I walk tenderly up the creaky wooden staircase, having never been on his second floor before. A kind maid flushes red as she directs me to my new bedroom. The dark old wooden floor is thrown over with pretty rugs, and covered in rose petals.
He has an old canopy bed with a white knit canopy, and airy white linens on the bed. It also is covered in petals. I stop dead cold, unsure of what to do, my pulse racing, sweating, my tongue dry.
"Breathe, Marianne", I order myself, "It cannot be that bad, or it would have killed many women before you."
On a large wooden dresser rests a mirror, and I look into it. "Don't act like a ninny." I look around the room and find two oil lamps and several candlesticks. I pick up the matches and fumble them about, cursing myself, and nearly setting the rug on fire before I get them lit.
My things are unpacked and I grab the white linen and lace nightdress I had made for tonight. I already hear the clomp of his heavy boots on the floor below.
Not yet, not yet! I mentally beg. I am not ready yet. There's a knock on the door. Oh hell!
"Mistress, it is Penelope. Would you like some help, perhaps with buttons? The master mentioned I might be of service..."
I pull the door open, and let her in. "Thank you", I say, turning and holding onto the bedpost. It's been a while since either Elinor or myself had a lady's maid. "Please...help me with the dress. Penelope."
Her deft little fingers undo a long train track of little lace-covered buttons as quickly as she can and helps me pulls the dress over my head. I intend to tell her she can go, but she proceeds to remove even my chemise until stand naked before her. I cover myself with my arms, but she ignores me, takes the nightdress from my hands, and pulls it over my head in seconds.
We both hear the clomp of the master's boots up the stairs. "Mistress", she says, quickly and nervously, bobs a fast curtsey, and runs from the room. I see a decanter across the room, and don't care what it holds. I pour myself a glass and gulp. It burns a line down my throat. I take another drink.
I remember my mother's suggestions as he clomps up the stairs, and I duck behind a screen. "Insert one finger, then two. Then spread them to widen the opening. Take a third if you can. Rub and rub and rub until you become damp. And drink first. You don't know he will know what to do. You don't know that you can trust him. The first time is a miserable affair for any woman, darling, but this should make the pain less than if you are completely dry."
I try to do her bidding and gulp the brandy when I hear the door squeak open.
"Marianne?"
I step out from behind the screen. "Christopher", I answer, with a forced smile.
Compassionate radiates from his face. "Truly...truly, Marianne, I am a man of infinite patience. We need to do nothing tonight." I must look terrified.
The nightdress falls off one shoulder. "I am afraid. But I am courageous", I say with a smile.
"Very", he agrees. He kisses me softly, then walks to the fireplace. It was lit earlier, but is staring to die. He adds wood and stokes it up to keep us warm all night.
He removes his jacket and cravat, tossing them on a nearby chair, leaving his white shirt hanging open at the neck, all the way to the chest. He places his glass of brandy on the mantle, and sits down in a nearby chair.
He tugs at one boot. "I usually have Clarence help me with this", he says, as lost as I am in our new roles. I take the boot and tug. It's thick black leather with a brown leather band at the top, shiny enough to see my reflection in. I had no idea men's footwear was this difficult to remove. Finally I yank as hard as I can and flop on my bottom on the floor, the boot in my hand. We both burst into laughter.
"You could get a job as a valet", he jokes.
"Now the other, Colonel", I tease, and he places his other foot in my hand. I tug hard and it comes off in one smooth movement. "My goodness, that was work."
"Indeed", he answers. I take a deep breath and turn away as he stands up. He un-buttons his breeches and removes them, then pulls his shirt over his head. He removes braies and stands before me, naked.
"I would have you look, Marianne", he says, and I turn around, eyes clamped shut. Slowly I open them. I gasp, his cock standing half at attention.
"It is all right, my dear girl, it is all right", he says, with a light, warm chuckle, "I cannot be fully at rest. At least, not with you in the room." He takes my hand and places it there. I move my hand gently, and he gasps out loud, growing against my hand.
"Like the rest of me, you are its master, Marianne. I would not have you squeamish or uncomfortable with me." He touches my arm and jump.
"You must never be afraid of me", he insists, "Never, never, never. I would cut my hand off right now before I used it to harm you, you must know this. I love you, Marianne. I have dreamed of this, and hoped for this, and wished for this, for so long. I would not take you like a barbarian or an untried youth..."
"I know", I tell him, honestly. "I know you are a man of experience...you know...what to do", I say.
"Well not an untoward amount of experience", he chuckles.
"I only need to know one thing", he says, and captures my lips. His own mouth tastes of brandy of excitement.
"Do you trust me?", he asks.
"I do", I answer.
He sweeps me up in his arms. "Then hold onto me, and do not let go until day break."
He places me on the bed, and comes down on top of me. The feel of his weight is delicious. He's not a small man.
"We will go slowly, Marianne. Please don't be afraid. I will stop any time you say", he informs me. My mother said many men promise such things, but do not when they are in the moment.
"The more relaxed you are, the easier it will be. The higher you can get your knees, the easier it will be", he adds.
He touches my legs and I jump.
"Marianne!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry", I flush red, "I cannot be ordered to relax", I joke.
He slides a hand beneath me. "Relax your bottom, relax, go limp." I relax my pelvis, he waits a moment, then removes his hand.
"Obstructions are not good", he says with a smile, pulling the nightgown over my head. I lay naked before him. He is open-mouthed and speechless.
"Marianne...you are even more beautiful than I imagined. May I?", he asks.
I don't know what he's asking for, but I say yes. He seizes one nipple in his mouth and suckles very gently, then the other. He pushes them together, kissing and nipping with his warm breath. I run my fingers through his dark blonde hair, and start to massage his neck. I never knew my body could do things without my permission—without thinking about them first. But my fingers move on my own, and he doesn't need to push my knees apart. They are falling apart on their own, and my hips buck slightly to get closer to him.
"Sorry!", I squeak.
"For being attracted to me?", he asks. "Your body has betrayed that you want me, Marianne. Do you know how that feels to a man? Much less one who loves and wants you as I do you? My greatest dream was nowhere near as wonderful as this. I love you, Marianne. And I think are well-suited to each other. I think we fit well."
I don't know exactly what he's talking about. He dips his head and kisses my stomach. I hear myself making a sound like "mmm", but seem to have little control over it. His head moves between my thighs and I feel his warm breath moving lower.
"What...what are you doing, Christopher? This isn't right I don't think..."
"Shhhh", he bids me. "Trust me."
"But my mother didn't tell me anything about this", I insist, then slap a hand over my mouth. Great job, Marianne.
He erupts into a low, sexy chuckle. "Your mother did not tell you about this, my darling? Hmmm. Maybe Mr. Dashwood had never been to France." He keeps laughing.
"France? I believe my father helped craft a treaty...", I ask out loud as his tongue makes contact the part of me between my legs that has been throbbing.
I scream, buck off the bed, and try to get away from him.
"Stop!", I insist and he does instantly. "What are you..."
"If you do not trust your husband, this will be a long marriage", he says, trying not to laugh. I relax again, and his tongue comes back.
"Every time you seize up and don't relax, I will stop", he says.
"Stop", I insist, "No, no,...oh, sto...don't stop, don't stop. What is that feeling? Christopher, I'm scared..."
Then something hits me. Like a chill or a seizure, and I've never felt anything like it. Nothing has ever felt so incredible.
"What was that?", I ask him.
"Proof you're mine", he says, no longer laughing, and he seizes my lips, sucking on them gently, then stronger.
I feel him moving me, encouraging me to get my legs as high and open as I can.
"I'm going to start. Stay calm, stay relaxed...", he advises and pushes inside me. I feel...filled. Warm.
"That's not bad at all", I sigh.
"We're at base camp one", he corrects.
"Huh?" He is a big man. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.
He pushes deeper and I start to feel split in two.
"Christopher", I say, and he stops dead. "Okay, go ahead."
We move ahead so slowly, and I hear him curse quietly and moan a few times. This is killing him, but he's doing it so slowly, and stopping every time I ask.
I gasp. "It burns", I answer.
"I know, my darling, I know, there's nothing more I can do. I am going to push to the hilt. Hold onto me. Scream all you like..." He pushes and I have been cut in half by a velvet sword.
I scream out, but am able to stop. He starts to move slowly. "I'm sorry my darling, I'm not going to last long this time. I'm shaking with need for you. He screams out "Marianne!", and spills warm and wet inside me.
He pulls out and we both see he is still hard as a rock. "I've wanted you too much or too long. It's going to be a long night, Mrs. Brandon", he chuckles.
"I'm sorry for how loud I screamed."
"Think nothing of it. A canon exploded 15 feet from me during Trafalgar. I thought I'd never hear again", he supplies, laughing.
Neither of us can seem to stop smiling from ear to ear. He kisses my nose, my forehead.
"I want you to know you will always be safe. You are my wife now", he says, and a tear drips down his cheek. "You will always be safe in my arms. In my bed. In my home. In our marriage. Fear nothing ever again."
I throw my arms around him and hold him tight. "I love you, Christopher", I tell him and can nearly feel his heart explode against my chest.
"I love you, my Marianne", he responds.
But it's not Christopher, but "Colonel" I cry out again and again until day break.