Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson
the waiter had gone. ‘I’ve noticed that already.’
‘And you don’t mince your words …’ He smiled again and tasted the brandy. ‘We shall have a successful marriage, Daisy, you and I,’ he said expansively. ‘You are the exact opposite of everything I am. I envy you your virtues, you know. Your innocence, your warm-heartedness, your affability … You’d give away your last penny if you thought it would help the person you were giving it to, whereas I wouldn’t – I’m far too selfish. You’re patient. I’m not. You’re organised, I’m generally in utter chaos. I’m volatile, I’ve never once seen you flustered. You’re even-tempered—’
‘I’m also free of my monthly scourge,’ she said quietly and dipped her nose into her brandy glass without looking at him.
He guffawed and his eyes brightened. ‘Then why are we sitting here? Come on, let’s go upstairs … Lord, I’ve got a stirring in my loins already. Take the brandy with you …’ He rose from his chair eagerly, then went round to Daisy and drew back her chair as she rose, a radiant smile on her face. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner, save me rambling on the way I did.’
‘At least I know you better because of it,’ she said as she took his arm. ‘At least I know what to expect in future.’
‘Oh, ignore me, Daisy. It was the drink talking …’
They undressed by candlelight. As she lay naked in bed awaiting him, the dipping flicker of yellow light added warm colour to her pale skin and threw dancing shadows on the wall behind him as he got into the right hand side of the bed and lay beside her. At once they were in each other’s arms. He was instantly aroused as he savoured the sleekness of her body, the feel of her soft, silky skin pressed lightly against his. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience this, the very first time with a virgin wife, and he was not about to rush it.
‘Aren’t you warm enough?’ he whispered. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I’m not cold, Lawson. Just a bit nervous, that’s all.’
‘There’s nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll look after you.’
Her baptism of sexual experience was upon her as he traced faint lines all over her body in gentle strokes with the tips of his fingers. She shuddered with delight at the sensations and this new experience of intimacy incited a warmth of desire that welled up inside her. With his eyes shut, he found her mouth and kissed her tenderly, but eagerly and there was no mistaking his hunger, his need for her. While they kissed, his right hand explored more of her, sending fresh, delectable shivers up and down her spine. He pressed himself against her and cupped one round, yielding breast in his hand and felt her nipple harden between his fingers. Then he left a trail of kisses down her neck and across her breast till he found that nipple and nuzzled it like a suckling child.
His tongue flicked delectably across it and the sensations astonished her. She had tried to imagine all this before of course, alone in her bed in Baxter House and in the boxroom at Campbell Street. But she had not expected that his warm, firm flesh against hers would be so stimulating. She could feel that familiar wetness between her legs and, when he touched her there, she was surprised at how utterly pleasant it was. His fingers caressed her so skilfully that she could not help but utter little sighs and groans at the pleasure of it. After a while, he rolled onto her and slid down her body, leaving a moist trail of tender little bites that went rapidly cold across her belly. He slithered lower, until his face was snuggled in her dark, moist curls. His tongue lapped inside her and around her, and the sensations were mesmerising. She arched her back and held his head to draw him further into her and, when he gave her tender little bites she lay and wriggled, and gasped in a crisis of ecstasy and stupefaction. Her heart was pounding hard as he slid his body up over her again and she received his wet, lingering kiss with a hungry, open mouth. He raised himself up on his arms to relieve her of his weight, then looked down between their bodies to where he was nudging her, to where he was pressing for entry.
‘I’ll try not to hurt you,’ he breathed. ‘But it might, for a second or two.’
‘I don’t mind, my love. I want you …’
Her hands were on his hips, half expecting to have to hold him back if the pain was too great. She felt him enter, winced as he seemed to stretch her, and she whimpered at the sudden, sharp but anticipated twinge at his first gentle push.
‘I’m sorry …’ He halted.
‘No … It’s all right,’ she cooed. ‘Don’t stop … Slowly …’ Holding her breath, she gripped his buttocks and, without further thrusting, he allowed her to pull him into her at her own pace. She let out a little groan as slowly, cautiously, he filled her up. In some distant recess of her mind she could hear herself quietly sighing as she felt him moving gently inside her, against her … So this was lovemaking … This was how it felt … Well, it was not at all unpleasant, this ultimate expression of love … In fact, the longer it went on the more pleasant it became, the more heightened became her emotions … Soon, she felt Lawson pulsing within her and he let out a great grunt … and then he ceased to move any more, to her disappointment. He slumped, relaxed, spent.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, unsure whether this was normal.
He nodded, his face in the pillow. ‘Never better.’
She hugged him. ‘Have I made you happy, Lawson? I haven’t disappointed you, have I?’
He shook his head, then rolled off her onto his back and closed his eyes. She ran her fingers gently across his chest, moist with perspiration. By the dancing candlelight she glanced adoringly at his handsome face, at his dark hair all ruffled, at his pulse beating fast in the hollow of his neck.
‘I love you, Lawson Maddox,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I love you so much.’ She had given herself eagerly, earnestly, and now it was all over. ‘Hold me, Lawson,’ she sighed, snuggling up to him. ‘Love me …’ She wanted to share with him the spiritual closeness, this newly reinforced bond. It had been a wonderful experience, far more pleasant than she had expected.
He stirred slightly, his breathing steady as she waited for his response. She realised with frustration that he was asleep already and she drew the bedclothes up around them. She blew out the candle and lay awake for ages, overjoyed that they had consummated their marriage, that it was much nicer than she had dared hope … Yet she felt there should have been something more … She was disappointed as well that Lawson was not awake to talk about it, to tell him how she felt.
Then he stirred again.
‘Don’t forget to wash yourself out,’ he muttered, and rolled over onto his side.
Next morning they awoke early. She greeted him, her eyes bright with tenderness, her lips smiling her commitment. He made love to her again. This time, there was no lengthy foreplay to make her squirm with desire, and Lawson’s whiskery growth was scratchy against her smooth face as he thrust inside her more urgently than he had last night. But afterwards, she held him lovingly and was pleased to see him contented.
Bath was wonderful. They visited everywhere there was to visit, saw everything there was to see. That day they managed a tour of the city centre, peering in the shop windows of Milsom Street. They visited the recently discovered suite of Roman baths, they took tea in the Pump Room and tarried to listen to the fine band that played some beautifully serene music. When they had satisfied their curiosity as to the peculiar taste of the warm mineral water, they returned to their hotel and made love again.
Next day, Daisy was enchanted by the King’s Circus with its exquisite relief carvings, and thrilled to learn that some of the houses had been owned and occupied by such legendary figures as William Pitt the Elder, Clive of India and David Livingstone. They saw the Assembly Rooms, sadly dilapidated, but she imagined the genteel balls of a bygone age, the tea-parties, the card-playing. Queen Square fascinated her with its houses which were on one side the mirror images of those on the other. She was amused at the Bath chairs and the people who used them. Pulteney Bridge was a treasure trove of little shops and tea rooms that fooled her into thinking