Page 13 of Doctor Hardy and the Hysteria Machine (The Doctor’s Pleasure #1)
Epilogue
T he weeks of her hysteria treatments went by in a flash. One day, Beatrice found herself staring at her fingers around the teacup, trying to puzzle out why they looked different.
Then it struck her. She could not recall the last time she had bitten her fingernails, which had grown back long and strong.
The face beaming back at her in the mirror was radiant, a rosy glow tinting her pale cheeks. Delighted at this sudden discovery, Beatrice danced her fingertips across her features, as if reassuring herself it was not a dream.
She laughed; it was real. Doctor Hardy had transformed her. Even her laugh, which used to carry a wispy, breathless quality, sounded sensual and deep.
That evening, Beatrice spotted the elegant figure in a tailored evening jacket across the crowded parlor. Instead of waiting for Eric to find her, she walked directly toward the man of her dreams.
“Lord Eric. I trust you have been well?”
Eric whirled around, caught off guard to find Beatrice beaming at him. “Lady Beatrice!” He said, clasping her hand in his. “What a pleasure! I did not expect to see you tonight.”
She smiled and shrugged, her heart light as a swallow at his warm welcome. All was not lost, after all.
“Well, here I am in the flesh.”
His eyes were so full of adoration that Beatrice could not believe she ever doubted him.
“Come, let me introduce you to my sisters. They have been asking after you most insistently.”
Three Months Later
The new Lady Greenwood sat against the headboard of the giant four-posted bed and stretched out her legs between the fresh, cool sheets.
The wedding was opulent and grand. She had no doubt the guests would rave about its every last detail for months. Beatrice, dazzling and sumptuous in her glimmering white gown, and Eric, her Prince Charming, in the finest suit and top hat.
“Lady Beatrice Greenwood,” her husband marveled as he joined her in the bedchamber, having changed into his nightshirt and robe.
“Lord Eric.” She gave him a dazzling smile and closed the book in her hands.
He sat by her on the bed and reached for her hand.
“You have made me the happiest man today.” He said, his voice tinged with dreamy disbelief, “Please know that there is no rush, nor obligation, to—”
She quieted him with a finger on his lips.
He fidgeted with the corner of her book, not wanting to overwhelm her with the unspoken duty that hung heavy in the air between them.
“I know, darling,” she said.
Months ago—in Doctor Hardy’s examination room—she had vowed to be brave. Brave enough to endure her woman’s duty with grace and poise. Brave enough to let her new husband dim the room and join with her under the covers.
Brave enough to make the doctor proud.
But now, she wished for nothing more than to feel the warm sturdiness of Eric’s body against hers. Nothing more than for the velvety iron of his manhood—she could see it tenting up the thick material of his nightwear—to slide home into her ready womanhood.
“Eric, I’m ready.” She said, taking his hand and bringing it under the covers.
His green eyes widened as his fingers touched her naked thigh, for she had shed her underthings before he entered the room. His hand roved across her perfect, soft skin and found the unmistakable wet desire beneath the soft curls.
“Oh, my darling Beatrice,” he breathed, the restraint he’d upheld for months crumbling. “How I have wanted you!”
“You have me completely, body and mind,” she said, beckoning him to join her.