Once back at the Inn, the cheery innkeeper insists on toasting our health with a round of drinks on the house. A shared look tells me that Thomas isn't really in the mood for festivities either, as all we want to do is retire for the evening, but it would be rude not to accept the kindly innkeepers gracious hospitality.

After we've had our beverage, Thomas orders some food to be sent up to the room, so we're able to make our polite escape soon after.

When the food arrives and he answers the door -- me having to go with him due to the blasted ribbon -- the maids delivering our meal on two trays, gush and coo over Thomas like besotted, schoolroom chits.
It reminds me so much of Kitty and Charlotte back at Aldermont. Their reaction to Thomas was exactly the same, and even though it is mildly annoying I can thoroughly understand why they lose their heads over him. He is uncommonly handsome and charming. And all mine.

As they leave the room, giggling over us being tethered together at the wrist, and whispering excitedly to each other, Thomas seems indifferent to their fawning over him but painfully aware of them giggling at our love-knot.

"Perhaps we ought to untie it." He ponders thoughtfully, having turned red from his cravat up. "It isn't very practical is it?"

We sit down beside each other on the edge of the bed and he struggles to arrange the two trays of food between us.

"But it's bad luck if we untie it before we...." My words trail off. There's no need to explain further.

He arches one dark brow in mild amusement. "Are you superstitious?"

"No. I....well, maybe a little."

"Where I come from, superstitions are taken most seriously. However, we're going to have a difficult time trying to eat."

As perturbed as I am, I have to admit that he's right. You can't use a knife and fork with only one hand. So I nod apprehensively in agreement, and he carefully undoes the knot.

"Don't discard it though will you? I still intend to keep the ribbon as a souvenir of our wedding day."

Wedding day.

I'm still trying to take it in. How little old me landed myself a loving, handsome baronet.
My parents would never believe it.
Perhaps Hannah would. I must write to her as soon as possible, I decide, and share my wonderful news with her. I know she'll be so happy for me.

After we've eaten our meal of smoked Scottish salmon, boiled potatoes, bread and green beans, Thomas sends for a bathtub.

When it arrives, thankfully we don't have to endure the maid giggling at us any longer, and at Thomas' insistence, I bathe first. It isn't nearly as embarrassing stripping naked in front of Thomas this time.
On the contrary, I find it oddly thrilling. I've never undressed myself  in front of someone this way before, someone with their full attention on me. When Thomas stripped me that night when I got soaked in the rain, it was different somehow because he was the one doing the undressing for me.

As unnerving as it is, this is strangely exciting having to be so bold.
He lays casually propped against the pillows, watching me in silence through hooded eyes, as I begin the lengthy task of removing my dress and unlacing my corset.

The moment is exceptionally intimate, especially when our eyes meet as I sink down into the blissfully hot, soapy water. Never before have I been more aware of my naked body, and of him. His masculine presence and the aura of his desire makes the room seem almost electrically charged. The entire atmosphere is fraught with restrained sexual tension, tempered with something erotic, as he watches me intently as I lather myself with soap.

However, I don't linger for long in the tub, as Thomas still needs to use it too, and in spite of him ogling me he is terribly tired the poor thing. He didn't sleep at all in the carriage, whereas I at least managed to doze for awhile. Therefore I'm convinced relaxation is more his priority than exertion.

At first he appears to be slightly uncomfortable with getting undressed in front of me, even though I've seen him wearing nothing but a towel before.
I stand on the opposite side of the bed, drying myself, darting stolen glances at him as he slips out of his waistcoat, then his shirt.

All the air leaves my lungs and I pause momentarily. The sight of that magnificent sinewy body of his fills me with languid warmth, and a tingle rushes down my spine.
I want to touch him. To feel his velvety skin, and trace the small dusting of dark hair that trails down from beneath his belly button, disappearing enticingly below the waistband of his trousers.

Self-consciously, he turns his back to me as he unbuttons his trousers. I take this opportunity to slip on my new silk nightgown, the transparency of which made me blush in the shop, and as I'm discovering now clings to my curves provocatively.
I pull the material down over my head just in time to see him stepping into the tub elegantly, his graceful strength deliciously enticing.

Heaven help me but he truly is a work of art.
A masterpiece in fact.

Having dressed for bed I forgo putting on my new knickers as I'm sure they won't look right with the nightgown, and just in case Thomas is feeling amorous.
I dive under the many layers of blankets, sinking back into the soft mattress, letting the comfort and warmth envelop me.

"Thomas." I inhale a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice even. "Are we going to....? I mean, do you want to--?"

I can't complete the sentence. I'm suddenly so nervous my throat feels painfully dry. But I needn't fret, as Thomas isn't feeble-minded, so he has no difficulty filling in the blanks.

He's been sat reclining leisurely, steam rising in little swirls from his arms which rest on either side of the tub. But suddenly he's looking noticeably less relaxed, as if my enquiry has made him nervous.

"Oh, darling." He sighs. "Given the circumstances I don't expect us to consummate our union tonight." He sits upright to wash himself. Lathering a bar of soap between his large hands, he rubs meticulously over his arms and chest. "You're tired. You ought to rest."

Feeling a little deflated, I nod and plaster on a bright smile. "Very well. I am tired, and I know you certainly must be."

"That I am." He avoids meeting my gaze and tries to stifle a yawn.

I can't take this rejection personally. There's no question that Thomas wants me, he's proved that on numerous occasions, besides I can't deny that there is something about having a nice bath, full stomach, and a warm fire that has a very sleepy effect on people. Now that we've eaten and bathed it seems all we both want to do is settle down and get some much-needed rest.

Although....

It is supposed to be our wedding night.

To simply go to sleep seems like such a waste. Not making the most of sharing a bed together, without the fear of getting caught, seems almost criminal.
But Thomas remains in the bath for what feels like an eternity, which of course is an exaggeration, but I've no way of knowing, as eventually I must drift off to sleep.

I wake to find him in bed next to me. He's lay sprawled on his back, and I'm curled against him, drawn by the heat of his body. The room is softly lit by the last flames of the dying fire which flicker in the grate, throwing long shadows that dance across the walls.

His breaths are slow and shallow. Before I carefully manoeuvre myself to sit up and look at him properly, I already know he's sleeping. Still, I take the time to really look at him and appreciate his exotic beauty. He's never looked more peaceful, serenely beautiful, angelic even.

He's more heavenly than my heart can hold.

Slipping an arm around him gingerly, I attempt to settle back down, intent on holding him tightly all through the night. Tonight, and every night after, without ever letting go.
It's only then when I feel his smooth, silken flesh, that I realise there's a strong possibility that he could be naked under the bedclothes. After all, he's obviously not wearing a nightshirt.

Sweet holy mother of Lord Jesus.

As blasphemous as that is, I don't give a fig. The knowledge that Thomas is lay stark naked beside me, engulfs me with such fierce heat that it makes me feel almost dizzy and lightheaded, so I ought to be forgiven. Forgiven for the blasphemy, as well as my sinful thoughts.

But he's mine. My husband.
So it isn't sinful and I don't need forgiveness.

Giving in to my lustful desires, my hand moves impulsively downwards, my searching fingers reaching for his sex. The heat and texture of it is fascinating to me. Lengthy, hard and thick, it is an instrument of ultimate pleasure.
And now I want to pleasure him.

This part of his anatomy is shockingly virile and pleasingly responsive. With just the subtlest of strokes, I succeed in teasing him to full arousal. Pulsing and eager to penetrate, his aroused state has the desired effect and Thomas stirs from his slumber.

His breathing deepens and quickens, and as his eyes blink open and behold me, it takes him a few moments to gather his senses.

"Oh (Y/N)" He exhales shakily, his sapphire gaze locking with mine. "....what you do to me."

"No Thomas." I correct, shifting myself purposefully in the bed. "What I want to do to you."

Brazenly, I lift myself up so I'm on all fours and strategically place a trail of hungry kisses along his abdomen, edging daringly low.

Thomas reacts skittishly, his large hands catching hold of my shoulders to halt my exploratory descent.

"(Y/N) what are you--? Wait!!"

"I don't want to wait, Thomas." I tell him honestly, my desperation obvious. "I want to love you and pleasure you, as you've pleasured me."

Raising nervous eyes to his, I'm rather shook by the look of alarm and unveiled lust that glitters back at me feverishly. Determined, I lower myself down further, and I'm aware of him watching intently as I bring my face closer, admiring the size and shape of his manhood. It is thick, hard, and without exaggeration, seems perfectly formed.
Though admittedly he's alarmingly large, which is worrisome.

Steeling my nerves, I carefully take hold of him, and kiss the shiny tip, which makes him jitter uncontrollably. Watching his reaction and seeing his facial expressions is amazingly erotic. He chokes-out a ragged breath, his lust-filled eyes lock with mine, as he strokes my face tenderly with the back of his hand.

Then I wet my lips with my tongue and slowly draw him into my mouth.

"Oh God--!" Head lolling back, Thomas seems perceptibly defeated by raw pleasure, and all the muscles and nerves in his lean thighs and toned stomach, spasm.

Unable to contain his growing need, he instinctively pushes his length further inside, and to my utter dismay I gag,  which forces me to pull back, spluttering.

"Forgive me." He rasps, adoringly apologetic. "I got carried away, I shouldn't have--"

His words dissolve into a gasp as I persist, taking him in my mouth once again, stubbornly refusing to be deterred.

Seeing and sensing the effect my sordid actions are having on him, I feel an enormous rush of excitement and arousal from this newly discovered power, which makes me giddy. It is my turn now to make him come undone. To please him as he has me.

His nimble fingers creep to the back of my neck, sliding into my hair until he has a firm grip on the back of my skull. "(Y/N) you know you don't have to do this."

I draw his length out of my mouth so I can reply. "I know. But I want to, Thomas."

"Yes but....you do know what will happen....if you keep doing that." He unexpectedly grasps a handful of my hair tightly, urging me to look at him.

He's watching me, mouth slightly open, drawing in shallow, unsteady breaths.

"No, what?" I reply teasingly.

He swallows hard. "Keep going and you'll regrettably find out."

Filled with renewed determination, I breath through my nose and try to ignore my gag-reflex, as he slides back into my mouth, and moans his approval. To my relief and joy, I now find myself able to take him deeper in my throat. Though he does refrain from trying to enter me completely. I'm grateful to him for treating me with such consideration, and encouraged by the delicious sounds my actions are drawing from him.

In fact, given that I'm a complete novice, to my immense satisfaction he appears to be enjoying my efforts immensely, as he lets out a helpless whimper and begins thrusting carefully in a shallow rhythm. His narrow hips flex upwards as I open my mouth as wide as it will go, in order to accommodate as much of him as possible.
Absently, I slide a hand beneath the pillowy flesh of one of his buttocks and clutch it tightly, sinking my nails into the soft mound, whilst simultaneously using my other hand to pump at his throbbing shaft.

""Oh, God....I'm going to come, (Y/N)......You're going to make me come undone!" He says in a deep, ragged, breathless voice. "You'd....you'd better stop now."

But I've no intention of stopping. I rather crudely want to drain him dry. I am greedy for him. Sweet anticipation skitters down my spine, lighting every one of my nerves on fire. The intimacy of having him plundering my mouth so explicitly is intoxicating, and I let out a contented moan.

"Stop." He begs, his voice sounding desperate, wild, and out of control.

Instead I suck him and suckle him as though my life depends on it, licking and fluttering my tongue over the little ridge of skin on the underside. His pace noticeably quickens, and the grasp on my hair tightens painfully as he gathers it in both hands, tugging and twisting it in blind desperation.

I'm concerned I might inadvertently be at risk of doing him a significant damage with my teeth, as he plunges steadily deeper, his last desperate thrusts indicating he's losing control, consumed by pleasure.

"Oh...God....if you don't stop now, (Y/N)....."

My lips stretch around his swollen shaft, fingers squeezing and stroking what I can't take in my mouth, then suddenly his entire body goes rigid, save for the nerves I feel jumping beneath my touch.

A nervous glance upwards confirms my suspicions, and suddenly I'm witnessing his climax hit. His handsome face contorts with ecstasy, and he lets go of my hair, bringing his hands down to fist into the sheets at his sides, as if he's in blissful agony.

He arches upward, back bowing, and a hoarse cry rips from his throat, followed by my name. As his orgasm tears through his pushing, shuddering body, his jaw tightens and his veins bulge. Then I feel the distinct liquid warmth of his release flooding my mouth, and I swallow the bitter-sweet elixir wantonly, savouring every exquisite drop.

Sensing that I ought to let him recover, I carefully withdraw his slick length from my hot mouth, and crawl back up the bed to lay beside him. He's still trembling slightly, one large hand resting on his forehead, and he's staring straight up at the ceiling looking almost dazed and stunned. Judging by his reaction, I've succeeded in satisfying him, which is undeniably gratifying.

"Thomas, was that....enjoyable for you?" I venture, shyly.

He turns his head to face me, his eyes hazy and brimming with awe and tenderness. "Enjoyable? Yes my love, it was. Immeasurably so." Smiling contentedly he wraps a strong arm around me and pulls me to him. "But I did want to make love to you."

My pulse immediately begins to speed up again, as I nuzzle against his glorious chest. "We have plenty of time for that, my darling heart."

"Indeed we do, you tempting little minx."

I giggle girlishly as he places a kiss against the top of my head. We are nestled into the bed, the blankets surrounding us like a cocoon. It's warm, and cosy and perfect, and the last coherent thought I have before falling asleep is I never want to leave this place, this moment, ever.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Several hours later I'm startled awake by the sound of urgent tapping on the door. At first I'm a bit disorientated, unsure of my surroundings, and it takes awhile to remember where I am.

Ah yes, I'm in Scotland. More importantly, the Gretna Inn, with my new spouse.
A rush of delight floods my heart, as I notice that Thomas has now turned over on to his stomach, his arm cradling a pillow as he sleeps soundly.

It wasn't all some wild dream, conjured by my fevered imagination.
Thomas is gloriously real, and he's here with me. We actually did it. He married me yesterday.

My eyes linger appreciatively on his lean muscular back, and I wish I could pause to take-in and memorise every last detail. His bed-tousled hair, a dark wavy mess which fans-out on the starched linen of the pillowcase. The long, elegant sweep of his spine. His sharp, manly shoulder blades. The sparse dusting of freckles along his shoulders.

But I can't sit here ogling like a besotted schoolgirl. Someone is insistently knocking at the door.

"Just a minute." I call out, climbing from the bed and hastily rummage for my new robe in one of the clothes boxes.

After slipping into it I open the door, feeling a little flustered.

"Begging' your pardon Miss, but you've a gentleman caller waiting on you downstairs in the saloon." A rather embarrassed looking maid informs me. She's no doubt aware that Thomas and I are newly married, and is mortified for having to disturb us.

She refuses to look me in the eye, and I draw my silk night robe around me self-consciously.

"A gentleman?" I echo. "But who could it be?" The maid shrugs unhelpfully. "And you're quite sure he asked for me? Not Thom-- I mean, Sir Sharpe?"

She nods her head. "Yes Miss, he asked for you. He didn't give me his name, but said he needed to speak to you about your marriage certificate."

"Oh I see. Right. Please tell him I'll be with him presently."

The maid leaves and I set about getting dressed, deciding not to wake Thomas. He needs to catch up on the sleep he's missed.

I decide the man awaiting me downstairs must be Mr McKenzie, or perhaps someone in his employ. I recall him having told Thomas that our marriage certificate would be drawn-up and ready for collection this morning, so all I can deduce is that he's very kindly had it sent over personally. Perhaps he's being extra courteous because Thomas is a baronet. Granted I am confused as to why he'd specifically ask for me, but still. Maybe the document requires my signature or something.

Having dressed hastily in my new sapphire-blue gown, I brush the snarls from my hair and arrange it into a simple chignon, secured in place by pins at the nape of my neck.

Several minutes later I arrive downstairs, and I'm shown into the deserted saloon by the same maid. The shabby but comfortable saloon is deserted, save for a stony-faced man with greying blonde hair, dressed in a tweed suit, and brandishing a briefcase.

"Miss...?" He falters momentarily as he extends his hand in greeting. "Sorry, I don't know your surname I'm afraid."

Curious, I shake his hand. His palm is noticeably clammy, so I have to resist the rude impulse to wipe my own hand afterwards on the skirt of my dress.

"It's Missus." I inform him, wondering who on earth he could be, seeing as he obviously isn't aware that Thomas and I are now wed. "Mrs Thomas Sharpe."

"I see." He says gravely. "I must beg your pardon for not offering you my congratulations, but it is the matter of your recent nuptials I need to discuss with you."

Frowning, I allow him to usher me to a nearby table where I sit down, watching with growing apprehension as he remains standing, fiddling with his briefcase.

"Am I to understand that you married the baronet then?"

Feeling suddenly guarded, I reply defensively. "Yes. Why? What is all this about? And may I ask who you are Sir?"

The man ceases fiddling with his papers, and produces a printed business card from his top pocket. "The name is Elkins. I'm a solicitor from Cumberland. Are you....literate?"

Bristling, I snatch the card from him abruptly. Whoever he is, he must be aware of my background. But how does he know that I was in service, prior to marrying Thomas? Regardless, I find his presumptuousness insulting and offensive. Just because I'm working class doesn't mean I'm ignorant.

"I can both read and write!" I say sharply, inspecting his card, the details of which do confirm his claims. "What is this about?" I demand tartly, hackles rising.

But I can't ignore the way the small hairs prickle at the base of my neck, and an ominous feeling gathers and settles in the pit of my stomach.

Slowly he lowers himself into the chair opposite me, and regards me gravely. The unsettling feeling now feels like I've swallowed a lead weight, and intuitively I just know that impending doom looms like a dark, oppressive thundercloud in a gathering storm.

But nothing on earth could prepare me for the dramatic bombshell that he drops, and what he proclaims next has me gripping onto the edge of the table for support, my trembling knuckles glowing white.

"I'm afraid to inform you, Mrs Sharpe....that your husband is already married."