Virgin Fire Page 7

  "You've upset me no end, Jessica,” said Penelope. “Where is my medicine?"

  Jessica went to a burlwood cabinet and fetched the bottle. Penelope's disposition improved substantially after a dose of the medicine, which made Jessica wonder what could be in it.

  "I have something of importance to discuss with you, and I want you to pay close attention.” Penelope had already stopped tapping her fingers impatiently. “Tomorrow you'll become a married woman, and there are some things I should warn you about—things about men."

  Jessica felt the color flood her cheeks and wanted to assure her mother that she did know more or less what to expect, even if she was a bit nervous about it. Still, she didn't want Penelope to think her unmaidenly just because she was well educated.

  "When you go to bed tomorrow night, Travis will want to do something that is—well, painful and disgusting."

  Jessica's eyes snapped open.

  "Still, it's expected of you, and you must put up with it. I wish my mother had been foresighted enough to warn me,” Penelope added bitterly. “Be that as it may, since you are my daughter, I know you'll hate it. Most women do, decent women, although there are a few—well, the less said about that sort, the better."

  Jessica remembered her excitement when Travis had kissed or touched her and cringed to think of how Penelope would react if she knew.

  "My advice is to concentrate on clothing."

  Clothing? Did her mother mean the nightdress made especially for her wedding night? It was very pretty, to be sure, with a high-necked, lacy collar, lace at the cuffs, and pearl buttons nestled amid swaths of delicate embroidery down the front. Still, it was of a sheer, fine linen, and she did not find the thought of its near transparency particularly calming.

  "At those times, I picture all my favorite dresses and decide on which new styles I shall have my dressmaker run up. That way it's over in no time at all, and I hardly notice. Of course, the first time, you can't help but notice, but it does get less painful..."

  Jessica felt stunned. Even if what Penelope was saying proved to be true, this didn't seem a very reassuring conversation for a mother to have with her daughter. Jessica doubted that Anne would have approached the subject so negatively. She didn't even think Anne felt that way about Justin, but then Anne must have been—well, intimate with Justin while he was still married to Penelope. Anne must be one of those other women Penelope had mentioned, and yet Anne had always been so kind. And Jessica missed her mother so much—not her mother, she reminded herself, her stepmother. Her mother was sitting across from her, sipping that medicine for her nerves and saying things about men that Jessica was sure, at least she hoped, didn't apply to Travis.

  All through the interminable dinner Hugh had grumbled about the failure of his packinghouse negotiations. The Armour people had left town, uninterested in a merger with local interests, after all. Travis had been very sympathetic.

  "Well,” said Hugh Gresham as they settled down for an after-dinner cigar in Hugh's study, “I presume the ladies are having a cozy chat."

  Travis couldn't imagine anyone having a cozy chat with Penelope Gresham, who was not a cozy person. Still, he wasn't averse to a chat with Hugh. He'd be particularly interested in discussing where the man got all the money it cost him to indulge his wife's whims—her house, her furnishings, her wardrobe, her vindictive spending on the wedding of a daughter she cared nothing about. Did Jessica realize how shallow and evil a woman Penelope was? Probably not, and with luck she wouldn't find out before he'd dealt with Penelope and Hugh as they deserved.

  "I thought perhaps I should have a talk with you about—er—the married state."

  Travis raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Was this to be a fatherly chat? How ironic that Hugh, having destroyed Travis's father, should decide to stand in his stead, at least for this evening. Hugh cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. Travis, concealing a rush of hatred, continued to look pleasant but uninformed.

  "Being a young man—with—ah—little experience of virtuous women...” Hugh looked at him questioningly. Travis stared back. “Well. Ah—perhaps you are unaware that your bride will not be—not be very—ah—enthusiastic, as it were, about the—ah—marriage bed."

  Travis tried to look properly enlightened, but he thought that if Jess proved to be unenthusiastic, which he doubted, he'd damned well change her mind for her.

  "So you want to be—er—understanding, and—ah—not expect too much."

  "I see.” Travis nodded respectfully.

  "Good.” Hugh beamed. “Well, I have a little gift for you, my boy. A wedding gift.” He went over to the sideboard and removed a package, which he handed to Travis. “Ladies do not like nudity,” he confided as Travis opened the box to discover a nightshirt and a paisley dressing gown.

  Poor Hugh, thought Travis wryly. Married life with Penelope must be hell. Perhaps over the years Penelope had gone a long way toward exacting Travis's revenge against the banker, but then again, exacting his own revenge was sweeter, and he'd already begun. The cost of this wedding was one small blow in memory of William Henry Parnell, and when he discovered where the money was coming from, the information might give him more ammunition.

  "This is most kind of you, sir,” said Travis, pretending to admire the dressing gown. And the failure of the packinghouse negotiations is my wedding gift to you, he added silently.

  The wedding was held on a hot day in late August at the Trinity Protestant Episcopal Church, which, Penelope explained, was the most socially acceptable church in town. It was known for its wealthy parishioners and fashionable charities, like the All Saints Hospital for the indigent, a cause for which Penelope had been an important fund raiser, although she personally made it a point to avoid the indigent patients. She did not like sick people, especially poor sick people.

  Trinity Church overflowed with well-dressed strangers, and Jessica's bridal party was made up of acquaintances so new that she couldn't remember all their names, which might have bothered her if she'd had eyes for anyone but Travis. She floated through the ceremony in a sort of astonished dream, her eyes on Travis's, her vows made with a soft, happy solemnity. Even the talk with her mother the night before failed to dim her euphoria.

  The reception was to be held in her mother's beautiful round glass conservatory with its host of exotic potted plants, which Penelope, for all she loved to talk about her green thumb, had nothing to do with. The maids took care of the plants. Just before the wedding there had been a tantrum. On her last tour of inspection, Penelope discovered some brown leaves on a bush tucked unobtrusively in a corner. The mistress's shrieks were quieted with a dose of medicine, but not before she had fired an unfortunate maid, dismissal to go into effect after the wedding.

  By the time they returned from the church, Penelope was all gracious smiles again, telling her guests how much they were going to enjoy a reception among the flowers, which were so much lovelier in their natural state than cut and poked into vases. Then the disaster occurred, for half the plants in the conservatory had withered. “What have you done?” Penelope screamed at the maids, some of whom were looking terrified, while one looked smugly bland.

  "You're the person who does all the work, ma'am,” said the maid who had been fired. “Could you have made a mistake, like in some of them things to pour on the plants that you're always tellin’ folks about?"

  Jessica knew what mistake had been made, for she remembered a time when Frannie, as one of her well-meant experiments, had poured salt water on some of Anne's plants. Anne had not screamed at the child, nor had Anne fainted over a few withered plants, as Penelope did.

  A terrible commotion ensued, with doctors sent for and the reception called off. Jessica thought wistfully of the reception there might have been at home in Weatherford, all the friends and family present. Still, Penelope had tried hard to make it a beautiful wedding. The sight of her dead plants must have been a terrible shock.

  "Think we could sneak out to the kitchen and
have something to eat?” Travis whispered in her ear as the guests departed and Hugh stood in the hall wringing his hands while the doctor tried to reassure him that his wife would survive the destruction of her greenery, even live to plant again.

  "Seems a shame to starve the bride and bridegroom just because the mother-in-law's having the vapors,” he added.

  Jessica had to stifle a giggle; she could just imagine how Penelope would react to such a casual description of the tragedy.

  "Come along, Jess. Hugh will take care of her. He's probably used to this sort of thing.” Travis edged her back toward the kitchen, and in moments the bridal couple were seated at the large wooden table being offered samples of a feast that would now go largely uneaten. Travis managed to overcome the cook's ill humor with fulsome compliments on her food. Soon he had the whole household staff laughing, even the maid who had been fired, and Jessica began to enjoy her wedding reception. They all adored him, she thought wistfully, just as she did.

  "Stop looking solemn, love,” he admonished her, “and have one of these sticky green things. What did you say they were, Cook? Grasshopper livers? We ate grasshoppers out in Lubbock County, not willingly, mind you, but because the blasted things would hop in your mouth if you didn't keep it closed."

  "Oh, Mr. Travis, get on with you,” laughed the cook.

  He called me love, thought Jessica.

  Chapter Six

  "Are you afraid?” he asked.

  "No, of course n—well, maybe a little,” she admitted.

  "I imagine everyone is the first time."

  "Even men?” she asked with interest.

  "Especially men,” Travis assured her. “After all, if the woman wants it that way, all she has to do is lie there. It's a shame for her not to take part, but—"

  "Take part?” Jessica interrupted anxiously.

  "We'll get to that later, and don't look so upset. We'll get to that a lot later—when you're comfortable with the basics. But the thing is, Jess, the man can't just lie there, so the first time he's scared to death—that he won't do it right or even that he won't be able to do anything at all and make a complete jackass of himself."

  As he talked, Travis had been patiently unbraiding the hair Jessica had so carefully braided after she put on her pretty nightdress. She had been very relieved to see, when he entered the room, that he too was well covered in a handsome robe, although she'd have been happier to catch a glimpse of a nightshirt under it. Still, he was probably wearing one.

  "But since it's not my first time, you don't have to worry that I'll do things all wrong. Now do you feel better?” He smiled at her and added, “I'll be very gentle."

  "Penelope said it would hurt,” Jessica admitted tentatively.

  "It might, but probably not. I expect the women who get hurt are those who don't want to be in bed with their husbands in the first place. You're not one of those, are you?” he asked as if sure she wasn't.

  Jessica had begun to feel somewhat confused. Travis's expectations and Penelope's seemed to be so far apart that Jessica didn't know how to reconcile them. If she said she did want to be in his bed, he'd think her one of those other women Penelope had mentioned. He wouldn't respect her. Could this conversation be some kind of test? Rather than fail the test, she said nothing. She wasn't sure what would have constituted an honest answer anyway. Because she was so nervous and embarrassed, Jessica almost wished she'd stayed home in Weatherford, a safe old maid with law books to read and no emotional upheavals.

  Travis ran his hand down the long length of her hair. “Just like silk,” he murmured.

  Jessica felt the most astonishing warm weakness in her thighs when his hand, running through her hair, brushed her buttocks.

  "I think the next thing to do is get out of our nightclothes. Hugh provided mine. I suppose Penelope chose yours."

  Swallowing nervously, Jessica nodded.

  "I've a feeling those two don't know a thing about making love. It really is easier without all the encumbrances."

  Jessica supposed that must be true, and when he left the room so that she could disrobe and get under the sheet, his absence would give her a moment's respite, which at this point she needed.

  "Shall I help you?” he asked.

  "You mean—you mean you want me to take my nightdress off right now?"

  "No, sweetheart. I'll be glad to do it for you."

  "But—” He'd called her sweetheart; even as she went into shock at the thought of being naked where he could see her, she'd noticed the endearment.

  "Would you rather I go first?” His fingers rested on the knot at the waist of his robe.

  Did he or didn't he have a nightshirt on under there? she wondered desperately. “The light's on,” she quavered.

  "That's all right,” said Travis soothingly. “We're going to be married a long time, so you'll have to get used to me sooner or later, and I'm looking forward to seeing you."

  "You are?"

  "Of course. Did you think I hadn't noticed what a lovely body you have?"

  Jessica had never thought of herself as having a lovely body. She never thought much about bodies at all—well, about his once.

  "I was overcome with admiration the night of the ball, and I didn't see that much of you."

  Already undoing the pearl buttons at her throat, he leaned forward and kissed her neck, causing the pulse to race alarmingly. After that he began to lift the skirt of her nightdress, very slowly and carefully, but still nakedness would be the end result, and Jessica was so scared and embarrassed that she couldn't protest.

  "Lift your arms, love.” Numbly, Jessica lifted her arms, and he whisked the nightdress over her head and tossed it casually onto a chair by the bed. Then he looked at her, at her naked person. She couldn't believe this was happening.

  "My Lord, Jess, you are just beautiful."

  Beautiful? Could she believe him? Even hearing it brought a flush of pleasure, which she hoped he took to be embarrassment. She wouldn't want him to think her vain, not when she had so little to be vain about. Obviously he was being kind. He was also discarding his robe, and her eyes, humiliatingly, went straight to his thighs. Well, now she knew how the act was managed, but she felt a little terrified to think he was going to...

  "Now, now, Jess. Don't look as if you're about to be murdered. What you're seeing is only the evidence that I want very much to make love to you."

  She pulled her eyes away. It was bad enough that she had looked, ten times worse that he had caught her.

  "We'll go to bed now,” he said quietly, “before you die of fright."

  "I—I'm sorry I—"

  "No apologies needed, love.” And he swept her up into his arms, taking her completely by surprise and making her tremblingly aware of all the warm, bare flesh that was touching between them. “Although the truth is, you've a lot more to fear from falling out of this ridiculous bed than you have from me.” He laid her down on the high canopy bed and, grinning, suggested that he might need her help to get up there himself.

  How could he be so cheerful and joking at a time like this? she wondered miserably. But then Travis jumped up beside her and stretched out, and Jessica knew that it was absolutely too late to get out of this. “M-maybe we should p-pull up the sh-sheets,” she stammered.

  "It's a little hot for that,” he replied patiently.

  "Th-then we sh-should p-put out the lamp."

  "Would that make you feel better?"

  "Yes."

  Travis sighed and reached for the lamp, plunging them into moonlit darkness. Jessica looked quickly toward the balcony doors which stood open, sheer curtains stirring in a lazy breeze.

  "I can't turn off the moon,” he said soothingly. “Just close your eyes if the light bothers you.” Propped beside her on one elbow, he bent over and brushed a soft kiss against the side of her neck.

  Jessica shivered. She hadn't thought she'd be so frightened. If only Penelope hadn't had that talk with her. Travis was moving his mouth with
excruciating slowness along the line of her jaw, sending little pinpricks of sensation over her neck and across her scalp. Then, while she was wondering if he had any idea how that felt and if he expected her to do the same thing to him, his mouth closed over hers, and his palm curved ever so gently over her breast. Jessica gasped, but she didn't think Travis heard because he had made a sort of humming sound of appreciation, like the sound a child might make on first tasting something new and delightful.

  That sound touched Jessica. Did he really find her new and delightful? His hand, open-fingered now, was circling, hardly touching, against her breast, making her nipple contract and quiver, sending tremors of sweet, hot aching into her stomach and then lower, deep inside her. Jessica murmured helplessly against his kiss, her body restless with confused expectations.

  "Shall I hold you close?” he whispered. “Would you like that?” When she failed to answer, mostly because she felt a vague reluctance to have him take that circling palm away from her breast, he slid both arms around her and tightened them slowly until she and he were body to body on top of the smooth sheets.

  Jessica thought she must be in contact with every inch of him. She could feel the roughness of hair on his chest and thighs, the intimidating pressure of his manhood, and under her hesitant fingers, the hot, silken skin and smooth musculature of his back. It was like touching a beautiful Greek statue, except that she had never touched one, of course, and a statue wouldn't be this warm, or holding her so closely.

  Her fingers trembled against his skin, and he put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I like that."

  Jessica liked his warm breath stirring invisible nerve endings in her ear and the sound of pleasure he made when she ran her fingertips over his shoulder.

  "Ah, Jessica,” he said softly, and he did the same thing to her, except that his fingers ran from her shoulder all the way to her waist where he had her pinioned against him with a powerful forearm. He stroked every inch of her skin from her neck to her waist until she felt languid and dazed. Then he loosed his hold on her and closed both hands over her buttocks to press her firmly against him, hip to hip. Before she could panic, his hands ran up to her shoulders, and he turned her gently onto her back to begin a light fingertip stroking over her arms and shoulders, then, when she had relaxed to that, over her breasts, circling lower each time until his fingers brushed tantalizingly over her belly and she felt the inner trembling again on the rise, as it had been when he was rubbing his palm over her breast.