by Nia Farrell
He nodded absently, clearly thinking about the grim possibilities. “I shall see to it once Daniel returns. For now, I am afraid that you have only me at your beck and call, and I will not leave you, not even to fetch a bottle of whiskey.”
“You’ll need to tend to yourself at some point,” I said. “Human nature. Can’t be helped. The water closet is down the hall.”
“Daniel will be back. Between the two of us, one of us will remain with you, keeping your needs met. Keeping you safe. We will bring Lucy here, too, with your clothes and things. Your art supplies. You can finish the flip book when you’re feeling up to it. I confess, I am eager to see it completed, not merely for the novelty of it, but because of the memories it evokes. I can watch the statue take shape and remember how we posed.”
His voice had grown lower, weighted with desire. His body was changing too, the front of his pants tenting from the pole that was rising inside them.
“I wish…” “I wish…” We spoke almost as one.
Edward sighed, a sound laced with regret.
I bit my lower lip, then grinned. “I suspect, before this is over, your father’s servants will be whispering, if they don’t already.”
“Hmmph.” He managed a mock scowl. “As soon as you are cleared to move, you are coming home, one way or another, even if I have to bribe a justice to marry us here, with you in your wrapper.”
“Ooh, yes!” I breathed, dreamily. “That’s the kind of story I want to tell our grandchildren—and no,” I added when his gaze brightened, “the timetable on children has not moved closer. Carve our statue. Make our baby. However long it takes. Who knows? As with Belle, perhaps I’ll be so inspired, I’ll make every strike so perfectly placed, I’ll be done in eighteen months instead of twenty-four or thirty-six.”
“However long it takes,” he said, leaning over to kiss my forehead. “Now, if I can just get Daniel back. I need to contact Clarke. Have him investigate recent banking transactions. If we are lucky, there will be a paper trail and loose lips at the end of it. If that turns up nothing, then I will have to find a way to tip his hand. If it is him…God, I don’t want to think about it. Bloody hell.”
“We need to know,” I said. “One way or another. If it’s not him, if my fall truly was an accident, then we’re back to square one, waiting to see if the threat is truly past or if someone simply wanted me back in London.”
Suddenly, he could not look at me.
Chapter Sixty-One
“Clarke.” I delivered the name like a sentence in a courtroom. “He warned you, didn’t he?”
I could tell from the way that Edward averted his gaze, my theory was not news to him. “He told you the possibility existed…and you said nothing to me?” My voice spiked upward, on the verge of being shrill. “Nothing! Oh, Edward! How could you?”
“It would only have made things worse,” he crooned, trying to placate me. “It was enough that Daniel and I lived with the fear. Your stomach would have been ulcerated for certain. Your soldier’s heart, which has been remarkably quiet of late, might have come back screaming. We chose to watch over you instead. Surely you have noticed our marked attentiveness, hmm?”
Feeling suddenly adrift in a sea of unpleasant revelations, I curled my itching fingers into the folded-back top sheet and clung to it like an anchor. “Yes,” I admitted sullenly. I’d put it down to being on vacation, to celebrating the holidays, to strengthening the bond we were forging between the three of us. “I just thought…well, that you loved me.”
“Never doubt it,” Edward rumbled in that commanding voice of his. “I ardently admire and love you,” he swore, speaking his truth with just a hint of Austen humor, given our recent sojourn in her fair city. “If Daniel were here, he would tell you the same. We are pledged to love you for eternity and beyond. You are,” he swore, “forever ours.”
“Mm. I like the sound of that,” I sighed. “You proclaimed it. I’ll ordain it. A proper Romani enchantment. Mrs. Prince would be proud.”
I sneezed then. One sneeze turned to ten, and ten turned into a coughing fit that left my diaphragm in shreds. “God bless me,” I wheezed. “Daniel can’t come soon enough. Lying on that cold stone in the chill air might be the death of me yet.”
Edward stiffened.
“It’s just an expression!” I hastened to assure him. “Mrs. Prince looked at my palm. The lines say that I’ll have a long life. I’d just like to live it free of pneumonia. Once was horrible enough, not being able to breathe. It’s like…like drowning from the inside.”
A few moments later, a knock sounded on the door. Edward opened it, hoping for Daniel and getting Dr. Marshall instead. “My apologies,” he muttered. “We heard Miss Davenport. I’ve brought something that should quiet her cough.”
Quiet it, or quiet me…?
“Thank you,” I said, looking pointedly at Edward, hoping that he would follow my lead. “Come in, please. That was very thoughtful.”
Dr. Marshall carried a small crystal tumbler and a brown bottle full of liquid. Setting the glass down by my bed, he opened the bottle and made a production of pouring an exact amount into it. “There,” he said. “That should do it.”
He started to hand it to me, but I held up my palm. “No. After you. It’s what my Romani herbalist does, to show me that it’s safe to consume. I can assure you, it inspires confidence like nothing else.”
His face became mottled with red. Sweat broke out in beads across his brow. “But…but…but I don’t need it,” he stammered.
“Neither did she,” I said. “But she did it anyway. For you, not me were her exact words, were they not, Edward?”
By now, Lord Leighton—and I meant that in every sense—had positioned himself behind his brother-in-law. “Drink it,” he said, “or be prepared to have the wrath of God visited upon you.”
The glass slipped from his fingers to the floor, the contents spilling onto the patterned rug that warmed it.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Marshall choked out. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Edward grabbed the doctor’s arm and the side chair and dragged them both to the corner of the room farthest from the door. “You will sit,” he growled fiercely, the lion king protecting what was his, “and you. Will. Stay. You will not move from this spot. Do you understand?”
“God,” Dr. Marshall sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Constance. I’ll lose her.”
“At least she will be alive,” Edward snapped, forcing him into the seat. “And she will have three children, which is more than I may ever have. But I would have none, nor Elena, if you had succeeded. But then that was your hope, hmm? Leave Edward grief-stricken and childless and Lawrence gets it all. Of course, it would have been the title only. My will has already been changed naming new heirs to my estate…but you didn’t know that, did you? You bloody bastard,” he spat at him. “I can tell from the look on your face.”
A dark telltale spot spread across the front of the doctor’s pants.
I rang the bell.
A moment later, the maid came. “Fetch Dr. Wainwright posthaste, please. Tell him that his presence is required at once.”
And now we waited. For the doctor to come. For the police to arrive. For Constance to collapse and the Roth family to get caught in the maelstrom that followed, coming in the front door as Dr. Marshall was being hauled out of it.
I heard about it, from a number of points of view, each person’s perspective colored by their individual lenses. Daniel’s was red, full of anger and rage. Edward’s was gray, now that the blackness had thinned a bit. His father’s was a sick yellow. Dr. Marshall was his protégé as well as his son-in-law and father to his grandchildren. Who would not be stricken at the thought of having a would-be murderer in our midst? Masey, practical, sensible Masey was the blue of a Madonna, emanating peace and dispensing reassurances that all would be well, in the end. My leg would mend. Constance would cope. She had family enough to rely upon to see that her and her children’s needs
were met. Between Edward and his father, she would have a monthly allowance, more than enough to cover expenses, with enough left for some of the entertaining that she loved or the charitable work she was engaged in, so long as she was wise in her expenditures.
But Constance. Poor Constance was white. A blank canvas, painted over with cruel brush strokes and forced to envision a future without a husband. Once she pulled herself out of her initial shock, shook off the specter of depression, and cleared her vision, she saw the three children at the center of her world and stood by them like a guardian angel, ready to smite anyone who dared to hurt them, by word or deed, protecting them as I was protected by Edward and Daniel, surrounded by their love and safe-kept by their arms.
*****
We remained at Dr. Wainwright’s for four weeks, just long enough to post bans and for me to be married in my mother’s wrapper. The private ceremony on Saturday, January thirtieth, was performed in Dr. Wainwright’s parlor by Edward’s childhood priest, with Daniel and Masey as our witnesses. As I’d promised, when I spoke my vows, I pledged myself to both men, my lawful husband and my second, spiritual one, binding myself to Edward and Daniel, heart and soul.
From my accident until then, we had remained celibate, more out of respect for Dr. Wainwright than impunity on our part. Our immediate family members in England knew our circumstance. While they might not like it, nor approve of three people sharing an intimate relationship, they at least accepted us and acknowledged the commitment that we had made to one another.
On our wedding day, my leg was still strapped between the boards holding my mending bones in place. I was the only bride that I knew to be married on crutches—another story for future grandchildren. My concern was far from there; I was focused on the here and now and how Edward planned to consummate our marriage with me so encumbered.
Daniel helped me from the carriage, lowering me into Edward’s waiting arms. The door to the house swung open, revealing a line of smiling servants to welcome home their new lady of the house. Benson, Babs, Young Frank, and the others showered us with congratulations as we passed. Lucy was missing, but then she’d earned the time off that we’d given her, having spent these past weeks away from her gypsy Princes.
Edward carried me upstairs. Rather than stop at my room or his, he headed for the third floor. Behind us, Daniel was grinning like an imp, so I shut my opened mouth and tightened my arms about Edward’s neck, eager to see what awaited for me that had Daniel so gleeful.
The room that Sydney had used for her darkroom had been transformed in my absence. I saw Edward’s plan and Daniel’s handiwork in the X-shaped cross along one wall, the rack of implements used for discipline, and chests filled with unseen treasures. My gaze, however, was focused on the swing. Boasting a sling to support my splinted leg, it was suspended from the ceiling, hung at hip-height, and designed to hold me open for penetration from the front, or back, or both.
Hmm.
“Our wedding gift, Lady Leighton,” Edward purred in my ear. Setting me down, he steadied me, then helped Daniel strip me, lifting me into the seat of the swing while Daniel positioned my broken leg. “Perfect. God, I had hoped….”
Daniel stepped behind me. Reaching around, he found my breasts, spreading his fingers and squeezing me, now that my nipple had healed. He rubbed his calloused palm over my piercing, sending bolts of lightning to strike my core.
“Oh, God,” I whimpered, feeling the telltale gush of moisture. “Do that again.” Daniel chuckled and obliged, until I was writhing in the swing, desperate for their possession.
Edward stalked toward me, magnificently naked, his magical fingers wrapped about his cock, fisting the length of his erection, working pre-cum from the slotted opening and smearing it over the tip. “Show me,” he rumbled. “Show me how ready you are.”
I parted my folds, slickened my fingers, and held them out, wet and shiny with my juices.
“How is the leg?”
“What leg?” I asked. “When I’ve been so long without this, surely you can’t expect me to feel anything but my emptiness, needing that rock-hard cock of yours to fill it.”
He had the grace to grin at me. “Nevertheless, what is your word if we need to stop?”
“Delphi,” I said. “But it’s our wedding day, and if I have anything to say about it, we’re not stopping, as long as one of you can perform your husbandly duties. Daniel, your clothes are still on. I suggest you remedy that at once.”
Edward’s mouth curled in a smile. “Daniel, my boy. Clothes off, then oil, please.”
Ever eager to please, our Irishman made short work of it, tossing his clothes into the semblance of a pile and returning to us with the vial.
“No. Stand where you are,” Edward rumbled. “Let Elena watch.”
Taking the oil, Edward put it on his hands and rubbed them together. He then took his and Daniel’s rods in hand and slickened them, individually at first, then together, eventually grasping them in one hand that worked up and down in an erotic slide.
“Do you see this, pet? Us? How perfectly our cocks fit together? Their shape. Their angle. Their nested form. Do you want us?”
“Yes. God, yes. Please, Edward.”
“And we want you. We want to make you ours, together. Or try it, anyway. What is your word if we need to stop?”
Oh, God. Edward—and Daniel—wanted to take me at once. I’d always refused to consider it, but, damn it, I’d been without them for nearly a month. I was desperate enough to agree to almost anything they asked of me, including this.
“Delphi,” I croaked. “Please, be careful.”
Daniel came behind me, inserting oily fingers, then his well-oiled cock into me, stretching me out, readying my vagina for Edward’s dual possession. Edward suckled my breasts, one, then the other, catching my nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue. Grasping his erection in one hand, he pressed himself against Daniel’s cock and followed him inside me, pushing into my wetness, the oil helping to ease his way.
“So tight,” he rumbled. “Gripping us like a fist while our cocks rub against each other. Ah, pet!”
Daniel’s breath was hot and harsh on my back. I could imagine him, nostrils flared, filled with the scent of sex.
“Together,” Edward grated, and they pushed themselves into me, insistent, refusing to be denied. They forged ahead by increments, not stopping until Edward was hilt-deep inside me and the head of Daniel’s cock was pressed against the mouth of my womb.
Daniel moaned. I whimpered.
“How’s the leg?” Edward asked, his turquoise gaze intently assessing.
“Fine,” I breathed, transfixed by the sight of where we were joined, and the look of pleasure shaping Edward’s face. Relishing the sensations inside and out, he groaned, a sound that resonated deeply, stirring my soul, touching me as surely as the two of them, holding me at the perfect angle.
“Jaysus,” Daniel breathed, hot and harsh against my back. He bit my neck. I moaned, as hungry as he was for more. Edward kissed me, mouths opened, tongues tangling, letting me suck on its length. He caught my nipples between his fingers, pinching the pierced one, twisting the other until I was mewling into his mouth, begging them to fuck me.
They started to move, in and out, slowly at first, like the iron beast of an engine awakening, arms stretching, wheels starting to churn. Each stroke was deliberate, a little longer, deeper, faster than the last, until finally they were fucking me. Really, truly fucking me.
Both of them, taking me like a slut.
Edward, swearing to punish me for it later.
“Christ!” I cried out, breath hissing between clenched teeth, exploding into orgasm at the dark promise in his voice. “Ah, God!”
My body tightened around them, almost painfully. I struggled to relax, to let them take me. “I can’t,” I choked out. “This. I can’t. Please. Finish, please!”
“Day Eight,” Edward said, shifting slightly, changing angles. “Safe enough. My b
oy?”
“Fuck!” Daniel grated, finding his release, flooding me with his seed. A few more strokes and Edward was there, finishing deep inside me. With his hands on my hips, Daniel held me firmly in place against him while Edward slipped free.
“Thank you,” Edward hummed, sounding very pleased. Brushing a kiss against my lips, he fetched warm, wet washcloths and towels for the three of us.
“Good heavens.” I shuddered when Daniel pulled his mostly-hard erection out and stuffed a warm, wet cloth into my gaping, dripping hole, trying to catch the worst of it.
“Elena?” Edward tucked a finger under my chin. “Are you all right? How is your leg?”
“Mm.” I met his gaze. My lover. My husband. “Here. Fine. Starting to ache. We may have overdone it.”
I was being kind. I knew that we had overdone it. “Mind you, I am no fortune teller like someone’s Romani grandmother, but I am fairly certain that I see three fingers of whiskey and a soft bed in my very near future.”
Edward kissed the tip of my nose. “You do, hmm? And what else do you see?” he asked in that delicious, rumbling baritone voice of his. “This again?”
What he wanted to hear and what I had to say were vastly different, so I prevaricated. “The swing? Oh, yes. I always enjoyed swinging as a child. I can truly appreciate it as an adult.”
Edward growled at me. “Minx. Honesty, acceptance, positivity—remember? I’ve a strop with your name and a growing number on it. Now, then. What about taking us both?”
“Oh. That this. Well,” I said, “it was a singular experience. Exceptional, actually. Possibly never to be duplicated.”
“Not even attempted?” he cajoled, nipping at my lower lip.
“I don’t know, Edward. Someday, perhaps? I fear the future is nebulous.”
He pulled back his head to search my gaze. “Ah. You plan to make us work for it. Very well. Challenge accepted. Daniel, let’s get our wife out of the swing and downstairs, where I believe three fingers of whiskey and a soft bed may be found. As to what goes on in said soft bed after we tuck you in between us, well...your doctor has advised us to let you lie undisturbed, free from a husband’s demands and a dominant’s commands. So it’s a soft bed, whiskey, and no sexual congress for you. Hardly what one envisions for a wedding night, but there it is.”