Bessie (33 page)

He leaned down, his face coming into complete candlelit view. He’d twisted his features. He was almost grotesque. Ugly. She wouldn’t have believed it possible if she wasn’t watching it.

“You betrayed me last night, Elizabeth Stansbury.”

“Last...night?”

“You warmed another man’s bed. All night. I know. I assumed it was James. I have been so angered. So jealous. Almost murderous. Of my own brother! And now...I am uncertain about anything. It could have been a workman for all I know. And
that
thought really destroys me.”

Bessie’s lips tilted into a tight smile. It was the best she could manage. Each blink brought tears into existence, blurring his image.

“You’re right, Devon. I was warming a man’s bed last night...but it was no betrayal.”

He grabbed her upper arms. Lifted her. Bessie dangled while they both shook. The snarl on his face was absolutely terrifying.

“Must everything be a play of words with you?”

“Wait! Wait! Please, Devon! Forgive me! I was in your bed last night! Yours!”

Everything stopped. Sound. Her heart. Her breathing. Her body was still shaking. Because of him, and the hold he had on her.

“You were in my bed?”

She nodded. She was losing the battle against something vast. Uncontrollable. Completely embarrassing. Tears were obscuring him. A heated wave rose through her, overtaking her belly. Consuming her chest. Rising through her throat. Hammering at her eyes. She’d never dealt with this before. And nothing worked at stemming it.

“My bed?” 

He sounded strange. Bessie couldn’t tell for certain.

“I was told it would...solve all my problems. But it didn’t! It made them
worse!
”

This was horrendous. Appalling. As if a dam had burst somewhere inside her. No matter how she struggled, hard waves of emotion grew larger, crested, and then overwhelmed. She answered, but it was nearly incoherent through the sobs. “I was there...all...night. And for what? You don’t want to be married to me anymore! You don’t think I know what love is. My heart feels like a sword has been thrust through it! And how I wish that was true! I just want...to die!”

For the first time in her existence Bessie lost control. She was broken. Devastated. And nothing else was of any consequence. She lifted her hands, covered her face, and sobbed with abandonment. She was in a whorl of nothing but darkness. It was infinite and vast and completely barren.

“Bessie.”

Her sobs worsened at the sound of her name, spoken as if he cared. He felt closer, too. His breath brushed her ear. And then her arms smashed against the cool finish of his breastplate. Bessie shoved her forehead into the unforgiving metal and wept harder.

“Stop this. You’ll make yourself ill.”

She took a breath. Caught a sob. Words came out with it. “What does...that matter? I have lost everything!”

Several moments passed while she wept unabated. That seemed to be the only sound in the world. Then another sound intruded, one that resembled crooning. Devon shifted her, moving one arm beneath her buttocks to support her. His other hand slid up her arm. Went beneath her chin. Lifted it away from her hands. To face him. Bessie had no choice. She inhaled a breath and held it until her chest was a knot of agony. She let it out slowly, and then she started sniffing. Over and over. She kept her eyes tightly shut the entire time.

“Please don’t leave me, Devon,” she whispered.

“Leave you?”  His voice was loud. Joyous-sounding. His arm tightened about her. “I have been in an agony of black all day. You cannot imagine. I did not know the depths of pain a soul can reach. Abide in. And still continue living. Nor, the avenues it will take for escape.”

Oh my. Byron was definitely not the lone poet in the family.
Bessie caught a breath in awe. And an excruciating sense of hope.

“Wh-wh-what?”  The word was stammered. Barely audible.

“I am not going anywhere.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.”

Bessie opened her eyes. Met his gaze. His emerald eyes were blazing like green fire; lit from within by something ethereal. She’d never seen anything as exquisite. Her heart responded with a hard thump that almost hurt.

“I don’t...understand.”

“I must have been playing this game of yours for too long. I made a bad move. Went down a dark path. And now? I cannot describe it. I feel like I have just been freed from a prison of despair. And then I find it was one of my own making!”

“You mean...you might...still care for me? Maybe a little?”

“Oh, Bessie. My love. My little love. I have been told I am very good at hiding feelings. It must be true. That came in very handy today, because I have done everything possible to stop loving you. I spent hours making certain I could face you and the rest of the world without revealing just how much I love you. The best I could manage was to hide.”

“You...were hiding?”

He tipped his head back and howled. Then he started laughing. And then he was rotating about, spinning them dizzyingly. She was open-mouthed and wide-eyed when he finally stopped, took a deep breath, and then looked back down at her.

“Oh, darling, I do love you. Yes. You. Elizabeth, formerly of Bargerelle, Crump, and Stansbury and where-all else. You, the Lady Hilde. You - the mysterious servant maiden. You - the woman known as The Widow. You - my very own Bessie. Yes! I love each and every one of you. All of you. Totally. Completely. Overwhelmingly.”

His voice lowered. His lips reached hers with a gentle touch. A flash of something wondrous arced through her, rinsing away all that was dark. Everything went bright with joy. Sweet with bliss. Radiant with happiness. Bessie could swear she glowed. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, matched his forehead to hers, and gave a heavy sigh that moved her with it.

“Well. We are in a nice fix now, my lady.”

“We...are?”  Bessie blinked several times. It brought him into perfect focus.

“Are you up to a little excursion?”

“To where?”

He straightened, looked about, and then shook his head before returning his gaze to hers.

“I went a bit...crazed this morn. I put Black-Heart in a lather with my rush. I asked Her Majesty to annul our union. And she agreed.”

“I know.”

“It was effective immediately, darling. We are no longer wed. And I am not consummating our union without an official saying I can. That is how much I love and honor and cherish you. So. We need to leave this chamber. Search for a chaplain out there somewhere. In that melee. Find a venue that won’t gain too much notice—bother that. I don’t care how many witness our wedding this time.”         

“Devon?”

“Yes?”

She’d never seen him looking quite so happy. There wasn’t a description for how beautiful it made him. She nipped at the tip of her tongue. “Never mind. It...might make you angry again.”

“Is this another game I should know of?”

“Promise you won’t be angry. Please?”

“Bessie. Love. I am all sorts of things at the moment. But I am not angry. Trust me.”

“I...spoke with Her Majesty today. I beseeched her. I told her how much I love you. And she...um. She—. Well. She...tossed the annulment decree into the fire.”

Devon’s eyebrows rose as he regarded her for long moments. Bessie’s belly tightened with anxiety. Her eyes smarted with the threat of fresh tears. Her throat closed off with worry. He finally shook his head, and then he grinned.

“Well. The queen has always been a very smart woman,” he replied.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

His lips seized hers. Taking. Grasping. He started moving. Bessie didn’t know it was toward the bed until he swiveled to place her atop it. The backs of her knees were against a wood side, her legs draped over the edge. He ended the kiss with a touch to her nose, and then he stood. Bessie opened her eyes slowly. The two candles she’d noted earlier were still flickering, sending a random series of shadow. One side of him in complete darkness, the other side clearly defined in the weak light. Massive. Muscled. Masculine. Just like always.

His breast plate had rotated a bit. She watched him adjust it back into place. That piece of metal ended just below his waist, and that drew her gaze downward. Bessie gasped. Her eyes flew back to meet his.

“Exactly,” he said.

“What?”

“’Tis a good thing you are no longer a maid, darling.”

“It...is?” 
But Roberta had said he’d be appreciative!

“This would be...difficult.”

He unfastened his helmet. Pulled it off. Some of his hair had come from the queue. It coiled in strands past his shoulders. He worked next at his sword, unstrapping the belt that held it to him. He stopped for a moment, spearing her with a glance. Bessie’s eyes flew wider. She swiped any leftover tears from her lashes, eliminating anything that might blur or alter the sight.
Oh, my
. The look he was giving her created all kinds of trouble! It sent a ripple of warmth all through her, followed immediately by sparks. It was incredible. Strength-stealing. Vast.

She was fully prepared to swoon.

“I have been teased and tormented and left wanting...for what feels like years. That does tend to create a severe case of - for want of a better expression - raging
need
.”

Bessie gasped. His upper lip lifted on the last word. For a moment he’d looked almost feral. Frightening. He had the belt freed. He pulled it off and wound the leather about the sword and its scabbard without looking. He was watching her. He bent to place his sword against the side of the headboard with the same lack of attention. He stood again, keeping his gaze entirely on her. It was akin to receiving a touch. Her belly constricted. Each quickly-inhaled breath was caught for long moments before she released it. The juncture of her loins tingled. Itched. She tightened her thighs against it. And her nipples went to darts of annoying sensation. Nothing about the blue-green satin bodice helped. The material was like a slide of cool water where she needed friction. Abrasion. Succor.

“You spoke earlier of consummation. And babes? Yes?”

He lifted an arm, and started flicking leather loops off metal hooks. He continued down his side to his beltline. Bessie swallowed. Her throat joined the blend of sensations as a lump formed and would not dissolve. It made swallowing difficult. It strangled any words off, too. He’d stopped undressing, and just stood there. Waiting. Making time wait with him.

“Well? Did you or did you not speak of such things?”

Bessie went hot with the flush. And then cold with the shivers. Both were delicious sensations. She nodded.

“You will lose your power.”

“What...power?”

“You ran from me because of it.”

“No. I...”  Her words ended. He wanted her to make sense, when his fingers hovered at the opening of the breastplate thing and just stopped there?

“Then why did you run?”

“Because...you only wanted an heir...to keep my wealth. You...sent a request.” 

Her voice lowered to a whisper of sound. It matched the tight constriction of her ribs about her heart. He pursed his lips. Her entire body lurched. That was mystifying. And exciting. And cancelling out anything resembling hurt.

“Uncle Francis gave me that scroll. It explained his move to the north wing without complaint. But not your action. Don’t you realize by now that I don’t care about coin? Or land? Or court position? None of that has much value to me.”

“I...know.” 

“There is only one thing I care about right now. And that means there will, most likely, be babes created. And you need to understand that. Yes?”

She nodded and stifled the gasp as he yanked the front of the breastplate forward and then up. Both front and back got removed and dropped at his feet. She jumped at the clang as they landed. He smiled. The candlelight caressed and defined. The red silk of his tunic clung and delineated. It was pleated at his hips. And completely distorted in the front. Bessie clapped a hand to her mouth as her eyes absorbed the lump Roberta had tried to describe.

She needed to tell him. Do something other than watch raptly as he shed piece after piece of clothing. Devon lifted a foot to the side rail beside her leg. His arms rippled and moved as he unlaced a sandal. And then he removed the other one. His tunic shadowed his upper thighs, still hiding even a hint of what she was facing. Bessie suffered a series of tremors, containing both nervousness and excitement. In equal portions. She’d known he was large. Hard. But not nearly this size.

Devon put a knee on the mattress beside her, denting it with his weight. She would have rolled toward him if she wasn’t scooting back. Using her feet. Farther. Faster. She reached the headboard with a thud as her back hit it. Devon was on hands and knees as he approached.

“What is it, love?”

Bessie shook her head, but a squeak made it out.

“Are you afraid? Is that it? Was one of your husbands an abusive sort?”

She shook her head again.

“You can tell me, love.”

“You’ll...be angry again. And my maid told me you’d be appreciative! That’s not fair! She always spouts wisdom, but now it’s all wrong. I was in your bed last night because she advised me to. And just look what happened! Now, I don’t know who to believe or what to say.”

“What...to say?” he repeated.

He’d tensed. She didn’t just have the visual proof as muscles tightened along his arms. Or the quick intake of breath he made. The mattress swayed with it, as well. Bessie’s eyes filled with tears. Stupid things! She sniffed in annoyance. She’d never been so emotional.

“I...have never had a man,” she whispered.

For a moment nothing happened, and then he put his head back and yelled upward toward the ceiling. Bessie pushed even closer to the headboard. And then she realized he was laughing. Hard arms wrapped about her as he hauled her into his lap, and then he was nuzzling his lips along her collarbone. Her throat. His kiss reaching an ear.

“You’re telling me you are a maid?”

“Y-yes.”

“Oh. Bessie. Oh, sweet. Oh. Love.”

“You are...not angry?”

“Oh, darling. I am stunned. Amazed. Almost overwhelmed. And thinking I am fairly dense, as well. So many things are clear...especially your behavior in the stable the other night.”

“You truly...are not angry?”

Lips touched her ear. She squealed, and her shoulder lifted instantly. Nothing halted the blizzard of shivers that accompanied the action. His breath made it even more vivid, especially as he spoke.

“Well. I’ll admit to being a little...disturbed in places you won’t understand. But that pales. Trust me. I actually don’t recall ever feeling so...favored.”  He chuckled again, sending even more shivers in its wake. And then he lifted his head, swiveled her in his lap to face him, and proved he looked exactly as he sounded. His smile was impossible to miss, even in the dimness. And then he sobered. And grunted.

“It’s a good thing you decided to tell me, love.”

“It is?”

“Well...yes. Things could have been more painful than necessary.”

Bessie’s eyes went wide. “Painful?”

“Has...no one explained? Perhaps your maid?”

Bessie blushed. Tipped her head down, but his hand touched her chin and brought her up to face him again.

“So, she did say something?”

“She said...you would explain everything.”

“I see.” He chuckled again.

“Is it that bad?”

“Oh no, love. It’s that good.”

“You...promise?”

“My parents certainly found it so. I have eight siblings. Remember?”

She nodded.

“Well. I guess we should start anew. With a kiss. I am going to kiss you now. Ready?”  His mouth hovered atop hers. Teasing.   

“K-k-kiss me?”

“If you don’t want my kisses, you shouldn’t rouge your lips.”

“I...don’t.”

He grunted something that sounded like agreement before taking her lips with his. At the first touch, a spark shot through her, hitting her heart, gaining his groan and her moans. The kiss deepened. Breaths grew harsh. Her arms went about his shoulders, and she arched toward him. Bringing him nearer. Closer.

He moved, straightening them out onto the bed, with Bessie on her back, beneath one leg. His hand roved about, squeezing her hips before moving up, defining her waist, and then cupping a breast, the entire time imprinting heat. Riotous sensation. Devon moved his ministration to her throat, tipping her head up, a hand pushing her pearl-encrusted hair out of his way. Bessie writhed under his ministrations, willing the satin of her bodice down, wanting a touch desperately. And more. Wordlessly telling of yearning. Her senses were filled with the scent of melting candle wax, the sound of his silk sliding against her satin, the weight of his leg.

And she wanted more. So much more. She moved her hands, rubbing them up and down his tunic before grabbing handfuls and wrenching at it. Devon groaned before sliding his lips along her throat to the hint of cleavage above her bodice, whispering as he went.

“Not so quickly, my love. We mustn’t...take this too fast. Oh, dearest. Sweetest. Most beauteous...innocent. Bessie.”

“But, Devon! I want—! I need—!”

Each plea ended with a cry. It was accompanied with a pull on the wads of red silk she held.

“I know, darling. I do.”

He pushed her bodice down, freeing flesh that was pinched tight with desire. First, to the air. And then to his kiss. Bessie’s shocked cry pierced the area, turning into mews of pleasure as he suckled and licked and adored. Each intake of breath iced. And then burned. And if he hadn’t been pinning her with his leg, she’d have launched right off the mattress with the riot of pleasure that ensued. His laughter at her reaction caused even more tickling. More shivers. And more wonder.

“You wear too much, love.”

“Yes.” She breathed the word.

He snorted.

“I mean, no. There’s not...even a petticoat.”

“It’s still too much.” 

He was on his side, grazing a hand along the pearl-enhanced drapery on her skirt, following the line of her legs down before returning to her waist. She felt his fingers at the hooks of her waistband. Then the immediate release as the restrictive satin came undone. He pulled and the skirt opened along the back where Augusta had placed her final stitching. Bessie gasped at the feel of cool linen and tried not to worry. He managed it all without even looking.

“What is it, love?”

“No...thing.”

“I’ve a sixth sense when it comes to you, Bessie. I think you worry for naught. I am not proficient because of practice. I had to order and pay for my sisters’ wardrobes for years. And you truly wear too much. Still. You have stockings? Garters? A chemise?” 

“Y-yes. No.”

“No?”

“I wear no...chemise.”

Her voice trembled. She flushed. She was wearing so little! And he called it too much? And it sounded as decadent and sinful as it felt. And exactly as perfect. He grinned, before pushing from her into a crouch, stretching Bessie’s arms until she let go. Her hold left dual marks of wrinkled silk at his upper belly. She looked from there to his expression. It was difficult to see clearly. The enclosure was barely illuminated. His regard still did all kinds of things to her pulse. She’d never felt so womanly. Adored. Desired.

The sensation of air as it caressed her bared breasts and moist nipples engendered all sorts of reaction through her lower belly, too. That meshed with the juncture of her thighs. Her most private place. The area was alive with excitement and tension. Alternately going tight, and then loosening. Tight again. All with a series of movements she didn’t control.

“I feel as if I’m unwrapping a...very precious gift.”

He swiveled sideways to reach for her foot, and slid a slipper off. Then, he did the same to the other foot. Bessie gasped as he touched her ankle, and then his fingers skimmed her lower leg. He reached a knee, and turned her thighs into the consistency of porridge as they joined the other sensations. Shivering. Quivering. She felt him fiddle with a garter, making her alternately gasp and writhe against him, before he came back into view, leaving her stocking and garters in place.

“I think I’ll leave the stockings be, for now. Because some garters were made to catch a man’s interest...and I’m guessing these were crafted for exactly that purpose. Exactly.”

Bessie would have smiled, except he went onto his knees, looming large in the center of the mattress, his hands at his hemline as he regarded her for long, heart-stopping moments.