Chapter 10 #2
Celia pursed her lips. “Yes, exactly.”
Emilia grinned. “Oh, I say. I’m glad he caught on so quickly.”
He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Ladies, I do appreciate—”
“No,” Emilia cut in, “we will not accept such condescension. You think you know what’s best and perhaps in the United States of America you do. But this is not the United States of America.”
“No,” Celia agreed. “This is England, and you must agree that my sister and I understand it better than most. We have eschewed society, not because we cannot be in it, but because we prefer other things, which is why we understand how important it is for you to be in the thick of it if you actually wish to get your dream.”
Celia straightened her spine, eyed him, then declared quite cheekily, “You say that you’re a pragmatist. Now act like it.”
“Well, that is quite a mouthful,” he growled softly, uncertain if he should be grateful or annoyed. Grateful likely, but he wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do.
Celia beamed at him. “Yes, it is. Was any of it effective?”
He stared at her for a long moment, tempted but struggling to relent. He liked his ways. He did not particularly want new ones.
Emilia sighed. “Men. I did fear he wouldn’t listen very well.”
Celia pursed her lips. “Yes, it does seem hard for them to understand. We shall call in the cavalry.”
And so she raised her hands and clapped them together.
He narrowed his gaze. “What the devil does that mean?”
“This,” Celia said.
And then, much to his shock, several gentlemen barreled into the room. The Duke of Westleigh, Lord Ajax, Lord Hector, Lord Zephyr, Lord Achilles, and a few other gentlemen that he was not acquainted with.
“I do not think you will all fit in here,” Dominic drawled.
“Oh, we most definitely will,” the Duke of Westleigh said with that devilish gleam in his eye. “You have already met my brothers. This is Octavian, Calchas, and Maximus.”
The three large men, all dressed perfectly and looking like perfect copies of the other Briarwoods, gave him various mocking but friendly salutes.
“Welcome to our mad parade,” Calchas said brightly.
“We are most happy to have you,” declared Augustus.
“Indeed. We do love company and to have people like you working with us,” declared Octavian.
“I thought I already was working with you,” Dominic said to the Duke of Westleigh after he gave the three young men an inclination of his head.
Westleigh nodded sagely. “I did too, my boy, but you just aren’t catching up to speed as quickly as we thought, so you need a little urging.”
“Excuse me,” Dominic drawled, having the oddest feeling. “Are you lot about to kidnap me?”
“It all depends,” the Duke of Westleigh said. “Would you like to be kidnapped? We can collectively pick you up, bundle you, and then throw you in a coach and take you to Heron House.”
“Surely that’s illegal,” Dominic returned, uncertain whether he should bellow with laughter or think them all mad. Perhaps both was the best option. But he wasn’t alarmed. In fact, he found himself liking them all more.
“Legal, not legal.” The duke shrugged as if such things were trifles. “It will all be very gray in court. But what we can tell you is that you need—”
“An exercise in enlightenment,” piped in Celia.
“An exercise in enlightenment,” Dominic echoed.
Westleigh beamed. “Yes. Celia has explained to us that you don’t understand the rules by which you are trying to play, and we are here to help you.”
He realized then that he did indeed need help, not in understanding this mad lot, for he appreciated them, but in how to actually speak to English aristocrats. “You all want this very badly for me,” he said softly.
“Who wouldn’t?” Lord Ajax returned, his voice a deep rumble.
“Your cause is a noble one,” said Lord Hector quite passionately.
Lord Zephyr arched a brow, the men in total solidarity with Celia and Emilia. “And as soon as you understand what needs to be done, we will be able to do it together.”
There was a long pause before the Duke of Westleigh said, as if he would brook no argument, and that any argument would be a sign of lunacy, “And you can’t live here to do that.”
Dominic turned to Celia, not sure what to think. “I brought you here and showed you this place—”
“Yes, I know,” she said gently. “And you might think I’m letting you down, but I promise you that I’m not.
I promise you that you do not want to live here.
It might make you feel close to the people here, but it will not help you help them, or the people you say you so desperately wish to aid.
So you need to come have a quick lesson with us in how to rule English politics.
That will actually do something. Living here will not. ”
He ground his teeth. “I see, and…you’re willing to have me near you to do it?”
“From what I understand,” the Duke of Westleigh said, “the two of you have already been very near.”
Dominic winced. “You’re not actually taking me to your house to lock me in somewhere and torture me for lascivious behavior, are you?”
The duke let out a booming laugh. “Oh no, old boy. You’ve spent too much time with the Puritans. We already told you if she wants you, she can have you. You’d be lucky if she chooses you.”
Celia tensed. “Uncle, this is not part of the conversation.”
“Celia,” Westleigh said easily, “this is the best of both worlds. You want him, and he needs us.”
Her cheeks bloomed with red.
Emilia beamed. “Well said, Uncle,” she enthused before she turned to Dominic. “Whatever comes out of this will be for the best.”
“You would give it your blessing?” he asked, stunned. “I thought the two of you were two peas in a pod.”
Emilia smiled. “Oh, we are, but I’m no fool. If one of the peas is not doing well, the pod will completely disintegrate. I can see that you will help her do well.”
He stared at Emilia then, quite impressed with her. She was a good sister, he realized. A kind one, strong, and not at all jealous of Celia.
Celia took a step forward and drew in a long breath. “The truth is, Your Grace, we will not make you come with us. For all our boasts and jests, we would never force a person. But we do hope you will see our point and choose help.”
Bloody hell, she was beautiful. Beautiful and of a generous spirit and mind. How could he tell her no?
“Right,” he said. “Then I guess I must go with you, no matter how painful.”
A few days later
Dominic strode into the bedchamber that had been given to him at Heron House, his head down as he quickly read through one of his letters.
The sound of splashing water drew his attention.
What the devil?
He lifted his gaze and all his notes and papers fell to the floor.
His Venus was in her bath.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Celia lifted a sponge from the soapy water, her cinnamon curls coiled and pinned atop her head.
She said quite saucily, “You said I should come and get you when I was ready. So here I am. You have been at Heron House half a week, and I find I have no desire to resist this. You. Us. Wasting another moment seems quite ill-advised.”
There was no denying what those words did to him. He had dreamed of her every night. And it had only become more intense, taking up residence under the same roof as her. Instantly, he was hard for her.
“Join me,” she all but demanded.
And without another word or thought, he strode towards her, divesting himself of his clothes, tossing items aside.
The copper tub was actually big enough for him to climb in with her, thank God.
The water was quite hot, which explained her pink skin.
Soap bubbles danced over the surface. He went to take the sponge from her, but she shook her head.
“I am already quite clean,” she assured before she went to work.
Boldly, as she did everything in life, she began to skim the sponge over his muscled body.
“This…isn’t your first time,” he asked quickly, though he felt certain he knew the answer. But if it was, he needed to be careful.
“No,” she said easily, then paused. “Does that bother you?”
“Not in the slightest. This is perfect,” he rumbled. “You are perfect.”
She waggled her brows. “I think we are just beginning to know perfect.”
As if to fulfill those words, she teased his body with that sponge, cleansing him. She left nothing untouched, unattended, and it was sheer torture. It was all he could do not to stand in the tub, pull her up, and take her.
At long last, he could bear it no more, and he did just that.
Their slick bodies caressed and slid against each other. Slowly, reverently, he toweled her down with a linen and then she him. Each of them learning every inch, every curve.
But then she lowered herself to the floor before the fire. “No more waiting.”
“No more torture, exquisite torture,” he agreed.
Dominic joined her, dipping his head to take one of her taut nipples into his mouth. It was sheer paradise, her body. He kissed her, every bit of her, but she was having none of it.
She pulled him to her and guided his hard body over hers.
Unable to resist, not wanting to, he rubbed the head of his hard sex over hers and then thrust into her welcoming body.
As if they were and always had been destined, they found their rhythm. There was no awkwardness. No strangeness. Their bodies knew each other, as if they had been lovers a thousand times over.
And so he knew exactly how to please her, and when he stroked her most secret spot, she locked her legs around his hips and brought him home.
They crashed there together, a wave upon some wild, untouched shore.
And there they stayed, in each other’s arms. Away from everyone and everything.
As his heartbeat slowed and he held her, Dominic knew in that moment that he had no idea how he was going to do what needed to be done.
To have her without giving himself over entirely, for that way lay disaster.
That was a lesson he had learned long ago. From both his parents.