Chapter XXVII 17+

The clock struck midnight as Tina finally returned to Ashbourne Manor, her presence barely a whisper in the grand, echoing halls. The storm outside had subsided to a gentle drizzle, the raindrops tapping softly against the windows. Tina's face, partially hidden by her hood, was pale, her eyes reflecting a turbulent storm of emotions. Her cloak, stained with the blood of David, clung to her as she moved, each step echoing her desperation and anger.

As she entered the manor, the grand foyer seemed eerily quiet, the usual bustle of servants and guests absent. The grandeur of the manor, with its opulent decorations and vast spaces, felt oppressive in the silence. Tina's footsteps were deliberate, her mind preoccupied with the events of the evening. She had been to the limits of her patience, and the violence she had enacted had left her shaken yet resolute.

Unbeknownst to Tina, Andrea, one of the household staff who had been quietly observing Tina's comings and goings with increasing suspicion, had been keeping a close watch. Andrea had noticed Tina's unusual behavior, and tonight, the signs of her distress and the dark, bloodied cloak were alarming. Andrea had chosen to stay hidden, a decision motivated by both caution and the fear of crossing Tina, who was known to be dangerous and unpredictable.

Tina moved with a purposeful air to the servant's quarters, her face set in a grim line. She quickly removed the blood-stained cloak, her hands shaking slightly as she folded it and placed it into a large, heavy bag. The act of hiding evidence was mechanical, her mind still swirling with the emotional aftermath of the night's grim work. She was determined to erase any trace of her violent actions, but the blood on her hands and the residue of her rage were harder to conceal.

After securing the cloak in the bag, Tina made her way to the private bathing chamber. The manor's bathing facilities were luxurious, but tonight Tina found them to be a mere necessity. She needed to cleanse herself not just of the blood but of the burden of her actions. The steam from the hot water enveloped her as she stepped into the tub, the warmth of the water offering a fleeting comfort.

Andrea watched from her vantage point, her heart pounding as she struggled with the urge to confront Tina. The thought of questioning her was tempered by the fear of what Tina might do in her current state. Andrea's hands clenched into fists as she held her position, the shadows concealing her presence as she silently observed Tina's movements. The tension in the air was palpable, each moment stretching longer as she weighed her options.

As Tina immersed herself in the bath, she seemed to lose herself in the act of cleaning, the hot water and soap lathering away the remnants of the night's violence. Her thoughts, however, were still tumultuous. She had taken a life tonight, a reality that was beginning to settle heavily on her conscience. Despite her resolve to protect her brother and secure their future, the act of murder had left an indelible mark on her soul.

Meanwhile, far from London, Wesley was en route to France. The carriage he was in rolled steadily along the damp roads, the wheels splashing through puddles created by the earlier rain. Wesley's mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. His focus was on his mission, but his thoughts often drifted to his past and the promises made to his mother.

A vivid flashback to his childhood unfolded in his mind, stark and haunting. Wesley and his twin sister, Alexandra, were only eight years old when their mother, frail and heartbroken, had summoned them to her bedside. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its flickering light casting long shadows on the walls.

Their mother, a once-vibrant woman now reduced to a shadow of her former self, lay propped up on her bed. Her face was etched with pain, and her eyes were filled with a deep, sorrowful resignation. The heart disease that had plagued her had reached its final stage, and her days were numbered.

Through her labored breaths, she spoke to her children with a desperate intensity. "Wesley, Alexandra," she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your father… he was murdered by the Third Duke of Ashbourne. The same man who now holds power and wealth. His actions destroyed our family, and I have never recovered from his death."

Tears welled in Alexandra's eyes as she clutched her mother's hand. Wesley's jaw tightened, his young mind grappling with the gravity of her words. Their mother's eyes were filled with a fierce, unyielding rage as she continued.

"Promise me," she begged, her voice breaking, "promise me that you will avenge your father's death. Promise me that you will make the Duke and his family pay for the pain they have caused us."

The twins, though young, understood the weight of their mother's plea. They nodded solemnly, their young hearts burning with a shared resolve. The promise they made that night was a vow forged in pain and revenge, shaping the course of their future in ways they could scarcely comprehend.

As Wesley's carriage neared France, the memories of that fateful night and the promise made to their dying mother weighed heavily on his mind. He had always intended to honor that vow, but the complexity of his current situation had forced him to reevaluate his approach.

Stopping the carriage, Wesley instructed the driver to find the nearest inn. He could not leave London, not when his mission was so intertwined with his past. His determination to avenge his parents and secure their legacy drove him to a decision. He would strike at dawn, ensuring he kept his distance but remaining vigilant and ready to act.

Once at the inn, Wesley wrote a letter to Alexandra, detailing his decision to stay in London and his plan to strike at the break of dawn. His handwriting was firm and precise, each word a testament to his resolve.

"My dearest Alexandra,

I have arrived at an inn just outside of London. After much reflection, I have decided not to proceed to France as initially planned. Instead, I will remain here to continue our mission. I am determined to honor the promise we made to Mother. The time has come to act.

I will strike at dawn, keeping my distance but prepared to take decisive action. I have resolved to fight for our family and avenge our father's death. The path ahead will be difficult, but our purpose is clear.

Please stay vigilant and prepared for further instructions. We will see this through together.

Yours in resolve,

Wesley."

With the letter sent, Wesley turned his thoughts to his immediate plans. His focus shifted to the abduction of Adelaide Luca-Harrington. The carefully laid plans, the timing, and the execution of the abduction would require meticulous attention. Every detail mattered as he plotted to secure Adelaide and further his goal of disrupting the Duke's life and legacy.

As the night deepened and the inn grew quiet, Wesley's mind remained sharp and alert. His thoughts oscillated between the looming confrontation and the memories of his mother's final moments, each fueling his determination and shaping his resolve.

The moon cast a silvery glow through the gauzy curtains of the Duke and Duchess's bedroom, bathing the room in a serene light. The grand four-poster bed, draped in rich fabrics and adorned with plush pillows, was the centerpiece of the room. Within its luxurious confines, Adelaide and Luca lay side by side, their bodies close beneath the soft, warm covers.

Adelaide had fallen asleep in Luca's arms, her head resting on his chest, but a gentle nudge from him stirred her awake. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Luca's gaze was tender as he looked down at her, a gentle smile playing at his lips.

"What is it?" Adelaide murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but laced with curiosity.

Luca brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch tender and affectionate.

"I've been thinking," he said, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "There are so many things I like about you, Adelaide. I want you to know just how much you mean to me."

Adelaide shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she could meet his gaze more directly. Her heart quickened at his words, her eyes searching his face for the sincerity she knew was there.

"Tell me," she said softly, her voice a mix of eagerness and vulnerability. "What is it that you like about me?"

Luca's eyes softened, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. 

I like you most when you are the fiery, whip-smart angel who charges in to save me from myself, and makes her needs and desires plain."

Heat sizzled along every nerve ending. "So if I were to, for instance…tell you to do something to me, would you do it?" Luca's lips trailed a path of fire to her ear. "Anything that brought you pleasure, yes."

"Then undress me."

His intake of breath was audible, even over the crackle and snap of the fire, and Adelaide shivered in excitement. When she lifted her arms, he tugged off her gown with deliberate care and draped it over the low side table.

Then he got to work on her stays, loosening the silken cords, every scrape and chuff only increasing her anticipation as the constricting garment gaped a little farther with each tug and pull. Last of all he removed her kneelength chemise, though accidentally tearing it from her body might have been a better description. He now stared in comical dismay at the two jagged halves of whisper-thin linen in his hands.

"I'll buy you a new one. No, twenty." Adelaide laughed, sinking onto the long chaise next to the fire.

"My, my. The ledgers will never recover. Now, perhaps you should pour me a drink.

There was a bottle of champagne on that dinner tray, wasn't there?" In record time, Luca brought over two full glasses of champagne, but as he returned, his toes caught in the braid of the rug and he stumbled, sending an arc of golden, fizzing liquid across her breasts and belly. "Shit. I'm sorry, I'll get a cloth—"

"No," she said softly.

"I think your tongue would do a better job."

Luca loved how Adelaide had transitioned from timid to bold, VERY VERY bold.

Wordlessly, his hot gaze dancing over her naked, champagne-soaked body, Luca sank to his knees next to the chaise. He started with her collarbone, collecting the drips before licking down the outer curves of her breasts. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue a smooth delight on her skin, and yet every so often his teeth grazed her, making her whimper.

Her nipples hardened painfully, begging to be sucked without delay, but he took his time circling the areola with the tips of his fingers. She let him, knowing in a flurry of anticipation that he wouldn't stop this time, not even if they had an audience of thousands. Knowing he prepared her for an orgasm the likes of which she had never experienced. When Luca's tongue lashed her nipple, she squirmed with desire. Finally his hard lips engulfed the taut peak and drew firmly, over and over, sending fierce jolts of pleasure to her liquid, throbbing core. "More?" he whispered. "I could suck your nipples for hours, you know." Adelaide inhaled unsteadily.

"It feels so good, but I need your mouth between my legs. I want…I want you to lick my pussy."

Shock widened his eyes at the word he often used but she never had. Then he smiled, a smile so tender and wicked, she nearly came on the spot when his big, strong hands carefully spread her thighs wide and he lowered his head. His thumbs parted the thatch of auburn curls guarding her mound, and for a brief moment, his breath was a gentle tease against her soaked flesh.

Then his tongue drove in, strong and sure and rough, licking her folds and massaging her clit until she came with a low scream. But Luca didn't stop as the pulses rocked her entire body, just kept greedily lapping up the juice as it trickled from her center, even pushing his tongue deep inside her for more. When he lightly pinched her clit with his thumb and forefinger while his tongue ruthlessly plundered, she came again, her hips bucking wildly.

"Yes," he panted against her. "Keep coming in my mouth. Your pussy tastes so good."

Adelaide shook her head, her body wrung out from the power of her orgasms, and yet wanting more. Needing to be filled.

Shock widened his eyes at the word he often used but she never had. Then he smiled, a smile so tender and wicked, she nearly came on the spot when his big, strong hands carefully spread her thighs wide and he lowered his head. His thumbs parted the thatch of auburn curls guarding her mound, and for a brief moment, his breath was a gentle tease against her soaked flesh. Then his tongue drove in, strong and sure and rough, licking her folds and massaging her clit until she came with a low scream. But Luca didn't stop as the pulses rocked her entire body, just kept greedily lapping up the juice as it trickled from her center, even pushing his tongue deep inside her for more. When he lightly pinched her clit with his thumb and forefinger while his tongue ruthlessly plundered, she came again, her hips bucking wildly.

In the midst of their passion, she inadvertently opened the edges of Luca's robe, her fingers brushing against the exposed skin beneath. Luca, lost in the moment, was momentarily unaware of the subtle movement.

When Adelaide's fingers brushed against the scars on Luca's body, she was met with a rough texture that startled her. The scars were not just marks but deep reminders of past suffering. She pulled back slightly, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw the extent of the damage. Her reaction was one of shock, not fear, as the sight of the scars told a story of hardship and resilience.

Luca's immediate reaction to Adelaide's flinch was one of dread. He misinterpreted her surprise as revulsion, his heart sinking at the thought that she might be repelled by the evidence of his suffering. He drew away abruptly, sitting up in the bed, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.

"I should have told you," he said, his voice tinged with regret and insecurity. "These scars… they're from a time when I and my family was captured and tortured by the French. They were brutal, and I barely escaped with my life. Each scar is a reminder of that dark chapter."

He reached out and traced his fingers over the scars, each one a testament to the brutality he had endured.

"This scar here," he said, pointing to a particularly jagged mark on his shoulder, "is from a knife wound. They used it to inflict pain and extract information. And this one," he continued, indicating a long scar along his side, "is from a brutal beating. It's a constant reminder of the strength it took to survive."

Adelaide's heart ached as she listened to Luca's explanation. She reached out, her touch gentle as she placed her hand over his. "Luca, I'm not frightened by these scars. I'm deeply moved. They show your strength, your courage. You endured so much, and you came through it all. It makes me want you even more."

Luca looked at her with a mixture of relief and amazement. The fear that had gripped him began to dissipate as he saw the genuine empathy in her eyes.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, his voice a whisper of vulnerability.

Adelaide shook her head, her expression filled with compassion and admiration. "No, I'm not afraid. I'm fascinated by your strength and resilience. These scars are a part of you, and they only make me admire you more. They're a testament to how much you've overcome."

A profound sense of relief washed over Luca. The emotional burden he had carried was lifted by Adelaide's acceptance.

"But the baby, what we're doing now might hurt the baby."

"shhhh." she whispers

Then she kissed him, savoring the sweet and musky taste of champagne and wetness he'd drank from her, while one hand slid down to find his thick cock beautifully, wonderfully hard and ready.

"Excellent," she purred, giving his erection a firm squeeze. "Now I'm going to ride you, and we'll test exactly how well-made this chaise really is."

"Yes. Fuck, yes," said Luca hoarsely, quickly settling himself on the chaise, one long leg resting against the back, the other braced on the floor.

When she slowly sank down onto his engorged cock, he groaned, his eyes closing briefly in an expression of total erotic bliss.

Her heart clenched at the thought of how many moments she'd missed listening to her head rather than her intuition. But there was no time to dwell on that now, not when her neglected body was so desperate to feel him deep.

Their rhythm remained awkward at first as she bore down and he thrust upward, but after several strokes they were gorgeously, perfectly together, straining and grinding and gasping as they hurtled toward ecstasy.

Then Luca pressed her clit with his thumb and she tumbled over the edge, her inner muscles pulsing and clenching him so hard he jerked and spurted long streams of hot seed inside her.

Exhausted, she sighed with happiness and collapsed onto his chest. His arms immediately closed around her, and when one hand began stroking her back, she only had time to process one last thought before the sleep of the utterly sated overcame her.

Thank heavens the chaise was sturdier than it looked.