Two Wicked Nights

by Quince, Dayna

  He sat down to play and focused only on the music as they began their duet. He pictured Bernie upstairs, reading, lying on the bed in her shift, her arm above her head, the shift pulled tightly over her breasts…

  He smiled as he stared at the pages, not seeing the notes, but envisioning himself entering the room and Bernie’s delight. His mood lightened and he started to enjoy the song. Miss Fox finished and Chester offered to play for the next amateur soprano, Mrs. Pitt. She winked at him, licking her ruby-stained lips. She’d propositioned him in the past but Chester only felt revulsion now. He schooled his expression to one of blank boredom, and she turned her nose up and began singing before he could start the ballad. He caught up, hiding his grin at her expense.

  This went on for some time until he declared his hands tired and stood. He had every intention of making his excuse, but his mother dug her nails into his arm and dragged him to where Miss Fox sat.

  “How delightfully you harmonized together,” his mother said with a dreamy sigh. “Such brilliant timing as if you were meant to—”

  Chester coughed. “Is it dusty in here?”

  His mother turned her head toward him at a frightening angle and glared daggers. “Of course not.”

  “My throat has a tickle. Do excuse me, Mother, Miss Fox.” He pivoted away and headed straight for the exit.

  He was almost there when his mother intervened. “I thought you better behaved than this,” she hissed.

  “I used to think the same of you,” he returned.

  She followed him into the hall. “Your father informed me of the hurtful things you said before dinner. I won’t forgive you until you see reason and apologize.”

  He turned to face her. “It is you who needs to apologize.”

  She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “I shall not apologize for protecting my child.”

  “You aren’t thinking of me when you besmirch an innocent woman—correction—women. You threatened to ruin all of them. Men have fought duels over less. You’re thinking only of yourself.”

  Her cheeks flagged with color and her lips pinched. Her eyes grew bright as she blinked rapidly. His heart clenched. He’d hurt her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that has happened. It is not my intention to hurt you, Mother. I just…” He cupped her elbows. “I want you to see how you’re hurting me, how you’re hurting…” the woman I love “others. I want to change your mind about them.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “This is who I am—who we are. It is the way of our society.”

  “Then it is not my society. What are you prepared to lose to keep hold of such a narrow view?”

  She sucked in a breath. “What are you saying?”

  I’ve said too much.

  “I love you, Mother.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I love you, Tiberius.”

  Had they ever said those words out loud? He couldn’t remember. The love of his parents had always been assumed because of their care and affection toward him. But love wasn’t a word uttered easily from either of them.

  “Goodnight.” He kissed her forehead and turned away. He made his way to his room with a heavy heart. He’d asked her what she was prepared to lose, and he hoped she inferred that to mean that she might lose her only son, but it also meant he was prepared to lose his mother and father. To begin a new life without them, to raise children without one pair of grandparents. The very idea broke his heart. The wound he already imagined he would carry from that outcome felt a little more certain and that dark cloud on the horizon just a little bit closer.

  Chapter 18

  Bernie sat up on the bed when she heard the door open. Jensen had already come and removed her dinner tray. Her heart skipped joyfully as Chester entered and locked the door, but her smile slid away as she saw his face, the deep line between his brows, the hunched set of his shoulders.

  “I take it the evening didn’t go well.”

  He shook his head, walking to the wardrobe to remove his coat without saying a word. Bernie hopped from the bed and went to his side. She hugged him from behind and he stopped unbuttoning his waistcoat to hold her arms, accepting her comfort. He turned in her embrace and Bernie took over unbuttoning his waistcoat and then pulling off his shirt. She came up on her toes and kissed his chest, right where she could feel the steady thump of his lovely, honorable, iron will heart. Damn his mother and father for hurting him, for letting him down.

  Bernie had learned as a child the pain of unreliable parents. The wound of a mother and father who chose their own needs over that of their children. And she’d grown up with that knowledge and grew stronger because of it. She’d had to. She had many younger sisters to care for. But he was discovering this awful truth just now, and if Bernie could, she would spare him from it. One’s parents are people, with faults and agendas just like anyone else. The title of mother and father did not make them perfect beings and sometimes children, whether young or old, suffered as a result of those imperfect people.

  He stared down at her, his expression solemn but his gaze softened and their lips met. They didn’t need words. Bernie could feel his desire for comfort, for peace. She would bury his pain under a mountain of pleasure. It wouldn’t go away and at some point they would both have to face it, but for right now, for the rest of the night, they only needed each other.

  She wore only her chemise under his thick velvet robe. He dragged his hands over her back, massaging her shoulders down to her lower back. At her neck, he slipped his hands under the collar and pushed the robe off. It fell to her feet in a heap, and he pulled her tightly against him. Their tongues dueled, the kiss transforming from soft and sweet to ravenous. Bernie clung to him, hands in his hair, destroying the last vestiges of the polished gentleman that had come into the room, uncovering the man beneath, hot-blooded, firm skin over thick bands of muscle. His calloused fingers loosened the neck of her chemise and pushed it down, cupping her breasts, the rough pads of his thumbs passing over her nipples in delicious friction. They waltzed toward the bed, only breaking the seal of their lips to breathe, hands never ceasing from holding or caressing. Her shift disappeared at her feet, nothing more than a whisper as it slipped off her body, and she busied herself with the placket of his trousers, eager to feel him fully naked against her.

  He helped rid the remainder of his clothing and lifted her into bed, their bodies colliding greedily as if touch was breathing and skin was air.

  The heat radiating between them set sweet fire to her nerve endings. His manhood pressed between her thighs as they lay side by side, kissing, holding. The blunt head rubbed against her mons, driving her mad with pleasure. Chester pulled her leg over his, and his staff slid along her folds, the slick friction almost too much to bear and yet she wanted more. He thrust against her repeatedly, bathing himself in her arousal.

  Bernie shivered, clinging to him, her body coming alive in tormented bliss. Rays of pleasure shot through her like a sunrise inside her skin, warm, piercing, driving out all cold and darkness. Their mouths came together again and Bernie couldn’t breathe, her heart fluttered like a tiny bird inside her. She was on the verge of shattering into thousands of tiny pieces of joy. He pushed her on her back, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, murmuring sweet words into her skin, prayers or maybe spells, telling her all the ways he loved her. And she could say nothing, do nothing, afraid she’d wake from this perfect dream. He stared into her eyes, his hips cradled within hers, his manhood poised to enter her. She’d never been so certain happiness could kill her.

  “I love you.”

  She licked her dry lips. “I love you.

  “Will you be my wife, Bernie? Will you let me love you for all the rest of my days?”

  She nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes, his expression one of relief and then tension as he thrust his hips into her, breaching her folds, inching past the barriers of her untried flesh. Bernie sucked in a
breath, her fists clenching on his back. She hugged him, his arms coming around her. She’d never been held tighter. She was on the brink of ecstasy. He surrounded her, and now he was inside her, in her body, in her mind, forever in her heart. She raised her knees higher, and he sank into her completely. She let out a tight breath, fighting the urge to resist him and tense up. He nuzzled her neck, gently moving his hips. Bernie sighed, releasing her fists and opening her eyes. Tears pooled in the corners, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. A little stinging, but as he moved, the friction became something more, hot and fluid, spears of pleasure radiating from where their bodies joined. She could breathe again, and when he lifted his head, she claimed his mouth, holding his face in her hands and hungrily tasting him. He increased the tempo of his thrusts. Sweet coiling tension built inside her, tighter and tighter. She dug her fingers into his hair, and he wrapped her legs around his waist, sinking deeper, the building pressure at her core splintering in to heavenly ecstasy. She cried out.

  “Yes,” he moaned, his breaths sawing hot against her neck.

  She clung to him, too spent to move, too emotional to look at him. He pumped into her, his back straining, muscles twitching under her hands. He thrust hard, holding himself deep inside her and groaned, low and guttural.

  She’d never heard such a primal sound uttered by a person. It resonated inside her. She smiled and kissed his shoulder.

  He chuckled as he shifted to her side and pulled the coverlet over them. Their gazes locked. Bernie wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry with joy. He looked happy, all the strain washed from his face.

  “Why are you laughing?” she asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I always assumed I’d propose in a garden or under our oak tree on the hill.”

  “I very much like this proposal.” She leaned in and kissed him.

  “I do to.”

  He tucked her into his side, her head on his shoulder, and a heavy exhaustion claimed her. She tried to imagine every night being like this after they married, the constant closeness and intimacy, but she couldn’t. It was too perfect, an impossible heaven to reach. Beside her, he’d already fallen asleep, his breathing even and heavy. The candles had all guttered. Bernie turned the oil lamp down and returned her cheek to his chest, staring toward the door, her hand over his heart.

  The bubble had to burst at some point, but she was ready. Nothing was going to take him from her, not without a fight.

  Chapter 19

  Chester rose early, kissing Bernie awake and leaving her with enough books and breakfast to keep her occupied for the morning. He put in an appearance in the breakfast parlor to appease his mother and father, and then saddled up with the rest of the male guests. He veered away from their intended destination and headed toward Castle Selbourne. He missed breakfast, but it wasn’t his intent to rejoin the party. He wanted to speak with Weirick and gain some guidance. It had only been a day since he’d been at the castle, but as he climbed the hill from the stables to the back of the castle, it seemed as though years had passed. He was a different man than before. He saw the castle differently, the grass, the flowers, the stone steps. Everything appeared more vivid, as though he’d woken from a long sleep and wasn’t quite sure he knew the world he’d entered. He shook his head, climbing the steps with a grin.

  Introspective nonsense. He’d taken Bernie’s virtue last night, an event that he still couldn’t quite grasp in his mind. They would wed immediately if he had his way. She’d never sleep in another bed again, but that was all wishful thinking. He didn’t feel normal. Did these stone steps have more bounce than usual? Was the earth moving under his feet? Perhaps this is what poets spoke of when carrying on about love.

  The world appeared somehow washed in a different light, brighter, colorful, and he felt as though he could float away. He stopped on the terrace and peered out over the ocean. The sun glimmered on the water and not a cloud marred the sky. Was it a good omen?

  For all the heady emotions claiming him, love, desire, optimism, there was still trouble on the horizon. His parents did not yet know, and Bernie’s family was still at risk. Those things had been easy to forget in the heat of the moment. But now he had to do something. If he wanted a future for them, a comfortable one, he needed to prepare for the worst.

  When it came to social outcasts, there were perhaps none so infamous and powerful than the Duke of Selbourne. He was both highly regarded and feared. He eschewed society and yet he was the talk of the ton, though he never ventured toward London unless absolutely necessary.

  Weirick would know what to do. He had a razor sharp mind that would cut through the mixture of bliss, guilt, and disquiet inside Chester, or bluntly smash everything to rubbish. Either way, he’d help Chester see things in a new way and hopefully lead him to an idea that would make everyone happy.

  Entering the house, he nodded to a passing maid and footman. Everyone knew him. He’d been coming here since he was a boy, his mother and father eager to kindle a friendship between the boys. He snorted. Their hypocrisy was surreal most times.

  He headed straight for Weirick’s study, but as he crossed the hall, Violet emerged from the room.

  “Violet?”

  Her eyes bulged as she caught sight of him. She hurried to his side. “Chester, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak with Weirick. Is something amiss?”

  Violet glanced back toward the study with a frown. Chester thought he heard someone sniffling. A child in Weirick’s study?

  She ushered him further away. “I cannot decide whether it is good or bad that you are here.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She grimaced. “Mr. Marsden is here begging for Weirick’s help.”

  I’m here for the same reason. Bloody hell.

  His stomach twisted into a knot. He swallowed and nodded. “He must be very worried about Bernie.” He sifted through all Bernie had told him. Not even Violet knew where she was.

  “He is, though I can’t tell him not to be—I mean I know she didn’t really go to Scotland but I can’t tell him that. I don’t know what to tell him, and Weirick knows even less than I do. Normally I tell him everything, but he told me specifically he wanted no part of whatever scheme Bernie and I concocted.”

  Chester wanted to groan. He had no idea what to say or what he shouldn’t say. Was he supposed to know where Bernie was and not reveal it? Was he supposed to pretend he knew nothing?

  He pictured her there on his bed, flipping through the pages of one of the books he’d left her and sipping chocolate. He ground his teeth and then let out a sigh.

  “Right, well, would you like me to speak with him? I don’t have a clue what is going on, but…” He shrugged. “I can’t make things worse.”

  “Oh, but you can. He is very upset. He claims your father refuses to see him or help him get to Scotland to retrieve Bernie.”

  Damn my father.

  “I understand. But knowing Bernie as I do, I think I can calm him down.”

  Violet smiled awkwardly. “I suppose we can only try.”

  Chester followed her into Weirick’s study. Weirick looked up in relief and then frowned. “That is not the reinforcements I expected,” he said to Violet.

  “Lord Chester thought he could help. I’ll go get Anne too.”

  Violet closed the door. The sniffling he’d heard from the hall was not a child but Mr. Marsden. He turned a glare on Chester.

  “Have you come in place of your dastardly father?”

  “I’m sorry he refused you. He isn’t feeling well this morning.”

  “Bollocks.” Mr. Marsden turned back toward Weirick. “You see how they treat me? Like rubbish.”

  Weirick scrubbed his hands over his face. “Would you like me to throttle him? That is really the extent of my talents.”

  “You’re the duke. You hold the most power.”

  “Bernie left of her own free will,” Weirick said. “I’d offer you my car
riage, but it is being repaired as we speak. As soon as it can be made available to you, you may have it. Until then, I have offered my best horses and you turned them down.”

  “I cannot ride that far, and besides, my wife, who is with child, is dreadfully upset that Bernie is missing and I cannot leave her side.”

  “Bernie is not missing,” Chester intervened.

  Mr. Marsden spared him a scathing eye roll. “You know where she is?”

  Damn it. “Scotland. Ablehill Castle under the care of the Duke of Ablehill and Violet’s family.” That was the official story, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember all that Bernie had said.

  Weirick nodded emphatically. “There, you see? She’s perfectly safe and will come home once Lady Kirkland has tired of her threat.”

  Mr. Marsden erupted in tears. “But my Bernie needs to be home with her own. My wife demands it! There is no safer place for a daughter than at home with her own father.”

  Chester rolled his eyes. He walked to where Mr. Marsden couldn’t ignore him.

  “On behalf of my father, I want to apologize for the hurt my family has caused. There will be reparations made and I think you’ll be happy with the outcome.”

  Mr. Marsden sniffed. “Is that so? And how do you mean to repay me for the strain we have endured? Money? I was promised one hundred pounds if Bernie married that Rupert fellow and instead we’ve been left to suffer.” He started sobbing loudly again.

  “I’ll give you one hundred pounds to cease your wailing,” Weirick muttered.

  Chester took pity on Mr. Marsden and Weirick. He kneeled before Mr. Marsden. “On my honor, I promise all slights against your family shall be righted. Bernie will return very soon. I came here to orchestrate that very thing with the duke on my father’s behalf. You needn’t worry anymore—”

  Knocking interrupted his speech. They both turned as Anne and Violet entered the study.

  “Papa?” Anne rushed to his side. “Is Mama well?”

  “Yes, my dearest. I’m here seeking help for Bernadette.”