Already His (The Caversham Chronicles - Book Two)

by Sandy Raven

  The three hour ride to his home only served to tighten her already taught nerves. She didn’t know what she was so afraid of. There was nothing different about what she was about to do tonight than what she’d done the night she went to his town home. Still, the fact that she now knew what to expect didn’t ease her fears.

  When she examined her worries earlier in the day, she realized they all came from wanting Michael to be happy with her in all ways. So she sought guidance from her insightful and wise sister-in-law, who enlightened her about several techniques sure to thoroughly please a man.

  Now here she was, about to enter her husband’s home and her new bed. She decided then she would be mistress of both, giving him no reason to seek satisfaction elsewhere.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Michael’s home. No. Their home, Woodhenge. Michael assisted her down once the footman placed the steps beneath the vehicle. Upon entering the foyer Elise saw all the servants lined up, including Bridget, who chose to follow her to her new home. Turning her in his arms, he greeted the staff, then announced to all, “I present to your new mistress, my countess.” Cheers and clapping echoed under the stone ceiling, reverberated through her. As Michael led her past the line, he introduced her to each person, informing her of their position. She nodded and smiled, and hopefully said the appropriate things as they worked their way up the few steps slowly. Lastly, they came to her maid, who ushered her in and told her all was in readiness upstairs.

  “Thank you, Bridget.”

  Michael turned to her, and admitted, “There’s one thing I forgot to warn you about—a task I must now perform.”

  “Which is?”

  “There’s a tradition with the Earls Camden going back to the very first one.”

  “What are you about Michael?” she asked as he scooped her into his arms and ran with her into the house and directly up the stairs as though she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

  “Michael, stop. You’ll hurt yourself!”

  “Not hardly, minx.”

  Only after the door to his rooms had shut behind them did she hear the cheering continue, ringing through the hallways and corridors of the home. He set her down on his bed as though she were delicate and fragile, then straightened and stared at her in wonderment.

  “Michael, you could have gotten hurt.”

  “Afraid I’d be unable to perform my duties, minx?”

  “No. More afraid that you’d drop me and I wouldn’t get to ride in the morning.” She sat up in the deep comfort of his mattress. “What was that about?”

  “Something I had to do. If I’d kept to the letter of the custom, I would have thrown you over my shoulder and ran with you, but I didn’t think that would be very dignified.”

  “That’s not really a tradition, is it?”

  “On my honor, it is. And, if I had not done so, then our marriage would be fated as unhappy and unfruitful. Just look at what happened with my uncle.”

  “And how did you learn of this ‘tradition’?”

  “I was informed by Uncle’s ancient butler, Renfro.”

  She absorbed his words, and decided he was telling the truth. “You don’t seem winded in the least, have you been practicing?”

  “Yes. I’ve been running up and down the stairs daily in town, carrying a scullery maid for practice.”

  Even though his eyes crinkled in the corners from his broad grin, she had to ask, “Are you joking with me?”

  “Of course I am.” he said, as he worked at the knot of his cravat. “Not about the tradition, for that is a fact, but the scullery maid bit, yes.”

  “Michael?” Her voice cracked from her nerves, something she had no experience with until the past week.

  “Yes, minx?”

  She swallowed hard as he met her gaze in the mirror. His beauty did things to her insides, and she didn’t know to say that, so she told him the words that burst forth from her heart right then. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, my sweet, gullible, wife.”

  She threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the head.

  Elise rose from the bed, looked about his bedroom. None of her belongings were here, nothing to show that his room was also hers. She didn’t want to keep separate rooms even though she knew it was an accepted custom among their peers. “Michael,” she met his gaze in the mirror, “I notice that my things are not here, and I was wondering... did you wish to keep separate rooms?”

  “My wish is whatever you desire, minx.” Elise watched him lower his massive frame on the sofa before the marble hearth which had an inviting warm fire glowing within. He poured them two glasses of wine from the decanter on the tray table before him. Her husband held out her glass to her.

  She took the glass and sipped, taking the opportunity for reinforcement. “I don’t want separate rooms Michael. I want to be with you every minute I possibly can.”

  “Then we shall not keep that practice,” he replied. “I don’t wish to be separated from you any more than necessary either. But I did instruct that your things be placed in the countess’ suite simply because you have so many clothes, my dear. There isn’t enough space in here for my wardrobes and yours.”

  She took another sip of her wine, suddenly too nervous to meet his gaze. “I should let Bridget help me change. She’ll be waiting.”

  “And I’m sure my valet is waiting to assist me.”

  He took her glass from her and set it on the tray for later, then showed her the door that connected their rooms, and the hidden door to her dressing room where Bridget waited. He left her in the capable hands of her maid, saying “When you’re done, come back.”

  Michael returned to his room, to find his valet standing near the chifforobe, ready to do his bidding. “If you’ll just pour me a brandy, Connor, you may go. I’ll not require your assistance tonight.”

  “If you’re sure, my lord.”

  He nodded. More than anything Michael wanted time alone before Elise returned. He wanted Elise with an intensity he would never have imagined a mere four months ago. It would be his undoing, but he had to proceed slowly with her. Not just because of the ordeal she’d gone through two weeks prior, but also because of his own boorish behavior. If he held any hope of having a satisfying sexual relationship with her, he had to help her forget his actions from her first night with him.

  She needed soft kisses, sweet words and gentle touches. And if it killed him, he’d be considerate of her needs tonight. Downing the last swallow of brandy, he glanced at the clock on the mantel and wondered what was keeping her. He rose and crossed the room, intending to check on her, to make sure she hadn’t suddenly grown fearful or unwilling. Before he reached her door, she’d turned the knob, drew the door open and stepped into his candle-lit suite. A tremor of nervous excitement surged through him as he got the first glimpse of her.

  Michael felt the breath leave him. She wasn’t wearing what a man might think a newly-married young miss would wear on this most auspicious occasion. For his bride wore no typical peignoir. His beautiful minx was clad in the sheerest ivory silk pantalettes and tunic, with gold chain riding low on her waist and a fine gold bracelet on her left ankle above bare feet. She appeared more an Arab princess on her wedding night than a noble Englishwoman. The outfit was made to entice a lover, with strategic embroidery concealing her genitals and breasts. But the rest alluded to her flawless beauty, revealing the curves of her waist, hips, thighs and calves.

  He forced himself to remember to be considerate of her needs. Her heightened color told him she was uncertain—either shy of revealing herself in the outfit, or of his approval of her appearance. With his own voice quivering, he reassured her immediately.

  “Minx, you are so very lovely, I find myself speechless.”

  She closed her eyes and exhaled, obviously relieved. “Thank you. I was afraid you might not....”

  “I do,” he whispered. “Whatever you thought I didn’t,” he extended his hand to her, “I do.” Eli
se came forward into his embrace, and he just held her while he forced his boiling blood to cool before he frightened her.

  He led her to the sofa before the fire, and handed her the glass of brandy he poured earlier. Lowering his frame onto the deep cushioned sofa, he made himself comfortable in the corner, then drew Elise down to sit on his lap. He lifted the glass from her fingers, and sipped before handing it back to her. She put her lips to the rim and took one, then two sips, and handed the snifter back to him to place on the table.

  “Michael, I’m nervous.”

  “So am I, minx,” he confessed, while his right hand lightly stroked her back. He could feel her entire body tense and quiver as his fingers feathered tiny circles on her flesh.

  Her position made her face level with his, and he raised his hand to rest behind her head, twining his fingers in her short light-brown hair, and bringing her close for a kiss. He parted her lips with his tongue and coaxed her to open for him, which she did willingly. Their tongues mated and danced as they explored each other with hands as well as mouths.

  Elise shivered as she felt his erection growing beneath her. She shifted, afraid she was hurting him. Kissing his eyes and temples, her lips then traced a path to below and behind his ear, where his pulsed thrummed wildly. Her hands parted his robe and she caressed his chest. Resting her hand over his heart, she could have sworn it beat so hard it would burst from his chest. Moving her hand again, she felt the tip of his nipples harden under her palm. She stared into his hazel eyes, filled with an emotion she’d always longed to see there. Her husband loved her. He tugged at the chain around her waist, and she rose from his lap and unfastened it. He took it from her and dropped it to the floor. Then she felt his hands slip beneath the tunic and slide upward to cover her breasts, which ached for his touch. He toyed with her nipples, sending sharp rivulets of fire to her core.

  When he lifted the tunic, she raised her arms for him allowing him to remove it from her. His hands were everywhere at once, caressing her back, her waist and shoulders. She felt his tongue tracing a path down the nape of her neck, and rest at her collarbone, her head fell backward giving up her breasts to his mouth. As he laved her nipples, his hand had worked the drawstring free from her pantalettes and she felt his hand reach in and stroke her bottom. She tried to turn on his lap without hurting him, and eventually stood to reposition herself. As she did, the pantalettes slid down her hips, falling silently onto the floor. She stepped out of them and stood before him, naked, except for the fine chain around her ankle. Fighting the instinct to cover herself, she let her hands fall to her sides while she awaited his touch.

  It wasn’t long in coming. He reached out and lay his palm across her womb, and looked into her eyes. “I cannot wait to see you grow with our child.”

  “I want that more than anything, Michael.” The voice that came from her body sounded so different to her ears. So sultry and seductive, she didn’t think it was her speaking.

  He stood and lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he lay her on the turned-back sheets. Elise boldly watched as he unbelted his robe, and let it slide from his body, his large, muscular frame finally as naked as she. His manhood stood pulsing and she glanced up to his face, to see his desire for her burning in his eyes. She welcomed his warmth as he lay next to her, his arms wrapping around her, his hands stroking her softly.

  His lips took hers again, kissing her deeply and provocatively. She enjoyed his touch, and began to caress him as well, one hand moving across his back, and the other boldly traveling to his erection. Taking him in her hand, she heard him suck in a deep breath as she began to fondle him, stimulating him in the up and down motion she was told he would enjoy. As she did this, his fingers dipped in her woman’s curls causing her legs to fall open for him. When he slid a finger into her, touching her on her sensitive core, she nearly leaped from the bed. Drawing forth her moisture, he then began to stroke her gently. But only for a moment. She whimpered when he removed his hand and rose up on his knees before straddling her. Leaning over he took first one nipple and then the other, into his mouth to suckle. The sensations as his tongue moving over the tender peaks caused a coiling tension within her womb and she called out to him. He chuckled and roved lower with his mouth, kissing her navel, and lower still, until his tongue traced the slit covering her nub.

  Even though he’d done this for her before, she’d forgotten the how wonderful it felt. His expert ministrations brought her to a level of passion she hadn’t experienced since her first night here at Woodhenge, all those weeks ago. Her breathing became rapid. She felt unable to inhale deeply, almost as though a vise were clamping her around the waist. The pressure within her intensified, and she begged him for release.

  Raising his head, he lifted himself over her and before taking her lips with his, he said, “Not just yet, minx. There’s more.”

  Michael slid into her slowly at first, to allow her to acclimate to his invasion. Once fully within her, he held still a moment before beginning to move. When she wrapped her legs around him allowing him deeper access, he sighed, knowing there was nothing more right and more perfect in the world than being with this woman, like this. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, but before long she was again pleading with him for relief.

  Her breaths matched his movements as her walls surrounded him, pulling him in, squeezing and releasing rhythmically. He tried to keep his passion in check, but her sweet body demanded release, and after fighting it for only a moment, he decided to give them both what their bodies wanted, promising himself he would take more time later.

  Driving into her deep and fast, he felt her nearing her peak. He pushed her over the edge first, as her sheath tightened, the contractions drawing him forward to his own climax. Unable to control his body any longer, his orgasm overcame him and he poured himself into her depths.

  After a few minutes, he lifted from her, intending to roll over, when she stopped him.

  “Please don’t. I’ve wanted this for so long. Stay with me for a moment longer.”

  “I’m afraid to hurt you, sweetheart,” he replied.

  “You’re not hurting me, I promise. Just hold me this way.”

  “I’m going to roll over onto my back and bring you with me, so I’ll still be inside you, just not on top of you.” Then he did so. “I weigh twice what you do, minx. I’d smother you.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” she said as she rose to sit on him, still impaled on his shaft. She shifted slightly feeling him within her depths. “Mmmm. Now this is interesting,” she said as she gently lifted and lowered herself on him, slowly at first, then picking up her speed. The motion was similar to posting a slow trot. “And it feels good, too.”

  “If you keep that up, you’ll not get any rest,” he warned her.

  “You’re the one that thinks I need rest. I think I want more of this,” she replied as she flexed the muscles inside her, drawing a smile and muttered curse from her husband.

  Close to sunrise, laughter was heard coming from the earl’s suite by a maid passing by in the hallway. She smiled and went about her morning chores.

  EPILOGUE

  Woodhenge, May 1823

  Michael pushed Attila as hard as his conscience would allow. As a result, he turned onto the long drive leading to Woodhenge in almost an hour under what the ride from London normally took. The message from his sister Sabrina stated simply, It is time.

  If his partner hadn’t insisted he be the one to present the closing argument before the high court, he would never have left Elise’s side, and would already be here for her. He’d hated the thought of leaving his wife so near her time, but the case was one sure to bring about reform in the banking industry if the court ruled in their favor, and perhaps avert a mass financial crisis in the country.

  Before the stable lad had even reached him, Michael had dismounted and threw Attila’s reins to him. He ignored the footman who stood awaiting his arrival, and ran through the open doors and up the st
airs. The scene that greeted him when he bounded into their suite was a surprise. His wife stood, albeit hunched over and holding both her distended belly and her back simultaneously. And with the help of his mother, Elise was attempting to walk.

  “Shouldn’t she be in bed?” he asked her.

  “No. The delivery will be easier if she walks as much as she can before taking to the bed. It is something I wish I knew when you and your older sister were born. By the time Christina came along, old Magda had passed away and her assistant was a young girl by the name of Piper, or Poppy, I cannot remember. She’s the one who told me to walk while I labored before your younger sister was born. As a result, her birthing was a much easier, much faster process.”

  “Where’s Prescott? Has he been notified? I didn’t see his coach.”

  “He’s sent word. The good doctor will come as soon as he is able.”

  “Where on earth is he when my wife is having my child?”

  “Beverly is in labor as well,” Elise replied, “and she has no female relatives to sit with her. Since I have your mother and sister here, I thought it best the doctor go to Beverly’s side before coming to mine.” She grimaced, before taking a sharp, deep breath and doubled over.

  He ran to her side and held her as she cursed the very ground he walked on. His mother looked over Elise’s head and said, “She doesn’t mean what she’s saying. It’s the pain talking.”

  “Maybe it’s time to put her in the bed,” he said, concerned only for his wife’s well-being.

  “Not yet. We’ve got hours more of this. Why don’t you go downstairs and have some brandy and a cigar. You’ll be a father before the night is through.”