South Landers: Wenna Part 9

She gave Maisie a seedy smile as her meal was deposited on the table.

Maisie waited, staring down at Devon. "Notice anything different about me?"

He leaned back and gave her the once-over. "You look very smart, Maisie. Far too smart to be working in this establishment."

"I got me hair done." After a significant glance at Wenna, she swished off, the elaborate styling of her hair making much of her back view.

"That's a compliment to you," Devon said as he cut his beefsteak. "She's copying your hairstyles. You might change the fas.h.i.+ons around here."

"I might," Wenna said, paying attention to the peas on her plate rather than the man who would service her, one way or another, tonight. Her confidence had vanished after seeing the couples, and even triples, carved on his bed. Should Devon be interested in that sort of thing, she didn't know how she would react. Protectively, she pulled the high-b.u.t.toned neck of her bodice tighter.

"Are you chilly?"

"I'm not very hungry."

He shrugged. "I hope you will excuse my appet.i.te, in that case."

She reared her head, staring at him, hoping he didn't mean his appet.i.tes in bed. Last night he'd been so nice, and last night she'd thought she would let him do anything to her as long as the whole act could be over and done with quickly. Instead, he'd shown her men liked to be touched and he'd shown her where. She now knew how immediately he reacted when she touched him there, and last night that reaction possibly thrilled her more than him. Tonight he would want more.

He finished his meal and ordered coffee. She examined his face, and saw beyond his beauty. He had an aura of strength and quiet power. She would never have this man groveling at her feet, despite his desire for her. Her only influence on him would be what he chose.

"What do you do when you're out all day?"

He stared straight into her eyes. "Today I was looking at a house in the foothills, built on a rich clay loam. The view from there is extensive, all the way from the port to the city." And he rose to his feet.

Clearly, tonight would be the night.

Chapter 8.

Although her bargain with Mrs. Busby had energized her, Wenna's cleaning frenzy during the day had somewhat eroded her confidence in further experimentation with Devon tonight. Given the choice, she would certainly vote for a good sleep. However, she could see by the unholy expression on Devon's face that abstinence didn't feature in his thoughts. With a decided lack of enthusiasm, she trod up the stairs.

Trying to concentrate, she sat with her everlasting sewing in an armchair while Devon flicked the pages of magazines and checked various articles with his handwritten notes.

After about an hour, he turned to her with his eyebrows raised. "Bed? Or do you intend to sew all night?"

She folded the bodice, and, without a word, she left for the small bedroom to disrobe. After firmly closing the door, she stepped out of her skirt, unhooked her bodice, and put her underwear into the wash bag. Almost nervously, she donned her cotton nightgown. That done, she inserted her vinegar-soaked sponge and began to prepare herself to be a wife again, first taking her pins out of her hair. With her brush in her hands, she left for Devon's mirror. Though he still occupied his study, a lamp burned in his bedroom.

The yells of roisterers echoed through the street outside, and a golden halo from the nearest street lamp glinted on the wavy imperfections of the window gla.s.s. She closed the curtains and began brus.h.i.+ng her hair. As she reached the halfway mark of her long bedtime plait, Devon arrived, dressed. Immediately, the small room shrank. He sat on the end of the bed, leaning back on his elbows while he watched her.

"I can do this elsewhere if you want to change into your night attire." Her fingers worked faster than her tongue.

He gave a lazy smile. "I don't want to change into my night attire, and I don't want you elsewhere." His white teeth flashed as he removed his jacket and his waistcoat, hanging both on a hook on the door. His s.h.i.+rt followed speedily, tossed into the corner. And she kept watching him while he flicked off his shoes and unpeeled his socks. One long bare foot lifted to the tallboy where he rested his toes, effectively barring her way.

Her shoulders stiffened with apprehension. The silence lingered while her gaze flittered over his golden tanned chest, idly wondering why he would have removed his s.h.i.+rt in the sun. He sprang up suddenly and landed on his feet beside her, looming so near that she needed to step backward.

"Don't wear a nightgown," he said, his voice a whisper on her cheek. "Let me see you."

She heaved a breath. "Turn down the lamp."

He laughed and dropped his trousers and under-drawers in one swift motion. She didn't want to look at his oldjohn, but the moment she did, she realized that the word she'd heard with a snicker to describe the male part sounded ludicrous when applied to him. His p.e.n.i.s was brand new, rearing to his waist and hoping to be handled.

"Let's get you naked, too," he said in a husky voice. He scrunched the bottom of her nightgown in his hands and lifted. The fabric momentarily caught on her hair, but she'd never been so naked so quickly in her life.

She covered her chest with one arm and the junction between her legs with her hand, staring at her toes in embarra.s.sment.

When he didn't say a word, she tilted her head up to look at him.

His eyebrows lifted. "Do you want me to throw you onto that mattress?"

She raised her chin, spun around, and climbed onto the window side of the bed. He made a dive onto the sheets and grabbed her almost as soon as he landed.

"Stop being so defensive," he said in an indulgent voice, propped on his elbow and facing her. "I'm your husband, and I wanted to see your beautiful body. I don't hear that as a shocking request." He caught her to him.

"I'm not used to undressing on order." Almost resentful, she used two palms on the firm flesh of his chest to distance him from her.

He stroked his thumb over her upper arm. Despite being a ne'er do-well from the old country, likely sent here because he'd misbehaved at home, and for all she knew a ne'er do-well here, too, she couldn't imagine being with anyone but him. Physically, he was perfectly put together and so touchable that she had to curl her fingers into a ball to keep herself from latching onto him. Although she had never liked the s.e.x act, her body began to react to his nearness by relaxing into a slow melt.

She wasn't meant for a beautiful man she wanted. She was meant for a man she could push and prod into making something of their life together. But pity help her, she wanted Devon. Not for all the tea in India would she let him know, or before she could turn around, he would be trying to take advantage of her, as charmers of his ilk did.

"Get it over with," she said in a forced voice.

"Not a chance." His mouth pressed to the skin of her throat. He moved her hand to his groin, sliding her palm with gentle ease over his hard p.e.n.i.s, his breath noticeably short.

Her own breathing almost halted. She wished she didn't love touching his silky smoothness. Before she could fully explore his reaction, his mouth angled across hers, his lips hot and greedy. His tongue flickered into her mouth and out, and he nipped at her lips until her hand grasped him hard.

"Move me to where you want me," he murmured thickly.

"As if I could push a man your size out of bed," she muttered with derision, trying to sound cool and calm and fighting not to wriggle herself onto him.

He laughed. That laugh of his made a well inside her chest that clenched onto the sound, wanting to keep the joy forevermore. However, he took her hand off him and sat up. Apparently, he'd had enough of her sharp tongue, as others had before him. Without a word, he left the bed and the bedroom. Her throat clogged. She'd driven him away as she drove everyone else away, but she wouldn't care. He wanted a baby, and he would persist. She turned down the lamp, her eyes hot and p.r.i.c.kling.

She didn't fall asleep in her few minutes alone, and she heard the creak of the floorboards. The bed lurched as he landed beside her, and her back stuck against the sweaty wall of his chest. In the dark heat of the muggy night, he rested his stubbly chin on her shoulder. Comforted by his return, she slept.

Some time later, she awoke to the delicious hot sliding of a hard length of p.e.n.i.s between her legs. She edged her bottom closer, angling slightly, desperate to have him inside her, but he teased and teased until she thought she would die of wanting him to fulfill her. No matter how she twisted, she couldn't angle his rigid p.e.n.i.s into the desired spot. Finally, she edged away and rolled over to look at him.

In the early dawn light, his lids covered his eyes and his soft lashes rested on his cheeks. He seemed not to care that he could have her now. Her throat thickened. She leaned over him, brus.h.i.+ng his cheek with her fingers. His mouth twitched. She circled his ear with a tickling touch. He took her hand in his and tucked her fingers beneath his chin. She moved closer and lifted her knee over his hip and when he did nothing, she pressed her lips to his neck. His hand moved lazily to her behind, which he cupped. She s.h.i.+fted herself right up against him.

He breathed out and his eyes opened. "You need to be careful when you wake a man in the early morning," he said in a rumbling voice. "You might get more than you bargained for." His thumb angled her chin for his mouth and, as he kissed her, he rolled atop her. His b.u.t.tocks clenched and tightened, and in this position he seemed to have no problem finding the way inside her. She wasn't sure she was ready, but the slide and withdraw forced a gasp of pleasure through her throat.

He buried himself to the hilt. His thighs forced her legs wider, and he went deeper. She clutched at his b.u.t.tocks, her fingers frantic while she urged against him. She thought she might reach paradise when he stilled, breathing hard. With a harsh groan, he rested his forehead on her shoulder.

"You agree to have my child?" He lifted, bearing the weight of his upper body on his arms and the weight of his lower body on hers.

"Yes. Yes. Don't stop."

"Witch," he muttered. Still inside her, he sat on his haunches, his knees s.h.i.+fting under her b.u.t.tocks until the back of her thighs rested over the top of his. Then he lifted her hips higher. With only her shoulders on the sheet, he had her at his mercy, but he seemed in no hurry. He touched the bones of her face, carefully exploring her jaw line and her chin with his thumbs.

She turned her head and kissed his palm, pressing her heels into his b.u.t.tocks to urge him on while he remained hard and unmoving inside her. He leaned forward, sliding his lips to her ear and teasing back to her mouth. Rocking against him, she found an aching excitement even in this reprehensible position, her lower body far more exposed to his vision than she thought seemly. His expression unbearably tender, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth while he teased the other with his fingertips. She dragged his head up, and he took her lips hard again while she undulated beneath him, her body weeping for release.

Finally she realized he was as slicked with sweat as she, and that if he wished, he could end this torture. Tired, but not yet sated, she stilled her movements, noting the tension in his arms. When she moved her hands to his shoulders, his gaze met hers. He gave an unreadable smile and she saw how much he wanted her and how unwilling he was to be in the thrall of pa.s.sion. The man wasn't the heartless charmer she'd thought.

Longing to understand him, she put her hand on the back of his neck and exerted a gentle force. With a near groan, he lowered himself down on her again and took her mouth carefully. He swelled inside her, beginning to slide rhythmically in and out, hard, hard, hard, frantically, pleasuring her almost more than she could bear. She whipped her head from side to side, desperate for she knew not what, until his fingers parted her and his thumb urged at her pleasure spot.

She exploded in wave after wave of bliss, while he slammed into her. Within moments, he stilled. His breath came in ragged gasps. His palms soothed up her arms and down again, repeatedly, as if learning the shape. Eventually, his breathing evened out, but he stayed, tightly holding her to him. In the aftermath euphoria, her fingers played on his skin, not urgent now, merely wanting to feel the texture. Too long she had needed someone to soothe her, to hold her, to want to be with her.

In the pre-dawn light, she stayed close to her husband, basking in the security of his big body. Somewhere outside, a chorus of birds began to question each other and answer. A kookaburra cleared his throat for his morning laugh, and then he began. She silently laughed with him. Perhaps for the first time in the past few days, reality hit her.

She'd craved a place to belong all her life. After Da had earned enough money managing the mine, he'd planned to take her and Mumma back to their homeland, where the sun didn't burn the landscape, where the rain fell and kept the foliage green, where the past and present met in tradition. They'd wanted her to have the family connections they had lost.

Now she could fulfill their dreams for her. Now she'd taken the last, irrevocable step. In consummating her marriage, she'd committed herself to leaving the land of her birth with her new husband and going to live in Cornwall.

Dev awoke early. He swung out of bed, washed quickly, and dressed for his run. After he returned, he changed quietly, careful not to disturb Wenna. She slept soundly with an opened palm beneath her cheek. He paused for a moment, fascinated by her lovely coloring, so familiar, so like Jenny's. Wenna, however, was Jenny's polar opposite in every single way. Wenna was greedy in bed rather than loving. When he couldn't have the second, he would settle for the first. However, he enjoyed her boldness, and the way she would take the pleasure she wanted.

His b.a.l.l.s already tightening with his thoughts, he let out a long breath, turned, and pattered downstairs to eat the bread and cheese he'd bought from a market stall. Yesterday's ignored mail sat by the office door in the foyer, five letters in all, among them the dry accounting from his father's man of business, who oversaw the management of Dev's funds. He checked and found the usual quarterly bank draft enclosed.

He now had the wherewithal to finish his gatehouse and set out his vineyard if he wished. The idea was sound, even if he wouldn't be here to see the fruits of his labors. He took his correspondence upstairs to his study, disgusted that while he was idling around with the gentry of Cornwall, his legacy would be enjoyed by another forward-thinking businessman.

He would like nothing more than to live on this continent, which called to him somehow. He loved the way the sun sat on the horizon before lifting over with a burst of frantic color. He loved the brilliantly marked birds, the exotic wild life, and the warmth that seeped right into his bones. He loved the endless summer, the mild winter, and the even length of the days. With Wenna by his side, helping to furnish their own house, working toward a common goal.... He moistened his lips. Wenna.

He hardly knew the woman, but he had to admit that legal coupling was far more enjoyable than his usual furtive connections. A man almost didn't have the right to gain as much pleasure as he had out of s.e.x with his wife. For a while last night he'd even forgotten that his purpose was merely to impregnate her, but she didn't want to stay here. She thought of nothing other than going to Cornwall. He would be a fool to dream.

Sighing, he sat as his desk and opened three invitations for weekend entertainments, which reminded him that he needed to cancel his plans for this next weekend. He couldn't leave Wenna alone as a newlywed, but expecting her to settle comfortably into his social group when only a week ago she had worked as Mrs. Brook's maid would be nothing short of unreasonable. He lifted his head when he heard a rap on the door connecting his lodgings to the office and, determined to leave Wenna to her sleep, he silently pattered down the stairs.

Finn stepped into the lobby, glancing around. "Sorry to disturb you. The City of Adelaide docked this morning, two weeks early. Will you be collecting your vines, or do you want me to send Ernie?"

Ernie appeared behind Finn, looking far from enthusiastic. "The missus is making scones today," he said in protest to the surveyor.

Dev frowned at the lad. "She's not awake yet. You can't sit around waiting."

"She's right behind you."

Surprised, Dev turned, and saw an elegant redhead wearing a black skirt and a floral patterned bodice standing in the doorway.

She offered him a polite smile. "Good morning." Although she looked dewy soft and kissable, he saw no sign of self-consciousness about the night before on her face.

"What's this about scones?"

"They won't be ready until ten o'clock." She glanced at Dev as if she couldn't quite remember who he was.

His grin came and left. He could give her a reminder the moment he could get her alone. "I'm in half a mind to stay home to sample a few myself," he said, wondering how much of the conversation she'd overheard. He didn't want to explain the vines to her at this stage, or tell her he worked as a laborer on his own property.

She shook her head. "I'll save a few for you. I'm sure you don't want to be under my feet all day in this tiny cramped s.p.a.ce." Her eyes indicated the kitchen.

"You're right. A kitchen is no place for a man."

"Men should be out earning a living," she said, nodding in agreement.

"Careful. You'll give Finn and Ernie the impression that you can't wait to be rid of me."

Finn cleared his throat. "You have a good wife, Courtney, no doubt about it."

"She's certainly not a mealy-mouthed miss."

"I do have a tendency to speak my mind," she said in a careful voice. "But I have much to do, and I work best alone."

"She's made the upstairs look very comfortable," he said to the others who couldn't keep their gazes off her. She was, without a doubt, an elegant woman.

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

"I had other things on my mind yesterday, but yes, I noticed." He couldn't meet her stare. If he did, he knew he would smile in a far-too-intimate way. He wanted to press a kiss on her soft lips, and he wanted to grab her and carry her upstairs again. In working hours, he shouldn't. But h.e.l.l! "I appreciate everything you do, Wenna," he said, his voice going husky when he thought of the pleasures of the flesh he could enjoy until she conceived. "Well, I'm off. I've plenty of nothing to do today, too. See you tonight."

Wenna smiled. "Tonight," she said, with no special inflection in her tone. She walked backward and disappeared up the stairs.

He had his vines to collect and his house to build. His mind already plotting the planting of his vines, he left by the door of the lodgings, an almost satisfied man.

Chapter 9.

Wenna rubbed the b.u.t.ter into the flour as the kindling under the stove crackled into a flame. From the look of him, young Ernie didn't take the time for breakfast, and scones were the cheapest and easiest filler she could make to feed the lad. Fortunately, she'd bought jam, but she should have bought cheese, too.

By ten o'clock, Ernie and Finn had had their morning tea and the kitchen had been left clean and tidy. As she had done yesterday, she collected her combs, her tongs, her clips, and her capes, and hurried off to Mrs. Busby's hat shop.

Yesterday she had arranged to do Maisie's hair first, a simple touch-up before the midday rush at The Pig and Whistle. A few other waitresses had also shown interest, and all agreed that using "Miss Chenoweth" rather than "Mrs. Courtney" as her working name would spare her husband quite an amount of embarra.s.sment. "I'll explain to Mr. Snow," Maisie had said, fingering the top b.u.t.ton of her bodice. "Mr. Courtney is a great favorite of his, not that he believed Mr. Courtney married you. No disrespect meant. Mr. Snow has a common-law wife himself."

For a moment, Wenna had been unable to answer, but her lack of a wedding ring supported the suspicion the locals had about her wedding. She might have suspected the same had she not seen the marriage lines. However, with the barmaids more than willing to protect a facade they didn't credit, she had the perfect cover for her activities. Not for a moment did she a.s.sume Devon would approve of her working. Only a slacker would accept a woman adding to his coffers, and she had no intention of overtly humiliating him. She wanted pin money to help him out, not a great fortune.

Today, since Maisie had shown such a keen interest in hairstyles, Wenna planned to teach her how to create a simple coronet braid. If all went as planned, Wenna could take on the waitress as her a.s.sistant. Using her as a model had certainly paid off, and the opportunity to have more of the hotel staff showing off "Miss Chenoweth's" hairstyles seemed too good to miss.

Wenna had dreamed up this idea in a larger way a few years back. Had she not married, she would have eventually opened a little shop, where she would have made a living out of the complicated hairdos currently in fas.h.i.+on. Few people could manage the styles, but as a lady's maid, she'd had picture books to copy, and she knew all the latest designs. The big chignon she wore was currently very popular in England. Since they were planning to leave for Cornwall in a few months, her business idea would be largely useless, but nevertheless a money-earner in the meantime. Also, she could do some good by training others.

Without even asking Devon, she knew he would not approve. He seemed to think she could occupy herself as a lady, but a lady without a house and servants was simply an idle woman, and she had never been one. She needed occupation, let alone money, which Devon didn't appear to understand. While she used Mrs. Busby's back room and shared her customers, he would never be humiliated by anyone finding out that his wife was a working woman.