The Three Colonels

Instinctively, he began his strokes—first slowly and then with increasing speed. Caroline’s hips rose to meet each thrust. He whispered in her ear, “Caro… my Caro. I am yours… your Johnny… forever.”

The fierce groan she made in reply was too much for Sir John. With a cry, he spilled his seed deep within his virgin bride.

Caroline could feel his release flooding her core, the heat radiating into her. She was overwhelmed by the sensation of being one with her husband, of completeness. She seized Sir John as tightly as she could as he continued to convulse. Finally, he collapsed upon her breast, both of them slick from the exertion of their lovemaking.

When she could catch her breath, Caroline asked, “John, are you well?”

“Ah, yes, my dear—never better. But,” he stroked her face, “are you?”

He saw her eyes fill with tears of joy. “I… I never dreamed. Oh John—”

“Johnny,” he interrupted her. “As you are Caro, I am Johnny, when we are thus.”

She held him close again. “Johnny… thank you,” she said with a kiss.

*   *   *

The night was beyond his expectations. Caroline soon conquered any apprehension or awkwardness that had existed, and when he whispered the private name he had chosen for her—Caro—into her ear, her reaction almost overcame him. Afterwards, the look of wonder and gratification on Caroline’s lovely face was the greatest reward Buford could imagine.

And now as Caroline slept, her body wrapped around him, Buford was filled with wonder and gratification as well. Another man might have basked in self-satisfaction, but Caroline’s husband knew his own talents. The greatest of musicians can make an inferior instrument sound only so well and no more. He knew he was not the great lover of the world; he had not that much practice. To his increasing delight, Buford was coming to the realization that he had been far more fortunate in his choice of wife than he could imagine. There was something there, something hidden, that he had been able to unlock and set free. There was nowhere on earth he would rather be than next to Caroline. He could not help himself; he had to experience it again.

He leaned over and began to caress her face lightly. “Caro… my beautiful Caro.”

Lovely green eyes opened and looked at him. “Hmm…” She smiled. He began to kiss her lightly on the forehead and then the eyelids. “Is it morning already?”

“No, my dear.” Buford moved down to her neck.

“Oh, John,” moaned Caroline.

“My name, Caro—say my name. The one I taught you for moments like this.” His lips traveled further south.

“Johnny!” she purred.

Sometime later, as his labors finally exhausted him enough to join his sleeping wife, Buford’s thoughts were those of caution.

I must take care. It would not do to commit that most fatal of sins against the ton—falling in love with my own wife.

Chapter 6

The morning sun was full upon Caroline’s face as she awoke. At first, she was confused by the unfamiliar room until she remembered she was a married woman. She stretched like a cat, feeling aches from places before unknown to her, and recalled the events of the evening.

I am Lady Buford… Caro… Oh Lord, what a night! I had nothing to fear. John was so kind, but how wantonly I acted!

Caroline began to rise from the bed when she noticed she was not alone. Her husband was still in bed with her—not sleeping, but sitting up watching her with an amused eye—and obviously without a stitch of clothing on. That realization brought to Caroline’s attention that she was as naked as he was. She scrambled back under the covers, too embarrassed to speak.

“Good morning, Lady Buford,” Sir John greeted her.

“Good morning, sir,” Caroline answered, too mortified to notice that her husband had used her new title. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

Sir John grinned. Caroline was reacting in just the manner he had foreseen. “I beg your pardon. I thought you were my wife.”

Caroline colored. “Of course, I am your wife, but why are you still here? Do you not have your own bed?”

“Yes, and I am in it.”

Caroline frowned. “Sir, it is my understanding that these are my rooms. At least that was what I was led to believe yesterday.”

“Ah, I see. I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding, my dear. How unforgivable of me! I forgot to tell you something. I suppose I was preoccupied.” Caroline blushed deeper. “Well, let there be a right understanding between us, madam. These are indeed your rooms. However, there shall be no talk of your bed and my bed—only our bed, Caro.” Sir John’s face drew very close.

“Oh! Do you mean to share my bed every night? How extraordinary! But the servants, sir! What shall they make of this?”

“The servants?” Sir John laughed. “Why, they shall think no harm of it. Only that the mistress is so enamored of the master’s person that she cannot bear to be separated from him.”

Caroline could not decide whether she was distressed by this observation or not. She began to rise from the bed.

“What are you doing, Caroline?”

She gave him a look. “Perhaps you can sleep the day away, but I have duties to attend—your breakfast, for example.”

“Madam, please.” Sir John placed his hand upon hers. “Your duties can wait for tomorrow. It is my particular wish that you enjoy your first day as Lady Buford.” She paused and then, looking into those eyes, gave in. He smiled at her and then proceeded to get out of bed himself.

“But where are you going?” she asked.

He gave her a smile. “Patience, my dear. I shall return.”

With that, he left the bed. Caroline could not help but look with satisfaction upon her husband as he walked across the room, naked as Adam, before he pulled on his robe and disappeared into his bedroom. A quick word to the servant and he returned, crossing over to her side of the bed.

“Well, sir?” Caroline asked with an arch look. “What shall we do now?”

Sir John grinned, then reached and took her hand. “I am sure there are matters you wish to attend to in private,” Sir John said as he helped his wife out of bed and walked her to her dressing room. “I shall leave you, madam, but will return. Oh, by the way,” he added offhandedly, “the staff is rather short in number; I gave most of them their liberty for the day.” He bowed, kissed her hand, and left the room.

Caroline completed her morning routine by herself, somewhat irked that she would have no maid to help with her toilette. There was nothing for it—she put on her best robe and was able to do something with her hair before her husband returned. Sir John had an expectant look on his face that Caroline could not credit.

“Lovely robe,” was all he said before picking her up. Caroline, crying out, thought his plan was to take her to bed, so she was surprised that they went through the open doorway into his rooms and entered his dressing room.

There she saw a bath freshly drawn, steam rising from the tub and a bucket next to it. Her bewilderment turned to surprise when Sir John put her back on her feet and lovingly removed her robe. Without a word, he gently placed her into the bath.

She gasped as she lay back. The water enveloped her body, her aches soothed by the warmth. It was exactly what Caroline needed, but to her surprise, within a moment, she felt a stream of hot water cascade over her head. Her husband, Colonel Sir John Buford, war hero and Knight of the Bath, was seated on a stool behind her, washing