Page 27 of The Burning Passion of a Fiery Lady
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He had kicked open the door to her chambers, carrying her in his arms. It had been in the first year of their marriage when he had still loved her. When she had still been the whole world to him. Or at least, that was what he would whisper to her in private moments.
They had made love many times previously. He had taken her maidenhead in this very room. It had been quick, over and done with almost in the blink of an eye. He had rolled onto her, then off again. She had felt a sharp stab of pain, but even that had ended quickly.
She hadn’t been disappointed; there was no expectation of anything else. Her mother had given her a quick talk about the birds and the bees the night before her wedding day but had told her that there was no pleasure in it for the woman. It was a duty to be endured for the sake of the man. Just something that he wanted, from time to time, and it was the woman’s responsibility to provide it.
Gilbert had never talked to her about it. They had never talked about it, at all. He didn’t seem disappointed in her obvious lack of pleasure in the act. She didn’t think he had any expectation on that level, either.
But it had all changed on that night when he had carried her in his arms to this bed, tossing her giggling onto the mattress.
She had been a bit tipsy, having consumed three glasses of wine at a dinner party. That had been back in the days when they had still socialised together, and he had wanted to show her off, proudly displaying his beautiful new wife. He had even seemed to take pleasure in knowing that she was beautiful to other men, back then.
He had been a little inebriated, too, boldly falling onto her, tickling her until she had begged him to stop. Slowly, his hand had felt for her beneath her skirt, stroking her in an almost clumsy way, watching her face as he did it.
She had felt a little funny. At first, she had put it down to the wine. But then, as he kept going, she had started to twitch a little. It was starting to feel good, in some strange way. She didn’t want him to stop.
And then she had started to moan.
He had kept his gaze on her, watching her almost curiously. But as she kept moaning, twisting a little beneath his hand, his face had changed.
He had withdrawn his hand, jumping on top of her. He had entered her swiftly and forcefully, pummelling her into the mattress. The delicious sensations she had been experiencing abruptly fled as if they had been chased away.
It had all been over within minutes after that. He had groaned, as he always did at his moment of release, then rolled off her. He never stayed long after he had taken his own pleasure. The next moment, she watched him dressing himself, leaving the room to sleep in his own chambers, without a word or a backward glance.
He had never touched her like that again, and she had been too timid to ask him to do it. She thought perhaps she had imagined how it had felt.
But things changed dramatically after that night. He stopped taking her to dinner engagements, parties, and balls. He would go out by himself, sometimes not coming home until the early hours, if at all. He slowly grew angry and possessive.
Eventually, he had stopped making love to her, at all.
She hadn’t missed it. It had always been a duty, after all. And as he had grown into an angry stranger, she was glad of it. She didn’t even know who her husband was anymore. They became people who shared the same house, but that was all.
Her nights had been her own. And she had been sure they always would be. After all, you cannot miss what you haven’t ever had, can you?
***
Susannah could still feel his presence lingering in the room. It was like the smoke from a cigar that had just been lit, wafting through the space, foul and pungent.
Go away, she thought fiercely, blinking back tears.Please. Just leave me alone!
Heart pounding, she jumped out of bed, running to the window. The latch was jarred and it took her a moment to pull it open. She put her head out the window, taking deep breaths until she felt calm again and her heartbeat had slowed down. Slowly, she sank down into the chair in front of her dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror.
A woman with pale skin and wild eyes gazed back at her. A woman with loose red hair, falling around her face, twisted and messy from sleeping. Slowly, she put out a hand, touching that woman’s face in the glass.
Jasper Stone is not like him. He is not like your husband.
The thought seemed to have been spoken, reverberating through the air. Shaking slightly, she gazed around the room, wondering where it had come from.
She took a deep breath. It was true. Jasper wasn’t like Gilbert at all. It was like comparing the sun to the moon. But could she trust that it was true? Could she lay herself open to him, expose herself in the deepest of ways, and trust that he wouldn’t one day change, turning it all against her?
She agonised, frowning, trying to figure it out.
But then, slowly, she remembered again what he had done for her when she had lain with him in the woods. He had been intent on her pleasure, even denying his own, saying that he wanted to do this for her. She had reached for him, expecting that he would want it, but he had said no. That this time was just for her, and he could wait.
Gilbert had never done that. He had never even considered her pleasure. The one time that he had experimented with giving it to her, he had taken fright, or grown bored, and defaulted to his own. He hadn’t cared enough to even ask her what she might like in that regard.
But it wasn’t just what Jasper had done for her in that way. He was also forthright and honest. He was gentle and patient with the horses. He was a good man. One of the best that she had ever met.
