Page 18 of Papa's Rules
Papa was soon at her side, his hand resting gently on the lower part of her back, just above her punished bottom. “This,” he said in a raspy whisper, “is my bedchamber. Here we will spend our wedding night, and all of our nights. This is where you will become my bride, my wife. As a woman. Not a little girl. Do you understand, Cammie?”
A bout of anxiety rattled her body and Papa’s hand at the small of her back seemed to burn through her chemise and heated her flesh all over the skin below her waist. “I-I believe I understand, Papa.” She bit her lip and then turned to him. “Nurse Lister explained to me about the-the penis and my kitty, but I am beginning to believe there is more to it than that. I-I trust you to help me with the parts I do not understand. You will help me, will you not, Papa?”
The smile that spread across his face and lit up his eyes filled Cammie with joy. “Yes, Cammie, I will absolutely help you to understand. I want nothing more than for you to be happy, particularly in my bed.”
* * *
Alexander could barely tear his gaze away from his little bride and forced himself not to toss her upon the bed and defile her. Christ. And she was wearing nothing but a thin chemise. If he managed to leave her unclaimed before they actually spoke their vows, it would be a miracle. Still, he resolved to be a gentleman, even if his balls had tightened something fierce and his cock kept lurching in protest.
“Miss Wickersham and the vicar will be here soon, Cammie,” he said. “We must get you dressed in a proper gown for your wedding.”
“Oh yes, Papa.” She clasped her hands and turned to face him. “Thank you ever so much for all of the beautiful clothes. You shall spoil me.”
“That is my intention,” he said, leading her back into the dressing area between their rooms and lifting her to stand upon the stool. He whisked away the chemise and allowed himself the briefest of glances at her nudity. His breath caught in his throat and heat fired in his loins, but he forced himself to gather up clothing and cover her as quickly as possible. Once he had covered her with a chemise, stockings and other proper undergarments, he felt he could look upon her without losing control of his lust.
He knew precisely the dress he wished for his little bride to wear and found it quickly. White with handmade lace around the collar, hem and cuffs, the dress had cost him a small fortune, and he had quickly had it altered in the two days since Miss Wickersham’s visit in order for it to fit his precious Cammie. Sliding the garment over her head and pulling it closed, he said a silent prayer of gratitude to the seamstress who had fitted the dress perfectly without a body to use as a model.
His fingers shook as he tightened the closures, and he reminded himself that in a short time he would have the opportunity to reverse the procedure and reveal his bride’s body to his touch.
“Oh, Papa,” Cammie said, smoothing her hands down the length of the skirt. “This is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. I feel like a princess. Thank you, thank you. You are the best papa ever.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and with the assistance of the stool, she was the proper height for their lips to meet for the first time.
Her lips were soft against his and the contact startled Alexander. He had not planned to initiate any sort of touching such as this until after their wedding, not wishing to frighten his wee bride, nor did he trust himself to refrain from plunging ahead much too quickly for an innocent miss such as Cammie. But, when her delicate hands rested upon his chest and her mouth met his, a swirl of warmth and longing spun through him the likes of which he had never experienced before. The kiss, their first kiss, was a gentle affair with Cammie experimenting with the feel of contact between them. Holding himself back as much as possible, he allowed her to lead in this instance and though his lips responded to her touch, he did not intensify the contact.
To his surprise, his diminutive bride-to-be slid her hands from his chest to around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers while she moved her mouth beneath his.
“Damnation, Camellia, how am I to behave when you do such things,” he said, pulling away from her and resting his mouth against her forehead.
Cammie stiffened in his embrace and used her hands to push away from him. “I-I am sorry, Papa,” she whispered, hanging her head.
* * *
Cammie could scarce believe the mistake she had made. She had never kissed a man before and clearly did not know what she was doing, why else would her papa react in such a dramatic manner? Had she behaved like a doxy and shocked and shamed her papa?
She hopped off the stool, rushed into her bedroom and crawled onto the bed, buried her face in the pile of lace pillows and sobbed.
She had no idea where the wave upon wave of sadness came from, but they swept over her in a rush and, before she knew it, she had nearly soaked one of the pillows through. Her nose was running and she sat up to look about for a handkerchief when one magically appeared and she glanced up to see her papa standing over her, sadness and concern etched on his face.
“What is wrong, little Cammie? Did something frighten you?”
She reached for the monogrammed square of linen, but he ignored her movements and sat on the bed next to her, taking her upon his lap and holding the soft fabric to her nose. “Blow,” he said and she complied with a noisy honk that made him chuckle. “Good girl.”
“Now,” he said, situating her upon his lap, “why the tears? Did you not enjoy kissing me?”
“Y-you said a foul word, Papa.” She stared at the frilly coverlet of her bed and worked some of the fancywork edging between her fingers. “Oh, Papa. I-I must confess something to you. It is something I have never told anyone before, but I feel I must tell you before you commit yourself to me forever.”
Papa’s eyebrows shot up and his head tilted to the side, but he quickly composed himself and set her out upon his knee so he could get a proper look at her face. “If you have something important to tell me, Camellia, then I shall give you my full attention.” He brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. “What troubles you, my little bride?”
She studied his features and her heart cracked with pain, but she forced herself to confess the thing that had been niggling at her conscience. “Papa,” she whispered, “I-I have memories of my mama and...and...I think she was a-a p-prostitute.” She said the word and then let out a giant breath she had been holding. “Wh-what if I am like her? I cannot control my urges, even after all the years Miss Wickersham spent making a proper lady out of me.”
There was a long pause during which Cammie felt certain her papa was trying to figure out how to get her out of his house as quickly as possible.
Perhaps she ought to have kept quiet, but already she loved her papa too much to let him suffer the shame of her vulgar bloodline.
To her surprise, Papa pulled her close to his chest and buried his face in her hair, then tipped her face up so he could look into her eyes as he spoke. “Thank you for trusting me with your secret. You are a courageous young lady, and I am proud of you for telling me.”
Cammie stared into his beautiful dark eyes, memorizing the color and shape in case she never saw him again.
“I am going to tell you something very important,” he said, “and you must listen carefully because I never want you to worry about this issue again. All I need to know about your mother, or any of your relations, is that she created you, a beautiful, sweet, desirable young lady who I will be proud to have as my wife, Lady Cavendish, forever. Do you understand?”
Shocked, Cammie gaped at her papa and nodded her head. “Yes, Papa. Are you absolutely certain?”
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” he said, before taking her lips with his.
