Chapter 18
Standing next to the anvil, the village blacksmith, also known as the priest, asked, “Are ye both of marriageable age?”
Olivia nodded, and Warren answered, “We are.”
With a roll of his eyes, the priest continued, “And are ye both free and willin’ to marry?”
To his surprise, Olivia jutted her chin up and declared, “We are.”
The priest’s brow arched as he smiled. Callused hands reached out to join Warren’s hand with Olivia’s, and the blacksmith held them over the anvil. One of the witnesses, a young girl who clearly resembled the priest, stepped forward and bound his hands with Olivia’s with a cream-colored ribbon.
The girl whispered, “That’ll be another five shillings.”
He wasn’t about to quibble over another five shillings after the priest had already swindled him out of a hundred guineas to perform the ceremony.
Warren simply smiled as Olivia’s brows snapped together.
She had made her position clear before the proceedings: she believed the exorbitant price was highway robbery, especially since they were not purchasing a ring.
Olivia darted a glare over at the priest, who prompted, “Well, go on then, declare yerself.”
She turned to face him and even after spending three full days together, Olivia still stole his breath every time she looked up at him. She inhaled deeply, then in a steady voice, said, “I, Olivia Walton, take Lord Guernsey to be my husband.”
The blacksmith shook his head. “No, no, no… not the toff’s title… yer marrying the man… State the man’s name. Try again.”
The flare of Olivia’s nostrils had Warren choking down laughter. He was thankful for the priest’s words, for they were absolutely accurate, and he hoped it would slay any remaining doubts Olivia had about marrying a peer.
Through gritted teeth, Olivia said, “I, Olivia Walton, take Warren Dowling, to be my one and only husband.”
The priest glared at Olivia. Why the two had been at odds the moment they entered the coaching inn was beyond Warren. Not wanting to prolong the ceremony any longer than necessary, Warren quickly said, “I, Warren Dowling, take Olivia Walton, to be my one and only wife.”
The blacksmith struck the anvil with his hammer, the loud clang rang through the village, and the priest declared, “Yer married now. Ye can pick up yer license in the morn.”
Olivia reached out to stop the blacksmith with her free hand. “He’s a good man. Nothing like his father.”
The blacksmith nodded and mumbled, “I know. Ian sent word.”
Warren studied the blacksmith closely as the man walked away. There was a slight resemblance but not telling. He tugged his bound hand, pulling Olivia closer. “Is he related to Ian?”
“His uncle,” Olivia replied.
“An uncle who hoped you would wed his nephew.”
Olivia nodded. “I love Ian, but in the same fashion you love Anne.”
“But unlike Anne, Ian loves you as a woman.”
“In time, he will find his wife, and he’ll realize we were never right for one another.” Olivia sighed and smiled at the same time. “Lucky for me, Anne already found her future husband.”
“Oh, pray tell…” He placed a kiss upon her nose. “Who shall be our so-called future brother-in-law?”
“I can’t share that information with you at this time.”
“Whyever not? You are not supposed to keep secrets from your husband.” He lifted their bound hands.
“I don’t want to jinx matters,” Olivia said.
Warren smiled to himself. He’d have to wait to discover the truth.
After all, he had learned long ago that it was far easier to do as a woman asked and discover their clever reasoning later than argue and cause unnecessary angst. They made their way to the inn across the street, where she had insisted he reserve a room, which made more sense now that he understood the connection between Ian and the blacksmith.
As he followed his wife, who strode with a determination he admired, he acknowledged his fate.
He would forever be surrounded by women who knew their own mind, but it was a blessing he’d never trade.
There was no escaping her now. Warren had brought her to the brink of ecstasy far too many times over the past three days.
Olivia glanced down at their hands bound by the silk ribbon.
She recalled Ian’s uncle's tale of ill fate befalling couples who didn’t heed his advice to keep their hands bound until sunrise.
As a girl, she’d place little weight in the man’s stories, which he referred to as the stupidity of Saxons, but tied to her husband, Olivia was reluctant to jeopardize their future.
Warren’s fingers traced the edge of the binding, and she covered his hand with hers. “Stop.”
“What’s the matter?”
“We must remain bound until the morning.”
With a slight tilt of his head, Warren asked, “According to whom?”
“Ian’s uncle,” she murmured. Resolved Warren would forever be the one to ask questions and she the one to provide answers, Olivia smiled up and said, “He purposefully left out certain details, most likely in an attempt to bring chaos to our marriage.”
“Because you chose me over Ian.”
“It was never a choice. Ian is my family, and now you are too.”
Warren brought their bound hands up between them and then placed them against his chest. “Then we shall make do until sunrise.” He cupped her face with his free hand and smoothed her brow with his thumb. “Is there a problem?”
“I… well… it’s…” What was the matter with her? Warren was her husband; she should simply tell him what was concerning her. She glared at their bound hands and asked, “How are we to undress, like this?”
“Together we still have two hands. We’ll manage.”
His confident response set her at ease, and she smiled. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
Awkward and clumsy, they managed to disentangle themselves from the layers of material that Olivia had repeatedly cursed over the past three days. Laid out naked on their sides, half-on, half-in the bed linens, Olivia stroked Warren’s hard, defined jawline. “That, my love, was…”
“Just the beginning.” Warren finished her sentence before trailing a finger along her collarbone up to her shoulder and then down over her ribs to her waist. It was a good thing she wasn’t ticklish, unlike her husband, which she had learned over the course of their journey to Scotland.
She’d also discovered that he was nearly as skillful with his left hand as he was with his right; thankfully, it was his right hand that had remained unbound.
She hadn’t even begun to kiss or touch him, yet his cock was hard and ready, pressed up against her stomach. The knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him fueled her confidence as she threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his head down to hers.
While his hand explored her body, she focused on kissing Warren thoroughly. The intimacy of intertwining tongues and the slick feel of his lips over hers sent waves of pleasure rolling down her spine and cumulated at her core, which he was lavishing attention upon with his skillful fingers.
Seeking the fullness of him inside her, Olivia shifted her weight so that he was forced to roll onto his back, allowing her to straddle him.
Not as skilled with her left hand, she slowly stroked the length of Warren’s manhood from tip to base and back up to circle the tip that was now slick and throbbing in her palm.
She ran her tongue over her lower lip as she caught Warren’s eyes fluttering closed.
If she wasn’t restricted, she’d lower herself to taste him, take him in her mouth as she had practiced in the travel coach.
Warren’s guttural moans of pleasure were exhilarating, and she desperately wanted to hear them.
Raised up to her knees, she shimmied closer, positioning herself over his thick, engorged cock.
She wanted him deep inside her but they had the entire evening.
Guiding the tip of his cock to graze along her slit, she resisted the urge to sink down upon him, and it took every ounce of self-control not too.
“Olivia… please.”
Warren had never begged before, and she was more than willing to grant him his wish. She sank down and took every inch of him inside of her and then rotated her hips in a circular motion, which had Warren’s fingers on his free hand digging into her thigh.
He released her leg and glided his hand up until his thumb was able to tease her most sensitive pleasure point.
Beyond thinking, she rocked up and down in time with his movements, as he stroked her clit over and over.
She wanted all of him, and she ground her bottom into him again and again until his hips pressed into her as he roared his pleasure.
Twinkling lights behind her closed eyelids had her shouting, “Oh, Warren.”
Sweat beaded over their skin, and she flopped atop of him. It was as if her bones no longer existed. Ear pressed to his chest, Olivia heard his heart racing nearly as fast as hers.
“You are now officially mine,” Warren panted.
“No escaping?” she teased.
He stroked her head and said, “Never.”
Olivia closed her eyes. She was done hiding. She was done living in his shadow. She was the Viscountess of Guernsey, and there was no changing the fact now. With sleep about to claim her, Olivia wiggled to snuggle closer against her husband. “I rather like my new bed.”
With strength she lacked, Warren rolled them over until he was atop of her. “Movements like that will result in no sleep for either of us.”
Her eyes popped open. Surely, he didn’t intend to take her again so soon. The gleam of desire in his gaze was undeniable. Here she thought he’d shown her all the ways he could love her, but she discovered the man was not done showing her the depth of his love for her.
Placing kisses all over her naked body until he covered every reachable inch, Olivia was left squirming, wet and ready for him once more. It was her turn to beg, and she was certain it would be the first of many more times to come.
Entwined with Warren, she was exactly where she was supposed to be.