by Golden Angel
“Is everything to your liking?” he asked, taking the seat beside her. “Or is there anything I can fetch for you?”
“The food is wonderful,” she said, keeping her voice cool. After all, she didn’t want him to think she was happy or even indifferent to being kidnapped. So she didn’t thank him either.
But she did want to slap him when a smug little smirk appeared on his lips.
In order to keep her hands busy - because she wouldn’t put it past him to turn her over his knee right here and now - she picked up her spoon for the soup. She also wished she hadn’t thought about being turned over his knee. While her bottom was mostly healed, it was still tender enough to remind her she’d been spanked last night, and just thinking about being over his knee again today aroused her.
Last night she’d been practically hysterical at how awful she’d been; today she was more coolly collected, which also meant she was feeling more amorous. And he did look rather appealing in the more casual attire he’d acquired this morning. Without all the usual gentlemanly accoutrements, it would be quite easy to strip him down to the nude.
As she was without her usual ladies’ garments, the same could be said for her.
Avoiding his gaze, Christina leaned forward to sup on the soup, wishing she could push away her traitorous thoughts. After all, it wasn’t as if they were on holiday!
******
By the time they reached the inn they’d be staying at for the evening, Christina was quite visibly exhausted. Even though his carriage was well sprung and the road was in quite good condition, a full day of traveling was wearing. Fortunately, they’d reach Gretna Green tomorrow… and then have to turn back around.
Although Benedict would certainly be amenable to taking their time returning home. He’d informed his brother of his intentions after all, as well as Daphne. Besides, he needed to give them time to move his household.
Christina’s home in Mayfair was from her family, rather than her late husband’s. Tomorrow, once he and Christina were wed, he would send a messenger back to London to begin the process. Isaac would oversee the closing of his house on Jermyn Street and Daphne would oversee his move to Brooke Street. At some point he would have to buy himself and Christina a home in London, so as not to rely on their relations, but the arrangement would work well enough for the remainder of the Season.
Or perhaps sooner, if Arabella would finally settle on a suitor.
As much as Benedict wanted to take Christina on a romantic honeymoon, watching over his sister during the perils of the Season took precedence - something he knew Christina would understand. Besides, he could take more time to plan if they waited. They should certainly stop in Brussels during their travels, so she could see her family and he could become acquainted with his new in-laws.
The thought made him smile as he signed the register. Anticipating the event a little, he identified Christina as his wife; while giving her time and opportunity to “escape” was well and good, he had no intention of sleeping alone. Even if she was too weary to engage in bed play.
There would be time enough for that tomorrow - after they were wed.
******
“Did you come here of your own free will and accord?” The blacksmith looked rather bored as he asked the question.
This was not how Christina imagined a wedding - certainly not her wedding, when she’d thought about having another wedding again. The forge was a plain forge, with nothing to differentiate it from any other forge in either Scotland or England. The blacksmith was typical of his kind; a very large, muscular man in well-worn clothes and a heavy apron for protection against the heat and sparks of his fires, although he had put aside his gloves for the wedding.
“Yes,” Benedict said firmly, smiling widely over their hands, which were wound about with a ribbon.
He and the blacksmith both looked at Christina, who felt as though she were in a daze. Everything was hazy, almost dream-like. This was a dream, wasn’t it? Surely she couldn’t actually be here, hand in Benedict’s, actually marrying him over the anvil at Gretna Green.
“Yes?” The answer sounded more like a question than an actual affirmative, but the blacksmith barely seemed to notice.
Standing across from her, Benedict’s dark eyes seemed to glow as his fingers tightened around hers.
Christina felt a bit faint. Part of her was crowing with triumph. Part of her was screaming in despair. It was like her mind was torn asunder, creating two completely different women rather than one whole one. She stared back at Benedict, hoping against hope that she wasn’t making the most terrible mistake of her life.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, kept to her as long as you both shall live?”
“I will,” Benedict said fiercely, the intentness in his gaze taking her already shallow breath away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Christina could see the blacksmith turn his head towards her, but she couldn’t bring herself to take her eyes away from Benedict. His expression seemed to urge her on, drawing the words out of her, appealing to the hopeful woman still inside of her, so that when the blacksmith repeated the question, she answered -
“I will.”
Her voice was a whisper, but it was enough.
The blacksmith produced the rings Benedict had bought them upon arrival, and two minutes later the rings were on each of their fingers. Christina’s felt far heavier than it truly was, as though it were a great weight trying to drag her down. Trapping her. Confining her.
“Foreasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to go together by giving and receiving a ring, I therefore declare them to be a man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
It was done.
The blacksmith’s daughter and son-in-law signed the marriage certificate as witnesses, and then Benedict and Christina signed their names upon it as well.
Married. She was married again.
She felt joy, she did, so much joy… but she also felt fear. So much fear that her joy would not last.
******
The frozen expression on Christina’s face worried Benedict. She was smiling, but it was not a natural smile, and her dark eyes were so large in her pale face that she looked quite pallid. Almost ethereal.
Keeping their bound hands together - as Mr. Sawyer had warned them removing the handfasting ribbon before consummating the marriage was ill luck - Benedict pulled her towards the small inn they were staying at. For such a popular marriage site, the accommodations left a bit to be desired, but Benedict was perfectly happy to make do with their small room and bare necessities.
She’d said yes.
He honestly hadn’t been sure, up until the last moment, whether or not she’d really say yes. And he’d rather gotten the impression she hadn’t been either. But she’d said yes.
Now she was his.
His wife.
Lady Christina Windham. No longer the Marchesse of Stanhope. No longer bearing another man’s name.
Benedict circled her body with their connected hands and scooped her up into his arms, enjoying her squeak and the way her frozen countenance jolted back to life.
“Benedict?”
Instead of answering, he picked up the pace, practically rushing towards the inn.
They were wedded, now he was going to bed her and make it official. There would be no question as to the validity of this marriage, not in either of their minds.
She giggled, hiding her face against his shoulder as a grinning man held the door open for them and Benedict carried her into the taproom. The locals and travelers at tables nearest the door, eating dinner or having a pint, began to cheer and toast them, drawing the attention of tables farther away. By the time Benedict had reached the stairs, the entire room was cheering him on and calling out ribald suggestions.
“Och! Happy to the newlyweds!”
“Bed her good, laddie! A wee one in the belly makes th
e ladies happy!”
“‘e’s in a rush! - Don fergit ‘er pleasure too, boy-o!”
Giggling helplessly, Christina curled in to make herself smaller so Benedict would have an easier time navigating the narrow staircase, the sounds from the taproom fading behind them. Thank heavens she wasn’t a virgin, he thought with a grin, they could get right to the fun part of the evening without any missishness or misunderstandings.
“We’re married, love,” he whispered in her ear, shouldering his way into their room and kicking the door shut behind him. “You said yes. You’re all mine now.”
Possessiveness grabbed hold of him as Christina tilted her head up at him. Her eyes still showed her surprise at finding herself in this situation, but she wasn’t protesting. A mix of emotions crossed her face as she looked at him - happiness, wariness, excitement, anxiety. He’d known exchanging vows would not soothe all her insecurities - how could it when her first husband had so easily broken those vows? - but he hoped it had soothed some.
After all, despite her evasiveness, despite all she’d done to put him off, despite her protests, she’d married him anyway. And time would prove to her that he’d meant every one of the vows he made.
Lowering his mouth to hers, he began kissing her earnestly, letting her lower body slowly slide down to the floor. As he began to work on her clothing, he realized the handfasting ribbon wound around their wrists was going to make things extremely interesting… especially since they wouldn’t be able to disrobe completely. He felt sorry for the poor sods with a virgin bride who had to try and attempt to endeavor.
He supposed there were some who would feel sorry for him, for his bride’s lack of virginity, but more fool they. Christina had had lovers, but he completely trusted she would remain true to her vows. From what he’d seen, being a virgin on her wedding night certainly did not predict a woman’s faithfulness throughout marriage; it entirely depended on a woman’s character and the strength of the relationship with her husband.
Benedict was determined his and Christina’s relationship would be among the strongest.
Moving them towards the bed, he continued kissing her, amused as she made her own frustrated noises when she realized how the handfasting ribbon confined their movements. After all, she couldn’t move without moving his hand as well.
By the time they tumbled onto the bed, only partially unclothed, Christina was giggling madly and even Benedict was having difficulty suppressing his laughter. Although he’d imagined their wedding night as being more serious, he couldn’t be upset when amusement had chased all anxiety from Christina’s eyes. She giggled as he climbed atop her, her skirts rucked up about her hips, showing off her long legs, and the front of her bodice gaping open to give him access to her breasts.
Pressing the palm of his hand bound by the ribbon against hers, Benedict wove their fingers together, pinning her hand down to the mattress as he leaned down to kiss her again. A little smile still on her lips, Christina tilted her head up to meet his, her free hand sliding up the front of his shirt to caress his bare chest, and then back down to continue working on unlacing the placket of his pants. Since she was using her left hand, which was not her dominant hand, and his cock was pressing insistently at the front of the cloth, straining the laces, it wasn’t not an easy task.
Benedict took advantage of her struggles to torment her breasts. Palming one mound, he moved his mouth to the other, enjoying the way her giggles turned to breathy moans as he kneaded her soft flesh with his hand, his tongue laving over her hard nipple and teasing the little bud to ruche even tighter. Spreading his fingers over the mound of her breast, he trapped her other nipple between his forefinger and thumb, rolling it between his fingers even as he massaged her swollen flesh.
No longer giggling at all, Christina writhed, her hand on his pants becoming almost frantic as her fingers scrabbled at the laces.
“Oh!” She let out a little cry as he bit down on her nipple, her fingers tightening around his as her back arched, thrusting her breasts upwards. Benedict moaned as his cock finally sprang free of his pants, landing hot and heavy in the palm of her hand, and her long fingers curled around its length.
******
Hot need coursed through Christina as she pulled Benedict towards her, guiding him to her pussy. Not that he needed the direction, but she was feeling quite desperate.
She needed to feel him inside her, to feel his skin against hers, to affirm the vows they just made.
Because she so badly wanted to believe them. To believe she hadn’t made a mistake. She wanted to wipe away the memories of her first marriage. To slip free from the invisible bonds George had placed around her… she was no longer defined by him. No longer his wife, no longer his widow, and no longer bearing his name or title.
She was all Benedict’s.
The blunt head of his cock pressed against her pussy and she moaned, squeezing the rigid flesh as she pulled him forward. Benedict’s mouth lifted from her nipple, his hand sliding from her breast to prop up beside her, pushing himself up so he was hovering over her, looking down at her. She blinked up at him, gaze hazy with lust, with desire, and that was when he entered her.
Christina moaned as her muscles stretched, his cock sliding into her soaked sheathe, filling her the way her body craved. As he moved deeper, her hand fell away, clearing the way for him to thrust fully into her. She pressed her palm against his chest, running her fingers through his hair as he pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, brown eyes glowing with an inner fire as he watched her writhing on his staff.
“Mine,” he said, his voice both tender and possessive as he leaned forward. Christina gazed up at him, but her heart felt the words… repeated them. Mine. He’s mine too. “My wife.”
The word made her quail, but it didn’t cause the instant revulsion and fear she’d once felt.
Which was good, because it was too late. For better or for worse, she was Benedict’s wife. She’d given him her future, and now she had to trust him to keep the coming days bright.
“Make love to me,” she whispered. What she truly wanted to say was love me. But then, he’d already claimed he did.
“Your wish is my command.”
He began to move, his free hand finding hers, twining their fingers together the same way their bound hands were. Christina moaned, arching, as he pushed their hands up by her head so she was pinned down on either side. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she canted her hips upwards, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Their lips came together in a desperate kiss, as if they could drink each other in, sink into each other far deeper than mere physical bodies would allow.
Pleasure was swirling through her, building within her. She could feel Benedict’s hard groin as he rubbed against her swollen lips and clit with every thrust, his hips circling, grinding, stimulating every millimeter of her aching core.
Looking up at him, his hands pressing down into hers, their bodies connected so passionately, was incredibly intimate. Christina felt so vulnerable as he moved atop her, not physically but emotionally. He was watching every small movement, every change of expression in her face, every quiver, every sigh; he was seeing her. The way no other man ever had.
She arched as ecstasy crested, bubbling up inside her as her legs pulled him closer.
The soft, hoarse pants of breath as his thrusts became wilder heated her skin as he bent down towards her, his groans becoming animalistic as he pumped harder, faster. Christina screamed out her ecstasy as the angle pressed his body against her swollen clit, sending fireworks shooting through her veins. Their joined hands squeezed as her pussy spasmed around him, massaging, sucking at his cock.
He swelled inside of her, his thrusts relentlessly pounding her into the mattress, and then she felt the hot burst of his seed spurting into her grasping channel. The sensation of wet heat sent her spiraling, setting off the hazy memory of him spilling inside of her in the carriage as well.
Sobbing out her
climax, Christina quivered and writhed beneath him, her muscles spasming as if trying to milk him of every last drop of cum, her body thirsty for his fluid. Feeling him finally releasing inside of her, when she was entirely cognizant of the fact, gave her a strange sense of completeness. Not that their encounters had ever been unsatisfactory, but this just felt right.
Chapter 12
The ride back to London from Gretna Green was much more pleasant than the ride away from London to the anvil. For one, Christina was speaking to him again, without any unhappy rebukes about his sanity. For another, they were moving at a much slower pace, which made the actual ride much more pleasant. Both of them were still dressed comfortably, although the clothing was certainly becoming more travel worn. Benedict was looking forward to having access to his wardrobe again.
Although he’d sent all the necessary messages, he was sure his valet would have quite a few harsh words when he saw Benedict’s current attire. Lewis did take pride in his work, and a sloppily dressed employer did not reflect well on him - or so Benedict had been told. Truthfully, usually Benedict was quite in line with Lewis’ thinking, but right now he found his appearance had dropped drastically in his priorities.
Christina took the news of his move to her house rather well, he thought. She huffed a bit at his high-handed maneuvers, but agreed she’d rather they have more privacy than they would if they were to join Isaac, Lydia, and Arabella in Manchester House. Obviously the house on Jermyn Street was out of the question; only bachelors lived on the street, and while it was well enough for a lover to visit, it would be scandalous for a married couple to be in residence. Not to mention, uncomfortable for the neighbors, who wanted their lovers and mistresses to be able to visit with ease.
As they approached the city, however, Christina began to behave more nervously again. Her foot tapped against the carriage floor, her fingers moving restlessly over her skirts, up to her hair, and back to her skirts, and she seemed incapable of sitting still.
Reaching over, Benedict took her hand in his, and she froze immediately, as if she’d just realized how fidgety she was when he’d stopped her movement.