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*
The morning after her wedding, Kate Sheffield – Bridgerton; now, that will take some getting accustomed to – wakes before her husband, in the blue-orange light of mid-May. For a moment, she doesn’t know where she is.
It is the foreign bed, and room, and noise from the streets below, she thinks. She will grow used to it soon enough. But this morning, she opens her eyes to still-unfamiliar bedlinens, light streaming through the cracks in the window drapes. She breathes in and out slowly, turning her gaze from the windows to the bare nape of Anthony’s neck. There are freckles along the rise of his shoulder blade. His dark hair, mussed from her hands and last evening’s activities, lays rumpled against his pillow. They share a bed but Kate cannot help but feel the gap between them, even as she is naked as a newborn under their sheets and senses the heat of his body.
Sighing quietly, she shifts onto her back and closes her eyes once more, her hands resting on her belly atop the bedspread. Her ears adjust to the sounds filtering through the house, new and strange. Wagons and carriages outside, calling out to pedestrians; Anthony’s staff – her staff as well, she supposes – walking lightly through the corridors, skirting past the viscount’s chamber quickly. The décor she vaguely remembers in her mind’s eye is comfortable but spartan, as if a soft touch has never passed these doors.
Should she bother making a mark on this house? They will move soon enough. Does Anthony even want her mark on his life? They will have a friendship. They will have successful bedsport, if last night is anything to go on. But that seems all, if she trusts his word.
Shifting on her side of the bed, she winces faintly. Her limbs and muscles are sore, unaccustomed to last night’s use. There is no real pain, but she does feel the lingering effects. It’s something of a delicious feeling. Next to her, Anthony makes a snuffling noise, and turns onto his back. His shoulder brushes against hers, bare skin to bare skin, and she shivers.
You are the most beautiful and desirable woman in England, and if everybody else doesn’t see that, then they’re all bloody fools.
Does he understand what that meant for her to hear that from him? And does he know just how difficult it is for her to believe it? Kate is under no illusions about her comparative beauty against Edwina, Cressida Cowper, or even Daphne Bridgerton. She has always striven to rely on things other than her looks. A strong mind begets a strong heart begets a strong will, and so on. Had Anthony really found it so shocking that she considered herself destined for spinsterhood? He had sisters, how could he not –
Well. It was different to be in the Bridgerton’s social class, she imagines.
Kate opens her eyes, observing the change of light and shadow in the bedchamber. The air is cool against her bare skin. She is married, and her husband sleeps beside her, and she isn’t quite sure how to start the day.
After what feels like an age, but could have merely been minutes, Anthony begins to stir into wakefulness. His hand searches for her under the linens, falling to her belly as he shifts closer to her onto his side.
“Kate,” he mumbles, his face nuzzling into the crook of space between her shoulder and neck.
She smiles faintly, turning her head slightly. Her lips ghost the mess of his dark hair. “Are you even awake?” she whispers.
“’course,” he mutters, breath warm on the curve of her neck. “Kate.”
Is he just reminding himself of who shares his bed?
Kate pushes away the insidious thought and shifts down into the sheets, bringing her face even to his as she turns onto her side. They lay together as a parabola, her watching him carefully as he blinks into full consciousness. His large warm hand falls to her waist, fingertips skimming the thin skin over her ribs. She wants to touch him but resists, scared of ruining the moment as she nearly did last night. Her hands twine under her chin, her elbows tucked into her chest.
Finally, finally, Anthony opens his eyes fully. His crooked smile sends a sharp bolt of warmth through to her heart.
“Good morning, wife,” he murmurs.
“Hello,” she says softly, allowing herself to bask in his gaze, his touch.
He squints at her, brow furrowed slightly. “Feeling all right?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”
“I didn’t – you’re not – “ he pauses, mouth folding in on itself.
A blush heats her cheeks but she keeps his gaze. “I am perfectly well, if a bit sore. Regular exertion will make me accustomed,” she says dryly.
At that, his mouth falls open. “Good god, Kate.”
“I thought that was expected on a honeymoon,” she says primly.
“I – certainly, I – “ he laughs, pulling her flush to his chest with the hand on her hip moving to the small of her back. Her arms shift to accommodate him, sliding around his shoulders. “God, you are incredible.”
Her nose twitches, her lips pursed together. “For having normal expectations?”
“For actually talking like a person,” he says. “You know how women are.”
She snorts. “You are quite unkind to my gender, sir. I would hope most women could speak frankly with their husbands about their married lives.”
“I think you’ve had some excellent role models, to be sure,” he says, leaning in and kissing her lightly.
The press of his mouth sends shivers right through her. Her fingers curl into his shoulder blades. She remembers the vulnerability of this same muscle and skin when he slept, the way they flexed under her hands as he moved inside her. She can’t help but deepen the kiss, her mouth open and soft under his. Desire rises through her, from the curl of her toes to the tilt of her head. It’s easy to forget her worries, her doubts, her insecurities, when he shifts his hands over her bare back and presses her into the bed, his thigh sliding between hers.
“Kate – “ he says, her name a rumble in his chest. The feel of his body over hers, the rough friction of chest hair against her breasts, the hard rise of his cock at her thigh – she’s drunk on the sensation, especially as he mouths down the line of her jaw and neck. She can’t help but arch into him, as his hands cup her hips and move her against him.
“Anthony – “
The knock on the door startles them both, frozen together. She looks up as Anthony raises his head from her neck, dark eyes wide in his face.
“My lord?”
Anthony’s valet’s voice carries through the heavy wood. Kate feels herself shrink away from Anthony on instinct, and he sighs, rolling away from her with a muttered curse.
“Just a moment!” Anthony calls, flopping onto his back and scrubbing a hand over his flushed face.
Kate gathers the bedspread around her naked body and slips from the bed, leaving him covered loosely by the sheets. She resolutely doesn’t look as he takes aggressive breaths through his nose behind her, presumably in an effort to calm down. Hurrying across the smooth hardwood floors, she finds a peignoir and slips it on quickly, trying to limit her nudity as much as possible. While she lives every moment as if it is her last, and is always interested in trying new things, she still has a bit of shyness left on this second day of marriage.
“God, Kate – “
“You can wait until we arrive at Aubrey Hall, can’t you?” she teases over her shoulder, shaking out her hair. She’s braver with clothes on, she notes wryly.
When nothing meets her but silence, she peers back at him. Anthony looks at her as if turned to stone, the flush of desire high on his cheeks. His cock is still half-hard, tenting the sheet.
“Anthony,” she murmurs, tugging at the belt of her gown.
She watches as he swallows, his throat moving slowly. “I am not letting you leave our bedroom for an entire day. Maybe two,” he warns.
Smiling slightly, Kate shrugs and picks up the abandoned bedspread. Any other time, she might push back against such a directive. But she finds she likes the idea, of being cocooned in one place with him for a long stretch of time. Time to understand him, to dig into his mind. For all the conversations they’ve had, he is still a mystery to her in so many ways.
“We have to get there first,” is all she says, tossing the bedspread onto the bed.
He lets out a long, slow, loud exhale. “Come in,” he calls at last, still laying on his back.
Immediately his valet and her lady’s maid enter. Kate walks into the washroom, her maid right behind her. She listens to Anthony detail the day to his valet as her bath is drawn, as her traveling gown is laid out. She listens, and wonders what her marriage has in store.
*
Kate wakes up on the third day of her marriage to her husband’s mouth on her skin, tracing the soft curves of her belly.
The light filtering through the windows is warm and yellow, the only noises birds chirping, the rustle of wind through the trees near the manor. Aubrey Hall is an enclave, enveloping her and Anthony in a soft, comfortable embrace. She spent yesterday, the first full day in the country, walking with Anthony through the gardens and exploring the library in more detail, though her husband deviled her constantly (though not unwelcomely) with his hands and mouth.
It is different, seeing the house as a home rather than an event space. As they arrived in the drive, Anthony’s face relaxed bit by bit. She wonders why he lingers in the city if he loves it here so much. She wonders if he would tell her, if she asked. Sometimes, he is relentlessly closed-off to her, as if he only wishes her to touch his body, never his mind or heart.
He had said he would not fall in love with her. But surely friendship is built on shared knowledge? He knows so much of her already, and he is so silent, when he wants to be. The inequity eats at her already.
Now, in the warm morning light, she pushes her worries aside and lifts the bedlinens, watching Anthony’s dark head and wide full mouth as he kisses and marks his way across her skin. His palms curve to the rise of her thighs, his fingers pressing into her hips. She shifts her hips and he raises his head, smiling. His mouth gleams, his eyes brighten, and she loves him.
No. No, she doesn’t.
“Hello,” she says, voice low.
“Hello,” he replies, shifting further down. His chin, rough with stubble, grazes the bell curve of her stomach and finds the thin skin joining her hip to her thigh.
“What – what, pray tell, are you doing?” she asks, slightly breathless, though she has a picture in her mind.
That crooked smile she finds so charming quirks his mouth. “Do you trust me?”
She hates that question. “Of course I do,” she says evenly. Why shouldn’t she? He comforts her in storms, he marries her to spare her reputation, he cares for her and her family. He knows so much and betrays so little. Of course she trusts him.
It is he who doesn’t trust her.
One of his hands slides from her thigh to between her legs, stroking her damp folds and finding the nub at the top of her cunt. She bites the inside of her cheek and exhales sharply, her hips moving into the slow-circle-rub of his fingertips. But she doesn’t look away.
“Good,” he says, voice all desire, and lowers his mouth to track a wet path from her hipbone to her thigh and inwards. Her hands fall into his hair, tangling ruthlessly, and he groans against her skin. She wants to fly out of her body, wants to pin him to the bed and never let him go, wants to drag her mouth over his skin and swallow him down. The pleasure is a keening ache, increasing in intensity as his lips join the tease of his fingers, licking into her and moaning right against her center.
Sweat gathers at the back of her knees and she shifts her legs up, pressing her heels into the mattress. Her hands quiver. She closes her eyes and presses back into the pillows, breath catching in her chest. All her skin feels stretched tight, flushed. The noises he makes, the way his tongue plays at her nub, the thrust and curl of his fingers inside of her - she feels her hair stick to the side of her neck and she shakes in his hold. He has one palm at her hip, his fingers pressing into the soft give of her belly.
“Anthony – God – “ she gasps, trying to press closer into him.
Anthony turns his head and breathes against her inner thigh, two fingers relentless as they move inside her. His mouth is wet against her skin, his hair tickling against the curls between her thighs. The complicated sensations war inside her, twisting in her belly and lower.
“Is it good?” he asks, breathless.
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Anthony, it’s – you’re so good – “
A jolt passes through him. She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, his face flushed.
“You’re so good to me,” she repeats softly, aching for him even as close as he is to the heart of her. One of her hands moves from his hair to his cheek, touching the corner of his lips, his jaw. She doesn’t understand what he wants, but he likes this. She knows this much.
Closing his eyes, he moans and buries his mouth between her thighs again. His lips seal over her sensitive nub and his tongue flutters in teasing licks. She gasps and trembles as he teases her higher and higher. She plays with his hair, tugging sharply, as her other hand reaches up behind her to grasp the edge of the headboard for leverage.
Finally - finally - he drives her into a cresting wave of pleasure, his tongue inside her and his fingertips circling her nub. She shakes and keens as she comes, every secret curve of her body filmy with sweat, her breath coming in hard gasps. His mouth and hands shift away as he kisses her hip, her belly button, the valley between her breasts, the soft skin of her throat, her jaw, before he captures her mouth in a bold, thorough kiss. He tastes vaguely salty-sweet, and it’s her, he tastes like her,, and she can’t – she has to –
Her hands fall to his back, sliding desperately over his bottom and the backs of his thighs. He is hard at her hip. She licks into his mouth as her hand finds his cock. She has only done this once in the three days they’ve been married, touch him like this, but she has to – she wants to touch him, to feel him, to know him as he knows her.
“Christ,” he groans into her mouth, hips jerking. He holds his weight over her, braced with his hands on either side of her head, eyes wild. “Kate – Kate – “
She rubs her thumb over the wet tip of his cock, marveling at the hard heat of him. “Tell me,” she whispers, running her fingers over him and over him. “Show me, tell me, Anthony – “
Trembling, he drops off to his side, leaning on one elbow. She follows, watching the flushed hard length of him move under her touch. He covers her hand with his and she stills, glancing at his face.
“Like this,” he whispers, and begins to move her. His hand is damp – damp from her, and it smooths their joined way. She learns how to move from root to tip, how to press her thumb along the ridge of his head, how he shudders when she leans in and sets her teeth into his shoulder, his pectoral. She wants to mark him as she feels marked in turn, wants indelible proof that he is hers, even if it is only in their bed.
“Kate – Kate – I – “
“This is so good,” she whispers, watching his face slacken in pleasure. “You feel so good in my hand, inside me, so good – “
Anthony drops to his back and gasps, coming in a hot rush against her palm, her fingers, his thigh. His legs tremble as she soothes him, her grip loosening as she presses kisses and bites against his collarbone, the base of his throat. She looks at him, loose and soft and panting in the morning light, and loves him.
Yes. She loves him.
Kate shoves that away and raises her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers. It’s salt and sweat and man, and she – she feels grounded, desired, in control. She wants it all.
“God, fuck, Kate – “ he gasps, pulling her down for a long kiss.
The linens are damp with sweat and everything else. She sprawls across his chest and kisses him back, wanting to sink right into him.
“Was that – was that all right?” she whispers against his lips.
Anthony exhales, holding her close. His hands are heavy and sure on her back, her bottom.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. “It was good.”
She smiles, pleased. Perched on his chest, she reaches him and pushes damp locks of wild hair from his forehead. “Good.”
They lay in silence but for their slowly resetting breaths, the chirp of birds. Below them, the house shuffles to slow, gentle life. The staff have instructions not to come to their bedchambers until called, at least for this week.
“I love it here,” she says finally, into the thin skin of his throat.
His grip tightens on her briefly. “So do I,” he says, sounding a bit sad.
It’s an opening, should she wish to take it. She raises her head to look him in the eye. Sunlight gleams off his hair, lightening the dark chestnut with gold. “Your mother and Colin said you’re rarely here,” she says cautiously.
When he doesn’t toss her off or anything, she smooths a hand over his chest, through the rough hair along his pectorals, and continues. “Why is that?”
Anthony looks at her for a brief, taut moment, something wavering behind his eyes. Then, his face settles into his collegial, teasing mask, and he leans up to peck a kiss against her lips. “A man of my involvements is required to be in town,” he says, shifting beneath her. “Come, you’ve worked up my appetite, wife.”
Frowning slightly, she shifts off of him. He rises, naked and utterly handsome, and strides into the washroom. Kate lingers in their bedchamber, sliding from bed and slipping on her dressing gown as her maid and his valet knock at the door.
At breakfast, Anthony is charming, teasing, dry. Never hurtful, but hooded.
Kate watches, smiles, parries his verbal thrusts. And wonders.
*
On the fifth day of their honeymoon, two days before their return to London, Kate and Anthony go riding.
“I’d like to show you the land,” he says over breakfast. “And see your new riding habit, of course.”
She rolls her eyes, and resists throwing her toast at him as he winks. But she does wish to see more of the land, meet some of the tenants, find little copses of trees, places to tuck away and hide from the world. Perhaps she can convince her husband to open up in the solitude of the forests, just with her, beyond whatever ghosts linger in this house.
So, she dresses in her new riding habit, the wool dyed a rich teal-blue that the modiste said would complement her dark hair and eyes. It fits nicely for a piece picked from the display windows and hurriedly altered, nipped in below the bust. When she meets Anthony out at the stables, the sun high and the scent of the gardens carrying on the breeze, she notes the way his eye lingers on her. A flush warms her cheeks but she says nothing but a soft thank you as Anthony helps her into the saddle, serving as groom and husband. His hands are gentle on her waist and she remembers the way he moved her atop him last night, guiding her as his –
“Kate?”
She blinks, looking over at her husband. He sits atop his own horse, eyebrow quirked.
“Yes. Apologies,” she says, shaking her head. “I was distracted by the gardens.”
He snorts and she glares at him. Equilibrium is restored.
They take a wide circle along the Bridgerton-held lands, stopping to speak with tenants and those passing through the nearby village alike. Each tenant greets Anthony with respect and he responds with warm geniality, clearly connected to the wellbeing of their lands and families. When he introduces Kate as his wife, the new Viscountess, it’s a shock to her. It’s the first time she’s really thought of herself in such a way, beholden not just to her husband but to his family, his tenants, his world.
“It’s wonderful to see you here, milord,” the tenants say over and over, no matter who they are.
“Come by whenever you’re here, we’ll send over the best of the sheep’s milk cheese,” one grey-bearded farmer says, resting a hand on his walking staff. He reminds her of her own father for a moment. “Always a pleasure to see you in the flesh, sir.”
“Of course, we never feel neglected, and any time there’s a problem, milord is quick to assist,” one of the farmer’s wives says to Kate as Anthony and her husband speak ahead of them on some issue with fencing. “But it’s good to see the big house alive. The family just hasn’t been the same since the old Viscount passed.”
Kate wets her lips, watching Anthony carefully out of the corner of her eye. “I love it here, and I am certain Lord Bridgerton does as well,” she says diplomatically.
“Oh, ‘course, milady! Nothing’s ever the same once a parent passes,” the woman replies, voice comforting and warm.
“No, it isn’t,” Kate murmurs.
It’s the same, no matter who they stop to speak with. At one point, Anthony dismounts to assist one of the tenants with a wandering pair of sheep. Kate watches with delight as he herds the sheep back to their flock, laughing and smiling with the young tenant as they chat. There’s an openness to his face that she’s only ever seen here, at Aubrey Hall, and in the soft breathless evenings of their marriage. She wants to bottle this up and hold it close, keep it for when she is sleepless in the night, for the next thunderstorm.
He has so many faces, she thinks as they leave the sheep to their grazing and turn back towards home. The sun is high above them, the air warm with coming summer, thick with the scent of grass, hay, wildflowers. She follows closely as Anthony leads her towards a wide thicket of woods, dark green leaves dappled with sunlight. Watching the line of his back as he rides, the set of his shoulders under his dark coat, the flex of his hands on the reins, she wonders yet again why he does what he does. Why did he need to marry this year? Why does he spend so little time in this place he loves? What happened to make him so resistant to devotion, like what his parents must have had?
“Kate?”
She halts her mount, touching her neck gently as she guides her back around. Anthony is stopped a few feet from her, in a pool of afternoon sunlight.
“Sorry,” she says, shrugging.
He tilts his head, watching her. “For what?”
“For being quite distracted today,” she says lightly. “I hope your tenants didn’t find me too off-putting.”
Narrowing his eyes, he takes a moment to dismount from his horse, landing steadily on the soft grass. “Our tenants found you lovely, as do I,” he says, voice soaked with amusement and charm.
She watches as he leads his horse to a nearby tree, tying it to one of the lower, thicker branches with a flourish. “Why are we stopping?” she asks, dismounting as well. She stumbles just briefly but recovers before he can swoop in to assist.
“Can’t a man want to show his wife the beauty of nature?” he asks with a grin.
“Of course he can,” she retorts, leading her horse to his with a gentle hand.
He takes the reins and ties her horse off next to his. “There’s a little place near here I love,” he says after a moment, as he’s pulling two apples from his saddlebag. “I’d like to show it to you.”
Kate waits and watches as he feeds their horses, nickering to them softly and rubbing their dark noses. She twines her gloved fingers in front of her, something of a melancholy ache settling in her belly.
When he turns back to her, he walks right to her and takes one of her hands in his. “Come,” he says, smiling softly.
Helpless in the face of her own feelings, she does.
The grass is soft under her boots as they walk, hand-in-hand. He doesn’t speak, so she follows suit in her silence. As has been so often the case, she feels as if her understanding of her husband is changing, fluid as the water rushing in a nearby stream. His hand is warm around hers, even through their riding gloves. The late spring sun glances off his dark hair, highlighting gold strands against his temples where his hat leaves him exposed. Even the set of his shoulders is relaxed in a way that feels incongruous with how he speaks of his responsibilities, his life.
When they halt, she’s so distracted by her own thoughts that she stumbles into his side before noticing –
“Oh,” she says softly, biting her lip.
Anthony looks at her, leaning right into her where their bodies connect. “It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it?”
They stand at the edge of the woods, at the cusp of sunlight and shadow. Ahead of them, fields of growing wheat stretch out, gleaming in the afternoon light. The land stretches into the horizon, sinking into the bright blue of spring skies. The stalks of wheat, still young, shift and sway in the breeze. In the distance, Kate can see their closest neighbors’ home, but it is just a dark hill. There are no tenants, no small cottages, no livestock. It’s just a field, and yet.
“It is,” she says after a long moment.
“My father – we used to walk the land together. Sometimes we would ride,” Anthony says quietly, but not sadly. His tone is warm, nostalgic. “My mother tells me the first time he did this was when I was still in swaddling clothes. He said all the land is important, but it was equally important to find a spot that felt like mine. All of us have a favorite spot, I’m sure. This is mine.”
“Did he have one?” she asks, blinking back the sudden dampness behind her eyes.
“Yes. The creek from Pall Mall,” he says with a rueful laugh. “Where you sank my chances of winning.”
“I honestly can’t believe you expected any less,” she says, exasperated.
“No, I didn’t. And my father would have loved it. He would have liked you very much,” he says, squeezing her hand.
She squeezes back, chancing a look sideways at him. “Given that practically all your family liked me but for you, I’m hardly surprised,” she teases.
He barks out a laugh. “You were trying to ruin my well-constructed plans, Kate. Of course I was slightly perturbed.”
“Seems I did actually ruin them, are you still perturbed?” she says tartly. She pictures him here with Edwina, showing her sister this sacred, completely usual place, and hates herself just a bit.
Anthony fixes his dark eyes on her, turning to face her. The air shifts between them, heavy with anticipation. “You drive me mad, Kate. But perhaps not as you used to,” he murmurs.
Slowly, he guides her back to the shelter of the trees, where they are shielded and alone. He backs her up against a tree, the bark pressing sharply into her spine through her coat. Keeping his eyes on hers, he lifts their joined hands and peels off her riding glove, then his own. She wets her lips and watches as he repeats the same action with their other hands. The slide of their bare skin against one another sends shivers through her. Gloves forgotten to the soft grass, she sinks back against the tree trunk as he presses forward and kisses her, breathless and wanting. Her bare fingers sink into the hair at the nape of his neck and she shuts her eyes, listening to the sound of their mouths, the breeze, the call of insects in the nearby fields.
“Kate – “ he breathes against her mouth, his hands searching for the clasps to her habit.
She knocks the hat from his head and drags her fingers over his scalp, along the line of his neck, the taut set of his shoulders. Their arms and hands tangle as he strips her of the riding habit, leaving her in a chemise and her skirt, as she pushes the topcoat from him and searches out the heat of his chest through his linen shirt. He rocks his hips against her and she can barely feel him through her skirt. Frustration and desire fight for dominance as she kisses him, her tongue finding his. She has learned from him how to kiss, how to touch, how to want - and now she wants more.
“Are we doing this here, milord?” she teases as his mouth trails over her throat, the lace neckline of her chemise, his breath hot against her skin.
His hands pause at her skirts. “Do – Kate – I’m sorry – “
“No – “ she says fiercely, taking his face in her hands and bringing his gaze up to hers. “I want this. I was – I was teasing you, Anthony. You ought to be used to it,” she says with a lopsided smile.
There’s something vulnerable and open in his dark eyes she hasn’t seen before. For a long, tense moment, they watch each other, breaths short and sharp between their lips. She smooths her thumbs over the rise of his cheekbones and his hands flex at her waist. His mouth trembles and his gaze flutters from her eyes to her lips.
Finally, she closes the distances between their lips. “I want you, Anthony,” she murmurs against him.
A hoarse sound curls out from his throat. He kisses her soundly, his hands scrabbling over her skirts to try to find bare skin. She moans into his mouth and slides her hands over the taut line of his back, to the front of his breeches. She is sweating through her chemise, the heat between her thighs sharp and needy.
“Kate – god damn it, this fucking skirt – “ he mutters as she fumbles her way through the buttons on his breeches, feeling the hard heat of his cock through the fabric and then released into the space between their bodies.
“You wanted to see it,” she reminds him breathlessly.
He grabs one of her hands and brings it to his mouth. “You are a tease,” he says darkly, kissing and licking at her palm, her fingers. The sheer physicality of it floors her, weakens her knees, sending a pulse of desire through her whole body. His tongue slides around her fingertips and she whimpers, her other hand sliding into his open breeches and behind to cup his bottom.
“Kate – “ he gasps out, biting her fingertips. He then guides her damp hand back down to his cock.
When she grasps his hard length, hand slick from his mouth, he lets out a guttural, low whine. His hips thrust into her grasp and she parts her legs under her skirt, feeling him insinuate himself between her thighs. God, he’ll stain the skirt, the maids will know -
“Fuck – Kate – “
“Not yet,” she begs, moving her hand on his bottom to his hip. She pushes him back slightly, loosening her grip on his cock.
He looks at her, eyes wild. “Kate – don’t – “
With his breeches at his knees and his boots still on, he can’t resist much as she turns him against the tree trunk. “I know,” she whispers, pushing him back.
He goes without a fight, sinking back, his throat arched into a long line as he tilts his head back. His shirt is loose at the throat and his breeches are open. He looks like some sort of debauched Renaissance painting, like a statue she might see in Rome or Athens, all sharp lines and carved tension. Kate looks at him, and wants him, and loves him.
“Can I – “ she pauses, her thumb rubbing a slow circle around the head of his erection.
He groans. “Anything – Kate – “
Slowly, she sinks to her knees. All of her feels primed, loose, ready. Wetting her lips, she leans forward and takes the head of his cock into her mouth, her lips tucked over her teeth. With one hand she stroked him from the root to just where her mouth held him. The taste of him, salty and bitter and earthy, flooded her tongue. She licked and sucked and hummed, breathing through her nose as she stroked with one hand. All those instrument lessons coming in handy, she thinks wildly as Anthony chokes out her name and sinks his hands into her hair.
She’s sure he’s had better, more expert handling. But there is something intoxicating about the heft of him on her tongue, the heat of him under her fingers, the way he knocks the hat from her hair and absolutely loses his mind above her. He’s making sounds she hasn’t heard from him before, his fingers destroying the chignon, pulling pins and loosening waves. She closes her eyes and takes him just a bit deeper into her mouth, wary of going too far. But she loves the taste, the texture. Her free hand scrapes up and down his bare upper thigh, feeling the rough scratch of hair against her fingertips. She wants to know everything, wants to learn everything. She’s always been curious.
Soon he’s pulling at her hair, saying her name urgently.
“Kate – I’ll – I’m going to – “
She pulls her mouth away and tilts her whole body to the side, pressing her forehead to his hipbone as she strokes him, fast and pressing her thumb against the slit at the head of his cock. She kisses and licks at the salt of his skin as he shouts through his pleasure, spilling over her fingers and onto the grass. Anthony sounds as if he has just run a mile at top speed, breathing hard and fast. His knees tremble and she shifts back onto her heels and back to a stand, watching as he shuts his eyes and leans against the tree truck.
“Did you like that?” she asks softly, voice hoarse. The salt of him lingers on her tongue. She feels absolutely disheveled, and powerful.
He opens his eyes. His cheeks are flushed and his brow is damp, dark waves of hair clinging to his forehead and temples.
"Kate,” he breathes, reaching for her.
She goes willingly, kissing him just as fiercely as his hands grasp her waist. He chases the taste of him on her tongue and at the corners of her lips, kisses her until she is gasping and shaking. She feels the damp heat between her thighs, the ache in her belly, the rise of her breasts against her corset, and she pants against his mouth when he pulls back for a breath.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” he mutters, turning them back around so she is once again pressed to the tree. He hikes up his breeches quickly before his hands tug at the open gap of her chemise, the laces loosening. “I want you all the time, god – “
His words thrill her, settle deep into her bones. She strokes her hands up and down his back and lets them settle on his shoulders, feeling the damp sweat of his skin through his shirt.
When he gives up on her clothes, he drops to his knees and ducks under her skirts. She shrieks as his clever hands find the slit in her drawers, his mouth chasing right behind. All she can do is hold onto her skirts, press back against the tree trunk, and cry out as her husband licks and strokes her to orgasm in the spring afternoon, pinned by sun and shadow and the brush of Anthony’s hair against her thighs.
Later, after a fast ride back to the house and sneaking in past the staff – who absolutely saw them as they hurried in, and were quite respectful of their space, not a snicker or second glance thrown their way – Kate dresses for dinner as Anthony watches from his lounging position across their bed. Her maid dismissed once her deep green gown was on, Kate makes small adjustments to her hair, puts on her earrings. Her betrothal ring glimmers on her hand. In the candlelight, Anthony looks distant, apart. His eyes aren’t trained on her
“Thank you for today,” she says after a moment, watching his reflection in her mirror.
Anthony perks up, moving quickly from his lounging position to a stand. “For today?” he repeats, coming up to stand behind her chair. His hands settle on her shoulders, his touch friendly.
She meets his eyes in the mirror. “Yes. For sharing. For taking me to your favorite place.”
Something flickers through his gaze. His hands tighten briefly on her. His face shifts before smoothing back to neutrality. The genial, public Viscount returns.
“Well, we are married. Sharing is a part of the vows, isn’t it?” he says lightly, leaning over to kiss the top of her hair briefly before he pulls away. “Shall we?”
Kate swallows down the lump in her throat. She rises, takes her husband’s arm, and walks with him to a completely pleasant, completely dispassionate dinner.
*
The day before they depart back to town, Anthony receives a few urgent letters that he must answer immediately. He shuts himself in his study in the late afternoon with a distracted kiss to her brow, apologizing.
Kate walks the gardens and tries not to take it personally. Anthony is a well-known, well-regarded, necessary part of society, politically and economically. He rarely called at her rented home during their engagement, most likely due to said obligations. She imagines that he will be out of their home often enough during the day. It’s no matter, she thinks. She is used to entertaining herself.
Still, what could be so essential as to not wait one day?
Finally, as a light spring rain drives her inside, Kate shakes off her pelisse and gives it to the footman with a thank you and a forced smile. A knot of tension settles at the base of her spine as she walks the halls of this house that she could now call home. Landscapes dot the walls, interspersed with portraits of Bridgertons past. Violet’s sense of décor is pitch-perfect, welcoming and warm but still befitting their station. Kate wouldn’t dream of changing a thing here. Anthony’s current home, however…
Well, there’s no need, she supposes.
Kate finds herself in the library, selecting a Richard Sheridan play and settling into the window seat. The rain remains gentle, smearing across the windowpanes and lending a soft glaze to the gardens and woods beyond the house. She reads without seeing, listening to the soft sounds against the windows, thinking of the strange contradictions her husband presents.
“There you are,” comes Anthony from the doorway.
She looks up, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him. He looks harried, rushed. Fear grips her suddenly. “Is everything all right? Your mother – Mary – “
“Oh,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “No, everything is fine. I just – the rain – “
She wets her lips, glancing out the window into the grey and wet afternoon. “I’m all right,” she says, flushing slightly. His knowing this weakness of hers needles at her, like a bruise she cannot stop poking. “Rain is fine. It’s just thunder and lightning I find bothersome.”
“Ah,” he says, faintly sheepish. “I should have remembered.”
“I hope you didn’t leave anything unfinished from your correspondence,” she says politely, meeting his eyes.
Anthony watches her, his hands resting on his hips as he stands in the middle of the room. In the muted light, he looks confused. She can’t imagine why.
“No, I’m all done. I’m sorry for abandoning you,” he replies, a slight tease to his voice.
She hmms, slipping a ribbon into the book to mark her page and setting it aside. “I have a whole library, I am hardly abandoned.”
“Still, a husband ought to be attentive to his wife on their honeymoon,” he says, walking towards her as if a hunting cat. The gleam in his eyes sends a shiver through her.
“I do not disagree,” she replies, tipping her head back as he leans over her.
Anthony’s mouth quirks into a sincere smile. “Let me make amends.”
His kiss, she is growing used to. He starts out controlled, gentle, as if she will run scared. But as he sinks to the window seat and she shifts to perch in his lap, her knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his thighs, he loosens that carefully constructed leash. His mouth grows needier, hotter; his hands sink down the line of her back, over the rise of her breasts, the curve of her hips and bottom. She presses her hands into his chest, steadying herself as her tongue searches out his, the taste of afternoon tea and biscuits lingering at the corners of his lips.
“Kate,” he whispers, his hands finding their way under her skirts to bare skin. She shivers, the tide of desire she’s beginning to understand rising under her, between her thighs, tightening the space between her ribs. She moves her lips to the hinge of his jaw, the rapid pulse in his throat, as his hands seek purchase between her legs. He drags his fingertips over her thighs and she shudders.
“Stop teasing,” she demands, biting at his collarbones.
With a low chuckle, Anthony takes her by the hips and lifts her slightly off of him. She grips at his shoulders, staring at him. From her position she can look down at the sharp, handsome, flushed lines of his face. Again, she feels her heart throb and her belly fill with warmth, love.
“Help me out here, darling,” he murmurs.
She reaches down and undoes his breeches with an efficiency she would have been shocked by even a week ago, shifting the tight fabric down enough to free his erection. As he sits her back down, his cock presses hard against her inner thigh and the skirts of her blue striped day dress flutter and sink around them both. He hisses at the friction and she rocks her hips, trembling as his fingers slide between her thighs and tease her cunt, inching her higher towards that plane of pleasure. Sweat builds at the bend of her knees and she slides her hands over his chest, scratching at the hard planes and the bud of his nipples through his shirt.
“Christ, Kate – what you do to me – I couldn’t focus on those damn letters, knowing you were here –“ he murmurs, voice dark as midnight against her damp cheek.
She moans softly, shifting her weight in the search for more, more of him, more touch, more to take. Everything feels hot, slick, the press of his fingers inside of her, the slide of his cock against her thigh, his mouth at her earlobe. She can’t hear the rain any longer, can only hear her own heartbeat fast in her ears, in her throat.
“I never want to leave our bed – I want you all the damn time,” he groans, voice husky. His tongue licks up the salt and heat of her throat.
“Anthony - please - “
Finally, he takes his cock in hand, moving his fingers to her hip. He holds steady as she sinks onto him, the sensation of it stealing her breath. They have done this in such a fashion, in their bed, but this – sitting in a window seat, glass fogged by rain, in the sanctity of the library – she shudders, her nails digging into his biceps.
“Yes - yes, Christ,” he mutters, his mouth hot against her skin. His hand curves at her hip as she begins to move, a slow stutter of a rhythm that he smooths. They work together well like this, she thinks in a distant part of her mind not overwhelmed by pure wanting. They are a good team.
Then, his free hand slips between her thighs, circling the sensitive nub at the top of her cunt, and she loses all reasonable thought. He works her through an agonizingly slow orgasm, where she has to muffle her moans in his shoulder, biting down as she comes. As she clenches around him, she feels him stifle his own groans in her hair, the two of them curled inwards to each other, shaking and happy and clinging to one another. His hands flex into her waist, holding onto her as if she might disappear.
Once she can breathe, she lifts her head to find him staring at her, wild-eyed.
“Kate,” he whispers, but doesn’t continue.
She smiles faintly, feeling the stickiness between her thighs and the ache in her knees. “Hello.”
He blinks, shaking his head. A smile curls his mouth, happy and pure. She’s not seen one quite like this one, except for in the woods the other day.
“You are insatiable,” she says after a moment, exhaling heavily.
“Perhaps you are irresistible,” he retorts.
Rolling her eyes – because he may say sweet nothings in bed, but she isn’t an idiot – she eases off of his softening cock and sprawls onto the window seat next to him. “I’m not sure I can stand,” she murmurs, leaning against the cool windowpanes and shutting her eyes.
“A compliment, I assume,” he says. She hears the rustle of fabric, imagines him tucking himself back into his breeches, straightening his shirt.
“Assume as you will, husband,” she replied airily.
Abruptly, she feels his arms around her waist and under her knees. She yelps and opens her eyes as he picks her up in his arms, standing with her with ease. “Anthony!” she exclaims, her hands uneasy on his shoulders.
He grins at her, looking as young as she’s ever seen him. A shock of dark hair falls into his eyes. “I’m helping, aren’t I?”
She rolls her eyes again but smooths a hand through his tousled hair. “Of course, dear.”
Something passes across his face, but it clears quickly. He strides towards the door with her in his arms. “Be useful, open up,” he murmurs into her ear.
“Be useful,” she mimics with a laugh, unlocking the door and turning the knob.
He nips at her earlobe, whispering as he carries her to their bedchamber. They have dinner brought up to their rooms, rather than dress. Kate falls asleep with ease, Anthony curled up behind her, his arm around her waist.
She wakes alone.
*
On the way to Aubrey Hall, Anthony had ridden in the carriage with Kate, teasing her, kissing her, making her gasp, reminding her to hush with a teasing laugh.
When they make the return trip to London, he tells her he will ride separately, alongside her rather than in the carriage.
“I am feeling a bit cooped up,” he says in his Viscount tone.
Kate, nibbling at her toast and eggs, sets down her folk. “Certainly. Whatever you think is best,” she murmurs. She has books enough to keep her occupied.
They eat in relative silence for another few moments. She can hear the footmen and equerries loading the carriage, hitching the horses. She pushes remnants of ham on her plate, appetite gone.
At the head of the table, Anthony clears his throat and sets down his cup. “Also.”
She looks at him once more. “Also?”
He doesn’t look at her directly. His gaze is set beyond her, through the windows looking out onto the front gardens. “When we return to town, you may notice I am out most days. On business.”
Kate says nothing, just sips her tea. A lump lodges itself in her throat.
“I will often have appointments, meetings, and the like, which will keep me from the house during the days,” he continues. “But I will make sure to always be home to escort you to any functions on our social calendar. Or, if I cannot, I will let you know, so that you may make alternative arrangements in a timely fashion.”
His voice is the same as when he told her there would not be love between them, at least on his side. She ought to be used to it, but she isn’t. Not quite yet.
“I appreciate you telling me that, my lord,” she says at last, unable to keep the sharpness from her voice.
He blinks and finally looks at her. “Back to ‘my lord,’ are we?” he says with a wry twist of his mouth.
She shrugs and sips the last of her tea. “Merely preparing myself for entry back into proper society,” she says smoothly.
Huffing out a quiet chuckle, he rises from his seat. “I shall see to the last of the preparations. Take your time, Kate,” he says. As he passes her chair, he leans down to kiss the top of her head.
The door closes behind him. Kate sets her tea down, and stares blankly at his empty chair.
He had told her what to expect. Intellectually, none of his behavior was shocking, or cruel, or out of character, or unanticipated. Why, then, did she find this situation so confounding?
Because – because of moments in their shared bed, when something intangible passes through his eyes and softens his entire face. Because of his joy in this home, this land. The relaxed set of his shoulders and the wide smile reaching his eyes when he speaks to tenants and herds sheep. The way he speaks of his father, of favorite places and sharing them with her. It’s as if he wants her to have more than he is willing to give.
Kate shuts her eyes and presses her hands to her face, taking deep, slow breaths.
No longer will she pry, or ask for more. He must come to his own decisions about the nature of his relationship with her. She will be content in her marriage, in their collegial friendship, in their bed. Her family is provided for, her husband is kind, and his family is welcoming. It is just as he said that day two weeks ago, in her parlor.
She will be content.
An hour later, as she says goodbye to the staff and thanks them for their efforts, Anthony is a warm, steady line at her side. His hand lingers at the small of her back. She can feel the pressure of his touch. He helps her into the carriage and shuts the door, peering inside briefly.
“You won’t be lonely?” he says lightly.
She watches him carefully. Last week, she would have teased. Now, she will be content.
“I have plenty of reading to catch up on, should I need,” she says with a placid smile.
Anthony’s smile falters slightly. He leans in and kisses her cheek before he strides away to his horse.
Kate doesn’t follow him with her gaze. She sits back in the carriage, chin up. Until he shows he wants more, she needn’t give it.
She is content.
*