“I want to make love,” I whispered, unable to stop myself.
Tenderly, he laid me upon my back on the bed. There was some fiddling as we both adopted the right positioning, and then he thrust himself inside of me. There was aching pain at first, and then he pulled himself out and thrust in again, and again. The pain lessened with each thrust, and after a few minutes it was totally gone, replaced by pleasure. I grabbed onto his muscular back as he thrust into me, holding my legs up and moving with his motions.
I had what is referred to as an “orgasm” then. It was a shocking, beautiful feeling. He thrust harder and harder, and I was so focused on his moans, and his muscles, and the deep white-hot heat between my legs, that I did not sense it approaching. Suddenly, wave after wave of pricking, hot pleasure washed over me. I was utterly in its control. It pulsated within me, permeating my whole body, burning, tingling. I let out a scream, and he let out a long moan.
Then he rolled to the side. We were done.
We lay together until the sun began to rise, my head on his chest. At intervals we slept, but then we awoke and talked in low whispers, giggling together like children. I know that men would want me to regret what the Duke and I had just done. They would call me a whore for enjoying it, but I did enjoy it, and to this day I do not regret it. All the horrible stories I had heard – stories full of feelings of remorse, dishonor, and worthlessness – were proved to be false. I only felt content.
After the sun had risen, but still an hour before the house would be awake, we made love again. This time was slower, as we became more acquainted with each other’s bodies. Afterwards, the Duke had to leave, as to not arouse suspicion amongst his staff.
He bid me to meet him in the gardens later that day, and I readily agreed.
There was nothing strange about my meeting the Duke for a stroll through the gardens, so I did not need to lie to Charlotte. I did, however, tell her that I was strolling the grounds alone, leaving my exact course vague just in case she decided to come and find me. I thought that unlikely anyway, seeing as she was quite taken up with the gossiping and minor politics of the servants of the Castle.
It had just passed noon when I walked into the garden, the scent of the glowers heightening my overall feeling on momentousness. I seated myself on a bench in a secluded corner and sat there for a time, looking hither and thither for the Duke. Soon enough, he emerged from behind one of the bushes and approached me. “My love,” he said, clasping my hands. He brought them to his lips and kissed them. “I dreamt of you this morning,” he went on, holding her hands tightly and leading her through the flowerbeds. “I was exhausted from out time together, so I collapsed into my bed when I returned to my chambers. I dreamt that you were with me, in my arms, and we were laying in a field looking up at the stars. I know I am no poet. I wish I could capture the beauty of it for you.”
“Do you like to look upon the stars?” I said. I had an interest in this myself, and had often wished for a tutor to help me learn their proper configurations.
“No in any academic sense,” Francis said, perhaps sensing my motivation. “I just find them peaceful.”
“They make me feel small,” I said. “But in a good way. I like to feel small in the presence of the stars. Many people hate it.”
“You are not many people, my lady,” the Duke said. “Shall we walk into the woods?”
I agreed, and we set our course for the wooded area that surrounds the Castle. I took his arm without it being proffered, and perhaps that is another “black mark” against me. But he did not object, and placed his hand over my arm, as though securing me in.
Soon we were in the woods, and it was a most reassuring experience. It was just the two of us and nature; all around we were surrounded my flowers and shrubbery and wildlife. Once, a squirrel darted across our path and looked up at us quizzically, tilting its little head. The Duke made to pick the creature up, but it fled before he had the chance. At length we found an overturned log, and having been walking for almost two hours we sat upon it to rest.
“I wish we could just sit here forever,” I said, as I was feeling sentimental. “Wouldn’t that be grand? We could just sit here, and the world would pass us by.”
“That would be a gift,” Francis agreed. “Far too often life is wasted in the preparing of it. This, right here...” He took my hands in his, and stared into my eyes. “This right here,” he went on, “is what life should be about. Not the nonsense that most people fill it with. Sarah, I wish I had known you sooner. We have a lot of catching up to do.”