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  "My dear Jancie—surely you comprehend—"

  "No, no—I don't. I don't understand. You're not a one who would choose to wed lightly . .. and not someone like me . . ." What? What was she saying? Trying to dissuade him from the thing she most wanted in the world? Oh, she was mad, out of her mind, wholly unprepared for this shocking proposal.

  "Well, dear girl—here you have three who are avid to have your hand—if I hadn't come first, Kyger would be on his knees to you now, and you know full well that Hugo has already made his future intentions clear. What none of us knows is, who would you have? My father, who respects your tenacity and kindness? Kyger, with whom you already enjoy a warm friendship? Or me—the one you will have to tame? Whom would you choose, Jancie, which of us—assuming you would want to marry any of us...?"

  Her heart stopped. She stared into his eyes, his beautiful face, the face she had fallen in love with before she had even entered Wavbury House, and she thought that here was the answer to everything. Even knowing what he was like, and what he would likely put her through . . . even with the choice of having none of them, or one—there had never been a question in her mind what she would do if her fairy tale could come true.

  "You," she whispered. "Lujan Galliard—I would choose you."

  Chapter Seven

  Edmund couldn't come, but that was perfectly understandable, given the short amount of time between Lujan's proposal, the calling of the banns, and the actual wedding date. Mrs. Elsberry stood in his stead, both mother and father to the bride, helping her plan everything, while the vicar stood ready to perform the ceremony on the succeeding Sunday. Jancie stayed at the rectory, and together, she and Mrs. Elsberry worked out the minimal details.

  She wanted to be married from the garden: she had no money or time even to have a dress made up, so she decided to wear the navy dress, which could be embellished with lace and ribbon trim. And she wanted flowers, lots of flowers, and a reception in the garden with tea and cakes. And she wanted everyone in the village invited, in the main because she had no kin.

  It felt real. It didn't feel real. At any given moment, Jancie didn't know how she felt, except a certain relief that she was not going to have to marry Hugo. And much as she wanted her father, the time was too close, the trip too inconvenient, for him to come.

  And Kyger stayed distant, which bothered her.

  "Well, what did you expect?" Kyger asked her during one

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  short visit to see if there was anything she needed from the house. "Or did you conveniently discard the fact that I have feelings for you?"

  She had never taken those into account, she thought remorsefully. Kyger was her friend, her confidant, someone she had wished she had feelings for, and now, of course, it would be harder for him to see her every day when he had had other hopes, and she would be sharing Lujan's bed.

  Sharing. . .

  Lujan wasn't quite ready to share; he had gone back to London instead, since the first banns had only just been read, and Jancie needed that time to get things ready.

  "Just to wind up affairs," he had told her with not a small touch of irony. It was really to escape the suffocation of the wedding preparations; he actually didn't expect anything to change. The months he had isolated himself from his former life had only intensified his desire to have both the excitement of London and the convenience of a wife.

  A wife in the country would hardly impact anything he might choose to do in London. It seemed like a good time to scout out what competition had emerged in the succeeding months. A whole year and half he had been off the scene, and a whole year's worth of juicy beauties he had yet to sample. He positively salivated at the thought.

  And he'd bring Jancie back an expensive little trinket that would put paid to her questions and curiosity. She ought to be grateful that he wanted her, that she was marrying an heir, that she would have some pin money in the settlement, that she would be managing a sizable estate and living in wealth and comfort.

  So maybe there wasn't some grand scheme after all; maybe she hadn't had any other reason for having come to Waybury House but that Hugo asked her to. Maybe the sole reason for her being here was to become his slave in residence, and ultimately the mother of his children.

  There was something very just about that—the children of the partners coming together to create another whole.

  Or—she had planned it that way.

  But if that had been her intention, he would wager he'd never

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  know. And he needed to have her bound to him sooner than later. The mourning obsequies could be observed by his father and Kyger.

  At that moment, Lujan, ever the gambler, was hedging every bet.

  ******************

  They were married in the garden of the vicarage four weeks later, on a bright, early fall day when the leaves were still green and the air was cool and the sun hotly bright. There were vases of flowers everywhere, and more flowers tucked into the ribbons that cordoned off the seating area where the villagers awaited the moment of Jancie's appearance in a preternatural silence.

  She was radiant as she came down the aisle, her dress remade with touches of lace and ribbon and Lujan's wedding gift, a single perfect diamond, around her neck. She touched it, thinking it was the symbol of everything: of her life before, as a kitchen girl; of her future life, as Lujan's wife. Everything about her life related to diamonds.

  A diamond mined at Kaamheroo?

  It didn't matter now. She was about to become the mistress of this house of secrets, as Hugo grudgingly gave her away. Kyger stood as best man, and Mrs. Elsberry attended her with beaming affection. And at Mrs. Etsberry's feet, Emily regally sat on her haunches, watching everything with a keen and eagle eye.

  And Lujan, so handsome, so rakish in severe black frockcoat and vest. Jancie could see only him, no one else, as she stepped up onto the dais that had been built for the ceremony, and Hugo relinquished her arm.

  The words were simple, the ceremony quick.

  Keeping yourself only unto her . . .

  Till death—

  Do you take .. . ?

  I do...

  Words that echoed through time immemorial, no less profound because Lujan the libertine was making that promise to her. He meant it as he said it, and she believed their union would work.

  The wedding ring had belonged to Olivia. More diamonds. Beautiful, sparkling, round-cut diamonds . . .

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  Do you take . . . ?

  I do...

  Owww, Emily said adamantly.

  I do...

  Till death us do part—

  ...I do—

  ******************

  Mrs. Elsberry's unexpected gift to her was a beautiful nightgown of the most delicate and translucent white lawn, which Lujan would remove about one minute after he joined her in the bedroom, Jancie thought, as she gazed at herself in the mirror.

  The material felt like a feather against her skin, draping over her body and pooling around her bare feet.

  In the mirror, she saw what Lujan would see—and it was a transforming moment: the dirty girl had turned into a swan, her neck encircled with a diamond, her eyes luminous with secrets, her long, dark hair curling wildly down over her shoulders and onto her breasts, her nipples protruding against the gauzy bosom of the gown, the spill of fabric over her hips and thighs, revealing and concealing both. Her heightened color, the sultry beat of her heart, her rising excitement as she anticipated the first moment he caught sight of her . . .

  That ultimate moment.. . the waiting was the hardest and the best thing about it—she wanted, she didn't—that soaring moment of knowledge and culmination—

  Her breathing felt constricted. But it wasn't as if she didn't know things. Dirty girls knew things. They gossiped, in great and graphic detail. They had spied on the tuition girls as they let their boys fondle and kiss and do other things to them. They knew what to expect, eve
n if they had no idea about the mechanics of it.

  They only knew the kissing and fondling felt good. Really good, to let the boys take such liberties.

  Even she, dirty girl that she used to be, knew that.

  And now she would know everything . . .

  "And Lujan will be my teacher," she whispered to her reflection, shivering a little as she folded her arms under her breasts. The diamond shot color in the dim light.

  The door opened behind her. Lujan, bare-chested, naked, eas-

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  ing his way in. Transfixed by her image in the mirror, as she was by his naked body, his jutting erection.

  She couldn't stop staring at him; she dropped her arms almost involuntarily as he came up behind her. He slipped his arms around her, a gesture as familiar to her as his face.

  She knew this. Day by day, on her walks, as she perused the bookcase in the library, he had come up behind her in just this way and slipped his arms around her—tight, hard, possessive, pressing against her, making no demands.

  But never with his penis so real and hard, rubbing against her bottom.

  "So—" he murmured in her ear, as he nipped it and swiped his tongue over the lobe. She felt good, she smelled sweet and hesitant, a hot, yearning, reluctant virgin, the kind he ate for breakfast in London.

  But this one was now his wife, and his choice, and he must savor this once-in-a-lifetime delicacy.

  And then teach her and train her to service him perfectly. A blank slate, his Jancie, willing, wanting, waiting to be filled with the knowledge of his preferences and pleasures.

  That part especially would be so gratifying. He had already started the instruction in a most subtle way, in all the months he had touched her and aroused her in the garden, when he kissed her in the library, when he held her like this, moving his hands slowly, teasingly to her breasts, cupping and stroking them until her body felt boneless, and then letting them go.

  He had taught her then to want him, to hunger for his touch, his kiss, his need. His expert stroking of her breasts. And now, he had come to the final step, the pleasure part: he had only to impart to his beautiful, willing virgin what would please him carnally, and then seduce her into doing whatever he wanted when he wanted, and she would be perfection.

  The thought of it was enough to keep him hot, stiff, and pulsing for hours.

  Maybe all night.

  The challenge was irresistible.

  "Do you like this?" he whispered, beginning his slow, sensual assault on her neck. "And this?" As he moved his mouth to her shoulder. "This—" Moving his fingers upward to touch one taut

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  nipple. "This?" Tweaking it under the breath of material that covered it, and feeling her body jolt as sensation shot through the nipple tip right to her very vitals.

  "I like it," she breathed as she tried to get control of her trembling body. This was familiar, this she knew from all their assignations all these months when he had finally come to touch her, to make love to her breasts and nipples. "I like .. . it—" as he cupped her breasts and began stroking each nipple with his thumbs. She watched him in the mirror, fascinated by every movement, every stroke, every subtle touch, and the glimmer of the diamond between her breasts.

  This she knew, and she knew there was nothing to fear. He had touched her like this before, but never so close to the skin.

  The pleasure was indescribable. The sensation was indefinable. She only knew she didn't want him to stop, but if he didn't, something was going to happen—she didn't know what.

  She didn't know much. Except—and she hadn't been prepared for this part—she loved this . . . this unexpected thickening pearl of sensation that centered in her nipples but skirled downward between her legs, and the lofting feeling of pleasure coming from—where ?

  His fingers, her nipples so tight, so hard, so sensitive to his touch—? It took nothing at all for him to arouse her to a hardened peak. Her breathing grew shallow, thick. She knew this, but never so nakedly and her boneless body just melted against him, and she gave herself into his hands to do with whatever he would.

  This was the moment of ultimate surrender. She felt the heat and heft of his penis pushing insistently against her bottom; she saw him easing away the material from her breasts, felt the first full force of skin against skin, watched as his fingers touched her naked nipples. Manipulated her nipples. Surrounded them, squeezed them expertly with his ringers, as she watched helplessly in the mirror, a slave to the pearling feeling, her body writhing and squirming with a sudden awful need to get away from his relentless stroking and tweaking.

  Her hips gyrated wildly against his hard length, operating wholly on instinct, and she grabbed his thighs and gripped them hard to brace her body against his erotic thrusting.

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  But he wanted her nipples and only her nipples: he pulled at them gently, twisted them, squeezed them in incremental pulsations that made her knees go weak and stole her breath.

  Who could have known such carnal sensations existed in that one small, hard, naked nub? Or that he would begin his maiden assault on her there—in such a familiar way, and with both of them watching every second of his handling of her breasts in a mirror . .. ?

  This was so lusciously unexpected. This wasn't how she had envisioned their initial coupling, but as he massaged and caressed her nipples, she couldn't remember wanting anything more, couldn't feel anything other than the molten pleasure skeining irresistibly through her body.

  And the excitement—he felt it, too; there was an urgency in the way he thrust and bumped against her buttocks. The way she answered in kind, writhing and rubbing against his heat and hardness. The greedy look in his eyes as he watched her in the mirror, watched her undulating body, her bouncing, naked breasts, the glittering diamond he'd bought her, his pumping fingers on her tight, hard, responsive nipples.

  And the other wonder was how she affected him, how her body aroused him, the way her nipples elicited the most primitive sounds from him as if he couldn't get enough of feeling and fondling them.

  She felt a mad, hot urgency to press something naked and hard between her legs. Something like-—him .. .

  She clawed at the skirt of the nightgown, she felt him ease back to give her purchase to spread her legs so he could poke his iron-hot penis between them, so she could just. .. shimmy . . . down onto his hard shaft—and position herself just so .. . God, he was so hot, thick, rigid—just right, between her legs . . .

  Breathless, watching herself in the mirror, canting her body forward slightly so her breasts fell into his hands as he palpated her nipples, settling her slit on his poker-hard penis .. . she was beyond thought, immersed in sensation and moving wholly with her heart and her soul. . .

  She caught her breath as her naked woman flesh grazed the heat and hardness of his penis. Oh, yes yes yes yes yes . .. perfect, perfect fit, the heft of him enfolded by the naked heat of her ...

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  She ground her hips downward just as he squeezed her nipples one after the other, and thrust high, hard, and fast between her legs until she felt the sundering of the pearl, the crackling, crick-ling storm of culmination in his hands and on his penis, and she went down down down into the heat and storm of her orgasmic nipples.

  He caught her as her body bucked and buckled, and kept her seated on his thick, pulsing shaft. Looked his fill of her in the mirror in the aftermath of her shattering culmination, of her straddling the thick heft of his penis, the thin lawn of her nightgown drifting over the tip, her body sentient, sated, and all because of him.

  Perfect. The first lesson was over, and she had proved as apt a pupil as any whore. What man could want more?

  He cupped her breast and sensitive left nipple and she shuddered and brushed his hand away.

  Beautiful, luscious, succulent nipples, already so responsive with his many weeks of preparation for this moment; but he hadn't yet tasted them or suckled th
em. He'd left that pleasure for last, but he would have them in his mouth before another hour was gone. And she would let him gladly, because she had so loved the way he fingered them. Loved that little bit of roughness. Loved watching him in the mirror while he took them.

  He had worked her body well all these months, making her yearn for him, making her hot for his touch, transforming her into a virgin to prize.

  How many had he ever known like this one? Hot, naked, open, and willing, responsive to his little seductive tutorials all this time, trusting him now to teach her everything his wife needed to know. Which meant her utter submission to anything he wanted of her. Anything.

  He hadn't even begun to teach her about that. Fondling her clothed in the garden was not even a prelude to naked nipple orgasms as she watched in the mirror ... his carnal little virgin had come—come, indeed—very far, very fast from those chaste fondling sessions in the garden.

  His body tensed and tightened as he held her and watched her recover from the storm of her first orgasm. She was soft and pliant against his chest, her eyes closed, her breasts thrust forward, her legs still straddling his jutting penis.

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  Only a saint could resist her now. She was his, and he wanted to root in her dark, moist womanhood and suck at her nipples; he wanted to taste them and devour them. He had never felt such an overwhelming hunger for virgin flesh; he wanted hers with a ravenous need that stunned him.

  "You like watching us," he murmured as he stroked her body and kept his shaft firmly fixed between her legs. "You like looking in the mirror and seeing how I fondle you. You liked watching me feel and squeeze your nipples, didn't you?" He pulled her tight against his bare chest, so that her head was against his shoulder and her ear just at his mouth. "Tell me, Cinderella, didn't you—like the way I played with your naked nipples .. . ?"

  "Yessss," she whispered. "Yes . . ."

  "You want me to fondle them again, but I'm going to play with something else now." He raked his free hand into the folds of the nightgown and stripped it from her body. And made a subtle male sound as he gazed at her naked bush and his penis head poking out from her pubic hair.