Well, that was all it took of course.
“Oh!” said Clio, even as the prince was calling for his guards and struggling back to his throne.
It seemed a good time to go, so Clio didn’t protest when Triton took her hand and ran out of the palace with her. They hurried back down the road and to the sea.
Once there, Clio dove into the waves, and immediately her land legs turned back into her beautiful fish tail. She laughed aloud and swam in a circle, swishing it about, until she suddenly realized that Triton was not with her. That was strange. Triton was always with her. Always protecting her. Hurriedly she glanced around, but he wasn’t in sight. She searched for him in wider and wider circles, all the while wondering how he could have swum past her. How she could have not seen him. Finally she swam to the palace of the Sea King, but Triton was not there, either.
Then Clio had a terrible thought. What if Triton had never followed her into the sea? She looked up through the waves and saw that the sun had begun to set. Clio swam as fast as she could back to the coast, as the light leached from the sky far above.
When at last she came to the coast, she saw Triton upon the sand. But something was terribly wrong. He lay collapsed, and he still had land legs.
“Triton!” she called. “Triton, come to the sea!”
For a moment she feared he might be dead. But then he lifted his head and looked in her direction. Gone was his coral complexion. Instead his face was gray and lined. His hair had gone gray as well. As she watched, he levered himself up on shaking arms and began crawling toward the water where she waited.
Clio couldn’t understand. Triton was the most powerful being in the seas, stronger than sharks and giant octopuses. What could have struck him down so low that he couldn’t even walk?
She called again, but Triton didn’t answer. He stared at her with his sea-green eyes and doggedly kept crawling toward her until at last he came to the waves. Even then, when the seawater lapped about his chest and land legs, he didn’t regain his fish tail.
Clio swam to him and cradled his head in her hands. “Triton! What has happened?”
But he didn’t speak. He simply looked at her…and rolled his eyes.
She began crying because the last bit of color was draining from his face. She lowered her head and kissed him, the salt from her tears mingling with the salt of the sea between their lips.
And as she kissed him, Triton took a great shuddering breath. Suddenly his land legs transformed back into his lovely fish tail, and the coral color came back into his face.
Clio looked at him in wonder. “What has happened?”
“It’s simple,” Triton said gruffly. “I made the same bargain with the Sea Wizard as you save for one difference: you had to kiss me by the end of the seventh day or I would die.”
Clio looked at him thoughtfully. “That is a perfectly silly bargain. What if I’d stayed with the prince?”
Triton shrugged. “I would have died, I suppose.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am glad you did not, for I’ve discovered that I love you.”
“In that case, I think you should marry me and come on grand adventures with me,” said Triton. “For I’ve loved you all along.”
So she did, and they lived quite happily ever after under the waves.
—From The Curious Mermaid
Three months later…
Mary had expected a small wedding. After all, she and Henry had been the scandal of the London season. She’d been certain that anyone with any sort of standing at all would stay well away so as not to become tainted with their disgrace.
As it turned out, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
“It’s a crush,” Jo said with satisfaction as she came into the little room at the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children where Mary was preparing for her vows. Jo was now Lady Joanna Seymour, but she still wanted Mary to call her Jo. “Some of the guests have had to stand, there’s so little room.”
“Really?” Mary wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear this. “Who has come?”
“Well,” Joanna said as she sat, and began reciting with relish. “There’s my mother, my grand-mère, Mr. and Mrs. Makepeace.” She paused for thought. “I think there are two Mr. and Mrs. Makepeaces—confusing, that. Oh, the Duke of Montgomery and the Duke of Kyle and their wives—the Duke of Montgomery is standing with his darling little daughter on his shoulders and taunting any gentleman who comes near him. He’s quite awful, isn’t he? But so handsome!”
Jo drew a deep breath and continued before Mary could give her opinion of the duke. “Mr. and Mrs. St. John and all their children—I counted four, and I may’ve missed one. Of course Lady Hero and Lord Griffin and their offspring along with Lady Phoebe and Captain Trevillion—he’s quite dashing, isn’t he? The Earl of Paxton and his countess and the Earl of Ashridge and his wife—didn’t she used to be the famous breeches actress?” Jo shook her head, moving on. “All of the orphanage children, of course, and the elder Lady Caire. Henry’s mother and sisters are here, as well as that odd cousin of his—Richard Somebody?” Jo beamed at Mary. “And I don’t think that’s everyone, really. The main room is crowded.”
“Goodness,” Mary murmured. “Whyever did they all come?”
“Because they love you,” Lady Caire said.
Mary turned to her and saw that the older woman was smiling, somewhat misty eyed. “Really?”
“Yes, Mary Whitsun,” Lady Caire replied. “They’ve known you nearly all your life. Most of the women met you through the Ladies’ Syndicate. They watched you grow up at the home, and they know you from my house. You’re integral to the home. To all of us.”
“It’s true,” Nell Jones said. She was the home’s head servant and had insisted on coming to help Mary dress for her wedding.
It was Mary’s turn to have tears fill her eyes.
“Now, now, you mustn’t weep,” Lady Caire chided, though she was having the same problem. “You don’t want Lord Blackwell to see you with red eyes on your wedding day.”
“No.” Mary took a handkerchief from Nell and dabbed at her eyes. She wore a cream dress embroidered in palest rose and silver thread. It had been a wedding present from Lord and Lady Caire, and she did want to do it justice.
A knock came at the door and Nell let Mr. Winter Makepeace into the room. He was a severe-looking man with dark hair and eyes and plain attire, but Mary knew he ruled the home with a firm but kind hand.
“Are you ready, Mary Whitsun?” he asked gravely.
“Yes,” she said and took his arm.
He led her from the little room. Up the stairs. This was a different building from the one she’d mostly grown up in. That old home had been rickety and cramped and had burned down the same year Lady Caire had married Lord Caire. This building had been made from brick, the walls straight and neatly painted. Still they passed dormitory rooms full of little beds. That at least had not changed.
Mr. Makepeace paused before the door to the assembly room where she was to be wed. He looked down at her, and she remembered how large he’d seemed to her when she was a child. How commanding and inspiring. How he’d held her in his strong arms when she’d fallen and scraped the palms of her hands.
“I’m proud of you, Mary Whitsun,” he said now, this man who was like a father to her. “You’ve grown into a kind and good woman—everything I ever expected of you. I wish you every happiness in your marriage.”
She swallowed as her throat closed again. Oh, drat, she was going to cry!
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Come. Your future awaits you inside.”
She took a deep breath as he pushed open the doors to the assembly room. Joanna was right: it was completely full of people, all of whom stood and turned. She saw friends she’d known for years and friends of only a few months’ standing. She saw the Earl of Keating—surprisingly—looking grumpy but standing with his wife, who was positively beaming.
But as she walked toward the front of the room on Mr. Makepeace’s arm, she looked only at Henry, standing with a small grin on his face as he waited for her.
Her future.
Her love.
That night…
It wasn’t a grand house. It wasn’t even a very big house.
But it was their house.
Mary smiled at her reflection in the small mirror hanging over the chest of drawers in her bedroom. Her brown hair hung loose over her shoulders, brushed with one hundred strokes, and she wore a new lawn chemise, a gift from Lady Angrove. That lady had declared that she didn’t care that Mary wasn’t of her blood—Lady Angrove still considered her a daughter along with Jo and the real Cecilia, who had turned out to be quite nice.
She was looking forward to continuing to see the Angrove ladies, since Henry’s new job was in London. He was managing his school friend’s business interests here while his friend traveled abroad. And Henry had been right—his pay, while not extravagant, was more than enough for this little town house on a quiet London lane. He’d had to sell his horses and his carriage, of course, but he pointed out that he could walk to work, and anyway stabling horses was too expensive. Mary even had a maid—a girl from the home who looked at her with awe—and a cook who liked to sing as she baked.
There was a knock at the door, interrupting her thoughts. It cracked open, and Henry asked from without, “May I come in?”
“Yes,” Mary called, her fingers trembling with nerves as she smoothed them down her chemise.
Henry opened the door and stepped into the room, then stopped.
She could almost feel his gaze traveling over her from head to toe.
“Lady Blackwell,” he said, his voice husky, “have I told you today how beautiful you are?”
She bit her lip and shook her head, suddenly and unaccountably shy. How foolish! She’d seen Henry nearly every day of their engagement. She knew him and he knew her.
Of course they’d never had a wedding night before.
“You,” said Henry as he untied his neckcloth, “are more beautiful than the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the night sky.”
She could feel herself blushing. “Might that be a tad bit exaggerated?”
He knit his brow as if thinking. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
He drew off his neckcloth and placed it on a chair.
She couldn’t just stand there and wait for him.
Mary crossed to Henry and set to work unbuttoning his waistcoat. He’d already shed his coat.
“Why, Lady Blackwell,” he said, bending over her, “one might think you were impatient.”
She pursed her lips, not daring to look at him. “I am impatient. A three-month engagement, and you never once took me to bed.”
“My dear,” he husked in her ear. “Had I taken you to bed it surely would not have been only once.”
She couldn’t help but look up at that, and he took her mouth at once.
This they had done many times in the last months, and yet each time was new and exciting. Her fingers stilled as she opened her lips, sucking in his tongue, feeling thrills thrumming down her body.
He muttered something, and then the room whirled as he picked her up and strode to the bed.
He placed her on it and began to climb in as well, but she placed her hand on his chest, halting him. “I’ve waited too long to see all of you.”
He scowled, but stood obediently and began to throw off his clothes at an alarming pace. Mary thought she could hear seams ripping, and then he was in only his smalls.
She inhaled as he paused. Her husband had broad, muscled shoulders. Black hair curled between his nipples, and below his navel a line of fine hair led into the waistband of his smalls. A heavy weight tented the fine fabric there.
He was gorgeous.
He locked gazes with her and slowly unbuttoned his smallclothes.
She held her breath, dropping her eyes to watch as more and more was revealed. She saw the black thicket of curls and then his penis, big and hard and standing proudly erect.
Oh. Oh, it was bigger than she’d expected, which should alarm her, she knew, but all she felt was a curl of heat low in her belly.
Henry dropped his smalls and kicked them aside. Then he climbed into the bed with her. “All right?”
“Y-yes,” she replied, stuttering not from fear but from something else. His mere presence was making her tremble, it seemed.
His smile had a hard edge as he bent over her on all fours and kissed her gently on the mouth. “May I take off your chemise?”
She could only nod, closing her eyes in sudden and ill-timed shyness.
She raised her arms, sitting up a bit, and felt the delicate cloth brush her arms, her breasts, and her face as it was lifted from her.
There was silence.
Finally she opened her eyes and looked at him.
He was staring at her with a dark look in his eyes, his mouth unsmiling, the chemise still clenched in one fist. “Oh, Lady Blackwell, I am indeed a fortunate man.”
He tossed aside the chemise and knelt down over her, placing his mouth on her nipple.
He sucked and her back arched. She’d never thought that one little point should provide such pleasure.
She took his face between her palms, not knowing if she wanted to draw him closer or push him away, but he lifted his head.
“Your breasts are perfect,” he whispered. “Lush and sweet and beautiful beyond the telling of it.”
Her eyes widened, but before she could respond he’d moved to her other nipple.
It was…
Well, she was certainly glad he seemed to be enjoying this, too.
Her legs moved restlessly as he suckled one nipple and flicked his thumbnail over the other one.
It made her…
Oh, it made her so hot. She yearned.
“Henry,” she groaned. “Please. Please.”
But instead of coming to her, he moved downward, scattering kisses across her belly.
“Open for me, darling,” he murmured when he came to her maiden hair.
She parted her thighs, anxiously anticipating what he would do next.
“You’re wet for me,” he said, touching her there with his finger.
She gasped. His touch was light, but it was so intimate. So blunt.
“Are you ready for me?” he breathed across her wet flesh.
“Yes,” she cried, pulling at his shoulders. “Yes, yes, now.”
He lunged up her, placing one hand beside her shoulder. The other was down there between them.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered. “Wider. Wider.”
She did, exposing herself completely. But that was all right.
This was Henry. She wanted to be as close to him as possible.
She felt him brush against her and then a firm nudge.
She looked up at him, staring into his blue, blue eyes as he widened her impossibly.
“I’m joining with you,” he said softly. “I’m entering you, my wife.”
She’d heard tales of pain. Of blood, even. But aside from a small pinch, she felt no pain.
But the pressure, the weight of him, bearing down on her.
In her.
That, that she hadn’t been prepared for.
It was wonderful, somehow, holding him cradled between her legs, letting him see and feel all of her.
He came to rest finally, thick and lodged within her, and Henry took a breath, sounding a little strained. “All right?”
“Yes,” she said, stroking his side, running her fingers to his bottom, so firm and nice.
He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them. “I love you.”
Her eyes widened.
And then he moved.
Drawing his hard penis out of her before thrusting back in.
It felt…
She watched him as he did it again. His face was solemn, his lips slightly twisted.
He looked as if he might be in pain.
Except he wasn’t.
He shut his eyes again. “God, Mary, your eyes.”
Then he bent and opened his mouth over hers, and she stopped thinking.
He kissed her as if he drew life from her lips.
As if he would die if he ever stopped.
She clutched at him. At his buttocks and his shoulder. Moving her hips up to meet his descent. Spreading her legs even wider.
Feeling the jolt when he rubbed her just there.
Sweat slicked his back, hot and real, and he moved faster now, his hips thumping into hers.
She felt the tension build, felt his penis thrust in and out of her, felt her body coil tight.
He hitched his hips and made a swiveling motion on her and stars exploded behind her eyelids, white and sudden, hot and bright, shattering her.
She gasped into his mouth as he kept kissing her, his tongue claiming her, his lips rough and hard.
Until he jerked his mouth from hers and gasped, his head arching back, his eyes squeezed shut. She could feel heat pulsing into her even as he cried out her name.
She watched him, wanting to remember this moment forever.
She. She had brought him this pleasure.
At last he slumped atop her and his weight seemed to press her into the bed.
Not that she cared. She rather liked holding him, all warm and lax, her husband.
He yawned suddenly and levered himself up and off her, rolling to the side of the bed and rising.
She watched as he walked, splendidly naked, to the chest of drawers, where a plain white pitcher and bowl stood. He poured some water in the bowl, wet a cloth and came back to the bed with it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and regarded her. “Good evening, Lady Blackwell.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And good evening to you as well, Lord Blackwell.”
A smile threatened to disrupt his solemn expression, but he controlled it. “I trust our congress met with your approval?”
She nodded regally. “Oh, indeed. So much so that I hope you’ll repeat it on the morrow.”
His lips quirked at that before he smiled. “Tomorrow and every day thereafter, my darling, if I have my way.”
“Henry,” she whispered, suddenly serious, her hand reaching to cup his cheek.
“Here,” he said, offering the damp cloth. “If you wish to clean yourself before we sleep.”
She took the cloth and he turned back to the washbasin to perform his own ablutions.
Mary supposed she should feel embarrassed at this personal act performed in front of another, but Henry wasn’t just any other person.
He was her love.
And this small, homely intimacy was…nice. She’d never had a confidant so close to her heart. So close to her.
He returned and took her cloth to put away and then blew out the candles before climbing into the bed with her.
He pulled her close, her back to his front, and curled his legs so that her feet rested on top of his. The coverlet was pulled up over their shoulders, and then they were in their own warm world.
“Good night, Lady Blackwell,” she heard him murmur into her ear.
She smiled, catching his hand and pulling it close to her belly. She had her husband, and the coming day was the beginning of all their tomorrows.
Together in love.