Bound with Honor

by Megan Mulry

  Mary piled most of her unruly blonde hair on top of her head in a deceptively simple style, but she left a few curled strands dangling down the right side of her neck. She had never cottoned to the latest fashion of fussy curls hanging in front of her eyes—it was both distracting and unbecoming.

  Beatrix was equally lovely. After being so peevish the past few days, Selina took a moment to stare at Bea while Mary coiled her hair into a loose Roman style, with a gold diadem a few inches back from her forehead. Her lips were dark red and slightly curved, her nose straight and proud. She was a classically beautiful woman, and the style suited her perfectly.

  When Mary was finished, and asked if there was anything else either woman needed, Bea stood to leave the room. Selina held her back.

  “Please tell the footman we will be down in ten minutes, Mary.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Mary dipped her chin and shut the door behind her.

  Selina kept her restraining hold on Bea’s gloved forearm. Bea’s muscles were taut and lovely from years at the piano. Loosening her grip slightly, Selina leaned in close and inhaled, never quite touching her. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ve been quite unkind these past few days.”

  Bea turned to look her in the eye. She was a few inches taller, and Selina’s heart pounded when she looked up into Bea’s eyes.

  “May I kiss you?” Bea asked in a low voice.

  “Please.”

  When Bea’s lips touched hers, she pressed into her, out of habit and desperation and love. She didn’t want to muss Bea’s lovely hair or her beautiful dress, but Lord how she wanted her. She pushed her gently back to the settee, until Bea sat and exhaled.

  “We are expected downstairs,” Bea whispered.

  Selina dipped to her knees, carefully adjusting her dress so as not to wrinkle the pristine silk skirt that Mary had spent time ironing and preparing for the evening out. “I’ve been so preoccupied, Bea. I need . . . I want . . .” She stuttered as she slowly pulled up the heavy copper velvet of Bea’s gown. She stroked her palms along the silk of Bea’s stockings. “I miss him, Bea. It makes me feel like a traitor. But I miss him.”

  “I know you do,” Bea replied, placing her hand on Selina’s cheek and caressing her way down the pale skin of her neck to the edge of her bodice. “It’s fine to miss him, to want him.”

  “But I want you. I want you on my lips when I kiss him tonight.” She dipped her head and kissed the inside of Bea’s silken thigh, then looked up from her lower position. “I want him to know that you are part of me.” She bent down and kissed her again, higher up her leg.

  “Darling, you shouldn’t—” Bea resisted.

  Then Selina kissed Bea’s pussy, interrupting thought and reason. She wanted her, a little taste of her for courage, before they were all thrown to the wolves of society and the ton and all those watching eyes, all those people who wanted a story, or clarity, or some sort of understanding about the Marquess of Camburton and his unique wife, and his wife’s friend the pianist, and his friend the scientist. And how strange it all seemed.

  She licked the familiar edge of Bea’s cunny and shut her eyes. There was nothing strange about this, damn it. Beatrix was her home, her heart’s home. At the moment, she felt like some porcelain doll, her hair coiffed to some rigid ideal, her dress crinkling in starched perfection, and her face pressed lewdly between Beatrix’s legs. The two of them panted and groaned quietly until she dipped her tongue deep into Bea’s center and Bea’s hips tipped toward her and the suction and urgency of her lips brought Bea to a fast, brief climax.

  Bea’s fingers were ground into the edge of the couch, grasping the cushion. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” Bea’s voice was rough, both satisfied and impatient all at once.

  Selina pulled back and stood up slowly. “I am a selfish beast.”

  Bea looked up at her from the settee. She was flushed and happy and frustrated, and Selina felt something akin to pride at having elicited all that emotion.

  “I want to touch you when you touch me . . . and that was terrible,” Bea breathed. “To have you give me all that pleasure and instead of being able to clutch my fingers into your beautiful hair or press my lips against your lovely cheek I was frozen in some horrible approximation of unshared joy.”

  Selina pressed the flat of her hands along her bodice and then down over her hips. “We need to stay presentable. And I missed you.”

  Bea smiled up at her, took a deep breath, and then stood to face her. “I missed you too.” Bea leaned in and kissed her, the lightest peck so as not to sully her appearance. “I shan’t mess your cosmetics. You look lovely.” They walked toward the door, arm in arm. “He loves you, my dear. And if I need to repair to the Continent for a few months, I shall do that—”

  “No!”

  “Shh. Let us go to the theater. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

  Selina had requested that the finest carriage be brought round to deliver them to Covent Garden. The gleaming red barouche with the marquess’s crest awaited them as they stepped out onto Grosvenor Square. When they entered the compartment, she made a silent prayer that Archie and Christopher would be inside the carriage on their return trip a few hours hence.

  “Soon.” Beatrix read her thoughts and held her hand as they made their way slowly through the crowded streets of Mayfair toward the West End. When they approached the theater, the winter streets were clogged with carriages and pedestrians. Her heart pounded wildly and she kept thinking they should step out of the carriage and walk the rest of the way, but Bea kept her in place, soothing her with the familiar trace of her thumb on her knuckles. “Hold. We’re almost there.”

  As they stepped out into the harsh light beneath the theatrical torches, she felt too exposed; she wanted to pull Bea close, to kiss her warm neck, but she remembered where they were.

  “Keep walking, my dear,” Bea whispered behind her.

  She realized she’d turned motionless in the brittle air. The press of bustling people entering the theater created a human barrier to the winter wind, but even so the chill seemed to enter her bones. She looked across the jostling crowd into the lobby, and saw Archie in full evening dress. He was standing perfectly still—a steady rock in the sea of human movement all around him—and he stared at her through the glass doors with the piercing intensity of a ray of sunshine through a shard of crystal.

  Archie stared at his beautiful wife. Other men stared. She was pausing to check her hem or the hang of her reticule, and he was unable to breathe. Her hair, her skin, the trim fit of her bodice: he had never seen her looking more lovely, and the sight nearly bowled him over.

  Christopher touched his elbow. “Stay standing, my friend.”

  “I wish you could hold me.”

  “Soon.” Christopher’s voice was low and passionate, while his face remained a casual mask of disinterest. “Soon I will hold you—your back against my bare chest—while your wife gives you all the pleasure you deserve.”

  Archie had a moment of worry that those around him would know what Christopher was saying, even though he knew his friend was a master of appearing nonchalant, no matter how depraved his words actually were.

  “She’s coming. They’re coming.”

  Keeping his eyes on the front doors, he stared while Selina was distracted, and then he held his breath when she lifted her gaze directly to his. Her expression was incomprehensible at first, distant. Then her eyes caught fire—whether from love or anger he wasn’t sure—but at least there was still something resembling passion inside her.

  As Beatrix and Selina crossed the crowded lobby, several people intercepted them, and he could see they were congratulating Beatrix on her musical accomplishments and smiling at the lovely marchioness and congratulating her on her recent marriage. As the two women got closer to where he and Christopher were standing, he could hear the people around them referring to Selina as “the marchioness” and his heart hammered for how deeply he wanted her to be his marchioness in every sense o
f the word.

  For the first time, he saw Beatrix clearly—as Selina’s lover—and he forced himself to watch her. She was a tall, confident beauty. Her features were nearly severe, yet classically feminine. She’d done her dark chestnut hair in a style that served to solidify the comparison—once again, she looked like a Greek goddess. He admired her, the way she carried herself, the way she kept Selina safe and near as she moved through the crowd. Moreover, he was able to see why Selina admired her, which was far more important in any case.

  Beatrix’s head swiveled to him at that moment. He was close enough to hear the Romanian count praising her, throwing his hands aloft to indicate the depth of his appreciation for her recent performance in Bucharest. Beatrix kept her gaze on Archie, as if she were sizing him up. The foreigner kept yammering, and she nodded occasionally, so as not to alienate him, but eventually she dipped her chin to the other man. “I thank you again, but I believe we are headed to the Marquess of Camburton’s box now.”

  The man turned to him and sketched an elegant bow. “How lucky the Marquess of Camburton is to be escorting two of the loveliest ladies in the theater.” Then he bowed again to Selina and left the four of them to stare at one another in the crowded lobby.

  “Lord Camburton.” Beatrix dipped a curtsey, then looked at Christopher. Archie realized they had never been properly introduced at Devonshire House, and it would have been forward of her to call him by name, despite the shared intimacy that coursed between all four of them.

  “Miss Farnsworth.” He reached for her gloved hand and squeezed the tips of her long fingers. “Please allow me to present my very good friend, Mr. Christopher Joseph. Christopher, the renowned pianist, Miss Beatrix Farnsworth.”

  Christopher bowed and then took Bea’s hand and kissed her knuckles through the fine kidskin. Archie was beyond imagining what lay in store for each of them individually, much less all of them together in a bed at one time. He was beyond imagining anything but the feel of his wife’s skin beneath the pads of his tingling fingertips.

  “Lady Camburton. You are looking very well.”

  Selina stared at him, her tongue peeking out slowly to moisten the edge of her lip. “Lord Camburton.” She dipped a slight curtsey out of habit. “You are looking . . . quite splendid.” The compliment spilled out in a breathy rush.

  He felt his neck and cheeks flush in embarrassment. “May I escort you to our box?” He held out his forearm, and Selina stared at the familiar gesture. For a moment, he thought she was going to spurn him, but he stayed still and waited. “Please.”

  Her eyes flew to his, and then there was a press of people and Selina was shoved closer. He grabbed her around her middle to steady her, and the span of her waist in his hands set his mind afire.

  “Yes. Yes. Always yes.” Her lips were devilishly close to his ear, because of the crush around them. But when the crowd thinned, she pulled away again. Taking a deep breath, she took his hand from her waist, extended his arm as if he were a marionette, and placed her elegant hand on his forearm. “There. That is as it should be.”

  When she squeezed him through the fine silk of his navy-blue jacket, he wanted to fall to the marble floor and bury his face in the layers of her beautiful dress. They seemed to float through the crowd, Beatrix and Christopher following a few steps behind them.

  “Have you—”

  “Will you—”

  They both began simultaneously, then smiled and fell silent again.

  “You first,” Selina said as they started to ascend the wide, sweeping staircase to the second level.

  “Have you enjoyed your time in London?”

  She’d been holding a piece of her dress a few inches above the ground so as not to trip on her way up the stairs, but his vapid question must have startled her. She released the fabric and nearly stumbled.

  “Not in the least. Have you?” She sounded hurt, as if he were suggesting that he had somehow enjoyed wandering the streets of east London like a pauper.

  They had reached the entrance to the box by then, so he did not answer what he supposed was a rhetorical question. He held back the curtain to let Selina pass, but she did not release him or move to enter.

  “Archie?”

  “Yes?” He was distracted, looking down the foyer and acknowledging an earl who had smiled in greeting. Christopher and Beatrix were nearly upon them.

  “Look at me,” Selina demanded.

  He turned to face her, but it was incredibly difficult to hold her gaze. “It is very hard for me to look at you,” he answered honestly, “when I want to rip that golden confection off your body and make love to you for the next five days.”

  Her eyes shone with answering pleasure. “Only five days, my lord?”

  “Five months, my lady?”

  “Five years?”

  “Five decades?” he shot back easily, and then leaned in close. He had to kiss her, propriety be damned. For the first time in their acquaintance, he saw that he took her by surprise. Dipping quickly to press his lips against hers—ignoring the affronted gasp of a passing dowager duchess—he even teased his tongue between her lips and made a quick sweep into the warm welcome of her mouth.

  He pulled away just as quickly and licked the inside of his upper lip. “Is that Beatrix on your lips?” he whispered, with a mix of joy and fear. His ego could only take so much. He wanted to give Selina everything in his power to give, even her freedom if that’s what she was after, but the idea of letting her go made his chest constrict in pain.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love her?” He let the naked fear show in his words.

  “Yes.” But she reached up and touched his cheek to mollify him. “And I love you. And I’ve missed you. And I don’t ever want to be parted from you again.”

  “Must we stay for the play?”

  Selina laughed and patted his cheek. “Whatever will people say if the Marquess and Marchioness of Camburton leave the theater before the play has even begun?”

  He stared into her eyes. “They will say the marquess is in love with his wife.”

  “Or they might suspect the marchioness is enceinte.”

  His breath hitched. “Are you?”

  The way she gazed up at him filled every desperate inch of his aching heart with hope and joy. “Yes.”

  Beatrix and Christopher had arrived, and Archie turned to Christopher. “My wife does not wish to stay for the play after all. Shall we return to Camburton House and see to her comfort?” He looked to Beatrix as he asked that last, imploring her.

  Beatrix smiled at Selina and then at him. And he realized how much of a fool he had been to see her as an adversary, or even worse, as an enemy. “I think that is a very fine idea, Lord Camburton. The marchioness has been quite agitated in your absence, and as you can see, she is in great need of relief.”

  Christopher coughed. “Out. Now. All of you.”

  The play was about to begin and the four of them, as if they were swimming upstream, hurried past the last stragglers who were racing to take their seats. A few minutes later they were seated in the spacious carriage, breathless with excitement and anticipation.

  They were all together at last. Sitting through two hours of farce and wordplay would have been torture. The moment she’d spied Archie across the lobby, Selina could see he was hers—theirs—at last. She squeezed his hand. “Archie?”

  “Yes?” He was staring at her again, and she loved the feel of that eager gaze.

  “What have you decided?”

  “I’ve decided I love you.” He turned to look across the carriage at Christopher, and she watched in unexpected delight. “And I also love Christopher.” Archie hung his head, as if waiting for the sword of an angry God to strike him dead—or her justifiable accusations of hypocrisy to let fly.

  Instead, she lifted his chin and kissed him tenderly. “Congratulations.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Oh, darling!” She threw up her hands and then grabbed him to h
er, slamming her lips against his and taking what she’d missed all these past days—the rock-solid feel of him against her, on her, surrounding her, consuming her. She finished devouring him—for the moment—and pulled away a few inches from his mouth, yanking her gloves off with laughing impatience. “And may I kiss Beatrix in front of you? Or do you wish me to keep my love for her as a separate, private thing, apart from our marriage?”

  When she sat away from him, awaiting his reply, he stared first at her, then at Beatrix. The wall of his defenses turned to sand. “I would like nothing more than for you to allow me the great privilege of seeing how you and Beatrix honor your love for one another.”

  She pressed the flat of her hand against his chest, and she could feel the frantic beat of his heart. “I still love you, Archie. You know that now?”

  “Yes. I know that now.” He was utterly solemn, and she realized this was far more of a vow than any he had made in that country church two months ago.

  She couldn’t keep from kissing him one more time. “You are my dream come true, my love. You are my dream.” Then she turned to face Beatrix across the carriage. “Please come to me.”

  Bea smiled and moved from one side of the carriage to the other, dipping her head so she didn’t bump against the roof.

  Keeping her firm hold on Archie’s hand, their fingers laced together, Selina reached up to Bea’s cheek with the other. “Beatrix, my love . . .” Then she leaned in and kissed her. Her eyes slid shut, and Bea moaned into her. Archie’s hand tightened slightly. She had never been more sure of who she was and what she deserved. She needed both of these people. She adored both of these people.

  Archie began kissing the turn of her neck, where it met her shoulder. She whimpered into Bea’s deepening kiss. The erotic play of Archie’s lips, Bea’s tongue, and Christopher’s heated gaze sent all sorts of chills down her spine.

  The carriage jolted to a halt in front of Camburton House, and she realized they had spent the entire ride in that effervescent bubble of kisses and light touches and discovery. Looking very much like four startled deer caught unawares in the forest, they began to laugh quietly as the footman opened the door to let them out. By the time they were at the front door, they were all laughing in great peals.