Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “A modest place. We use it for hunting.”

  “We can stay there.”

  “Unless Mead returns before we leave.”

  “That might happen, but regardless, my precious, we’re going to find that statue, and take care of Mead and Constance Clifford once and for all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Slowly opening his eyes, Malcolm turned his head toward the windows. He’d purposely left the curtains open so he could view the morning weather. As a shard of sunshine splashed across his bedspread, he let out a hoot of triumph. Jumping from the bed, he hurried across the room and stared out at the day. Bright light cascaded over the landscape. The trees seemed taller, the grass greener, and the spray from the fountain in the back garden sparkled like diamonds.

  The day before he’d spent the entire afternoon making preparations for the very special time he intended to spend with his bride. If the wet stuff had continued his plans would have been ruined. He wasn’t going to subject her to another mad dash through the pouring rain.

  Clear skies also meant they would be married in the chapel. It was his preference to join Connie in holy matrimony in the house of God, and regardless of what she’d said, he knew saying her vows in front of the altar was deeply important.

  Over dinner he’d produced the dark burgundy velvet box that held the rings. Two gold bands, his mother’s holding three small rubies. Connie had teared up, and though it was a little big on her finger, she’d been overjoyed.

  Throughout the meal they’d flirted and laughed, their champagne-infused frivolity giving no hint of the drama waiting for them back in London. When Mrs. Henderson presented a Victoria sponge for dessert, Connie had eyed the layers of cake, cream, and strawberries with uninhibited desire. Malcolm’s manhood, already at half-mast, had sprung to full attention. The moment Mrs. Henderson left, he’d ordered Connie to sit on her hands.

  “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just tell me to sit on my hands?”

  “I did.”

  “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Because I told you to,” he’d replied firmly, leaning forward and raising one wicked eyebrow.

  Blushing furiously, she’d followed his instruction, and he’d fed her the delicious pudding, deliberately leaving small dollops of cream on her lips. When he’d ordered her to lick them away with her tongue, she’d obeyed his sinful suggestion, but with naughtiness dancing in her eyes. When their dinner finally came to an end, smoldering, sensual energy crackled between them. Walking her upstairs, they’d stopped at her door and he’d hugged her tightly.

  “I assume this isn’t bad luck?” he’d asked, wishing he could carry her into her bed and let their passion take flight.

  “No, you silly man. Mostly it’s about the wedding dress, but I’m not taking any chances. I won’t see you again until we meet in the chapel at eleven a.m.”

  “Long, lonely hours. How cruel traditions can be.”

  “Joke if you must, but they have their place. I just hope it doesn’t rain,” she said with a sigh, sinking her head against his chest. “I really do want to be married in the chapel, but I’ll look a terrible sight if I have to get there through a downpour. I know we can have the ceremony here, but I really do have my heart set on the little church.”

  “The showers are tapering off, and I have a feeling the day will be perfect.”

  Clutching her hair, he’d locked her into a fervent kiss that had left her breathless.

  “Goodnight, my sweet bride,” he’d said, his voice husky. “Very soon you and I will be together properly, but Connie,” he warned, lowering his voice, “you’re not allowed to touch yourself.”

  She’d let out a gasp, thrown her arms around his neck, covered his face with little kisses, then abruptly turned and moved through her door, closing it smartly behind her.

  His rigid rod uncomfortable in his trousers, he’d hurried to his room, but he hadn’t pulled the cord for his valet. Moving quickly into the bathroom, he’d freed his cock.

  Urgently stroking, he’d pictured the whipped cream sitting on her lips, and her perfect pink tongue rolling over them and licking it away. He had designed the episode as a precursor. He intended to train her to pleasure his manhood with her mouth. With the wicked thoughts flashing through his brain, he’d surrendered to a quick, powerful climax. Catching his breath and cleaning himself up, he’d summoned Baker, double-checked everything for the morning’s momentous event, and climbed into bed.

  In spite of the exciting day ahead, he’d slept deeply, and now greeted by the glorious weather, optimism flooded his soul. His unique plans for the hours ahead could proceed. He glanced at the clock. It had just passed 9:15. Plenty of time to enjoy breakfast, dress for the ceremony, and walk to the chapel.

  “The chapel.”

  As he mumbled the words, and the reality hit him, he broke into a wide smile. Being married in the home in which he’d spent so many happy hours felt right. Everything was as it should be.

  * * *

  Malcolm’s last words, you’re not allowed to touch yourself, had sent Connie’s heart hammering. Once through her door, she’d had to sit down for a few minutes to catch her breath before pulling the bell cord for Mrs. Melville.

  Even as the housekeeper had helped her change, and made sure the clothes and accessories were ready for the following morning, Malcolm’s salacious instruction had remained in the forefront of Connie’s mind.

  When she’d climbed between the sheets and turned down the lamp, her thighs squeezed together of their own accord. She longed to place her fingers against her womanhood and rub herself into a wonderful release, but she would not disobey her future husband on the eve of their wedding.

  Closing her eyes, she’d imagined his strong body over hers, and a thrill rippled through her as she thought of him thrusting his manhood inside her, but she wouldn’t be naked and at his mercy until the following night. During their meal he’d told her he had a surprise planned following their nuptials. His plans would carry them through the afternoon, and a special dinner would be served in the evening. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she’d resigned herself to the long wait, and praying for a sunny day, she’d finally dozed off.

  She was basking in the sun, sitting on a blanket in a grassy meadow with Malcolm. Swans glided by, and a picnic hamper lay open offering an array of delicious choices.

  “Time to wake up!”

  Blinking open her eyes, she found Mrs. Melville walking toward her carrying a breakfast tray.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Mrs. Melville declared, as Connie yawned and stretched. “Not a drop of rain, and it doesn’t look like there will be any.”

  “Really?” Connie replied, elated her prayers had been answered. “That’s wonderful. Is it actually sunny?”

  “Indeed it is,” Mrs. Melville said, placing the tray over Connie’s lap. “I’m sure the lovely weather is a good omen.”

  “I agree!”

  “You have scrambled eggs with parsley, buttered toast, fried tomatoes, and a nice hot cup of tea. While you’re finishing that off, I’ll get your bath started.”

  “Isn’t it too early? I don’t have to be at the chapel until eleven.”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock,” Mrs. Melville exclaimed, “and the hour will fly by. Mr. Mead told me to let you sleep as long as possible.”

  “He’s so thoughtful,” Connie said with a happy sigh, thinking, even if he can be awfully strict. But I do love that about him. How strange it is.

  “I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I didn’t want you rushing,” Mrs. Melville remarked, shaking her head as she walked into the bathroom, “but he insisted.”

  “He must have guessed I was up half the night,” Connie mumbled under her breath, but as she lifted the silver cover off the dish, she remembered the promise Malcolm had made over dinner the night before.

  You’re in for a surprise after we leave the chapel.

  A devilish glint had danced in his eyes.
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br />   With a shiver and excited goosebumps popping on her skin, she picked up her fork.

  * * *

  Mr. Henderson had supplied blooms from the hothouse, and his wife had made flower arrangements for the chapel. With no one in Connie’s life to give her away, Baker had been honored when Malcolm asked. His only concern was explaining to the vicar who Connie was, then decided to simply offer her name and not say anything more. Constance Victoria Clifford may have been the main topic of conversation throughout London many weeks before, but memories faded, and they were in the middle of the country. It was entirely possible the vicar may not have even heard of the grisly crime and the daughter accused of her parents’ murder.

  Waiting outside the small church, Malcolm waved to the vicar. He was cycling up the path with Mr. Henderson walking at a fast clip beside him. Malcolm strode forward to meet them.

  “Hello, Vicar. I’m so pleased to see you, and thank you for all your help, Mr. Henderson,” Malcolm said gratefully.

  “My pleasure, Mr. Mead. Happy to oblige.”

  “Would you please excuse us? I need a private word with the vicar.”

  “Of course, sir.’

  “Thank you for agreeing to this, Vicar,” Malcolm said gratefully as Mr. Henderson walked to the chapel. “I know it’s highly irregular.”

  “I admit, I had my reservations, but I trust you, Mr. Mead, and I’m sure your reasons are valid.”

  “Inside this pouch,” Malcolm continued, producing a small leather sack from his coat, “is sixty pounds. Fifty pounds to put toward your good works, but please, Vicar, I wish you to spend the additional ten pounds personally. That’s for you, as my thank you, not just for today, but for all you do for this parish.”

  “Goodness. This is so generous.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Please know my bride and I truly thank you,” Malcolm said solemnly as they began walking to the chapel.

  “And the name of your wife to be?”

  “Constance Victoria Clifford.”

  Studying the vicar’s face closely, Malcolm saw no reaction.

  “Such a pretty name,” the vicar remarked as they entered the small church. “You said in your note she has no family here. What a shame.”

  “Yes, it is,” Malcolm agreed, though adding nothing by way of explanation.

  He suddenly wished Edith and her mother were in attendance, but with an uncertain future, he and Connie needed to snatch their happiness while they could. Quickly reminding himself there would be a legal wedding later, and their dear friends and relatives would be attending, he smiled at the thought.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Mead,” Mr. Henderson called from the door. “Mrs. Melville and Baker are bringing Connie up the path.”

  Relieved he didn’t have to discuss Connie’s family situation any further, Malcolm took up his position and stared at the door waiting for Connie’s entrance.

  She took his breath away.

  Fashioned over her head as a veil sat a thin lace scarf with a crown of orange blossoms. Her white dress with its blue satin band around the waist flattered her figure, yet the fabric floated around her body like a cloud. As she neared, he caught the sparkle from the treasured bracelet around her wrist.

  Malcolm was unflappable, but when an unexpected rush of energy surged through his heart, he realized the depth of his love, and how desperately he wanted to live his life with the beautiful, spirited girl he was making his wife.

  * * *

  The vicar began to speak, and though Connie could hear the words and understood them, the thumping of her heart almost drowned them out. She’d imagined her wedding day many times, but in her dreams she had never been in a borrowed dress, standing in a tiny chapel with a handful of people, yet she couldn’t have been happier.

  As she repeated the vows, and listened to Malcolm speak his, with each passing second her eyes brimmed with tears of unspeakable joy. The rings were exchanged, then abruptly the vicar paused.

  “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder,” he declared. “Forasmuch as Malcolm and Constance have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Though it was customary for the veil to remain in place until they left the church, Connie hoped Malcolm would ignore the tradition. She wanted their eyes to meet at that very moment.

  “May I look upon my bride?” he murmured, as if reading her mind as he faced her.

  “I wish you would.”

  She saw him glance up at the vicar, who gave a slight nod.

  The fabric lifted.

  Love shimmered from his gaze, and there was no stopping her happy tears. Extending his elbow, she looped her arm through his, and they walked, linked together, down the aisle and out into the sunshine.

  “What a spectacularly beautiful day,” he declared, then smiling down at her, he added, “as befits my spectacularly beautiful bride.”

  “I’ve never known such happiness,” she sniffled, and though it broke her heart her parents weren’t physically there, she was sure they must be beaming down at her.

  “Thank you, every one of you,” Malcolm exclaimed, turning to face the four servants who had followed them outside, then looking at the vicar appearing at the door. “You all made the impossible possible. Rest assured, your kindness and understanding will not be forgotten. Now if you’ll excuse us, I have a surprise for my wonderful new wife, but we’ll be back in the house for dinner at seven.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  As they approached the edge of the expansive lawn, the grass was still wet from the rain. Knowing it would be muddy under the lush green carpet, he swept Connie into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she laughed. “I can walk.”

  “And get those satin shoes all muddy?” he declared as he began striding across the field. “I don’t think so, besides, I love carrying you.”

  “Why are we heading into the woods? Is that where my big surprise is waiting?”

  “It is.”

  “What could you possibly have waiting for me in there? I know! A picnic in that meadow. I dreamed it last night.”

  “Good guess, and that picnic will happen, but not today.”

  She felt light as a feather in his arms, and with his long step they were soon entering the forest.

  “Malcolm, isn’t this where we walked yesterday?”

  “No, we were directly behind the house.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. The chapel is off to the side. Gosh, the trees are really dense in here,” she remarked as he ventured deeper.

  “That’s another reason I didn’t want you walking in those shoes. You could easily trip on the twigs and branches.”

  “My goodness. Look at the sunbeams,” she murmured, the slices of bright light piercing the canopy of branches overhead. “They’re so beautiful.”

  “This was my playground as a boy. I know every nook and cranny.”

  “Are you taking me to a nook or cranny to have your way with me?”

  “I am most definitely going to have my way with you,” he replied with a chuckle, “but not in a nook or a cranny. We’re going in there.”

  Turning her head, she spied a large thatched-roof cottage.

  “Malcolm! What is this place?”

  “This was my home. It still is my home. I was born here,” he declared, walking up to the porch, then lowering his voice, he added, “Connie, you’re about to become my wife in every sense of the word, and you’re going to learn about the man you married.”

  “I know very well who I married,” she quipped, meeting his gaze with challenge in her eyes. “You’re like the pirate.”

  Her comment sent a surge of energy through his loins.

  “Y
es, I am, but so much more,” he replied, and pushing open the door, he carried her inside.

  * * *

  Though the cottage had seemed humble from the outside, it boasted fine furniture and drapes, but Connie barely had time to take it in as Malcolm swept through the living area and into a bedroom. The drapes were closed, but in the dim light she could see the canopy bed. Though heavily carved like his others, it was smaller. After he effortlessly tossed her on the burgundy and brown coverlet, she watched him move to a bureau against the wall and turn up a lamp.

  That’s when she saw them.

  Ropes.

  They hung above her coiled like snakes, attached to the canopy’s frame, and there were more tied around each of the four bedposts.

  “Sit up,” he ordered, stepping to the side of the bed.

  Her pulse racing and a bevy of butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she immediately perched on the edge of the mattress. Wordlessly removing the crown of orange blossoms, then the veil, he placed them on a nearby chair. Mrs. Melville had styled her long hair into sweeping curls held in place by clips. Tilting his head to the side, he began removing them one by one.

  Looming over her, he seemed bigger than life.

  A tremble rippled through her.

  His manner was not at all what she’d expected.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she murmured, lifting her eyes.

  He paused, and cupping her chin, he tilted her head back. She thought he was going to lean in and kiss her, but instead, he simply said,

  “Soon.”

  The simple word sent her mind spinning.

  Soon he will take her? Soon he will speak? Soon he will... what?

  He was captivating her.

  Exciting her imagination.

  Overwhelming her.

  But most of all, he was melting her.

  Every bit of her.

  There was a flood between her legs.

  Her heart thumped.