Orley exhaled and ran his fingers through Chester’s hair. Chester shivered at the slight tugging sensation as Orley wrapped the strands around his hand. He reached out toward Orley’s breeches and freed his husband’s thick erection from its confinement.
“You are possibly the most comely woman I have ever laid eyes upon,” Orley stated as he pulled Chester toward him for a kiss. “I am not sure the word beauty was even truly defined until you were born. There was only ever the idea of it, but all it took is one look upon your face, one moment in your presence and the reality of the word was known.”
“Every day you sound more and more like His Grace of Pompinshire,” Chester teased.
Orley squinted at him and shook his head. “Perish the thought. I was simply blinded by your enchantment, your womanly wiles causing me to take leave of my senses. Now be silenced, my duchess, and allow me to embrace you properly.”
Chester sank into the kiss with a moan, his hand tightening upon Orley’s thick column of flesh. He sucked on Orley’s tongue before pressing his own forward to duel with it for dominance. Chester’s skin prickled as Orley’s hands ran down his body to the hem of his gown, which he slowly skimmed up to Chester’s waist, with Chester rising enough to give Orley more access to his flesh. Chester stroked Orley’s erection, his other hand drifting up to tangle in the soft strands of his hair. The feel of Orley’s broad fingers on Chester’s bottom was the headiest of aphrodisiacs. His head swam as if he’d imbibed a glass of Madeira tainted with Tspantish fly, sensuously poisoned like so many in the employ of the Marquis de Sade.
Chester gasped as Orley’s fingertips fluttered across his opening, his body aching, pleading, weeping, desperate to be filled by this man.
His husband. His duke.
“P-please, Orley,” Chester panted.
Orley grunted and turned Chester away from him. Chester let out a squeak as he found his hands on the floor of the carriage, his gown tossed up by his shoulders, and his body braced in Orley’s arms. Chester blinked in surprise, lifted his head and tossed his hair out of his face in order to see behind him.
“Your Grace!” he gasped. “What is the meaning of tossin’ me about like a bit of rubbish? Why I have half a mind to… oh—” Though Chester’s confusion and ire had caused the cultured, learned accent and phrases his mother had worked so desperately to instill in all of her children to escape for a moment, all words left him in a rush as he felt the first swipe of Orley’s tongue across his puckered hole.
He delighted in the sensation of Orley’s tongue sliding along his crease, swirling around his entrance before slowly sliding deep inside of him. Chester clawed the floorboards, seeking something to hold on to.
Something to anchor him as he reveled in the sensations being wrought inside of him by his husband’s mouth, tongue, and teeth.
“Oh heavens above,” Chester breathed.
He was unsure exactly how long Orley tortured him with the oral assault upon his bum, but it was over too soon and yet interminably long, as Chester longed to be filled, to drive away the hunger within himself. Finally, finally, Orley lifted his mouth, and Chester found himself once again turned until he rested with his knees on either side of Orley’s waist.
Chester blinked, raising his hand to his head. He glanced down at Orley when he heard his husband spitting and realized why he was forced to do such a thing. No oil. Hell and damnation. Without a second to think, Chester swung his left leg over Orley’s lap and leaned down to take Orley’s erection deep into his mouth.
Orley groaned and when he lifted his hips Chester gagged slightly, the head of the man’s cock filling the back of his throat. The sound seemed to enflame Orley more, and he fisted Chester’s hair and thrust faster and harder. Saliva poured out of Chester’s mouth, coating Orley’s dick until Orley growled and lifted Chester’s head.
“Enough,” he gasped. “I have need of you now.”
Chester cleared his throat, swallowing to ease the burn and ache that settled there, and grinned at his husband. “Then take me.”
He climbed back on top of Orley’s lap, facing him, before leaning forward to allow Orley’s fingers to once again find their way to his arse. Chester hissed then groaned as Orley pressed one in slowly. He was anxious for their coupling, but knew this part could not be rushed. He watched as Orley lifted his hand to his lips and sucked his fingers into his mouth before lowering them back to Chester’s bottom and pressing two in. Chester sank back onto his husband’s digits even as Orley pushed them deeper into his body.
“Heavens above,” Chester moaned. A delicious burn started in Chester’s rear, spreading as Orley filled him with his fingers, slowly pressing in and out of Chester’s bum. How could it be that something that initially felt uncomfortable led to such bliss?
“Still your thoughts, my angel,” Orley said leaning up to kiss Chester’s chin. “For they cause your body to stiffen and your rear to tighten upon my fingers. And while I long to feel such a sensation around my shaft, I can do naught for you such as I am.”
Chester struggled to relax his muscles, anticipation causing him to clench his tight hole. How he longed to be filled by Orley’s shaft once more. Thinking of the pleasure that awaited him just on the other side of their coupling, Chester exhaled and whimpered as he felt Orley thrusting his digits in and out of Chester’s body. Chester trembled as Orley kissed his chin, trailing his tongue down Chester’s neck.
“Are you ready for me, love?” Orley asked.
Chester’s heart skipped a beat at the tender note of affection he heard within Orley’s tone. He was aware that most marriages involving nobles were not ones of love or even tender feelings, mostly built on mutual respect or mutual need for something from the other, however, his relationship with Orley was much different. Could it be Orley cared for him? More than just the tender affection that led him to propose an elopement after days of friendship? They had not known each other long, it was true, and yet Chester’s mouth grew dry whenever he thought of the gorgeous duke. His heart thudded wildly and his groin tightened at the moment he allowed his mind to turn to the hero of Angland. Surely it was not outside the realm of possibility that Orley felt something more for Chester than purely fond attachment.
“Y-yes. Fill me,” Chester panted.
Orley slid his fingers free of Chester’s body, and Chester’s hole clenched. He lifted himself up onto his knees just a bit and moaned as the tip of Orley’s shaft kissed his entrance. Chester longed to shout out to the heavens, to scream of his desire to be filled, to be penetrated and flooded with the essence of his new husband, but he knew to do such a thing would be folly. Instead, he gripped Orley’s shoulders, his nails digging deep into skin as he sank down, down, down onto the long, thick column of flesh that burned its way through him.
“Bloody hell,” Orley groaned.
Chester could only moan in response as he moved up and down his new husband’s length, the man’s hardness filling him and spreading him fully. Orley laved Chester’s hardened nipples, and he buried his hands deep into Orley’s hair, tugging on the thick locks. He was overwhelmed by sensation, and it wasn’t long before he felt his sack lifting, his orgasm rushing over him.
Chester lowered his head to bury his face into Orley’s neck and cried out as wet heat splashed up between their bodies. Orley gripped Chester’s waist tightly as he thrust his shaft harder inside of Chester’s body and growled as he flooded Chester’s hole with his seed. Chester trembled, aftershocks of pleasure zinging through his limbs.
Lethargy weighed him down soon after, and he sighed as Orley placed a soft kiss upon his forehead.
“Ah, Angel. You have made me so happy.” Orley’s voice sounded far away as Chester slipped further into sleep.
Chester opened his mouth to return the sentiment, but darkness pulled him under before he was able to.
The Duchess
Pulling up to the Hook and Sword in Moffat, Orley glanced down at Chester’s face, taking note of his rela
xed features. The young woman’s mouth was slightly open in sleep, and Orley chuckled quietly as Chester let out a soft snore. He pulled his new duchess tighter to him. For the first time in two years, contentment stole over his being, and Orley was hard-pressed not to attribute it solely to the male who lay completely unaware in his arms.
As the carriage stopped, Orley brushed gentle fingers across Chester’s forehead, smiling when Chester blinked at him.
“It is time to awaken, love. We have arrived at our stop for the evening.”
Chester sat up fully, groaning from the change in position, and glanced out of the carriage window.
“Where are we?” he asked.
Orley tugged down his cuffs before lifting his hands to his hair in an effort to look more presentable, even as he stretched out his injured leg, hoping Chester did not notice his wince as he did so.
“We are in Moffat. It is about thirty miles from Gretna,” Orley replied.
“Will we stay here for a while?” Chester asked, smoothing his hair back into a messy chignon at the base of his neck. He looked so perfectly disheveled that Orley wanted to do nothing but lay him back down upon the cushions of the carriage and ravish him once more. However, he had already taken liberties with his new duchess once in the hearing of his footman. While he could blame their single romp on the excitement of being newly married, a second, especially within view of the patrons of the inn, would be an exercise of scandal and folly.
Realizing he would have to wait until he could get Chester upstairs in their room, Orley nodded at the footman who assisted Chester from within. Alighting after, he stumbled slightly and held up his hand when Ben stepped forward to help him. He did not want to growl at the man, not when he had been happy just seconds before.
“I have it, Ben, thank you.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Ben responded with a bow, looking toward Chester.
“Stop being so proud, Orley,” Chester admonished him, walking back toward the carriage and reaching inside. Orley grit his teeth when he saw the cane held in Chester’s hand. He merely nodded in thanks when his husband held it out. Accepting it without a word, he offered his elbow to Chester, and they made their way toward the inn.
Stepping inside, Orley was instantly approached by the innkeeper’s owner. Orley’s skin crawled as the other man’s eyes moved over his attire, no doubt trying to gauge the depth of his pockets. Were he on his own, Orley might have been tempted to appear the impoverished landowner, but as it was, he was on his wedding night with Chester. He would do all he could to ensure his new husband was treated like the treasured gem that he was.
Orley could tell the moment the innkeeper recognized the ducal crest on his carriage and on his footman’s livery, for the man’s eyes widened and his smile grew wide.
“Why, Your Grace! You honor us with your presence in our humble establishment!” he gushed, bowing.
Orley glanced around, adopting a pompous, nonchalant air. He did not enjoy acting as if he were better than those around him, but it was part of his position. An insufferable burden of the title he bore around his neck.
“Us?” Orley quirked an eyebrow.
The innkeeper spluttered in embarrassment. “My wife, Your Grace. Mrs. Clamp. She’s just in back, helping the cook prepare the meals for our guests. Now, what can I do for you this evening?” He clasped his hands in front of him and smiled serenely.
Orley gestured at Chester and himself. “I need rooms for my duchess and myself. We are newly married and are on our bridal tour and chose your inn to lay our head.”
Mr. Clamp gasped and stared at Chester in horror. “You cannot be serious, Your Grace. You m-married a T-Tafrican? B-but they are….”
Orley growled. “Careful what you say, Mr. Clamp,” he warned, feeling Chester stiffen, then shrink slightly next to him, the young woman’s arm shaking a tiny bit against his side. “Not only are you insulting my spouse, but you are speaking ill of a duchess. My duchess. The Duchess of Whitcomb. Your better. So if I were you, I would still my tongue, turn, and get us the rooms we seek before I make things extremely difficult for you.” He moved to step toward the man but stopped when he felt Chester’s hand on his forearm. He looked back and saw Chester shaking his head.
“F-forgive me for my impertinence, Your Grace,” Mr. Clamp apologized.
Orley smirked. “I am not the one you need to be apologizing to, Mr. Clamp, because I am not the one you have wronged.”
Mr. Clamp nodded jerkily and turned to face Chester stiffly. “I-I do offer my sincerest apologies, Your Grace.”
“It is quite all right, Mr. Clamp,” Chester said softly with a gentle smile.
Orley inclined his head. “Now—I believe you were about to get us our rooms?”
Chester stood in the middle of the room and touched the bed with a sigh. He tried very hard to ignore the maids who moved around the room, laying out his nightshift, pouring water into the tub, laying out his violet-scented bar soap, filling the water with rose petals, and generally doing everything he was used to doing for other members of the gentry. What was he supposed to do? Just stand here? How did Orley do this?
“Your bath is ready, Yer Grace,” the maid said softly.
Chester jumped slightly at the sound and turned. “Oh yes, of course.” He reached behind him and tried to unbutton his dress and grunted. The maid merely stared at him for a moment and made a noise.
Chester dropped his hands. “Yes?”
“Would you like me to help you, Yer Grace?”
Chester released a breath of relief. “Yes, please, um—I don’t even know your name. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a problem, Yer Grace. My name is Melissa Biddle, but everyone calls me Missy.”
Chester smiled. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Missy. I was a maid not too long ago.”
Melissa stared at Chester as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Not bloody likely, Yer Grace!” She covered her mouth.
Chester chuckled and turned to offer his back to her so she could help him disrobe. He wanted to bathe quickly so he would be ready for Orley as soon as his new husband arrived. And wasn’t that a novel thought? Husband. He, Chester Boland—no, it was Garrick now, wasn’t it?—he, Chester Garrick, was the Duchess of Whitcomb. Married to Orley Garrick. He could scarcely believe it. If Chester weren’t so chicken-hearted when it came to pain, he would pinch himself again.
“This I swear on my life, Missy. Why, His Grace and I met at a house party given by the Duke of Pompinshire and his duchess.”
“And it were love at first sight?” Melissa stated, her words sounding breathy and dreamlike.
Chester thought back to his first meeting with Orley. Walking into the room, he had looked upon the gorgeous man and had felt… something, certainly. But was it love? No. He wouldn’t say that. Chester had never been in love before, but he had had the emotion described to him many times. By his parents, friends, his brother Robert who was married to Lucille, another servant at Southerby Manor. Why, even some of the maids at the manor had described love to him. What he’d felt for Orley in that moment hadn’t been love it had been—interest—yes, that was an accurate description.
“Well, no, Missy. I hate to destroy your image of His Grace and myself as the perfect examples of a Shakespearean sonnet come to life, or even a play, but it wasn’t love at first sight. At least not for me,” Chester denied. Completely undressed now, Chester walked toward the clawfoot tub in the center of the room, his hands covering his genitals, even though Melissa was turned away from him. He wasn’t sure he would ever be comfortable having someone else in the room with him while he took care of his ablutions. While he’d been in Melissa’s position, the invisible person in the room, his mind was on the next menial task, or the ache in his feet or back, or even what he was going to do on his day off, but being the naked person in the tub was daunting.
“What about His Grace? Does he say it was love at first sight?” Melissa asked as Chester settled into the
tub.
Chester opened his mouth to answer negatively when Orley’s words came back to him. I have been captivated by your beauty since the moment I opened my eyes and saw you standing above my bed like a glorious angel sent from the heavens. For a moment, just one second, I thought the heavens had parted and God himself had allowed me a glimpse into the Holiest of Holies.
“Perhaps,” he answered instead.
Melissa clapped her hands excitedly. “How lovely. What a turn!”
Chester turned his head to look at the young woman. Her brown hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, her green eyes shone with excitement, and her once pale pink muslin dress, covered with an apron, had faded with repeated washes and was slightly dirty. Her cheeks were rounded, letting Chester know she was still young, at least younger than him, and she grinned at him.
“What makes you say such a thing?” he asked.
“Well everyone knows it is the woman’s duty to fall in love with the husband first and provide the heir and spare, and the husband’s duty to give the support and protection first, and to give his love later, if ever. However, you have changed things around, Yer Grace. You have received your husband’s love, support, and protection all at the same time. You shall be the envy of all the women in Teurope!”
Chester’s eyes widened at Melissa’s proclamation and excitement, and he opened his mouth to refuse her proclamation, but he was prevented from doing so when she let out a sound of dismay.
“Oh my word! We must get you clean before His Grace arrives. Sit up, Yer Grace, and let me scrub your back.”
Chester was too dazed to do naught else but obey.
Orley stared at the connecting door and willed the maid to leave. He felt as if he had been waiting for an age, when in truth he knew it had only been a few minutes. He glanced down at his erection, which protruded thickly from the hair at his groin and chuckled.
“Sorry old chap. We both have to wait.”
The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb Page 13
