Finagled (11 page)

"I feel completely sober," he whispered into her ear. "The only thing I am drunk on," he moved his face down her neck, nudged some of her long golden hair out of the way, "is the smell of your skin, like honey," his tongue found exit from his lips and traced the gentle curve of her neck.

"No, you said..." she mumbled, feeling her legs weaken, she leaned on him, "You said, no."

"I think," his voice was rough, "there are things I can do that will not break... some... misguided promise," his mouth was on her collarbone, nipping along the line of it.

"Please," she moaned, "no, please, if you were to regret me, later..." she found tears as well as passion in her breaking voice.

"I could never regret you," he said, his voice becoming gruff.

Her feet left the ground as he lifted her with one arm, gently, hiding the pain he felt in a passionate grunt, he moved the 3 feet to his bed, and put her gently upon it, underneath his firm body. He felt impossibly solid, though she did not feel his weight at all.

She felt only a little terrified as he lifted her further into the bed, her head resting on his pillow, the blankets rumpled from his earlier fitful rest, she turned her face into the bedding, she smelt the scent of him there.

She looked at him earnestly in the darkened room, the candle seemed far away, the fireplace illuminated in its own way, making the whole thing seem more dreamlike and somehow, more safe.

His eyes settle on her face. He looked at her for a long moment. "Do you want this?" he asked, huskily and afraid of her answer.

She nodded.

"You have to say it. I want this. I will not regret this." he said. "I mean it.
I
want this.
I will not
regret this."

She had trouble finding her voice, it was probably impossible for her color to rise any more than it already had, but she felt a renewed flush fill her face, she said it with her eyes closed, embarrassed to see the look on his face, her voice a little rough and quiet, "I want this. George, I will not regret this."

He let out a breath he had been holding. Leaning over her he took her small face in his great hands. "Ramona," he said, kissing her temple, her cheeks, forehead, nose, even her chin, "Ramona," he slid his rough lips over her soft ones. She clinched her hands into little fists. Elements of that first kiss in the arbor, and then something much stronger, an entitlement, a lack of hesitation, an assurance that they need not rush, a slow and lingering kiss, the strange wetness of it, warm and tasty and suddenly gasping for air as he pulled away and she realized she had been holding her breath.

Searching and fumbling with her thin white cotton nightdress, he pulled  it over her head and drank in the sudden first sight of her body in the dimly lit room. Soft and feminine lines against his white sheets, a pink blush across her chest, arms, and thighs. She felt like her body was humming. Anticipating his touch and feeling an unexpected expectant excitement mounting as it was delayed by his survey.

The first thing he touched was her thighs. The hairs stood up somewhat electrically. He just barely touched her, and she felt her muscles tighten, the urge to to squirm closer and away from him at the same time.

His colossal member stood at attention. She wondered at its ability to gain entrance to her small, unconquered frame. He moved up again to kiss her and she felt the genital beast move against her like it had a mind of its own. The hot and tingly moistness in her woman's place felt suddenly achy, and just as she grabbed at the sheets in a strange frustration, one of his fingers found its shocking way to the mess of curls between her legs. Her thighs tensed up.

"Egads," she said aloud, pinching her eyes closed, suddenly embarrassed at how remarkably wet she felt, as his finger moved gently through the hair and found the slit that led to her most private of places. His fingers moved gently, against her anatomy, paying special attention to a particular nubbin that hummed with such exquisite pleasure she could not contain herself. Just as the pleasure mounted and her back arched, he moved away. She felt herself relax back on the pillows. The feeling subsided somewhat and her breathing, haggard, slowly became more regular. 

His face inches above hers, slowly moved out of sight and she jumped as his lips embraced, first, her left nipple, in a kiss not unlike the one he had placed on her lips, then hot and moist, lower and lower until he found his way to her magical pocket of pleasures, his mouth opened upon her and she felt the desire to protest, until his tongue began to mimic the actions his fingers had so recently taken. Breathless she found her body moving against him of its own volition. She could not help but make tiny little agonizing gasps. In a moment both his fingers and mouth were humming against her hummy anatomy, his fingers, slipped inside, moving in wide circles, a sort of tight discomfort, just as the pressure upon her nubbin became too much and she arched against it, her body shaking uncontrollably, her voice escaping from her mouth in surprising gasps and strange little noises, her woman’s place exploding with sensations she had never felt before.

He moved back over her, his breathing somewhat rough, he leaned up and watched her breathlessly gasping form as he grasped his member in his right hand, fingers moistened still from their foray into her magical sheath, his brow furrowed, his lip bit, until he exploded his manly seed upon her soft belly, and collapsed upon her, the hot, wet mess pressed between their bodies.

He laid on top of her for a moment, their breathing rough until it met in tandem with their slowing heartbeats. She tentatively reached up, caressed his face and hair for a moment, and he moved off of her.

She slid off of the bed, her legs weak and quaky, she reached the ewer of water and poured some over a towel. Wiping off her belly and rinsing the towel again, she returned to the bed, and gently applied the towel to George's bits and pieces. His breath quickened again, and he took the towel from her, cleaning himself,  he opened his arms wide and pulled her back on to the bed at his side.

George wrapped his arms around her and pulled the sheet up over their naked bodies. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, goosebumps were forming on Ramona's arms, she burrowed against him, with her back to him, and found herself falling asleep, suddenly exhausted from the unusual activity.

When Ramona awoke she was alone. The room was full of light. She sat up in surprise. Falling asleep in one unfamiliar bed the night before and waking up in yet another. Then she remembered, how could she forget? Her body still felt strangely electrified and her face was set in a permanent grin. Still she blushed as she jumped out of bed and went digging around on the rug for her discarded nightdress. Slipping it over her head, she tried the panel between rooms and opened it quietly. She saw her new bedroom in the morning light, it seemed lovelier today, was it the sunlight or the events of the previous night playing on a loop in her mind. She had shared a bed with her husband. She felt elated.

She rang for Melanie. A hot bath was brought while she waited wrapped in a big blanket by the freshly kindled fire. The morning chill was biting. She smiled to herself, to the fire, she sang a little in delight,
Shim sham mcgee foovia mcwhat what howsit woo
, her voice rising attractively with her delightful lyrical genius.

Oh how lovely she sounded and felt. Outside in the hall, George heard her beautiful voice and felt a strange feeling. A pleasure at it, to be sure, but also a regret. How close the night before had he come to consummating their marriage for real? It was a wonderful night, probably the most pleasurable he had ever enjoyed that so involved his own hand, and yet, he had the feeling it could not go on like that. It was almost painful, the desire he felt just to go ahead and sheathe his incredible man sword to the hilt in the beautiful garden between her shapely thighs. He found himself scowling. It was a bad idea. It was such an exquisitely beautiful amazingly delicious bad idea.

He walked on, past Ramona's door where he could still hear her inspiring voice lifted in song, "Sham a lamm a woo woo fally boop mow mow fipple wrangler so so flee!" it came, clear as a bell.

Ramona bathed in the hot, delightfully scented waters and chose a particularly lovely dress from her wedding trousseau to greet this, her first day as the mistress of Loathewood, Duchess of Blusterfuss, Ramona Flanders.  Melanie was skilled at hairdressing, and Ramona's incredibly long locks were tamed, pulled and teased into a tight and shiny pile of tidy, practical curls and buns atop her small head.

Her dress was a yellow cream, pulling together the honey color of her hair and the milky shade of her deliciously soft skin, she looked almost like a vision. She wore no jewelry but a band of gold and the sapphire engagement ring that George had given to her in more terrible times.

"Well, Melanie," she said, "You have met some of the servants, have you not? What can you tell me about Loathewood?"

"Well, Your Grace, there are many servants. I have never seen so many. I am sharing a room with 2 other girls. They are the only ones I have really gotten to speak to, aside from the housekeeper, Mrs. Lopple, that is, who showed me around so I would be able to bring you your this, that, and the other as you require it. I am a bit befubbled, I must admit. The house is rather large and I have to..." she lowered her head, "begging your pardon Your Grace, I do not mean to complain,"

"Complain? Oh  Melanie. It is a large house and we are both strangers here. I understand. I will not ask too much of you until we have settled in and found our place."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Melanie said.

"So, you have had a bit of a tour, then?" Ramona asked, watching Melanie in the mirror.

"Yes, just a bit. I have seen the kitchens and below stairs as much as I should require to serve you, and been shown about to the rooms where you are likely to call for me. The house is very large, but a lot of it is kept for best, and everything is covered in sheets."

"Ah, yes. I imagine we will get to see some of it soon, though. The Duke said he would like to throw a party, to introduce me to the neighborhood. I imagine it will be a huge undertaking. I must find out if he wishes me to finagle the details myself. Mother always arranged for the parties, but they were never in her honor.”  Ramona had assisted her mother often,  as it was expected she would one day have her own home to run. Even if the servants are quadrupled and the square footage times-tenned she thought she should be able to manage.

"Yes, Your Grace, you will throw a fine todo with this house as your canvas," Melanie said, pinning a final curl into place, and standing back to survey her handiwork.

"Oh, Melanie, you have outdone yourself." Ramona said, touching her hands to her glossy locks and giving the servant girl an encouraging look. “It’s gorgeous, but not too ostentatious.”

"Thank you, Your Grace," Melanie met her mistress' eyes with genuine warmth.

"So now I suppose I must see something of the house. Do you think Mrs. Lopple has time to give me a tour? Perhaps I can find the Duke and ask him..." she felt a warmth in her stomach. The idea of walking through the halls and rooms of George's ancestral home with her hand in his gave her the sensation of butterflies.

"Yes, my lady, breakfast is being served now downstairs, and I do imagine that His Grace is now at table."

"Of course, breakfast," Ramona laughed slightly, "I had nearly forgotten that I would have to eat today."

"I can show you the way to the dining room... I think." Melanie sounded somewhat doubtful.

"Yes please, it will be an adventure, how lost could we possibly get?" she asked, with a smile.

Melanie had a firmer grasp on the hugeness of Loathewood, so she made a slightly worried face, but as it was, they only made a wrong turn or two on their way downstairs, to the first floor and a somewhat opposite wing, where the dining room was.

When she entered the room, Andrew was already up from the table, excusing himself. He looked at her with surprise, made a slight inclination of his head, and rushed from the room.

George was seated with a half picked at plate in front of him. He smiled at Ramona slightly. She fixed a plate from the sideboard and sat across from him.

"Good morning, Ramona," George said, keeping his eyes on his plate.

"Good morning, George,” she replied, leaning forward slightly, searching out eye contact.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"I... yes." she replied, somewhat surprised. The question posed as if they had not seen each other since parting the night before. She found the egg in her mouth chewy and unsatisfying.

"I was wondering," Ramona said, "if you might be able to show me around the house today. I am eager to learn my way around so that I can begin my duties."

"Ah. Well. I’ve been away a long time... I have men to see about the grounds, and tenants who have need to speak to me today... I am sure Mrs. Lopple can give you a good tour. She’s been here almost as long as I have," he smiled, "and more of those years spent standing upright and speaking in full sentences."

"Oh. Yes, well. Just to get me started, I suppose. I would love to hear about the house from you, as well." Ramona said.

"She really knows the history better than I do," George stated. "I am sorry Ramona, but I will be very busy for quite a while. I usually don’t spend so long away, and while I have good men working for me, many of my tenants have become accustomed to dealing with me personally. It is, I believe, a point of pride to them that they do business with me. Some let things on their acreages get quite out of hand if I am not around to oversee it."

"Of course, you will be busy. I’m sure that once we’re settled, I should be as well." Ramona smiled tightly.

"That's the spirit." George said, standing up suddenly, his plate unfinished, and giving Ramona a pat on the head.

She broke off a bit of pork and gnawed on it with a sour look on her face after he exited the room.

"Infuriating!" she said aloud. Inside she bitterly reminded herself of his words the night before,
I could never regret you
, if this was not regret, what was it?  If he had just leaned in and kissed her softly instead of patting her on the head like an obedient child, perhaps she would have looked past the rather flat way he had explained his busyness, but the pat?  The pat was
simply infuriating
.

She finished her breakfast in a fume, and then went to find the housekeeper. She would not neglect her duties, she would not stew, she would just try harder to show George that she too could be too busy for him.

Mrs. Lopple was a round and comfortingly soft older woman. Her hair had clearly once been a light color, turned to a pure and clean white. She seemed to have a friendly face, especially when speaking to George or Andrew the night before, but as was the case with many women she was hesitant to embrace a new female in the house, especially the first one in over a decade to outrank her. The last had been Regina, Andrew's mother, and that woman had been a disaster. She looked at Ramona with a tight mouth.

"Hello, Mrs. Lopple," Ramona smiled warmly.

"Your Grace," Mrs. Lopple tilted herself slightly, since she was liable to topple if she bowed any further.

"I do hope you have time to take me over the house today, and help me familiarize myself with any duties that I should take over," Ramona said.

"Well. With the party in the works..." Mrs. Lopple softened slightly at Ramona's tone and correctness.

"Oh, is there already work being done on that? The Duke had told me of it tentatively, but I was not sure if I was to have any hand in the planning or not. I would be happy to assist. It would perhaps be a good idea, as part of my introduction to the neighborhood, to introduce them in my own style. I hesitate to say... show off my skills as a wife..."

"Of course! I thought just the same thing, that you should be involved, but His Grace told me not to bother you, I beg your pardon."

"Well, he clearly doesn’t know what the wives in the neighborhood expect of me. I believe, I should be slaving over this introduction to impress them."

"I agree completely," Mrs. Lopple felt a bit of relief. She was not entirely fashionable enough to plan a sudden party out of nowhere and have it be up to the standards of ladies accustomed to London seasons.

"Well, then, first we can look over the house, particularly the show rooms that will be accessed during such a party, and then I should like a basic idea of how to get from my room and, for that matter, to my room, as I have only used the passage there in the candlelight." Ramona smiled.

"I think I have the time, my lady." Mrs. Lopple decided, charitably.

"Good. Thank you, please, lead on." Ramona said.

The house was incredible. Incredible and large and incredibly large. Six stories high and impossibly wide in all directions, Ramona found herself surprised upon turning a corner at the end of a long hallway to find another such hallway, going on seemingly forever. She tried to find landmarks, paintings, bits of statuary, to help her remember the way.

The ballroom, and other rooms kept for best and guests were beautiful, and she pictured in them large displays of flowers and other decorations appropriate for a large ball. She could imagine the place, not covered in white sheets as it was now, but full of candles, fruit, flowers, dancers, beautiful gowns and potted plants.

She asked Mrs. Lopple how many families there were in the neighborhood that could be expected to attend. There were 5 of close proximity that would almost certainly succumb to the curiosity, a couple of old bachelors who could go either way and two or three families in a neighboring county who would probably be invited and would accept if the party was to extend over a few days, making it worth their while to travel.

Ramona planned in her head, it could be a small, weekend party, a ball with dancing and musicians and gambling if the tastes led to that, hunting if George did not oppose on the following morning, meals throughout the day and a formal dinner, with guests leaving as convenient over the next day or so. The house could easily accommodate a party of this size, but since George had proclaimed himself to be so busy, she hesitated to make anything like a decision without first consulting him in full. Still, she felt a dizzy excitement planning such a todo.