“Now, however,” he said, “I deserve some time alone with my beautiful wife.”
“Yes, you do.”
He took her hand and led her off the dance floor. Julian stood and prevented him from leaving. Gideon glowered at him. “I’ve a wife to see to, Julian.”
Julian grinned. “I have little intention of postponing your time with your wife. I just wanted to offer my congratulations. I have no doubt you’ll be happy together and that you shall always treat her well, Gideon.”
There was a little warning there but he was more surprised by the slightly tender words from his oldest brother. Julian had always been the sternest and quietest of them all.
“I also hope that you know nothing has changed. Wherever the future takes you, you shall always be our brother, Gideon. You shall always be a Cynfell.”
He darted a glance around. “You know?”
Julian nodded. “I have known for some time.”
“And the others?”
“Yes.”
Gideon released a long breath. Cleo squeezed his hand.
“All I want you to know is it makes no difference to any of us. You’re our brother, nothing will change that.”
Gideon peered up at his brother. He patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Julian. That means a lot.”
His brother grinned and they broke away from each other. “Now go see to your wife.”
He didn’t need telling twice.
Gideon led Cleo upstairs. He paused on the steps up to give her a kiss. Then another at the top of the stairs. She laughed.
“Gideon, we shall never get there at this rate.”
He took the hint and swept her up into his arms, pulling a squeal from her.
“Thank goodness you’re light. That dress must weight a ton.” Ruffles tickled his nose and her skirts were bunched nearly up under her chin.
“You should try wearing it for a full day.”
“I shall give that a miss, if you do not mind.” He somehow managed to find the doorknob under all those ruffles and carried her into the room before slamming it shut with his foot. A low fire had been lit, leaving enough of a glow for him to navigate his way over to the bed.
“I imagine you would quite like to be out of all of those ruffles.”
“More than you know.”
Gideon placed her down and paused to admire her. She slung her legs over the edge of the bed. She should have looked like giant meringue with all those white layers of tulle and silk bunched up around her and yet he didn’t think she had ever looked so beautiful. Perhaps it was because he knew she was his.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” she demanded.
He chuckled. “Perhaps.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she huffed. “You always were a tease.”
“And you always were a little minx.”
He pushed off his shoes and strolled over. Lifting her chin with a finger, he bent to press a gentle kiss to her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he used the opportunity to watch her. He admired the freckles dancing across her skin and the way her lashes fluttered as he stroked her cheek before letting a finger linger on the bow of her lips.
“So. Damn. Beautiful.”
That tell-tale redness seeped into her skin. She opened her eyes and smiled.
“Even when you do look like a beetroot.”
“Stop making me blush then!”
He moved forward, bringing his palms to either side of her and forcing her to lie back. He let his breath skim her lips, her ear, her neck, and the rise of her breasts. “I intend to make you blush many, many more times throughout our life together.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Our life together...” she copied. “How wonderful that sounds.”
“It does indeed.”
Gideon eased her up to sitting and scooted behind her. From there he began to work on the laces of her dress. He pushed down the fabric, revealing her undergarments and corset. As he unlaced the corset, Cleo gave a contented sigh. He moved slowly and pressed kisses against the back of her neck.
“If you get at all frightened...” he said.
She peered at him over her shoulder. “How could I be? I am with the man who knows me better than anyone.” She laughed. “It could not get more perfect than this.”
“Well, I shall do my best to prove you wrong.”
He slipped his hands inside the unbound corset and felt her skin warm against her chemise. She sighed. He held her against him for a moment, delaying the inevitable. He would have to release her to fully undress her. Gideon inhaled the fruity fragrance of her hair and pressed a kiss to her head.
“Come, we shall never get you out of that dress like that.”
They rose from the bed, and he undressed her slowly, discarding the layers of petticoats until she was down to just her stockings and shoes. A blush had seeped all over her delicate frame. His arousal couldn’t get much harder but seeing her all bashful in front of him did wild things to his mind. The woman was his, all his, and he could make her blush from head to toe.
He helped her ease off her shoes and roll down her stockings then edged her over to the bed.
“You are still remarkably clothed, Cynfell,” she remarked.
“I shall rectify that in just a moment,” he promised. “But first let me admire my wife.”
The blush deepened but she let him. He hoped he could always make her blush, if not by admiring her slender form, but by bombarding her with compliments.
“Come on, Gideon, what more can there to be to look at?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Impatient wench.”
He made light work of his clothes, aware of her gaze following his movements. When he revealed his chest and finally stripped off his briefs and trousers, Cleo’s eyes widened. He came close and lay next to her.
“Have I scared you?”
She shook her head, mute. Her hands came to his chest and traced paths over his muscles. He held back a groan for fear of frightening her. As bold as she was, Cleo was still a virgin, and he would not for the life of him, wish to scare her.
“Cleo?” he asked, as her hands continued their exploration.
His cock was raging now. Her rather bold exploration of him had him on a precipice. He gritted his teeth.
“You are beautiful.”
Words failed him. He had never considered himself beautiful. Certainly women had called him handsome and dashing and all of that, but never beautiful. Trust Cleo to surprise him.
“Forgive me, have I ruined your masculinity?” A teasing glint sparked in her eyes.
“Are you really questioning my masculinity right now?” he asked, pressing his erection against her thigh.
She sucked in a breath. “Goodness. No, never.”
Drawing her close, he stroked a hand across her face, down her side and coaxed a thigh up over his. He pressed his arousal against her and felt her hot and wet already. They both groaned his time. He cradled a delicate breast and bent down to take one pale tip in his mouth. Her fingers laced into his hair and gripped tight so he lavished attention on the other breast too.
He lifted his head to watch her while he skimmed a finger down between her legs. Finding her sensitive nub, he circled it. She was so, so ready for him. It took every ounce of control he had not to drive into her then and there.
However, this was Cleo. His best friend and the love of his life. He would ignore his own selfish needs and ensure she enjoyed every second of this. He had the rest of their lives to take her hard and fast, but this night they would remember forever.
“Oh.”
“You like that?”
“Very much so.”
He knew she pleasured herself sometimes so she was not unfamiliar with her own body. For that he was grateful. They’d had all sorts of frank discussions leading up to the wedding, ones that would likely have had her father sending him packing if he’d heard. They’d stolen a few moments too, but none were enough. He needed he
r as his wife, in his bed. Needed to be deep inside her and make her completely his.
Using small circular movements, he increased the pace, keeping it light and gentle until she began to writhe against him. Her hands came to his arms and her nails dug into his muscles.
As she neared the peak, he eased off and rolled her onto her back. Moving on top of her, he hissed in a breath at the feel of her soft skin and fragile body against his. He’d been so wrong about her being scrawny all these years. She was willowy, delicate, and just delicious.
Their gazes connected. She looped her legs around his hips and lifted her own, urging him forward. He paused to cup her face and give her a firm kiss. The taste of her had his mind whirling. How could he have been so lucky to fall for his best friend?
“I love you, Cleo.”
“And I you, Gideon.”
He pressed into her carefully. Her eyes widened. His heart pounded fiercely against his chest. The knowledge that this was it, he was making her his, and there would be no changing that he was her first—and her only—almost overwhelmed him. He paused, buried deep inside her.
She took his face in her hands, her eyes reflecting everything he felt, a few tears glimmering in them. “What’s wrong?”
He grinned and shook his head before giving her a kiss. “Absolutely nothing, Cleo. Everything is very, very right.”
He made love to his wife for the rest of the evening, secure in the knowledge that he’d love this woman until his death, and the he was, without doubt, a Cynfell, and always would be.
THE END
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Read on for a preview of Amelia and the Viscount
Chapter One
“She’s doing it again,” Catherine complained.
Amelia paused in the entrance way of Luckington Grange and grimaced. Their sister was indeed singing again.
“She really needs to stop. No one wants to listen to that,” Catherine continued.
“Let Emma be. She enjoys it.”
Her youngest sister rolled her eyes. “No one else does. Apart from Mama perhaps.”
“Is Mama home?” Catherine shrugged off her pelisse and handed it to the patiently waiting Mrs. Holmes who hung it up with the sort of swift efficiency one expected from a woman who had been serving their household for nigh on two decades.
“No, she’s visiting with Mrs. Reilly. Lucky her. She does not have to suffer endless hours of this racket.”
Amelia winced when Emma reached a particularly high note. “Hopefully she shall tire of it soon. Singing will be like her many other passions with any luck.”
Catherine shook her head. “Well, she normally tires of them much quicker. If we’re not careful she shall be convinced she is the finest vocalist around, and then we shall be in trouble.”
“It shall pass,” Amelia assured her.
“What shall pass?” Covered head to toe in streaks of mud, Julia swept in through the door.
Mrs. Holmes gave a gasp at the sight and shook her head rigorously as she came to take Julia’s filthy pelisse. “You better not go traipsing through the house with those boots,” the housekeeper scolded.
“They’re not so bad,” Julia insisted. “What shall pass?”
“The wailing,” Catherine said dramatically. “The persistent, unending, ear-splitting wailing.”
Julia looked at Amelia. “She’s singing again?” She paused and made a face. “If that can be called singing. Really, Amelia, we need to tell her to stop. She’ll make an utter fool of herself if she does that in public.”
“One has to be out in public to do such a thing,” Amelia pointed out.
“We are all ‘out’. It is just that no one wants us out.” Catherine tossed up her chin. “Not that I care. They can keep their stuffy balls and parties. I would rather be looking at the stars anyway.”
“Not everyone loathes us.” The words came out less insistent than Amelia would have liked.
The truth was the Chadwick girls were known to be unusual. It had started with Cousin Bess, then continued with her, really. First Cousin Bess had run off to America with a vicar’s son, then Amelia’s passion for writing had tainted them all. She regretted that she had not been cleverer when it had come to her first written tales. She should have adopted a pen name instantly, then no one would have ever thought of them as odd.
Although the Cousin Bess scandal would never be forgotten, even if her writing was.
Her sisters did not help their cause much, either. Julia was always outside, studying nature and all those that resided within it. Her latest interest was the mating habits of otters. It was hardly the sort of topic one could speak about at a ball.
Catherine loved the stars so much that she kept hours entirely different to everyone else. The chances were, she was only awake because of Emma’s singing.
As for Emma…Amelia sighed inwardly. She had yet to find her passion. She went through several a year, if not more. Each new thing would be focused on with such intensity that it drove them all mad, but it would pass and she would find something new to put her energy into. Amelia would almost rather she was digging around in the dirt or watching stars all night. Emma needed to find out who she really was somehow.
“Well, I had better wash or else Mrs. H. will kill me in my sleep.” Julia lifted her hands to reveal the dirt ingrained in them. “I made some excellent notes, though. Well worth it.”
Catherine yawned. “And I am going to bury my head under a pillow to drown out that din seeing as Amelia refuses to tell Emma the truth.”
“I do not see why I must tell her,” Amelia protested.
“Because you’re the oldest,” both sisters intoned.
Catherine chuckled. “You see, dear sister, we follow your lead. You are entirely responsible for the disasters that are the Chadwick girls.”
The teasing glint in Catherine’s eyes did nothing to assuage the guilt building in her stomach. Amelia forced a smile but she could not hide from the truth. Their mother and father were far too busy to pay much attention to these unruly girls so it had been up to Amelia to guide her sisters as best as she could. It seemed, however, she had been unable to guide them in quite the right direction.
Another high note vibrated through the house. Catherine shoved a finger in each ear. “I’m off. I cannot stand another moment of it.”
Her youngest sister stalked out of the room and her footsteps could be heard hammering up the stairs like a herd of cows. Julia put a hand to Amelia’s arm then removed it, swiftly realizing her mistake. A dusty brown handprint marred Amelia’s sleeve.
“Oops.”
Amelia shook her head. “It does not matter. I’m not going anywhere today.”
“Why are you hanging about the hallway then? There are better places to escape Emma’s singing.”
“I’m awaiting a letter.”
“From the publisher?”
Amelia nodded. “I should have news on the publication of my latest book.”
Julia grinned. “If only I could tell the world my sister is a famous author.”
“Not that famous.”
“Famous enough. You are the talk of the ton.”
“How would you know that? You have not been to London in two years.”
Her sister shrugged. “I read the gossip columns just as you do. Your stories are so scandalous, how can they not talk about them?”
Heat warmed Amelia’s cheeks. Writing scandalous stories and talking about them were two different things. What escaped her brain onto paper never quite reconciled with the outer version of her. Her sisters had read her publications, to be sure, but Amelia refused to discuss the books with them. Mama seemed to be oblivious and considered them to be love stories of some kind whilst their father had no idea that Amelia wrote under a pen name. If it were up to her, no one would know at all bu
t she and her sisters had an amazing ability to understand everything about each other. Growing up with so many sisters left little room for privacy.
“Do not blush, Amelia,” Julia said with a twisted grin. “We all know just how naughty that mind of yours is. All that kissing and those naughty liaisons. The ton only talk about it because it’s far too true.”
Amelia would not know. Not really. Her life experience amounted to a kiss with Tommy Bridges in the stables, but as soon as she had entered society she had understood there was more to it than met the eye. Underneath the refinement, were all those things she wrote of—love, scandal, lies.
Of course, her writing had really caught people’s interest when she began writing about true love. And Nicholas.
A sigh escaped her.
“You are thinking about him. I can tell.” Julia’s eyes glinted.
Much like the majority of the Chadwick sisters, Julia had green eyes and red hair. The only one of them to differ was Lavinia. Fair-haired, blue-eyed and buxom. For some reason the rest of them had not been so blessed. Lavinia was the picture of their mother while they were all like their father. Taking after one’s father was not exactly ideal when one was a young lady.
“I am not,” Amelia protested. “I hardly think of him at all.”
“You still love him.”
She lifted her chin. “Do not.”
“Do so.”
Emma skipped into the room and paused. Amelia hadn’t even noticed Emma had stopped singing. “What are you arguing about?” she asked, swinging her gaze between them. A brow raised as she took in Julia’s filthy appearance. “Sweet Lord, Julia, were you playing with the pigs?”
“I most certainly was not.” Julia folded her arms. “And we are not arguing.”
“Sounded like an argument to me,” Emma said.
Amelia waved a hand, keen to put an end to this nonsense. If only her sisters would leave her be and let her wait for the post. “It was nothing.”
“She was sighing again.” Julia gave Emma a nudge. “You know what that means.”
The Cynfell Brothers Page 78