Page 71 of The Devil to Pay

“It will hurt, won’t it?” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of a little pain, only I don’t know if it is a little or a lot.”

“A little,” he assured her. “As little as I can manage. I can’t bear to hurt you, darling, and it will only be this first time. I promise.”

She stared up at him and pride filled his heart as he saw the way his words reassured her. She trusted him implicitly and, if he said it would be fine, she believed him. The weight of that trust hit him and suddenly he was almost as nervous as she was.

“Then I’m ready,” she said, linking her hands behind his neck. “Thank you, Jules, you have been so very kind, so… so lovely.”

“I couldn’t be anything else with you, love, and we’ll go gently,” he said, soothing her, stroking her long limbs, and good lord, but she had long, shapely, beautiful legs, just as he had suspected. Moving with excruciating slowness, he eased into her, his breath catching, lungs seizing as the pleasure of it melted his brain. Heat and wet warmth surrounded him, and he could think of nothing but the feel of her, the incandescent sparkle of desire in his blood. Nothing had ever felt like this before. He was speaking, he knew, love words, endless praise, but though he felt the meaning of what he was saying, he could not have recalled what he said. The joy of it, however, would stay with him until the day he died. He knew that, knew it as his beloved Davenport relaxed and joined him, catching onto the rhythm of the thing and shedding her inhibitions with an enthusiasm that stunned him. Of course, he ought to have expected the moment when she tried to take over and speed things along, hurrying toward the glittering peak he had shown her earlier, eager to experience it again.

Gently but firmly, he calmed her. “Don’t rush,” he whispered, gazing down at her. “There are no winners here, Davenport. No one needs to be in charge. Let’s find it together. We have all the time in the world, you know.”

“I’m impatient,” she said, laughing a little.

Jules smiled ruefully. “You won’t have long to wait, you feel too good. I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Truly?” she asked anxiously. “Even though I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Oh, love, when you do know what you’re doing, you’re going to be dangerous.”

She looked ridiculously pleased by this, but Jules could not speak anymore. Words had lost all meaning as desire took over, consuming every thought. There was nothing but her, the scent of her, camomile and warm woman, the feel of her soft skin, her welcoming body, and then he was lost. The climax took him by surprise, coming on harder and faster than he had expected, rocking him to his soul as he gave himself to the only woman he would ever love, from this day forth, until the end.

She clung to him as he let himself go, holding on tight, her soft cries underlying his as they made promised together, for a future they would share.

It took him awhile to regain his powers of speech, too shaken by what had happened to him to find words until they were settled against the pillows once more. His wife’s head rested on his shoulder, her long, lovely hair cascading over his chest.

“Well, Davenport. Do you agree we should consign the reverend to the flames?”

“Yes,” she said, daring a smile at him.

Jules grinned and ducked his head, kissing her swiftly. “I’m glad to hear it, love.”

“What a stuffy old fool,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine what I was thinking, reading such a dismal book when there are so many more interesting stories to be told.” Tears glittered in her eyes, and he rather thought his might look the same as she drew his head down to hers and whispered: “Jules, I do believe in happy ever afters. I didn’t, but I do now.”

He made a choked sound and kissed her, for there was really nothing else to be done. “I’m pleased to hear it, my darling Boadicea. So, let us find ours together.”

And so they did.

Epilogue

Hart,

Stop being such an objectionable arse. Your parents will be with us for Christmas, my father and mother and more siblings, nieces, nephews, and cousins than I care to count. If you give me the go by, you will leave me no choice than to come and get you by force. As you are a far bigger and far, far uglier character than me, this will humiliate us both, but mostly me.

For God’s sake, avoid such a pitiful scene and present yourself decked out for a jolly family get together or we shall be at outs.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Jules Adolphus, Marquess of Blackstone (eldest son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Mr Hartley De Beauvoir (adopted son of Mr and Mrs Inigo and Minerva De Beauvoir).

Almost five years later…

25thDecember 1849, Chartley, Upper Brook Street, London.

Jules watched with amusement as eight-year-old Benjamin instructed his three-year-old nephew on how exactly to place the soldiers upon the turrets of the castle they’d built. His son, Rufus, who already had very definite ideas about how things ought to be done, was arguing his case for a different arrangement.

“He’s just as bossy as you were,” Jules’ sister Victoria observed, tilting her head to one side as she stroked her belly. This was baby number four, and Jules could only smile as he recognised the wistful look his wife cast her. His eighteen-month-old daughter, Dinah, squirmed in her mother’s lap, eager to knock the castle down and cause a riot.

“Bossier,” Jules replied wryly. “I blame Davenport.”

“Don’t you go blaming me,” his wife retorted, laughter glinting in her eyes. “Besides, he isn’t bossy, he’s learning to be a duke. Isn’t that right, Robert?”