Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Fourteen

Tuck thrummed as he drank in the sight of Lizzy, those perfect-ten curves barely concealed beneath that oh-so-innocent nightgown.

She set his blood on fire. It took every ounce of his self-control not to sweep her into his arms and tell her all the ways

he could make her body sing. That, and the drunken idiot who’d ruined his chances to make a move.

He’d bodychecked the stumbling, bleary-eyed intruder back out into the hall with a growled “Get out,” before slamming the

door and facing Lizzy.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. The charged atmosphere between them was palpable

as her lips parted, as if to speak. He couldn’t do this. Panic surged through him. He couldn’t bear to hear whatever she might

say, rejection or encouragement. Either would set them down a new path.

“I’m going to grab a little fresh air. You better get some sleep.” Jesus, his voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left. He needed distance, a chance to regain a hold over his emotions.

Only then could he face her, to accept whatever fate had in store.

And shit. He tugged at his pants with irritation. He needed to deal with this hard-on that was going to rip through his breeches if he didn’t find release. He stalked through the pub downstairs, ignoring the inviting gaze of a woman at the bar who’d be more than willing to assist him for the right price. He was only captivated by a single woman, the one he knew he shouldn’t desire, as it would only complicate an already complex situation. Clenching his jaw, he resolved to keep his feelings in check. Despite the intense pull he felt toward Lizzy, he couldn’t afford to let his heart deviate from his ultimate goal. He would find a way to beat the odds and get home—he had to.

Without a word to anyone, he made his way out back. He needed privacy, and the only place he could find was some out-of-the-way

corner in a barn. It was quiet and no one was around. The stables in the back were empty, and he entered the furthest one

on the right. Bracing his forearm on the back of the stall, he let his head fall forward and tried to breathe through it.

“Fuck,” he muttered after a long pause. There wasn’t a choice. He needed release.

With quick jerking movements, he had himself free, his hard shaft rising to greet his hand. He gave himself a rough squeeze,

frustrated, angry almost that he had to be here, that he couldn’t bottle up this need and throw it far out into some great

internal sea. But the extra pressure felt good. How long had it been since he’d been this worked up, since he’d wanted with

such urgency?

Maybe never.

Earlier, it had been enough to send him to a second and even third whiskey knowing Lizzy was upstairs flicking through pictures and descriptions that would surely do more than raise questions. She’d be excited. But he hadn’t imagined that he’d come back to find her pink-cheeked and hazy-eyed. Her nightgown bunched at her knees. And the room filled with the scent of her desire. He knew now how she’d smell if he pressed his face between her thighs. It was imprinted on his mind, to be carried to his goddamn deathbed.

When the telltale slickness of precum sheened his tip, he brushed a thumb over it, letting the slight wetness caress his length.

He wanted to be brisk and utilitarian with this act. Just get it over with and get back to regular life. But his mind kept

wandering to her eyes, nose, lips, all the micro gestures she made with her face, how he could read her thoughts in a glance,

and when he’d entered the room, she’d wanted him. He’d been one drunken idiot away from knowing how her tongue tasted, if

she liked to be kissed hard, teeth knocking, hands tangled in hair, or soft and sweet, a tease of lips that heightened the

tension, drawing out the pleasure.

This time when he slid his hand to the base of his cock, he let it brush his sac, already drawn tight, aching for release.

He bit the inside of his lip and clenched his ass. Nearly there and it was good. Better than usual. Like his body was finding

new pockets of pleasure to draw from. Outside, beyond the walls, two men were singing, their words slurring together off-key.

A cat mewed in the rafters. He couldn’t stay here long. He had to finish.

What he wanted was to be the one reaching under that white nightgown, running his hands up her curves to the wet silky center;

he’d watch her while he touched her there. His rhythm grew uneven. His breathing was rough. Wanted to see those blue eyes

darken, her pupils dilating until they swallowed the world. He’d use his free hand to run a thumb over her lower lip, and

she’d be as likely to turn on a dime and suck it in.

He grunted as his orgasm struck like a tornado on a clear day. He ground his teeth and milked out the finale in slow, tight

strokes, lost in the idea of her sweet mouth opening wide.

It was short work to clean up and then head to the pump near the back entrance to wash his hands and splash water on his face.

The joke was on him, because taking matters into his own hands, so to speak, had the opposite effect to what he was hoping.

It didn’t take off any edge; it merely served as a whetstone to sharpen his desire to the point where he could barely talk

to her the next morning at breakfast and feigned sleep the entire day in the coach. That night he took his dinner downstairs

and when he went up, she was already asleep, or did a good job of pretending.

But the next day no one else was in the coach. Just Lizzy.

He was preparing to fake sleep again when she broke the silence.

“Are you upset with me?”

He glanced up sharply. “Not at all. I’ve been tired.”

“I don’t believe you. You pretended to be asleep all day yesterday.”

“What made you think that was pretend? I was asleep.”

She glared. “I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other.”

“I...” He wiped his hands on his breeches. “Fine. How did you know?”

“Your mouth falls open when you sleep, and you twitch.”

“You pay attention.”

“You’re big and constantly in my presence. Of course, I’ve noticed some common gestures, but what I cannot figure out or explain

is why you are avoiding me. So, let’s hear it.”

He didn’t want to lie. He had in fact promised the opposite, but there was no chance in hell he’d admit that he came so hard

he saw stars in a barn stable and now couldn’t shake the desire to see how much better it would with her.

He’d approach the truth from another perspective. One he hadn’t expected to share, but that now felt as good as any.

“I was recently unwell. Last year I started to feel off, fevers and fatigue that would come and go. Night sweats. I’d often fall asleep without eating dinner. I went to a team doctor, who looked me over and found a lump in my armpit. It didn’t take long for tests to give me a result—it was cancer. It’s called Hodgkin lymphoma. The good news, if you can call it that, is that my diagnosis happened in my time, not yours. With treatment I have good—really good—chances of being okay. Once I cross the five-year mark without it coming back, I’ll be even better.”

“I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

“It sucked, not going to sugarcoat it.” He sat back and crossed his legs, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. “But compared

to many, I’m a lucky guy. I can afford great medical care. And I live in a time where a terrible disease is treatable with

available medications. But there is one catch, and I want you to know about it before anything else happens.”

This caught her attention. Her shoulders went back and she held her head stiffly as if expecting bad news to land with a blow.

“Go on,” she said simply.

“The treatment I had. It hit my whole body hard. This is good because it killed the cancer, but the bad news is that it messed

up other things. I’m likely not going to be able to father children.”

The quiet stretched in the carriage. All he could hear was the rhythmic noise of the wheels on the road.

He had to speak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m waiting for you to finish. Tell me what’s the matter.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That was it. Not being able to have children. It’s not for certain, but the doctors have said it’s unlikely,

especially right now.”

“Ah, I see, and you presumably want them someday?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Probably not. But I wanted you to know before we got married.”

She burst out laughing. “Why on earth would I mind?”

“Well, now that you put it like this, I don’t know.” His ears went red.

She stopped and mashed her lips together, trying to look serious. “I’m truly not making fun. I’m surprised. Did you think

I was going to use this marriage as an opportunity to have a baby?”

“No, but I still wanted you to have the information before commitment.”

“You are very dear, Tucker Taylor. I must say this before we go any further. While I adore children, there is no part of me,

and I mean none, that has a maternal bent. I quite like the notion of being an amusing aunt, but the idea of having my own?”

She shook her head. “When I see my future, my great desire is for freedom. I have not had the opportunity to taste it yet.

But that’s what you are giving me. And that’s what is precious.” A dark look crossed her face. “You might think I’m a monster

for that. Many would.”

“Not wanting to have kids? Nah. Not at all. Where I come from, I know quite a few couples who don’t have children. Most by

choice. It’s one of those things that is personal. I would never judge you for not wanting them. I only wanted to ensure you

had the ability to choose, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“If I can’t find my way home again. You must have thought of that too. It’s a possibility.”

She set her jaw, a fierce determination on her face. “We can’t think like that. You got here. There must be a way to get you back. We simply need to find the path. And now, knowing about this cancer, I am even more committed. You will get home and have access to the doctors you need.”

“Lizzy...”

“And if we can’t find a way back, we will make one,” she said resolutely. “I’m very resourceful, you know.”

“I do.” If anyone could tear through the fabric of the universe, it would be her.

“I have some questions of my own.” She folded her arms. “You have been avoiding me. You promised I could ask questions and

I have not had an ability to do so. When you say you cannot have children, does it mean that your... I’m not quite sure

what to call it... What do you prefer?”

“What do I call it?” He glanced at his crotch. “My cock, I guess. Or dick. I don’t know.”

Her smile was slow, catlike, even. “From the speed of your answer, it appears you do in fact know quite well. And so I will

use cock . It feels somewhat violent, but Dick is the name of a man who is a servant in my London home, so I refuse that term wholeheartedly.”

“Reasonable.” This woman had the ability to skate past his defenses and shoot to score.

“Well, we were discussing your cock and how it doesn’t work and—”

“Hang on, Pocket Rocket. I said I probably can’t have kids.”

“Right. Because of your broken cock.”

If she said cock in that uptight British manner of speaking one more time, he was going to throw her onto his lap and teach her a thing or

two about using her pretty mouth in such a way. But he fought off the impulse. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I never said a single word

about my cock being broken. It works fine, by the way. Better than fine.”

“But you said...”

“I didn’t say I was impotent. Jesus. Look, it means my swimmers don’t swim quite—”

“Who is swimming where?” She looked alarmed. “There was nothing about swimming in my book.”

What a mess.

“Let me rephrase.” As he swallowed, trying to figure out a way not to confuse her more, the coach halted.

“We’re picking up more people?” Lizzy asked blankly as the door swung open. Inside stepped a narrow-shouldered slip of a woman,

followed by a man with a neat low ponytail and the telltale red coat of a British soldier.

“Oh, Jameson. We have company.” Tuck looked closer and saw the new woman couldn’t be over twenty, buried in a dress and bonnet

that were so large she was almost lost in them. “How do you do? I’m Mrs.Jameson Horatio Darling.”

The man—Jameson Horatio Darling, presumably—gave a short nod before refocusing the entirety of his attention on the young

woman.

“We are newly married.” The new Mrs.Darling passed over her bags and allowed herself to be arranged on the bench as if she

were a mannequin or something.

“Dear Jameson takes care of my every need. Why, I only need to think of a thing and poof —there it appears. We are going to be joining his regiment now that our honeymoon is at an end, but oh my, I wish it wasn’t

over. The last two weeks have been magical, haven’t they? I’ve been in positive raptures for every moment.”

Dear Jameson picked up her hand and pressed a fervent kiss to the palm. “I’m your devoted servant in all things, madam.”

It didn’t take long before Tuck and Lizzy had the entire history of the most happy Darlings, from meeting at a ball to a few of the most magical walks in the history of human creation to a letter dear Jameson penned that was the paragon against which all future love letters of the world would be judged and found wanting.

“I do make some pretty verses,” dear Jameson offered. “My wife says I have quite a gift for rhyme.”

“Wife!” Mrs.Jameson Horatio Darling squealed the word. “Is there anything so wonderful as being a wife? I should think not,

am I correct, Mrs. erhm... Mrs....” She trailed off, not at all seeming to mind that she’d never requested a similar

introduction. Turning to Tuck, she dipped her head. “I’m so sorry, sir, when I’m around my dear Jameson, I’m afraid I’m in

such raptures that I forget to see other men at all. Why, recently I was walking down the sidewalk and I bumped directly into

one, mistaking him for a cart.”

“Pardon, I am failing to see how you could walk into a cart in the absence of seeing a man,” Lizzy said tersely.

“My eyes are full of stars and moons for the one I love, Mrs.... I’m terribly sorry, I simply must get your name, sir.”

“My name is Lizzy Wooddash, and this is Mr.Tucker Taylor.”

“Ah, an unusual name, sir. And I thought the two of you were also in such a blessed conjugal union as me and my dear Jameson.”

“We are to be married,” Tuck offered, remembering the reminders that Jane and Georgie had issued in the shed. He didn’t want

them thinking unwell of Lizzy for his company.

“Ah.” Mrs.Jameson Horatio Darling glanced between them with a knowing look. “To Gretna Green, is it?”

When neither of them confirmed nor denied, she threw herself against her husband. “Dear Jameson, they are eloping! Isn’t that marvelous? Of course, we had the banns read and did it in a church and everything quite by the book, but your choice is a choice indeed.”

“To be sure.” Lizzy’s voice was strained to the point where another gush from the beaming bride might send her hurtling out

onto the moors.

Tuck took her hand in his; it was cool but soft. He hadn’t done this before—sat and held her hand. “We can only hope to be

a fraction as happy as you.”

“And so you shall.” Mrs.Jameson Horatio Darling perked back up at the thought. “Because while you can never hope to be as

incandescently blissful as myself, given that I am the one fortune has favored with such a stallion, even having a scrap of

this happiness should quite suffice.”

Lizzy’s eyes and mouth both opened wider and Tuck gave her hand two warning squeezes.

“Yes, thank you for the warm wishes. We are feeling very fortunate ourselves, are we not?”

“If I rapture any harder, I shall be face-to-face with angels,” Lizzy deadpanned.

The coach went silent for a moment before Mrs.Jameson Horatio Darling pealed with laughter.

“Dear Jameson, what rhymes with angels ? I demand a pretty little poem at once.”

“When I am away from my angel... I find the world in despair and my poor heart grows painful.”

The girl squealed and clapped her hands while kicking her feet up in what appeared to be a full-bodied response to his literary

prowess. “See! See! He can just do such things with no practice or advance notice. My own personal Shakespeare. My clever

little husband.”

“Pretty words flow easily when there is a muse as lovely as you, my rose.”

“Sweetheart, look, a bird.” Tuck pointed out the window and tugged her close, whispering in her ear, “You are not allowed

to kill them or throw yourself from a moving coach.”

She made a noise in protest. “I promise neither.”

“Just keep looking at the birds.”

A few were flying by, nothing special or out of the ordinary, but having Lizzy pressed up close made it more interesting.

“The moors have a certain charm, don’t they?” she murmured.

“Is that what these are?” The landscape was bleak, devoid of trees or cheer.

“This feels more romantic to me than...” She inclined her head toward the couple busy cooing. “Out there, I can imagine

feelings get very stark, almost painful. There are no distractions to your thoughts, so it’s you and your ugly heart against

the horizon.”

“Ugly heart? That doesn’t sound very poetic.”

“But it’s true.” She pressed her lips to his ear. “Real hearts aren’t happy all the time. And they aren’t perfect. They get

angry, envy, hunger for more, and still crave. But we are all beautiful in our ugly little ways as well. At least that is

what I think.”