by Lisa Torquay
Long seconds elapsed as he studied her. “Yes,” he answered at last, “you have a point.” And took her hand to pull her up. “We’ll put the little one first.” He rumbled before his mouth slanted over hers.
Surprise and pleasure made a sound echo in her throat. Her arms drew about him as his clasped her to his taut frame.
“Damn it all, I missed you!” He rasped on her lips as his head moved to take more.
Her spine met the wall without her even having realised he’d moved. His hands lowered to her hips to press her to his ready erection.
“Drake,” she managed in between kisses.
“Hm.” And coaxed her mouth to open more for him.
“Dinner…”
“To hell with it!” And his head slid down to place an open kiss on the curve of her neck. “I’m hungry for something else.” And nipped the sensitive skin there. “It’s been ages!”
His urgency got her ready too. One of her knees rose to bracket his thigh, dress, and all. He bunched her skirts so her legs could wrap him. And he rolled his hips as if he were already inside her, putting more fuel to their fire. Both groaned with eagerness.
His hand had gone to her neckline as he lifted his head abruptly. "Devil take me! I cannot do this on our wedding night." Hazy eyes met hers.
She gave him a saucy grin. “It’s not night yet.”
He chuckled. “And my cock is already crying for you.”
“Poor little thing.” She mocked. There was nothing little about him, of course.
“Little, you say.” And he moved for her to register the long, thick ridge of him.
Her legs lowered and her knees bent to the level of said body part. “Let’s see this poor martyr.”
“Hester…” As she undid the buttons on his breeches, his expression went quite martyrized.
That hard member popped out red and strained. Her eyes rose to him to meet his intent on her, a ruddy colour on his cheekbones. “Let’s give it a drop of solace, shall we.” And her mouth took him hungrily in.
“Bloody circles of hell!” He swore as his expression mixed pleasure and agony, his head bending back, his palms propping on the wall.
He didn’t fit in her mouth, so she had to enlist the help of her both hands to caress the long stem. In response, his hips moved back and forth in tandem with her mouth.
"Hester…" he panted and moved. She moved also, her tongue restless on his glans. "F—! I'm so close." One of her hands went to play with his balls. "Please, don't stop." He growled. "It's going to be b-bi—aah." And then he was pouring profusely in her mouth, and she took everything until he sagged.
She buttoned him up and rose to her feet. “After the appetisers, I suggest we go to dinner.” And eyed him from under her lashes.
“You’re in so much trouble.” He drawled before opening the door.
Through the country lane, Drake drove the gig. "After our child is born, I'll teach you how to ride." He started as they set off for a ride the next morning.
“I’ve never sat on a horse in my entire life.” She mocked herself.
"It’s not that complicated. All you have to do is learn how to sit and manage the reins." Drake said as a pleasant spring day made its appearance.
“I love horses, but I’ll never be an outstanding amazon, you’ll understand,” she said as she arranged her skirts.
“Why not? Being fond of them is a good start.” His head turned to her. He should have thought of teaching her when they came to the country during the year they’d been together. It just didn’t occur to him.
To tell the truth, Drake was still reeling from their wedding night. That ragged appetiser had caused him to be even hungrier.
As soon as it’d been decently feasible, he’d taken her to their chambers for a thoroughly sating night. But it didn’t happen before the servants made it a point to serve a special dinner for the newlyweds. So, Drake had to suffer through the romantic meal, barely able to wait. The stares they’d exchanged over glasses of wine and morsels of food had been positively torturous. Finally, in their chambers, their first joining had proved urgent. First of several. But after that, they’d taken their time with each other.
“I’ll write what you teach me, and I’ll not forget.” Her hands demurely folded on her lap. No one would ever imagine the cataclysm she threw him in the previous night.
“A wise technique since you memorise scripts easily.” He supported.
Drake took her to the secluded creek in the woods. They’d already made long walks and picnics on that spot. He helped her down the gig, certain she’d learn to ride quickly.
She walked to the edge of the gurgling water. Thick foliage surrounded the crystalline creek, now intensely green with spring setting in.
Her nostrils inhaled the clean air deeply. “I missed it here.” She admitted.
Her back to him, he didn’t realise what she was doing until her cloak fell to the leafy ground. Then her bonnet. Her gloves followed.
“What are you doing, woman?” Mesmerised, he couldn’t take his eyes from her.
“Going for a swim. The other times, the weather didn’t favour it.” Her boots left her feet.
His new wife was going to kill him in less than a week after their wedding. And he didn’t even care because his arousal stole the blood from his brain.
He watched as the simple dress she wore pooled at her feet. Stays, down. Chemise, down. Stockings, down.
Emerging from his trance, he hurriedly tore off his own clothes while she shed her drawers, walked to the water, and submerged in the middle of the creek, only her shoulders and head above water.
He prowled to her cock up in the air, fully appreciated by her. As he reached her, his thick arms banded her waist, his mouth lowering to cover one breast. Her head fell back with a moan.
“Goddamnit, wife! You will make a rag out of me too soon.” And shifted breasts.
Her legs wrapped him, her hands tracing his jaw and roving down his body. He took her to a shallower part where he sat her and dove between her legs, his hands tweaking her nipples. She opened more for him, propping, on one hand, the other pulling at his head. He lapped at her sex just above the water. She came with a primal cry in the middle of the woods.
The sounds emitting from her made him even more febrile. "I can't wait for a second longer." He rasped as he reclined her on the shallow water and came over her, his arms banding her waist. And then he plunged deep and true. She sobbed, he grunted. He retreated and surged with more intent.
“Drake,” she called, her hips seeking him.
He retreated and thrust back, out of his mind with need.
“Hester,” her legs wrapped around him, pulled him even deeper. “You’re so hot inside!” His breath laboured. “I’ll explode like a cannonball with too much gunpowder.”
“Yes,” she moaned. “Do it, but don’t stop. Never stop!”
He thrust once more and her channel gripped him to an agonising point, her sobs echoing around them. And then it became too much. Like a madman, he let go with a wild grunt, washing her with everything he had. Both fell on the lapping water, sated, and exhausted.
Too soon did they have to drive back to town. Everybody in the theatre expected them for the scheduled play. Time flew, but Hester didn’t mind it. Her commitment to the play would never falter.
Even though her doubts about the future caused her to overthink, their break had been surprisingly delightful. She’d not imagined they’d have such fiery nights and, well, days after being intimate for so many months. Drake used to be open-minded, and she liked to be the same in return.
Now, giving the final touches to her costume, she neared the closed curtains and peeked out. The theatre seemed even more crowded than on the premiere night. Hester’s heart gave a loud jump and started a hectic beating. It’d be the first presentation after her wedding. Undoubtedly, the whole ton had heard of Lord Worcester marriage and to whom. She didn’
t have time to talk to anyone yet, none of the ladies she called friends at least. Drake and she had arrived in London late afternoon, right on time for her to come to the theatre and prepare herself.
“My esteemed Sarah,” Flynn in costume, playing the duke, declared. “Remain in this cottage I built for you. And we will be happy forever!” A hand on his heart, the duke gestured to the cottage painted on the flat at the back of the stage.
She’d said those lines of the final act night after night. Hester played her part almost automatically.
“Your Grace,” she intoned her lines. “Your generous offer melts my heart. But being a mere afterthought in your existence would tear me to shreds.”
The ‘duke’ strode to her and held her shoulders. “You are tearing me apart with your refusal.” Flynn’s expression conveyed drama and arrogance. “I can’t accept you pass on bathing in my power and the luxury I bestow on you.”
“Your distress saddens me, Your Grace.” She walked away from him to the other end of the stage. “If I yielded to you on your terms, what would be of me? Of my wishes and dreams?” She turned to the duke, eyeing him decisively. “I regret that our lives will not be joined forever!” As the duke walked back to her, she lifted a hand to halt him. “No, Your Grace, I must choose my independence and my dignity!”
“Sarah.” The duke called.
She sinks in a deep curtsy. “Farewell, Your Grace. I wish you happiness.” Sarah walked out of the stage.
The curtains closed, and Hester waited for the loud applause that had been coming after each presentation.
Silence.
Utter, complete silence.
No voices murmured. No intake of breaths. No bodies moving in the chairs.
Nothing.
Just sepulchral silence.
As though there were no people in the audience. As though this had been a rehearsal with no one watching.
The stagehands did their usual. The curtains parted as she and Flynn stood in the middle of the wooden boards.
Her eyes swept through the audience. Everyone still sat there, looking at her fixedly as if she were an exotic object in an eccentric lord’s private collection.
“Lady Worcester,” came a male voice in the cheapest row. “We don’t know if we curtsy or applaud.”
“Neither, for certain.” A male older voice from a box. “She’s supposed to stay at home waiting for her husband. Waiting on her husband!”
“Like all the other ladies!” Said a woman in another box.
“We all know she’s no lady.” A man from the rows below.
“With no breed and no pedigree.” Another woman from the boxes.
“Lord Worcester made a mistake that affects all of us.” A second man from the boxes.
“Taints all of us!” The same woman who spoke last.
Being watched and criticised by the whole of the attendance made Hester’s heart sink in shame and disappointment. She was the same person, acting in the same play, in the same theatre. Yet, the audience changed their perception just because she dared marry someone not of her rank. Because she dared not follow the rules set a thousand years ago. Her throat constricted, and she wasn’t sure she’d restrain her tears.
“Not me.” A voice entering the stage. Hester turned to see Otilia, Lady Thornton, stop beside her.
“Nor me.” Philippa, the duchess of Brunswick, posted herself on the other side of Hester.
“Nor me.” Edwina, Mrs Darroch also flanked Hester.
“Even less me.” Charlotte, the Marchioness of Mandeville and Philippa’s and Edwina’s grandmother, posted herself on the stage.
“Lady Worcester’s place is wherever she wishes to be.” Amelia Bolton said, coming onto the stage. Many people recognised her from the soirees and her talks together with her brother, Sir Joseph.
Now Hester saw herself surrounded by supporters. If tears came, they would be for the joy of having real friends.
In one box, someone stood and applauded. Edmund, the Earl of Thornton.
Another man stood and clapped his hands. Harris Darroch.
A third one did the same. Titus, the Duke of Brunswick.
Hands clapped behind her, and she turned to see who it was. Drake came forward. “My wife is the best in Drury Lane. And I support her.”
Sir Joseph also stood and applauded beside Thornton.
Those in the cheapest rows stood and applauded. Followed by the ones in front of them, and the others in the same place. A few women in the boxes stood too. Reluctant, a few men in the boxes followed, everyone clapping their palms. Until only those who’d expressed their outdated views remained seated.
There was no holding back her tears after that. They rolled and rolled down her cheeks in deep gratefulness. Drake came to stand in front of her, his side to the audience. He took both her hands and kissed them in a heartfelt gesture.
Entering the stage and applauding, also came the actors, the stagehands, her father, and her brother. Hester held Flynn’s hand to share with her colleague those precious laurels. He smiled and kissed her cheek.
“I didn’t know you were all there watching me.” The new Lady Worcester said as she and her dear friends gathered in Worcester House after they disengaged themselves from the myriad of patrons wishing to greet them at the theatre.
Drake had requested the butler arrange drinks and food for them in the large drawing-room.
"I had a hunch that we should be there," Amelia said. "And asked Lady Thornton if she'd accompany me."
“And I thought it better to send a note to Edwina and Philippa.” Contributed Otilia.
“Fortunately, I came into my granddaughters’ plans and joined them.” Lady Mandeville added.
“We the gents didn’t want to miss on the fun.” Sir Joseph jested.
“I’m so overwhelmingly grateful for your support!” She said almost in tears again, needing to rest her tea cup on the side table.
“Now, now,” Titus said. “The new Marchioness of Worcester deserves only to smile.”
Hester tried for one that came wobbly. It’d take a long time for her to get used to the title.
“That’s better.” Lady Mandeville commented.
“Between us, I hope we have prompted the ladies and lords to respond with more consideration to you in the future.” Edwina ventured.
"And if anyone dares to utter a single word against you," Otilia completed. "We'll close ranks again."
“You can count on us too.” Her husband expressed the men’s position.
Everyone ate and drank amidst lively conversation after that.
Much later, when their friends had left, Drake sat on an armchair and watched as she wandered the drawing-room still dazed with the night's development.
Drake extended his hand. “Come here, Lady Worcester.”
Her eyes snapped to him, taking a moment to realise he referred to her. “I’m still not used to the title.” She commented as she neared him.
He pulled her to sit sideways on his lap, her legs over the chair’s arm. His arm wrapped around her still trim waist, her head on his bunched shoulder. She inhaled his scent of rosemary and man she loved so much.
Didn’t love only that, she finally admitted to herself. She also loved the man, her husband, her safe harbour. Since they came together, he’d been there, a solid, steady presence. She’d been the one shunning him, afraid as she’d been of her feelings. There was no running away at this point though. Married, with a child on the way. The realisation didn’t cause any anguish in her; she felt safe. He made her feel safe and confident in their marriage.
“I think I’ll change the end of the play.” His deep voice interrupted her musings.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “You mean you will ask the author to change it?” Like they did when she made the adjustments.
"You're so smart, wife mine," he answered. "I thought you'd realised that Ted Rann is short for Theodore Rannell,
my middle names."
“You wrote the play?” She asked with a gobsmacked expression on her face.
He looked up at her. “Yes, when you left me.” His hand lined her cheek, the thumb caressing the delicate skin.
Both her hands held his shoulders to take him in. “My goodness!” she exclaimed. “It’s been you all this time.”
“Mm-hm.” He agreed. “And you helped me retouch it with your expert markings.”
She breathed in deeply to recompose herself. “And you think of changing the end?”
“A little bit, yes.” His other hand reached hers on his shoulder and covered it.
“But it’s been a success as it is.” Except for today, but the play hadn’t been the issue.
“Next season we can make it better.”
“How so?”
“The duke will fall in love with Sarah and ask for her hand in marriage.”
Her brows pleated. “But then it’ll be a comedy where Sarah gives up her independence.”
“No.” He took her hand and kissed it. “She’ll just be freer with him and love.”
“The play will lose its flair.” The ending gave meaning to the play, in her opinion.
“It wouldn’t be honest when the nobleman fell in love with the commoner.” His brandy eyes burned on her.
“He didn’t! He’d never—!”
"Oh, he did trust me." He bestowed that wicked grin on her.
Something on his face gave her pause. “Drake, what is it?” Her question came with an undertone of apprehension.
“The nobleman fell in love with the best professional Drury Lane has.”
Shock washed over her, eyes wide, cheeks burning. “You’re saying—you’re saying.” She found herself unable to connect her ideas.
“That I love you, my darling wife.” Both his hands lined her cheeks.
“Drake…you can’t…”
“I can and I do.”
Her hands came to his face too. “Oh, Drake, whatever will I do with you?”
His grin widened. “First you can love me, then you can take me to bed, perhaps.”
