Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Sleep would not find her. Her bedroom at her father’s house was no longer comforting to her. Tomorrow morning, she would awake to the final verdict of Cassian’s sentencing. No doubt there was already some printer that knew the results at this very moment as they worked diligently to print out all of the necessary copies.

If she had any idea how to go about bribing a printer for early information, or even where to start, then she would be sorely tempted to do so. Instead, all she could do was roll around restlessly in her bed, hoping that somehow her body would surrender to sleep.

It simply would not happen.

She tried everything that she could think of, but her mind would not quiet. Every time that she managed to drift off into the lightest stages of sleep, horrible nightmares would flood her and force her right back awake again. Nightmares that Cassian escaped custody. Nightmares that she had been too late and that she had arrived to find Weston dead on the floor of her basement. Then it would twist into Weston rejecting her… or disappearing in the night like a sneak thief. Of course, the nightmares were implausible, but she could not seem to stop them.

Moonlight filtered in through the gaps in her drapes, her bare feet padding back and forth on the carpeted floor of her bedroom. Even when she had been a child, she had never quite felt fully at ease there. The estate was her home, and sleeping anywhere else was difficult for her now. She could not wait to return home to her daughters and tell them the good news that they would not have to leave their home.

But she wished to deliver the news with Weston at her side.

Kitty had been up late into the night with wedding plans and preparations. Lydia could not bring herself to wake her sister and attempt to talk things out with her. In truth, the only person that she truly wanted right at that moment, was Weston.

Surely it would be foolish to head over to his London home. He very well could be at a club, or out doing something with William. Perhaps he had business that she would be interrupting should she go over.

Lydia glanced at the small clock on the mantle of the fireplace in her room. No, surely at this hour he was at home. It would be indecent for a lady such as herself to go out on her own in the darkness… but staying there was making her feel restless to the point of feeling itchy in her own skin.

Lydia tied on her dressing gown before she gave herself the chance to logic herself out of chasing what she truly desired. She had had enough logic for one week. She silently slipped down the stairs, pulling a cloak on over her dressing gown to fight off the evening chill.

She did not ride horses often, but she certainly was not going to be caught walking in the middle of the night to the duke’s house. She did not trust herself to handle a carriage on her own either, and hiring one was out of the question.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she made her way over to the duke’s property. Tethering her horse carefully, she stole around the back of the house and snuck to the side door just so that she would not be easily seen by any passersby.

Lydia’s nightmare kept replaying in her mind, over and over again. Weston, laying on the floor as whatever poison he had been forced to consume foamed out of his lips.

His skin, waxy and pale as he stared with unseeing eyes to where she stood in the doorway. Just moments too late, the shudders of his last breath being how she found him in the first place. Cassian’s cruel, mocking laughter at his victory over them. The feeling of utter despair as her heart broke.

Her own screams, even if contained only in her mind, waking her.

If she could just lay eyes on him, then she would feel better. She simply needed to gaze upon him and know that he was all right. Perhaps then she would be able to sleep. Lydia knocked firmly on the door. She had to do so three more times before the butler finally cracked open the door.

“I need to see His Grace, please.”

He looked at her like she was a madwoman.

“Do you have any concept of the hour? His Grace is resting, certainly not taking visitors.”

“I insist. He shall wish to receive me, I promise.”

“I cannot allow it, my lady, I shall order someone to escort you home.”

“No!” Lydia said a touch too firmly, and then attempted to backpedal. “What I mean to say is, I cannot leave without seeing His Grace. I understand the uncomfortable position that I am placing you in, but I must.”

The butler regarded her for a long moment before finally stepping to the side. He grabbed a candle from the small table behind the door and locked the door behind Lydia as she slipped inside. She hugged her cloak more tightly around herself as she followed the butler into the drawing room. She would have much rather been turned loose in the house so that she could seek him out on her own.

“Remain here, and I shall return in a moment. If he refuses to see you…”

“I will leave… please.” Lydia agreed.

The butler pursed his lips and headed up the stairs slowly. It felt like forever before the duke finally came around the corner, his hair a mess and sleep still clinging to his features. He did look worse for the wear, but she could not stop herself. Her feet carried her across the room swiftly, her hands lifting to cup his face so that she could examine him properly. She turned his head this way and that, and mercifully he did not make any effort to stop her. She simply needed to be absolutely certain that he was all right and that it was merely sleep or something similar that bothered him.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about? Not that I am not thrilled to see you,” the duke groused, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I had a horrible dream…” Lydia started, folding herself into his chest without waiting for his permission. Her arms tucked between them, she could not breathe properly… until she felt his arms envelope her.

“A dream that forced you to rush out here in the dead of night?” Weston chuckled softly, pulling her more tightly against himself. His chin rested on the top of her head, one hand coming to cup the back of her head and holding her even closer. Only then could she inhale comfortably.

“Yes. Is that all right?” Lydia said in a small voice.

“Of course it is all right, I only wish that you had not put yourself in danger to accomplish it.”

“I was careful.”

Weston said nothing for a long moment. She knew what he was thinking. One could only be so careful when it came to matters such as that. He had not even seen that she was not properly dressed yet, either.

“So, this bad dream?” Weston asked softly, allowing her the space to move back from him when she felt stable enough to do so. She looked up at him with tears welling in her eyes, her full bottom lip between her teeth. Where was she supposed to start?

“What if the news tomorrow is bad? What if… what if something has happened or… what if I had never reached you in time. I…”

Weston silenced her with a kiss to her forehead. “Your mind is running away with you again. I am here, and whatever happens tomorrow I shall happily face at your side.”

Hope fluttered in her chest. “You truly mean that?”

Weston gave her a wry smile, and bent just enough to scoop her up into his arms. He carried her over to the small couch in the drawing room and settled down on it, with her legs ending up draped over his thighs. It was not close enough. She pulled the string on her cloak, letting it fall off of her shoulders and into a wad of fabric behind her.

“In truth, Lydia, I should like to do everything at your side.” Weston continued as she lifted herself up onto one knee, draping the other across him. His hands easily settled on her thighs, pulling her onto his lap more comfortably as she straddled him. It was terribly intimate and exactly what she needed. Even now, sitting astride him, she could not feel enough of him.

“What do you mean?” Lydia asked, her focus shifting to his lips as her hands rested delicately on his shoulders.

“I mean, I would like to marry you, Lydia. Then we shall never have to be parted again.”

Her breath hitched, his words not registering for a full heartbeat before her mind stilled, the lusty haze and need for him dimmed for only a moment as she fully processed his words. “What?”

“Marry me.” He repeated.

Lydia’s heart fluttered. She could hardly imagine what he was saying. The small smile on her face spread rapidly to fully overtake her.

“This was not how I wished to ask you, of course, I had a whole thing planned but-”

Weston’s voice was cut off by her throwing her arms around his neck and holding to him tightly “Yes! Of course I will marry you!”

Hands skittered over her waist, banding around her back, unfurling heat inside of her that pooled low in her belly. Her hands cupped the back of his neck as she pulled back from him just enough to slant her lips over his. Something unleashed between them.

A flame that danced between their skin and coursed through her very veins. It was just the two of them now. Nobody to stop them, nobody to answer to or interrupt them. There was absolutely nowhere else that she wished to be. There was no space left between their bodies, every ragged breath that he took, she could feel against her chest.

Her hands shifted between them, tugging the strings of her dressing gown loose and shaking it down her shoulders so that she could feel him better through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The heat of his hands was everything, slowly sliding down her waist to grip her hips, tightening as she experimentally rolled her hips forward into him.

Weston hissed, his eyes snapping open as their kiss broke. “Careful, if we go down this path, I do not think that I will be able to stop.”

“Is this your attempt at being modest? You do not wish to deflower me before my wedding night?” Lydia teased, her breath gusting over the shell of his ear before letting her teeth close over the skin softly.

Perhaps he thought her a blushing bride, but she was more than happy to disillusion him from that notion. She had thought about all of the things that she wanted to do to him for years. There was not a single surface in her house that she had not fantasized about him taking her on.

Weston’s grip on her hips tightened as he flipped the pair of them, leaving him on top of her as she was laid out on the couch, his weight settled between her legs. She could feel him there, hard and ready as he pressed against her thigh. It was just so tempting to rush ahead—though it was not as if they would not have plenty of times to explore one another’s bodies in the future. But, then again, she did not wish to waste a single moment of time with him. No matter how desperately she craved him.

Her hands traced the lines of his chest, the thin white linen shirt that he wore hiding almost nothing away from her as she memorized the lines of his stomach and the contours of his muscles. Her thighs had to stretch to accommodate him. It was such a delicious sensation as his lips found hers once more, stealing the oxygen from her lungs as he wrapped his arms around her once more, lifting the small of her back just enough to encourage her to arch up into him.

Her nightgown drifted up her thighs as she hooked her feet behind his legs, wanting more—needing to feel all of him. She had imagined so many aspects of this but the thing that she had not been able to anticipate was how desperately needy she was going to feel. With each kiss she felt just a little bit more intoxicated by him—would it ever be enough? Was it possible to become drunk off of another person?

Weston’s hand dropped to her knee, trailing along the curve of her leg, groaning softly at the feel of her. His thumb indented the hypersensitive skin of her inner thigh, massaging tight little circles higher and higher on her leg. It felt like the closer to her core that he became, the less steadily she was able to breathe. How did anyone ever do anything else when feelings like this were obtainable?

Lydia gasped softly as he found the slick wetness collected at the junction of her thighs, fingers stroking along her with expert deftness, just enough teasing to drive her mad. Lydia was not above begging, and would do so happily if she had any idea what to beg for. All she knew was that she wanted more.

“Weston,” She cried, his name was a sigh of pleasure on her lips.

“I think that might be my new favorite sound,” Weston groaned as his teeth scraped gently along the line of her jaw. He dipped a finger inside of her, curling softly and wresting another moan out of her, louder than the one before. “Though, that is a very close second.”

If the motion of his hand had not felt quite so good, she might have smacked him for his words. Then he added a second finger, and she realized that he could say anything that he liked so long as he kept touching her like that.

The sleeve of her nightgown dripped down her shoulder, and Weston took advantage of the opportunity, grabbing the fabric with his teeth and sliding it down far enough to expose her breast. He wasted no time at all in covering the newly exposed skin with his lips.

“So soft,” he groaned, his thumb twisting so that he could circle that sensitive bundle of nerves. “So responsive.”

It might not be praise, but on his lips, it certainly sounded like it.

He worked her body like he knew it better than she ever possibly could. Perhaps he had been just as absorbed with thoughts of her as she had with him. It felt so right being there with him. Soon, she would never have to be parted from him again. The details could all be sorted later, for none of it truly mattered. He was hers, forever.

Lydia’s head tilted back, her breathing becoming more uneven as he worked her higher, and higher, her hips ground against his hand, chasing her pleasure as she gripped his arms with everything that she had, Her fingers slipped, fisting into the sleeves of his shirt and using that leverage like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.

Teeth scraped against her nipple, pulling the peaked skin into his mouth and flicking the nub with his tongue. She was going to come undone, and she wanted to do it with him inside of her.

“Wes… please,” She breathed, unable to form the rest of the words needed.

“Yes, my dove?”

Oh, that voice dripped in power. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.

“More,” she breathed.

“Only because you look so stunning falling apart under me like this.” Weston agreed, and his fingers left her for only a moment—she felt the absence keenly. She had never been so aware of just how empty she was without him.

Though, she did not have to wait long—the warm head of him pressed against her entrance. She did not need to look to know how endowed he was. She could not breathe at all as he started to ease into her slowly, the pinch of her body adjusting only uncomfortable for a moment.

Perfect. He was absolutely, utterly perfect.

Weston covered her lips with his, kissing her deeply and letting their tongues dance together. He kissed her like she was the only oxygen that he was ever going to need to breathe.

Then, he started moving—thrusting inside of her and almost making her slide up the couch with every movement. Hastily, she yanked and pulled his shirt up until it was gone, and she could finally feel every bit of his heated skin against her chest.

Her hips lifted to meet his, desperate for friction, to be joined with him—she was never going to have enough. Never.

“More,” she breathed again, seeing stars start to cloud the corners of her vision. “Mo—”

She could not speak as he gave her exactly what she asked for and then some. The way he filled her so completely was intoxicating, robbed her of all rational thought as heat overrode every one of her other senses. There was nothing but him and the friction he brought inside of her, bending her legs at the knees so that he could reach a deeper angle, the head of him brushing against something inside of her that made her swoon.

“We—” Oh she was going to implode, and that was before he dropped his hand between them, he hardly had to brush over the swollen bud before she came clear out of her skin. She was fairly certain that she shattered with his name on her lips, perhaps an expletive that she was not even aware that she knew before this moment—a rush and a high unlike anything she had ever felt before.

She squirmed, trying to run from the sensation but he clearly had no plans to allow such a thing. He kept her pinned, kept up his motions without pause.

“One more, my love… one more,” Weston breathed into the skin of her neck.

She could not possibly do such a thing, she felt herself spasming around him, the sensation building so quickly that it was almost painful, she was at his total and complete mercy. She tried to push his arms away, tried to futilely give herself a pause that she did not actually want—and then there it was.

She might have screamed his name that time.

Weston’s answering groan of pleasure pushed into the heated skin of her neck before he, too, came to pieces. She could feel the heat of him, thrusting deep inside of her, filling her in every possible way that she craved.

She was a boneless puddle on the couch, attempting to steady her breathing as she basked in the warm afterglow of her pinnacle.

Weston slipped from her, stepping off of the couch fluidly and scooping her up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” She asked weakly.

“To my bed, where I plan to finish what we have just begun.”

Her eyes snapped open, he could not possibly mean—but from that smirk he wore, apparently, he could.