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33: She plays for him
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Promised to the father, married to the son 34: He plays her
*Skye* Keep playing? Is he mad? If not for the wicked challenge in his eyes before he disappears beneath my skirts, I may have kicked him out of the way. Instead I return my fingers to the keys while he brackets my hips and slides me to the very edge of the bench. I strike a wrong chord, cringe. I am not going to allow the kisses he is trailing along the inside of my thigh to distract me. It matters not that I can scarcely breathe or that I am suddenly so warm I can swear the room has caught fire. Then his mouth lands on the bud of my desire and I nearly come up off the bench. Instead I pound the keys as his tongue circles, as the pleasure mounts. I drop my head back, unable to concentrate on the tune, simply striking random chords. What does it matter when he is doing such wicked, wicked things, when he is distracting me, causing me to be perched on the threshold of so many incredible sensations swirling through me, urging me to cry out… “Ben, what the devil…” With a screech at th
Promised to the father, married to the son 35: His secret
*Skye* A week later, I unlock a door and lead my newest staff members into a room that I am fairly certain had been the morning room for at least one Mrs Archer. At the far end, the windows jut out to create a little alcove, with bookshelves along the wall on either side. I can imagine myself curling up, book in hand, in one of the two large plush chairs near the windows and reading to a little girl nestled in the other. “Let’s get started, shall we?” I order as I whip the draperies open, coughing as the dust floats around me. Since Marsden didn’t seem disturbed by the tidying of the music room, in fact he seems to relish it, since he joins us there each evening shortly after I begin to play… I have attacked the study belonging to the lady of the house with gusto. Now I have a place where I can write letters… if I had anyone who would welcome receiving a letter from me. The cook meets me there each morning to go over the menu for the evening meal. I keep the midday fare simple… br
Promised to the father, married to the son 36: Confronting him
*Ben* I pour the steaming water into the tub in the bathing room. Mrs. Downey doesn’t understand why I don’t have one of the servants prepare my bath, but the servants are Skye’s, not mine. I don’t need to take them away from whatever chores my wife has them doing. Besides, the fewer people who see me in this ragtag state, the better. After setting down the pail, I arch my back and look up at the ceiling. Christ, I am tired. But I know once I see Skye, the weariness will fade away. Her smile of greeting always seems to revitalize me. I have even begun to enjoy her evening recitals, no longer viewing them as an irritating delay to my possessing her, but rather embracing them as a slow, sensual building of awareness. She finds a bit of ecstasy in gliding her fingers over the ivory, and I become enthralled watching her. She is a siren, luring my father out of his reclusiveness. Each evening, he makes his way down to the music room. I have begun pouring a scotch and setting it on the ta
Promised to the father, married to the son 37: Not loving each other
*Ben* Nearly an hour and a half later, I stand at the window in the library, downing scotch. I had come straight here from the bathing room, now wearing the clothes I had donned this morning before changing into the sturdier and rougher attire that I sport when going to the mines. Skye is correct. I have been an ass. I am still in danger of behaving as one because I can’t shake off the anger that rivets through me now that she knows the truth of my situation. I am embarrassed that I get my hands dirty, that I engage in backbreaking labor that no gentleman should. That I hadn't paid more attention to the mines when I reached my majority, that I hadn’t noticed sooner that my father was not the best steward for the estate and business. That I return to the manor each evening covered in sweat and grime. It is bad enough that the local people know. But I can envision Skye in New York attending a luncheon, tittering with a group of ladies, laughing at the notion of me working for my supp
Promised to the father, married to the son 38: The destruction of a dress
*Ben* I have never known a woman like her … ever in my life. Following along with my tale about the seams, she matches Lady Godiva for boldness, and I can well imagine her riding naked through the streets without a single blush forming anywhere on her person. And damned if I don’t want her again with a fierceness that makes me feel almost barbaric. After I kick the door to my bedchamber closed behind us, I do precisely as she suggested and rips what remains of her clothing from her body. Making sure not to hurt her in the process. There is something immensely satisfying and feral in the rasp of rending satin and silk, in the way that Skye simply stands there and lets me have my way with her, her eyes smoldering with needs that match my own. When she is completely bared, I lift her back into my arms, carry her to the foot of the bed, and toss her onto her stomach, leaving her legs to dangle over the mattress. Breathing heavily, she rises up onto her elbows and gazes back over he
Promised to the father, married to the son 39: Interupted
*Skye* I lean forward from my comfy pillows, snag a grape from the tray that rests near my knees, and pop the dark red fruit into my mouth. Lounging at the foot of the bed where a short time ago he took me with such unbridled enthusiasm, my husband sips his burgundy wine. His gaze drifts to my breasts. Perhaps because I haven’t pulled my dressing gown as tightly around me as I could have and I have left a good bit of flesh visible. I don’t know why I take such delight in teasing him with flashes of skin. “Be sure to send word to your seamstress that you’re in need of another blue gown”. He says. I shake my head. “I have enough gowns.” His jaw tautens for a heartbeat before relaxing, and I know he is taking exception to my frugality, that he is insulted by the notion that he can’t properly provide for me. “Not in that shade of blue. It’s my favorite as it brings out the red in your hair.” I laugh lightly. “As though I need anything to bring out the red in my hair. The devil’s doing
Promised to the father, married to the son 40: Incoming friends
*Ben* As I make my way toward the dining room, I have never been more grateful for an interruption in my life. I was on the verge of confessing that I more than like Skye; I hold genuine affection for her. Once those words are spoken there will be no going back on them. In the library, I had voiced all the things I do not want as though that would stop her from delivering them. As though it is within her nature not to care, not to give. She returned the blasted allowance, offered to reduce her staff, and was concerned with my welfare. Of course she is, I chastised myself until she provides an heir, she is in danger of losing all this. But the argument runs hollow and untrue. She had shown herself that first day. But not her complete self. She is composed of myriad facets, complex and intriguing. I can spend a lifetime striving to unravel the mysteries of Skye Archer. Damn it all to hell if I don’t want that lifetime with her. I want her in my life until my hair turns silver and my
Promised to the father, married to the son 41: Making an impression
*Ben* Having spotted the cars from an upstairs window, I have escorted Skye outside so we can welcome our guests. I am not surprised that the four cars arrive at the same time. I assumed that my friends would meet up so they could arrive together in order to receive the same first impression of my wife. I don’t know why Skye’s nervousness calls to my protective nature. Perhaps because since she came to my home she has been so fiercely independent, standing toe to toe with me, that I assumed she never have doubts, never waver, never have second thoughts. I don’t like her appearing vulnerable, susceptible to hurt. Had I opened my door to see the worry in her eyes and the number of times she licks her lips while waiting for the cars to draw to a halt, I might have taken more pity on her that first day. I still wouldn’t have allowed her to marry my father, but things between us might have started out on a different foot. “You have nothing to prove to them”. I say quietly, and she snaps he
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