Page 55 of Forever Her Bachelor

Everything else could wait.

CHAPTER 17

Dear Kitten,

The school day is indeed too long, the nights never ending. I am counting down the days until I can assist you in the laboratory and allow you to shout at me incessantly. It is my greatest joy to please you.

Yours,

Chauncey (The Assistant)

Sipping the large pint of ale, Pippa heavily enjoyed the cold, bitter taste slipping down her throat. She was careful not to drink too much as she didn’t want to be foxed on her wedding night.

With her heart filled with joy, she had no cares to think of in that moment. Her husband’s warmth seeped into her skin. He had been bound to her side for the past four hours. The most glorious four hours of her life.

“I can see how much ye love each other, lass.”

Pippa could still hear the older woman’s voice as she whispered to her as they walked out of the blacksmith’s barn. Mrs. Campbell’s words had sat on her heart, pounding out her remaining resistance.

Once they had returned to the inn, St. Clara announced buoyantly that they were spending the evening in the charming village of Gretna Green. Pippa took great joy in eating the vast amount of food and listening to tales of other aristocratic couples who’d married over the anvil in the past. Apparently there hadn’t been a duke for some time, making the townsfolk excited to wish them well.

A great number of couples came to the small village that day to be married, but only four remained in the late hours of the night. Most of the others had unbound themselves from each other, but Pippa and St. Clara remained connected. Though it was rather difficult to stay bound together, it made Pippa feel a connection to him that she had not felt since they were children. A connection that she most desperately needed.

She had never experienced a night quite like the one she was having, laughing with the other brides, allowing her husband to feed her with his one free hand and kiss her often in front of complete strangers.

It was glorious and different, nothing like any societal wedding she had attended. Pippa couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. In truth, she felt more like a country bride than a duchess.

Before she could take another delicate sip of her pint, it was taken away from her by her husband who stood beside her. “Easy. I don’t want my wife foxed on our wedding night.” His voice was deep and sultry, the sound of it stirring a longing in the pit of her belly.

St. Clara ignored her pouting and drank the rest of her ale.

She should probably tell him that she wasn’t foxed at all. Pippa had two pints the entire evening and was in no fear of being intoxicated.

She tilted her head at him, leaning in slightly, their hands still bound. “Why do you need me sober?” She smirked knowingly at him, having an idea after last night’s activities.

Leaning back into her, he gave her a lopsided grin that transformed him into the young man she’d almost married. How she had missed this version of her Chauncey. “Because I’m going to have my wicked way with you … all … night.” He pecked her lips, causing the remaining crowd to erupt in cheers.

“Kiss her, Yer Grace!” was yelled out by every drunk resident in the small establishment.

Pippa laughed, her head falling back as St. Clara pulled her close for what seemed to be the hundredth time and ravished her lips.

Heavens, she could do that forever.

Her free hand gripped his hair as his tightened around her waist, pulling her body flush against him. His warmth seeped into her, and she suppressed a moan at his hardness pressing against her abdomen. Her husband had been like this the entire day. She, Pippa Price…Bennett, was arousing the great Duke of St. Clara.

The kiss unnerved her in its passion, and her cheeks were permanently reddened from all the attention. Pippa’s body was needy, and she could not stop replaying the events of the previous evening, wishing for a repeat performance.

“I think it’s time to retire,” he whispered against her lips before turning them toward the stairs.

“One more whiskey before you retire, Yer Grace?” Tom, the owner and bartender, held up a glass of Scots whisky for St. Clara.

Taking the offered glass of whisky, he held it up high. “It is impossible to find good Scots whisky in London.” He drank the small amount of whisky, not affected at all.

Pippa was constantly learning new things about her husband. She hadn’t known of his love for Scots whisky, nor had she any clue there was a difference between Irish and Scots. She was also shocked that he still wanted the rocks she collected. Now that he was older, she had assumed that he would’ve laughed at her.

She wanted to discover everything about the Duke of St. Clara. He was so different from her friend Chauncey, yet the same.

“I’ll send some bottles back with ye. A wedding present for ye and yer bonnie lass.” Tom pointed up the stairs. “Now off with ye,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.