The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,250

the result being both unique and impressive.

At one point, Cate reached to correct a mistake Prudence had made. Prudence seized it and gasped, her eyes rounded in shock. “You’re married!”

“I was.” Cate tried unsuccessfully to retrieve her hand.

Prudence bounced with the excitement. “Does he know where you are? Is he coming to find you? Is he going to rescue you? Is he going to fight the pirates for you? Is he going to kill Captain Blackthorne?”

Caught up in a romantic furor, Prudence fired questions so quickly, Cate couldn’t have answered them even if she was inclined, which she was not. The girl had been reading far too many novellas.

“No,” was Cate’s all-encompassing answer, when Prudence paused to draw a breath. Freeing her hand at last, Cate protectively covered it with the other. “He’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean he deserted you?”

“No, gone, as in he’s dead,” Cate replied flatly. A sudden tightness seized her chest.

The plump mouth rounded in a sympathetic “O.” “I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to pry…”

“No, it’s quite well.” The forced smile Cate had worn all morning returned. “He’s been gone for…for some time now.”

They bent their heads once more, the conversation limited to only an occasional word regarding the embroidery. Prudence, however, became increasingly distracted and clumsy. Cate waited in wary caution. Something was on the child’s mind and there was every reason to believe whatever it was would come soon enough.

“If you’ve been married…” Prudence began in measured deliberation. The fair complexion flashed brilliant. “You would know what…what it is…to be with…with a man?” Her wide-eyed, china-doll gaze added to her innocence.

Cate stiffened, but kept her expression carefully arranged. The bedding was the first thing that came to mind, especially for the young and lustful, but there was ever so much more to marriage. And yes, at Prudence’s age, if anyone had tried to tell her the same, she would have laughed. Admittedly, a few pointers on she and Brian’s wedding night might have been advantageous, but then, the exploration and discovery had been so very rewarding. They had been virgins, but by no means virginal.

“A bit, yes,” Cate said guardedly.

Prudence’s smooth brow furrowed. “Mama wouldn’t tell me anything except you must lay back, close your eyes, and it would be over soon enough.”

Cate smiled ducked her head. To smile in the face of that stilted analysis could be quite hurtful.

Prudence pressed on. “Molly, the chambermaid, was the only other one who would tell me anything. I don’t believe she’s actually been with a man, but she posed as if she knew everything. She said me you must…” She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands working in the fabric she held. “She said you must spread your legs and let the man put his…thing in, until he…I don’t know, does something!”

“It hurts, that’s what Molly said,” Prudence was quick to add, her hands clenched in her lap. She looked up, beseeching. “Must it be just…that…quick and…scary?”

Cate suddenly felt old, like some ancient soothsayer giving wizened advice to the lovelorn. It couldn’t be said that Mother Collingwood’s succinct summation was erroneous, but there was so very much more to it.

“For some, perhaps…maybe. After all, how should I know?” Cate said, growing a bit testy.

Being married did not make her an expert. Other than witnessing first hand, no one knew exactly what went on in a marriage bed. She was reasonably sure hers had been the exception and not the rule, that conclusion being based on other wives’ conversation. Their suffering air, rolled eyes, bemoaning “one’s wifely duty,” and relief when the husband found another “outlet” were all indicators that they did not meet nights with the same relish as she.

“No, not always, if the man is gentle and attentive,” Cate said carefully.

Prudence’s lower lip protruded, as if she meant to argue. Regrettably, if pressed, Cate would be obliged to admit that no matter how well-meaning the man might be, the first time was always—had been—painful.

What was it like to be in bed with a man?

Running a hand along her arm, Cate recalled in vivid detail what couldn’t be shared with a young girl who, in all probability, had never been kissed: snowy, Highland winter nights under quilts, with a man who wanted nothing more than to bed his wife. How could she describe the long arms and warm hands which held and caressed, the murmurings and exploring, lying languid and flushed, pleasures and pleasing—

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

Cate jerked at the sound of Prudence’s voice.

“My husband? Of course,”