As I settled on his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck, ran my fingers through his hair. He was the sort of beautiful perfection that artists dreamed of capturing, and he was mine. It wasn't the gold band on my finger that marked us as belonging to each other. No, it was something deeper, more visceral, than that. Something that human language was woefully inadequate to describe.
I rocked back and forth on him, enjoying the little ripples of pleasure that went through me as the base of his cock rubbed against my clit in just the right way. His hands slid down to my ass, gripping it through the layers of fabric that separated almost all but the place where we were joined.
We didn't speak, didn't even kiss. The only sound in the room was the rustle of my skirts as I moved, gradually increasing the pace until the muscles in my legs began to ache. In those moments, nothing else mattered, only that we'd found each other. The birth of a nation. The coming violence. Fiancés and families and loyalties. It meant so little compared to the laws of time and space that had bent, all so that we could be together.
His muscles tensed under my hands, hips jerking as he fought to last. I'd learned in the short time we'd been together that his own pleasure always came second. He not only enjoyed seeing me come apart, he needed it on a level I didn't think he even understood. I belonged to him, heart, body, and soul, and he would do everything in his power to provide for me, whether it be protection or pleasure or anything else that fell in between.
I knew now that I hadn't truly understood the extent of that promise until he'd put himself between his father and me. It wasn't as much the level of physical protection he'd offered, but the choice. He hadn't known me long, and the story of where I was from, when I'd lived, was almost too incredible to imagine, but he'd chosen me over his blood, over the family loyalties that he'd accepted for years.
“Let me take care of you,” I whispered as I leaned in for a kiss. I nipped at his bottom lip, soothing the sting with my tongue. “Let me thank you.”
I flexed around him, and his body stilled, stiffening as he came with a groan. He fisted his hand in my hair, taking my mouth in a rough, demanding kiss, letting it say all of the things that neither one of us had the words to say. As his tongue twisted with mine, he crushed me against him, the motion putting the right amount of pressure exactly where I needed it, and my climax washed over me.
Even as pleasure flooded my body, it was the sound of his voice saying my name, the feel of him holding me, that mattered the most. I still didn't know how I'd come to be here, but I did know why. It was him. Everything in my life had been leading me to this place, this time, so we could be together.
“I love you.” His eyes met mine. “No matter what happens with my father or the war or anything else we might have to face, I will always love you.”
“And I'll always love you,” I promised.
But even as we stretched out on the bed together, I couldn't help but wonder if what had brought me into Gracen's life would honor the vows we'd made.
Chapter 3
The noise outside successfully pulled me out of a rare deep sleep. It was a kind of braying, an odd, annoying sort of sound, the kind of tactic Wilson would've used to wake me up on an off day when I finally had the chance to sleep in. I sighed as I forced my tired eyes open, and the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling pushed me the rest of the way to full wakefulness. I had a few seconds of sheer panic before I remembered where and when I was, and as I regained context, the sound registered.
It was a horse. And the sound wasn't coming from the direction of the stables, which meant someone had arrived onto the estate. Roston had left yesterday before Gracen and I had woken up, which meant we'd had a relatively quiet and peaceful day despite dirty looks sent my way from the majority of the staff. Any goodwill I'd earned while working in the house was gone now that I'd dared to try to “rise above my station.” A not-so-quiet night had followed when we'd retired to our room earlier than usual. The space between my legs gave a pleasant throb at the memory. Gracen had been surprised when I asked him to go harder, faster, but he'd complied, and I'd bitten his shoulder when I climaxed to keep myself from screaming.
I rolled over, but I had already felt Gracen’s absence. I pushed the bed sheets aside and groggily climbed out of bed, rubbing my eyes as I looked out the window. My heart gave a weird thud as I saw a familiar figure climbing out of a carriage. Sandy hair, a curvy figure.
Shit.
Clara Stiles. Gracen's former fiancée.
I threw on a dress without worrying about all the strange extra things that went under it. I supposed, technically, it made me indecent, but considering most of the staff considered me little more than a whore, I didn't think it mattered much. I ran my fingers through my hair as I practically ran down the hallway. I didn't care if I looked disheveled. Hell, if it made Clara think about what Gracen and I had been doing all night, all the better.
I scowled, hating how jealous and petty I felt.
“Gracen!” Clara's shrill voice broke the silence that had fallen over the house the moment she stepped inside. I caught a glimpse of a pleased-looking Titus closing the door behind her, and then I lost sight of both of them as I started down the stairs.
By the time I reached the end of the staircase, Titus had disappeared, and I caught a glimpse of Clara's skirts as she swished down the hallway. I followed, fairly certain I knew where she was headed. Gracen liked to retreat to the library when he was looking for some solitude, and it would've been the first place I would've gone to find him.
Before I reached the door, I heard Clara speak.
“Gracen, darling.” Her voice dripped something that was both sad and saccharine-sweet at the same time. “What happened?”
I paused just outside the doorway, curious to hear how the conversation would go. I had all the faith in the world in Gracen's love for me. Standing up to his father had been more than enough proof. But I couldn't deny that I wondered how he'd explain things to the woman he'd intended to marry.
“Good morning, Clara.” His voice was quiet but surprisingly even. “I assume my father spoke to you before he left yesterday.”
“It isn't true. You wouldn't do that to me, to us.” A beat of silence, then her voice hardened. “Tell me you didn't marry that...that servant. You couldn't possibly break my heart, betray me, for someone who scrubs your floors.”
“I did marry her.” Gracen paused and then added, “I'm sorry, Clara. I didn't intend to hurt you, but I love her.”
Silence again.
“You don't love me anymore?” Her voice broke, and I actually started to feel sorry for her.
She hadn't done anything to deserve any of this. If some mysterious power hadn't pulled me through time, she would've been planning her wedding right now. I didn't truly know how Gracen's life had unfolded in the original timeline, but my gut said that he would've married her. With her and his father pressuring him, he would've joined the British army. My arrival had changed everything.
“No, Clara.” His voice was gentle. “I'm sorry, but I don't love you. I never did.”
I could feel the tension from where I stood. Clara was barely twenty, which wasn't much younger than me, and in a time where people got married young, she was getting on in years. Still, that didn't mean she was mature. Despite the fact that most people would agree that the time I was from was, in many ways, easier than this one, I had no doubt that Clara lived a much easier life than I had. She'd been pampered, had servants, never had to worry or want for anything. She'd never done a day of hard physical labor. Never been afraid for her life, for the lives of her friends. Gracen's rejection was probably the first time she'd ever been rejected. It must have felt like a slap in the face.
“How could you, Gracen?” It came out as a whisper the first time. “How?!” Her voice rose to a piercing octave.
“Clara,” he said, his voice suddenly stern. “That's enough.”
Silence for a moment, and then the sugar-coated voice was back
. “Gracen, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
Something in her tone made me uneasy, a sort of suggestive, high-pitched manipulation that said she was a hell of a lot smarter than most people gave her credit for. And that she knew how to use it to get what she wanted.
She continued, “I love you, Gracen, and I know you love me. We can get through this. It doesn't have to be the end.”
“Okay, I think I've heard enough,” I murmured as I stepped into the room.
Gracen looked embarrassed, though I could've told him that he had nothing to be embarrassed about. He'd been polite, but not overly so. I knew he wouldn't have given into anything she wanted.
“Gracen, dear, would you mind letting Clara and I have some time, just us girls?” I didn't take my eyes off Clara, not even when I felt Gracen's eyes on me.
For a moment, I thought he'd insist on staying, but he started for the door. His hand caught mine as he passed, and he gave it a quick squeeze before leaving me to deal with Clara myself.
“How did you do it?” Clara asked as soon as Gracen disappeared. “Seduce him into your bed? Tell him that you were carrying his child?” Her sapphire eyes were suddenly glowing with fury.
“I didn't seduce him.” I kept my voice calm even though I was seething inside. I was being accused by the same woman who'd been trying to steal my husband only a few minutes ago.
Clara's expression twisted into something ugly. “But you took him into your bed. Let him...have his way with you.”
I wanted to tell her that if she couldn't say it, she wasn't ready to do it, but that saying was still a couple centuries away from being invented. I also wanted to tell her that it was none of her fucking business how Gracen and my relationship had come to be. But this wasn't my time, and I couldn't treat her like a woman who'd been raised in modern-day America.
“He's my husband, Clara.”
She took a step toward me, and I could feel the anger and jealousy radiating off her. “He was supposed to be mine.”
I didn't deny it, couldn't. Not when I did feel a little guilty over knowing that I altered the course of her life. “I know.”
“But you stole him from me.”
I shook my head this time. I'd always hated that phrase. It implied that the person who'd been stolen hadn't been involved in the decision-making. “It was his choice, Clara. I was his choice. And it's done. We're married.”
“I–”
My patience snapped. “Deal with it, Clara.”
I barely saw her hand flash out, but then there was the sharp sting of a slap against my cheek. I felt a brighter, hotter pain that I was pretty sure came from one of her nails cutting me. I stared at her, unable to believe what she'd just done, this spoiled little rich girl in her flouncy dress and hair ribbons.
“You pathetic, cheap whore!” She practically spit the words in my face. “I will not let you ruin the plans we had set. This is not over. We are not over. When he's tired of rutting with the trash, he will beg me to take him back.”
I was back in control again, but that didn't mean I was going to take her shit. “I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.”
This time, when she tried to slap me, I was ready. I caught her wrist before she made contact. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw fear in her eyes, fear that she'd underestimated me. Arrogance quickly replaced it.
“Unhand me.”
She spoke like someone used to being obeyed, but I wasn't a servant anymore. I tightened my grip until she winced. I didn't want to cause any real damage, but she needed to know that she couldn't come after me like that again.
“I'll only say this once, so you might want to listen carefully.” I stared down at her, using every one of the four inches I had on her. “It doesn't matter who Gracen once was to you, or how you believe he and I came to be together. We fell in love, and we got married. I understand that you're upset, so I'll give you a pass on that pathetic slap.” My eyes narrowed. “But it's the only pass you'll ever get from me. If you ever try to hit me again or try to come between my husband and me, there will be serious consequences.”
I held her wrist a moment longer, then let it go. I raised an eyebrow, inviting her to leave. When she still didn't move, I jerked my chin toward the door. She opened her mouth, and I promised myself that if she said one more ignorant thing, I’d slap her, just to make a point.
A part of me almost hoped whatever was buzzing around in that brain of hers came flying out of her mouth for that very reason. I didn't consider myself a violent person by nature, more like someone who had the ability to use violence if necessary.
She just made me want it to be necessary.
After a few long seconds, she closed her mouth and stormed out of the room. I watched her go, gave myself a minute to calm down, and then went looking for my husband.
Gracen was uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day. I told him what happened between Clara and me, at least enough to explain the red mark and deep scratch on my cheek. He didn't ask any questions, or even offer any sort of commentary, his expression distant. His silence, more than anything, told me that Clara's words had hit him hard. Honor and dignity were something duels were fought over in this time, and the fact that he'd married me without even breaking off his engagement clearly made him feel like he'd violated that honor.
I told myself that he could still love me even though he wasn’t happy with the way he'd handled things, but as the day wore on, the more his silence bothered me. As we both readied for bed that night, a part of me hoped that once we were laying down together, he'd properly talk to me. Hold me. That he'd answer the question I had circling in my mind most of the day.
A question that might have a different answer now than it had before.
He stretched out first but didn't look at me as I blew out the candle and climbed into bed next to him. I wanted him to reassure me. More than that, I needed it. I had to know, for my own peace of mind. I was normally a secure person, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation.
“Gracen?”
“Yes?”
I reached over to run my hand along his shoulder. After a few strokes, my fingers found their way beneath his nightshirt, traced a pattern on his back before moving along his hip. I rested my hand there as I gathered my courage.
“Do you regret it?” I finally made myself ask the question. “Being with me? Marrying me?”
There was a brief silence.
“Why are you asking me that now?” he asked. “I told you how I feel.”
“But you've seen more consequences now. If you'd left me where you found me that day, your father wouldn't be angry at you.” I paused and then added, “And you wouldn't have broken your word to Clara.”
He didn't say anything for a minute, and I told myself it was a good thing that he was fully considering the question and not just blurting out something he didn't mean.
“If I had left you, you probably would have been picked up by the British army. And even being a woman might not have been enough to save you from being called a spy.”
That was true, but I hadn't asked him about that. I wanted to know about him, and the fact that he was skirting the question made me think that I probably didn't want to know the answer. I rolled onto my back, tears pricking my eyes.
I should have known that everything he said before had been in the heat of the moment. Emotional. He hadn't really had time to fully process everything that'd happened between us and what it meant. What it was costing him.
I'd lied to him. Made him back out of his promise to a woman from a good family. Made his father angry to the point of striking him.
Even if he hadn't left me on that field, he should've just let me leave after we slept together that first time. He might've thought marrying me was the honorable thing to do, but I wouldn't have held our one-night stand against him. He could've even made himself feel justified letting me go after I told him the truth about where I was from. Either that I was crazy, or th
at he needed to let me return to my own time. He should have let me walk away any one of a dozen times.
I felt the mattress move beneath me as he rolled over. His arm slid around my waist, and he pulled me back against him, the heat of his body chasing away a chill that had little to do with the night air.
“I don't love her, Honor. I love you. If I had left you behind, I might have married her. My father would have been happy with me, but I would have been miserable.” He kissed the back of my neck, and I felt him start to harden against my ass. “And I know that, deep in my heart, I would have lost the only chance I had at loving someone again.”
A half sob, half laugh escaped my lips as I rolled over to face him. I pulled his head down for a kiss, digging my hands into his hair as I slid my tongue between his lips. He moaned into my mouth, hips pushing against me. I hooked my leg over his hip, my nightgown – shift – slipping up my thigh, his hand following until he grabbed my ass.
When I finally broke the kiss, I rested my forehead against his but didn't move my body away. His hard length throbbed against me, our skin separated only by the thinnest cotton. All I needed to do was shift a bit to move our nightshirts, and he could be inside me.
A lack of undergarments during this time period had its advantages.
“You came back in time for me, Honor. Nothing I do can ever deserve what you gave up to be with me.”
“I didn't really have a choice,” I pointed out.
He laughed as he brushed his lips across mine. “Would you have chosen differently?”