Two Wicked Nights

by Quince, Dayna

  “I’ll see you at dinner.” Chester squeezed her shoulder as he passed her.

  There had never been this uncomfortable tension between them, and it wasn’t likely to get any better, not anytime soon anyhow. As he reached his room and locked the door, he saw Bernie still sleeping on the bed, and his heart clench with an ache of need and sorrow.

  He prayed that his mother and father could love her as much as he did and see how magnificent she was. How much joy and life her presence and the babies they would have could bring to this cold house.

  But he wouldn’t let them hurt her. They must come to their senses, or he’d leave them behind and never look back.

  He had his own small fortune now, and the ability to take care of Bernie and continue to help her family on his own, and he knew Bernie would never lament living in a small home. She’d never wanted more than what was necessary to keep her family warm and fed. They would not have luxurious coaches and silk sheets, but they’d have love and family. He undressed down to his shirt and breeches and climbed into bed beside her, taking a bite of his apple.

  Her eyes opened and she smiled and stretched, the sheet falling past her breasts. He held the apple to her lips and she took a bite, the juices wetting her lips and his body growing hard in response.

  Soon the tub would arrive and he could bathe her and show her how wicked he could be.

  Chapter 16

  Bernie huddled under the covers but only Chester entered the room, setting up the tub and bringing in pales of water handed to him through the door. Soon the tub was filled and steaming with hot water. She’d never seen such a large tub. Their home tub was half that size and only ever filled with three buckets of water, one hot and two cold. Baths were quick in the Marsden household when one had to heat and haul the water themselves. She and her sisters often shared bathwater to save on the wood used to heat the water and the effort of hauling it.

  Even the tub she’d used at Selbourne Castle wasn’t as large.

  “Is that meant for something other than bathing?”

  “What?” he said as he pulled off his shirt.

  “That tub is enormous.”

  “I bought it in Bath. Special order.”

  “For what?”

  “To share baths with you.”

  Bernie hopped right out of the bed, not giving a second thought toward her nakedness. “With me?”

  “Well, when I purchased it a year ago, I did have a wife in mind, not you specifically yet, but here we are. And you will be my wife and this is our tub.”

  She couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping as she leaned over the tub. The hot water swirled with a layer of bath oils and bubbles.

  He presented his hand. “Allow me to assist you?”

  Bernie giggled as he handed her into the tub and moaned as she sank into the water, closing her eyes.

  “Just watching you is enough, but I think I’ll join you.”

  Bernie made room for him, ogling his body as he climbed in behind her. She’d never seen a naked man in the flesh, and now she’d seen all of him. The sight left her breathless. There was something both vulgar and beautiful about the male organ. It was different from what she remembered. How strange. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue but held them back. Another time maybe, when this wasn’t so new to both of them.

  He tucked her back against him, and Bernie delighted in this new intimacy. His hands rested on the rim of the tub, and Bernie placed hers over his. He kissed her shoulder and Bernie sighed. She tried to let her mind clear and embrace the moment, but there was something tense in him, she could feel it as she lay against his chest. Her eyes opened, and she twisted to peer at him. His eyes were closed and his head tip back against the rim, a pose of relaxation, but his expression did not cooperate. A faint line creased between his brows, and his mouth was set in a hard line.

  Bernie slipped her arms into the water and made little swirls in the bubbles with her hands as she thought about what to do. They’d traveled huge leaps in their relationship in one morning. Was he regretting his actions? No, he couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have ordered the bath for two.

  He said she would be his wife. He’d said it with enough conviction she had believed it. Her heart raced at the very idea that one day, perhaps soon, she would not have to hide her feelings from anyone.

  But today they were hiding, and though he’d chosen her in the moment, it wouldn’t be unlike him to still fret over the coming difficulties even while enjoying the moment. He was like that. His mind was always working, worrying about things to come, variables that posed risks. He’d applied that glorious mind of his to her family’s estate problems often enough that she knew this.

  So what could she do to put him at ease?

  “You’re thinking,” he said.

  “You’re thinking,” she returned accusingly. She bit her tongue. She didn’t want to start an argument. That wouldn’t make anything easier.

  He chuckled, and the rumble moved through her back.

  She took a deep breath and made herself relax against him. She was overanalyzing things probably.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. You were right. I was—am—thinking.”

  “About what?”

  He sighed heavily and the hairs on her neck prickled as they stood up.

  “I have to join my mother’s party for dinner tonight.”

  Bernie didn’t bother to hide her grimace since he couldn’t see it. “Oh?”

  “And Rupert is still here.”

  Bernie curled her lip.

  She’d forgotten about the party and the dozen or so aristocratic elite under this very roof. She could picture some of the ladies, swathed in silk gowns and precious gems. She didn’t want him to go, not that he’d be swayed by any of them, but still, she’d be alone hidden away, and he’d get to… No, she wasn’t going to sulk about it. If she let her mind wander in that direction, she’d be a jealous shrew within five minutes and bound to stir up mischief.

  “Dinner should be excellent, I’m sure,” she said. She balled her fists in her lap.

  His arms came around her. “I’ll have Jensen bring you a tray discreetly. I know all your favorites. You can eat in bed like a queen. When the games are over, I’ll return to you. Will you wait up?”

  “How late will you be?”

  “Not very. I’ll try to leave as soon as I can but I know my mother will be watching.”

  “What for? I’m in Scotland.”

  “So you are,” he said as his hand moved down her stomach and between her thighs.

  Bernie gasped and spread her legs. His fingers parted her folds and dipped inside her, sliding up to her sensitive spot and back again, over and over. Bernie’s head fell back against his shoulder and he kissed her neck, his teeth nipping lightly at her skin.

  A cascade of pleasure tumbled through her and she came to a swift release, biting her lip as her body surrendered. He kissed her temple and then picked up the bar of soap.

  Bernie could hardly keep her eyes open as he lathered her breasts and arms and bathed the rest of her. But she mustered the energy to apply the same loving torture to him. When they were done, he helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a thick towel. She was sleepy again, but she didn’t want to waste a moment before he had to go down to dinner.

  Fighting a pique of annoyance at the prospect of him leaving, she dressed again and sat down opposite him in the chairs near the hearth. She tucked her bare feet under her skirt and watched him put on his stockings and boots.

  “What am I to do while you’re gone?”

  “Whatever you wish as long as it doesn’t alert anyone to your presence. I have many books to choose from.” He waved toward the large bookshelf in his room.

  Bernie had inspected it earlier. He had every stodgy title ever written, the fall of civilizations, philosophy, agriculture, but nothing with adventure or romance except Don Quixote

  “I’ll make do,” she repli
ed.

  They sat in silence, something they rarely did before things changed between them. What did they use to talk about?

  Lectures. He’d lecture her on her behavior and she’d tease him relentlessly for his overly starched opinions. She snorted. How had they ever come to fall in love?

  “What amuses you?” he asked, grinning at her while he tied his cravat without needing a mirror. Such a gentleman. She wanted to undo it all, his pristine white cravat, his freshly combed hair. She wanted him back in the bed, moaning her name and at her complete mercy. Again, how did they get here? Would she always feel this crazed to be near him or would the effects lessen over time? How had he only been her friend for so long? It seemed impossible.

  “Us. I’m amused by us,” she said finally.

  He cocked his head. “Us?”

  She chewed her lip. “I can’t help wondering what changed. Why I see you so differently than before.”

  He smiled crookedly. “I’m still the same man.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t see you like this, so…manly.”

  He frowned. “I’m manly.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes. Lord save her from male vanity. “Yes, but this is different—it’s like—a new manly, a different manly. An appealing manly.”

  He raised a brow. “Continue.”

  She laughed. She sounded absurd. “I can’t explain it, but I never wanted to”—she slapped a hand over her eyes and blushed—“want you like this.” She peeked at him and saw his grin as he stood and buttoned his waistcoat.

  “Don’t laugh at me.”

  He chuckled. “You’re the one who laughed first.”

  “It’s embarrassing!”

  “It’s adorable.” He took a knee before her. “I understand what you mean, though. We’ve always had that, haven’t we? Understanding, humor… Now we have more. We’re lucky.”

  “I don’t disagree, but I’m just curious how we could change so swiftly.”

  “I don’t think we’ve changed, I think we’ve always had the foundation to love each other. I know I’ve loved you, in my own way, for far longer than I had realized.”

  “You mean your hovering was how you loved me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “My hovering, my protectiveness. It’s how I expressed it, yes.”

  “But then what happened? Had you ever wanted to kiss me before that moment in the hall?”

  “I…” His neck turned red and Bernie bit back a grin. She loved that she could fluster him.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That isn’t a good answer,” she challenged.

  He took her hands. “The house party changed things. Seeing those gentlemen vie for your attention, and you flirt with them, made me crazy. The situation with Anne made things clearer. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized I’d been holding you at arm’s length for a reason, thinking it was to protect you. But I think I was waiting for the time when it would be right to claim you for myself.”

  “Claim me? Like a piece of land?” she asked teasingly.

  “Is there a better word for it?”

  She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his, and then held his gaze. “I’m claiming you.”

  He smiled. “I like the way you say it.”

  “It doesn’t sound too proprietary?”

  “Not coming from you. You’ve taken hold of my heart, Bernie. Keep it.”

  Her own heart felt like it would burst inside her. “Then I am only too happy to be claimed by you.”

  He kissed her, their lips melding together, their breathing matched. She locked her arms around his neck and slid off her chair in front of him. His arms came around her and they lowered to the floor. He began to pull up her skirts and Bernie moved to straddle his hips.

  She shook with her need to be close to him, to be skin to skin as they had before, but just when his hands reached her derriere, an incessant knocking broke through the haze of desire. His hands froze and Bernie sat up.

  “Who is it?” Chester asked, his voice gruff.

  “Tis I, sir. Your father requests your presence in his study,” Jensen said from the hall.

  Chester cursed. Bernie slipped off his lap and remained on the floor. Chester got to his feet and straightened his clothing before pulling on his jacket. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Bernie wanted to pout but he had enough stress on him already. She wasn’t going to add to it. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting.”

  He kissed her again. “I’ll be thinking of you every second, and we will finish what we started when I return.”

  She smiled. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

  Chapter 17

  Chester entered his father’s study. Mr. Comb was gone and his father looked to be straightening his desk of the day’s work.

  “Has mother guilted you into joining her party?”

  His father grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing. Chester remained quiet, content not to speak while his father did whatever he meant to do to make Chester anxious. He had nothing to defend. He’d done no wrong, while for the first time in his life, he knew his father and mother to be the guilty party. They would accept he and Bernie’s marriage or he would gladly live in exile with Bernie.

  Well, not gladly. There would always be a wound in him where his parents’ rejection would fester, but he’d bear with it as long as Bernie was by his side. He didn’t care about returning to society or what the ton thought of him. He’d never much enjoyed the season and preferred to be in Northumberland.

  Bernie would be happy, being close to her sisters and Violet. That was all that mattered.

  His father harrumphed and hefted his weight from his chair as if suddenly far older than Chester remembered.

  “Guilt is an interesting emotion, is it not?”

  Chester raised a brow. “I suppose.”

  “Your mother wields it like a weapon, a trick she learned from her own mother.”

  Chester didn’t comment. He didn’t want to argue anymore today, not when Bernie waited for him. If he could just get through the evening, he’d be back in his room soon.

  Lord Kirkland regarded him. “I don’t like what is happening.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “What can we do about it, son?”

  “An apology to Miss Bernadette would be a start.”

  Lord Kirkland flashed a grimace.

  Chester bristled. “Kirkland is an old name, with roots going back to the time of Chaucer. Were we not once simple farmers? We had less than the Marsdens have now.”

  “But we came up.”

  “And centuries from now our name could be nothing, an extinct title, and a Marsden could be king.”

  Lord Kirkland scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

  “So is the prejudice you carry for others of lesser wealth.”

  “When did you become a Whig?” his father asked with disdain. “I’ve raised you better than this.”

  “You raised me to be a gentleman. You raised me to respect honor and duty. My honor demands I treat every person I encounter with respect. As I wish to be treated. My honor demands that I not stand by while a neighboring family struggles if I can do something.”

  His father slammed his fist on the desk. “We are trying to protect you!”

  Chester didn’t flinch at the rare show of his father’s temper. His jaw tightened. “I’m trying to protect them…from you.”

  His father stepped back, apparently stunned. “So I’m the villain?”

  “I didn’t say that. Do you see yourself as a villain? When you threaten the futures of nine young women without remorse, do you feel like a villain?”

  “This is not like you.” Lord Kirkland growled.

  “We’ve never been on opposite sides until now. We’ve never—I’ve never had a reason to doubt your intentions or stand before you as an enemy, but I find myself here now. I cannot forgive the way you’ve treated my friend and her family. How carelessly you treated her future as if she were not a person of value.”<
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  “I won’t listen to another word of this.” His father marched around his desk to the side table and poured a drink.

  “That’s fine. I didn’t intend to argue further but here we are. But know that I am ready to remain at opposites with you if you cannot see beyond your own prejudice.”

  His father slammed his drink down. “Get out.”

  Chester left, shaken by the degree of anger he felt toward his father. He’d never experienced this before, but part of him wondered why. His parents were not saints. They were good to him, but their feelings about those with less had always been known. Would things be different now if he’d spoken up sooner? Could he have changed their perceptions long ago, sparing Bernie and her family?

  He didn’t know, and not knowing didn’t lessen the ache in his chest. He’d ignored their scorn and now it couldn’t be ignored. He had to accept some of the blame for that. But either way the damage was done, and he could already feel the loss.

  It loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud, and time would only reveal when the storm would hit. For now he was going to embrace the lull, sail through the evening until he returned to Bernie, and the future that lay ahead worth every bit of pain he’d gladly endure to claim it.

  * * *

  Chester’s teeth ached from the forced smiling and clenching he’d done through dinner. He stayed for port, pretending an interest in Lord Matthew’s ribald tale about a traveling troupe of actors that had passed through his county. His head had begun to pain him, a throbbing starting behind his eyes and moving toward the back of his head and neck.

  His suffering was made worse by the caterwauling of Miss Guilford and her banging on the pianoforte.

  His mother had approached him only once to ask if he’d play for Miss Fox while she sang and Chester obliged. The gleam in his mother’s eyes suggested she had matchmaking ideas, but Chester reminded himself he must only endure this calamity for another hour and Bernie was waiting.

  Miss Fox chose a romantic ballad, smiling sweetly and batting her lashes as she asked if he knew it.

  He did unfortunately.