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Authors: Doris O'Connor,Raven McAllan

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“Look,
I seem to have had a weird few hours,” she said slowly. “Hours? God knows.
Anyway. As much as I’d like to have you in me bareback, not at this present
moment in time I wouldn't. I need time to assimilate everything. So it’s cover
up or no nookie.”

Kit
found the funny side of it— after all he was to all intents and purposes in
these enlightened Regency times allowed to dictate their lives and here was his
wife laying down the law. Not only that, he was happy to let her. He laughed,
even though he had no idea what nookie was. He could, however hazard a guess.
“Who wears the breeches?”

His
lovely Victoria glowered. “Literally? For the next hundred and so years you do.
Metaphorically? Both of us.” She wriggled and damned if his wayward cock didn’t
register the movement as one designed to entice him to announce his presence
even more forcefully and let several drops of essence coat her tummy. “And tell
that,” she pointed at his pego, “to mind its own business. This is between you
and me. Argh.” She hit her forehead dramatically. “Grr. Now I’m giving your
prick a mind of its own.”

 
Kit grinned. “Sometimes I think it already has
one.”

 

Chapter Seven

 

Vicky
stared at him until his lips twitched, and then began to laugh. “Now if it
starts to talk back to us, we’ll know we’re in the twilight zone.” Her laughter
increased until he wondered if he’d need to slap her. Then she shuddered and
swallowed several times before she wrapped her arms around herself and sighed.
Perspiration dotted her skin and he was certain tears clung to her lashes. He
ached to kiss them away, but forced himself to stay where he was. First things
first.

 
“It’s all true isn’t it?” she asked, slowly.
“It really is 1815, I really am married to you and well, I either flashed
forward to the future, am a seer, or a candidate for Bedlam. I think I prefer
the first.”

“No
Bedlam. It wouldn’t do the credibility of my line any good. For the rest?
Whichever way you chose to interpret it, you are my wife. Believe it, my dear.”

 
Kit leaned forward and kissed her hard on the
lips. That brief touch grounded her more than any words ever could. Somewhere
deep down inside her she recognized it. Recognized him. If she were honest it
scared the shit out of her.

The
whole scenario did. Here she was in her mind a 21
st
century girl, a
fully paid up member of the ‘women are equal’ society, accepting without an
argument that no, actually that was a load of shite.

“Okay
then.”

He
raised one sculptured eyebrow. Did they even have tweezers now … then … oh lord
whenever? And would a bloke use them anyway.
Shit this back in time crap is
fraught with danger.

 
“Do you pluck?” she blurted out.

“Pluck?”
His expression was puzzled and then it cleared. “Ah you mean fuck? Well, my
dear, you should know.”

 
Evidently no he didn’t. Okay then. “Well no,
but okay let’s sort this. No plucking lots of fucking and why not now?”

Vicky
groaned. Was that potty mouth really her? She, who was so bloody closed mouthed
she never even told her last partner she dared to go bare and did ‘it’ in the
dark, was bandying words with a drop dead gorgeous guy from her … her what? She
might have thought it was her past but was it? Really? And with hindsight her
reticence was so unusual she should have known Maurice—what a wussy name—was
not her taste. Actually she had, but chose to ignore it. The guy tucked his
shirt into his underpants for goodness sake and Superman he wasn’t. Now, her
husband, for instance? By god he was a different matter entirely. Good grief,
her pussy dripped, she salivated and her libido shouted
mine now, hurry up and fuck me
.

 
Oh lord, how times had changed.

“Look,
if we’re…” She paused, unsure how to express herself forcefully enough without
cussing to high heaven. “Intimate,” she said finally and cringed as his
eyebrows disappeared under his hair line and he chuckled. Vicky punched his
arm. “Oh you. You know what I mean. If we have that, then maybe I need a wee
wakeup call?”

“Wee?
You’ve been associated with the heathens from up north too much.” He flicked
her nose with his pinkie. “Oh no, my heart. Nothing short is allowed. Long
drawn out sweet stings and tingles, rediscovering each other and learning how
we mesh.” He kissed the spot he had flicked. “Deep kisses that touch the soul,
tiny touches, that sear the skin and leave a lingering mark of ownership. A
tongue on the cunt, a hand on the cock, and finally, a hard pego ready to slip
into a deep welcoming honeypot.” He stroked her cheek and let his hand slide
lower to stroke the circle of her neck, the swell of her breast and finally to
encircled her nipple and pinch the hard nub one, then twice with enough force
to make her gasp wince and sigh.

 
“Oh. More.” Her pussy clenched as she imagined
…what next.

“Onto
the bed, my heart. Welcome me. Show me you want my touch.” Kit spun her round,
smacked her arse with enough force to make her stagger, and laughed as she
squawked in surprise. “Now, get yourself ready and let’s consummate the next
phase of our journey together.”

Vicky
didn’t think she’d ever moved so fast in her life.

 
With one hand she shoved condoms, tampons et
al onto the floor, and with the other smoothed out the creases in the sheet so
she didn’t get crease lines on her butt. The only marks she wanted there were
Kit's. Vicky wriggled and smiled.

“Yes,
My Lord.”

Kit’s
heart missed a beat and his breath hitched as he looked at her less than
submissive demeanor. If only she meant it in every way possible. Even so, he
chuckled as he followed her down with alacrity and pushed her to stretch out on
her back, arms above head and legs apart with his knees wedged in between them.

His
cock grazed her navel and she giggled. “Mr. Impatient there.”

“Oh
yes.” With little or no finesse he nudged the entrance to her channel with the
tip of his cock. If he had been of a fanciful bent he would have said her body
unfurled for him like a flower in first bud. As he thought of himself as
straightforward and without frills or furbelows, Kit discarded the thought as
soon as it formed, waited a scant second, and thrust forcefully into her.

Victoria
gasped, moaned and shook her head from side to side. “Oh yes, more now.”

 
He’d never understand women, Kit thought as he
set up a steady thrust and release that she followed smoothly, impeccably,
beautifully, as her body tightened and loosed as required to give them most
pleasure. Why the need to simulate rejection when all the while begging for
togetherness and completion?

Too
conscious of himself buried deep inside her, of her muscles tightening and
contracting around him, Kit had no time to think of anything, other than he was
where he wanted to be. He pinched each rosy nipple in turn and was rewarded by
his wife’s sweet mewls, and a new sheen of perspiration over her already sweat
slicked shoulders.

She
began to pant and Kit renewed his efforts. He wanted—needed—to fill her at the
same time as he made her fly. To tumble into the abyss with her, to shout his
completion and hear his voice mesh with hers just as their bodies did likewise.

Victoria
shook and dimly in the recesses of his mind, Kit registered that telltale sign,
let his iron will fall, and his senses take over. His seed gathered and with a
roar he let it go to fill her.

She
screamed and stiffened. Clutched his back so tightly he’d swear she drew blood,
arched up towards him, and shuddered her own release around him.

It
was a long time before he found the energy to move.

Eventually
Victoria sighed. “You’re squashing me.”

Kit
opened one eye and gazed down at her flushed face. “Pity. You make the perfect
mattress.” She giggled and punched his shoulder.

As a
blow it was about as effective as a butterfly landing on your hand. As a mean
of separating their bodies it worked perfectly. Her giggle combined with his
mock jump and ‘ouch’ meant his pego slipped out of her with a gentle plop.

Kit
rolled to one side, pinched her nipples in turn, kissed her cheek, and nose,
and then let his lips linger on her mouth, before he rolled off the bed, stood
up and stretched.

She
watched him closely and did something strange with her thumb. He titled his
head in question.

****

“A
thumbs up. It means I like and appreciate what I see,” Vicky said. “Like a
Greek god.”

He
blanched. “Our God forbid. They have miniscule pegos and over inflated egos
from what I can judge.”

Hmm,
maybe not the best comparison. “Like everything I desire?” she suggested
instead. “All I ever want or need is you. My husband.”

“Much
better, dear heart.” Kit bowed. “’Tis just as well. Now I’m about to play lady’s
maid as the servants have the night off to go to the ball. I’ll fill your bath
for you. The water should still be warm. Meanwhile,” he gestured toward the
elegant writing desk near one long window. “I noticed you’d filled your last
journal, so I thought you might like a new one.”

Vicky
kicked off the tiny portion of sheet that still covered her feet and ankles and
scrambled off the bed and across the room, heedless of her naked state. It felt
so comfortable to be undressed she knew without a shadow of a doubt that when
they were together it was the norm. Also she understood that she unreservedly
accepted she was his. Whatever happened, she should be with him.

 
The whys and wherefores she’d ponder over
later.

As
she pulled out the velvet covered chair and sat down at the desk, Kit laughed.
“I’ll shout you when the bath is ready.”

“What?
Oh yes, right thank you. Oh Kit.” She lifted the leather bound book up
reverently and stroked the soft hide cover. “This is beautiful. Perfect.”

 
“My pleasure to please you,
ma petite
.”
He disappeared and she heard him whistle cheerfully over the sound of buckets
of water being poured into the overlarge and ornate bath she’d glimpsed earlier.

 
Then water, whistling and men forgotten, Vicky
returned her attention to the book in her hands. Slowly she rested it on the
surface of the bureau, opened the cover and careful not to crease it, pushed it
back to leave the first page ready to write upon.

With
an almost childish glee, she found her quill, dipped it into her inkpot and set
the sharpened quill end to the pristine page.

Victoria…
 
Victoria who? Vicky realized she had
no idea what her title was now. She shrugged and added,
Hopewell.
Kit
could tell her otherwise after if need be.

December
1815

Dear
diary,

Today
has been a day full of surprises, not the least to discover that…
Vicky
lifted the quill, mindful she didn’t want blots on the vellum. How could she
explain all that had happened and not sound as if she needed committing to
Bedlam?

She
sniggered to herself. She’d be long gone before anyone read it anyway, so what
did it matter? She bent to her task and continued to write until an itch on her
spine made her lift her head.

Kit
sat in a nearby armchair, with his robe loose around his shoulders.

She
blinked and wiped her eyes. “Have you been there long?”

“Not
too long. Come.” He stood and held his hand to towards her. “The water is
cooling.”

Vicky
nodded. “I’ve done enough for now.” She pushed her seat back and took his hand
to let him draw her onto her feet and rest against his chest. The silk of his
robe whispered a caress over her shoulders as he shifted to hold her close.

“Kit,
My Lord?”

He
looked at her in enquiry as he stroked her hair in soothing rhythmic movements.
“My Heart?”

“I
do love you,” Vicky strove to reassure him, and was rewarded by the loving
smile that spread across his face. “I can see that you love me and I
understand, and rejoice in the knowledge that, deep down you’re mine. Only you
and—” A large clap of thunder rent the air.

Vicky
screamed. Behind Kit a door she hadn’t noticed before stood open with a bright
white light shining through it and created a pathway toward her. It gleamed and
beckoned to her. Somewhere she heard a voice, hers? His? She had no idea

“Go
or stay, only you can decide.”

Go
or stay where? How
? Vicky took a step away from Kit. His face was
expressionless, a blank canvas where so recently animation showed. His eyes
were dark and shadowed. Unfathomable. Then she saw the agony there.

Go
or stay… go or stay… go or …

Another
deeper clap of thunder shook the window panes.

Go…stay…

 
“Victoria.”

“Vicky.”

“Mama…”

 
Mama?

Chapter Eight

 

Faversham
House, December 2015

 

Clara
gasped behind him, and seemingly having thought better of her pretense of
hiding, appeared next to him. Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she
fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, which, now that she was standing, fell to
mid-thigh. With her arms clasped around her middle, trying to hold the gapping
ends together she looked uncomfortable, as confirmed by her next words.

“Don’t
say it, James. I’m not explaining why I’m half dressed, and wipe that smirk off
your face. If you want to be helpful, run to my rooms and find me something
decent to wear.”

She
shrieked when Daniel pulled her into his side. He needed the contact right now,
because he knew that life as he knew it would change forever the minute he
broke the seal on that envelope.

“I
wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. Besides, there is nothing wrong with being in a
state of undress in the bed chamber of your affianced.”

Clara
gave a strangled cough, and Daniel found himself on the receiving end of the
full imposing glare only the butler of a great house could give while
maintaining a perfectly polite smile on his face. He had been the recipient of
a similar glare from James’s predecessor far too many times to count, when he’d
come home after one of his youthful escapades.

Before
he could say anything, Clara pulled away from him. He instantly missed her soft
curves pressed into his side, and had to resist the urge to yank her back into
his arms. The way her whole frame was quivering in seeming outrage, she’d
probably kick him in the ballocks if he tried that.

“Stop
this godforsaken Regency crap already. This is just us, and I know full well,
you never approved of me taking over as curator, even though I’m damn good at
my job. I’m not affianced to anyone, let alone Daniel, I—”

She
stopped talking when James interrupted her by holding up his hand. The older
man shook his head, and glanced toward Daniel as though he was looking for
confirmation.

“You
might not have been affianced, but you’ve been caught in a compromising
situation with the Duke of Hockwell, and as is befitting his station, he will
of course marry you to save your reputation.” Again that sharp look at Daniel,
which made him feel about five and meant he nodded his agreement. Strangely
enough the thought of marriage didn’t fill him with his usual dread. Quite the
opposite. To be married to Clara, to have the right to explore her luscious
body, and to know that no other man would ever touch what was his, felt right
in a way that nothing had for as long as he could remember.

“Don’t
be ridiculous. This is 2015, not 1815, and there is no need to marry anybody.
Jeez, will you tell him, Daniel?” Clara whirled round to address Daniel, and
paled when he shook his head.

“You’re
not agreeing with him, surely? That’s just…”

“Imperative,”
James said.

“Logical,”
Daniel said, and James inclined his head as they spoke those words in unison.

“You
two … you cannot be serious. Who marries someone for those reasons? I sure as
hell won’t.”

She
was infuriating and adorable in equal measures, as she blew her hair off of her
flushed face and stomped her foot for good measure. He would have such fun
stamping out this behavior. Then again, it would be all kinds of amusement to
encourage that bold side of her, because it would give him ample opportunity to
think of punishing his duchess.

His
cock jerked at those thought processes, almost as much as Clara’s head as she
looked between James and him.

“You
will, my lady, because it is imperative that the Duke marries and provides an
heir, according to the will of Lord Reginald Danvers.”

“Well,
bugger that.” Clara’s outburst made Daniel’s lips twitch. She was clearly
swearing even though he didn’t understand the term. James in the meantime drew
himself up to his full height.

“As
to that, it is really not my kink, but who am to say what you and Duke Hockwell
desire to get up to in the privacy of your bedchamber. In any case I shall
retire, to leave you to settle this one way or the other.”

James
bowed to Daniel again, and ignored Clara’s outraged spluttering.

“Unless
my lord requires me for anything else, of course?”

Daniel
shook his head, all too aware of the quietly seething woman in front of him.

“Well
it’s not all right with me. And what about the ball and—”

“The
guests left when the electricity went down, my lady. I am shutting up the house
and taking to my bed. I will be back in the morning with refreshments, and his
lordship should be aware that the estate solicitor has been alerted of your
presence. He will be making a special visit to talk about the practicalities of
the duke’s return.”

James
bowed again, but before he could turn to leave, Clara grasped the man’s arm and
stopped him.

“What
on earth are you on about? Everyone cannot have just left. What about Vicky?”

There
she went again with this Vicky person.

“Her
ladyship is very well I’m sure. No, let me rephrase that, I am sure she has led
a long and healthy life.”

Clara
looked all ready to hit him, and the fine hair on his neck rose, as a suspicion
dawned on him. Surely not, but then again, he was here, and Kit’s wife was…

“What
the hell does that mean? Where is Vicky?”

James
shot Daniel a look, and extricated himself out of Clara’s clutches.

“Perhaps
you would like to check the gallery.”

He
had barely finished that sentence before Clara shot out of the open door.
Rumbles of thunder rolled through the air again, only serving to increase the
itch between his shoulder blades. Her screech made his mind up for him, and
when he rounded the corner, it was to see her standing in front of the portrait
of Kit and his wife.

She
traced the contours of Victoria, Duchess of Aulban’s face, while whispering the
same word over and over.

“Vicky.”

*****

Through
tears blurring her vision, Clara traced the contours of Vicky’s face, and this Regency
Duchess definitely was her Vicky. She would recognize the twinkle in the lady’s
eyes everywhere. Vicky and she might only have known each other a short time,
but she’d truly felt as though she’d found the sister she never had. And it
suddenly dawned on her she would never see her friend again.

The
woodsy scent of the Duke of Hockwell’s cologne—
oh god he really is the
freaking duke—
alerted her to his presence seconds before a set of strong
male arms wrapped around her waist, and pulled her back against his hard frame.
His hot breath ghosted across her neck, as he nuzzled into her neck.

“Please
don’t cry, dearest.” The unexpected endearment brought more tears to her eyes.
God, why did he have to be sweet and concerned now? It made it almost
impossible to resist him, and when he gently turned her, and lifted her chin up
to study her face, Clara swallowed hard at the stormy emotions which crossed
his features. One single muscle spasmed in his clenched jaw, and she couldn’t
tear her gaze away from that tic. It made her want to lean in and lick that
part of his face, which was a completely inappropriate thought under the
circumstances. As though he read her thoughts, and no doubt they were written
all over her face, he ran his hand slowly down her back, until he could grasp
one of her bare ass cheeks, and yanked her closer. His cock twitched between
them and even through the fabric covering his shaft she could feel it branding
her belly. A gasp escaped her lips, and a grim smile kicked up Daniel’s lips,
before he looked up at the painting of the wall, and his lips firmed into a
thin line.

“Kit’s
wife is your Vicky, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”
Clara somehow managed to get that one word out, and fought more of the blasted
tears determined to fall down her face. A shiver went through her when he leant
down and kissed the moisture left from her earlier outburst away. Her eyes
fluttered closed of their own accord, and she pressed closer into him.

“I’m
never going to see her again, am I?”

Their
breaths mingled and she willed him to kiss her, to take away the emotions
churning up her insides and to replace them with sensation. She needed to feel
alive, to confirm that she wasn’t dreaming, and that this strange warped
reality was really her life from now on in.

 
Instead of claiming her lips, however, she
felt him withdraw with sigh of regret.

“I
think we really need to open that letter Aulban left for me.”

Clara
wrenched her eyes open to find him look at that letter as though he was
expecting it to turn into poisonous snake.

“We
do?” Her voice came out as a wobbly squeak.

Much
to her surprise his harsh features broke into an affectionate smile.
Oh,
god, that smile.
It made her nipples tingle, her breast heavy, and it meant
she clamped her thighs together to stop the rush of hot need
 
from trickling down the inside of her legs.
Really, though, that smile ought to be registered as a deadly weapon of female
pussy destruction. The dratted man clearly knew the effect he had on women too,
because his piercing blue eyes crinkled up that the corners, and his eyebrow
quirked in a decidedly naughty wink, before he sobered.

“Yes,
my dear, I want you to read this with me, because this affects both of us.
Besides, as my future wife and duchess you will need to know all the family
secrets.” He laughed at her outraged gasp, and without waiting for her reaction
strode off back toward the bedchamber.

Clara
followed at a more sedate pace, to stop herself from exploding at the return of
the highhanded duke. His future duchess indeed. Over her dead body.

Some
of her ire deflated, seeing him sat on the bed, turning the letter over and
over in his large hands. Right now he didn’t look very haughty, more like a
little boy lost, and Clara’s heart missed a few beats. He looked up when she
approached, flung the letter on top of the bed, and twisted the signet ring on
his pinkie.

“I
can’t. You open it and read it to me.”

When
she shook her head in surprise, he rubbed a hand over his face, and Clara could
have sworn he was blinking away tears.


Please,
read it me.”

It
was the
please
that did her in. Not even bothering to make sure she
didn’t flash her bits and bobs at him in the process, she climbed up onto the
high bed next to him, and after a glance at his tight set features, broke the
seal.

A
secret thrill went through her at the thought she held a piece of actual
history in her fingers. While she was no stranger to holding artefacts from the
past, it was always in controlled conditions with her hands covered in fine
gloves to make sure she didn’t damage the piece she was examining.

There
was no finesse now, as she opened the heavy paper to reveal the elegant
handwriting. Daniel inhaled sharply next to her, and rested his head on her
shoulder, as she began to read.

July
1818 Aulban House, Derbyshire

Dear
cousin,

I
must admit I am feeling somewhat of a fool writing this letter and entrusting that
it will reach you in the unspecified future, but I have great tidings. My
dearest wife Victoria was safely delivered of twins this morning.

“Well,
I’ll be damned.” Daniel’s shout of surprise echoed her own squeak of wonder. He
nudged her shoulder and his grin as she looked at him was infectious. “Two at
once. What a good idea, shall we follow suit?” It made his azure eyes sparkle
with mischief, and Clara’s own lips twitched. He was much too … too everything
for his own good.

“In
your dreams mate, not mine.”

“If
you say so,” he replied equably. “Go on, read on.” Clara rolled her eyes and
continued.

 
Barnaby and Sophia have a good pair of lungs,
and I can already tell that Sophia will be a heart breaker. Victoria urges me
to reassure you and Clara that she is well and happy. She seems to think that
you will have been leg shackled by the voluptuous brunette I saw you with last.
Personally I find this hard to believe.

Clara
stopped reading and glared at the letter.

“Why
would that be hard to believe? Am I not good enough for a duke, is that it? Insufferable
man, how does Vicky put up with that?” Heat stained her cheeks when Daniel
laughed, and she glanced up at him. The most curious expression flashed over
his face, before he smirked.

“And
I’m not freaking marrying you, no way, siree. I don’t bloody know you.”

That
sculpted eyebrow of his rose again, and damn her traitorous hormones ‘cause
that move was sexy as hell.

“The
correct address is still my lord, chit. And you will marry me, of that there
can be no doubt, because if I am going to be stuck in this…” He glanced around
the room, and grimaced toward the wet room. “This strange century and its new
fandangled inventions, then I’m going to damn well hold onto the one person who
makes me feel sane.”

He
grinned when her mouth fell open in surprise, and before she could guess at his
intentions he swooped in and kissed her. All thoughts fled her brain as he
traced the contours of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, silently urging
her to submit to him. The letter fell out of her hands, and she grasped his
shoulders for support, as he deepened the kiss, while tipping her backward onto
the soft covers. Clara returned his kiss, hesitantly at first and then with
bolder strokes of her tongue, until they were dueling with each other. By the
time he wrenched his lips off of her his groan matched her sigh of surrender.
His cock was a hard ridge against her thigh, and the bed dipped as he pulled
away from her. Giving the letter no more than a cursory glance he strode off and
using the boot jack at the far corner of the room, used it to yank off his
Hessians. His breeches and stockings followed, until he stood there in his
magnificent naked state. One large hand wrapped around his engorged cock, he
fisted his shaft slowly, and Clara’s mouth went dry when she saw the drop of
pre-cum glisten at the tip of his shaft.

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