Page 42 of The Cornish Bride

When his mouth came up to kiss hers again, one hand descended to between her legs. She started so much when he touched her down there that his mouth came away from hers.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, almost on a groan. “I know what I’m doing.”

Did he? How? Had he done this before, and if so, who with? Some trollop? The terrible thought that she was no better than a trollop herself washed over Ysella.

Something nudged at where he had his probing fingers, pushing against her skin. Oliver grunted, his body stiffening over hers, and she felt his hips shove against her.

She didn’t like it. Something far too large and thick pushed its way inside her, and a whimper escaped her throat. Was this the sex Morvoren had tried to explain to her—the sex married people enjoyed—the sex that gave women pleasure?

It was nothing like the fun she’d hoped for, not the fun she’d hoped for with those feelings she’d had when he’d touched her breasts. Not at all like that. He increased the speed of his thrusts and she grit her teeth. Why anyone might want to do this for fun, she had no idea. As she gripped the bed sheets, her body tensed under his. He thrust harder still, quivering, then emitted a long, satisfied groan and with one last shove, his body relaxed, his weight coming down on hers. It had taken all of one minute.

He lay unmoving on top of her for a while, panting, and Ysella bit her lip, tears running down her cheeks. Did married women do this for pleasure? Hard to believe.

At last, he shoved himself off her and rolled over, laughing. “That was good. It always hurts the first time for a girl. Now if your brother catches us before we get to Gretna, he’ll have to let us marry. Or you’ll be ruined.”

Ysella lay very still, her head in a whirl. Had he only wanted to do this so he could force Kit’s hand? Had he not wanted to do it because he loved her? Although as far as she was concerned, it hadn’t seemed a loving act. More something he’d done entirely for his own pleasure, as he was the only one of them who’d seemed to like it. How could it be to do with love when it had produced such discomfort for her? Hopefully, Oliver wouldn’t want to do it again. She pulled the bedcovers over her naked body and rolled over with her back to him, as tears of unhappiness continued to course down her cheeks. Such an odd thing for someone who loved her to want to inflict such discomfort. Kit had said that he couldn’t live without Morvoren, and, when he’d said it, Ysella had been sure she felt like that about Oliver. Now, she wasn’t quite so sure she felt the same. Because surely if he felt that way about her, he wouldn’t have hurt her like this.

*

Sam and Kitreached Oxford, where, all unknowing of that city’s name, Ysella had taken her luncheon with Oliver, by six o’clock that night. With their mounts tired after a fifty-mile ride, Kit led the way to one of the many inns.

“The trouble is,” Sam said as they handed their horses over to the care of the ostlers, “that we don’t know what route they’ll have taken.”

Kit nodded. “I’m guessing he’ll have gone for the fastest route and that’s the one I intend to stick to. He won’t want to waste any time taking silly detours. We should walk round every establishment in the town to find out if they’re there, or if they’ve been seen by any of the landlords.”

Sam nodded. “We can take half each. Try the places that only do food and drink as well, or stables where they might have procured a fresh horse.”

“Good thinking. We can start with this one. Let’s get inside and see what the landlord has to say.”

The landlord of their establishment had rooms for them, but had not seen Featherstone or Ysella that day. He promised them a hearty meal and some good claret for when they returned, and they each set off to further their enquiries.

Sam worked his way along St Giles, going into every place he thought might possibly hold a clue, unsure of what he would do if he found they were staying there. No joy. He was just beginning to feel deflated and defeated, when the landlord of the last inn he came to proved to have seen Ysella.

“Very pretty young lady, freezin’ cold, she were. With a gentleman who by the look of him had an army background. Very upright, he were. An officer, I’d say by the cut of him.”

“That’s right,” Sam said, excitement fizzing through him. A clue, a veritable clue. “I don’t suppose they’re still here, are they?”

The innkeeper shook his head with a tinge of regret at not being able to please Sam, who had pressed five shillings on him as reward for the information. “I’m sorry, lad. It looks like findin’ them’s important to you. I wish I could’ve bin more help. Betsey, my barmaid, she might be able to tell you more. I saw her havin’ quite a chat wi’ the young gentleman. She’s a bit of a flirt, mind, so you watch out for her.” He gave a shout, and the same buxom barmaid who’d earlier brought Oliver and Ysella their luncheon, emerged, her eyes alight with interest when she spotted Sam.

“Yes surr?” she rolled the “r” of the word in an all too inviting manner and batted her long eyelashes at him. “What can I do for ’ee?”

The landlord quickly explained. “Did you get the names of the gentleman and the lady?”

She shook her head, never taking her saucy stare from Sam’s face. “That I didn’t, but the young lady, she didn’t look too happy. When I took in their plates, she was all red-faced an’ flustered, like. And he had a look in his eye as I’d know anywhere.” She grimaced. “The look of a man what wants what a girl has to give. Or not give, as the case may be.”

Good God. Sam’s fists balled by his sides. An urge to punch something washed over him. Had Featherstone been importuning Ysella?

“What time was this?” he managed to ask. “And what time did they leave?”

The girl smiled, revealing uneven teeth. “When they got here,’twere about midday weren’t it?” She glanced at her employer. “He went off sharpish to the liv’ry yard to get them a fresh horse, and the lady, she went into the parlor to get warm by the fire.” She rubbed her nose. “When he come back from the liv’ry yard, he did stop by me for a quick squeeze o’ me dumplings. So I knowed he weren’t no gentleman, not reely.”

Her dumplings?

For a moment, Sam was lost for words, so, as if to illustrate her words, the girl put her hands under her ample breasts and bounced them up and down. “Many’s the gentleman wants a squeeze o’ them,” she said with pride. “But not normally when they’ve got a beautiful young lady with ’em.”

“And the time they left?” Sam repeated, his voice hoarse with disgust, all these facts seething through his brain.

“Didn’t stay long,” the landlord said. “Left about one, I’d say. We do hear the town clock strike here, and I’m sure I’d heard it strike the hour just before they was off.”

Sam pressed another five shillings into the landlord’s hand. “Thank you, thank you. You’ve been a great help. Good night.”

Out in the street again, he ran back to the inn where he and Kit were staying.