To Love, Honor, and Obey...

by Dayna Quince

  “What are you doing?” she panted, her eyes glazed over with desire.

  “I'm driving you mad.” He settled himself between her legs, pushing her nightgown to her waist. She was bared to him now, completely exposed and at his mercy. He looked up at her. She had no trace of modesty or reserve. She was aroused and agitated, her body blindly searching for release. He focused on the feast before him. It was just like her to jump head first into the world of pleasure without bothering to think or look. She was an impetuous innocent. Teasing her slick folds, he bent his head and kissed her softly. She jerked as he suspected she would, overly sensitive by her need and unfamiliar with the strength of the new sensations. He kissed her again, slowly, searching with his lips and tongue, lightly tickling and teasing with small strokes. She began to move, her hips undulating in their own rhythm in response.

  Her breathing became erratic, sawing breaths mixed with frustrated moans as he worked her body into a frenzy of desire and need. Her thighs were tense and trembling, muscles and tendons locked as she struggled to reach her peak.

  He took mercy on her. With deliberate strokes of his tongue and rhythmic penetration of his fingers, he brought her to a quick climax. She cried out, arching her back and lifting her hips off the bed. He watched her hungrily, keeping his fingers inside her and causing her body to spasm and clench tightly around them. He closed his eyes, his own body tensing with need, his muscles locked against the urge to find his own satisfaction. He remained in control, the fabric of his breeches brushing painfully against his swollen cock, but he persevered.

  As she relaxed, so did he. He climbed up to lay beside her and pulled the coverlet over them. He pulled her against his side, careful to keep his hips angled away from her. She drowsily turned her body into his side and closed her eyes. “Is it always like this?” she said thickly.

  “Not for others. For us it will be, and it will grow.”

  She exhaled, her body heavy and limp against him. He wished he could feel as she did. He wondered why he was even waiting. Clearly, she was eager for whatever he put on the table, but he had made a promise. The wedding was rushed and imperfect, this needed to be so much better than that. This was his courtship, his declaration that this marriage would be more than a rushed favor to please a dying man. Because he did mean forever, and he did mean for it to be so much more. Maybe even love. With that thought, his ardor cooled. He had only been home less than a week, and yet here they were, and he was thinking of love? It was like a cold draft up one's robe. Where had that come from? Did he love her? Yes, but in a caring, protective way. But did he love her? He had no experience with love, except...

  He thought of the way Dominic loved Lilly. That burning intensity that crackled between them, the way his friend had gone mad with it. Could he feel that way about Obedience? His logical mind wanted to say no. It sounded supremely uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to say a definite no, even if only in his mind. He exhaled, letting his body relax finally, his mind once more fully in control. His body content to just be near her. If a kiss revealed that he could marry her, perhaps the progression of their intimacy would reveal more. Only time would tell.

  Chapter 13

  Obedience woke as the sun was just breaking through the night, the sky changing from black to purple. With a start, her eyes popped open, and her hand reached out to the warm male body that had been there through the night. He was gone, but the bed was still warm where he had lain. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She didn't understand what woke her, unless it was his leaving that did it. But why would he leave? She heard heavy steps coming from the floor above. Someone was running. She jumped from the bed, re-cinching her nightgown and throwing on her dressing gown. Barefoot, she went into the hall. The darkness was almost suffocating. Blinking rapidly, her eyes adjusted enough to follow the patterned carpet on the floor to the main stairs. She looked down over the railing to the main hall where she saw footmen busily lighting candelabras and oil lamps.

  She spun around and ran up the stairs. She was huffing as she reached the hall, running toward the single open door with a beam of light shining through it. She ran through the antechamber, past Mrs. Moore and Gable. She only stopped when she reached the bedroom door—also open. Gripping the jam so tightly her nails dug into the enamel, she looked in. Chance was standing at the foot of his father’s bed in his dressing gown, arms folded over his chest, mouth pressed into a grim line.

  “No.” She whispered in anguish, but it was the only sound in the room. It startled both Chance and the valet from their grieving vigil. She walked into the room slowly, her eyes glued to the duke, who looked like he was sleeping peacefully. She unblinkingly searched for any sign of movement, a twitch of the eye, the rise and fall of his chest. “No,” she said louder as she reached his side and took his hand. It was cold.

  Chance was by her side, his arm coming around her shoulders, but she couldn't look away. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. She squeezed his hand in her own, praying for a response of any kind. “Please,” she begged.

  “He's gone.” Chance squeezed her against his side.

  She turned her head to look up at him, tears falling from her eyes like raindrops down a windowpane. She shook her head in denial. Chance held her gaze, his own eyes red and damp. He didn't say anything more.

  She exhaled shakily, all her strength leaving her. She would have crumbled to the floor, but like before, Chance was there to catch her. He held her against his side, his strength replacing hers. The valet brought a chair over and Chance relinquished Obedience to the seat, scooting her close enough so that she could still retain the duke’s hand. She wept as she held it, and nothing more needed to be said.

  As she sat there, Chance and other servants came and went. The sun had fully risen when Mrs. Moore came to her side, encouraging her to return to her room to change. The undertaker had arrived, and with the valet’s assistance, they would prepare his body. Obedience nodded and finally let go of his hand. Mrs. Moore put a comforting arm around her and led her to her room where a maid waited to tend her. She stood, frozen inside herself as she was undressed and put in a bath. Normally she bathed alone, but all she could do was to stare blankly at the wall and remember a man who had saved her from herself, saved her from her mother, and filled the shoes of her father for so many years. In her mind, she replayed the sound of his booming laughter, the boyish twinkling of his eyes when he was up to no good, and his gruff refusal to let her think for even a moment that she was anything other than wonderful in his eyes.

  How could she ever live up to everything he had dreamed for her when he was not here to guide her? Where would she ever find the strength? The answer came later when she was dressed in her darkest gown, a dark brown, and sitting before her vanity as the maid, Angela, was doing her hair. Chance entered her room, bathed and dressed in blacks, but looking haggard and burdened. She saw him in the reflection of the mirror and stood. She went to him and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He returned her embrace, and they stood like that for countless minutes after Angela excused herself.

  “I'm so sorry, Chance,” she said, her words muffled against his chest.

  He squeezed her tightly and then pulled back. “There is much to be done before the final arrangements are made. I've been with the secretary all morning, writing missives to go out for the funeral in three days. I've sent a message to a local dressmaker to come to the house later this morning. You will need blacks to wear before the guests arrive. I've already had Mrs. Moore begin to open rooms in preparation.”

  Obedience nodded. His voice was strained but he remained calm. “What do you need me to do?” It was odd, but now that she was his wife, she was ready to ease his burden in any way she could.

  “I need your help, Obedience. I had hoped there would be more time to prepare you for this role, but it has been taken from us.” His voice broke.

  Obedience felt her eyes burning. She had already cried so much, but seei
ng him try to be so strong weakened her resolve. She wanted to be strong for him. “Whatever it is you need of me, I will do.”

  “Find Mrs. Moore. Together the two of you should be able to ready the house for the funeral and guests. It’s so much to ask of you so soon but—”

  Obedience brought a finger to his lips to quiet him. “No. We can do this together. I'm here for you.”

  He looked at her oddly. His eyes bright and intense. He kissed her suddenly, crushing her body to his roughly, and then softening his mouth and arms before slowly pulling away. “Thank you.”

  Obedience nodded and stepped back. He turned and left without another word, and Obedience returned to the dressing table to finish her hair that was already falling down. Her lips felt bruised from the kiss, but she smiled at herself in the mirror. It was clear he needed her, and for the first time since the disastrous day that was yesterday, she felt as if she was right where she was supposed to be.

  Obedience didn't see Chance for the rest of the day. They worked well into the evening until Mrs. Moore insisted she take a tray in the blue parlor. “Do you know where my husband is?” Obedience wasn't sure how to address him now. She refused to think of him as the duke or His Grace until her heart stopped pinching at the mere thought of those words, which would probably be months from now. A seamstress had arrived with one black dress able to be worn that day, although it was a little tight around the bodice and arms. With the promise of a small fortune, she would work day and night to have another dress ready for the day of the funeral when the house would be filled with guests.

  “I cannot rightly say, ma'am. He has been in and out of the manor all day.” Mrs. Moore waited by the door as a maid brought a tray in and set it on the sofa table.

  “I just want to be sure he has eaten as well. Could you please look into it?” Obedience asked.

  “Certainly, ma'am,” Mrs. Moore assured her and left.

  Obedience lifted the cover and was glad to see a simple beef stew and roll. She wasn't particularly hungry, but she knew she would need all her strength tomorrow. Mrs. Moore returned by the time she had finished and took her tray. “Gable informed me that His Grace has just returned.”

  Obedience winced. She wasn't ready to hear those words. It was like salt in a wound. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”

  “Will you be retiring now, ma'am? Tomorrow will be just as busy if not more.”

  “Yes, that is probably best.”

  Obedience followed Mrs. Moore from the room and wished her goodnight as they parted ways at the back stairs. She climbed to her floor and entered her room, ringing for Angela to help undo the tiny buttons at the back of her dress. She would have preferred to be alone, but her dress made that impossible. Angela came and went, and Obedience soon found herself in bed, candles blown out, and staring at the white canopy over her. She was exhausted, but sleep eluded her.

  She was surprised when her door opened, and Chance entered in his dressing robe. She sat up. “I didn't think you would come tonight,” she said, though she had wished for it.

  “I wanted to see how you were faring.” He went to her bedside table and re-lit the candle. It was only enough to form a bubble of light around them, casting the rest of the room into darkness.

  Obedience looked over his face in concern. He looked exhausted, probably more so than she. “You look awful. You should go to sleep.”

  He laughed. “I wish I could. My mind is constantly running through mental lists of things that need to be done.”

  “You have to try,” Obedience pleaded. She scooted over and patted the bed. “Lie down.”

  He surprised her by doing what she asked, dropping his robe to the floor, and crawling into bed beside her. He rolled to his side and faced her, leaning on his elbow. He still wore the breeches like the night before but nothing else.

  Obedience tried not to openly stare at the broad expanse of his chest. The possibility of sleep was even further away now, her skin coming alive with awareness of him. She tried to appear relaxed as she slid beside him and pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders. “See, you're half way to falling asleep.”

  He smirked. “I'm half way to something. But I came here to see how you are coping, not to be fussed over.” He reached over and brushed a curl from her face.

  “I'm managing. Keeping busy helps and Mrs. Moore is excellent at keeping me busy. The rooms are ready, the flowers have been ordered, and the menus planned for a lunch buffet during the viewing, and then a dinner that night before the procession to the church. I haven't spoken with the undertaker. Mrs. Moore said you arranged everything with him.”

  “Yes,” he answered absently. His hand moved to her neckline, and he was untying her nightgown and pulling it loose.

  She didn't stop him. Her heart kicked into a rapid rhythm, and her breathing hitched as he pulled the neckline down over her shoulders and exposed her breasts.

  “I... I didn't think you would come to me tonight.” She swallowed as a wave of desire crashed through her.

  “I can't help myself, Obedience. I want to lose myself in you, just for a little while.”

  She nodded and bit her lip. She didn't move as he bent his head over her right breast, his hot breath fanning across her skin. Her body was already responding to him, a feverish tingling spreading over the skin he had bared. He looked so serious, intensely focused on her breast as he molded her with his hand and kissed her sensitive nipples. The sensations were still so new, but she liked it. She never would have thought this is what couples did in the marriage bed. She wanted to arch her body, to let herself go to the need inside her, but she held back. He needed something from her. She didn't know what it was, so she waited. He pushed her nightgown lower, crawling over her on all fours to pull it down her body until he pulled it out from under her and tossed it off the bed. There was something very thrilling about his mood, almost primal.

  He looked at her body with raw emotion written all over his face. He looked fierce, for the first time not bothering to hide his true feelings from her. She felt vulnerable, but so was he. Did he know how much he was revealing? He devoured her with his eyes, his hands following as they moved over her lower abdomen and hips like a sculptor smoothing stone. Her eyes were glued to his face and all he showed there—desire, anger, possession, pain, hunger. He was wounded and using her body as succor. She didn't care. She should have been afraid to be so bare, but he very clearly liked what he saw and it made her feel...beautiful, powerful. She wanted him nude as well, but she was afraid to break the spell of the moment by speaking. He pushed her legs wide, boldly staring and touching her most intimate place. She was dying to move, to groan, and sigh with frustrated arousal. He moved lower as he did last night, but instead of going slow and easing her into the moment, he wedged his shoulders between her legs without preamble. He ran his tongue over her, the sudden illicit contact breaking her silence.

  She gasped his name. “Oh, Chance.” But he paid her no heed as he bathed her with his tongue, mercilessly teasing the sensitive flesh and adding his fingers to the torture. They glided smoothly inside her, her body welcoming him. He continued to stoke her, and the faster he went, the less control she had of her body. She was spiraling toward the peak, his fingers and tongue playing her like an instrument, ringing a crescendo of moans from her until she hit the final bar and fractured.

  She floated in bliss, her body humming with the glow of her climax, but he wasn't done with her. He trailed burning kisses up her body, over the sensitive peaks of her breasts, the hollow of her neck, and finally claiming her lips. He kissed her aggressively, his body covering hers, and his hips thrusting against her. She could feel how hard and hot he was inside his breeches, and she reached for him. Her body suddenly wanted more, to be skin to skin with the hardness he tortured her with. She moved with his thrust, brushing her hands over his chest between them as he gripped her writhing hips.

  Her fingers reached his waistband and she paused. He had been adamant before about going
slow, but he did not stop her as she slowly slipped her hand inside. She anxiously wanted to touch him, to know him as he knew her. She reached for the buttons and they slipped easily open. He broke the kiss, looking down at her busy hands. He looked back at her, but he didn't tell her to stop.

  “I don't know what to do,” she admitted.

  “Take me in your hand.”

  She did, her fingers first lightly touching the tip and stroking down to the base. He closed his eyes. “Wrap your hand around me firmly.”

  He groaned as she squeezed and it thrilled her. His breathing became labored, and he kissed her again ruthlessly, driving his tongue into her mouth, taking her moans and sighs into his body. He buried his fingers inside her, thrusting hard, mimicking the motion with his tongue.

  Obedience felt her body come to life again, greedily accepting his loss of control. She wanted more. She wanted all of him. She pushed his breeches down, freeing his erection. It was so hot it burned pleasurably against the skin of her stomach, so smooth and hard in her hand. She pulled her mouth away, breaking the kiss. She wanted to see him. She looked down at him in her hand with wonder. He filled her hand, the smooth skin stretched over his hard length, nestled in a thatch of dark blonde curls. She glided her hand over him more gently now, exploring him.

  “Oh God, Obedience,” he said hoarsely.

  She pulled her gaze to his face. He was tense and shaking, his arms locked as he loomed above her.

  “I want to give you what you gave me.” She stroked him, loving the way he closed his eyes and locked his jaw. She felt wicked and powerful.

  He shook his head. “Not like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Not—” He stopped, lowering himself to the cradle of her hips. He opened his eyes again, holding her gaze as the head of his erection nuzzled her tender folds. “I want you. I want to be inside you so badly it hurts. But you deserve more patience than I can give you right now.”