by Emma V Leech
‘And his father is St Clair, after all,’ she’d said with a devilish smile.
“Did your papa have a dreadfully wicked reputation before he married?” Lottie asked as he set her down.
“Yes, he did. Though he denies much of it was true,” Cassius replied, turning her around to peruse the fastenings on her gown. He made his way along the buttons, undoing them with startling speed. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied as her gown slithered to the floor with a soft shushing sound and a flurry of lace. Lottie undid the ties of her little linen bustle and tossed it away. “Just something Mama said.”
The fingers that had been making quick work of her heavy crinoline petticoat stilled. “Lottie.”
“Yes?”
“Your mama, she… she did tell you…?”
Lottie glanced over her shoulder to see an expression of horror on his face. It was so comical she burst out laughing.
“Oh, Cass,” she said, clutching at her corset, which was suddenly far too tight. “Oh, take it off, take it off!”
“Well, I would if you’d keep still,” he grumbled, snatching at the ties of the crinoline again. “But there’s about two dozen petticoats to get through yet. I declare whoever designs women’s fashions is a damned sadist.”
Finally the crinoline sagged, though it was too stiff to fall, made thickly of horsehair and linen. Lottie pushed it down and stepped out of it, then waited impatiently as Cassius fought with the two remaining cotton petticoats. He muttered wrathfully under his breath and Lottie bit her lip, trying not to laugh or fidget. Finally, they were gone, and his clever fingers were tugging at the corset strings.
“Thank the Lord,” he said with a sigh as the corset came loose. Lottie threw the busk aside and pushed the corset to the floor, folding her arms over her breasts as she turned to him, aware that her shift was so fine it was nigh on see-through.
“You’re not shy, Lottie?” he asked in surprise. “Not with me?”
“N-Not shy exactly,” she said, and then saw the wonder in his eyes as he looked at her, the tinge of colour high on his cheekbones, the way his chest rose and fell.
“My God.” He breathed the words, reverent.
“No,” she said, as any last inhibitions fell away, because this was Cassius, whom she’d adored her entire life. This was perfect and there wasn’t the slightest thing to be shy or anxious about. “No. Not the least bit shy.”
To prove it, she stripped off the chemise and let him look at her, watching him as he took her in. His throat worked, his beautiful turquoise eyes darkening with desire.
“No words,” he said, his voice hoarse.
He shook his head helplessly and laughed, a slightly choked sound that made her heart soar. So she ran to him, flinging her arms about his neck as she always wanted to do when he was near. His arms tightened around her, the cold press of buttons a shock against her overheated skin as he pulled her flush against him.
She sighed as his mouth went to her shoulder, her neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses that lingered for a while at the tender skin beneath her ear, making her shiver. Then down the trail went again, an inevitable path to her breast where he dallied longer still, teasing the tender buds with his lips and tongue and teeth until she was flushed and breathless. He knelt before her, staring up the line of her body.
“This is my favourite shade of pink,” he said, his voice impossibly low and deep, the sound rumbling through her, his words stirring sensation deep in her belly. Cassius touched a finger to one taut nipple. “All the best and most wicked parts of you are pink. Deliciously, devilishly pink. Such an innocent colour everyone believes it, but it is dreadfully sinful.”
Lottie’s breathing hitched as he kissed her belly, his tongue swirling a circle around her belly button. She would have laughed, as it tickled, but the sensation was more than ticklish as his mouth moved lower. She knew what came next.
“Let’s find somewhere else that perfect shade of wicked, shall we?” he murmured against her skin, and then he was nuzzling into the golden curls between her thighs, and then his tongue was there, and then….
She was dizzy, one hand flailing to grasp the bedpost as his tongue insinuated itself deeper and stroked and….
“Cass… Cassius….”
He continued, teasing and tormenting and though she had never swooned in her entire life, she felt very certain her knees would give out.
“C-Can’t stand,” she managed, breathing hard, her knuckles white as she clutched at the bed post. “Cass….”
He chuckled, warm breath gusting like a cool breath against her too hot skin. Goosebumps ran over her in response.
Cassius got to his feet and guided her to the bed. “Lie down then, love, before you fall down.”
He looked horribly smug about that, the devil. Not that she cared. If he kept making her feel that way, he had every reason to look smug.
Lottie collapsed against the pillows, desperately impatient that he should join her but… but then she realised he was getting undressed, and that was worth watching.
She had seen him all but naked once before, when she had hidden his clothes after he’d swam in the lake. He’d still been wearing his small clothes, which had been so sodden they hid little, but he’d covered his most interesting parts with his hands, much to her consternation. This time he was hers, her husband, and she was free to look her fill.
He moved quickly, his coat and waistcoat slung on the nearest chair in a manner to ensure his poor valet would be in fits when he saw them, and then tugged the shirt over his head. Lottie’s heart gave an erratic thud and it was hard to breathe. She took in the sight of powerful shoulders, that magnificent broad chest and the wiry hair there, that caught the late afternoon sun and shimmered copper and gold. Finally, she could touch him as she had longed to do. Her body ached to have him closer, to have the weight of him upon her, inside her. That thought made the place between her legs throb, a clamour of desire that only became more insistent as she watched him disrobe. He was down to his small clothes now, and then they too were gone, and he was striding for the bed.
Lottie was torn between demanding he keep still so she might look at him properly and pleading with him to hurry. In the end, she was too stunned to do either and then he was there, climbing onto the mattress, his body moving over hers. The shock of his skin upon hers was astonishing. Hot, he was so hot, and surprisingly silky, yet so much harder, his flesh so much firmer, muscle and sinew, the weight of him everything she had wanted and needed. She gasped as his arousal glided over her sex, the sensation so delicious she could only arch towards him, seeking more.
“Lottie, oh, God, love. I thought I’d go mad wanting this, wanting you.”
“Hurry, then,” she demanded, beside herself.
She knew what came next and she wanted it, her body demanded it. Her hands clutched at him, her legs pulling him in closer.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, desperation in his voice as he tried to calm her. “Perhaps we should—”
“No,” she demanded, almost cross. “No, now. You won’t hurt me, just… please….”
He groaned, clearly aware it was pointless to remonstrate, thank heavens. She held her breath as he found his place between her legs and then he was pushing into her. Lottie gasped, panting as the strange sense of fullness became uncomfortable and he paused.
“Breathe,” he said, nuzzling her neck with soft lips, before finding her mouth and kissing her, deeply, slowly, until her muscles unwound and her body relaxed, accepting him. He broke the kiss and groaned. She might have relaxed, but his body sang with tension, the muscles hard and taut beneath her hand until he moved again. He made a desperate sound that thrilled through her and thrust deeper.
There was a pinch of discomfort, but Lottie ignored it, too beguiled by the sight of Cassius, sweating and lost to passion, lost to the feel of being inside her. His pleasure was the greatest aphrodisiac in the world, and she loved the harsh, masculi
ne sounds of effort and satisfaction he made, as his movements became harder, faster, and increasingly erratic. She stroked her hands over his shoulders, feeling the roll of muscle, the passion-damp slide of his skin under her palms. He moved then, hooking her leg over his arm, deepening the angle, and… she cried out, grabbing his biceps as if she needed anchoring to the earth as sensation rolled through her, building and building into a crescendo that she knew would overwhelm her. She welcomed it, chased it, closing her eyes and rushing towards it as he jerked and shuddered in her arms. The big bed shook with the force of it, his guttural cry loud and brutal and enough to send her tumbling after him. He stole her cry with a kiss, and she held onto him, breathless as she blinked up into his beautiful face.
“Lottie?” he said, breathing too hard to speak easily. “Lottie?”
“Marvellous,” she replied, dazed but comprehending his question by the anxious look in his eyes. “Simply marvellous.”
He gave a short laugh and collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.
The sky outside had long since grown dark by the time hunger drove them from the bed. Not for long, though. They carried the trays of food back with them and arranged a picnic on the mattress, sharing one glass of wine though the decanter sat on the bedside table.
“I’m famished,” Lottie said, demolishing a dainty little pastry in one bite. She closed her eyes, chewing with an expression of bliss.
Cassius watched her with rapt attention, the chicken leg he’d taken suspended in mid-air.
“What?” Lottie asked licking the crumbs from her lips. “Are my manners appalling? Are you horrified?”
“Yes. You’re disgraceful.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “I shall be too ashamed to take you anywhere. I think I shall confine you to your bedroom and never let you out ever again.”
Lottie lifted the glass of wine and took a large swallow, watching him thoughtfully. “Will you stay with me in my prison?”
“Always,” he said. “Someone must keep you amused, and I am your husband. I spoke vows, remember.”
She shrugged and picked up another pasty. “All right, then.”
She popped the morsel into her mouth. Cassius watched as she licked each finger in turn.
“Are you going to eat that?” She gestured to the chicken leg and, when he failed to respond, plucked it from his fingers.
“You’re terrible,” he said reproachfully.
She made a snorting noise like a pig and he laughed, falling back against the pillows, too happy to make sense of his feelings, and really what was the point in analysing it? He loved her, she made him laugh, made his heart feel light, and made his mind race with possibilities for their future.
“God, I am a lucky devil,” he said with a sigh.
“Yes,” she agreed taking up another little pasty and holding it to his lips. “You are.”
He took it from her, careful to ensure his lips touched her fingers. He held her hand until he’d finished chewing and then licked each finger in turn, watching her eyes darken as he did so.
“We’ll make a dreadful mess,” she warned him, her lips quirking.
She had that wicked glint in her eyes that he adored above anything, that made his chest want to burst with the force of happiness swelling inside him.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s do that.”
Epilogue
Dr Archambeau,
Despite your reassurances, Lady Elizabeth is still suffering headaches and megrims. She is pale and often has fainting fits. I think I do not need to remind you that ensuring her health is your priority, nor of the penalty you will incur if you fail to do so.
I suggest you do not delay in making your trip across the channel before the weather makes the journey impossible.
―Excerpt of a letter from Monsieur Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau to Dr Archambeau—translated from the French.
30th November 1838, Beverwyck.
“Lottie!” Cassius remonstrated as, before he could stop her, she leapt down from the carriage, hiked up her skirts and ran pell mell up the icy steps to the front door.
It opened, and the family butler, young Jenkins, ushered them in and closed the door upon the frigid November afternoon.
Cassius brushed snow from his hair as he handed his hat to a footman.
“Where is she?” Lottie demanded, ignoring the footman waiting to take her bonnet and cloak. “Is she well? Is she safe, what—?”
“Very well, Lady Charlotte,” the butler said, his warm smile and calm demeanour going a long way to sooth Lottie’s terror. “If you would like to wait for a few moments in the parlour, I will see if you can go in yet.”
“Oh, but—” Lottie said, her beautiful face pale with worry.
“Love,” Cassius said, taking her cloak from her and handing it over before tugging at the ribbons of her bonnet. “Jenkins said she’s very well. Is he lying, do you think?”
“N-No,” she said, wringing her hands together.
“No,” Cassius repeated. “So do stop fretting.”
He guided her up the stairs and through to the parlour, sat her by the fire and pressed a small glass of brandy into her hands. Once he had poured another for himself, he perched on the arm of the chair, and leaned down to kiss his wife.
“Better?” he asked.
“A little, though I shan’t be happy until I’ve seen them both. I wonder if it is a boy or a girl?”
“Does it matter?”
“Oh, no,” Lottie said with a wistful smile. “So long as they are both healthy.”
“I don’t know how your father has stood it. Eight children?” Cassius shook his head, his heart and stomach clenching at the idea of Lottie facing the perils of childbirth. Still, it was bound to happen, eventually.
She must have known what direction his thoughts had taken, for she reached out and clasped his hand.
“I want a big family, God willing,” she said firmly. “And I’m fit and strong and healthy. There is nothing to worry about.”
Cassius stared down at her, at the certainty in her eyes. He bent and kissed her, putting all the tenderness he felt into it.
“I love you,” he murmured.
She smiled up at him and the tension in his chest eased, as it always did when she gifted him with such a look. “And I you. Always.”
Cassius stood as the door opened and Eliza came in. She had put on a little weight since last he’d seen her, and there was a faint bloom of colour in her cheeks, but she was still not nearly as robust as she’d once been.
“Eliza,” he said, moving to greet her before Lottie took his place and hugged her sister tightly.
“Are you well?” she said, giving Eliza a critical once over.
“Fighting fit,” Eliza said, grinning and affecting a boxing stance, which was so unlike her Cassius laughed.
“Who taught you that?”
“Fred showed me,” she said, putting up her chin with a defiant twinkle in her eyes. “Jules is teaching him the finer points of pugilism.”
Cassius snorted and touched a finger to his jaw, to where the memory of a punch lingered. “Well, he knows a thing or two, I’ll give him that.”
“How’s Mama?” Lottie said, taking her sister’s arm.
Eliza’s face softened. “She’s well. Very tired, but happy. The doctor said she’s doing marvellously and… and we have a new baby sister. Octavia.”
Lottie gave a little squeal of delight and the two sisters hugged each other again.
“That’s wonderful news,” Cassius said, more than relieved to hear the duchess and the baby were well. Lottie had been fretting herself to death these past weeks as the duchess was so tired she had not even had the energy to write letters and, most shockingly of all, had put the writing of her latest novel to one side. “Why did she decide on coming back to town to have the baby at Beverwyck, though?”
“We were all born here,” Eliza said fondly. “It’s her favourite place to be. She’s comfortable here, and her doctor is close at
hand.”
They all looked around at the soft knock, and a moment later young Jenkins opened the door.
“Her grace will see you now,” he said, looking almost as proud as Cassius suspected the duke must be.
They made their way to the duchess’s rooms and entered. The bedchamber was as lavish and opulent as befitted the Duchess of Bedwin, but the scene at the centre of it was intimate and quiet. The duke sat with his arm about his wife, and they both stared down at the little bundle in the duchess’s arms, enchanted. They had not heard their daughters or Cassius enter, too lost in their own little world, and Cassius felt his breath catch at the look that passed between them. He understood that look, the depth of love and devotion between two people who had chosen to live their lives together. Lottie’s hand slid into his. She had evidently seen what he had. Her big blue eyes were very bright, sparkling with happiness.
“Girls!” the duchess said, finally seeing them.
She carefully handed their new arrival to her husband and put out her arms. Eliza and Lottie ran to her, embracing and kissing her in turn.
“Well, done, Mama!” Lottie exclaimed as her father walked around the bed, looking very pleased with himself.
“What about me?” the duke said, affecting a look of indignation.
Lottie waved her hand. “Oh, you did the easy bit,” she said dismissively. “Give me a cuddle with my new sister. I have so much to tell her.”
The duke stared at the baby and gave a sad shake of his head. “Oh, I can feel the grey hairs growing already.”
Reluctantly, he passed the baby to Lottie as Eliza peered over her shoulder.
“She’s exquisite,” Eliza said, one slender hand reaching out to touch the baby’s downy head. “I wonder if she will be blonde like you, or dark like me?”
“Whichever she decides, she will be as beautiful as you both,” Cassius said.
“Stop bewitching my daughters and trying to turn them up sweet, young man. You’ve got one, and believe me that’s quite enough.”