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reached that point, but instead, she continued. She laid her head on his belly, stroking his flesh with her cheek.
     
    Suddenly she stopped and he saw her looking at his legs. Edgar knew this time would come and he had dreaded it. He had not been naked in front of her yet, so she had not seen his legs. How would she react? Revulsion or pity? There were times when he thought pity was worse.
     
    “So this is why you wear long pants instead of breeches.”
     
    He nodded, unable to find his voice.
     
    She slid lower in the bed and began to caress him from the top of his feet to his thighs. “Can you feel me touching your legs?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    “Does it hurt?” she asked.
     
    “No, not at all, but you don’t have to do that.”
     
    “I want to,” she said, softly massaging his wasted muscles. Her lips followed her hands as she kissed the thin limbs. Edgar was close to weeping. Instead, he gave a startled cry as he felt her tongue sliding over his cock. Just as she had done earlier, he reached up and grasped the top of the bed, struggling to contain his release.
     
    “Emily, oh my darling Emily,” he cried, as she took him fully into her mouth and began to suck his rigid shaft. He hadn’t planned to ask her to do that to him, for fear she would be repulsed even by the suggestion. Yet here she was, pleasuring him in a way he had only dreamed she would.
     
    “You’re so smooth,” she said, as she licked the rounded head of his cock and probed the tiny opening gently with her tongue.
     
    Where she had warmed his flesh with her mouth, she now cooled it with her breath as she spoke and that was enough to send him over the edge. “I can’t hold back! Move away, my love, quickly!”
     
    She drew back but replaced her mouth with her hand, instinctively finding the rhythm he needed to reach his climax. He arched upward, forcing his cock against her hand, and let his release envelop him. “Oh dear God,” he cried as his hot semen shot forth, spraying the dark hair of his groin and trickling through her fingers.
     
    As his breathing slowed, he looked down to where she still lay by his hip and saw that she was staring at the creamy fluid in her palm. “Sorry, my love. Rather messy, isn’t it?”
     
    She shook her head. “I was just thinking what a shame it is to waste it. If I am to give you a son, we must put it in the right place from now on.”
     
    He smiled and reached out to caress her hair. “What a superb idea. But I’m afraid it will have to wait until another night. You have quite worn me out.”
     
    “Yes,” she replied, “I am told that it has that effect.”
     
    * * * * *
     
     
    They were married in the Val-de-Grace in Paris.
     
    “Perhaps it will bring us luck,” Edgar said.
     
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
     
    “The mother of Louis XIV had the church built to thank God for giving her a son, after twenty-three years of a childless marriage. Maybe we won’t have to wait so long.” What he didn’t say, and what he knew they were both thinking, was that they would be very lucky even to have half that time together.
     
    It was only then that Edgar realized what he had truly done. He had made her a countess, which meant she would be set for life—no worries about money or a home or King George’s soldiers terrorizing her. But he would also leave her a wealthy widow, as so many of the other women he had met longed to be. That meant she would be easy prey to all manner of men, not the least of whom was his nephew. If she didn’t give him a son Raymond would inherit everything and he could do with Emily as he wanted—there was no guarantee he would let her live in the dower house.
     
    Edgar resolved to find her a protector…and he knew just the man for the job.
     
    * * * * *
     
     
    Edgar waited until their wedding night to try to take her virginity.
     
    They returned to their rooms after a late evening dinner. Weston met his master at the door and took his coat.