The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 09

Constance woke the next morning to the discomfort of something digging into her shoulder. She rolled, blinked, and sat up. A necklace was on the bed. She had lain on it in the night, and impressed its shape into her arm.

The necklace was an inexpensive thing, a silver chain with a pendant of a flower in painted enamel. Not just any flower, either, but a daisy.

She remembered Lord Cuthburt saying something about a bauble. This must be it, then, a gift he intended for Daisy.

Another complication. Surely he'd expect to see the intended recipient wearing it, and might wonder or even ask where it was when Daisy turned up without it. Yet Constance couldn't very well turn it over to the girl. That would mean having to explain how she got it. Being discovered as a stowaway would be bad.

Having Lord Cuthburt realize what had truly gone on the previous night would be even worse. Not only had he fucked Constance believing her to be Daisy, but he'd wanted her to pretend to be his niece, Margaret. How could any of the deGranvilles face any of the Cuthburts ever again if that came to light?

And there was yet the matter of Walter to consider. Constance watched through her spyhole as the morning's shipboard activities went on and had frequent glimpses of the handsome auburn-haired first mate. She even saw him once with Daisy, the two of them acting at nonchalance.

Constance's heart hammered. What was he saying to her? Was he remarking on the other night? She waited with held breath for the moment in which Daisy would comprehend, and the anger that would have to follow.

That moment did not come. Credit Walter for his circumspection. But as she spied on the lovers, Constance felt a twinge of anger of her own. Walter was a good man, a tender lover, and thought the world of Daisy. All the while unbeknowing that she was fucking with Lord Cuthburt behind his back, bearing the lord's child, and planning to trick Walter into marriage.

She was upset most of all by the unwitting part she herself had played in that last. When Walter had shared her bed, thinking her to be Daisy, she'd allowed him – nay, encouraged him! – to spill his seed inside her. Only after, when he wondered that she'd done so, did she understand that Daisy had not let him for fear of pregnancy. Now, when Daisy confessed to being with child, Walter would think that one lapse had been the cause.

Both women had misused him. Constance knew how wrong it had been to stay silent and go along when he got into her bed. She had known all along and had not been able to bring herself to speak up, tell the truth. At first, it had been fear of being found out. And then, as the event progressed, she had been overcome with desire and responded willingly to his caresses.

The mere thought of it was enough to bring a flutter of heat to her loins. She barely thought of Lord Cuthburt's pathetic cock except with pity and amusement, but whenever she thought of Walter, her body recalled the feeling of him against her, within her. Making love to her with such gentleness.

But she could not dwell on it. She had to find some way to handle this complicated mess she'd gotten herself into. There was the necklace, for one. She had to give it to Daisy, but if Daisy knew that Constance knew about her affair with Lord Cuthburt...

She would tell Daisy that she'd awakened to find it under the door, as if slid there in the night by an anonymous admirer. It would be assumed that it was Walter, and Daisy need not give up her secret.

At mid-morning, the captain of the Ricarda regularly called all hands for an assembly. With the sailors accounted for on deck, and midday meal still hours away, the galley was at its least busy of times. Constance waited until she heard the shrill blast of the captain's whistle, then crept out of her small room.

The galley was ship-shape, everything in readiness. Neither Daisy nor Greta were to be seen. Constance took a biscuit and a chunk of salted fish from the pantry to ease her growling stomach, then went to the door of the cook's cabin.

There were voices within. Greta's, and Daisy's. Curiously muffled, but recognizably theirs. Constance opened the door.

Her bite of biscuit lodged in her throat. Her eyes widened.

Greta's bed was a good deal larger than the narrow cot in the smaller room. It was of quite adequate size to hold the two women, and was doing just that at this very instant. They were nude, their clothes draped on a chair, and their bodies were entwined so that the head of each was buried between the thighs of the other.

"Oh, Greta, please, no more," Daisy begged. "No more, please, I don't like it."

From where Constance stood, half-choked on a biscuit and frozen with astonishment, she had the better view of Greta. The cook had one hand firmly holding onto Daisy's bottom, the other on her cunny with fingers slipping quickly in and out. Her mouth was over the red nub of Daisy's clitoris and her tongue darted and swirled teasingly around it. She stopped long enough to speak.

"No falsehoods, Daisy, you know that you do. Now lick me, damn you, lick me the way I taught you."

With a stifled whimper, Daisy dipped her head to her assigned task. Greta sighed, rubbing her thumb on Daisy the very way that Enrique once had done to Constance, and smiled. Her eyes were blissfully shut, else she surely would have seen their startled observer.

"Ah, yes, Daisy, that's right. That's good, very good. I told you that no woman needs a man to make her happy. Oh, right there, yes, don't be shy. I should thank that deGranville girl for making this arrangement necessary."

Daisy made some noise that might have been a sob. Constance drew the door nearly to, just enough that she could still peek in without being seen. She spit out the bite of biscuit and dropped it into her pocket. In her other hand, the necklace dug into her palm and impressed its outline there, too.

"Don't you be crying about it," Greta said. "You liked it well enough that first night when you came cuddling over beside me. All I did then was frig you a little. Bless me, but it's not like you're a helpless virgin."

Greta rolled. For such a small and slightly-built woman, she had wiry strength and turned Daisy onto her back. Now Greta's knees were planted on either side of Daisy's head, Greta's cunny lowered against Daisy's mouth so that the younger girl had no choice but to do as she was directed. Meanwhile, Greta parted Daisy's legs wide, and for a moment Constance had an unobstructed view of Daisy's cunny with its fringe of reddish curls. Greta gripped Daisy's buttocks and bent to apply her tongue once more.

It was strangely fascinating to see them together. Constance remembered how horrified she'd been when Rob threatened to make her do this very thing with Nana Eva, or with young Esperanza. At the time, she had thought it the most vile and unnatural of acts. That had been before Rob's brutal abuse of her backside, first lashing it bloody and then raping it. Compared to what he'd done, a vigorous tonguing by another woman would be far preferable.

Indeed, as Constance watched Greta, she thought of how Rob and Enrique had both brought her to delicious spendings that way and wondered if a woman, who knew from personal experience how it felt and what felt best, might not be better at it. Surely Daisy, for all her mumbled protests, seemed to be enjoying it.

The sight and the memories it evoked combined to make Constance turn liquid with arousal. She considered throwing all caution to the winds and joining them. Off with her clothes, and onto the bed, and there they'd be all three of them wrapped around one another. Hands on breasts, fingers probing into tight cunny passages, tongues coaxing at the stiff buds of nipples or clitorises.

But she was not bold enough to do that. Rather, she closed the door as stealthily and quietly as she was able. She hurried back through the kitchen to the small room, the food in her pocket forgotten, the necklace forgotten. All she wanted to do was pull up her skirt, slide a hand through the damp downiness of her cunny hair, and stroke herself until reaching exquisite release.

"Hsst! Daisy!"

The hiss came as she was just about to close the door behind her. She resisted the urge to slam it and then hide, but what else could she do? He was there, right there, blinking in the dim light and starting as he saw her.

"Who are you?" Walter asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Constance could not speak. He was inches from her, the first time she'd seen him so up close though she'd felt him much closer. Russet hair, eyes of some light color either blue or grey, a tanned and handsome face, a lean body whose contours she knew well by touch if not by sight. Her throat worked.

"A stowaway?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You've been hiding... here?"

"Walter, please, I can explain."

"You know my name! It... it was you?"

"Hear me out," she said, and then had no idea what should follow. She could explain? How in the world could she explain?

He glanced over his shoulder, then pushed her into the room and closed the door behind them. Constance saw him shoot a furtive, hotly guilty look at the narrow bed before his gaze returned to her.

"Who are you?"

"Constance deGranville. Please, Walter, you mustn't tell Lord Cuthburt that I'm here. I've run away from home."

Walter blanched. "Tell Lord Cuthburt? After what I did to you? My God! Why did you let me? I came into that bed and thought you were Daisy, why didn't you scream out, or say something? How was I to know?"

"I did not want to let on," Constance said. "I was afraid that if I was found out, Lord Cuthburt would force me to return to Veradoga, to my brother."

If anything, he blanched further. "Your brother, who nigh slew his best friend in a duel for attempting to take liberties with you, if his lordship is to be believed. And I... I took... such liberties... why? Why, Constance deGranville? You let me ruin you!"

"I thought you'd mistake me for Daisy and no one would ever know."

"I did mistake you for Daisy. I swear, I never would have... would have..."

"Am I so unappealing?"

He stared at her, shocked. "What?"

"I am sorry." Constance was shocked herself, that she'd said such a thing.

"It's I who should apologize. I ruined you. A noblewoman and a..." he trailed off, and new suspicion came into his eyes. "But you were no virgin, I'd stake my life on it. The way you... welcomed me. The way you moved. And you spent, too, I'm sure of it."

"Yes," Constance breathed, and trembled. "Yes, Walter, I did, it was lovely. You were so kind, so gentle. I'd seen you through cracks in the wall. I knew who you were, how handsome, how charming. It's so wicked, but once I sure of what you meant to do, I wanted you to do it."

Walter reeled back and leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his palms up the sides of his face. "You wanted it?"

"I liked it."

"Not Daisy," he said, as if to himself. "Not Daisy at all."

"I know it was wrong," Constance said. "You never meant to do her false."

"I thought that she was finally ready. She'd never been like that before. Always, there'd been a withholding, a sense that she was keeping herself from me, not letting herself enjoy what we shared. She wouldn't let me... finish in her, for fear that –" He hitched in a sudden, alarmed breath.

"You did not get me with child, Walter," Constance said. "I've, well, been given a tonic to prevent conception."

His fingers combed, then curled into fists, in his hair. "How is any of this possible? What are you doing here, and why? What are we to do?"

"I ran away from home to escape my brother. He fought Enrique, yes, but because he wanted to keep me all to himself. He gave me the tonic. He took my maidenhead. But promise me you'll not tell a soul. It would destroy my family to learn of it. Please, Walter."

"What of Daisy? I said I'd always be true to her and now look what I've done. That I believed you to be her will not matter. She'll never forgive me."

Constance warred with herself. At last, she took Walter's hands in hers and looked at him solemnly. "She has not given you the same courtesy, I fear. I learned that she has other lovers."

"Other lovers? No!"

She couldn't bring herself to confess to her visit from Lord Cuthburt. Instead, she showed him the necklace and told him what she'd intended to tell Daisy, how it had been left under the door.

"That is not from me," he said in a hopeless tone.

"There is more, and I tell you only because I feel badly for having tricked you. I do not want to see you tricked further. I heard she and Greta talking. Daisy is already pregnant, and means to marry you."

Neither could she tell him that this very minute, Daisy was in Greta's bed. She had done more than enough, and the hurt in his eyes was terrible.

"Who are these other lovers?" he asked.

"I do not know."

"No, you do. I hear it in your voice. You know." He squeezed her hands. "Tell me."

"I believe one is... Lord Cuthburt himself. I believe he left the necklace."

"Damn him! Damn them both! Have I not pledged to give her the best life that I could? Have I not saved up my wages for more than a year? Have I not loved her as much as any man could love a woman? She thanks me by rutting behind my back, and with a fat old man who could be her grandfather?"

"Walter, I am so very sorry."

"Why would she do this? Am I not man enough for her?"

She couldn't help smiling wryly. "Perhaps you are too much man for her."

Walter let go of her at once, as if she burned him. "Forgive me. Here I stand and bewail my fate when I should be making my apologies to you. It was inexcusable of me."

"I do not hold you to blame."

"You should. A stranger comes creeping into your bed and fucks you against your will?" He said it bitterly, and full of self-loathing.

"It was not so much against my will," Constance said. "I could have stopped you. Nor was it fucking, really."

Her use of the word made him jump with surprise. "What? It wasn't?"

"You made love to me," Constance said. "No one had ever truly made love to me before, and it was wonderful. I felt safe and loved and cared for in your arms, even if called by the wrong name. In all honesty, it is I who should be apologizing to you, for taking such advantage of your love for Daisy."

Perhaps it was because of what she'd been planning to do once she was alone in the room, perhaps it was because she wanted to wipe the pain from his eyes, but whatever the reason, Constance stepped up to Walter and put her arms around him.

"You made me feel so beautiful," she whispered, and kissed him.

He did not respond immediately and she was about to move back and release him. Then he returned the kiss, and embraced her so that her lush body was held tight against his. When their lips parted, he looked gravely down into her eyes.

"You are beautiful," he said. "Any man should want to make love to you."

"Even you? Even now?"

"God, yes," he said.

"Yes, I think so," Constance said, and moved her lower body to brush against the hardness she felt.

His hands closed on her upper arms and he set her away from him, turning so her back was to the wall. "Constance... what are you doing? We cannot."

"Because of Daisy?"

"Not because of her; she's taken me for a fool."

"Then why not? Why not make love to me again, Walter, this time by my right name?"

"But I... but you... how can you forgive what I did to you?"

"I already told you that I hold you blameless in that, if you can forgive me for deceiving you."

"I can and do, now that you've explained it to me. Are you doing this that I'll keep your secrets?"

"No. I want you to make love to me, that's all. Will you?"

He studied her for such a long time that she was sure he was about to refuse, and leave. Part of her was amazed by her boldness. What kind of a wanton had she become? Most of her was quivering with anticipation, wanting him so much that she ached.

"Here?" he asked.

"Right here."

By way of answer, he reached out and began undressing her. Constance helped with hasty fingers that fumbled over her laces. Piece by piece her clothing was stripped away until she stood by the wall entirely nude. Walter, who had gone to his knees to remove her stockings and undergarments, sat back on his heels and regarded her with evident awe. He touched her hip, the side of her breast, the taut point of her nipple.

Constance leaned against the wall with her head back, sighing in pleasure as Walter's hands explored her body. He caressed every part of her, from her face to her toes. Her skin tingled under his touch.

Kneeling again, he petted her golden mound and pushed his nose into the crisp fluff of hair. The pressure of his hands urged her to stand with her feet slightly apart. He rained kisses down there, stroked her velvety furrow, opened her nether lips with his thumbs and tenderly delved into her with his tongue.

It was all Constance could do to keep her balance. She rested her hands on his head, moaning in delight. The wooden wall was rough against her back and buttocks, and somehow the contrast with Walter's slow, soft kisses only heightened the sensation.

He continued until she was gasping, until her cunny was drenched with her juices and desperate to be filled. The urgency had descended upon him, too, and he was quick to undo his breeches. His cock sprang forth and Constance grasped it eagerly, rubbing her thumb over the ruby-red tip.

Walter lifted her against the wall. She raised her legs, clasping his hips with her thighs. He settled her so that he was at the very gateway, and looked inquiringly into her eyes one last time to be sure that she wanted this.

Constance kissed him. As their lips met, he lowered her and pushed, his smooth hard shaft filling her so completely that she cried out, low and ecstatic, against his mouth. It was delicious and slow, the rhythm that they set, and still the rough wall on her back only made the lovemaking all the gentler by contrast.

"Oh, yes, Constance, yes," he murmured, and her name rang so sweetly in her ears. "Such beauty, such passion, oh, the feel of you is like warm silk."

"Mmm, so good, Walter, it feels so good."

His lips were on her throat, on her breasts. She held him close, liking the way his clothes felt against her skin, rocking her hips, rising and falling to meet him. They soon were unable to go slowly, their need demanding more. Walter thrust faster, more forcefully.

"I'm close," he warned.

"Yes, yes, so am I, oh, Walter."

"Can I --?"

"Come in me, yes, do... I'm almost... I'm... oh! Oh, now, yes, I'm spending now," she whispered.

He spent with her, their low voices mingling into a shared cry of satisfaction. He leaned against her, pressing her body into the wall without a word of complaint from Constance. She clung to him, her breathing gradually resuming a more normal rate.

All at once, the precariousness not only of their position but of their situation seemed to dawn on them both simultaneously. Constance remembered how she'd opened the door on Greta and Daisy, and looked toward it half-expecting to find accusing onlookers standing there. The door was still closed, but through the wall she could hear the crew going about their duties. The thought that they might have been overheard quelled the last of her passion.

Walter withdrew from her and set her down to adjust his breeches. He gave her a final, thorough kiss before tiptoeing to the door and opening it just enough to peek out. The kitchen, luckily, was still abandoned. She wondered if she should send him to see for himself what Daisy was doing, and decided against it.