Into the Hall of Vice

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘You’re incorrigible.’ She couldn’t contain a shy giggle. He looked so proud… and handsome.

  ‘I’ve been called worse.’ Love reflected in his eyes.

  ‘I can’t imagine why,’ she murmured against his lips.

  Their little caravan made excellent time towards Owlpen. Cole rode Charlatan to escape the confines of a long trip inside a restricting carriage, which left Gemma and Nan in conversation for the bulk of their travel. Rosalind slept in a carriage that followed at a sensible distance with an additional maid, her chatter and excitement at their sudden decision to venture to Owlpen having depleted her endurance when faced with the incessant rocking of the conveyance. The roadways were dry, the sky clear and every mile brought with it endearing remembrances of childhood adventures spent at the large manor house. Without effort, these memories softened Gemma’s anger towards Kent’s poor decisions and further confused her tangle of emotions.

  Her parents’ graves were located within Owlpen’s acreage at the centre of a lush garden composed of heliotrope and honeysuckle, primrose, heather mounds and flawless white peonies. Gemma was thankful for the dense brush and lengthy circular walkway as she often found tears whenever she visited.

  Now the maudlin reminder of her father’s unnecessary death threatened until a tapping on the glass window demanded her attention. A smile erased most of her melancholy as she saw Cole on horseback beside her.

  ‘Is all well inside?’ At her nod, he continued. ‘We should approach Owlpen before eveningtide. We will face Kent together.’

  He sought to reassure and his consolation settled deep in her heart. She had no idea how Kent would react when they arrived, but a sense of foreboding would not relent. Was it contrived fear or a significant portent of ill?

  As predicted, the carriage crested a small hill and Owlpen became visible on the horizon. Another thirty minutes and they would be at the heavy wooden doors. Her heart kicked into a hurried beat. This was home, the childhood sanctuary she treasured, a place where the fleeting memories of her mother permeated the rooms, reminded of youth and whimsy, and yet she worried that arriving here unannounced would prove a grave mistake.

  Yet what choice did she have? She was the daughter of a duke, a gentleman’s lady. She could not marry without, at the least, discussing the matter with her brother. Not to gain his support or collect a dowry. No, it was a matter of respect; one which would alleviate guilt and reservation so she could seek a future in marriage with a clear conscience. Perhaps it was an act of selfishness, but regardless of how she classified her visit, it remained a necessary deed.

  Owlpen, the Duke of Kent’s country seat, stood on a craggy hill to the north. Staggered grey limestone, rectangular in length, aligned the face and glossy black shutters gave the appearance of the bird of prey which lent the manor its name. Stark white trim squared two parapets while tall arched windows stretched towards the sky from foundation to roof in neat angular rows. The house stood quiet and formidable as Charlatan made his approach down what seemed an endless tree-lined gravel drive. This property represented the last obstacle Cole needed to conquer to possess Gemma’s heart. If he didn’t clear Kent’s opposition from the path, Gemma’s affection for him was doomed. No matter how happy, the unresolved disharmony with her brother would eventually erode their relationship until she resented him, or worse, found no more love in her heart for the man who had cleaved her only family ties. Disregarding social opinion and acceptance, this visit held more power to predict their fate.

  He hadn’t shared with anyone the message he’d received from Kent two mornings past. Apparently, Gemma’s brother continued to keep abreast of her business. The message stated Cole’s greatest fear in one sentence. You will never be worthy of her.

  He’d thrust the note into the firebox, reducing the words to ash before they burned into his brain, but it was too late. The message preyed on his stifled apprehension. Why would Gemma sacrifice the world to which she belonged, elite circles and society of the highest echelon, for his attention, a bastard with a hopeless past? A rage-filled haze clouded his vision. How dare Kent evoke these misgivings? How dare anyone?

  Heaving a long breath, he counted minutes until Gemma’s carriage rolled to a stop and then, after opening the door and extending the stairs, grasped her hand with a tight squeeze meant to reassure them both. She was brave, the lady of his heart, so would he be.

  A staid butler answered the door and, without a glimpse of emotion, they were ushered into the vast foyer. At last a touch of joy entered the old man’s eyes, though his expression transformed into grave apprehension less than half a breath later.

  ‘Rimford.’ Gemma pressed a gentle kiss to the butler’s cheek. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘Milady, we were not expecting you. I will instruct the staff to prepare the appropriate rooms for your stay. How many are travelling in the party?’ Rimford eyed Cole with wary consideration.

  ‘Mr Hewitt is our guest for the week. Have his things placed in the cobalt bedroom.’ She removed her gloves and tucked them into her skirt pocket.

  ‘The guest rooms in the east wing are large and freshly cleaned. His Grace ordered all the rooms aired since his recent return.’ The way Rimford phrased his suggestion caused Gemma to lift her shoulder in a shrug, but much to Cole’s pleasure she deflected the butler.

  ‘Thank you, but the rooms adjacent to mine are suitable.’

  Everyone’s attention turned to the double mahogany doors as Nan and Rosalind entered, followed by a line of footmen, arms laden with trunks and travelling cases. This time Rimford allowed a smile, the elderly servant apparently partial to the youngest lady of the house.

  ‘We shall require a half hour to freshen after the long journey and then I’d like to see my brother. Is Kent in house?’

  Excellent. Gemma wasted not a moment. A feeling of pride on behalf of her courage and belief in their union settled in his heart.

  ‘I’m sorry, milady, but His Grace is indisposed. I will inform him of your arrival as soon as possible.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She moved towards the elaborate stairs, the woodwork and carvings the finest Cole had ever seen, but then he’d never before set foot in a duke’s home, never seen such vast expanse dedicated to a foyer.

  Not wishing to appear the gawker, he pulled his attention from the gallery of portraits across the room as Rosalind chattered by, a parade of servants in tow. He paused a moment beside Gemma and deftly accomplished the stairs in her wake.

  Once within his rooms, he walked the length of the Persian carpet, pacing in contemplation and all of a sudden unsure of his decision. Risk, injudicious and culpable, tore holes in his resolve. Still, at heart, he remained a gambler, no matter the miserable odds. As if his vacillation beckoned her, the door cracked open and Gemma peeked through, an immediate quiet to his turbulent doubt.

  ‘Are you well? You were unusually quiet once we arrived.’ She crossed the floor and stood before him, concern marring her delicate beauty.

  ‘I…’ Words stalled on his tongue, an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He didn’t wish to influence her emotions one way or the other, but she was idealistic and quick to cast everything aside for love. Did she truly realise how her life would change? Still, he struggled to shun these turbulent thoughts, unwilling to open the floodgates of doubt. ‘I’m better now.’ He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and bringing her against his chest. ‘I love you, Gemma. Tell me you will remember my words no matter what transpires during our visit.’

  Her head jerked up in objection, her crystalline gaze razor-sharp. ‘What is happening between those ears? Where is my chivalrous, intelligent charmer?’

  She knew the right thing to say. He breathed easier, mentally chastising himself for showing his sudden insecurity. He couldn’t lose her. Yet her brother’s influence threatened; a powerful foe. She turned within his embrace and placed a kiss upon his chin. It wasn’t enough.

&
nbsp; ‘Your brother will never approve.’ No matter he’d thrown the note into the fire, the words burned into his brain. It was his goal to visit Kent and yet now it seemed the very worst decision.

  ‘Kent is no longer who I believed him to be. The man who shared my childhood and I watched pass into manhood with honour is gone. I’ll not have him dictate my future while he chooses to destroy his own. And true, I’ve never been much of a rule follower.’

  ‘You will come to resent me. I cannot ask you to sacrifice all you know for who I am…’

  ‘I don’t care who you think you are.’ Her face screwed into an expression of disbelief. ‘Because I know who you are in here.’ She placed her palm over his heart. ‘There’s nothing else but what’s in your heart and I will not have you belittle my emotions with talk of doubt or non-acceptance.’

  He exhaled a breath of great relief. ‘Do you love me, Gemma?’ Would even that admission slay his wistful reservations as he offered his heart, exposed and vulnerable?

  Her brows narrowed and she blinked several times. ‘Yes.’

  The whole world existed in that word, their future coalesced with elusive hope. And then, just as fleeting, that world vanished, lost in longing and heated desire. He captured her mouth in a kiss tinged with urgency and honesty, a kiss that bared his soul while his fingers worked purposefully at the buttons of her travelling habit, passion blinding reason. He needed her now, yearned for her touch to abate the irrational worry that worked to slice his confidence.

  What if this was the last time he tasted her lips? Caressed her breasts? Licked every crease and curve? He needed to bury himself deep in her tight heat and bring her more pleasure than she’d ever known.

  Clothes fell away in silence. Could it be she sought similar solace, a physical promise to further confirm their bond? Did she doubt her feelings? Too many thoughts crowded his brain and he forced them away, refusing to sacrifice the precious intimacy within grasp.

  He revelled in the give and take of their love play, greedy kisses and clumsy fondles, all the while they struggled to remove layers of clothing, articles abandoned to the floor in a haphazard rush. They stumbled to the bed where he thrust the counterpane aside with a reckless thrash, falling to the mattress together, skin to skin, their kiss binding them as they adjusted position. He caged her in, bearing his weight on his arms, and at last broke away from her swollen lips, his breathing ragged for the effort of their sensual struggle, every inhale consumed with light honeysuckle and delectable Gemma.

  Her eyes fluttered open as his closed, the slightest glimpse of each other’s gaze as their bodies entwined and their souls kissed in the ephemeral moment. She shifted, widening her thighs to accommodate his erection pressed hot to her silky skin, and he slid into her tight heat, catching her gasp on his lips and savouring her breath on his tongue.

  Here. Here is where he was meant to be. With Gemma, wrapped in her arms, deep in her heart, joined with her body. After years, decades of not belonging, homeless weeks, months, of no family, no ties, he’d finally found home. He might have wept for the complete beauty of it was he not rock hard and randy as the devil, lost in the silken bliss that composed Gemma’s body beneath him, waiting and willing.

  He opened his eyes, hungry to absorb every detail; the cloud of golden hair spread across the sheets, her gentle smile, every curve and slope etched a memory of her lovely features in case the worst occurred, for he remained in her brother’s house under her brother’s command.

  He forced the harsh reality away, but still he waited, too aware that, were he to begin a rhythm, he’d lose himself before he savoured the moment, treasured it with painstaking care. Her touch reached inside him, caressed his heart, settled in the marrow of his bones. He pressed a kiss to the base of her neck where life pounded in her veins, nipped a path across her shoulder, and she answered with a sensual moan that caused him to rock against her hips, his body no longer willing to cooperate. Desire begged for release and he lost hold of the reins. She answered with the same fervour, wrapping her legs around his thighs, opening, offering, and he drove into her wet heat despite his brain told him go slow and his cock urged him to hurry. Rhythm gained momentum, his thrusts stronger. This couldn’t be the last time. This had to be the beginning. He wouldn’t allow the warring dispute to consume his pleasure. He pushed all thought from his brain and succumbed to pleasure.

  Gemma had no idea what instigated Cole’s sudden diffidence. He’d initiated this trip to Owlpen and she’d acquiesced, wanting to please. No doubt existed in her mind. She loved him with all her heart. She always would. But whatever drove him to hesitation this evening in question of their bond threatened to destroy their delicate beginning and she would have none of it. She’d expel the calamitous emotion and rid it once and for all.

  Everywhere her hands touched he was solid, strong, muscles tensed with restraint. She’d marvelled at his maleness, potent and powerful, equally awed by his ability to touch her with gentle reverence. Her fingertips caressed his chest, the muscles there bunched and hard, covered with soft golden hair that glinted in ambient candlelight, a narrow band down to where she could not see but felt instead, the pleasure of his arousal inside her so full and deep, tears pressed the back of her lids for the sheer beauty of their union.

  Their bodies were slick, sealed against each other with the heat of sensual friction. A tight swirling in her core insisted to be recognised. How she wanted this moment to last. Cole atop her, her body twined around his, their muscles flexed in unique harmony as they moved together towards bliss. She fought against sensation, bit her lip, closed her eyes tight, her head pressed back into the pillow, but still he ravaged her soul; every thrust and stroke brought his full length so deep her heart quaked; she couldn’t last. She dug her heels into the backs of his thighs, turning her head to bite his wrist, licking it right after.

  Surrender.

  Succumb.

  Her body demanded she listen.

  She released the last tenuous threads of control. Her arms dropped away to the mattress to leave her body to his will, the sheets cool and delicious against her heated skin. Together they rode the rush of blissful pleasure, contracting, pulsing, giving and taking with such intensity she cried out, an aching, desperate plea, her soul shattered and reformed in the span of their crest as he poured his heat into her.

  He collapsed and perspiration on his temple mingled with her tears. He nuzzled against her neck, kissed her jaw, unwilling to separate, and all the while she knew he lived within her still, the throbbing echo of his climax a treasure in her heart.

  Another moment and he rolled to the side, taking her with him, unwilling to separate though their bodies were sated, the musky scent of their union an aphrodisiac that heightened their intimacy. She knew he would find sleep, his mind exhausted from emotion, his body from their travels and, now, depleted as they joined in pleasure. She burrowed deeper into his hold, closer to his heart, and pressed kisses to his chest. She would erase his nugatory doubts whenever necessary, this man who knew only hardship and cruelty yet gave of himself with endless tenderness. They would build a family and a life and nothing, nothing would destroy the love they discovered in each other’s arms.

  Though it wasn’t her plan, she fell asleep against Cole’s warmth. Waking with a start, she extracted herself from his grasp, lifted his arm from around her middle and eased away from the sheets in silence. She gathered her clothes from all over the floor and slipped through the adjoining door.

  ‘I suspected your decision of guest quarters for Mr Hewitt was made by your heart more than your sense.’ Nan stood beside the wardrobe, her wrapper sash pulled as tight as her disapproving expression.

  ‘It’s near the middle of the night and, while I know your scolding comes from your unease over my future, Mr Hewitt and I intend to be married. You worry for naught.’ Gemma hoped to reassure though she doubted Nan would ever abandon her concern. What would the woman do when Gemma settled her
with a sizeable pension and released her from duty upon marrying Cole? She worked to hide her smile.

  ‘Then I will leave you to your rest.’

  Nan left straight after but sleep eluded Gemma. Her mind spun with questions. What brought on Cole’s distress? She tried to predict Kent’s reaction to her visit, but the effort made her brain ache. Rimford never returned with word concerning when her brother would see her. The inconsiderate dismissal rankled her better sense.

  A sound in the hall caught her attention and she moved closer to the door to press her ear. Did Cole suffer from the same disquiet as she? She doubted he would roam the hallway regardless. In quiet, she detected the sound of two male voices and twisted the crystal knob to crack the door the slightest. She peered across the threshold where two shadowy figures, Kent and Rimford, argued outside her brother’s main chamber.

  She gave it not another thought and joined them.

  ‘I knew you would not be pleased by my arrival, but I expected some form of greeting.’ Her crisp tone resounded in the hallway despite she kept her voice low.

  ‘Milady, perhaps you’d prefer to speak to His Grace in the morning,’ Rimford answered quickly.

  ‘Nay, she won’t listen to you.’ Kent slurred the rebuke. ‘She doesn’t listen to me, not one word.’

  ‘Kent.’ Gemma took in her brother’s rumpled appearance and haggard face, all at once aware of the larger situation, one beyond her control. Kent slumped against the door frame and Rimford slipped an arm of support beneath his shoulders as Gemma continued, ‘Let’s bring him inside at once.’

  She opened the door to her brother’s chambers and trailed after the butler, who deposited her brother in a large Tudor chair sans his usual aplomb and with little resistance from Kent, whose head lolled to one side, eyes closed and breathing heavy.

  ‘How long has he been like this?’ She paced a short line, the question posed to Rimford but her mind at work feverously. ‘Why didn’t someone inform me?’