Chapter 28
THE FOLLOWING DAY
Richard would not wait for society’s approval.
Within the manor, servants moved with hushed precision—no fanfare, no parade, only reverence for the occasion their master had decreed with a voice that brooked no refusal.
By the time the household had awakened fully, the duke had already sent word to the vicar, to his mother, and to Caroline’s few trusted kin—John, ever her champion, and Nicholas, who came reluctantly but with visible pride.
It was to be a wedding of haste, of secrecy, and of will.
The ton would gossip when they learned, but Richard had no intention of letting the whispers of drawing rooms dictate the course of his life.
When Caroline descended the staircase, her cheeks still pink from the maid’s efforts, her heart thudded in time with her own disbelief.
Was this truly happening? The events of the past day shimmered in her mind like a dream—Richard’s confession, his eyes dark with vulnerability, his declaration of love that had cracked her defenses like glass.
Now, that same man awaited her in the chapel, his very stillness like a storm held in check.
“Papa will be aghast,” John muttered behind her, though his tone was fond.
Caroline smiled faintly. “Then I shall make certain the shock is softened by tea afterward.”
Her father, Nicholas, shot her a reproachful look that could not quite mask his pride. “You were born to cause a stir, my girl. But if you must do it, at least do it beautifully.”
“I always do,” she murmured, her wit faltering only slightly as her gaze caught the gleam of sunlight spilling from the open chapel doors.
Richard stood at the altar, solemn in his dark coat, his hair freshly combed but rebelliously curling near his temples.
The morning light softened the scar that cut across his face, lending him an austere nobility.
He looked every inch the duke, yet his eyes—those storm-gray eyes—softened the instant they found her.
Caroline froze in the doorway. Her gown was not the lavish silk of the season, but a creation of simplicity and grace: ivory muslin, unadorned save for a satin ribbon at her waist and a sprig of lavender pinned to her shoulder.
The fabric shimmered faintly with every step, catching the light as though kissed by starlight itself.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Ophelia gently dabbed at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief, trying to contain her emotions.
Her son stood in the aisle, anticipation etched on his face. Meanwhile, nearby stood Sophia, who watched the scene with a bright smile, her eyes sparkling with triumph. She seemed pleased, almost as though she had orchestrated this meeting, making sure everything was perfect.
John, standing next to Sophia, gently nudged his sister forward.
He offered an encouraging smile, silently reassuring her that everything would be alright.
Caroline hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding with nervous excitement.
She took a deep breath and started to move forward gracefully.
Her feet, clad in elegant slippers, whispered across the floor of the aisle, making a soft sound that only she and Richard seemed to notice.
As Caroline moved closer to where Richard stood waiting, his heart thumped loudly in his chest, a mixture of hope and disbelief coursing through him. When she finally reached him, he was overwhelmed, his feelings too intense to hide.
Richard’s breath caught audibly in his throat, betraying the depth of his emotions. “You came,” he murmured softly, speaking under his breath with disbelief and reverence mingled in his voice. It was as though he couldn’t quite believe she was truly standing in front of him.
Caroline looked into his eyes, her lips curving into a tender, knowing smile. Her voice was gentle, a barely audible whisper meant just for him, “How could I not?” she replied, her words carrying warmth and an underlying sense of inevitable fate. “You did command it, after all,” she added.
Richard met her gaze and couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, a sound that was rare for him.
It was a genuine laugh, a display of pure, unguarded happiness.
The sound resonated in the air, reaching Caroline’s ears and making her chest ache with emotion.
It was as if that simple, heartfelt laugh managed to express all the feelings he found hard to put into words.
The vicar cleared his throat, smiling faintly as he opened his book. The ceremony began with no orchestra, no string quartet, only the soft rustle of paper and the steady rhythm of two hearts rediscovering their courage.
Richard repeated his vows in a voice that trembled once—just once—before steadying. “I take thee, Caroline of Fernsby, to be my wife. To love, honor, and protect thee, from this day until my last.”
Caroline’s throat constricted. Her hand trembled as she lifted the ring—plain gold, warm from her palm—and slid it onto his finger.
Her vow came as a whisper, but it filled the chapel like a hymn. “I take thee, Richard Belford, Duke of Ashwood, to be my husband. I will not tame thee, nor change thee, but stand beside thee—come shadow, come storm.”
A faint gasp escaped Sophia. Ophelia pressed her hand to her mouth. The vicar’s voice quivered with emotion as he blessed the union.
When Richard leaned down and captured Caroline’s lips, the kiss was not decorous. It was slow, deliberate—an oath sealed in flesh and breath.
For a heartbeat, time ceased.
Then the vicar closed his book, and the ceremony was done.
The guests dispersed quietly, like whispers fading from a dream.
John clasped Richard’s hand with rough affection, muttering, “If you hurt her, I’ll shoot you myself.
” Nicholas bowed stiffly, though the faintest smile betrayed his approval.
Ophelia embraced Caroline as though she were the daughter she had long prayed for.
Soon, only the newlyweds remained.
Caroline stood by the altar, fingertips brushing the smooth grain of the pew. The chapel was bathed in the soft light of late morning, golden motes drifting lazily through the air. The hush was sacred, but her heart pounded with something altogether less serene.
Richard turned toward her. The storm that had once haunted his gaze was gentler now, though still fierce in its depth. He approached slowly, each step deliberate, his boots echoing softly upon the flagstone floor.
When he stopped before her, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. His breath warmed her skin as he murmured, “Our story starts now, wife.”
The word wife reverberated through her entire body. It struck something deep—something she had never dared to name.
Her lips parted in a soft laugh. “Wife,” she echoed, savoring it, the syllable trembling with wonder. “It sounds... impossible.”
“Then let us make impossibility our habit,” he said, still holding her hand.
She met his gaze, her voice teasing. “You do realize society will be livid. The Devil of the Ton, married without so much as a whisper to the gossips?”
“Let them rage,” he said simply. “They have taken too much of me already.”
Richard brushed a stray curl from her face. His thumb lingered at her temple, then traced down her cheek. “You’re trembling,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she lied.
His hand slipped lower, resting at her throat where her pulse fluttered wildly. “You are,” he said softly, “but so am I.”
The moment stretched—the weight of it, the intimacy, the knowledge that this was the beginning of something neither of them could undo. The chapel was silent save for their breathing, a slow and unsteady rhythm of two hearts that had warred against each other only to find peace in surrender.
He leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear. “Come,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “I will not have our wedding end in a chapel.”
Her breath caught, but she did not pull away.
Outside, sunlight blazed across the grounds of Ashwood Hall, and the bells from the distant village began to ring. Their peals were faint but clear—joyous, bright, echoing across the hills.
Caroline smiled, her eyes glistening. “They’re ringing for us,” she said softly.
Richard’s hand tightened around hers. “Then let them never stop.”
Leading her behind a tree, ensuring there was noone in sight, his fingers drifted up her arm, paused for an awestruck moment above her heart, and caressed her as they dropped to her hip. The other hand rose to curve around her waist, pulling her even closer to his chest.
“My Duchess. My victory. My wife,” he murmured. Their hearts beat in rhythm as he pressed his lips to hers. She reached up to clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in even as they trembled with longing.
“Richard!” she moaned softly as his head dipped to kiss the smooth curve of her neck.
His lips left blazes of heat where they touched, sketching her in fire the way she’d drawn him in charcoal.
Richard released her and took a small step back as she swayed unthinkingly toward him.
His hands pulled at the fabric of her dress and it seemed to fly off of its own accord.
Her nipples hardened underneath the thin silk of her chemise.
Leaning down, his mouth crushed against hers once more, hungry and demanding.
With his lips still on hers, he slipped his hand between her legs, gently brushing across her sex. The heat of her passion was evident as he teased his fingers expertly along her slick folds. She pushed herself against him, wanting—no, needing—more.
Richard chuckled softly, then scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to one of the marble benches nearby, depositing her gently.
So eager was he to taste her, he merely pushed her chemise up to her waist before kneeling before her.
His eyes locked onto hers for what felt like an eternity before he turned his attention elsewhere.
He pushed her thighs apart and she gasped as he dipped down, his tongue dancing between her legs.
Caroline’s breath quickened, and she gripped the edge of the bench with white knuckles.
When he slid his fingers inside her, a shudder ran through her entire body.
Richard held her hips firmly, fingers spread wide and burning against her skin as he lapped the evidence of her pleasure off her thighs.
Her pulse fluttered in her throat when he stood and began unbuttoning his breeches.
By the time she had pulled her chemise off over her head he was back on her, his hands firmly cupping her breasts.
The sunlight that shone through the trees cast jewel-toned patterns across her pale skin and haloed his hair, the Devil redeemed at last by love.
Caroline reached down and wrapped her hand around his rigid manhood.
He pulsed under her touch as she stroked up and down his length, hesitantly as first, then firmer as he closed his eyes and groaned.
After a few moments, he replaced her hand with his.
She whimpered as he began to rub himself up and down her wet slit.
“Please, oh please!” she begged, desperate with need.
In one seamless motion, he scooped his arm under her buttocks, lifting her to meet him as he pushed himself inside her.
Her cries echoed as he began to thrust into her, deeper and deeper.
The storm of their passion threatened to overwhelm her as he brought her to climax once, twice… more until her world became nothing but her and Richard. He began to move quicker and rougher. She squeezed around him and trembled as pleasure shot through her body.
Richard’s breath grew ragged, and he started to pull away from her.
“No!” Caroline wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer again. “Please,” she husked.
“Caroline, you–” His voice rasped urgently, roughened by his struggle for control. “You told me you feared–”
“Not any more. I trust you. I need you,” she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.
Richard whispered her name and thrust his length back into her, hard enough that any former effort she had made to be quiet was forgotten.
With a shudder and one final push the liquid heat of his passion erupted into her, filling her as she buried her face against his chest. A final wave of ecstasy coursed through her, leaving her limp while the last ripples of pleasure chased themselves over her skin.
They lay still for a moment, the only sound their own labored breaths. As their hearts began to slow Richard bent down to plant a soft kiss on Caroline’s forehead.
“Whatever care I intended to take, you have undone me utterly,” he murmured into her hair.
Turning her head, she smiled up at him. “You need a little undoing, my love.”
His lips parted, unmoored once again by the words he’d never thought to hear. “I will never tire of hearing that from you.”
She smiled. “I love you, Richard.”
“Well, I suppose I love you too then,” he replied, eyes sparkling.
Caroline laughed and playfully pushed at his chest.
Richard brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face.
“So, what shall we do for the rest of the night, love?”
Caroline tilted her head up as if for a kiss as she replied.
“I have just the thing in mind.”