Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

H is eyes flitted open and the depths of the blue mesmerized her for a moment before a corner of his lips curled. Quick as lightning, he grasped her and hauled her into the tub as if she weighed nothing.

Soaked right through, she barely had a moment to gasp when his mouth was on hers; the kiss was hot, heady, spiced with brandy and desire. When his tongue stroked the seam of her mouth, she let him in eagerly, his masculine flavor saturating her senses.

His mouth left hers to explore her cheeks and jaw. When he found the rim of her ear, she shivered, squirming as his tongue investigated the delicate shell. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he licked the sensitive lobe, then suckled upon it.

“How about some fun before we get leg shackled? Hm?” He tugged her further into his body.

And then, she sucked in another breath—for he was naked and erect, and with the slip of nothing between her, her nightgown was completely translucent, the gray was now gauze.

Heat slammed into Bridget as William lowered his head and ran his tongue up her breast, teasing the aching flesh before taking the hard bead of her nipple into his mouth through the thin cloth. She was awash with pleasure.

“W-William. You’re d-drunk,” she tried to reason with him, but there was no getting through to him.

“No,” his hands glided down her hips to cup her derrière. “I assure you I’m not.”

He kissed her again. This time, it was slow and heated, a torturous pleasure that sent liquid heat through her veins. Fighting through the sensation inside, she gently pushed against his steely chest and searched his eyes. His gaze had a glaze over them, but it was like a door had opened—the guard she ordinarily saw in his eyes was gone.

“Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” he replied.

The back of his finger skimmed over her breasts before trailing down to her clenching belly. “We’re getting married today,” he murmured before taking both hands and resting them on her shoulders. “Do you want to taste the meal before you take it?”

“ Meal ?” She tried to keep the air light, even while the situation was decidedly heavy. “Are you an apéritif or... dessert?”

He chuckled. “Whatever you decide, my sweet, just touch me and I will do the same.”

Hesitating at first, she started with the broad breadth of his arms, the corded muscles of his shoulders, the little scars on his skin, and then slowly drifted to his chest. His breath came faster as she ran her hands down the rigid muscles and the light fur on his pectorals. Her fingers teased over the flat discs of his nipples.

The pleasure had him tipping his head back, his grasp tightening on her hips. His hands slipped from her rear to slide her silk nightgown up to her waist, to run through the curls only she had ever touched.

Her eyes immediately widened and her lips were trapped between her teeth. “William—”

“Trust me,” he whispered again as his hand moved lower to stroke the soft petals between her legs, soft caresses that drove a whimper to her lips. “Just feel, sweet.”

He kissed her lush breasts again, laving her nipples through her wet gown as she arched into his mouth, and he swept a finger over the tight bud between her thighs. She jerked forward in shock as he circled it slowly.

She is an innocent, he reminded himself, trying to pull back, determined not to terrify her with the fierce passions inside him.

Using his knees, he parted her trembling thighs, and carded his fingers amidst soft and silky dark curls, perfectly untouched. Slipping a finger inside her sheath, he began to stroke her softly.

Her moans made his passions soar, yet he wanted this for her—and himself— needed her climax, craved seeing her pleasure.

“So… beautiful,” William whispered, easing his fingers inside her. He watched her eyes, watched for any sign she did not like the sensation, but they were glazed with sensual heat.

Her soft, pale skin, long silken limbs flush on his, made his body hard with need and blood thundered through him. Pushing a cloud of dark curls over her shoulder, he took her mouth once more. Kissing Bridget, showing her sensations she had never experienced before, stirred his soul.

Her spine bowed as he found and penetrated her most vulnerable place. His finger slid all the way in, as if he belonged there. He watched her face intently, as if she were the only thing in the world that existed.

“Work yourself against my finger,” he instructed. “Show me your pleasure.”

His wicked words made her giddy with arousal, but she obeyed, her need mounting as she rode his hand. As she hit her stride, she transformed into a nymph rising from the water, her body undulating over his touch, her breasts so seductively covered in wet silk, her nipples, dark berries, praying to be suckled.

He leaned down, and using his nose to push away the wet fabric, captured a bare tip in his mouth. He suckled in rhythm with his pistoning fisting, driving her on, making her wild in her pursuit of that vital finish. When his thumb skated over her hidden bud, the race careened out of her control.

“Come for me, now.” His forceful command propelled her over the edge. With a cry, she shattered around him, gripping his shoulders as her body succumbed to her first climax, but his fingers still coaxed out spasm after soaring spasm.

He drank it in like it was the elixir to life.

When she wilted against his chest, he rubbed the back of her neck, “You are so angelic when you come apart.”

She shivered, breathless. “I… I did not think this would be happening on my wedding day…”

“Did you think it would happen tonight?” he asked, finding the warm burn of his manhood resting thickly on his thigh oddly titillating. “I told you I would not debauch you… well, not entirely.”

“You’re… still aroused,” she whispered.

“I know,” he cocked his head. “Do you want to help me with it?”

“How can I?”

He took her small hands and placed both palms on his chest, then gently guided them lower while keeping his eyes latched onto hers. He noted her quick intake of breath when she brushed over his flat nipples, and then down over the flat ridges of his abdomen.

Drawing them from his body, he swept his thumbs over her palms before he wrapped her right hand around his turgid length. Under her silken touch, he swelled even larger.

William’s eyes held hers as he moved their hands over him, teaching her to stroke him the way he liked. She learned how much pressure he enjoyed; what rhythm tore sounds from the back of his throat.

Her grip tightened over his weeping head and William hissed, and she eased her hold, then touched a tentative finger to the base of the purple-veined shaft. Instinctively, her other hand closed over his base, curling around the thick rod.

“You are so… thick.” She could barely contain him within her circling fingers.

His head rolled back, “Never heard any complaint about that before.”

Bravely, she reached with her other hand to cup lower, finding him heavy and surprisingly supple.

“You’re doing just… fine.” His neck arched as he savored her firm yet gentle strokes. “Stop being such a polite young Miss. I am not going to break under your hand,” he muttered, a muscle in his cheek jumping.

“All right, then.”

She fixed her grip and her fist glided faster and faster along that thick truncheon of flesh; the water around them sloshed harder. She would not have dared to stroke him with such ferocity if he had not especially asked for it—but after last night, he did not need tender touches.

Pleasure jabbed through him like a red-hot stab of lightning and his blood swept through his body in a rush. With his heart pounding, he felt like a stallion nearing his finish at the Derby.

Peeling his eyes open, he saw the tip of her tongue clamped between her teeth; her hair was askew, and the steam misted her skin into a pearlescent sheen . Devil and damn , she was a sight to behold.

Her fists tightened around him. Her breasts quivered as she stroked him faster, harder—his vision blurred. “Bridget, I—!”

He yelled out as his seed shot up his shaft. The climax erupted from him, surging through him in a rush of heat and thick pleasure. His head fell back on the towel behind him as he sucked air into his lungs, dispelling the burn in his chest.

When he regained his senses, he gazed upon her. Satisfaction hummed in his veins, and yet his pulse took a wayward leap at how she examined her fingers. “Your hands are devious, sweetling.”

She giggled coyly, then asked, “What happened last night?”

His stomach roiled at the memory of the man he had—with no other explanation— killed in the ring last night, and the tortured message Ricky had whispered to him. He had won the match by default, but something about the ensuing victory felt hollow.

“Were you assaulted?”

“No.”

“I hardly think you slipped and fell hard enough to make you black-and-blue,” she pressed. “Did someone try to rob you?”

His gaze sharpened, “Cease from asking me these questions. It is no matter of yours!”

His angered snap stunned the both of them, and Bridget’s head jerked back as if she had been slapped. She sat back, staring at him white-faced. Exhaling, he said more calmly, “Do not press me further on this, please.”

Collecting herself, Bridget gingerly climbed out of the tub, her garments wet and dripping. “I suppose we will see each other at the church then.”

“Take a towel,” he added, calmer than before. “You do not want to catch a cold, not today.”

Silently, she took a towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself, then headed out.

Aggrieved, conflicted, and tired beyond measure, William slumped back to the towel pillow. “Happy wedding day to me.”

With the Special License acquired, the choice to have the wedding ceremony in a chapel or at his estate had come about, and William had instinctively chosen his home. Presently, he was glad for that choice, especially since he was rather conspicuously bruised and battered. While dressing, he pointedly avoided his reflection, and when Lane came to assist with the rest, his valet did not even blink an eye.

“I would ask if you had a rough night but the answer to that question appears rather evident, Your Grace,” Lane remarked while reaching for his silver brocade waistcoat. “How bad was the bout, and does your new wife-to-be know about your… secondary occupation.”

William reached for his cufflinks and stared at the emeralds set in gold. His jaw clenched, “I killed a man, Lane.”

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Lane’s hands clench on the clothing. “That is…. unfortunate.”

Dropping the cufflinks into the velvet box, William braced his palms on the edge of the dresser and ground his teeth. “Even worse, he gave me a message to give to some woman, but I have no idea who she is or where to find her.”

His manservant came closer to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry that… happened, but you must persevere. You have a wedding to attend, a new wife to attend to, and the rest of the competition to finish.”

“I—” William did not want to admit how much seeing the poor lad collapse and die before him had affected him, and the little smidge of bliss from early had him sinking to a chair and gazing out the window.

The hedges were overgrown, the outdoor buildings tumbledown and the walls had ivy as tangled as the emotions in his heart. He barely recognized when Lane returned and sat a glass of whisky before him.

“For courage,” Lane replied.

Reaching for it, William asked, “When you married your dear wife, did you feel… inadequate?”

“Undoubtedly,” Lane uttered. “My Hannah was a gentleman’s daughter, and I, a retired army man, but she loved me anyway, and her father was gracious enough to see that and allowed us to marry. We shared twenty-three years of happiness and were graced with a beautiful daughter, until she eventually passed on from this life. But heading to the altar on that special day long ago certainly had me questioning my character many a time.”

Sighing, William threw back the drink and reached for his cufflinks again. “The day I thought would never come has finally arrived. I wonder what else I thought would never happen will someday happen.”

“Oh, Bridget,” Josephine exclaimed as she stepped into the dressing room Bridget was waiting in. “You look… beautiful!”

Reflexively, she looked down at her wedding gown made of blue silk. It swept off her shoulders and cinched just below her bosom, highlighting the ample curve of her bustline. Miss Lane had pulled her hair back into a soft coif at her nape, allowing a few artful pieces to dance about her neck and shoulders, with a few fresh flowers tucked into the bun.

“She is absolutely right,” Ellie swept into the room not a moment later—her pale peach gown had blue silk trimming that complimented Bridget’s gown. “You are radiant.”

“My wedding.” She gave a rueful sigh. “Who would have thought this day would come? It was not planned, but I’m so glad to have made it to this moment.”

“A little gift,” Ellie pinned a gold brooch of a lily to Bridget’s bosom and gave her friend a peck on the cheek. “We are so happy to be here. We’ll go take our seats. I’d wish you luck, but you haven’t needed it thus far.”

“I pray this union will be more than a simple business arrangement,” Josie gently fixed her purple gown. “I hope the two of you find love somehow.”

I highly doubt that.

“We’ll see,” she replied vaguely. “I’ll be down shortly.”

With her two friends gone, she sat and allowed Miss Lane to line her eyes with kohl and a bit of color on her lips. “You are truly radiant. His Grace will love the sight of you.”

Bridget smiled warmly. “I hope so.”

A couple of minutes later, and with her maid's help, she descended the stairs to approach the sunroom, and upon stepping inside, she spotted William at the end of the room, standing before a makeshift altar. He was in a dapper dark suit and blue waistcoat, and two men she had never met stood at his side, both handsome men in dark suits and silver waistcoats.

These must be the friends he mentioned—the other rakes.

Her groom-to-be locked eyes with her and she gave him a timid smile. The other two shared a look that she could not decipher as admiration or dismission.

Not the time for that now.

Whoever had arranged the room had clearly taken inspiration from the garden beyond, as the aroma of the jasmine and gardenia plants did double duty, filling the room with their sweet fragrance.

When William finally took her hand, she joined him before the priest.

His eyes had changed—they were shuttered, a varied difference from how open they had been before. She would have vastly preferred to see a glimmer of interest in his eyes or even the wicked gleam she had seen a few times in the past.

Why is he so… distant? Isn’t this what he wanted?