A rum mort - a great lady

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose

 

Ash stared down at his wife and could not keep the absurd smile from his face. He felt like a king, never mind a duke. She loved him. It seemed so unlikely that he almost didn’t believe it, but last night had surely put to bed any doubts in that direction, literally.

She stirred in her sleep and Ash reached out a hand, touching a finger to one blonde curl and feeling the warm huff of her breath fluttering against his skin. She sighed and murmured something and turned, suddenly awake as blue eyes met his, blinking a little as they struggled to focus.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling at him and stretching. Ash watched her, fascinated and enraptured by this beautiful woman. She looked contented and happy, and that he was responsible for it made him feel about ten feet tall.

He moved to kiss her, but was halted by a faint knock before the door opened and Molly came in with the tea tray.

Keziah’s eyes widened for a moment, cheeks blazing, before she disappeared beneath the covers as Ash chuckled. She’d have to get used to that, or perhaps not. He would tell the servants they were not to enter their bedchamber until invited to do so. He had no desire to be interrupted in the morning, and he was certainly not about to advocate separate bedrooms.

He waited until Molly had stoked the fire and drawn back the curtains, and once she had closed the door behind her, he slipped from the bed, pulling on a heavy silk robe. Moving to the breakfast tray, he poured a cup of chocolate, taking a sip himself and looking out of the window at a bright sky that promised the storms long gone and that a lovely spring day was due.

Ash moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge and giving the covers a little tug.

“Come out, sleepy head, it’s quite safe.”

Keziah emerged, her curls all in disorder as she peered over the covers.

“Has she gone?”

“Yes, love,” Ash said with a chuckle, handing her the cup of chocolate. Wriggling herself upright, she took it from him, holding the covers demurely to her neck, which made him smile.

“What?” she asked, smiling herself as she saw his expression.

Ash shrugged, quite unable to stop himself from grinning like a lunatic. “I’ve never been so happy in all my life,” he said, hearing the wonder in his own voice.

Keziah’s smile grew to match his own, that fact alone enough to make his breath catch. But then she set down the cup and allowed the covers to drop to her waist, leaning towards him. Ash had no hesitation in moving to meet her, his lips finding hers, soft and warm and so deliciously inviting.

The kiss was slow and tender, sweet as the chocolate on her lips and as heady as the most potent brandy. She reached out and tugged at the corded tie on his robe, her hands sliding over his shoulders as she pushed it from his body.

“Come back to bed,” she commanded, her tone one he had no desire to disobey.

Keziah threw back the covers and he lost no time in slipping beneath them, the feel of her warm skin a revelation all over again. He believed he would never grow used to the sensation, the astonishment of how it felt to be with her like this.

“I love you,” she whispered, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest, making him wonder if such happiness could be contained. His ribcage seemed frail against the power of it, against the grandeur of such emotion.

His breath caught as their bodies joined, such a perfection of fit, such symmetry he found himself believing in fate and soul mates, for surely this had to have been ordained. Her hands moved over him as he moved within her, stroking his back, her touch a blessing, a benediction, a promise of everything that was to come.

“Oh, Keziah,” he whispered as she wrapped herself around him, her breath coming faster. “Oh, my love.”

He bent his head, capturing one tender nipple in his mouth and smiling against her skin at the way her breath hitched now, her fingers clutching at him with more force. He traced the pebbled of her nipple with his tongue, before moving away, trailing kisses over skin like the finest silk, nuzzling her neck as her hands sank into his hair.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, the words breathless and urgent as he returned his attention to her breasts. She shuddered beneath him, letting out a low, decadent moan of pleasure as her body grew taut. The sound of her release was enough to tip him over the edge, following her into that blissful state that left them sleepy and sated and dazedly happy.

***

Keziah hummed to herself, a little, tuneless murmur of sound for no other reason than she could not stop herself. She was smug as a cream-fed cat, filled to the brim with joy, so ridiculously contented she almost had to pinch herself to believe it wasn’t a dream. But Ash was no hazy, dreamlike lover. He was no musclebound knight wielding a sword and riding off into the sunset with her, and thank heavens for that.

He was everything she never knew she needed or desired. Ash was good and honest and decent and kind, and after a lifetime of believing men had no capacity for such feelings, that itself was miracle enough. That he loved her, too, after all the trouble and scandal she had brought to his door … well, that was a fact, but one she would never take for granted.

Molly grinned at her, her good mood infectious as she put the final touches to Keziah’s hair.

“Beautiful,” she said, sighing with satisfaction at a job well done as Keziah stood.

The morning dress was of fine brocade muslin in a spring-like shade of pale green, with French beading and fine lace at the shoulders. Molly handed her a heavy silk shawl, for although the day had dawned fine and warm, there was still a chill to the air that reminded the unprepared that summer was still some weeks away.

“Thank you, Molly,” Keziah said, reaching out a hand to her maid. She squeezed her fingers and leaned forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. “For everything.”

Molly beamed at her and shook her head. “I’m so happy for you, miss … I mean, your grace.”

Keziah rolled her eyes, try as she might Molly would keep things proper between them.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said, her voice firm as Molly blushed a little.

“It was worth it, all of it, for this,” Molly said, looking around at the opulence of the room with wide eyes. “And just think, in two days we’ll be at Chartley.” The girl clasped her hands together and sighed. “Oh, I can’t wait, an’ that’s the truth. I’m so excited I could burst, and to be in the country again …oh, it will be wonderful.”

Keziah nodded, only too willing to agree with her. Leaving an obviously contented Molly to her tasks, she left the room, walking downstairs to find Ash waiting for her.

“Don’t you look a picture,” he said, his tone approving as she walked in the room.

“Well, I should think you would approve, as you bought the outfit,” she said, sounding a trifle tart, but only as she loved to tease him about his addiction to fashion.

“Now, now, love,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “We both agreed that my taste is by far superior to yours.”

“We never did,” Keziah objected, taking his proffered arm as he escorted her towards the garden. “You just turned your nose up every time I said I liked something.”

“Yes, but darling, that puce gown …” He tutted and shook his head, looking revolted and somewhat scandalised. “I do have a reputation to think of, after all.”

Keziah snorted and looked at him in astonishment. “A reputation? Now you’re worried about your reputation? After being the headline in the scandal rags for the past weeks, and probably for months to come?”

“Oh well,” Ash said, waving a nonchalant hand. “That was only murder, this is fashion.”

“You absurd creature,” Keziah chortled as they walked into the sun.

There was no denying he knew what he was talking about, though. He looked ridiculously handsome this morning. The sun burnished his dark hair like mahogany and the pale gold embroidered waistcoat and the perfectly cut coat - a deep blue, fitted to perfection, showing off a very fine figure, and shoulders that she now knew were broad and strong with no hint of padding. The fitted trousers likewise showed a shapely leg, and she found herself glowing with a sense of pride and a quite startling rush of desire. She smiled to herself as she walked beside him. He was quite right, of course, she was more than happy to leave such decisions of a sartorial nature to his discretion, having little patience for such things herself and having accepted long since that his judgement in such matters was second to none.

“Grandmother,” Ash said, greeting the dowager, who had her head together with the gardener. Tobias Mortimer looked as burnished gold and handsome as ever, nodding in an informal manner to Ash and to her in turn, which she found a little disconcerting.

“Well, then, Maggie, you tell me what wants doin’ and I’ll see to it.” He doffed his cap and grinned at the dowager, an expression which Keziah was rather startled to see returned to him from Lady Margaret.

“You allow that fellow a deal too much liberty,” Ash said, obviously as scandalised as Keziah that the dowager should allow him to use a nickname for her, let alone anything less than your grace.

Lady Margaret merely chuckled, however. “Oh, he’s known me since he was a very naughty little boy, he knows when he can get away with it and when he can’t. Knows I can’t do without him, either, fellow is indispensable,” she added with a rather enigmatic smile at her lips.

Ash frowned nonetheless, watching the man stride away with a troubled air.

“He’s a good fellow,” she said, sounding impatient at his obvious concern. “I’d trust him with my life and the family silver, and so should you, after all these years. He fought for king and country, you know, the best shot in the 95th Rifle Brigade in his time,” she mused, her cool gaze lingering on the man’s retreating figure as Ash’s frown deepened and Keziah felt her eyes widen with sudden and startling clarity.

“Oh, do stop fretting, Ash,” the dowager replied, tutting at her grandson with impatience. “He’s always known where the bodies were buried, I see no reason to doubt his loyalty now.”

Ash gaped at her, his eyes wide with shock as Lady Margaret laughed with delight.

“Merely a figure of speech, my boy, don’t be foolish. Now, do run along,” she said, waving an impatient hand at him. “I have a notion for a new parterre and I can’t concentrate on the design with you looming over me.”

Keziah drew Ash away as the dowager sent her an amused and rather knowing look. Keziah swallowed and decided that she really did not want to know any more than she did, but that she ought to keep on the old woman’s good side if she knew what was good for her.

She glanced up at Ash, biting back a smile at his indignation at being so summarily dismissed, as he’d won a victory and not realised it.

“She called you Ash,” she whispered, as they made their way further down the garden, the sun warm on their backs.

He nodded, a little surprise in his expression, though he still looked troubled. “So she did,” he murmured, turning his head and pausing to look over to where the gardener had now settled to his work, over in the rose garden.

“Keziah,” he said, his voice troubled as his frown deepened somewhat. “You … you don’t think …”

“I think, my dearest husband,” Keziah said, tugging at his arm and moving him further down the path. “That this is one occasion, where we ought not think …not at all.”