Cressida's Dilemma

that escaped her lips and the unconscious ease with which she wriggled her body against him.

He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to show me?”

At Cressida’s awkwardness, he chuckled. “No? Well, then, allow me to introduce you to a world of unknown delights, my darling. We are not restricted to the positions we’ve already tried, you know.” He fixed her with an inquiring glance. “Or perhaps you would like to take the initiative?”

Cressida started to shake her head, but his burning gaze ignited a flame of courage in her breast. Why should she not?

His breath was hot and inflammatory on her neck as she turned, emboldened by his words, pushing her bottom against his groin and gripping the billiard table. He’d pleasured her from behind earlier without consummating the act, and she’d enjoyed the sensation enormously.

“Another of your fantasies you’ve not divulged to me until this moment, Cressy darling?” His hands shimmied up her thighs as he raised her skirts for unfettered access, and she gasped as if experiencing his touch for the first time.

“I kept a tight rein on my fantasies, darling, when I thought of the consequences.” With a shudder, she closed her eyes as his hands cupped her sex. She moaned softly when she felt the trickle of her own moisture slide between her legs as his fingers massaged the slick nub of her desire. Instantly, her anticipation was on a par with his. She sucked in a quick breath and managed to grind out, “Your old friend has tutored me in what every mother should tutor their daughter, if she wishes happiness for her… Oh God,” she whispered urgently as he slid inside her, entering her from the rear before withdrawing in a series of even, regular strokes.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip, and she clenched her teeth as her whitened knuckles held their grip on the billiard table, and her breath came in short, staccato bursts as the tension within her grew.

Until, at last, with a gasp of rapture, Cressida’s desire reached its pinnacle, her world blackened to a haze, and her body convulsed in a series of uncontrollable shudders.

Justin held her tightly as his orgasm came on the crest of hers, and together they crumpled to the floor, tight in each other’s embrace and secure in the knowledge that each was where they needed to be.

* * * *

They awoke with a start as they heard the first stirrings of the servants in the basement kitchen.

“Quickly!” Justin pulled Cressida to her feet, seizing the discarded French letters, which he deposited into Cressida’s reticule before buttoning himself into his breeches, smoothing his wife’s tangled hair with his fingers. They ran up the back stairs to Cressida’s chamber, where Cressida collapsed, laughing, onto the bed.

“Fugitives in our own home,” said Justin, sliding in beside her at her invitation, still fully clad, and cradling her in his arms. He smiled wryly when she saw him gazing down at her.

Blinking rapidly, Cressida exhaled on a sigh, thinking of her long, emotional, eventful night. Justin was here by her side, where she needed him to be. She had his love and support and always would, now.

But there were others not as lucky as she. Others who’d helped her achieve such fulfillment but who were condemned by fate and penury to exist in a twilight world, shunned by the society that once embraced them. Madame Zirelli was just one. Cressida owed her friend and Justin’s past mistress a huge debt of gratitude, and Cressida’s sense of justice was keen. She could not shirk her responsibility. Not when the means were so within her power.

As she drifted in and out of contented slumber, she thought of the many men and women she’d rubbed shoulders with, albeit briefly, and wondered why she’d been chosen to enjoy the bounties of life. Surely she should use the power and privilege she had to help redress the balance, where she could.

At noon, when they’d both slept off the excesses of the previous night, Cressida raised herself onto one elbow and smiled down at her husband as he stirred into wakefulness. She could hear the birds singing in the garden outside and saw through a chink in the curtain that the sun was high in the sky. What did it matter what the servants thought? It was surely better they knew their master and mistress to be in love than to have cause to whisper suspicions of anything else that certainly was not true.

“Cressy.” He reached up and stroked her cheek with his forefinger. Her heart hitched as she saw the softening of his expression and thrilled to his deeply sincere admission, “I must be the luckiest man alive.”

She thought she might cry. “A loving marriage is the greatest gift a woman can hope for in this life, Justin.” She tried to think of any other woman who was as happy as she, but could not. “I have you, and I realize how lucky I am in a world where so many women suffer such great unhappiness through husbands that neither love, want, nor appreciate them.”

“I’ve always wanted you, Cressy.” Justin drew her down beside him and began to stroke her hair. “From the moment I saw you, it was love at first sight. You were so beautiful, but it was more than that. I saw such sweetness in your expression. Such kindness. I wanted to make you mine and to look after you…so that you’d be safe and protected from what can be a harsh world. I had no idea that such careful protection would lead to such happiness and then…ultimately to the opposite.” His expression was so sincere, and his silent pleading for forgiveness so poignant she had to fight to hold back the sentimental tears.

“You are the best of husbands. You mustn’t blame yourself for what I could not and did not know. But now I have Madame Zirelli to thank for making it clear to me.”

He was silent, as it was clear she wanted to elaborate, and she went on, “Madame Zirelli explained so much that I needed to know, but her own sad story is a reminder that we women are completely at the mercy of forces beyond our control. Justin, what do you know of Mr. Richard Pendleton?”

“Richard Pendleton?” He frowned, as if he had no idea where such a question had sprung from, while he continued to stroke her face. “A diligent, if retiring, young man. May I ask why you wish to know?”

“Didn’t you once say you thought he was marked out for great things? He’s very clever, isn’t he?”

Justin rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, looking as if he had not the slightest idea where Cressida’s questioning was leading, though he continued his gentle stroking as Cressida went on, “I believe you have influence in the direction of his career? If he’s so clever, why is he working in some—no doubt dark and musty—corner, living on a hundred a year, or something similar? Surely you’ve guessed why I’m asking you? It’s because Mr. Pendleton is the man to whom Madeleine Hardwicke has lost her heart.”

A look of dawning realization crossed his face, but his answer was disappointing. “Connections count for more than talent, though of course talent will generally be recognized, particularly if a young man is forceful and persistent enough.”

Cressida rolled over onto her stomach and raised herself onto one elbow. Idly, she stroked Justin’s chest. It was a strong, hard chest with well-defined muscles dusted with fine, light hair, and in the aftermath of their loving, her body pulsed with the thrill of knowing this man to be hers. Snuggling up to him, she added thoughtfully, “Which clearly means Mr. Pendleton is not. Justin, Miss Madeleine Hardwicke is, as you know, Madame Zirelli’s daughter, and she is to be married to Lord Slitherton next week.”

“A fine catch for a girl with such a meager dowry.” Justin’s tone was cautious. He spoke only the truth.

“Her mother…that is, the woman who took on the role of mother…is dying and needs the comfort of seeing her daughter settled, for it is true that Miss Hardwicke cannot marry for love if there is no money to support them. But, Justin, Miss Hardwicke loves Mr. Pendleton. I saw them together last year when she was presented and so was shocked when Catherine told me she was to marry a man nearly three times her age”—she felt indignation rise—“because he can support her and Mr. Pendleton can’t. Don’t you see, Justin? You have the power to change that. You can pull strings, see that Mr. Pendleton receives the recognition he deserves and consequently is assured of an expectation that will enable him to offer for Miss Hardwicke.”