REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) (35 page)

Jon was still inside of her.  His thrusts had slowed some, but remained plenty strong.  And though the sun had set, what little light that shined in from the outside moonlight, she saw the sheen of patterned scales on human flesh cross over his body. 

And unlike the first time she had seen such, she had never thought to have seen anything more beautifully translucent before in her life.  It was a glow that Jacob also seemed to share and Tris found the sight nothing short of dazzling. 

Jon began to grunt as he thrust inside of her, his sounds keeping in time with his movements.  Tris rocked her pelvis against his, their bodies settling into a kind of synchronized harmony.  She could feel his energy within him, building to heights not yet experienced.

She encouraged him with her body, tightening her muscles inside where she could, milking him.  He fed off her enthusiasm, sweat beginning to run down his body, mingling with her own. 

“Make her night complete now,” Jacob whispered as his mouth again joined hers.  Jon’s thrusts into her began to feel as though he were near his climax.  Tris could feel her depths reaching a critical point, ready to explode.

Jon’s power built, and built, and built further still until it seemed that he might burst unless he released all of his pent up energy.  She tried to hold her breath, but the effort was stymied by Jacob’s ever present lips.  She found herself waiting for the moment, counting his thrusts but constantly losing count for the way Jacob’s tongue moved inside her mouth.

She felt Jon pump inside of her. 
Three… four…seven… no, six… er… eight… oh, damn!
 

And then she felt it.  Warmth, just as her body felt as though it were a pot about to boil over.  Unlike any she had ever felt that elicited a silent scream from her.  Her toes went numb, and then her legs shuddered, followed by her hips, her waist, her torso and finally her head.

The three of them paused collectively, as if suddenly encased in amber and frozen in this moment.  Tris tried to hold onto the feeling, imprinting it upon her mind.  Her flesh tingled with the shared sensation until inevitably the moment passed.

Jon was the first to sigh and he removed himself gently from within her, rolling over beside her.  Jacob followed, sitting up on the opposite side.  Tris rested between them, the three of them caked in sweat and breathing heavily.

“That was…” she managed to gasp out.

“Yeah… it was…” Jon managed to add.

Jacob chuckled.

Chapter 7

There was a gentle knock at her door that woke her.  When she opened her eyes and looked around, she found that Jon was still asleep on the bed next to her.  But Jacob had gone.  Jon’s arm was draped over her and he slumbered peacefully beside her, his fingers intertwined within hers. 

She heard the gentle knocking again and lightly stirred to look at the man sleeping beside her.  The noise had not roused him.  A small smile touched her lips at seeing him so close beside her and very quietly and smoothly she slipped out from under his arm and out of the bed.

She found a silken robe hanging nearby and slipped into it, covering her body and protecting her modesty.  As she moved, her body felt a little sore but the efforts she had gone through to feel this way was more than worth it.  She also noted that she couldn’t wait to do it again, were it possible.

She went to the door and opened it gently.  Light from outside in the hall peered in and she saw a figure standing there.  A woman, with short curly blonde hair and an hour-glass shaped figure.  She was dressed in a scarlet colored evening gown that flattered her figure greatly and without needing to ask, Tris knew who this was.

“Simone?” she asked.

The woman answered with a small smile.  “And you would be Tristina.  Welcome to our home.”

Tris stepped into the hall, closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” the other woman said.

“No, no, no need to worry about that,” Tris said.

Simone’s smile was radiant and she folded her hands together at the waist.  “I just wanted to come by and apologize.”

“Apologize?”

Simone nodded.  “How we met today, in the court yard.  I’m sorry if we scared you.  It’s just… this whole thing is easier to accept if you see it for yourself and
then
drink from the flask.”

“Yeah, about that…” she said inquisitively.  “What was in it?”

Simone lightly shrugged.  “Blood.”

“Blood?”

“Yes.  A drop of it, to be precise and it was from Luke,” the skinnier woman replied. “It was mixed with fruit and vegetable juices that make it easier to swallow.  Believe me, drinking the blood straight is not a pleasant experience.  But it’s the only way for you to see the memories as they were intended.”

A thought crossed her mind.  “Does… does that mean… that I’m… that I’m?”

“Becoming one of us?” Simone supplied.  “No, it doesn’t.  No need to worry about that.  The process is a tad more sophisticated and we reserve the juice simply to make people understand why it’s so necessary for our lives here to remain a secret.  We wouldn’t turn you unless you asked for it specifically.  I don’t think you’re quite ready for that, to be honest.”

She felt a small sense of relief.  “That’s a lift.”

Simone smirked.  “So… you and my sons, eh?”

Tris knew that she should have felt embarrassed, but the emotion did not come.  Neither of the men she had shared her body with tonight were her biological sons after all.  If anything, she felt flattered.  “Yeah… uh… apparently a side effect of the juice is… lust?”

Simone nodded.  “It is at that.”  She looked at the door as if searching through it and then back to her.  “Are they both still in there?”

Tris shook her head.  “No.”

“No?”

“No… Jacob must have gone while I was asleep.”

Simone’s face brightened.  “And Jon?  He stayed behind?” she asked hopefully.

Tris gave a short nod, recalling how he had slept with his arm draped over her protectively.  “Yeah… he did.”

Her hostess clapped her hands together happily.  “Wonderful!”

“Wonderful?” she asked.  “Why?”

Simone lowered her hands.  “Well… it means he’s fond of you, Tris.  I didn’t expect that Jacob would stay behind.  He’s still too young for his
other
half to have settled in.   But Jon… well… he’s about the right age to want to settle.”  The elder woman’s face flushed a little.  “So… I take it that it was… uh… Jon… who…?”

She didn’t need to finish, Tris understood well enough what the other woman was getting at.  She felt herself blush a little at it.  “Yes.  It was.”

Simone’s smile lingered.  “Good.”  She bounced on her feet excitedly.

Tris thought back to the passions that she and Jon had shared only a few hours before and felt a smile form on her lips.  “You know, I think I’m a little fond of him too.”

The blonde began to turn aside.  “I’m pleased to hear it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes… it means that you’ll be staying with us.”

The words should have had a more profound and darkening impact on her heart, but Tris found that the words were less condemning and more welcoming. 
A lifetime – or more if I want – on an island paradise with a gorgeous man?
  There were worse ways to spend time. 

“Yeah…” she said.  “I guess I am.”

When Simone had gone she slipped back into the darkness of her room and let her robe drop down around her feet.  She crept back into her bed and tried to slip back under Jon’s waiting arm.  She managed it easily enough and settled back in upon her pillow.

“So… what did my mother say?” Jon’s voice asked softly in the dark.

Tris held for a moment and continued to settle.  “She was just wanted to say she was sorry for how things went today.”

“Is that all?”

She chewed her bottom lip with anticipation.  “She was excited that you stayed here with me tonight.”

He snuggled closer to her.  “
Just
her?”

She chuckled.  “Well… I am too.”

He gently pulled some of her hair aside and planted the gentlest of kisses on her neck.  “Are you sorry?  That any of this happened?”

She rolled over to look at him, and saw his very human eyes staring back at her in the light of the moon from the outside.  She held up her fingers and his gently played around the edges of her hand.  She drank it all in.  The proximity, the sights, the smells, and the sensations of having him so close to her who, impossible as it seemed, she had grown so attached to in so brief a time.  She shook her head.  “No.”

His smile outshined the moon.  “Good.  Me neither.”  He traced the edges of her fingers with his own.  “I… I like having you here… with me…” He blushed. 

She chuckled.

“What?”

She stifled her laughter long enough to respond.  “I don’t want to tell you.”

“No, tell me,” he said playfully. 

She didn’t have the energy within her to be evasive but chose to give in rather than keep it to herself.  “Promise not to laugh?”

“Promise.”

She sighed.  “The whole reason that I wanted to take the cruise… was so I could maybe meet some wild and exotic man.  Love on the boat and all that.”

He burst into laughter that bore some kind of appeal to it that she couldn’t help but join in.  Their joined laughter continued for a few moments before they finally settled back into the quiet of the room.

“Well, you got your wish, didn’t you?”

She smiled at him.  “You know what I’m wishing for now?”

A new smile formed on his features with just a slight hint of animalistic desire.  He reached for her.

THE END

Epilogue

Christmas Eve, 1843

Luke crashed through the front door with a curse. Grabbing his throbbing toe, he spun madly, throwing a hand out to catch himself on the whitewashed wall a second before he toppled dizzily to the floor. He stood there for a long moment, hunched over at the waist, blinking rapidly as everything doubled, and then tripled. He swore Calder was slipping more into his whisky than just alcohol. Luke was sure he’d only had a few glasses, but then those pretty girls had come in and he might have had a few more shots. And when he’d lost that poker hand to one-eyed Bill he may have tried to drown his sorrows in another drink or two.

He closed one eye, and squinting blearily through the other could just make out the path from the front room, down the hall, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Oh, damn it all. Stairs. He had forgotten about them. Cautiously, he glanced around, the whole dimly lit room swimming in waves around him. Maybe he would just sit down in that old armchair of his until he could see straight again. Nodding to himself, proud of his ingenuity, he took several unsteady steps into the great room.

Not that it was so great, he thought morosely to himself. His father had tightened the purse strings more and more each passing year, so now most of his furniture was becoming threadbare and worn. Always going on about responsibility, and work ethic, and making something out of himself. He already had, he thought with a snort. He was the son of the richest man in the west. What could be better than that?

He stumbled further into the room when a sudden noise had him spinning too quickly, almost landing him straight on his nose.

“What?...”

“Oh, sit down, Luke, before you hurt yourself.” The crotchety old voice sounded out of the darkness, and again, he found himself squinting until his dark eyes landed on the disapproving gaze of his father. He had been sitting there for who knows how long, waiting for Luke to return from Calder’s saloon. And he looked none too pleased about it, either.

Luke trundled over to the other empty chair and sat down gratefully before looking up balefully at his father. The renowned Augustus James Wilder. The richest man in the west, and owner of the Corral Ranch, and Luke’s own life, he thought bitterly.

“What are you doing here, father? It’s Christmas Eve, shouldn’t you be off working?”

“Now, stop that. You’re a twenty eight year old man, not some whining boy, and I’ve decided it’s high time for you to start acting like it.” His Texas drawl did nothing to soften the words. “You’re right, tomorrow is Christmas. And I got you something. Something that will hopefully turn your life around.”

“Oh, right. And what is that, father?” Luke couldn’t have kept the sarcasm out of his voice if he’d wanted to. Silently, his father leaned forward, offering him a small piece of paper. Luke looked closer at it and realized it wasn’t paper at all, but a sepia toned photograph of a young woman. A gorgeous young woman, staring at him with piercing eyes that seemed to dare him. But that still didn’t answer his question. He looked up in drunken confusion.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Luke’s words were starting to slur together even more, making him almost unintelligible, but his father understood. Slowly, Augustus rose, looking every inch the proud southern gentlemen staring down at a rogue, good-for-nothing cowboy.

“It’s a choice,” His father all but spit the words out, “It’s either her...” he paused, nodding toward the photograph clutched in looks numb fingers, “Or you’re cut off.”

“Cut...off?” Luke felt the words in his mouth, but couldn’t comprehend them.

“Yes, son, cut off. No house, no money, no job. Not that you’ve worked a day in your life anyways.” His father took a deep breath before continuing, “and no inheritance. You’ll get nothing.”

Luke stare at him dumbfounded before a startled laugh was shocked out of him, “What do you want me to do, father? Kidnap the poor girl?”

“No, you fool. Marry her!”

“Marry her?” Luke spluttered, unable to get anymore words out, his mouth hanging open dumbly as his alcohol soaked mind tried to understand what his father was saying.

“Yes, Luke. Marry the girl, or you’re on your own.”

“How...how can you do this to me?”

Augustus didn’t answer, just shook his head silently, waiting.

“Well, do I even get to meet her first?” Cynicism was thick in Luke’s voice. Augustus held out a sheet of vellum, folded in the center. Luke slowly took it, opening it with trembling fingers, and laughed again when he read the words, but there was no humor in the sound.

“Ah, I’m already married, huh? Is that it?”

“It was done by proxy, just like any mail order bride. She has already signed, all that is required is your signature and it is legal and binding.”

Luke looked up at his father’s words, so cold, so distant.

“Why?” He asked again.
What choice do you have?
His drunken brain railed at him. What would he do with no house, no money, no where to go. Without even looking, he grabbed the pen held out by his father, scrawled his signature, and thrust the paper back feeling like he had just signed his life away.

 
 
 
A few moments later, the whisky finally caught up with Luke, and as Augustus Wilder stared down at his drink-ridden, unconscious son, he prayed that he was doing the right thing. Without another word, he turned and left.