After the Wedding

by Courtney Milan

  “He’s getting us our annulment.”

  “You sound so excited.” He practically rolled his eyes.

  Camilla shook her head.

  “Ah. You don’t want an annulment.”

  “‘Want’ is a complicated word, Captain Hunter.” Her voice was steady now. She folded the handkerchief and placed it on the side-table. “It’s not that simple. What I want is to have not been forced into marriage at gunpoint in the first place.”

  “Oh.” He considered this. “Shit.” He winced. “Goddamnit, pardon my—I mean—”

  “Don’t worry.” The very crassness of the word emboldened her. She looked over at him and met his eyes. “I am standing in excrement, and I want to not stand in excrement. We have an opportunity to clean the shit off our shoes. What we choose afterward…is complicated. And what I want…? I don’t truly know. But you don’t end up working with someone for a common goal for weeks on end without becoming friends. And when that person is Adrian…” She trailed off.

  “Adrian is related to me,” Captain Hunter said matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to tell me how attractive he is. We are similar in countenance, and I have a mirror.”

  Camilla glared at him. “I’m beginning to think you are a terrible person.”

  That brought out a smile—the first one she had seen. “Oh, absolutely. I am. I gather that when Adrian returns, the two of you will have much to discuss.”

  That was an understatement. Camilla’s hands wrung together. “Yes.”

  “Well, then. I won’t complicate matters by waiting here with you. My questions are less urgent than the rest of your lives. I’ll leave a note. When he has a chance, tell him I want to speak with him, will you? Don’t tell him I said ‘I told you so.’ He already knows.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The papers were spread across Adrian’s uncle’s desk.

  Bishop Denmore nodded as he looked through them. Occasionally, he asked for explanation. Sometimes, he shuffled back through them.

  Denmore waved one of the affidavits. “And could you get this Mrs. Martin to testify in person?”

  Adrian thought of the angry elderly lady. “I gather she would love nothing more.”

  “Hmm.” Another pause as his uncle once again re-read the telegrams. “My God. This is extraordinary.” He looked up and smiled at Adrian. “This is truly extraordinary, Adrian. It’s complete, and taken as a whole, it is utterly damning. You’ve done an amazing job.”

  Adrian could not help but feel a flutter of pride in his chest at that. He smiled shyly.

  “I knew I was right to believe in you, to leave this in your hands,” his uncle continued. “Thank you, thank you so much. This is wonderful. Lassiter will have to step down now.”

  “I’m glad to have helped.” Adrian was going to have to mention the annulment himself, he supposed.

  “I don’t know how ever I will thank you for your assistance,” his uncle said.

  “Well.” He could not have found a better entry to the subject. “As it turns out—you may recall—a very good way to thank me already exists. You promised to assist me in the matter of the annulment of the marriage that was forced upon me in this matter?”

  His uncle looked down at the papers on his desk, not meeting Adrian’s eyes, and Adrian’s heart fell.

  Denmore smoothed the papers over, once and then again, before he spoke. “We mustn’t rush into this.”

  Adrian wasn’t sure who we was supposed to be.

  But his uncle gave a nod, as if he had just convinced himself. “That’s precisely it; we mustn’t rush ourselves. We must consider it very carefully. Mustn’t we?”

  “I was forced to join myself for life to a woman I barely knew,” Adrian said, “with a gun pointing at me. I personally feel that rushing is an appropriate response in such circumstances.”

  “Quite, quite!” The bishop looked up. “My dear boy! That’s an excellent point. If we had wanted to take action on this front, we should have done so immediately. Now, weeks later…”

  Adrian stared at him. “You’re joking. You were the one who counseled me to wait.”

  “I would not call it ‘counsel,’” his uncle said thoughtfully. “Via telegram? More a suggestion. Think of what a mess this is. I couldn’t support your bringing a claim. There would be public scrutiny. I should have to admit that you were a relation of mine, and how would that appear? My own nephew, serving as valet to another bishop, to obtain information on his wrongdoing? That would make me seem underhanded.”

  “That would be the truth,” Adrian said, even more disturbed than before. “You told me to do it, and I didn’t want to. If you knew it would be a barrier to your acknowledging me, why did—”

  “I didn’t expect you to get caught!”

  “You told me to act as his valet. You obtained references. You told me to obtain information on his wrongdoing. All of this happened because you wanted it. You say you didn’t expect me to get caught, but what did you think would happen when the entire world discovered that the man that Bishop Lassiter thought of as his one-time valet was actually your nephew?”

  Denmore stared unblinking in front of him for a few moments. “Oh. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  He hadn’t, Adrian realized, thought of it at all. He hadn’t imagined how any of this would take place. Maybe he might have vaguely intended to acknowledge Adrian if he could figure out how to do so without consequence. But he had not given it any real consideration.

  Adrian just shook his head. “Of course it makes you look underhanded. That’s because your behavior in this entire affair has been underhanded.”

  “That’s…technically the truth. But…”

  “It’s actually the truth. Not technically so.”

  “Well, perhaps, but how was I to know that you were going to insert yourself in the story in this manner? If you’d only—”

  “No,” Adrian said, standing up. “You will not pin the blame for this on me. You asked me to act in this manner; I had doubts. You directed me to continue the investigation after it had gone awry. Against my misgivings, because I believed you actually cared for my future, I went along with it. I did everything you asked. All I want is one thing and you owe it to me.”

  His uncle looked at him. “Is she so terrible, then? The woman you’ve been married to?”

  “That’s not the point.” Adrian glared at him.

  “Who is it?”

  “Her name is Camilla Worth. She’s a lovely woman, and she doesn’t deserve to be forced into marriage either.”

  “Well!” His uncle brightened. “To my mind, it sounds like you’ve managed to find a better woman than someone like you could expect. What are you complaining about again?”

  Someone like you.

  Someone like you.

  Adrian hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  Oh, that was stupidity. He had known it all his life. He had known it from the moment his uncle refused to acknowledge his own sister. He had known it from the moment he had been introduced as his uncle’s page instead of his nephew. He had lied to himself, telling himself that if he was kind enough, if he was understanding enough, he would show his uncle the truth—that he and his mother deserved love, deserved recognition, deserved everything that Adrian had wanted to believe him capable of.

  All that time. All that effort. All that putting his heart into it, for this moment.

  Someone like you.

  He tried anyway, one last time. “Please,” he said. “For the love you bear for me. For the love you bear for your sister. Help me.”

  “Oh, Adrian.” His uncle just smiled. “Now that I hear what you’ve said, I really do believe this is all for the best. This can’t come out in public. Lassiter will step down, once I let him know what I know. We’ll keep it all silent, as it should be. And one day—when this has all blown over—one day, then, I’ll acknowledge you.”

  There was no one day. There was only a string of todays, a string of empty prom
ises.

  “I have quite a lot to do with everything you’ve done for me,” Denmore said. “Do you think you could show yourself out?”

  * * *

  The wait for Adrian to return seemed almost interminable to Camilla. She didn’t know what to do; she had a family, and they…wanted her? If that were true, might it not be possible that Adrian could want her, too?

  He’d implied as much. He’d looked at her as if she were precious. He’d told her that she deserved a choice of her own—that she deserved to be chosen, not just accepted.

  Was it so wrong that she was beginning to believe him?

  She had never known that joy felt almost the same as despair. Her heart was so full that it strained its boundaries, overflowing to the point that it might burst.

  Good that she was used to heartbreak; she suspected if he wanted her upon his return, she would break into pieces. Every sound that filtered into the room from the street below brought her to a height of dizzying fear, mixed with hope.

  Hope. Hope, the thing that had always ripped her heart in two. Hope, the thing she had held onto despite—perhaps because of—the pain.

  Hope that he would come back. Hope that Adrian would return and look at her and say, I wanted a choice. Now I have one. I choose you.

  It was growing dark when she heard footsteps outside—determined footsteps, slowing before the door.

  It might not be him.

  Camilla’s pulse picked up nonetheless. She made herself breathe—slowly, surely, as if she were awaiting news no more dire than what she would have for breakfast or whether Parliament had decided to change some law on foreign importation that would no doubt one day affect the price of whiskey.

  She could not fool her body; her heart raced faster and faster.

  The footsteps outside stopped; the door opened. She could imagine him in the hall below. The lamps were lit. In that golden splendor, his skin would glow.

  She could hear the muffled sound of his voice, addressing the housekeeper, his footsteps as he ascended the stair.

  Her hands clenched on the arms of her chair.

  His footsteps stopped outside the door of her bedchamber.

  There he was, rapping for entry.

  “Yes?” She managed not to sound nervous.

  Her whole chest burned, as if it were she being opened wide instead of the door.

  He stood in the doorway.

  She had no idea what he was thinking. She couldn’t tell; her own imagination was going so wild that he would have to tell her.

  Their eyes met, his that dark, rich brown she had come to…what was the word? Ah. Yes. Love. She had come to love him. She had thought she loved him before, and every time she decided she did, she found new depths of emotion that made her see how shallowly she’d cared.

  She knew how sweet he could be. How gentle. How clever. How… Everything.

  It wouldn’t break her to lose him any more than any of her other losses had broken her. He’d helped her see that she was strong enough to withstand anything, even the loss of him. Still, she hoped that tonight, she wouldn’t need strength any longer.

  “Camilla.” His voice was a low whisper. Slowly, he shut the door behind him. That was intent in his voice. He came to stand in front of her.

  She ought to stand, but she wasn’t sure her knees could bear her weight.

  Then he smiled at her, and her world broke into sunshine.

  “Will you be mine?” he asked.

  That painful ache in her chest squeezed more painfully. She was all too aware of her surroundings. Of the creak of the floor as he shifted toward her. Of the sound her breath made as it left her lips.

  She could feel her mouth cracking into the most absurd smile she had ever worn. All the hope she had been nurturing—she had carried it this far, and she had finally been rewarded.

  “Yes.” The word burst out of her. “Yes, yes. Yes, I will.”

  His smile tilted; it felt almost tender.

  They had found each other, and they would belong to each other.

  He sat on the arm of the chair next to her. Slid his arm around her. “Will you be mine now?”

  “In every way.”

  His lips touched hers. There was a sweetness to his kiss, one she hadn’t expected.

  “Horehound?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Guilty.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “I bought a sack in town. I’m sorry it took me so long to return. I wanted to think things over, to be sure of what I wanted.”

  She was what he wanted. She realized it with a sense of wonder. She was who this brilliant, wonderful man desired.

  “I brought back most of it for you. I thought you might…”

  “Like something to suck on?” Camilla said sweetly. “Why, yes. I suppose I would.”

  He laughed and leaned to touch his forehead against hers. “My Camilla. I…”

  “I’m going to make you happy,” she told him. “I want nothing more.”

  He touched his fingers to her cheek. “I have every hope you’ll succeed.”

  And then he kissed her. His lips were soft and gentle, and the touch of his hand, grounding her in place, made all those years of misery seem almost worth it. He had chosen her. He had chosen her.

  They were married in name; they would be married in truth when they were finished.

  He pulled her close, close enough that she could feel the strength in his arms, the planes of his chest. “God,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

  Another kiss, this one long and lingering. He tasted sweet, like her future, and she could see it spread before them. She would take to being his wife with alacrity. She would introduce him to her family, and stand by him if they were rude; she would learn her duties and do whatever was required. She would have his children and make jokes with his brother and have a life filled with sunshine and joy.

  She could hardly bear to believe that she had somehow earned this joy.

  His hands slid to her ribs, and slowly he stood. She stood with him. It felt natural to touch him like this, natural for their bodies to wind around each other. He pulled her to the bed. They sank down against the covers together. His weight was solid on top of her, solid and real and here, and…

  And, oh God, she still wasn’t prepared. She’d bolstered herself for heartbreak, but she’d wanted this. She’d wanted it so much.

  He had chosen her. He had actually chosen her.

  “I am going to make you so happy,” she whispered again. It was a promise; it was more. She had so much joy in her now that she could not possibly keep it all to herself.

  His mouth levered hers open. He tasted of something that was dark and caramelly. She opened to him and to the unbearable sweetness of the moment.

  “Camilla, sweetheart.” He slid to the side. She almost protested the loss of him, but he didn’t take his hands off her. Instead, he undid her sash. Camilla worked the laces of her gown, until they were loosened, and the whole thing could come off.

  His eyes lingered on her ankle. His gaze shifted up…

  “You lovely woman,” he breathed. He took off his own coat and laid it next to her gown.

  He undid her corset; she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Every so often, their eyes would meet and their fingers would slip. She would stroke his satiny skin, or his knuckles would brush the tip of her nipple through her corset…

  She was on fire for him when he got her down to her shift. When he had on nothing but trousers, and a bulge in them, too.

  He stood and undid the buttons slowly, stripping his trousers away to reveal lean hips meeting a sculpted stomach in a perfect cursive V. At the apex…

  She slid her hand along that perfect line between thigh and torso, following it from hip to majestic point. God, he was perfect there, too. Dark skin, edging darker still at the tip of his penis. Erect and so lovely.

  He let her play her hand along the length of him, exploring the entirety of the
organ that would enter her, from root to end. Her body clenched in liquid anticipation.

  She looked up at him. He knelt on the bed below her.

  “Adrian?”

  He set his hands on the hem of her shift. “Camilla?”

  “Please.”

  He took her shift off. For a moment, they looked at each other. The air was cold against her skin; her nipples pebbled in response. Then, ever so slowly, he set his hands on her knees and slid them apart. He inched forward, and set his mouth…

  Oh, God. She’d imagined that sort of a kiss before in her wickedest dreams, and had been shocked at herself even then. Reality was even more delightfully shocking. His tongue swirled against her thigh, then up, until the tip slid inside her. She let out a little gasp.

  He glanced up at her with a smile that could not have been more self-assured. As if he knew exactly what sort of pleasure shot through her at that lick. And the next one. His hand came up; his mouth shifted, clasping onto a point higher, and Camilla let out a squeak.

  “Sweetheart. It does get even better.”

  She nodded. “Of…course it does.”

  He set his lips back against hers, and… And it got even better. Lick by lick. Swirl by swirl, until she shut her eyes and saw a spiraling pattern against her vision. Her fists clasped against the bedsheets, squeezing. Her thighs clamped around his shoulders.

  “There.”

  “Yes.” She felt breathless, even though she was scarcely moving. So little—just the shift of her hips in time to the thrust of his tongue. She was on the verge of something powerful, something bigger than she’d ever experienced. She was on the verge of…

  Of Adrian pulling away. Cool air touched her thighs. She looked up at him, and for one second, dark doubts assailed her.

  No.

  He didn’t really want her. He’d done this to prove he could have her. He meant to leave her here and—

  And no. No. She stopped before her fear of the past caught up with her.

  Adrian could never be cruel. Her doubts were unworthy of him.

  She let herself frown a little. “You stopped.”

  A little smile touched his lips. “I didn’t realize you’d warm so easily. And there’s much I haven’t done to you yet.”