Orley grabbed his hand. “Stay but for a moment.”
Chester’s eyebrows rose. “Orley, I cannot. We will be caught.”
Orley’s hands spread out. “By whom? We are eloping to Gretna Green because those in our party caught us in the middle of….”
Chester’s face heated in embarrassment, and Orley cleared his throat.
“Yes, well.” Chester sliced his hand through the air. “I do not want to add insult to injury by further impugning my mother or my maldy’s honor and showing them how lax I am with my reputation.” He shook his head. “No. I cannot be found sleeping in your rooms, Your Grace. Not before we are wed. For while I could not wait to have you inside me once again, I shall not embarrass my parents by displaying my wanton behavior in public for all to see.”
Orley nodded. “I understand. I shall awaken you after an age, then, shall I? Only, do not leave my side now. I find I have want of you in my arms.”
Chester stared at him for a while and then inclined his head. “Only for a moment.”
He grabbed his night rail and pulled on his attire, sure that if he were suitably attired it would prevent further activities between him and Orley. He had not taken into account Orley’s own state of undress, however. Watching as Orley grabbed his cane and made his way to the bed, Chester’s gaze moved over the broad, muscled back of his beloved to his bare bottom and unclothed legs, even to his feet. Even with Orley’s back marred with scars, puckered flesh, and discoloration, Chester had never seen anything more gorgeous.
He joined Orley on the bed, and laid his head on Orley’s chest. He waited for Orley to speak, but they lay in silence for long moments. Chester’s eyes began to slide shut when Orley’s torso rumbled with his words.
“I do believe that I shall sleep better with you beside me, Chester.”
Chester looked up and stared into Orley’s eyes. “Surely you jest, Your Grace.”
“Nay, I do not.” Orley shook his head. “Your presence seems to keep the nightmares at bay. There is a reason I call you my angel. It is not just because, to me, you look as if you were crafted by the very hand of the Almighty, dipped in beauty and light, sent as a gift for us mere mortals. It is because when you are by my side, the memories of the war that have so plagued me for years are kept at bay. Since I have met you, every night since we have begun our liaison, our relationship, I have gone to sleep with the taste of you upon my lips. With your scent in my nostrils. And with your image stamped upon my mind. And with every rising of the moon, every passing of the night, I have slept as peacefully as a babe. It is because the nightmares are kept at bay. This may not always be so, but for now, it is quite a lovely thing to experience.”
Chester touched Orley’s cheek and leaned down to kiss Orley’s chest. Though he did not want to insult his parents, his life was becoming about the man whose arms were wrapped around him at that moment. How could he leave Orley’s side when it was apparent he was needed? Chester would not stay the entire night through. Just until Orley fell asleep.
“Sleep, my lord. I shall keep the nightmares at bay.”
Days later, Orley wanted to let out a battle cry of celebration when they finally reached Gretna Green. Had someone questioned him, he would have confessed that he was not assured they would arrive at their destination. There had been tolls they were required to pay along the Great North Road, but they were finally in Gretna Green. He had been quite sure that if the distance and the time to reach Tscotland didn’t cause his friends and Chester to change their minds over this elopement, then the tolls surely would. He was relieved to know he was wrong on all accounts.
“Oh Your Grace!” Chester exclaimed breathlessly. “Is it not lovely?”
Orley grinned at the young woman. “Indeed it is.”
The rolling Tscottish land spread out before them, and Orley was delighted by the beauty of it all. He stared at Chester who sat beside him, eagerly looking through the coach’s window as they rode along, seeking the blacksmith’s quarters, as a blacksmith would be the one to perform the ceremony for them over the ceremonial anvil, and his heart quickened when he saw the beautiful Tscottish landscape. He wished he were a painter. He would love to have the skill required to capture the radiance of Chester’s exquisiteness against the backdrop of Tscotland’s scenery for all time. Or even to be a poet, so that he could put into words the brilliance of the sun shining down upon Chester’s hair and the wind caressing his face.
“I know that look quite well, Whitcomb,” Heathcliff said softly.
Orley turned to look at his friend and quirked an eyebrow. “I know not what you mean, Pompinshire.”
Heathcliff laughed. “You do not know yet what I speak of, but you will one day. It is a look that I often bestow upon my own husband. It took me quite a while to know what it meant, and even longer to be able to say it to him, but now that I have, I am able to see it resting plainly on the faces of others.”
Before Orley could respond, the coach came to a stop. Nervousness and anticipation caused his hands to shake and he watched as first Yarborough, then Quincy left the vehicle. Heathcliff followed, assisting Lady Lucien from within. Chester turned to look at him.
“Are you quite sure about this, Your Grace?” Chester asked, nibbling his bottom lip. Orley caressed the side of Chester’s face, taking in the sight of Chester dressed in a pale yellow carriage dress.
“I am most certain, Chester. I want nothing more than to marry you.” Chester smiled back at him, releasing a sigh of relief.
Orley chuckled. “Did you doubt me so, my lady?”
“I confess, Your Grace. I grew concerned that as we grew closer to the blacksmith, that reason would return to you, and you would find me lacking and would withdraw your offer of marriage.”
Orley became serious and leaned forward, not wanting the rest of their party to be privy to what he was about to say to Chester.
“Give heed to my words, Chester, so that they do not fall upon deaf ears. You are as the sun, giving light to the darkness of my soul. The wind, breathing into lungs that I thought would never draw breath again. May I never again hear you speak of yourself so disparagingly or I will be forced to take you over my knee as if you are a recalcitrant child. It gives my heart nothing but pain to hear you say words that should never cross lips of one so beautiful and so fair. Do I make myself clear?”
Chester blinked and nodded, his cheeks reddening. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Orley caressed Chester’s cheek, before he nodded to the opening of the carriage.
“Shall we alight from the carriage, then, my dear? Now that all fears have been laid to waste, I have no desire to spend one more moment without tying you to me in the bonds of holy matrimony.”
Chester nodded and allowed Yarborough to assist him from the vehicle. Orley climbed out after his betrothed and glanced around. The green hills of the Tscottish landscape were breathtaking, and Orley’s mind filled with images of Chester: spread out among the dew-covered grass, his light brown limbs sweaty from exertion, the bodice of his dress opened to Orley’s hungry gaze, the skirt of Chester’s gown thrown up around his waist as Orley thrust in and out of Chester’s rear. Their voices would rise in pleasure, the sound of their joining rising as a cacophony, a melody, an infusion of harmonious noises that would flood the valley and the whole of Gretna Green with their desire.
Orley cleared his throat, lifted his hand to wipe his brow, and positioned his cane discreetly in front of his groin to hide his erection. It would not do for everyone to know the direction of his thoughts. As he glanced around, however, the small smirk on Yarborough’s face alerted him to the fact that his friend knew all too well what he had been thinking.
“Aye. Whut ’ave we ’ere, then?” a large man with a thick Tscottish brogue asked as he stepped out of the blacksmith’s shoppe. His apron was covered in soot and ash, his red hair pulled back into a queue, and he was just as broad-shouldered and muscled as Rourke.
“Forgive our untimely intrusion
upon your place of employ, kind sir. But we have come to you with a matter of great import. This enchanting creature standing next to me,” Orley said, reaching over to grab Chester’s hand, “and I would like to be wed.”
The blacksmith stared at Orley with a narrow-eyed gaze before turning to look at the rest of the party that had traveled with them. He pointed. “And ye lot? Ye all be gettin’ married as well?”
Heathcliff chuckled and shook his head. “No, we are all here to act as witnesses and supportive friends of this union.”
The blacksmith snorted, and to Orley it sounded as if he were holding back a laugh. “Well, lad, ye got yerself a mighty fine lass there. But I can’t say where I’ve ever seen an elopement that looked just like a wedding.”
Orley felt Chester stiffen, and he turned to question the former maid about it. Was Chester regretting their eloping? Did he wish they had in fact had a wedding? Orley opened his mouth to ask, but the blacksmith banged his large hands together before Orley was able to speak.
“Let’s be gettin’ ya hitched, then.”
A thrill shot through Orley at the blacksmith’s words, and he turned to Chester with a smile. They were doing it. Eloping without the burden or expectations that oft came with a wedding of a titled noble. There was no anxious pacing in a room off the side of the vicar’s study, nor were they constrained by the expectations of matrons and young chits who felt slighted by him, who would sit in St. George’s Church to lift their noses at the nuptials or stand upon the street and scowl. No, Orley could stand here, surrounded by the beauty of the Tscottish hillside with his friends, and wed the young male who had captured his soul.
“Right, then, if you would stand here.” The blacksmith gestured Orley and Chester forward to position before the anvil that was displayed prominently in the lawn.
“Your Grace, we must wait for my parents,” Chester stated.
“Yes.” Orley nodded. “Of course, my dear.” Orley bowed and turned toward the carriage where Imogen and Wilhelmina had ridden. When the door opened and Imogen stepped out, Orley grinned. Yet, when the door closed behind the man, a knot of dread tightened in his gut.
Imogen strode forward and stood before Chester, then reached up to cup her son’s cheek and gave Chester a sad smile.
“Your mother will not get out of the carriage, Chester. I’m sorry. She said she will not stop the wedding, but neither will she offer you her blessing by attending. She does ask that you take Ben along in your employ when you leave so that she does not worry so. “ Ben, Chester’s brother, could journey with them and take on the role as Orley’s valet for the trip. Orley nodded first at Imogen to let the man know it was a fine idea before turning to Chester.
The sharp inhale Chester took broke Orley’s heart, and though he knew it was not the thought of a gentleman, he had half a mind to march over to the carriage and give Wilhelmina a verbal thrashing. There were scores of parents who would be delighted by a match between their offspring and a duke, especially one as titled as the Duke of Whitcomb, and yet Chester’s mother was behaving as if he were being led away to the guillotine. Or worse yet, as if Chester were a man engaging in the horrid, illegal act of sodomy.
Orley took one of Chester’s hands between both of his own and stared into the eyes of his fiancé. He saw disappointment, heartache, despair, but also a steely resolve. In spite of that, Orley knew he must make the offer to postpone or call a halt to their nuptials until such time as Wilhelmina could be brought round to the idea.
“Would you prefer us to wait, love? We can all return to Southerby, and I will call upon you there, give you a proper courtship to show your mother that my suit is honorable and true.”
Chester’s shoulders lifted and he shook his head. “No, Your Grace. I do not wish to return to Angland unmarried to you. My mother’s decision pains me, I will not lie and say that it does not, but we did not make this arduous journey for naught. We will bind our souls in matrimony as we had planned.” He gave Orley a small smile. “And then you and I shall continue on as the Duke and Duchess of Whitcomb, whether it pleases my mother or not.”
Orley inclined his head and glanced at Imogen who stared at Chester with tears in her eyes. She nodded and took Chester’s hand from Orley’s. “Well, I will still walk you to the anvil and give you away. You shall not deny me that honor, my dear.”
Orley grinned and turned to the blacksmith. “I apologize for the delay, gentle sir, but let us proceed. There will be a wedding on this day.”
Chester waved farewell to the Duke and Duchess of Pompinshire, Lords Yarborough and Galeon, his maldy, and the rest of their party before settling back against the cushion of the carriage. He could scarcely believe it. He was now married. To His Grace, Orley Garrick, the Duke of Whitcomb. He was the Duchess of Whitcomb.
Chester lowered his hand to his thigh and pinched himself. He jumped and bit his lower lip at the pain; he didn’t wake up so that meant this was not a dream. Chester smiled widely and brought his hands up to his chest. How could he have gotten so lucky?
“That is the third time you have pinched yourself thusly. You are going to bruise your flesh and set all the tongues of Teurope wagging should they see,” Orley teased him.
Chester looked over at his new husband and laughed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I just find myself overwhelmed with amazement at the change in circumstances,” Chester pointed out.
Orley grasped Chester’s hand and kissed the back. “We are alone now, my darling. You may once again call me Orley. Or husband. Or dear. Or any other manner of sweet nothing that should happen upon your mind.”
Chester felt his face grow hot and he glanced away from the desire he saw burning in Orley’s gaze. At the sight of the large bulge pressing against the front of his new husband’s breeches, he inhaled sharply and lifted his eyes to Orley’s face. “Is your mind always so impaired by such thoughts, dear husband, that it is frequently so prominently displayed?”
Orley chuckled, the deep rumble rolling over Chester’s skin sending shivers of awareness and arousal down his spine. “Only when I am in your company or when my thoughts turn to you,” Orley responded. He began to place kisses up Chester’s arm, starting from his wrist, removing Chester’s glove and licking Chester’s skin. Chester moaned, his dick hardening in his drawers as he stared down at his husband’s head. Orley smiled up at him. “So I would have to say the answer to your question is, yes. I am in this state at all times.”
Chester shook his head, flattered by his new husband’s words. More than that, however, he found his inner being warmed at the sensations being stirred by Orley’s mouth upon his skin. He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth, and cleared his throat. Removing his hand and arm from Orley’s grasp, he looked into Orley’s eyes and tried to adopt a nonplussed air.
“So, my dear duke, wherefore are you taking me for our bridal tour? Though I have no relatives we can go visit, surely you must have some we can attend. Lady Lucien told me the tour was a practice for most couples. We are to have one, are we not?” Chester exhaled shakily, his arm still tingling from Orley’s kisses. “While I am quite aware our courtship and marriage has started out quite abnormally, I should like the chance to travel with you before I am to take up my mantle as duchess.” He bit his lower lip as he admitted one of his fears to Orley. “Besides, I am hoping this will give you the opportunity to teach me all I should know about how to run a household.”
Orley’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he straightened on the seat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before sighing. “Bloody hell,” he groaned.
Chester inclined his head. “Quite right.” He smoothed down the skirt of his gown, though it looked none the worse for wear, in an attempt to avoid Orley’s stare in his direction. “I know all about cleaning the home of a duke—I have been doing it for most of my life—but I’m afraid I have no idea of how to actually run one. You shall have to instruct me.”
Orley ran his fingers through
his hair and blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m afraid, my darling, I have no knowledge of such things. At least not as they stand from a woman’s viewpoint. I know only of how to handle matters as they pertain to being the duke.” He began tapping out a staccato rhythm on his knee with his fingers, mumbling beneath his breath, and Chester stared at the duke in amusement.
While he had not known Orley long, he would venture a guess the man was not easily affected by problems and situations as they arose, merely tackling them with whatever weapon he possessed in his arsenal at the time. Whether it was his wit, his title, his wealth, or even his superior physical strength or appearance, the Duke of Whitcomb was a force to be reckoned with. And yet in this moment, he appeared to be at a loss. Unsure of how to handle the current predicament their marriage had found them in.
Orley snapped his fingers and grinned. “We shall sojourn to Avenice for our bridal tour. I do have an old Eton chum who moved to Titaly to live when his father was unable to buy him a commission. I shall send a rider ahead to the docks to take a missive to him. If he is amenable, we shall seek rooms at his villa. His father and fotmy are very wealthy, titled, and though he moved to Avenice, it was not long before the rest of his family followed. I do believe that between his fotmy and the other women of his home, we shall gain you all the wisdom that you need and desire about this subject.” Orley nodded and tapped the back of Chester’s hand.
“There. The matter is solved. Now, my duchess. Will you please allow me to ravish you?”
Chester laughed heartily, then lifted a hand to press it against Orley’s chest. “But what if I would like to try my hand at being the seductress this
time, Your Grace? Would you allow me to do so?”
Chester bit his lip to prevent his laughter when Orley swallowed and bobbed his head rapidly. A surge of seductive power flowed over him, and Chester reached up to free his hair from the tight chignon it had been placed in. He licked his lips as Orley groaned low in his chest, the sound almost a growl.
The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb Page 12
