Again, more helpful, supportive and amusing reviews for the last chapter. Thanks! I am amazed at the number of new readers this story has picked up. Thank you Barb the beta and thank you dear readers for supporting this fic.
-Leesainthesky
Chapter 81 Act II
"Poor dear, Christine never did have affinity for competition. But she is a survivor, she'll recover form her fall-eventually. Fortunately, the Comtess is no longer my concern," Erik remarked when I showed him the front page of the morning paper.
"She paid for the wicked trick she played on you and Gabrielle. We all believed you to be a libertine of a man. Bessie wanted to tie you to a tree and separate you from your manhood," Mary Ann added with a twitch of a smile on her lips.
"Madame! Such thoughts from intelligent, gentlewomen."
"What, only men can entertain thoughts of a vengeance?" shot Mary Ann.
"The new breed of female frightens me greatly, madame." he said, straight faced.
"Oh pooh, Erik. You enjoy it when I'm riled up. You'd be bored to baldness with a groveling boot licker of a wife and you know it," I said.
"True, I much prefer my fierce and lusty lioness," Erik replied as he leaned toward me and met my gaze. Blatant desire still shone in his eyes.
I smiled appreciatively at my future husband, and unaccustomed to hearing his brash endearments in front of an audience, found that I was blushing.
"Could it be that our Gabrielle is embarrassed?" Mary Ann chided me. "Honestly, I am pleased to see you happy, Gabrielle; a child and then a wedding. How modern you are. When are the nuptials?" she questioned both of us.
I slid a sideways look to Erik, urging him to answer her loaded question.
"Straightaway. Our plan is to find the nearest judge upon our arrival in Paris. This time I'll take no chances with my elusive butterfly." Erik captured my hand in his and brushed his thumb over my knuckles.
"What, and deprive your bride of a proper Christian ceremony?" Mary Ann offered Erik more tea, which he declined with a wave of his hand.
"We'll have a grand celebration at the manor after our child is born-when the weather is more consistent."
"With a Protestant clergyman," I added.
"To please my spiritually minded wife...that is if one can be found in France. We've nothing against Catholics mind you, I was christened one, but I fear their approval of our lifestyle would prevent any pious minded priest to join us in holy matrimony. And naturally, madame, you and Monsieur Lewes are invited."
"A splendid idea, to stave off until your entire family can attend." Mary Ann often approved of unconventional behaviors.
Conversation did not center solely on the fallen Comtess or Erik's appetites. It was agreed upon that while in London, we would pay a visit to Dr. Elizabeth Garrett. From the day Madame Roux informed Erik of my condition, he'd been devouring medical books on the subject of pregnancy and delivery. Erik was eager to speak with Elizabeth about the baby's progress. I needed to find out what he'd gleaned from his studies and adjust his knowledge with mine, as there was a century plus of discrepancies in the majority of the nineteenth century obstetrics.
I was thrilled to have Erik show such a keen interest in the birth of our child. Generally, fathers of his time would rather amputate a leg than to know anything whatsoever about the indelicate subject.
We left the Evan's-Lewe's town home amongst a flurry of verbal blessings, then boarded a small rented carriage for a side trip to the home of Dr. Garrett before making the short trip back to Hastings.
Erik peered out of the cab's tiny window at the streetscapes of London. While I sat next to him wrapped in thought, he occasionally voiced an opinion on a piece of architecture he hadn't noticed on previous trips through the city's cobblestoned streets.
"Erik?"
"Yes, my love?"
"What prompted you to research gestation and birth?"
He turned from the passing scenery to look at me. A gentle frown creased his brow. "I would think most men would care to know all they could about their wife's condition."
"Ha-you'd think."
I smiled and caressed Erik's hand. "You sweet man, up until the middle of the 20th century, most men would rather be hitched to a team of Clydesdales and dragged down a rocky embankment."
"How indelicate-a woman carries a man's offspring for nearly ten months, suffers through the agonizing pain of labor, yet a man cannot even bother himself with the details? Males of our species are an abysmal lot," he huffed.
"Not all of them, Erik. An eternity of progress will be made in the next 128 years. Fathers will attend child birthing classes with their wives and assist in delivery. Americans warmed to this idea a lot sooner than European men did. In the Wild West, men often rolled up their sleeves and served the role of the mid-wife."
"Yes, well, we European men don't fancy getting dirt beneath our finger nails," Erik said with droll humor.
"But not you." I snuggled against him.
"No darling, not me. I've spent nearly 46 years attending to my every need, no matter how distasteful. No mother to bathe me, dress my wounds, wipe my nose or clean up my vomit."
So changing dirty nappies would not be an issue for him, humm? I wondered.
"Didn't your mother have help, a nursemaid perhaps?"
"We had a woman for a while, she took pity on me as an infant and toddler, but as soon as I became a self-sufficient four-year-old, I tended to myself," he snorted, as if such practices were common.
"Beyond amazing," I mused. "If only I could travel farther back in time, I would find you and care for you, Erik. No child should suffer such abuse." I traced the outline of his chin, drawing my finger up to his full lips and he issued a light kiss on my gloved digit.
"Darling Gabrielle, I could not fathom appreciating your loving kindness any more than I do now. In the days you've been beside me, my past wounds have become less painful." Erik smiled down at me. In his eyes, I saw more love than I imagined anyone could hold for another.
My heart ached for this strong, regal man who was so sensitive and wounded, yet possessed the grace and courage to welcome love into his heart once more.
Brave man, I thought. Angling my body to face him, I cradled his face in my hands and rewarded him with a loving kiss; he wound his arms about me, drawing me into a fervent embrace.
Enthusiastic in our kissing, hands began to roam and grasp. Grunts and sighs punctuated the air and soon Erik's hand was beneath my skirts, sliding up my stockinged leg in search of my pot of gold.
"Umf--Erik," I broke free from the zealous kissing. "What I'm sure is on your mind, we cannot do in here, there's no room."
"The hell there isn't." He fingered the folds of my underwear, searching for the opening.
"Erik!" I jumped and giggled when he breeched the slit in my drawers.
"Do stop squirming, Gabrielle."
He quieted me with his fingertips, stroking, taunting and teasing my alert, moist bud. I gave in, relaxed against him and spread my legs.
"Ah, better," Erik nuzzled my neck and murmured a string of blazing hot endearments.
"Gabrielle, petite jeune mariée douce, I am your dog, your humble servant, mon amour."
"I am but yours, monsieur." My hand journeyed down to his bulging hardness. He groaned wantonly.
"Is that all you care to do, tease me?" Erik complained.
"We've room for no more than a quick grope," I answered.
"Free me," Erik demanded.
Obligingly, I popped his trouser buttons from their holes and released his eager friend.
"Sit on me."
"Do what? I'll kill myself. I'm six months pregnant. In case you've not noticed, monsieur, I take up more space these days."
"I will hold onto you, darling," Erik assured me as he lifted me up by the top of my hips and urged me on. He extended his legs, braced his feet against the base of the opposing seat and wrapped his other arm around my back to hold me in place.
"Je veux au va te faire foutr," Erik whispered to me, his dirty French drenched with lust as thick and dark as Azrecan coco.
"Please, until we both can no longer breath."
Overcome with desire, Erik crushed my skirts up around my waist while I jockeyed for a comfortable, secure position over his hardened shaft.
He shivered and hissed with satisfaction when I sheathed him, "Dear God how I love you, you magnificent female."
Laying one hand against my cheek, he urged me into another searing kiss. Keeping pace with the carriage horse, I rode Erik with a quick, rhythmic cadence.
The cramped little carriage and the occasional flutter of the velvet curtain created an atmosphere of erotic danger that spurred us on in our frenzied copulation.
Pregnancy agreed with my sex life. I felt sensations in places I'd never known existed. I galloped to the goal and when I arrived, bit my lip hard to keep from screaming, thus alerting the cabbie. Erik completed his orgasm by thrusting heartily against me. His release equaled mine in intensity. He lifted me up with his hips and expelled a lengthy series of deep growls worthy of a majestic lion.
We collapsed against each other; a happy, sweaty Raggedy Ann and Andy.
"Damn, you're good, Erik," I panted.
"I told you we could," Erik rasped against my shoulder.
"I admit, you were right."
"Never. Doubt. Me."
Emerging from our cloud of Eros, I realized that the carriage was static and I could no longer hear the mad rush of London street traffic.
I flipped back the curtain. The majestic 18th century mansion belonging to Dr. Garrett and her husband met my gaze.
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Please, if you are reading this story, shoot me a review. The end is near and I want to know how I'm doing. I get hundreds of hits on one chapter, yet see only ten reviews. I do welcome all you new readers and am appreciative of everyone's reviews. You rock!
-Leesa
Translations:
Petite jeune mariée douce: My sweet little bride
Mon amour: My love
Je veux au va te faire foutr: I want to ---- you