The Hesitant Bride Read online

  The Hesitant Bride

  Trained by His Ginger

  by Cecelie Hart

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2018 Cecelie Hart

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  Ginger for the Hesitant Bride

  A Pillory for the Hesitant Bride

  A Reward for the Hesitant Bride

  An Audience for the Hesitant Bride

  A Game for the Hesitant Bride

  Copyright © 2018 Cecelie Hart

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted are over the age of 18.

  Table of Contents

  Ginger for the Hesitant Bride

  A Pillory for the Hesitant Bride

  A Reward for the Hesitant Bride

  An Audience for the Hesitant Bride

  A Game for the Hesitant Bride

  Epilogue

  Also by Cecelie Hart

  Ginger for the Hesitant Bride

  A Wedding Night Figging

  ♠

  Taking a deep breath, Emma took the footman's arm and let him help her step down from the carriage. Immediately two maids scurried forward to catch the long train of her white dress and keep it off the damp and muddy gravel drive.

  Emma barely noticed them. She was staring up at the vast mansion that was to be her new home. She had hoped to see it before today, but her new husband had never once invited her to visit his estate during their brief courtship. She could see why. The great house was forbidding and, frankly, remarkably hideous. The original building had been constructed from heavy stone—no doubt with more of an eye to defense than aesthetics. It had been modified many times since, apparently by a succession of architects whose ambitions far outweighed their talents. She licked her dry lips and tried not to gulp. Perhaps it was more inviting on the inside. The grounds they had driven through had been quite magnificent. Emma supposed it was better to sit within ugliness and gaze upon beauty than the other way around.

  "Come, my dear," Lord Berringham—no, Edmund, she should think of him by his given name now—announced, his feet crunching in the gravel as he rounded the carriage. He took her arm from the footman. "No doubt you are eager to see your new home."

  Emma wasn't sure eager was quite the right word, but she smiled dutifully up at her new husband and nodded anyway.

  He patted her hand and guided her towards the main entrance, completely ignoring the butler and footmen who'd lined up to greet them. None of the servants appeared to be surprised.

  Struggling to keep up with her husband's long strides, Emma wondered—not for the first time—why he had chosen her. Edmund Berringham might not quite have been amongst the very most eligible bachelors in the country, but he could certainly have had his pick from the daughters of the second or third tiers of society. In his early forties, he was still vital and darkly handsome. Many of Emma's friend's had gone green with jealousy when the engagement had been announced. She did have to admit he cut a striking figure and he was elegant on the dance floor. As to his alleged charm, she could not proffer much opinion. The short ride to her new home from the pavilion in the village had featured the longest conversation they'd shared, and the first without a chaperone. They'd barely exchanged more than pleasantries. He'd been content to watch his new bride quietly. The way his dark eyes had flitted over her body had been an intimate reminder of what awaited her tonight. Those green-tinged friends would have been shivering with anticipation. Not only was her groom pleasing to the eye, but there were a score of whispered stories about him. A third son, he'd likely never expected to inherit his position. It was rumored that he'd been quite the rake in his younger days. Emma had had to endure a lot of giggling and girlish jokes about her wedding night in the last week. She just wished she had the same enthusiasm. But she'd never really been able to fathom the other girls' infatuations with boys and men. She supposed some of them were decent enough fellows, but she simply didn't understand the appeal. But she was a married woman now, with duties and obligations, and she intended to carry them out.

  It had been unusual that their wedding reception had not been at his estate—her mother certainly thought so—but little about their courtship had been typical. Edmund had met her briefly at a ball in London only a couple months ago. She hadn't even been aware that she'd caught his eye. But shortly afterwards, to everyone's surprise, he'd asked her father for her hand in marriage. She still did not know the exact details of the arrangement, but her father had let her know in no uncertain terms that, as a dutiful daughter, she had no choice but to accept the proposal. The family fortune had been dwindling for years. No doubt this had been an opportunity to reverse some of their recent declines. The engagement had been short, the wedding itself extravagant but terse, and there was to be no honeymoon—not immediately anyway. Emma had been whisked away from the reception while the guests were still reveling. Now she found herself the mistress of a strange mansion with a husband she barely knew.

  The design of the hall inside was equally as oppressive as the exterior. But here at least someone had made an effort to add light and color. Flowers adorned tables, instead of musty portraits there were paintings of scenes full of life, and mirrors had been carefully positioned to reflect the meager light from the small windows. A woman's hand was evident. Presumably the housekeeper's—Edmund had no sisters and both his parents were long gone. Whoever she was, she had an excellent eye.

  A line of maids waited for them. Edmund ignored them as he led her past—each was young and very pretty, although they varied in complexion and build, no two looked at all alike.

  He stopped at the end of the line, in front of stunning beautiful blonde in simple, black dress. Emma blinked, even in the splendor of her magnificent wedding gown, she suddenly felt plain and dowdy. Was this the housekeeper? She seemed very young for the position—she could be barely more than ten years older than Emma herself.

  "My dear," her husband drawled. "This is Miss Collins, your housekeeper. She will attend to your needs for the next few days while we make the proper arrangements. She will also educate you on the particular customs of my house."

  Emma glanced sideways. Educate? Customs? Wasn't she the mistress of the estate now? Shouldn't she have a say in such things?

  She took an involuntary step backwards, her eyes going wide, as the housekeeper stepped forward uninvited. She almost gasped in shock. No servant in her father's house would have dared do such a thing. But her husband said nothing. When Emma glanced at him, he was watching her carefully, a wry half-smile playing on his lips. She blinked, trying not to gape in disbelief as the housekeeper inspected her, piercing blue eyes playing across her curves in much the same way as Edmund's had earlier. Their sparkle conveyed the same appetites too.

  Emma did gulp as the blonde took a half-step closer. The housekeeper was a couple inches taller than she was. She had to turn her head up to meet that sapphire gaze. Was it cold? She was shivering. Her heart might have skipped a beat. She caught herself straightening fully, arching her back, pushing out her breasts. It must be cold—her nipples were hard, straining against the corset beneath the white lace of the dress.

  She jumped as if a spell had been broken when the housekeeper suddenly snapped her fingers. The maids scattered instantly, scurrying back to work—all except the two still silently holding the train of Emma's wedding dress.

  Edmund patted Emma's arm. "I think we can put off the tour until later. Show my bride to her bedchambers, please Ada. Help her relax."

  The housekeeper turned and
curtseyed. "At once, your lordship." She turned back. "Follow me, please, milady," she said, already heading towards the great stairs

  Almost dizzy and short of breath, Emma hesitated. The blonde's tone had been shockingly improper—more a command than a request. But her feet were already moving. Part of her would happily follow the housekeeper anywhere.

  ♠

  The bedchambers Emma was shown to were large, airy and light—far more lavish and impressive than the modest room she'd had in her father's house. There was a four post bed laden with extravagant silk sheets, an ornate mahogany dressing table beneath a huge gold trimmed mirror, a small reading table by the window and long sofa with plump, velvet cushions. But it was clearly a room furnished for a woman alone. It seemed she would not be sharing her bedchambers with her husband. Frankly, that was something of a relief.

  "Where does... Edmund sleep?" she'd asked Ada, stumbling over the name.

  The housekeeper had momentarily paused from the arduous and intricate task of removing Emma from her wedding gown and had smiled. "Wherever his lordship wishes," had been the mischievous, improper reply.

  Emma had blushed at the implications, shaken, not just by the improperness of the blonde's words, but by the way her own body had responded to Ada's touch as she delicately unlaced the dress. The bedroom was not cold. Why had she trembled like that?

  With Emma reduced to only a silk shift over her tightly laced corset, one of the maids had shown her to the little antechamber where she could take care of a pressing need. The two maids had then retreated from the bedchamber, leaving Emma barely dressed and alone with the housekeeper.

  She hesitated. She was sure she should be taking control of the situation, asserting her authority as the new mistress of the house. With any of the servants in her father's house, she would have been. But there was something about the easy confidence in the way Ada held herself, and something about the way her gaze seemed to devour Emma's youthful flesh, that upended the proper order of things. Instead of a woman grown, an adult of eighteen years, and the lady of this house, Emma felt like a child before a stern governess, eager for attention and approval. The goosebumps down her arms and legs, certainly weren't helping.

  "Have my things been brought up yet?" she ventured, uncertainly. "I thought the lavender gown this evening."

  The housekeeper shook her head slowly. "Not yet, milady. But, I suspect you might already be over-dressed for his lordship's intended activities."

  Emma blinked. Oh? Oh! She took a long deep breath. Of course. That. This was her wedding day and the marriage had to be consummated. She exhaled slowly. She'd just expected—perhaps hoped—that she'd have a little more time, that her husband might not be so eager to claim her virginity. What was it her mother had told her whilst explaining her duties? Lie back and think of England? She could do that... maybe... England was a frightfully vague concept to hold in one's mind. She glanced up at the housekeeper through her big, brown eyes. Perhaps there might be better things to think of.

  There was a knock. Loud. Confident. Almost aggressive. Not the knock of a servant. Her husband. Here to claim what was his.

  Emma steadied herself as best she could. Her hand was trembling. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice quavering slightly.

  Instead of a reply, the door simply opened and her husband strode in. He had removed his jacket. His shirt and waistcoat clung tightly to his strong, powerful torso. The top three buttons were undone, dark curls spilling out.

  Emma stiffened, her eyes widening slightly. Another girl might have swooned at the masculinity on display. She was sure some of her friends would have. Emma only felt her stomach tighten.

  Edmund smiled broadly, the toothy leer of a wolf, as he surveyed Emma's nubile curvy body beneath her shift. He moaned, a hungry growl. There was a large bulge in his pants. It squirmed.

  "You have not begun yet?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

  Emma blinked, unable to take her eyes off the huge tent at his crotch. Begin what? She didn't understand. She opened her mouth to reply

  "This is your wife," the housekeeper chided with shocking familiarity, cutting her off, "not some maid. I assumed you would wish to be present for her training."

  Training? Something about the emphasis on the word set butterflies fluttering in Emma's stomach. She felt her face go pale. Training for what?

  Her husband flung himself into the chair by her dressing table and lounged back. "I'm here now. Begin. I am hard and impatient."

  The housekeeper nodded. "Yes, milord. At once."

  Bewildered, Emma looked between them. What was going on? What were they talking about? She swayed, growing almost dizzy. Her husband hadn't even closed the door behind him. "Edmund?" she gasped, almost a whine, holding out her arms.

  Ada stepped in front of her. She was close—far closer than any servant should ever get uninvited. She reached out a slender hand and lifted Emma's chin. The girl gasped as she stared into those deep blue eyes.

  "Ssssh, child," the housekeeper purred. "Everything is fine. His lordship is an excellent judge of women and their desires. You were chosen in part for your particular tastes. Here you can finally admit to everything you've always wanted... if you follow some simple rules..."

  Emma trembled as she forgot how to breathe. She could smell the housekeeper. The soft, feminine scent seemed to engulf her. She could feel the heat of the other woman's body through her thin shift. She let out a soft moan. What... what had she always wanted? Her body quivered. Her thighs were suddenly damp. There was warmth in her loins. Warmth and an ache... what was happening?

  "Sssh..." Ada purred again. Her hands slid down Emma's neck, lightly caressing her shivering skin as they went. They gently grasped the silk of the girl's thin shift. She bent her head, her mouth grazing Emma's. The young bride moaned and parted her lips as a tongue slipped inside. Her eyes closed. Ada was warm and soft, her kiss was deep and tender. Emma melted against the older woman, the room falling away...

  Her shift ripped as the housekeeper savagely tore it from her body. Emma gasped, crying out in surprise as she found herself naked except for her corset. She took a step back, choking in alarm. Ada grinned as she lunged forward and roughly tugged at the laces. The corset slipped. The young bride's large, firm breasts spilled out, tumbling and bouncing, their huge puffy nipples hard and rosy pink.

  Emma's eyes bulged as they darted every way at once. Her husband was watching her carefully, a dark smile on her face. The two young maids were standing in the doorway, observing her shame. Her hands moved in all directions as competing impulses fought to control them. They rose to cover the naked glory of her full and bouncing bosom. At the same time they sank to her exposed womanhood, glistening in the dark bush between her thighs.

  She cried out wordlessly as Ada pushed her hard and she fell onto the bed. Her hands clawing at the sheets, Emma scrambled backwards as the housekeeper clambered up after her. She whimpered as she hit the solid wood of the carved headboard...

  The slender fingers of housekeeper's left hand curled around her throat, pinning it against the dark mahogany. Emma trembled and choked out a whimper as Ada's other hand forced her thighs apart. Paralyzed by a confusing mix of fear and lust, she did nothing but helplessly shiver as a finger reached beneath her corset. She gasped as it stroked along the sopping wet lips of her quivering womanhood.

  "Sssh..." Ada whispered. "Calm yourself... you want this. It's why his lordship chose you. I can feel your arousal dripping onto your thighs. Your quim is hot and flowing freely... It's time to become a woman..."

  Her hand tightened around Emma's throat as she bent and kissed the flushing bride on her soft trembling lips. Below, the finger slowly traversed the lady's other mouth once more—this time with a friend along for company.

  Emma moaned, the heat of Ada's sweet breath mingling with her own. She felt her womanhood be gently parted, two fingertips easing inside. She stiffened. They felt so large. Her narrow virginal pussy clenched around
them, squeezing softly. She glanced over to her husband. He was watching avidly, seemingly eager to see his blushing bride deflowered by another woman, and a servant at that.

  "Do it!" he ordered quietly. "Tell me how she feels inside."

  Ada bared her teeth, a fierce smile a mere inch from Emma's flushed face. "Yes, milord," she whispered.

  Emma cried out as both fingers plunged inside her. Her hands gripped the headboard, blanching white as they tore roughly through her virginal resistance, wriggling deep into the dripping warmth of her vaginal passage. She groaned as they caressed and teased... stretching her... opening her... Her eyes screwed closed, her body shuddering, as Ada's thumb lightly played across the rosebud above her pussy. She sobbed as if stung, her hips squirming as she sought to retreat. But her cries were from pleasure, albeit pleasure so intense it verged on pain.

  "Oh, she's tight!" the housekeeper purred. "And bleeding. A true maiden indeed... I doubt even her own fingers have been inside her. " The fingers wriggled and curled. "She's wet and slippery, but her walls are slightly rough. She'll rub your cock delightfully as you stretch her wide." Ada chuckled. "And she's hungry... ravenous even... I can feel her sucking on me."

  Blushing beetroot, from the shame of the description, Emma squirmed on the invading hand. Her husband snapped his fingers. The two young maids obediently scurried in through the wide open door. Thrashing and groaning, her neck still pinned, Emma barely noticed as they scrambled up the bed on either side of her. Their pretty mouths closed on her bare breasts, suckling at the hard and rosy nipples jutting from her heaving bosom. Emma cried out wordlessly. The teasing of their skillful tongues was almost drowned in the ocean of sensation churned by the housekeeper's touch. Her fingers drove back and forth through the bride's broken hymen, slippery with juice and blood. They curled up as they plunged, their tips leaving a trail of tender ecstasy.

  Emma was lost. She could barely see. Tears were stinging her eyes. Perspiration had beaded on her forehead. Lines of sweat trickled down her gleaming breasts into the suckling mouths of the pretty maids. She moaned. The noise pathetic. The mewing of a kitten. She didn't understand. What was happening? This was nothing like what her mother had described, nothing like what she'd imagined for her wedding night. The housekeeper's skillful touch was tearing out the foundations of a dam deep inside her. Behind it a wild river churned and raged, eager to be unleashed. Emma sobbed. The cataclysmic flood would sweep her away. It would dash her into shards. But she'd never wanted anything more. Cracks were forming in the dike... her eyes rolled up, the earth seeming to shake...