Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

P ull yourself together man. This is your wedding day.

Forcing himself back into the present, William admired his wife-to-be’s figure in her soft blue gown that shimmered silver in the gentle light. Her hair was rich and made her skin glow.

Strangely, his breath caught as he glanced across at her, solemnly reciting her vows. She meant them, the look in her eyes showing him that she was not merely repeating as the ceremony demanded but giving herself into his care.

For a woman like her, independent, courageous, and capable, he felt oddly humbled. She could have chosen someone else, but while he had offered her more than any other could, he felt unworthy.

“Your Grace,” the priest asked, “May I have the rings?”

Colin handed the box over and the priest unlatched it to reveal inside a ring with a frame shaped like a delicate golden rose, its body a pink faceted diamond.

“I, William Hartwell, do give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you,” William repeated after the priest, before slipping the ring onto Bridget’s slender finger. It was a perfect fit.

She took the plainer version of the ring from the box, a flat sedate gold band with a thin diamond sliver running through the middle, and slid it onto his finger.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder.”

Reminiscing the heat from earlier that morning, William ached for a scintillating kiss from his new wife. Unfortunately, he had to settle for a tame, barely-there kiss that only made him hungry for more.

He drew away a touch, before finding himself unconsciously whispering in her ear, “Forgive me for being distant. I am exhausted.”

And in disbelief. Marriage is something I have been running from my whole life and now I am a husband.

Bridget’s smile was sweet and forgiving, which only made the guilt in his gut grow worse. He forced a smile and extended his arm, leading her to the room for the wedding breakfast. “You’re gorgeous, Duchess Arlington.”

“I’d say the same for you, Your Grace.”

“ William , please,” he corrected, biting back the reason he felt unfit to be called a duke.

In the hallway, he paused. “If you want to skip breakfast, I will oblige you. My friends are a bit… like a stiff drink, hard to swallow at first.”

“No,” she shook her head vehemently. “I would like to meet your friends and I would like for you to meet mine. I will be alright, I promise.”

The side tables were all covered with delicate foods, cakes, pies, coffee and tea kettles, and even to the side, a separate table of whisky, brandy, and scotch. Colin and Andrew were already working on the spirits and William bit back a warning. He didn’t think his friends would get apple-pated at his wedding… but he wouldn’t put it past them.

“And the ill-fated groom approaches,” Colin lifted his glass to his lips before murmuring.

“Thank you, Lightholder,” William replied wryly, “I often find myself in need of reminding that you matured at the age of ten.”

Raising his glass higher, Colin grinned. “I turn eleven tomorrow.”

He introduced the two to Bridget, and Andrew bowed with a flourish as she curtsied. “I must say, Your Grace, you have worked a veritable miracle with this pile of scruff. You’ve turned him into a gentleman with worthy ambitions.”

One of Bridget’s thin brows arched. “Worthy meaning… marriageable?”

“Getting him to the altar at all,” Andrew smirked. “It was something unheard of. I am sure minstrels a hundred years from now will say it never happened.”

“Enough,” William grunted. “You can jest all you want later on, at your homes or when you take the pedestal at Whites, but not on my wedding day.”

“I see,” Bridget smiled warmly. “Would you please excuse me, my lords?”

As she went off to her friends, a striking blond—who happened to be his friend’s younger sister, and a demure brunette, he admired her with a lingering stare, then faced his two friends. “Don’t start.”

“On what, precisely,” Colin teased. “The other miracle that you’re falling in love with h—”

“Bite your tongue.” William huffed, pouring a glass of brandy. “If you utter that word, you shall meet me at dawn.”

“It might not be that, but it is definitely something,” Andrew added, sticking a hand in his trouser pocket. “You care for her.”

“This is a strictly business arrangement,” William deflected. “We get married as was ordered by my father, until I get my hands on my inheritance. After that, we part ways and go on with our separate lives.”

Colin winced. “That is quite… clinical.”

“It’s efficient and practical,” William replied, his eyes spotting his wife and her two friends heading to them. “And be quiet about it. We have company.”

The three ladies came forward and the two curtsied. “My lords, may I introduce Lady Eleanor Pembroke and Miss Josephine Simons. We have known each other from the schoolroom.”

It was a mere flicker and if William had not been looking at that direct moment, he would have missed it; Colin looked moonstruck at the sight of Miss Josephine—but in the next breath, the look was wiped from his face and his easy-going, devil-may-care mask dropped over his visage.

“I appreciate the gesture, Your Grace, but there is no need to re-acquaint myself with my sister, Eleanor. Though funny you should mention the schoolroom,” Andrew pointed a finger to William while holding his glass. “I met this one at Eton and let me tell you, he was the scrawniest, weakest grunt of the litter, half my size, and had knocking knees.”

“I could still floor you with a punch,” William replied affably.

“You were a scrappy little hell-born-babe, true,” Andrew admitted. “A trait he carried right on to adulthood.”

William narrowed his eyes warningly even while guilt churned in his gut. He had not told Bridget about him being a boxer but that was his secret to tell, not theirs. Andrew must have understood the unspoken message and clamped his mouth shut.

Bridget’s attention, however, seemed focused elsewhere entirely. “Apologies, my lord, I had not known that Eleanor was your sister.”

Her words were met with tight smiles between both siblings.

Between the toasts, dances, and general merriment, the wedding breakfast had gone on until nearly suppertime, when William announced that the newlyweds were about to leave.

“I hope I am not too late,” a strange voice said while entering the room.

A young man with coiffed flaxen hair and blue eyes bowed. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace. Miss Lydia Turner extended the invitation to—”

“Adam!” Bridget exclaimed.

William saw the moment she nearly leaped into the man’s arms but stopped herself—and damn if jealousy didn’t slash his nerves to splinters. She turned to him.

“Baron Howell, this is my husband, William Hartwell, Duke Arlington. William, Adam is my brother’s closest friend from before he went to war. Adam, I am so delighted you could make it!”

“Of course,” the man smiled, “I could never miss this day. Your brother would have had my guts for garters if I had. May I give you a decorous hug?”

Bridget looked to William first and while his heart rebelled, he nodded permission, and this Adam wrapped her up in a long, aggravating hug. William ground his back teeth but masked the expression by pressing a glass to his lips.

“ Careful ,” Colin murmured while passing. “An ugly emotion called jealousy is showing.”

He ground his teeth even harder. The moment the embrace broke, he intervened. “Please excuse us. We have a dance to attend before the occasion ends.”

Guiding her suavely to the dancefloor, William drew his wife in right against his chest, ignoring the gasps of impropriety; he did not need to heed them anymore. Thighs brushing, breath mating, heat flowing, he understood why the waltz was considered scandalous.

Bridget’s lashes lifted, her gaze seizing his, and William realized something he had never felt before. He’d never desired anyone so fiercely—and so severely against his will.

While his pulse hammered, and he tried to unravel what was happening to him, he absurdly took time to count the almost invisible freckles on her nose. Seven . The locks of tresses that had come loose from her chignon. Three.

Her eyes shifted between blue and green depending on her mood and flashed verdigris fire when she was angry, her features delicate and fresh, her figure enticingly petite.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his senses rioting.

She did… and lost her step.

He caught her, bringing her closer and his length strained against superfine trousers until he feared his shaft would pop his buttons. Perhaps he’d just been celibate too long. He hadn’t been with a woman in months but he hadn’t wanted distractions while he was finding his footing in The Circuit.

They slowed to a halt in a triangle of light spilling from a bay window, the music from the pianoforte and harpists surging to a crescendo. He twirled her a second time, then pulled her in. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Bridget smiled, smoothing a hand down his lapels. “Thank you.”

Wrapping his arm around hers, he turned to the guests. “Sadly, this is the point we say adieu. Please enjoy the rest of the afternoon at your pleasure.”

One of Bridget’s friends hugged her and he saw how she secretly pressed a small flat box into Bridget’s hand. “French letters, for the wedding night. He’ll know how to use them,” the lady whispered, and William could not hide his smirk.

Bridget’s face went vivid red. “Erm, merci , Ellie.”

He pretended to ignore the two but when the lady turned, he winked; unflappable, Lady Eleanor lifted her champagne to her lips.

With a final bow, he led Bridget out of the room, unsure how his new bride wanted things to proceed from there.

“Your chambers are already arranged if you wish to retire,” Wiliam said, motioning in the direction of her rooms.

He could swear he noticed a hint of disappointment cross her expression, before she said, “Erm… that’s all?”

Teasingly, he plucked the box from her hands, then twiddled it in the air. “Were you planning on putting these to use?”

She went fetching red again. “Perhaps.”

Caging her chin and cheek with finger and thumb, his mouth found hers, and he felt need shiver through her. This embrace burned with a new intensity. He felt desire, not a boy’s fledgling ardor... but a man’s hunger, and every part of her responded.

Her lips parted to the thrust of his tongue, and her delicate, feminine flavor infused his senses. She tasted right, smelled right, felt right... she moaned as his lean length pressed into her stomach.

Inches from her mouth, he whispered, “I told you, if you want more, the decision is entirely yours. But for now, perhaps I should take some time to remind you of the rules we—”

“I am well aware of the rules,” Bridget interrupted him desperately. “I do not need to be reminded, but perhaps… we could bend them a little?”

William struggled to make sense of his emotions at that moment. They were a mixture of hesitation, lust, and insecurity, and he was unable to distinguish between them presently.

She asked…

Anticipation simmering, he paused, wondering where exactly he could draw the line. Bridget was no casual tumble; she was his wife, and this was their wedding night.

“Go inside,” he muttered. “Have a bath and change into something comfortable. I’ll be along presently.”

Her eyes dipped to the box, “What will you do with those?”

William pressed them into her hand, “Keep them for me.”

An hour later, Bridget found herself clad in another slip of silk, a peach nightgown, and a matching wrapper—more relics of her older life—and paced the room, wondering what William had planned for them.

When she had mentioned bending the rules, she had not given him any boundaries pertaining to those words and was now afraid of what she had thrust herself into.

The door opened and William stepped in, dressed in dark breeches, a black shirt, and over his arm was a cloak. Her eyes flickered to it questioningly, but he rested it over a chair.

Settling on a chaise, he reclined indolently. “Please, come here.”

Hesitant, she did as asked and paused before his knees. Leaning in, William skimmed his hands up her thighs, making gooseflesh erupt over her skin, before he cupped the back of her knees and drew her forward. Taking the hint, she climbed over him, straddling his hips, her loose hair cascading around her face. As scandalous as it was, she didn’t feel ashamed.

“Do you want lessons in seduction, sweet one?” he asked, both hands traveling up her waist and holding her under her sternum. “I don’t think you need them; you are artlessly doing better than any courtesan.”

“Liar,” she laughed. “As someone who knows female companionship , surely I am lacking.”

“Hardly,” his hands shifted, and his thumbs found her unfettered breasts. Bravely, she did not shy away, and when he caught her earlobe between his teeth, suckling it, Bridget grasped his shoulders, squirming.

Her breath hitched when his large hand squeezed her breasts, adept fingers finding the straining peak beneath the layers of fabric. He strummed her nipples, and stars flashed.

Doing it again, and again until the motions felt unending, Bridget felt pleasure strum through her body and her gaze grew cloudy, her spine arching, wordlessly begging for his caress. He kept an accompanying rhythm on her other breast, his fingers circling, pinching with just enough pressure to drive her mad with want.

“ Wanton and wicked girl,” he whispered wolfishly.

She couldn’t even think to protest as his hand drifted up her stocking-clad leg, past her garter, over her bare thigh, and then—dear God, then…

She gasped when he drew one sensitive bud into his mouth. When his tongue curled, the sensation shot deep between her thighs.

Fingers spearing into his thick hair, a low moan tore from her throat. “Don’t stop. Just... don’t stop.”

“Easy, my sweet. I’m not going anywhere.” Even his voice aroused her, the shape of his words pressed against her taut, throbbing peak. “I will never leave you wanting.”

Easing from the chaise with her in hand, he crossed the room to lay her on her bed and gently peeled every slip of clothing from her body. When her woman’s place was laid bare, her hands shot over to cover herself, but he grabbed both, pressing them to her sides.

“No hiding, my sweet. Let me see all of you.”

Her eyes shut tight, yet she acquiesced.

“Remember what I said,” he whispered, the bed dipping as he pressed a knee on the mattress. “Eyes on me.”

She would have argued, but his lips fixed onto her other nipple, her eyes flew open, and the heat inside her grew to a feverish pitch. Her skin seemed afire, wet heat blazing from her core as his hot lips trailed their way down the path between the hollow of her breasts.

With his hands caging her hips, his tongue dipped into a small divot of navel, and her hands fisted in the coverlet at the intense, unfamiliar sensation, and her lungs struggled for air. Her woman’s place was throbbing, aching, shockingly damp.

“I’m… I’m… wet,” she ended in a whisper.

The smile that curved his lips was playful but seemed to understand something she didn’t. “Yes, you are. Very . And it’s all for me.”

Through the sensation spiraling through her body, she realized something—William’s trajectory.

Surely, he could not be going there , could he?

“William, what are you—”

His hands fixed under her thighs.

Raising his head to look at her, he asked with a wicked grin, “What does it look like? I am honored to be the first to kiss you here.”

“Surely, you cannot—” He swiped his tongue through the very core of her and she jolted off the bed.

Holding her gaze, he wiggled his tongue from her folds to a spot that sent sensation streaking through her. As he licked and suckled, coherent speech became hopeless.

His tongue was warm and firm, expertly appeasing her growing ache. Bridget’s blood thundered in her ears as pleasure suffused her body. She writhed and bucked, breaking out in a fine sheen of sweat in spite of the chilly room.

Pleasure built inside her, a storm that pushed the very boundaries of her soul. He licked upwards, latching onto her pearl and suckling hard.

When he licked and sucked at the peak of her sensation, her desire went from a simmer to a boil. His tongue circled her opening… then thrust inside. He slipped a hand under her derrière to tilt her pelvis. The new position catapulted her back up the mountain. As his rhythm increased, so did her pleasure.

“Please, faster… I can almost… harder… I’m almost… William, please…”

She screamed as a shattering climax beset her body and endless bliss wracked through her soul, the pinnacle of pleasure a blinding light behind her eyes. Dimly, she felt William tug the sheets over her and she opened her eyes as he dropped a kiss on her cheek before he donned his cloak.

“William?” she asked. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” he replied, tugging an arm down and flicking the cowl over his head. “You completed your part of the bargain. Now, it is time for me to do mine.”