, his hand sweeping up and down her back in a soothing motion. “I am so sorry, my Emma,” he whispered into her ear. “It will never hurt again, love. I promise you.”

It was
supposed
to have hurt? She took marginal comfort from that. She had assumed she had done it wrong.

He pressed kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. “I love you,” he whispered before moving tentatively within her.

To Emma’s great relief, the pain faded. Instead, a wave of sensation rippled up from where they were joined all through her body. She moaned against the skin of his neck, and — encouraged, he repeated the movement. This time, she met him, moving her hips into his thrust.

He groaned and rolled them over suddenly. When next she opened her eyes, he was above her, looking down at her with a purely male expression. His hand slid to right behind her knee, and he hiked it over his hip as he began to drive into her over and over again.

“George,” she gasped. “
Yes
!”

Her body ran away with her. She began thrusting against him as he moved. His chest started billowing in and out, and she smoothed her palms against it. She could see him grit his teeth as her thumbs ran across his flat nipples. He fell onto her, plundering her mouth with a kiss while working his hand between their bodies. She felt his thumb rub across her bundle of nerves, and she cried out.

“Oh,
please
, Emma,” he gasped desperately against her lips. “Let it be soon —
please
.”