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[snowblossomreads]

For Sinclair what if the reader is vulnerable and insecure because she’s not from the same world of him and feel inferior because she didn’t go to university and has a life pretty boring and chaotic (like unemployment and thing like that) and as he his someone important and relatively powerful from the upper class she’s afraid of him will finally get rid of her because she wrongly thinks she’s not enough ?

Title: In the Eyes of the Beholder

Summary: In his eyes you were everything.

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant × Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut

Author's Notes: Alright, folks, let's address the elephant in the room—I'll admit, this might not be my shining moment in the world of writing. Blame it on the pesky little gremlin known as writer's block. As usual, though, I'm all ears for any feedback you've got!

As you sat across from Sinclair in the cozy café where you first met, your mind was consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You didn't know why, of all people, Sinclair chose you. He was everything you weren't - beautiful, wealthy, and intelligent. You, on the other hand, were just a simple waitress who hadn't even attended college.

Sinclair had a charm about him that was impossible to resist. Like a human golden retriever, he exuded warmth and affection, his infectious enthusiasm drawing you in from the moment you first met. He would come to the café regularly, striking up conversations with you that ranged from the mundane to the profound. It quickly became apparent that he loved to talk, and you found yourself captivated by his every word.

Despite your initial reservations, you couldn't help but be drawn to Sinclair. His kindness and genuine affection for you melted away your doubts, and before you knew it, you were swept up in a whirlwind romance.

But as your relationship with Sinclair blossomed, so too did your feelings of guilt and inadequacy. You couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he deserved someone better than you. He had everything - a successful career, wealth, and a bright future ahead of him. You, on the other hand, struggled to make ends meet, living paycheck to paycheck in a small apartment.

You felt out of place in Sinclair's world, like an imposter pretending to belong. The stark contrast between his life of privilege and your humble existence only served to highlight your insecurities.

Yet, despite your fears and doubts, you couldn't bring yourself to let go of Sinclair. His love and affection filled a void within you that you never knew existed, and the thought of losing him was unbearable.

But beneath the surface, a nagging fear lingered - the fear that one day, Sinclair would realize that he could do better than you. That he would tire of your shortcomings and leave you behind, casting you aside like a forgotten relic of his past.

As you sat in the café, lost in your thoughts, Sinclair reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, a silent reminder that you weren't alone in your fears.

"Is everything alright, darling?" he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

You forced a smile, pushing aside your doubts for the moment. "Yes, everything's fine," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

But deep down, you knew that the shadows of doubt and insecurity would continue to haunt you until you found the courage to confront them head-on. Until then, you could only hold onto Sinclair's hand and hope that his love would be enough to see you through the storm.

As a customer walked through the café door, you quickly got up, slipping into work mode with practiced ease. Sinclair watched you go, a fond smile gracing his lips as he admired your efficiency and grace. He checked his wristwatch, noting that your shift would end soon, and he could finally take you to your apartment.

Settling back in his seat, Sinclair leafed through the magazine he had brought with him, his curiosity piqued by the articles within. He commented to himself about the interesting tidbits he found, his voice a constant hum of chatter that filled the quiet space of the café. He was never one to stay quiet for long, his enthusiasm for conversation infectious and endearing.

Lost in the pages of the magazine, Sinclair didn't even notice the hours passing by. He was thoroughly entertained, engrossed in the world of fashion and style until you interrupted him, now dressed in your normal clothes as your shift had ended.

Sinclair nodded, standing up eagerly as you approached, showing you the magazine with a child-like excitement. "Look at this, darling," he exclaimed, pointing to a particularly captivating article. "It's all about the latest trends in fashion. Isn't it fascinating?

You chuckled softly, amused by Sinclair's enthusiasm for fashion magazines. "I didn't know you were into reading about fashion," you remarked, teasing him gently as you walked outside together.

Sinclair shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes as he replied, "Oh, I just like reading all kinds of things. Fashion, technology, literature... you name it."

You couldn't help but tease him further, poking him playfully in the side. "So, does that mean you enjoy reading porn magazines too?" you quipped, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Sinclair was quiet for the first time, looking at the fashion magazine in his hand with more interest than usual. You observed him, amused by the sudden shift in his demeanor, and couldn't help but notice his ears turning red, a sure sign that he was blushing.

With a good-natured laugh, you teased him. "How many Playboys do you have at home, Clair?" you joked, your playful tone bringing a smile to his face.

Sinclair protested, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I'm not a pervert, darling," he protested, holding up the magazine defensively. "They're not Playboys, they're scientific journals discussing... um, intimate topics and different sexual positions."

You couldn't contain your laughter, the image of Sinclair with such magazines seeming utterly incongruous with his kind soul. Opening the door to your apartment, you ushered Sinclair inside before following him in.

As you settled into your cozy living space, you couldn't help but marvel at the complexity of Sinclair's character. He was a millionaire futurologist, a man of intellect and curiosity, yet there was a childlike innocence to him that never failed to charm you.

As Sinclair settled down on the couch next to you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of affection toward him. Pulling him close, you nestled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You couldn't shake the curiosity about why he didn't share all the things he learned in those articles about sex, but you decided to let it slide for the moment.

Sinclair, sensing your closeness, nodded in agreement, his brown eyes meeting yours with a hint of uncertainty. "Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

You caressed his cheek tenderly, a gentle smile playing on your lips. It was a question he had asked countless times before, a testament to his respect for your boundaries and his genuine desire to make sure you were comfortable.

"You don't have to ask, Sinclair," you whispered, your voice filled with reassurance. "You know you can kiss me whenever you want."

With a relieved smile, Sinclair leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, loving kiss. It was a familiar sensation, yet it never failed to send shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that only he could quell.

As the kiss deepened, Sinclair's hands began to explore your body, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. He caressed you slowly, his movements gentle and deliberate, as if savoring every moment with you.

Feeling emboldened by the intensity of the moment, you took control, straddling Sinclair as you deepened the kiss. Your hands roamed freely over his body, tracing the contours of his frame as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment.

Sinclair responded eagerly, his hands roaming over your body with a newfound sense of urgency. It was a dance of passion and desire, a symphony of love and longing that transcended words.

As the kiss finally broke, you rested your forehead against Sinclair's, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you gazed into his eyes. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you slid your hand under his shirt, feeling the softness of his skin beneath your fingertips. Sinclair's chest rose and fell with each breath, a rhythm that matched the quickening pace of your own heartbeat.

Feeling the few scattered hairs on his chest, you trailed your fingers lightly, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through his body. Sinclair let out a soft moan of pleasure, his grip on you tightening as he reveled in the sensation of your touch.

With a newfound boldness, you tugged at Sinclair's shirt, the fabric clinging to his skin as you peeled it away. Sinclair offered no resistance, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you with a hunger that matched your own.

As his shirt fell to the floor, you wasted no time in exploring his bare chest, pressing kisses along the expanse of his skin. Each touch elicited a gasp of pleasure from Sinclair, his hands roaming over your body in search of more.

But just as you were lost in the heat of the moment, Sinclair gently stopped you, his voice low and husky with desire. "Can I take control this time, darling?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered his request.

A wicked grin spread across your lips as you nodded in agreement, eager to see what Sinclair had in store. "Of course, Clair," you replied, your voice thick with anticipation. "I'm all yours."

With a confident smile, Sinclair stood up, his eyes filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. You eagerly clung to him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to your bedroom. Each step was deliberate, as if he were savoring the anticipation of what was to come.

Gently placing you on the bed, Sinclair's hands moved with purpose as he began to undress you. With practiced ease, he unbuttoned your blouse, revealing the lacy bra underneath. His touch was electric, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your body as he trailed his fingers along your skin.

Moving on to your jeans, Sinclair helped you slide them off, his gaze never leaving yours. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated by his intense gaze. As you lay there in just your bra and panties, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious, the mismatched lingerie a stark reminder of your insecurities.

But as Sinclair looked at you, his eyes filled with adoration and desire, all your doubts faded away. In his eyes, you were a goddess, a vision of beauty and perfection that left him breathless.

As he leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and hungry against yours, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Sinclair's hands trailed along the waistband of your panties, teasing and tantalizing as he explored every inch of your body with a hunger that matched your own.

With each touch, each kiss, you lost yourself in the heat of the moment, the world around you fading away as Sinclair ignited a fire within you that burned hotter than the sun. In that moment, there was only the two of you, lost in a symphony of passion and desire that knew no bounds.

As Sinclair whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his voice husky with desire, you surrendered yourself to him completely, knowing that in his arms, you were safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure.

"You know, darling," Sinclair began, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "I've always been fascinated by the intricacies of human desire and sexuality."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his typical segue into another of his rambling conversations. "Oh? And what exactly have you discovered in your studies?" you asked, a playful glint in your eyes as you indulged him.

Sinclair's grin widened, his excitement palpable as he launched into his explanation. "Well, you see, it's all about the psychology of desire, the interplay of hormones and neurotransmitters, and the myriad ways in which humans express their carnal instincts."

You listened intently, amused by Sinclair's earnest enthusiasm for the topic. "And where did you learn all of this?" you asked, genuinely curious about the source of his knowledge.

With a proud grin, Sinclair confessed, "From my extensive collection of sex magazines, of course!"

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in amusement as Sinclair continued to ramble on about the intricacies of human desire and sexuality. His enthusiasm was endearing, if not a little overwhelming at times. As you reached to undo his belt, Sinclair's voice faltered for a moment, his attention momentarily diverted by your playful actions.

With a playful grin, you teased him, "I think I'll have to conduct my own research to verify your findings, Mr. Bryant. "

Sinclair chuckled, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra as he tried to keep up with your teasing banter. Finally managing to undo it, he watched with a mixture of awe and desire as you slipped out of the straps, revealing your breasts to him.

His brown eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight before him, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, he was speechless, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions.

But then, with a hungry look in his eyes, Sinclair finally fell silent as he leaned in to take one of your nipples in his mouth. You gasped in pleasure, arching your back as he suckled gently, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Moaning softly, you tangled your fingers in his blond hair, urging him closer as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh. Sinclair's touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

As Sinclair lavished attention on your sensitive flesh, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, you couldn't help but moan softly, your breath hitching with each flick of his tongue. His blond hair tickled your skin as he continued his ministrations, his mouth hot against your skin, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Feeling emboldened by the intensity of the moment, you let out a low whimper, your fingers digging into Sinclair's scalp as you urged him closer. His baritone voice whispered sinful promises against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your veins.

As Sinclair's hands roamed over your body, his touch ignited a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his, desperate for more of his intoxicating touch.

With a hunger that matched your own, Sinclair explored every inch of your body, his lips trailing down your torso as he worshipped you with a reverence that left you breathless. Each kiss, each caress, sent bolts of pleasure racing through you, building the tension to an unbearable crescendo.

As his lips closed around your other nipple, sucking and teasing with expert precision, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. Sinclair's touch was electrifying, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

With trembling hands, you reached for the waistband of his pants, eager to return the favor and drive him to the brink of ecstasy. As you teased the fabric, Sinclair let out a low growl of desire, his hips bucking against your touch as he urged you on.

With a wicked grin, you slipped your hand beneath his boxers, feeling the hardness of his arousal against your palm. Sinclair gasped in pleasure, his breath hot against your skin as you stroked him slowly, savoring the feel of him in your hand.

But Sinclair held your wrist gently, his touch a silent plea for you to pause. As he stood up, he released your hand and began to remove his pants and underwear, kicking them aside with practiced ease. You followed suit, shedding your underwear and tossing them aside as Sinclair returned to the bed, his gaze never leaving yours.

Settling back onto the bed, Sinclair reached for you, pulling you close as he began to speak. His voice was a soothing rumble, a comforting presence in the midst of your swirling emotions.

"Thank you for being with me, darling," he began, his voice soft and sincere. "I don't know what I would do without you. You mean everything to me."

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you listened to his words. How could he be thanking you? You were nothing compared to him, a simple waitress with nothing to offer but your love.

Sinclair must have sensed your turmoil, for he reached out to gently wipe away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. "You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice laced with tenderness. "You've given me something I never thought I would find – true love."

His words struck you to the core, a wave of emotion washing over you as you struggled to comprehend the depth of his feelings. How could someone like Sinclair, with all his charm and intelligence, consider himself lucky to have you?

"I don't understand," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't deserve you, Sinclair."

But Sinclair shook his head, his eyes filled with conviction as he spoke. "No, darling, it's the other way around. I finally found someone who loves me for who I am, not for what I have."

Tears continued to flow freely down your cheeks as you listened to his heartfelt words. In that moment, you felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of his love, humbled by his unwavering devotion to you.

Sinclair reached out to cup your face in his hands, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Please don't cry, my love," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You are everything to me, and I am grateful for every moment we share together."

His words were like a balm to your wounded soul, soothing the doubts and insecurities that had plagued you for so long. In Sinclair's arms, you felt safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure.

With a trembling smile, you leaned in to kiss him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the tender gesture. In that moment, there were no doubts, no fears – only the overwhelming certainty that you were exactly where you were meant to be, in the arms of the man who loved you more than life itself.

[snowblossomreads]

BONUS TIME IT'S BONUS TIME EVEN THOUGH IT MADE ME

The Eternal Summer

BONUS CHAPTER: In Another Life

Summary: You're surviving but not living since your husband was murdered by Sweeney Todd. Now, his cousin arrives to administer the estate, but nothing goes as either of you expected.

AN: Do you remember when I asked whether Turpin should survive Sweeney's attack and the overwhelming response was yes? What if no? 🙂

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Eight months had passed since the death of your husband, Lord Turpin, and your life had been in limbo ever since. Not expecting to die so soon, he hadn’t drawn up a new will to include you, and so his estate in its entirety was to be passed to some cousin you’d never heard of.

Said cousin was living in Australia, and though a letter had been sent to him on your husband’s death, the months it took for ships to travel to the far-off land meant that the cousin that now owned the house you lived in was nowhere to be seen: until today.

You had found yourself a simple kind of routine living on your own as a widow. You weren’t allowed access to your husband’s money, so you were forced to make your own. You sold some dresses you’d made, and with the proceeds you bought more fabrics to make more dresses, and eventually you managed to establish a steady income for yourself.

You were in Johanna’s old room, which had become a de facto workshop, when you heard a knock on the door.

You peered out of the window to see a man at the door, face obscured by the hat on his head, waiting for your response with a suitcase at his feet.

Curious - and unable to send a servant, since you could only afford a cook or a maid and had opted for the former - you made your way downstairs and opened the door to greet the man.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a ghost. The man looked strikingly familiar to your dead husband, if he had been a decade or so younger and sported a moustache and goatee. He was also very handsome.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Good afternoon. May I speak with the lady of the house?”

“You’re speaking to her.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to you. “Ah, Lady Turpin, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elliott Marston. I believe I own your house.”

Of course - a suitcase from a two-month journey at sea, a resemblance to your husband. This must be the cousin.

“I believe you do, sir,” you said with a small curtsy. If this man owned your house, he could kick you out at any moment - you had to stay in his good books, no matter what. “Won’t you come in?”

You stepped aside to open the door fully to him, and Elliott carried his suitcase into the hall, looking around at the house he owned but didn’t know.

“Would you like some tea, sir?”

“I’d love some, thank you.”

You showed him into the parlour room, then busied yourself in the kitchen making a pot of tea. When you returned with a tray in hand, Elliott was stood at the bookshelf, looking curiously at one of the books. He looked up as you entered, then placed the book back on the shelf and sat in one of the seats by the fireplace. You placed the tray on the small table between the two seats and poured a cup for each of you.

“Have you just docked from Australia, sir?”

“No, the boat docked in Liverpool, so I’ve just travelled from there. And enough with this ‘sir’ business, I don’t recall her Majesty granting me a knighthood and we are family, after all. Just Elliott will do.”

That took you by surprise; it was frowned upon to call anyone you weren’t familiar with by their first name. Even your own husband you frequently addressed formally, only calling him by his first name in intimate moments. Then again, this man was from Australia - perhaps they did things differently there.

“Well, in that case, I suppose you can call me [Y/n].”

You poured your own cup of tea and sat opposite Elliott. You were unused to hosting; whenever your husband had visitors, you were always to either stay out of sight or to be seen but silent. Making small talk with the gentry wasn’t something you had particular practice with.

“Did your journey take you very long? I hear Australia is months away by even the fastest boat.”

“Yes, it was two months at sea, but I’m used to travelling long distances. I own a lot of land in Australia, it takes days to traverse it. At least on the boat I had shelter from the heat.” Elliott sipped his tea and nodded his approval at your tea-making skills. “This is excellent. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes, I - I have no maid,” you admitted in shame. “But I have a cook, so if you’d like to stay for dinner, I’m sure he’ll make enough for two.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you. [Y/n], I must admit, I can’t stand formalities and pleasantries. May I talk straight with you?”

“Oh - er - yes, of course.”

“Good. The truth is, I’m happy with my life in Australia and I have no use for a house and its contents in London. When I read the solicitor’s letter, my first thought was to write back asking him to sell it all and put the money towards something good, a school or something. But then I read on, and he mentioned that my cousin had left behind a widow who had no family to support her. Again, I thought about writing and asking everything to be given to you, but the way the solicitor spoke about you in his letter was frankly disturbing. He seemed to imply that he believed you married William only for his money and I worried that if I left it in his hands he’d leave you out on the street, so I decided to come here myself to execute the estate and do whatever I need to do to keep you in your home.”

Your hands were shaking, and you had to put your cup down lest Elliott notice.

“You… travelled here from Australia to ensure I wouldn’t be homeless?”

“Well, of course,” Elliott said with a casual shrug. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” You’d been so scared of him showing up to claim the house and leave you out on the streets, and yet here he was arriving to make sure that didn’t happen. “You are - you are most generous, sir.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I knew there was a lady out on the streets for the sake of my owning a house I don’t need. A good thing too, because a beautiful woman such as yourself would catch the eye of many an untoward lech. I’ll stay a while, if you won’t mind - it’ll take a while to sort out all the administration, and it’s been such a long journey, I’d like to make the most of London before I set foot on a boat for another two months.”

“Of course! You can stay in the master bedroom, I’ll make another room up for myself.”

“Nonsense, this is your home, I shouldn’t take your bedroom from you.”

“No, I must insist. You said yourself you’ve just been on a boat for two months. The best bed for comfort while you’re here is the least I can do.”

“Well, if the lady of the house insists, who am I to argue? Now, I’m going to get myself to the solicitor’s office before it closes for the day - what time does your cook normally serve dinner?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Perfect! I’ll be back by then. Thank you again for the tea, [Y/n], and for your generous hospitality.”

You stood to escort him to the door and gave him directions to the solicitor’s office. Your heart skipped a beat when he kissed your hand before heading off, and you realised only when he turned a corner and disappeared from view that you were even watching him go.

---

You were actually quite eager to have Elliott for dinner, even though you’d spent the last few months dreading his arrival. But now that he was here, and he’d assured you he wasn’t going to put you back on the streets, you were glad for some company and you found yourself buzzing around before dinner, making sure you and the house looked presentable, and by the time he arrived at a quarter to six, you were already ravenous.

“I forgot how cold this country is,” Elliott said with a shiver as he stepped inside, his hair damp from the rain. “I’m here one day and the Heavens open on me.”

“Is Australia much warmer, then?” you asked as you helped Elliott out of his coat.

“Oh, very much. Even in winter it’s hotter than a London summer. I’m used to the Australian weather, but I suppose to you it’d feel like an eternal summer.”

You led Elliott down the hallway towards the dining room.

“That sounds wonderful! I love summer, when everything’s so bright and warm - except for today, of course. But I assure you it’s usually much nicer than this.”

Elliott chuckled. “I’m sure it is. What’s for dinner?”

“Salmon filet and vegetables. I do hope you like fish, if I’d known you were coming I’d have asked chef for more choice —”

“Nonsense, salmon sounds lovely. I live very far from the sea, I don’t get much opportunity to eat fish.”

In the dining room, Elliott sat down at the table in what used to be William’s usual seat, and you busied yourself with making a fresh pot of tea.

“Have you always lived in Australia?” you asked.

“Ever since I was a child and my parents moved over as settlers. That’s why I was so surprised William left me his estate, to be honest. The last time I saw him, I was a child and he was at university.”

“Well, you’re the only family he had,” you explained. You brought the tray of tea over and poured each of you a cup. “He had no siblings and no children. You were all he had left.”

“He had you.”

You glanced at Elliott and blushed.

“Well… we weren’t married very long. He might have changed his will if he’d had time.”

“Mmm, the solicitor said William’s death was foul play. What happened?”

You told Elliott the story of Sweeney Todd and his plan for revenge on your husband, and you surprised yourself at how easy it was to talk to him. Even though you were talking about something awful, and though you did falter in your storytelling when you came to describe the way your husband had been killed, there was something about Elliott that made the story bearable to tell.

By the time you finished the story, the chef was bringing out your dinner.

“[Y/n]… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Elliott said gently. “A sweet lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to witness something so awful.”

The image of your husband bleeding out in the barber’s chair flashed before your eyes, and you shivered.

“Yes, it was… quite horrible,” you said in a quiet voice.

“And you’ve been on your own ever since?”

You nodded and picked up your knife and fork, not even noticing that your hands were shaking. Elliott noticed, though, because he reached over to take your cutlery from your hands and cut your food up for you, making no comment on your reaction.

“I’ve been on my own… waiting for you,” you admitted in a quiet voice. “I thought you’d come here and send me into the streets. That you’re willing to let me stay… it means a lot to me, Elliott. Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes flickered up to you and he smiled. He put your cutlery back down, then placed his hand over yours, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I won’t be responsible for your suffering,” he promised. “Now - let’s see if the salmon in London matches up to the salmon in Melbourne.”

You hadn’t enjoyed dinner so much in a long time, if ever. You’d had good conversation and laughter with your brother Tommy, but never good food. You’d had good food with William, but dinners were always a reserved affair. But with Elliott, you had the best of both worlds - the salmon was delicious, and you had to excuse yourself several times for bursting into laughter with food in your mouth, to the point where you wondered if Elliott was doing it on purpose.

“I refuse to believe there are truly creatures like that in the world!” you exclaimed with a laugh when you heard Elliott’s description of kangaroos.

“There are! I swear on my life. And they’re vicious things as well, I wouldn’t want to get near them. One of my men died from a single kangaroo kick.”

“I’m still not sure I believe you. If only I could go to Australia and see them for myself.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Elliott said casually. He took a swig of his wine, then said, “You could always come back with me.”

“Come… with you? To Australia?” You shook your head. “No, no, I couldn’t…”

“Why not? You say you’re alone here.”

“Well, yes, but…” You glanced around the room. “This is my home. This house - London - it’s all I know. I can’t just… leave.”

Elliott raised a hand soothingly.

“I understand. If you change your mind, the offer’s open.”

After dessert, you stayed in the dining room long after you were finished, talking and laughing, listening to every story he had to tell you about Australia. At some point you moved to the parlour room and rummaged in the cupboards until you found the pack of cards William kept for the nights he played poker with his lawyer friends.

Elliott showed you how to play piquet, and to both of your surprises you picked up the game quite quickly and even began to beat him after a while.

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before?” Elliott said with disbelief as you won your second game in a row.

“No, never! William never let me touch his playing cards.”

“A shame, because if you’re as good at poker as you are at piquet, you might have been his secret weapon. One more round before bed?”

“Alright.”

You won that game too, and you were pleasantly surprised that Elliott wasn’t angry that you’d beaten him, but rather impressed that you’d picked the game up so quickly. After a quick nightcap, you showed him to the master bedroom, then retired to Johanna’s old room, your workshop, to get ready for bed.

Elliott wasn’t used to sleeping in a nightshirt. It was so hot in Australia, he rarely needed to, but in London it was so cold that he had to wrap himself up a bit more. The bed you’d put him in was soft and comfortable, so even though the outside air was cold, he felt quite cozy as he placed his gun on the nightstand and climbed under the covers. It had been a long day - a long two months - and he was ready to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard a tentative knock on the door.

“…Yeah?” Elliott mumbled, sitting up in the bed.

The door creaked open and you appeared in the doorway, peering around the edge of the door as if frightened to impose - as if he wasn’t the one imposing on you.

“Sorry to disturb you, Elliott. It’s freezing in my room. Do you mind if I take the blankets from under the bed?”

“No, of course not. This is your bedroom, after all.”

“Well, actually it’s yours,” you joked as you slipped into the room and made your way to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, come on, it’s yours,” Elliott insisted. “My house, maybe, but your home.”

You sighed as you looked under the bed.

“Oh, drat, I forgot. I used the blankets to make some coats. Well, never mind.” You stood up. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Elliott.”

“Well, hold on,” Elliott said quickly as you went to leave. “You just said your room’s freezing. It’s warm in here and there’s plenty of room in the bed. Why don’t you sleep here?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you gaped at him for a moment before collecting yourself.

“I - Elliott - wouldn’t that be… inappropriate?”

Elliott put his hands up in a show of innocence. “I won’t do anything untoward. I just don’t want you to freeze for my sake. Come on.”

He tugged the covers back on your side of the bed and patted the mattress.

”If you don’t get in, I’ll get out and sleep in the cold room, and what sort of hostess would that make you?”

“Well… alright, I suppose.”

You climbed into the bed, feeling warmer and more comfortable the moment you pulled the duvet over you and fell into your usual sleeping position.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

“…Goodnight, [Y/n].”

When you woke the next morning, you were the warmest and most comfortable you’d felt in months. You had your arm wrapped around your husband’s warm body, spooning him for warmth in the cold winter morning. Your hand instinctively travelled down his torso and felt the familiar hard length he sported every morning.

His nightshirt had ridden up to his waist in his sleep, and so you had no barrier at all when you wrapped your hand around his length and stroked him lazily. You let out a contented hmm when you felt him twitching beneath you, his body responding to your touch.

He let out a small moan, followed by a sigh of your name, and you froze.

Your eyes snapped open, and reality came crashing down on you.

Your husband was dead. The man you were fondling was his cousin.

Before you had time to think, Elliott placed his hand over yours, encouraging you to resume your movements. You obeyed instinctively, not wanting to anger him by changing your mind when you’d already begun… and truthfully, a part of you wanted to keep touching him. It had been so long since you’d touched a man, and his length did feel so good in your hand…

Elliott made such sweet sounds when you rubbed him just right. He bucked his hips into your hand, encouraging more friction, and you obeyed by speeding up.

You knew you should stop. Elliott wasn’t your husband. Yes, you’d had sex with William before marrying him, but you weren’t much more than a glorified whore. You were nothing of the sort to Elliott, just the widow of a cousin he hadn’t seen for years… and yet he wasn’t rejecting your touch.

Your cunt was aching. You’d missed this. Waking up next to a warm body, making gentle love in the morning, both too tired to fuck as ferociously as you had the night before and would later in the day.

You were lonely. You were horny. And when Elliott rolled onto his back, it was instinct more than anything that caused you to slide your hips over his, your bodies pressed together, your height difference allowing you to get away with burying your head against his chest, avoiding looking him in the eye as you tentatively ground your wet cunt against his length. Elliott groaned and placed his hands on your hips just as you raised them, and you truly couldn’t say which of you made the movement that led to his cock slipping inside you.

You wanted to kiss him, but that felt too intimate somehow. Like kissing him, looking at him, would mean acknowledging what you were doing. If you kept your head down, busied your lips with grazing against his neck instead… you could focus on the feeling of his cock inside you as you rolled your hips, the sound of his gentle moans, the feel of his large hands on your hips, helping guide you as you rode his cock. If you didn’t look at him, you avoided the truth of what was happening.

It might not be right. But Lord, you needed it.

It was a chilly morning, but the room quickly warmed up, your moans and sighs filling the air and saying everything that needed to be said about what was happening.

You were both lonely. You both needed this act of intimacy. And you were both choosing not to speak about the implications of it all.

You came around his cock with a long, drawn-out moan, the tensions you hadn’t known you were carrying falling away, and you welcomed his seed as he came inside you, filling you up as his own tensions were carried away into the ether with your own.

You stayed motionless on top of him for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, when you moved off him, Elliott’s hands fell away from your waist and he made no protestations as you rolled out of bed and pulled your nightdress down, covering the sight of the seed running down your thigh, and left the room as if nothing had happened.

When you next saw Elliott at breakfast, you decided to act as if nothing had happened. You chatted amicably about your plans for the day, then cleared up your plates and made your way upstairs to work on your current dressmaking project.

In the evening, Elliott joined you for dinner, and afterwards you invited him to look at the dress you were making, since he seemed to show an interest when you spoke about it.

“I’m very impressed with your creativity, [Y/n],” Elliott said as he examined the half-sewn dress that sat on a mannequin. “Most women of your station would simply buy their dresses. I find the initiative quite admirable. I dabble with some creativity of my own - nothing fancy, mostly recipes - but I find it so much more rewarding than having something presented to me ready-made. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes, I quite agree!” you said enthusiastically. “The ability to create - whether it be food, clothing, art - it’s what sets us apart from animals. It may sound silly, but… it makes me feel I’ve contributed to the world in some small way. So even if I died tomorrow, there would be some mark on the world that I left behind.”

Elliott looked at you curiously and smiled.

“That’s a beautiful way of putting it. Are these your designs?” he asked, pointing to the pile of drawings on the nearby desk.

“Oh - yes, but I’m afraid I’m not as good with a pencil as I am with a needle. They’re rather rudimentary drawings, but it at least helps me remember my ideas. Would you, um… would you like to see them?”

“Please!”

You felt your cheeks blushing harder and harder as Elliott looked through the drawings. You pointed out some of your favourite designs, those that were too extravagant for you to attempt to create, or just plain impossible.

“Remarkable. You truly have a gift, [Y/n].” He glanced up at you and chuckled. “Blush any harder and you might just come to resemble a tomato. You’re not feeling embarrassed, I hope.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I - I’ve never shown these to anyone before,” you admitted. “William… he was never interested. He let me sew because it kept me occupied when he was at court, but he had no interest in it.”

I prefer your clothes on the floor, he had said to you once, but you decided to keep that part to yourself.

“Well, it’s a shame. Are you going to work on it any more tonight?”

“Yes, I was going to put together some more of the bodice before I retire.”

“Might I watch you? Or would you prefer to work alone?”

“No, it’d… it’d be nice to have some companionship, actually. If it won’t bore you, that is.”

“Nonsense. You do what you need to do, I’ll make us both some tea.”

You worked late into the night, later than Elliott could stay up, and he made you promise not to work for very much longer when he retired to bed before you.

The clock in the corner of the room struck twelve, and you realised you should probably retire.

You readied yourself for bed, and shivered when you put your nightgown back on.

You hesitated, thinking. It wouldn’t hurt to share warmth again, would it?

When you poked your head into the master bedroom, Elliott was fast asleep, so you tip-toed quietly to your side of the bed and slid under the covers. Warm and comfortable at last, you fell asleep almost instantly.

You woke up to a soothing presence pressed up against your back, and this time you remembered that it was Elliott who was sharing your bed.

It was Elliott who was fondling your breast.

His arm was under your nightgown, holding you tight against his torso, and his fingers were lazily playing with your nipple. You could also feel his erection pressing up against your bum.

It was clear what he wanted, and you were surprised he hadn’t taken his pleasure from you already. You would often be woken up by your husband entering you in your sleep - he had to dispel his morning erection, after all, and he had to do it before he left for court. He couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

Elliott had no strict timings on his mornings, so perhaps that was why he was taking his time, groping you in your sleep until you were awake for him.

You rolled onto your back, hand reaching out to take Elliott’s length and guide it into you.

He ducked his head to take your breast in his mouth as he let you guide him to your entrance, and his ministrations must have aroused you even in your sleep, because there was no dryness to resist him as his length slid up your walls and settled comfortably inside you.

With each slow but firm thrust, your breasts followed the movement, and Elliott released your nipple from his mouth to let your flesh rub against his cheek. He grazed his teeth against your skin, leaving behind a trail of saliva as he positioned his head in your neck, seemingly as determined as you to avoid eye contact, to avoid the acknowledgement of the strange situation.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding his body against yours, and over his shoulder you saw the movements of his rear as his hips thrust into you.

Elliott let out a small moan with each sensual thrust, his breath tickling your skin, and you responded in turn with moans of your own when he sped up, his movements becoming more firm, more desperate, as you both felt your pleasure climbing.

You were too lost in the pleasure, the intimacy, the desperation of the moment to worry about anything else. For a short while, there was nothing else in the world, just you, he and the pleasure that was coiling ever tighter inside you, and when your orgasm overcame you and your whole body shook, Elliott kept thrusting into you, stopping only when his own orgasm hit and you felt his warm seed filling you up and he moaned sinfully against your neck.

After a few moments, Elliott rolled off you and onto his back, but this time, you made no quick exit. Instead, you let him hold you lazily, both of you sated, both basking in the comfort which existed between you so easily, although you couldn’t explain why.

You still didn’t say a word until breakfast.

You fell into a strange routine. You spent your days as you would - you working on your tailoring, he on the administration of your husband’s estate - and at night you’d slip into bed with him, each time telling yourself it was only because the other room was so cold. In the morning, you’d not say a word to one another as you fucked, usually starting slow and sleepy, and ending with a desperate passion.

On the third morning, you woke to his tongue between your legs.

On the fourth, you were about to lean over to take him in your mouth when he grabbed your hips and positioned you to sit on his face, and you might have worried about suffocating him with your cunt if you weren’t occupied with taking his length into your mouth.

The fifth morning was a Sunday, and you wondered if anything might happen - your pious husband had never fucked you on a Sunday, after all - but your question was answered before you even awoke, as when your eyes opened and your mind returned to the waking world, you felt Elliott was already inside you, though he didn’t begin to thrust until he knew you were awake.

The sixth morning saw you taking him in your mouth before he woke, and words passed between you for the first time when a “fucking hell” escaped Elliott’s lips as his fingers slid into your hair.

On the seventh day, Elliott woke to find the bed empty, and he found you instead in your tailoring room, sitting at your desk and still wearing your nightgown.

“Up early or still up?” he asked as he approached you from behind and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Up early,” you replied. “I had an idea in my sleep… I had to get it down before I forgot.”

“You gonna come back to bed after?”

“It’s alright, I’m done now.”

You stood up, but before you could turn around, Elliott caught you in his arms, and that morning he took you from behind over your desk - and for the first time, you moaned his name when you came.

You knew one of you would break soon and mention your morning activities during the day, but you were determined to put it off. Talking about it would mean thinking about it, and you didn’t want to confront your feelings any time soon, so you continued your strange routine for another week until one day when a letter arrived at your house addressed to Elliott.

“Oh, it’s from my uncle,” Elliott said in answer to your curious look as he read the letter at the dinner table. “On my mother’s side, no relation to William. I wrote to him when I arrived to tell him I was in England. He’s invited us to visit him in Sussex.”

“Us?”

“Well, he says ‘you,’ but I choose to take that in the plural. Would you like to come? He’s got quite the estate as I recall.”

“Sussex? Isn’t that very far?”

“Not really. About half a day by carriage.”

“That sounds very far to me…”

Elliott smiled at you. “Yes, I suppose it would. Compared to my lands in Australia, it’s no distance at all. Have you ever been to the country?”

“No, I… I’ve never left London,” you admitted. “Though I would love to visit the country, I hear it’s a lot greener than London.”

“Oh, much greener. To be frank with you, London is horrid. All the smoke in the air, beggars on the street, buildings clumped together and the earth hidden beneath cobblestones… I’ve only been here two weeks and I’m craving the fresh air. In fact, if you’ve never left London, then I insist you come with me. It’ll do you good to breathe the open air. Who knows - maybe we’ll even see some sheep.”

Your eyes lit up then, and Elliott smiled to see his words had had the desired effect on you. He’d told you all about his lands in Australia and the different animals he kept, and in turn you had told him how you wished to see sheep, which you always thought seemed so cute from your books.

So that night you packed a bag, Elliott went out to find a horse and carriage to rent for the next morning, and come bedtime you were so excited at the prospect of going to the country that you didn’t even think twice about going straight to the master bedroom with him. Usually you at least fooled yourself into thinking you were going to sleep in the second bedroom, but before you even realised what you were doing, you were both in the master bedroom, getting dressed for bed.

Elliott said nothing about it; he acted as if it were normal, and after he blew out the candle beside the bed, he wrapped an arm around your waist and held you as comfortably as if you’d always slept like this.

“Goodnight, [Y/n],” he mumbled against the back of your neck.

You smiled and linked your fingers in with his.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

---

The next morning, you had to be up early as you’d be travelling for most of the day, so you were rudely awakened by a knocker-upper in the middle of a lovely dream about winning a cheese-eating contest.

“C’mon, [Y/n], time to get up,” you heard Elliott say a few minutes later, but you just groaned into your pillow.

“Too early,” you complained.

“You can go back to sleep in the carriage, but we gotta get going.”

“I’m trying,” you insisted. “Body won’t move.”

Elliott chuckled, then you squealed when you were suddenly lifted into the air and thrown over Elliott’s shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You want to see the sheep, don’t you?”

“I wanna see the sleep.”

Elliott put you down, though he kept his hands on your shoulders to make sure you didn’t fall asleep standing up. You looked up at him blearily and smiled.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled.

“Now I know you’re talking nonsense. Come on, let’s get you dressed. You need a hand?”

You shook your head, yawned, then reluctantly set about getting dressed. By the time you’d laced up your bodice, Elliott had already loaded the carriage waiting outside with your luggage, and was waiting for you on the front doorstep with a cigarette when you finally emerged from the house.

“Still awake?”

“Just about,” you mumbled. “If I sleep in the carriage, will you wake me up when we get out of London? I don’t wanna miss seeing anything.”

Elliott offered his arm to you and led you to the carriage.

“Of course. It’s not very exciting, though. Once you’ve seen one field you’ve seen them all.”

“But I wanna see them all!”

Elliott laughed, then helped you up into the carriage. You shuffled along the seat to let him climb in after you, then once the door was closed, you immediately curled up against the side of the carriage and nodded off.

When you woke up, the first thing you realised was that you were lying down, though you’d gone to sleep upright. The next thing you noticed was that your pillow was strange, slightly rough and harder than usual. Then you realised there was a weight on your head, and when you felt fingers casually caressing your hair, you realised the weight was a hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw the back of the carriage driver’s seat, but sideways.

You were lying across the seat in the carriage, head in Elliott’s lap. He’d wrapped up his coat and placed it between your head and his thigh for a pillow, and he was gently stroking your hair as you slept.

You closed your eyes again, savouring the moment. Elliott’s coat smelled like him, and his hand on your head made you feel safe and secure. Even though you were lying in an awkward position, legs bent slightly to fit on the seat, you felt a great sense of comfort.

“I know you’re awake,” Elliott said softly.

“No, I’m not,” you replied, your eyes still closed.

“I can see you smiling.”

“Shh… sleeping.”

Elliott chuckled, and he continued his gentle stroking of your hair, both of you choosing to enjoy the moment rather than address it.

“We’re out of London, by the way. Have been for a while.”

Now you did open your eyes, rubbing them as you sat up and looked around.

“You said you’d wake me when we left!”

“I’ve learnt today that waking you up before you want to is impossible.”

“Have I missed anything?”

“Only dozens of identical fields. Take a look.”

He pulled back the curtain that covered the carriage window, and you leaned over him to look outside eagerly.

“Wow,” you gasped. “There’s so much space!”

The fields stretched as far as you could see, intersected only by trees and hedges. There wasn’t a building in sight. You’d seen drawings of the countryside, but it was an even more magical sight to behold in reality.

“You should see my land in Australia,” Elliott said proudly. “Hundreds of miles, it stretches for. I own even more land in Australia than there is in London.”

“You jest!” you exclaimed, leaning back to look at him. “I believe that as much as I believe that there are such things as kangaroos.”

“It’s true, and so are the kangaroos. The world’s much bigger than you know, [Y/n].”

“Yes, I’m coming to realise that.” You sat back down in the seat, though you made no effort to distance yourself from Elliott. He had an arm thrown across the back of the seat, and when you leant back, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Is it much farther to your uncle’s house?”

“Another six hours or so. We’re only halfway there.”

“Six hours?! Goodness. What do you to pass the time on long journeys such as this?”

“Talk. Smoke. Relax.”

Elliott’s hand was wandering across your skin, fingers dancing as he traced meaningless shapes across your shoulder, and you smiled when he threaded his fingers through your hair and scratched your scalp.

“You like that?” he murmured softly.

You blushed and nodded. He threaded his fingers deeper into your hair, gently scratching at different spots on your scalp until he found a spot you seemed to particularly like, because you shuddered when he touched it, dipping your head slightly to give him better access.

Elliott withdrew his fingers, gathered your hair in his hands, and moved it aside to hang in front of your shoulder, giving himself access to pepper soft kisses across the back of your neck. You giggled slightly when his moustache tickled against your skin.

“What about that? Do you like that?”

You nodded, hardly daring to speak. Elliott’s trail of kisses moved up the side of your neck, and you let out an involuntary whine when his lips connected with the skin behind your ear.

“Elliott…”

He hummed acknowledgment against your skin, but whatever you were about to say was cut short when he placed his hand on your thigh and your breath caught in your throat.

His kisses were on your cheek now, and you could hear his breathing, feel his hot breath on your cheek. He cupped your face with his palm, encouraging you to turn to him, but despite everything you’d done with him already, somehow a kiss felt just too intimate.

So, when he turned your head, instead of kissing him you continued the momentum of your movement and pushed him back into the seat. You kissed his neck, then his collar, and as you kissed down his clothed torso, you were tempted to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt to give you access to his skin, but there was something arousingly scandalous about doing what you were doing with both your clothes still on.

When you reached his belt, Elliott helped you unbuckle it and grunted with relief when he released his hardened cock from the confines of his trousers. You licked your lips, then took his tip in your mouth, easing his girth into you. Elliott let out a low moan as you skilfully took him deeper and deeper until he was buried in your throat, your nose buried in his hair.

He placed one hand on your back and the other cupped your cheek, gently encouraging you to move. You slid your tongue along his shaft as you lifted your head, and though you intended to retract all the way to his tip, Elliott wrapped your hair around his fingers to hold you still and thrusted up into you. You choked slightly with surprise, but you simply widened your throat as your late husband had taught you to, giving Elliott the room he needed to bury himself inside you again - and again - and again.

At some point, although you couldn’t say exactly when, Elliott released his grip on your hair and let you take over. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft so you could pleasure him without choking yourself, and which also allowed you to bob your head faster.

“Ah, fucking hell… [Y/n]…”

Even though you’d been sharing intimate moments for two weeks now, you still hardly spoke during and certainly never mentioned it after, and you’d have expected that hearing Elliott moan your name now would frighten you, making the moment too personal, but there was something about it that shot straight to your core, almost as if you wanted that level of intimacy with Elliott.

You pushed that thought to the back of your mind. That was something to deal with later; for now, you were just enjoying pleasuring him, listening to his beautiful moans as he responded to your ministrations.

What you didn’t know was that while you were trying to ignore the feelings that were growing inside you - which you didn’t want to admit had been growing since the day Elliott showed up at your door - he was revelling in his, savouring every moment of intimacy between you as if he were a parched man and your affection was his hydration. He tried to hold back his orgasm when he felt it climbing, because he didn’t want this to end, to finish your unspoken intimacy and go back to pretending that anything was happening between you.

He tried to hold it back - but you had a way of telling when he was close, and you weren’t one for edging, because it only spurred you on, sucking him off faster until he could resist no more. Elliott grabbed your head and pushed you down his shaft, burying himself in your throat as he shot his load inside you, and though you choked and spluttered, you relished in the feeling of his warm cum bypassing your mouth and filling you up straight down your throat.

You had nothing with you to clean him up, so you used your tongue and licked him clean. Elliott sighed with relief and leant his head back against the seat.

“Jesus, [Y/n]… You are something else, you know that?”

You averted your eyes and blushed, as if you weren’t the one who’d initiated it. Elliott saw your bashfulness and smiled.

“Hey, c’mere.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in for an embrace. You cozied up to him and rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he gently rubbed your back. Elliott’s gentle touch, combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the movement of the carriage, soon sent you back to sleep. Eventually, Elliott found himself dozing off too, both of you comfortable in one another’s arms as the countryside rolled by.

---

You woke up a few hours later when the carriage came to a halt. You sat up, blushing when you realised you’d once again been sleeping with your head in Elliott’s lap. He, meanwhile, was still asleep; you giggled and pushed his mouth closed for him when you saw he was drooling.

Curious as to why you’d stopped, you pulled the curtain back from the window and saw that you were on a long road, flagged either side by lines of trees. The carriage driver hopped down from his seat, and you opened the door to poke your head out.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

“Go back inside, m’lady, nothing to worry about. There’s a man injured on the road.”

“Oh, dear! That’s not nothing at all. Here, let me help.”

Ignoring the driver’s protestations, you hopped out of the carriage, lifted your skirt to avoid muddying it, and followed behind him to attend to the injured man. Before the driver could examine the man, however, another man came suddenly from between the trees, punched the driver hard enough to render him unconscious, and the supposedly injured man jumped up to begin rifling through the driver’s pockets.

You, naturally, had exclaimed in surprise when the second man appeared, and as soon as his punch landed, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey, we got a twofer!” the man exclaimed, grinning hungrily. He grabbed you before you could dodge him, and you screamed.

“Unhand me, you scoundrel!” you shouted, fruitlessly pulling against the grip the man now had on both your wrists. He simply laughed and threw you to the ground.

“I been hoping for a girl to rape all day,” he said with a nasty grin as he unbuckled his belt. “Today’s my lucky day!”

 BANG!

You cried out in surprise again when a gunshot rang out, and the man’s luck ran out as blood began to pour from his forehead, and if his stunned expression were anything to go by, he was dead before he hit the ground.

His companion, who had up until now been searching the driver’s pockets, went to grab his own gun, but his hand had hardly moved towards his belt when another BANG resulted in blood pouring from his chest, and after a few attempts at breathing through the blood filling his lungs, he too collapsed dead to the ground.

You tried to clambour to your feet, but the ground was slick with mud, and you embarrassingly fell back onto your bum. You jumped when a hand gripped your upper arm and pulled you to your feet, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you when you turned and saw that it was Elliott.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

You nodded, though you were still frightened, but you were otherwise unharmed. Acting on instinct more than anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head against his chest.

“Oh, Elliott, thank goodness,” you sighed. “He was - he was going to —”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Elliott said soothingly. His gun was still in his right hand, but with his left he embraced you and gently stroked your hair, seemingly undeterred by the mud that was no doubt all over you. “Nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around.”

You sniffled, and Elliott holstered his gun to allow himself to hold you properly, rocking you and murmuring words of comfort until your breathing had steadied.

“The - the driver…” you muttered, looking over your shoulder.

“Alive, but unconscious - I can see him breathing,” Elliott determined. “We’ll have to wait for him to wake up before we go on. Come on - let’s sit you down.”

Elliott kept an arm firmly around your shoulders as he guided you to the carriage and sat you down on the step to examine you.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked as he gently took your chin between his fingers and turned your head to check for injuries.

“Only my bum from falling back down,” you admitted. “Erm - and my elbows too. I think they took most of the fall.”

“Let me see them. Can you roll your sleeves up?”

“Not in this dress.”

“You’ll need to take it off, then,” Elliott said matter-of-factly, and his hands were on your bodice, pulling apart the lace across your chest, before you could react.

“Is this a ruse to get my clothes off?”

Elliott smirked and his eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t need a ruse for that, sweetheart. We both know you’d be out of that dress in an instant if I asked.”

You had no reply to that. You blushed hard to hear him flirting with you so brazenly when you’d spent so long not speaking of the spark between you, but truthfully he was right. Even though you were out in the open, two dead men lying in the mud nearby and your carriage driver unconscious next to them, you felt a shiver of desire run through your body as Elliott ran his hands over your chest to unlace your dress.

You glanced down at his waist, where his gun was back in its holster, glistening slightly in the afternoon sun. It had happened so fast, you had hardly had a chance to fully appreciate what had just happened - Elliott had killed two men with hardly a flinch, all to protect you.

Almost instinctively, you spread your legs slightly, and Elliott must have been acting on instinct too when he moved closer to you. Although his hands were firm and calloused, still his touch was gentle as he pushed the shoulders of your dress down, peeling the fabric from your skin until you were able to pull your arms from the sleeves - and, as it just so happened, your breasts were revealed too.

Ignoring his desire to ravish attention on your breasts, Elliott instead focused on examining your elbows, both of which were grazed slightly but otherwise unharmed.

“Anywhere else that hurts?”

“My thighs,” you lied. “Maybe you should check underneath my skirt too.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow at you. “Your thighs? Really?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You opened your legs a little wider, causing your skirt to ride up your legs, your calves poking out from below the hemline. Elliott put a hand on either ankle and made a show of slowly checking every inch of you for injuries, before sliding his hands over your knees and up to your waistband to pull your bloomers down, giving himself access to your bare skin to ‘check for injuries.’

“Where does it hurt? Here?” Elliott asked, his hands resting on your lower thighs.

“Mmm… higher.”

“…Here?”

His hand moved up to your upper thigh, and he could feel the warm of your core tickling his fingers.

“A bit higher…”

Elliott smirked at you hungrily, his eyes alight with desire.

“How about… here?”

He cupped your heat with his hand, and you stifled a moan.

“It hurts here, does it?”

You nodded. “Hurts ‘cus it’s empty,” you whined.

Elliott closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled.

“[Y/n], you are… fuck, I don’t know what. I’m no good with words. But actions - actions I can do.”

He withdrew his hand slightly to bring his thumb up to your sweet spot, and you gasped his name when he began caressing it while his other hand busied itself with unbuckling his belt.

“You sure you want this, sweetheart? Here and now?”

You nodded desperately. “Please, Elliott. I… I need you.”

Elliott had been aching to hear you express your desires for two weeks now, and though he’d not imagined you’d first speak them aloud in a carriage doorway on the side of the road with two dead bodies nearby, hearing you express not just a want but a need for him… it would have been enough to make him fall in love with you.

It would have, had he not already fallen deeper than he ever thought possible.

He entered you with a groan of relief. Your mouth was exceptionally talented, and he’d treasure the memory of that morning’s blowjob always, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of your walls around his length. He felt as if he belonged there, belonged in your cunt, belonged with you .

As much as he’d wanted to, Elliott had never fucked outside before. In a place such as Australia, it was hard to find somewhere that wasn’t outside, but his first wife had never been one for show, and even after her death, he felt that taking a whore was something to be done privately.

But there was something inherently natural and right about fucking outside. God made the Heavens and the Earth, and he made man, but he never made anything like a building or a vehicle. Those were inventions of man. Humans were meant to fuck, and they were meant to do it outside.

Now that you’d broken the seal that had held both of you back from speaking during your morning trysts, Elliott took the liberty of being as vocal as he liked, muttering your name over and over again, as if making up for all the times he’d fucked you in silence.

“Ohh, [Y/n]… fuck, you feel so good… so good for me, [Y/n]… Lord, if only I could live inside this sweet cunt of yours.”

Elliott’s words danced around your mind like a flame, setting your desire alight, every sense overwhelmed by him. The feel of his cock thrusting inside you, the sound of his muttered praise intersected with grunts of pleasure, the sight of his handsome face overwhelmed with pleasure. Even his smell, his musky smell that lingered on all his clothes, the unmistakable smell of sex that filled the carriage. The only thing missing was taste, but then again, you’d tasted him well enough earlier.

Lord, he was beautiful in the throes of ecstasy. And as your pleasure overwhelmed you, causing you to cry out and fill the carriage with the sounds of your moans as your orgasm washed over you, Elliott thought you were not just beautiful, but something otherworldly altogether. He fucked you through your orgasm, and when he filled you up with his seed moments later, Elliott knew in that moment that whatever you were, you wouldn’t travel north up this road back to London as anything other than his wife.

---

By the time you arrived at Ivy Manor in Sussex, you were feeling a desperate need for a bath. You had cum on your legs, mud on your dress and in your hair, and you were sweating from the summer heat.

All your discomfort fell away, however, when Elliott helped you out of the carriage and you saw the manor house in all its splendour. It was bigger even than Westminster Abbey! And the land surrounding it sprawled for miles; you had certainly ridden at least a mile further past the manor gates before approaching the building itself.

You looked around, eyes wide as saucers, amazed that a building this large could even exist. And this was only one family’s home!

“Ah, there’s my nephew!”

An older man, perhaps a little older than your late husband, came to greet you, wearing a black wool suit with a garish checkered vest, and you wondered if country lords were immune to summer heat, because you imagined Elliott’s uncle should be boiling inside that suit.

The uncle greeted Elliott with a warm smile and a friendly handshake, then turned to you and bowed his head.

“And this must be the cousin’s wife. A pleasure to meet you. Duke Rupert Beaumont, at your service. Forgive me, miss, but Elliott neglected to give me your full name in his letter.”

“[Y/n] Turpin, sir,” you said with a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having us in your home.”

“Lady [Y/n] Turpin,” Elliott corrected you.

You smiled coyly. “Yes, well, I don’t see a need for formalities amongst family.”

”Turpin, you say?!” Duke Beaumont said in surprise. “As in Lord William Turpin?”

“Yes, sir, he’s my late husband.”

“Why, I had no idea! Elliott mentioned his cousin was a judge, of course, but not that it was Lord Turpin! And you’re his lady wife, you say?”

“Yes, sir. Did you know my husband, then?”

“Know him? My dear - apologies, my Lady - I studied alongside him at Oxford! A very long time ago this was, mind you, but we’ve written to one another on occasion. I had no idea my brother-in-law was his uncle. I hadn’t known of his passing, though. I’m very sorry for your loss, my Lady, he was an excellent lawyer and a noble man in every sense. Might I ask how he passed?”

“Oh, erm —”

“It was foul play,” Elliott said, quickly sensing your discomfort and placing a comforting hand on the small of your back. “A former convict with a vendetta. A tragedy, of course, but let’s just be grateful [Y/n] wasn’t harmed. In an unfortunately similar turn of events, we were stopped on our way here by highwaymen, and [Y/n] suffered an unfortunate fall. Could we trouble you for the use of a bath, and perhaps a servant to wash her dress?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Highwaymen, you say? Should I send out for the police?”

“No matter, I dealt with them,” Elliott said smugly, pushing his jacket back slightly to reveal the gun on his hip. “Unless you want to clear the road of their bodies.”

“Hmm… yes, I suppose we should clear the road. I’ll send someone out. Well, come along, old chap, let’s get your luggage taken in and we’ll draw a bath for the lady.”

A few hours later, you were feeling much cleaner after a bath, and the room you’d been told you were to stay in was already made up for you and your clothes laid out. You were surprised to find a servant girl expecting you to need her help getting dressed, but not wanting to embarrass Elliott with any faux pas, you allowed the girl to dress you for dinner.

You left your room just in time to see Elliott leave his, which was directly across from yours.

“Well, fancy seeing you here, m’lady,” he said with a smirk. “Are you my dinner date for tonight?”

“I think I must be. Although you’ll have to keep your eye on me to make sure I don’t do anything embarrassing, I know the basics of etiquette but I’ve never done much more than dine with William and Johanna.”

Elliott scoffed. “And you think I have? This is just as foreign to me as it is to you.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief to know you weren’t alone in feeling like a fish out of water in such a grand place. You took Elliott’s arm and he escorted you down the corridor, both of you secretly hoping you remembered the way back to the dining room Duke Beaumont had pointed out to you earlier.

“So, Elliott… your cousin a Lord, your uncle a Duke. Why don’t you have any titles?”

“Oh, we don’t bother with peerages and titles in Australia. A man’s worth is judged on his character and achievements, not his name. Though if we did, then with the amount of land I own, I’m sure I’d be a Lord.”

“Lord Elliott Marston of Australia,” you said in a faux-pompous voice, and Elliott laughed. “No, you’re right, it’s not very you, is it?”

“Definitely not. Mr Marston is fine with me. But Lady suits you very well.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” you said with a blush. “I come from nothing. I’m a Lady only because of William. It feels strange to call myself a Lady when I don’t have a Lord, that’s why I never introduce myself as Lady Turpin. If I remarry a man of no rank and become a Mrs, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you… intend to remarry?”

You turned a corner and succeeded in finding the staircase back down to the entrance hall.

“Well, I must, mustn’t I?”

“Must you?”

“Yes, I mean, if you truly intend to transfer my husband’s estate to me, I can’t very well go on without children, can I? I’ll need an heir to inherit William’s estate.”

“And do you… have any suitors in mind?”

The stairs were steep, so your focus was on not tripping over the hem of your dress, and you had an excuse to hide your blushing face - and avoid seeing the cautious hope in Elliott’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” you said noncommittally.

“Perhaps?”

“Well… there is one man I’d consider accepting a proposal from, but…”

“…But?”

“I’m not sure he’d want me,” you admitted.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and Elliott paused.

“Whyever wouldn’t he want you?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“Well… he has no need to marry me for the estate,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “So the only reason he’d marry me is for me. And, well… I’m not much on my own, am I?”

Elliott frowned. He took your chin between his fingers, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“[Y/n]… you’re wonderful. Don’t ever think you’re anything less. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, estate or no. William married you knowing full well you came from nothing, didn’t he? No dowry, no estate. Just your kind heart and your gentle soul. He knew that you were worth far more than any lord’s daughter - and he was right.”

“Do you - do you really think so?” you asked quietly, your voice almost breathless as your insides twisted into knots.

“Have I ever struck you as a dishonest man?”

“No, I —”

You were interrupted by the ringing of a bell to call you for dinner, and you glanced away from Elliott’s striking gaze, your face no doubt bright red.

“Perhaps together we can fumble our way through dinner with a duke,” you said, glad for the distraction. You readjusted your hand on Elliott’s arm and let him escort you into the dining room, not realising that his eyes were firmly on you the entire time.

---

Dinner went on much longer than you were used to. There were seven courses, each with a break in between, and after dessert  Duke Beaumont’s granddaughter Leanne who had a musical talent played a few songs on the piano. She reminded you a little of Johanna, who sometimes would play the piano in the parlour room, and you wondered where she was and if she was enjoying her new life with Anthony, wherever they were.

It felt strangely reserved, the way everybody sat and listened as Leanne played. Music was best enjoyed with dance, you had always found, and to sit simply listening made you feel as if something were missing.

But you didn’t want to embarrass Elliott, so you sat politely, and with everyone’s attention on Leanne, Elliott took the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh under the table.

You blushed hard, and from the corner of your eye, you could see him smirking.

Lord, how could a simple touch from him make you feel all aflutter?

“Play something we can dance to, Annie!” said an older woman - possibly Leanne’s mother, though you found it so hard to keep track - and so Leanne switched to a faster song, and people began to stand and pair up to dance, mainly in couples, although adorably Duke Beaumont asked his five-year-old granddaughter to dance with him.

“Do you dance, [Y/n]?” Elliott asked.

“Not since my wedding day. We never - we never had a chance to host any social events.”

Elliott stood and held his hand out to you, the same one that until moments ago had been on your thigh.

“Come on, then. I’ll die a happy man so long as I’ve had one dance with the most beautiful woman in England.”

Was his intention to experiment with how much he could make you blush?

You took his proffered hand, stepped away from the dining table, and Elliott gave you a small, formal bow before placing his hand on your waist. You were both a little out of practice, but you fumbled your way into a rhythm together.

“You’re very cute when you blush, you know,” Elliott commented as you danced, “but you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I told you, I’m an honest man, [Y/n]. I only speak the truth.”

“You’re very kind,” you said with a small smile, looking up at him. “I suppose I’m a shy person, that’s all, and I’m not used to such kind words.”

Elliott chuckled and shook his head. “I’m a lot of things, [Y/n]. Kind is not a word many would use.”

“Then let me be the one to use it.”

 “Alright. You can call me kind. So long as I can call you beautiful.”

You blushed and ducked your head with a smile. You knew Elliott had just told you not to be embarrassed, but how could you not be?

The song ended and you broke apart from Elliott to join the others in polite applause for Leanne’s playing. Duke Beaumont announced it was time for the men to have a smoke and a drink, so you decided it was time to go to bed. Elliott kissed the back of your hand as he wished you goodnight, and though you felt yourself blushing, you managed to stop yourself from glancing away this time.

A few hours later, you were still awake, as you were struggling to fall asleep in the unknown bed. You heard the bedroom door open and close; thinking it was a servant, you sat up groggily to tell them to come back in the morning, only to realise by the moonlight slipping through a crack in the curtains that it was Elliott.

He was already in his nightshirt. He slipped under the covers of the bed, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you back down to lie under the covers with him.

“Is your room cold?” you asked.

“No,” Elliott replied, his eyes already closed as he held you, and you turned towards him almost instinctively to wrap an arm around him. “It was lonely.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah… mine too.”

“Doesn’t feel so lonely to me.”

“Not anymore.”

Elliott smiled.

“Goodnight, [Y/n].”

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

The next morning, it didn’t even hit you that it was the first morning you’d woken up in bed with Elliott and not had sex. You felt so comfortable waking up next to him, as if the simple intimacy of being in his arms and inhaling his scent was enough for you. You kept expecting him to initiate something, but instead he just held you, his fingers drawing meaningless shapes across your skin.

When eventually you got out of bed, Elliott went across the hall to his own room to get dressed for breakfast. You greeted him in the dining room as if you didn’t know how he’d slept, and as you ate he asked if you’d like to accompany him for a walk around the grounds.

“This place was a lot bigger in my memory,” Elliott mused as you set out side-by-side down a footpath around the manor. “Then again, I was very small last time I was here.”

“I think it’s enormous,” you replied, looking around at the gardens you were meandering through.

“I suppose it would be to you. My land in Australia’s much bigger, though.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“On the topic of Australia… have you given any more thought to my proposition on the day I arrived?”

“Forgive me - what proposition was that?”

“Coming back with me.”

“Oh - well, yes, that’d be lovely I’m sure. But if you’re to transfer me the estate, there’s no point in leaving it to gather dust, is there?”

“Well… you wouldn’t have to, necessarily. Here, let’s turn left - as I recall there’s a lovely pond down this path.”

You followed Elliott down the left-hand turn, then he said, “I must admit, [Y/n], I had a slightly ulterior motive in coming here. I wanted to speak to my uncle about his purchasing the estate from me, though of course all the proceeds would go to you. He seems amenable to it - he’d like to purchase it as a wedding gift for Leanne. But I know how important William’s legacy is to you, so I wanted you to come here with me, to meet him and Leanne. I’ll only sell it to him if you permit it, and only if you don’t intend to keep it for yourself. If you want to stay there, or if you don’t trust him to look after it properly, I’ll not sell it to him. It’s your home, after all, and you know I’ll not evict you from it nor leave it with someone untrustworthy.”

You reached the pond and there was a long silence as you considered everything Elliott had said. Although the idea of someone else living in what was supposed to be your family home with William filled you with dread, you didn’t much fancy the other options.

You had known for a while what you wanted.

A part of you felt it was a betrayal of William’s memory. You owed him so much, after all. But he had left you without an heir, and if you didn’t move on, then on your own death the estate would flounder.

“I have to think about it,” you decided. “There’s so much at stake here - for you, for me, for William’s legacy. I must consider what he would want me to do.”

You glanced down at the clear water of the pond, and your eyes widened when you saw the large body of a fish swim by.

“Look, you can see the fish!”

Elliott laughed. You looked at him, frowning.

“And just what is so funny?”

“Nothing, darling. I’m laughing because your childlike wonder never ceases to be adorable. Don’t you live by the riverside?”

“You can’t see fish in the Thames, it’s too dirty,” you said defensively, turning away from him to peer into the water again. “Besides, the water’s too toxic to consume, so I hardly expect any fish can survive in there. Can you see the fish in Australia?”

“Of course you can. But then again, Australia is an untempered land, still in her infancy. There’s nothing to pollute the waters with.”

“Oh, Australia’s a she?”

“Most definitely,” Elliott said. You felt his hands on your waist as he stood behind you, his body definitely too close to yours for propriety.

“That makes perfect sense, actually,” you teased. “The way you talk about it, someone might think you’re in love with it. Why don’t you marry Australia?”

“Hmm, I’d much rather marry you.”

You froze. Time stood still. Your heart missed several beats. When you turned around to look at Elliott, your mouth agape as if you were one of the fish in the pond, suddenly nothing in the world existed but for him and you.

“Do you - do you mean that?”

Elliott blinked in surprise, then laughed and shook his head.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer. What I’m saying, [Y/n], is that I’d like you to come back to Australia with me - as my wife.”

---

You were a little embarrassed at the way you’d excused yourself and almost ran off from Elliott, citing some mumbled excuse about having to think about his proposal.

A proposal! Elliott had proposed to you. You, with nothing to your name that he didn’t have, nothing more than the collateral damage from some ex-convict’s murderous rampage. You, a glorified street urchin, who had only risen to the status of a Lady because Judge Turpin had fallen for you as more than a whore who kept his bed warm.

What could he possibly expect to gain from a marriage to you? William had married you for love only because he knew he had little time left, because if your time hadn’t been cut short you were willing and able to serve him loyally and give him the heir he needed.

Perhaps that was it. Elliott had no heirs either, his wife having died some years earlier from sickness. He needed a wife, and he knew already how well you took his seed. You’d unintentionally spent the last few weeks essentially auditioning your body to him as marriage material.

You were in the empty parlour room, pacing back and forth as thoughts swirled around in your mind, until your reverie was broken by Duke Beaumont entering the room.

“Duke Beaumont, sir,” you said by way of greeting, accompanied by a curtsey. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here. I needed a little time alone with my thoughts.”

The Duke smiled knowingly. “Elliott proposed to you, then, did he?”

He knew? Of course he knew - Elliott must have told him that the sale was contingent on your accepting the proposal.

“Well… yes, he did,” you admitted. “I’m considering the options he’s laid before me, sir.”

“Well, let me give you a bit of help with that.”

The Duke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter with its wax seal broken.

“Allow me to give you this - evidence of my nephew’s intentions, I suppose one would call it.”

“Sir?”

You took the letter cautiously, and Duke Beaumont smiled through his beard with a knowing glint in your eye.

“Curious, isn’t it, what a person says about another when they’re not around to hear it?”

With that bit of vague wisdom, the Duke left you alone with your thoughts and the mysterious letter.

You unfolded the letter and read:

Dear Uncle Rupert,

You may be surprised to be reading a letter from me addressed from London; I am just as surprised to be writing it.

A cousin on my father’s side residing in London passed late last year, and as his only surviving relative I’ve travelled to London to administer his estate.

He leaves behind a stately townhouse, containing many extravagant furnishings, books, art and the like. He also leaves behind a widow, a wife he married not long before his untimely death, and therefore he had not updated his will and she had not yet borne children.

My first instinct on hearing of my inheritance was to write back asking the solicitor to simply sell the estate on, but when I heard of my cousin’s lone wife, I felt it my duty to attend London myself to ensure she wouldn’t be left homeless.

On meeting her yesterday, however, my intentions have changed.

I’m not ashamed to say she has bewitched me. She’s certainly beautiful, but that’s only the start of her qualities, Uncle. She has an interest in the world most women don’t possess, and she’s clearly resourceful - having been barred from her husband’s money since his death, she instead has been making money for herself designing and making clothes.

I worry, though, that my cousin was less than kind to her. She seems afraid of men, and it took some time of conversation with her to convince her I wasn’t a danger. I fear, if left alone, she may be susceptible to marry a man who mistreats her, particularly if I grant her ownership of her husband’s sizeable estate.

While in London, as well as administering the estate, I intend to take the time to get to know her, and more importantly, to give her the chance to get to know me and understand that I pose no threat to her.

Then, if she’ll have me, I’ll ask her for her hand and bring her back to Australia with me.

Which brings me to the reason for my letter, other than a friendly greeting. [Y/n] is clearly still very attached to the house and its contents - understandably so, since she still carries my cousin in her heart. I don’t believe she’d wish to depart without certainty her husband’s legacy was being cared for by a trusted person.

I wonder, therefore, whether you, or perhaps someone you know, have any interest in purchasing the estate? The house is located centrally in London (for my cousin was a judge of the High Court) and its contents, if you wish to sell them on, would fetch a pretty penny at auction. I propose to sell it to you at a fraction of its value for the sake of a quick sale to a trusted person.

Please write back to the above mentioned address with your answer. I should also, if you are agreeable, like to visit your home during my stay in England, as it’s been many decades since we last met, and I’d like to meet my cousins you’ve so often written about.

Yours truly,

Elliott Marston

---

While you were considering the choice you had to make, Elliott couldn’t stand to sit around waiting, so he joined his cousins in riding out to shoot some pheasants.

To his frustration, he kept missing them, because his mind was still on you. His cousins teased him, not for missing his marks, but because he was so bewitched by you.

“Well, if she says no, she has to marry someone,” said one of the younger men, Duke Beaumont’s grandson, who was about your age, as the men were tying their kills to their horses. “I’ll gladly have her. Pretty little thing like that with a free London estate and no father to pay a dowry to? Bargain.”

Elliott’s hand twitched over the barrel of his gun, and he had to remind himself that murder was a bit harder to get away with in England than it was in Australia.

“If she rejects me, I hardly expect she’ll have you, Jonathan,” Elliott snarled.

“Oh yeah? I’m not twice her age, for one thing. Better put a bun in that oven before you run out of ammo, old man.”

“I’m forty-four.”

“Yeah, and she’s what, twenty?”

Jonathan’s brother, Samuel, nudged him with a laugh. “Hey, though, grandfather said her dead husband was sixty-something. Maybe she likes them old.”

Elliott stepped towards the two boys - because that’s what they were, boys , hardly men - with a snarl on his face and his hand firmly on the barrel of his gun.

“Speak one more unkind word about [Y/n] and I’ll tell your grandfather I mistook you both for pheasants.”

“Ah, only a jest, cousin,” Jonathan said with a dismissive wave. “I’d not have her really. Don’t want used goods, you know?”

Elliott forwent his gun for possibly the first time ever as his instinct took over and he punched Jonathan squarely in the jaw.

Samuel burst out laughing.

“Ha, that’s what you get, John!”

“Bloody bastard!” Jonathan cursed. “What was that for?!”

“For besmirching [Y/n]’s honour,” Elliott hissed. “Perhaps she does prefer older men, and who could blame her when men her age are nothing but boys?”

Jonathan glanced at his brother, who was still amused at seeing his brother taken down a peg, and so he made the wise decision not to engage Elliott any further.

“Hey, isn’t that her over there?” Samuel said, peering into the distance.

Elliott looked around, and sure enough, you were approaching atop a horse, riding sidesaddle behind Duke Beaumont.

“Grandfather, what are you doing out here?” Jonathan asked. “I thought you weren’t joining the hunt today? We’re just about to leave, actually.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m simply the delivery man. Lady Turpin required a ride out here and I was only too obliged to provide it. Off you pop, then, m’lady, and I’ll escort these two ratbags back to the house. Come along, pip pip!”

You slid off the back of the horse, landing on your feet, and the Duke turned his horse around to escort his obedient grandsons back to the house, leaving Elliott suddenly alone with you.

“There might be some pheasants left in the north burrow,” Elliott said. “Though I suspect you didn’t come here to hunt.”

You smiled coyly.

“Not for pheasants, no. I, um… I couldn’t wait for you to get back. Literally - Duke Beaumont practically threw me on the back of his horse. He seems to be quite enthusiastic about you and I.”

“You and I?” Elliott said questioningly, as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

You pulled the letter out of a pocket (you always sewed pockets into your dresses) and handed it to him.

“The Duke showed me this.”

Elliott took the letter curiously, and when he opened it, if you didn’t know any better you might have thought he blushed.

“And… you liked it, did you?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“And, er… what was your favourite part, if I might ask?”

You laughed.

“You wanted to marry me from the day we met.”

“Of course I did, I’d be a fool not to.”

“But you… you waited. As if - as if my opinion in the matter was important.”

“Of course it is. I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation, [Y/n]. I don’t want you to come to Australia because you’ve got nowhere else to go. And I certainly don’t want your estate. I want you, and I want you to want me.”

“I want you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened hopefully.

“Then you’ll have me?”

You grinned.

“Yes.”

Elliott wrapped his arm around your waist and easily picked you up, spinning you around on the spot, and you squealed.

“Elliott!”

He just laughed. When he put you down, you were both breathless, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Just you wait, [Y/n], you’ll love it in Australia.”

“I’m sure I will. I’ll love it anywhere we go, so long as I’m with you.”

---

You were married the very next day. You didn’t bother with an event wedding - neither of you knew anyone in England who wasn’t already at Ivy Manor. Besides, you’d both been married once before, and neither of you felt the need to wait for another opulent wedding. You just wanted to be wed, and so you married in your nicest dress and he in his best suit either of you had with you, and your guests were Elliott’s family.

Duke Beaumont gave you away, his daughter acted as maid of honour, and your groom was the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on.

You weren’t ashamed of the tears that ran down your cheeks as you exchanged vows. Why should you be? They were tears of joy, joy you’d never known you were capable or deserving of feeling.

You made love that night free of the unspoken tension that had pierced your sinful but oh so right premarital trysts. You were his wife, he your husband, and you were free to make love as often as you’d like.

Some confidence came over you and you impaled yourself on your husband’s cock, riding him with a ferocity and passion you never knew you were capable of.

Marriage must have given him a new virility, because Elliott came in and on you five times that night, but not without ensuring you came just as many. He worked wonders with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, and by the time you collapsed, exhausted, into each other’s arms, you were sweaty and sticky and full of his seed in just about every place imaginable.

“If I’d known when we met that this was what you were like in bed as a husband, I’d have married you on the spot,” you giggled. Elliott, although sated for now, was laying gentle kisses on the top of your head as he held you against his chest, as if your scent was a drug he was desperately addicted to.

“I can’t get enough of you, [Y/n],” Elliott mumbled against your hair. “I meant what I said in the letter — that you bewitched me from the moment we met.”

You looked up at him. He was exhausted, sweaty, and just about the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, because his amber eyes were almost glowing with love as he looked at you.

“I think I knew you in another life,” you said quietly, almost in a daze, as if you were overcome by some kind of hypnotic trance just by looking into his eyes.

Elliott smiled.

“I’m glad I found you in this one.”

[snowblossomreads]

smilingformoney one shot masterpost

Key: 🔥 smut | 🥰 fluff | 💔 angst | 😂 funny

🐍 Severus Snape 🐍

Happy Ending 🔥

Restless Waiting 🥰

Snowballing 🥰

Hope 🥰

Grave of Snow 💔

Out of Care 💔

🐕 Sinclair Bryant 🐕

Shimmering Icicles 🥰

Blankets and Snuggles 🔥

⚖ Judge Turpin ⚖

Rosemary for Holly 🔥

Keep Warm 🔥

🧪 Eli Michaeson and Lionel Shabandar 🦁

Sharing I 🔥 (both)

Sharing II 🔥 (both)

Sharing III 🔥 (Lionel)

Sharing IV 🔥 (both)

Sharing V 🔥 (Eli)

Sharing VI 🔥 (Eli)

Sharing VII 🔥 (Lionel)

🚔 David Friedman 🚔

Stormy Reunion 🔥

Imperfect Holidays 🔥

🔫 Hans Gruber 🔫

Three Secrets 🔥

Chimney Soot 🥰

📽 Alexander Dane 📽

Missing Star 🥰

🐎 George of Nottingham 🐎

Bells of Christmas 😂

🎭 P.L. O'Hara 🎭

Cards and Coals 🔥

❄ Alex Hughes ❄

Snow Prints 🥰

👼🏻 Metatron 👼🏻

A Light in the Night 💔

🍷 Steven Spurrier 🍷

Giver of Gifts 🥰

[snowblossomreads]

🌷 🛌 🦉

MILLLIIEEE!!! I've left you for dead in the inbox sorry (even though I'm constantly blowing your phone up 😉) Here are some answers : D

🌷What's one of your fics that isn't as popular, but you hold dear?

Ummm all of them. JK (allegedly). But I would go with Entangled Hearts for this one even though I know how small the pupper fandom is LOL. I'm just happy that anyone is enjoying it because I love those two idiots and chaptered fics are hard for me to write.

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

Is this a way to get me to say you because if it is, well I hope you like your ego stroked it's you! I can't for get my other lovely friends like @renee561 and @deepperplexity!

🛌 What's a trope you haven't written, but want to?

I thought long and hard about this and truly do not have an answer 🤣 so I'm sorry. Please feel free to send in another ask though 😘)

[snowblossomreads]

Millie has ate again. What a superb ending to a crossover that wasn't suppose to be LOL. binches shed a tear

The Eternal Summer

V. Welcome to the World

Summary: The world ends, but time keeps moving forward.

AN: This was only supposed to be a smutty fic. Then again, I said the same thing about Sins of the Flesh. I hope you enjoyed the ride, everybody! If you're wondering what becomes of your family, here is your family tree (I have given reader characters names because it's easier for me) - you might recognise some of the modern-day descendants!

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

It was the longest night of your life. You sat by the window for a while, looking out across the station. Elliott was sat on his porch, revolver in hand, waiting patiently for Quigley to make his move. He glanced back at you on occasion and his frown would soften, the grip on his gun would loosen slightly, and your heart would ache when you locked eyes with one another.

William, meanwhile, was trying to keep himself awake, reading one of Elliott’s books and occasionally standing up to stretch his legs. He was using a cane to balance himself thanks to the wound in his leg, but he refused to listen when you insisted he should stay seated.

By midnight, you were struggling to stay awake.

“Go to bed, [Y/n],” William said when he saw you trying to keep your eyes open. “You don’t need to stand vigil.”

You couldn’t care less about Quigley, but what you did care about was Elliott, who was letting his anger and his pride get the best of him.

But you were tired, and despite what Elliott said, you suspected Quigley was telling the truth about waiting until dawn, so you supposed a little sleep would do you no harm.

With Elliott waiting for Quigley and William guarding you, you had no warm body to hold as you drifted off, but you were so sleepy that you were able to make do with holding the pillow which now smelt of both Elliott and William.

You woke at dawn to the sound of gunshots.

You’d been so tired when you went to bed that you’d forgotten to change into your nightgown, and so it was in a rumpled dress that you came into the lounge to find William peering through the curtains to see outside.

“What’s going on?” you asked blearily.

“A man’s been shot. Stay away from the windows, [Y/n].”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t bloody know. Don’t worry, your boyfriend’s fine. What on earth is he doing?” William questioned as you both heard the sound of horses galloping out of the station. “He’s throwing his men at him like lemmings. Didn’t I just tell you to stay away from the windows?”

You were by his side now, looking through the other curtain to see what was going on. Elliott was crouched below a wagon, gun in hand, as three of his men rode out across the plains.

“He’s not here, he must be in the cutting,” you replied.

“If he shot that man from afar, he can shoot you too.”

You shook your head, your eyes still on Elliott.

“He won’t.”

William scoffed. “Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?”

“He said he wouldn’t.”

“You can’t trust everything men say, [Y/n].”

“Not even you?”

You surprised yourself at your own audacity, but William surprised you more when he didn’t react with anger. Instead, he chuckled and stroked your cheek.

“That’s different, darling. I’m your husband who loves you. Matthew Quigley is an evil man, a murderer - is he sending more men out?” William interrupted himself as he spotted another few men riding out on horses. “Has Elliott completely lost his mind? At this rate, he and I will be the only men left before Quigley even gets here.”

“Maybe… maybe I should go and talk to him. He always seems to calm down when I’m around. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

William frowned, but he shrugged. “Maybe you can suck his cock or something, that’ll calm him down.”

You blushed and ducked your head, and William just snorted.

“Don’t act coy, darling, I know you’ve been sucking his cock. Go on, go and see if you can talk some sense into that thick skull of his.”

You made your way out onto the porch, where Elliott was stood leaning against a pillar, staring into the distance with a frown so severe he might have been hoping to kill Quigley just by looking at him. He jumped slightly when you put your hand on his shoulder, but just as you’d predicted, the tension in his shoulders eased when he saw you standing there.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close. You felt your own tension lifting too, as if all either of you needed to calm down was one another’s presence.

“We’ve been watching from inside. Are you planning on throwing men at him until you run out?”

Elliott chuckled, then kissed the top of your head affectionately. “If that’s what it takes. I’d rather expend ten men and kill him before he gets here than let him come and risk him getting to you.”

“Don’t sacrifice your men for me!” you insisted, fear rising in your heart as you thought of all the lives Elliott was willing to sacrifice for you.

“I can always hire more men, [Y/n]. There’s only one of you.”

You frowned. “There’s nothing special about me, El —”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Elliott hissed, interrupting you. “There is no one in this world like you, you understand me? Any man I hire can shovel cow shit or plough a field. No one else can do what you do for me.”

“There are whores in Melbourne…”

Elliott frowned at you, looking almost disappointed.

“Do you really think I’m talking about sex? Have you forgotten everything I told you at the graveyard yesterday?”

Elliott scoffed and shook his head.

“You really don’t know the effect you have on the people around you, do you? You don’t know what William and I were duelling for.”

“Then what?”

Elliott sighed and held you closer, looking out across the horizon as if the words to describe you were somewhere out there with Quigley and the dingos. And maybe they were, because he seemed to find them, and he looked down at you and smiled.

“You don’t know how bright you shine.”

You stared at him, stunned. You might have kissed him, but you knew your husband was watching through the window, and besides, your attention was drawn away when you heard the sound of a galloping horse coming closer, and you both looked to see Elliott’s two remaining men riding back into the station, dragging something along the ground behind them.

Elliott released his hold on you and met his men in the middle of the station. You watched from the porch as he bent over and you realised he was talking to not something, but someone that had been dragged across the dirt.

As Elliott taunted Quigley, you heard the thump of William’s cane as he came up behind you and put a hand on your shoulder.

“You should go back inside, [Y/n],” he said softly.

You shook your head, your eyes still firmly set on Elliott.

William’s grip on your shoulder tightened.

“Do as I say, [Y/n],” he said, more curtly.

You looked up at him then.

And somehow, in that moment, you knew.

Maybe you’d known all along.

“No.”

Before William had a chance to respond, you were dashing across the dirt to Elliott’s side. He was standing in a familiar position opposite Quigley, flagged either side by O’Flynn and Dobkin. Just last night you’d seen him standing in the exact same spot across from William, but this time his opponent was a lot more well-versed in duelling.

“Elliott, please don’t do this,” you begged, skidding to a halt at his side, grabbing his hands desperately. “Just let him go, nobody has to die —”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Elliot said smugly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll make it quick for him.”

“I don’t care about him, Elliott, I…” You felt a tear running down your cheek. You ignored it.

“Just survive this, okay? Survive this… and I’ll marry you.”

A grin broke out across Elliott’s face and he kissed you passionately, not caring that O’Flynn and Dobkin were nearby, that Quigley was standing opposite, or that your husband was watching from the porch. All he had to do was kill Quigley, and you’d be his.

“That’s the best good-luck token a man could ask for,” Elliott murmured when your lips parted. “Get yourself a safe distance away, sweetheart. I won’t have a stray bullet coming near you.”

“You’re an idiot,” you sighed.

Elliott grinned and winked at you.

You retreated back to the front porch, where William and Tommy were waiting for you. Your husband said nothing about the scene that had just transpired.

There was a long, tense moment as Elliott and Quigley stared one another down. It may have only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you as you stood, waiting…

And four shots rang out in quick succession.

It happened so quick, it took you a moment to register what had happened. Quigley was still standing - O’Flynn and Dobkin were on the ground - and Elliott was on his knees.

He fell back almost in slow motion, and you screamed.

You dodged the hands of both William and Tommy as they tried to hold you back, and the dust on the ground bloomed into clouds as you ran to Elliott.

One look at him was enough to know there was nothing you could do. His white shirt was stained red, blood pouring out from his torso.

One hand was still on the handle of his gun, which dropped to the ground when you lifted Elliott’s head from the ground to cradle him in your lap.

“Elliott… Elliott, please, look at me…”

The light was quickly fading from his eyes, but still he smiled when he looked up at you.

“[Y/n]…”

“Elliott, please - please, don’t die - please, I need you!”

You couldn’t see the way the morning sun reflected off your hair, shining as bright as you always shone to Elliott, and he wondered if dying gave him a glimpse into divinity, because surely you were an angel come to save his soul in the weeks before he died.

He could only hope he’d done enough for you. Loved you enough, taught you enough, shown you that you were worth so much more than you knew.

“Elliott, please, you’ve got to live, please,” you sobbed. “We’re gonna get married, remember?”

Elliott wheezed, attempting to laugh as blood filled his lungs.

“A mortal man can’t marry an angel,” he croaked.

You shook your head. He must have been delirious.

“I’m no angel, Elliott. I’m just a girl. And I… I love you.”

You sobbed harder, knowing it wasn’t enough. Your love would never be enough.

Elliott smiled, his head lolling towards your chest as his eyes fluttered closed.

“My angel…”

You screamed so loud, the birds in the trees were startled away.

This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t possible for a single human being to feel this much pain and survive. How could you survive, when your heart had been torn from your chest? Why would you want to, when the only good thing you’d ever known was an empty husk beneath you?

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You had nothing your whole life, you were nothing, and you’d accepted that until Elliott came along and made you feel like you were worth something, worth love and affection - and he’d been torn away from you.

Torn away by an evil man for no reason at all - a man who, you remembered suddenly, was still standing. Still living. How many men had he killed? How many other women would grieve their lost loves now because of Matthew Quigley and his stupid fucking rifle?

You raised your head and, through your tears, saw Quigley standing with his back to you. He didn’t even care about the crying woman behind him. He was just watching as the last of the servants left, returning to their native land now Elliott was gone.

They could go. You didn’t care about them.

But there was no way Quigley was leaving this place.

You didn’t even hesitate. You grabbed the gun Elliott had dropped.

“Needle,” you mumbled.

You checked the barrel. Full but for one empty slot.

“Thread.”

You pointed the gun at Quigley’s back.

 “Hole.”

You pulled the trigger three times for good measure, each bullet landing in his back, each hitting some organ or other and throwing Quigley to the ground before he even knew what was happening.

You tossed the gun aside. You didn’t care to check Quigley was dead. You only cared about Elliott, motionless in your arms, and even knowing he was gone, you pushed his hair out of his face to look at him.

It was the most horrendous sight. The eyes that usually blazed so fiercely, whether it be with love or lust or anger, were extinguished. You could barely even register that it was Elliott in your arms, he looked so unlike himself. You recognised the eyes, the nose, the cheekbones and the lips, but… the man you loved was gone.

You couldn’t tell how long you sat there, sobbing, clinging onto Elliott’s lifeless body as if as long as you held him, there was a chance he’d wake up again.

But he wouldn’t wake up, because he wasn’t asleep. You’d watched him sleep. Even asleep, he was alive. He breathed, fidgeted, responded to your touch. Now… nothing. Not a breath, not a twitch, not a sound.

He was gone, and he’d taken a piece of you with him.

You were only snapped back to reality when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You let out a yelp of surprise and held Elliott tighter, as if the hand belonged to someone who’d take him away from you.

“[Y/n]?”

The voice was so small, so tentative. You almost didn’t recognise your baby brother’s voice.

You looked up at him. He wouldn’t take Elliott away from you, would he?

You knew you should say something reassuring, but you had nothing. How could you reassure him when the world had already ended?

He was saying something, but you couldn’t even hear. It was like the world was on mute. All you could hear was your own breathing, your own sobs, and you couldn’t tell which had come last when you passed out.

---

Time passed in a haze. You slept, you woke, you cried until you slept again.

Sometimes you’d wake and see Tommy sitting on a chair nearby. Other times, you’d find William sleeping next to you. Once or twice, you woke and saw a man you didn’t know, a stranger in an army uniform. Food and water would appear on your bedside table, and you’d get as much down as you could before you began to feel sick.

Tommy would try and engage you in conversation, but you didn’t have the energy to talk. The soldier, whoever he was, didn’t talk to you.

William was usually asleep, though once you did wake to see him placing a bowl of soup on your bedside table.

Maybe none of them knew what to do with you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

After some days - you couldn’t say how many - you were awoken by someone shaking your shoulder, and your eyes fluttered open to see Tommy by your bedside.

“We’re going to the church in town soon, to - to bury Mr Marston with his wife. Will you come?”

You nodded groggily, and when you finally emerged from the lodge in a black dress Tommy had brought you from your luggage, you winced against the bright sunlight, having seen nothing but the muted light through the curtains for several days.

The station looked strange so empty. For so long there’d been the hustle and bustle of men at work, but now it was like a ghost town. At the gate, William was waiting for you with two horses, and somewhere beneath the numbness of your grief you thought he looked handsome in his black suit.

Tommy had his own horse and you sat behind William on another as you rode into town. You wrapped your arms around William’s waist and rested your head on his back from your side-saddle position. You closed your eyes, hoping that to look away from the landscape would ease the soreness you felt looking at the land Elliott had worked so hard for.

Later, you’d barely remember the funeral service. It was small; a lot of people didn’t like Elliott very much, and those that had had died at Quigley’s hands. The burial itself was even smaller; only you, William and Tommy. And fortunately so, because you might have embarrassed yourself with the way you broke down crying when you saw the tombstone. Only days earlier, you had stood on this very spot with Elliott, he promising a life of freedom for you and Tommy if only you’d marry him.

He had sworn never to come back here; now here he was forever.

Here lies Victoria Marston 1826 - 1860 and Elliott Marston 1820 - 1865

You calmed yourself eventually, but when the coffin was brought to be lowered into the grave, you broke down again, seeking comfort in William’s arms.

And he held you. Your husband was never one for public affection, but he held you.

“Would anyone like to say a few words?” the reverend asked when he’d finished his prayers.

You shook your head. You had no words to say. There wasn’t any combination of words in any language that could encapsulate the grief you felt, the love you had for him, the future you had lost.

William kept an arm around you the entire time. He sat you in front of him on the ride back to the station, guiding the horse with one hand while the other held you.

He told you to pack to return to Melbourne that night, so you braved crossing the threshold of Elliott’s house.

You gasped, but held yourself together when you saw that his lounge had been stripped almost bare.

In the bedroom, your breath caught in your chest to see the bed you’d spent so much time in with Elliott, but still your tears appeared to have run dry.

That was, until you opened the wardrobe, and you were hit by Elliott’s musky smell wafting from his clothes, still hanging in the wardrobe, waiting to be worn.

You fell to your knees and sobbed then, burying your head in his shirts, trying to cement the memory of his smell in your mind.

It wasn’t until William came to find out what was taking you so long that you were able to pull away. Even then, William had to lift you up and pull you away, ignoring your screams of protest as he parted you from your lost lover’s scent.

He guided you outside, told Tommy to keep an eye on you, and went back inside.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, William had packed your belongings and loaded up the wagon.

The journey back to Melbourne was torture. None of you well-adjusted to the Australian weather, you travelled by night, sleeping in the day, the men taking turns to stand guard against wild dingos.

Not that it mattered to you when you travelled; you just slept as much as you could, willing away the travel time until you arrived in Melbourne.

The house William had found for you both was not dissimilar to your home in London. William told you to get some rest while he unpacked, and when he deemed the job done, he found you sitting out on the balcony that led from your bedroom, looking out across the streets of Melbourne.

“[Y/n], I know you’re in shock,” William said, surprisingly soft for him, and you almost didn’t recognise his voice. “But we must talk about what happens next.”

You nodded. You still hadn’t said a word since Elliott’s death.

“After you fainted last week, the army arrived. Tommy took the blame for Quigley’s death. Two soldiers stayed behind after their platoon left, to help me with moving the station’s contents and… the bodies.”

William paused. You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ll sell the land tomorrow. Tommy tells me his former employer may be interested in it. We have until October before we return to London, and then we can put this whole mess behind us.”

You spoke for the first time. Your voice was hoarse and hardly more than a whisper, but William heard you.

“Tommy?”

“His employment reverts to me. I’ll keep him in my employ as a messenger boy for now, but he cannot return to London with us. He’s your brother, I know, and a hard worker, but his sentence is his sentence. I cannot be seen to revoke that for sentimental reasons. You understand that, yes?”

You nodded. You hadn’t expected anything more. In fact, you’d expected less. You were glad to know Tommy would be around at least until you left.

“Good girl, [Y/n].”

William placed a hand over yours. Your fingers twitched in a vague response, but otherwise you remained unmoved.

“I know you grieve for him — I do too. But we have work to do. I am still a judge of her Majesty’s court, and I have responsibilities; just as you do as my wife. I’ve given you time to recover from the shock, but tonight I expect you to resume your normal duties and serve your husband. Understood?”

You nodded again.

He left you alone.

---

Judge Turpin was starting to get irritated now.

It was four months since his cousin had died. Four months since he’d reunited with his wife. What he’d expected to be a joyous affair had been marred by the undoubtedly shocking end of Matthew Quigley’s rampage, and he’d been generous enough to grant you a week to process the difficult event. And just as he’d demanded on your return to Melbourne, you took his seed thrice daily in the hope of your belly quickening.

But still, you remained consumed by your grief. If this was how you reacted to the death of a man you hardly knew, he could hardly imagine how you’d react to his own death.

You hardly spoke. You never smiled, not really; not in a way that reached your eyes. Turpin would often come home from a day at court to find you’d not moved from the same spot all day.

And when he made love to you, there was no engagement, no thrill - you just opened your legs obediently and let him use you for his own pleasure.

It was getting boring and it was getting frustrating. So Turpin went to a doctor, who prescribed electrotherapy, but all that did was make you scream and cry, and that was worse than seeing you feel nothing, so he quickly put a stop to the therapy.

He was in the middle of giving a judgment in court when Tommy ran up to his bench and placed a note in front of him.

He paused, hoping Tommy had good reason for interrupting a judgment.

On reading the note, he quickly adjourned the hearing, leaving very stunned counsel in his wake as he dashed out of the courtroom.

He had shed his wig as he stood, but he was still clad in his judge’s robes when he entered the hospital and demanded to know where you were.

A nurse led him to your room, explaining the circumstances in which Tommy had found you unconscious in bed, a half-drunk bottle of arsenic in your hand. If it hadn’t been for Tommy’s quick thinking in inducing vomiting, you may have died. Instead, you were alive, but unconscious.

Turpin angrily sent the nurse away when he entered the room, demanding no one to disturb him. The door closed, he rushed to your side, and his heart broke to see you laying in the hospital bed, looking peaceful and serene as you slept, as if you had no idea the fear you’d struck into his heart.

“You stupid girl,” Turpin sighed. He sat perched on the edge of the bed and took your hand in his. Your fingers didn’t even twitch.

“Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeated. “Don’t you dare frighten your husband so. What on earth convinced you this was a good idea?”

Of course you didn’t respond.

Turpin stayed by your side for several days. Tommy brought him food, drink and fresh clothes. A clerk from the court came to take his instructions that he wouldn’t be hearing any matters until his wife woke up.

He read to you from the books the nurses had lying around. They mostly had silly romantic books, but by the end of Pride & Prejudice, Turpin found himself surprisingly invested in the story and glad that the two lovers had married.

When he wasn’t reading to you, Turpin spent a lot of time talking to you, or thinking to himself.

He knew why you were grieving so deeply.

He had loved his first wife, Charlotte, and yet she had fallen for a sailor boy. Lucy had loved Barker; Johanna had run away with Anthony.

And now you had fallen in love with Elliott.

Was he doomed to only love women who loved another?

He had punished Charlotte, yet she had run away anyway. So when he fell for Lucy, he sent Barker away, but still she rejected him. When Johanna believed she loved a boy she had only seen and not spoken to, this time he tried locking her away; but she only escaped.

Turpin didn’t want to do any of those things to you. Was he going soft in his old age? All he wanted to do was to bring you back from the deathlike trance you were in, to make you happy again. He hadn’t realised how much joy you brought into his life until it was extinguished, but extinguished it was and he wanted it back. He wanted his wife back.

“I don’t know what Elliott had that you don’t see in me,” Turpin whispered to you on the fourth day. “But I swear to you, [Y/n], if you tell me, I shall match it. I’ll be whoever you need me to be. I just… I need your light, [Y/n]. I need you to remind me of the goodness in the world. Can you do that? Can you stay good, stay pure, stay exactly as you’ve always been? Or must you change? Must your light be snuffed out by the evils of the world?”

You still didn’t respond.

Turpin bowed his head and sighed.

He hadn’t sung since that day in Todd’s parlour. He’d never been one to sing really, but he’d been lulled into a false sense of security that day. And today, he wondered if it might help him understand his own thoughts. So, with no one around but you, Turpin sung softly.

“I sit here, a man infatuate with love Your ardent and eager slave Please wake up, don’t leave me all alone Your love is all I now need to know Please tell me, my love, how I can show I’ll love you until my grave

You set my heart and soul afire One might think I’d be vexed 'Tis true, dear, love can still inspire The blood to pound, the heart leap higher What more can one require than love, dear? More than love, dear…

Kindness? Maybe kindness… Care and kindness.”

He stopped suddenly, his attention caught by a strange movement: from beneath your hospital gown, something appeared to be moving around your abdomen.

Turpin gently lifted the gown to reveal your belly. It was protruding a little, perhaps from the poor diet you’d been eating since returning to Melbourne.

It moved again. An unmistakable wave of movement across your belly, as if…

As if there were something inside.

Hardly daring to get his hopes up, Turpin put his hand over your belly.

And then he felt it.

A kick. Definitely a kick.

Something - no, some one was moving inside you. A baby!

Finally, after so long trying, your womb had quickened!

Turpin dashed out of the room and flagged down a passing nurse.

“Nurse! Come quickly!”

“Is everything alright, Lord Turpin?” the nurse asked, slightly alarmed at the usually stoic man’s sudden sense of urgency. “Has Lady Turpin woken?”

“No, but I’m certain I just felt her womb quickening. Do you have a method of discerning if she’s pregnant?”

“Goodness!  Yes, although I’ll have to fetch Dr Stephens, he’s the expert on maternity.”

“Then fetch him immediately!”

“Yes, sir.”

The nurse rushed off, and Turpin returned to your side. He beamed at you and took your hand in his, for once not caring to maintain any sort of stoic facade.

“I hope you can hear me, darling,” he said softly. “You’re pregnant. Do you hear me? Do you know? Can you feel him? Our child, growing inside you, an heir for our legacy…”

“Care and kindness, that’s what it takes To make our love stronger Care and kindness, what a wonder Care and kindness…

Now we’ll have our child, the answer to my prayer I feel a change in the air Care and kindness that we’ll show him And I’ll show you also Stay forever, if you’ll have me Care and kindness Care and kindness

I know that you will love and Raise my son and heir Even when I leave I’ll still be there He’s there Care and kindness that you give me And I’ll give you, and we’ll give him, and he’ll give us How it makes a man sing Proof of heaven, as you're living Care and kindness, love Care and kindness, dear Care and kindness, oh, care and kindness…”

You were confused when you woke up.

You weren’t supposed to wake up.

Wasn’t that what the apothecarist had said? One drink from the bottle and you’d sleep forever.

So why were you awake?

You opened your eyes and panic rose in your chest when you didn’t recognise the room you were in.

Someone was holding your hand. You turned your head to see William, sitting by your bedside, your hand in his and his head bowed as if in prayer.

Your finger twitched slightly, and his head shot up to look at you, wide-eyed.

”[Y/n]!” William exclaimed, relief evident in his voice. He grinned and held your hand to his lips. “You’re awake! My prayers have been answered.”

“Where am I?” you mumbled, your voice dry and hoarse.

“The Royal Melbourne, darling. You caused us all quite a fright. How are you feeling?”

“Um… okay, I think.”

You went to sit up, and William adjusted your pillows behind you to support you. He took your head in his hands, examining you as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

“You’re sure? Are you hungry, thirsty? I’ve done my best to feed you while you’ve been asleep.”

“Yes, I’m fine - maybe a bit thirsty.”

“Of course. There’s water here.”

William poured a glass of water from the jug by the bed, and you glanced around the room.

It was mostly empty, and a bit miserable-looking. A stack of books lay nearby. You were dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, which had been pushed around your waist, and you tugged it down to cover your privacy.

“How long was I sleeping?”

“Four days. Here - drink.”

You must have really worried him, because you’d not seen William so eager to look after you before. He was like an entirely different person, his usual restraint gone, and you noticed when returning your empty glass to him that he was wearing only a shirt and trousers, nothing of his usual formal attire, and there was stubble on his cheek.

“Darling, I have to tell you something,” William said with a sense of urgency, taking both hands in yours. “And I must tell you now, so you’re not to interrupt me.”

You nodded.

“I know you fell in love with Elliott.”

Your heart dropped. This was it, he knew, he was going to divorce you for adultery —

“And yet, I know you didn’t try to leave me for him, much as he tried to convince you to. You showed me unwavering loyalty, even in spite of what your heart yearned for, and for that I thank you. I know I’m not the kindest husband, and though I provide for you, I can do better. I must do better. I swear to you now, [Y/n], with the Lord as my witness, I will do everything in my power to be the best husband I can for you, to honour Elliott’s memory, and… to be the best father I can for our child.”

He placed his hand tenderly over your stomach and smiled.

“I felt it, darling. The quickening. I saw him move and felt his kicks, only minutes before you woke. At last we’ll have the child we’ve yearned for.”

You felt paralysed with shock.

You were pregnant. You had a child inside you, a life, entirely dependent on you.

If you’d succeeded in what you’d tried to do, the child would have died too. You were so consumed in grief, you’d almost snuffed out the last trace of Elliott in the world.

The thought came to you so naturally, it was as if you just knew.

Maybe you did. Maybe a mother always knows.

Elliott was gone, but he was still with you. He’d left you with child.

Did William know? Did he want to know? Did the suspicion even cross his mind?

He looked so happy. Here he was, promising to be the best father he could be. If he even suspected the child wasn’t his, he would never react like this. He would probably force you to abort it to make room for his own child.

He couldn’t know. He could never know. The child would be Turpin, and he would never know who his real father was. It was a secret you had to carry to your grave, for all your sakes.

You looked up at your husband. He looked at you searchingly, waiting for you to respond to the news of your pregnancy.

“Can we call him Elliott?”

---

Thanks to some herbs from an apothecarist in Melbourne - not the same one who’d given you the useless bottle of arsenic, as grateful as you were for their negligence - you managed to make the two month journey back to London without regurgitating your meals any more than an expectant mother would normally do.

Your belly grew substantially over the journey, and though you’d managed to carry your own bags onto the boat in Melbourne, there was simply no way William was allowing you to attempt to carry them off again in London. You counted yourself fortunate that he didn’t insist on carrying you off the boat himself.

You’d said a tearful goodbye to Tommy in Melbourne, but you left knowing you’d see him sooner than expected; although he claimed there were no personal reasons for it, William had drawn up a law before you left that a convict who spends his sentence in the employ of the British army would receive a day off his sentence for each day served. It just so happened that shortly after enacting the law, he had Tommy enlist in the army, and therefore so long as he stayed safe and served the army well, he could return to London in as little as seven years.

You arrived in London just a few days before Christmas, and you were greeted with warm welcomes and congratulations by other churchgoers on Christmas Day, many of them pleasantly surprised to see Lord and Lady Turpin had safely returned from Australia and that you were heavy with child.

William forwent his usual New Year’s celebrations in favour of looking after you, since you were now so pregnant you could hardly get out of bed.

The New Year had hardly begun when you went into labour, and if you weren’t so distressed with your pain, you might have been amused at seeing the usually stoic Lord Turpin fretting with worry over you, refusing the doctors’ advice to leave the room. Instead, he insisted on staying with you, and made no complaints no matter how hard you gripped his hand in the throes of pain.

You were just about ready to pass out when finally you were free of the weight of the child, and William had to keep you awake as the nurse washed the baby, wrapped him up and handed him to you to nurse.

“Is he alright? Is he healthy?” William asked urgently, addressing the nurse but his eyes fixed firmly on the sight of you, sweaty and exhausted and utterly beautiful, holding your son to your breast.

“Yes and yes. And he is indeed a boy, congratulations!”

William beamed at you. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

Although he’d never say it to you, he had had doubts of the child’s paternity for months. And yet, looking down at him now, he realised he didn’t care if the child was half him or half Elliott. He was half you, and that was all that mattered.

William leant down and kissed the boy’s head tenderly.

“Welcome to the world, Elliott Turpin.”

Twenty Years Later

Being the eldest child was difficult sometimes. As the heir to the Turpin estate, Elliott had all the responsibilities, while his three youngest siblings were free to leave after marrying and start families elsewhere.

Elliott, though, stayed in the family home with his wife and young son. His wife, bless her, never complained - she liked having his mother around, she said. It was nice to have another lady around, especially when Elliott’s youngest sister, Eleanor, married and moved out almost as soon as she turned eighteen.

What he hadn’t expected was to lose his mother so soon after Eleanor left.

He had been the one to find her motionless in her bed.

And fortunately he had, because while in one hand she held an empty bottle of arsenic, in the other she held a letter addressed to him, and when he read the contents, he knew nobody could ever know the truth contained within, not even his wife.

Elliott —

I know I’m leaving early, but since my darling William left us ten years ago, I’ve been aching to follow him. In truth, I stayed only because my duty on this earth was not done. But now Eleanor is married, all four of you have families, and I’m needed here no more.

I must tell you a truth, Elliott, a truth I kept only to myself since before you were born.

You know you were named for William’s cousin, who we briefly stayed with in Australia in 1865, who was murdered before our very eyes.

But there’s more to your namesake than that.

For some time, William worked in Melbourne, while I stayed with Elliott at his station.

I fell in love with him.

If it weren’t for his death, I might have left William for him. But events transpired as they did, and I lost the love of my life. All I had left of him was the gift he’d given me: you.

The very moment I discovered I was pregnant with you, I knew he was your father. I wonder sometimes if a part of William knew too.

You knew William as a supportive if stern father, who laughed but reluctantly, and who adored me and all of you.

He wasn’t always like that.

The early years of our relationship were fraught with darkness, but that tale is done. That version of William died long ago.

He worked hard to become the man you knew. And he did it because of Elliott. He did it because he saw the love Elliott and I had, and although at first he was jealous, he took it as a lesson to become a better man.

I have loved every version of my husband. I loved Elliott too. Both these things can be true.

And of course I have loved you. I can never prove that Elliott is your father, but I have always known it.

You remind me of him sometimes. Your laugh is the same. He fancied himself an American cowboy, so you can imagine how it brought me both joy and sorrow to see you play Cowboys and Indians with William Jr, always insisting on being the cowboy.

But the resemblance I see most is in your family, the way you love them, care for them, protect them no matter what. If your father was anything, he was a protector.

He taught me to speak for myself. He showed me that I can make choices for myself. And it’s because of him that you exist, and that will always be the greatest gift of my life.

I love you, Elliott. Be the good man I know you are.

All my love,

Your mother, [Y/n] Turpin

[snowblossomreads]

The thoughts replayed over and over until Amiee found herself brushing against Sinclair's side while her hands found his. He looked down at her, but she didn't look up, only playing with his fingers until she hesitantly wrapped her hand around his loosely.  She was testing the waters and when he didn't move to pull away, she squeezed his hand. For a moment, he did nothing, and she feared she had overstepped. Yet, when his grip tightened around her fingers she couldn't stop her shoulders from sagging as a sense of comfort washed over her.  For the rest of the lift ride down their hands stayed joined as Amiee stayed leaned against him, thankful that she had her best mate back. 

SOBSS THANK YOU SO MUCH @turpinsimp-blog FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL ART 😭😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖 IT ENCAPTURES THE MOMENT BEAUTIFULLY AND I WANNA CRYY THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU (sOBS)

[snowblossomreads]

Exhibit 6: Pinky Swears And Theatre Scares

Previous Chapter: Full Up

Summary: Amiee starts her new job and ends up on a movie 'date' with Sinclair.

“Lovely chat Arthur, I’ll send over the numbers to you later today when I get back alright?” There was a long pause as Sinclair half listened to the person on the other side finish talking. “Okay great! Buh bye!” 

A relieved groan escaped his lips the moment he hung the phone up, and was finally free from the meeting that had run over by a good 30 minutes. Ever since he had gotten in that morning, it had been nonstop meetings upon meetings. 

All of it was bullshit though he thought. Just people trying to cover for themselves to make it seem like they were busy. He already had enough on his plate without trying to look busy, as he glanced at the papers and folders sprawled on his desk.

Financial ones, memos from coworkers, and buried underneath those, were probably some things from his solicitor that he needed to take a look at. Yet, with all of that waiting for him, he couldn’t be bothered with i,t as it was not only lunchtime, one of his favorite times, it was also Friday. And unlike most of his Fridays this past year or so, he had plans for that evening. 

Well, maybe. 

He would first have to ask if she was free tonight, and hopefully, she would be. But first things first, lunch.

Picking up the phone again, he dialed a number and it rang twice before the click of it being answered sounded.

“Hello?” 

When the sound of her voice, which was unusually breathy met his ears, he couldn’t stop the grin that erupted on his lips. 

“Amiee! Are you free right now? I’m about to head to lunch and wanted to know if you cared to join? I was thinking Italian! There's a new restaurant that opened a few weeks back and it’s magnificent!”

There was a beat of silence after his question before laughter erupted on the other end of the line and he titled his head, confused at what was so amusing.

“H-hiya Sinclair, yeah sure I’ll tag along! My stomach did start grumbling a bit ago so perfect timing. Do you want me to meet you somewhere or…?”

“No that’s alright I’ll come and pick you up, be right there!”

“Okay see you in a sec, bye!”

“Buh bye!”

Hanging up the phone, he took one last glance at all the papers waiting for him to deal with, before promptly ignoring them in favor of grabbing lunch. He be more efficient once he had something in his stomach, other than the nerves that were currently bouncing about in it. 

A quick walk out of his office to the one that was only a few feet away from his, he knocked on the semi-closed door and didn’t wait for an answer before popping in.

“Here I am ready for-. What are you doing!”

Enthusiasm turned into confusion, and then concern, as his eyes landed on Amiee’s back, while she stood trepidatiously on the sofa that was pushed against the wall. In her hands, was a rather large picture frame that she was attempting, and failing to hang.

Turning her head just enough so that he knew she heard him, she spoke.

“Oh hiya! I was-.” She turned back around and blindly tried to hang the frame once more before she let out a frustrated sound when she missed the nail again. “Aiya! Fucking shite! Just putting this picture up before we went out. It’s been sitting around and I’ve finally gotten the energy to actually do it.” 

“Amiee! Call a janitor or someone to help do it for you!” Panic set in as he practically ran across the room with his hands already outstretched to take the painting from her, only to have her move away from him. “Here put it down you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“No Sinclair I got it I’m up here already!” She protested, as she tried once more to put the thing up only, letting out another whine when she missed the nail a third time. 

If she didn’t do it now, it was going to stay leaned up against her shelf for the next month, because she would either forget to ask for help or, just not want to deal with it. With another huff, she got on her tiptoes to try and reach the nail one more time even as  Sinclair protested behind her. 

Going to try and make sure she didn’t take a tumble off the sofa in case things went tits up, he froze when she reached up to hang the picture once more. Whether she realized it or not, her tiptoeing caused her skirt to ride up her legs, giving him a delicious view of the back of her thighs, which were soft and shapely. 

It had been six years, yet the sight of them had his fingers twitching, memories of being able to touch, and caress the delicate skin immediately began to to plague his mind. And if he wasn’t careful, something else would be plaguing him that was very much not appropriate for a work setting. 

Though his eyes lingered on her as he wondered if she was still as soft as he remembered. Biting his bottom lips and willing the sudden burst of arousal that was trying to spread like fire, he was snapped out of his trance when a sudden exclamation of triumph rang through the air.

“Aha!” 

Turning around, she gave him a pretty grin as she clapped her hands, pleased that she had gotten the picture up on the fourth try.

“There see, told you I didn’t need any help!” Her tone was one of triumph, as she pointed to the picture that was hung against the wall, before she plopped down on the sofa. 

Slipping on her kitten heels, she stood and went to continue about her victory against the picture frame that had been haunting her. That was, until she noticed the concerned expression etched on Sinclair’s face. His brows were furrowed in worry, and his cheeks were also awfully red which gave her some pause. He didn’t even let her get her witty comment out before he was letting out a waterfall of concerns. 

“Amiee you could have fallen and broken something! What would have happened if I didn’t come and you had lost your balance!” 

“Sinclair I-.”

“You could have ended up in hospital or worse!” He fretted, cutting her off once more as he wrung his together hands anxiously. “You have to be more careful please I don’t-!” 

There was a pause as his amber eyes searched her brown ones, his own filled with agitation as he fidgeted even more from the confused look that Amiee was sending him. This wasn’t him, he didn’t act like this, he was in control of himself always, even if his own energy got ahead of him at times. But lately, he felt as if he wasn’t, especially when it came to his emotions.

Whether it be because of his divorce, or the fact that the person who he hoped would have been his wife was suddenly back in his life. He wasn’t sure, but all of it just felt so big and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind began to wander for a moment about whether to reach out to a therapist or just purchase a self help book, but he was coaxed out of it when he felt a tender squeeze on his forearms.

“Clair, what’s wrong? You don’t what?” The sound of her voice questioning him brought him back down and there was a look of wonder in her eyes as she waited for him. 

His mind was a scrambled mess with all the feelings that were swirling around, but she patiently waited for him. Even as the silence bordered uncomfortable, she waited, not rushing him for an answer that he normally would already have. Her warm eyes felt like safety as she gazed at him, and the feeling of her hand on his arm seemed to calm him enough so that he could say something to break the quietness of the moment. 

“We’ve just…” He trailed off again, looking for the right words for the moment as he bit his lower lip. 

God he had read so many books, and he knew four languages fluently yet he couldn’t find the right words. What a mess he was.

“I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’ve already had to spend a lot of time in hospital. Not for you of course I know that,” he added quickly to clarify what he meant. “And plus.” Lowering his eyes to the ground, a bashful look came across Sinclair’s features.

It was a bit unusual coming from Sinclair. Someone so confident that he lit up the whole room when he walked in. But now, he stood with his hands behind his back and his eyes not meeting her own, just like a little puppy who was scared and had its tail between its legs.

“I think six years of not seeing each other is more than enough; I don’t want us to have to keep adding on to that.”

His words sat in the air for a moment as he was hesitant to look up. A feeling of vulnerability that he hadn’t felt since finding out that Natalie had been cheating on him washed over him. But this was a different type of vulnerability, not a constricting one filled with confusion and hurt and anger, but a strange comforting type. 

The type you can only be with someone you know wouldn’t judge you for the flaws you possessed, but love you in spite of them. With Natalie, he couldn’t remember if he felt that positive type of vulnerability, yet it seemed Amiee could pull it right out of him without even trying. 

“Six years is a long time,” she agreed quietly, drawing Sinclair out of his thoughts only to find her gazing wistfully out the window. 

Sensing he was looking at her, she gave her his attention, a small endearing smile on her face. It made her look so soft. 

“I’m sorry Clair, but you know it’s just how I am. Always doing something silly so I don’t have to be a bother,” she explained, yet there was a moment where her smile dropped as if she remembered something unpleasant before it returned. “What do they say, something about doing it yourself if you want it right?”

“If you want something right do it yourself!” He corrected brightly causing her to grin knowing it would have that effect on him. “ They say that and it’s one of my favorite things about you! You’re always doing things on your own, never asking for help and being brilliant at it. But you can always ask for my help you know that, right? You’ve never been a bother!”

The way he said it almost made her heart break along with the grin he showed her. Full of warm sincerity and earnestness that she could never not believe him. Matter of fact, she had always believed that he would do anything he could for her. She just wished she thought she was deserving of it.

‘Oh enough of that Amiee!’  

“Okay. I promise from now on, that if I do anything that may cause injury or death, I’ll phone you before doing it,” she said jokingly causing him to grin ear to ear. “Here look I’ll even pinky swear with you.” 

Holding out her pinky, because she was very much serious about it, Sinclair couldn’t stop the loud guffawing laughter that left his lips at the sight. This was so very silly, yet it didn’t stop him from coming closer to her offering up his pinky and his own promise.

“Yes yes! And I promise I’ll come running to you no matter what! To either stop you or help you!”

Their digits entwined, his larger finger wrapped around her smaller one causing her to giggle as they gave each other bright grins before they ‘shook’ on their promise.  

“Excellent! Now that I’ve taken off a few years of your life, do you still fancy letting me tag along to lunch? Or do you need to recuperate?”

“Never! I mean I could never tire of you,” he corrected, as they dropped their hands from one another, even though there was a yearning to hold it again. “But yes lunch let’s go. I think I’ve worked up even more of an appetite than normal after that scare.”

“Well, that just means double the appetizers!” Amiee pointed out.

“And maybe entrees!"

“Oh my god Sinclair can we please come back to this place,” Amiee groaned as she slid halfway down her seat. 

Food coma was already starting to sit in as the waiter cleared the table of their entrees, and she didn’t know how she was going to put down the dessert they had ordered. It would get done one way or another, and if she got a stomach ache afterwards well so be it. She wasn’t going to let any of it go to waste.

“It’s delicious isn’t it!” Sinclair praised with far more energy than she had, which was unsurprising. However, she suspected he would be napping after lunch because he would always close his door afterwards. Could it be him taking meetings, yes, but she had an inkling it was a meeting with his sofa.

“I’ve been here five times already since they opened and I think it’s my favorite in the area. Oh, you have to try the linguine frutti di mare when we come back. The seafood is so fresh you’ll love it, it’s divine!’ 

“Don’t tell me that Sinclair or  I’ll end up coming for dinner tonight! Plus I have food at home waiting for me and I don’t want it going bad.”

Unknowingly she had set up a perfect moment for him to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since the start of the day. This was his moment!

“So! You can just eat that for a late night snack if you get peckish during the night. I try not to do that because it gives me heartburn, but I can’t go to bed with an empty stomach it’s impossible!” He happily chattered before remembering what he was going to say.

“Plus I was going to ask if you wanted to come to the cinema with me tonight?” He proposed happily,  “A business partner of ours gave me tickets for an early showing of this new film, I think it’s called Candyman? It’s coming out in the autumn and I thought ‘oh, Amiee would like this!’”

Whether it was the offer of going to watch a film with him, or the genre of the film itself, Amiee’s eyes widened slightly, a bit taken aback by the invitation. Being asked to watch a film with him was not something she thought would be asked today but, she wasn’t going to say no! Especially, if she got to spend more time with him outside of work. 

“Sinclair, you know that’s a horror film right? And last time I checked you hated those,” she pointed out as she took a sip of her water before continuing, “all of the trailers I’ve seen have been pretty suspenseful and a bit well erm horror-esque, which I love don’t get me wrong! But uhm are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! Plus I don’t hate them! I just think they should be a little more logical. Like, tell me why do people always split up in those movies? It’s always their downfall!”

Sitting back up as she tried to recover from all the food in her, Amiee laughed at his example. He was right; she never understood the whole ‘let’s split up’ thing in the movies. Did no one ever learn the phrase there’s strength in numbers? Apparently not.

“Or you know when there’s a trail of blood and they follow it?” She added, as she rested her elbows on the table and placed her chin on top of the back of her hands as she smiled up at him. “Especially when they’re defenseless! Like what is your plan if the murderer is still there?” 

That seemed to rile him up some more, and she couldn’t hide the amusement she was getting from it. He so hated when things weren’t logical and horror movies to him were far from logical.

“Exactly! I just don’t get it! That’s why I don’t like them, they don’t make sense at all.” 

His tirade finished just as the waiter returned with their desserts. A piece of tiramisu for her, and for him, a slice of cheesecake topped with strawberries along with a bowl of fluffy chocolate mousse.

As soon as they thanked the waiter, Sinclair was digging into his dessert, all but groaning at how creamy the cheesecake filling was. Being so engrossed with his food, he wasn’t expecting to see Amiee staring at him when he went to ask how her dessert was.

Though he did note the twinkle in her eyes, and the way her lips quirked and formed a tiny mischief smirk. It was a familiar expression he had seen before, and he wondered what she was up to.

“Mmp-what?” He asked before another piece of cheesecake was in his mouth. “Thisisdelicious.” 

“So let me get this right, you don’t like horror because most of them are illogical yes?” She questioned, picking up her spoon and digging into her dessert.  

A tiny groan left her lips, as the taste of coffee, and mascarpone combined with cocoa powder, and lady fingers, created a nice and creamy dessert that wasn’t too sweet and had different flavor notes.

“This is good, not too sweet, can really taste the coffee and cream!” She praised enjoying that her teeth didn’t hurt the moment she bit into it like it would some desserts. 

“Isn’t it! I would say it’s my favorite but I like all of them,” he admitted freely as he scooped some mousse up and ate it. A happy groan left his lips at the taste as he remembered he had been asked a question. “But yes you could say that.”

“Mhmm, so what you’re saying is all those times you ended up halfway on my lap when we watched them was not because of the jump scares, but because they bored you out of your mind because of how illogical they are?”

Clearly, there was a teasing lilt in her voice,  which matched her playful demeanor. Yet, it still caused Sinclair to pause in his eating, as the cutest pout appeared on his thin lips, and all she could think about was kissing them. His brows were furrowed as he narrowed his eyes and he let out a low whine of her name.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up here,” he whined, much like a dejected puppy while his gaze turned down and poked at his food. 

“Aw I’m sorry love, only trying to take the piss out of you, ” she tittered. 

Leaning over the table, she reached over to stroke the hand that was resting on the table with her thumb in hopes of giving him a bit of comfort. There was a slight zing again as her fingers touched his hand, yet it was much less intense than how she felt when he hugged her in his office when they met again. Finally, she was getting used to being able to touch him again and it was more than she could have ever hoped for honestly.

“You know I never minded. Just like how you never minded having to lug me into bed whenever you found me asleep in some random place, which,” she added playfully as she leaned back and settled into her chair. “Is what you’ll have to do if we come back tonight for dinner because I’m liable to fall asleep in the car.”

The insinuation of her agreeing to come to the cinema with him seemed to perk him right up. That and getting to come back to the restaurant later tonight. But mostly getting to spend more time with her had him cheering up. It was something they hadn’t had too much time to do, as they had both been busy the past few weeks so this was perfect.

“That’s okay! I did that when we were in Manchester and it’ll be like you said, just like old times.”

A bashful smile flitted across Amiee’s face as she looked down at her hands, her face warming as she remembered waking up next to him those mornings. Curled up and feeling safe even if her world was trying to fall apart. 

She would be lying if she said she didn’t think about those moments every day she woke up. What it would be like to wake up beside him again. God, she missed it.  But maybe with this unofficial date, they were one step closer? She really hoped so.

“Well, then Clair, it sounds like we have ourselves a… date?” 

There was a bit of trepidation in her voice as she asked him. But there was also thinly veiled hope in it that she almost wanted him to hear. 

It seemed though that he had heard or at least caught on to what she was saying as there was a sudden burst of warmth that bloomed in his stomach. Before he knew it, that warmth was radiating from his stomach, to the full smile on his face that had grown without him noticing it. 

“Yes! It’s a date!”

Neither of them knew how they survived the rest of the work day after they returned from lunch, solely because their minds were focused on their evening outing. Sinclair, who was normally very much dedicated to his work, was very much the opposite, as his brain bounced from thing to thing. 

He had the hardest time focusing on any of the papers that were piled up, only thinking about why time wasn’t moving quicker as he was eager to hang out with Amiee.

Amiee was the same way of course. While not as busy as Sinclair was at the moment, she could hardly focus on the training manuals that she needed to look over. Her brain was buzzing with anticipation, and she found herself pacing around the office more than once. Stopping from time to time, to stare out the window as her mind wandered to everything that wasn’t work.

When the clock finally struck five, Sinclair was the first out of his seat as he quickly and haphazardly packed some documents in his briefcase. He would take a look at them in his home office tomorrow, he had more exciting things to look forward to tonight. Rushing out of the office, he was met with a startled look from Sarah who had only started packing her bags. 

“Leaving already Sinclair,” she asked, pausing her packing as she watched him fiddle with the keys to his office.

“Yes!” His tone was more enthusiastic than normal, and a sheepish smile appeared on his lips as he turned to look at her. “Yes,” he repeated more calmly, yet still radiating that bright energy of his. “I have some things to do at home tonight and I wanted to get back early. I know! Very peculiar for me to be leaving so early but it’s been brewing in the back of my mind for days. Don’t let the other know you’ve seen me leaving okay?”

“O-Oh okay, no problem I guess.” It wasn’t like she was going to tell anyone anyway. “Well have a good weekend!”

“You too, buh bye!” He answered, waving back at her and briskly walking away, leaving a very confused secretary who just shrugged and went back to her packing.

When they arrived at the venue, Amiee briefly wondered if they had turned up in the wrong place because this was not your average cinema. Expecting to see the normal brick building and maybe some glass here or there. She was surprised to see them pulling up to a building that was basically like an art school of some sort. 

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” She asked dumbfoundedly as Sinclair helped her out of the car.

“Yep! They usually do the private screenings of the new films here or sometimes at one of the galleries near Kensington.” He explained as they walked up the steps of the building.

For a Friday night, it wasn’t too busy, but granted, it was a private event, so she shouldn’t have expected a whole lot of people from the public meandering around.

“Wow, never thought I be at a rich person’s cinema,” she mused out loud before she immediately felt the need to lower her voice as they entered the place. “Must be nice to not hear all the talking and carrying on in the public ones. Though I don’t see a concessions booth, and I’m not sure if I appreciate that or not. Do we get like seat side service?”

“I don’t know, I quite like being in the cinema with others, it makes for a good ambience. Some of the ones in the area have gotten upgrades with their furniture and sound as well! But also yes to your point there isn’t usually food here,” he sighed as if it was the worst crime that the place had committed. “I don’t come often because of that, I think the last time I was here it was last summer with Natalie-.” 

There was a sudden pause in his speech, and Amiee looked up to catch a forlorn look that crossed his features.

Natalie? Was that the name of his wife? Or soon to be ex-wife? There was this incessant urge to pry a bit more into what had happened because she still wasn’t aware of what had gone on. Call her nosy, but she was just curious about what had happened that caused Sinclair to clam up anytime anything about this mysterious ex was brought up.

But that was maybe for another day, because she didn’t want to ruin a night of fun with questions about the woman. Plus, it couldn’t have been at all good, which only made Amiee dislike her even if they hadn’t ever met. She hoped it stayed that way. 

“No food?” Her tone was incredulous as Sinclair handed a man standing by another door the entry tickets. After he gave the passes a quick check, he let them through to the main screening portion of the theatre. “I would have shoved some crisps or something in my purse if you had told me that beforehand,” she continued, steering the conversation away from the unpleasant subject as they searched for an empty pair of seats. “When I was in uni, one of my friends brought a whole meal into the theatre. Snuck it right in with her purse and no one even knew.”

His expression relaxed as she told her story, and he couldn’t help the warm chuckle that left him as he led them to an empty spot.

“That was a brilliant idea from you friend though, how put off would you be if I asked you to shove some sandwiches in your bag next time we do this?”  

“Well, as long as you share I’ll do it, but if we get caught I’m going to act like I don’t know you.” 

Sinclair feigned a hurt expression, his brows drawn, and a little pout on lips that made Amiee want to laugh, but she held it in, a smirk being the sign of amusement on her face.

“Of course I would share with you! But now that you're threatening to leave me to fend for myself, I’m not sure if I want to!”

“I’m teasing Clair, I'm teasing. I would never rat you out to the theatre authorities. You know that’s not my style. We’re just gonna have to make a run for it if they catch up.”

“We can throw a sandwich on the floor and make them slip just like if it was a banana peel,” Sinclair added, but quickly retracted it at the thought of food waste. “Wait no we can’t sacrifice the food- Oh look the movie’s starting I think!” He whispered enthusiastically as the lights in the room began to dim and the screen began to brighten.

Giving each other one more grin, the two of them settled in to watch the film.

The movie was terrific. Well to Amiee that is. It was a good thing that the place didn’t provide popcorn, though to be honest it was pretty cheap of them not to. So fancy yet no snacks, she was surprised Sinclair wasn’t bothered by that. 

Granted if they did have popcorn, most of it would have been on the floor if he had been in charge of it. He had jumped over five times during the first half of the movie. And honestly, him getting startled did more to scare Amiee than the actual movie. 

“Oh my god, why are there bees in his mouth? What is he about to do,” Sinclair stuttered out as he watched the Candyman grab the main character, Helen, before kissing her. 

Sinclair made a gagging sound as one hand went to cover his eyes, so he could avoid watching the bees swarm down the poor woman's throat. His fingers were gripping the armrest so hard that Amiee was sure it was going to leave a permanent dent when they were done. 

“Okay but what would happen if she was allergic to bees? Wouldn’t that mess up his whole plan if she died right then from shock?” Amiee whispered to Sinclair who was trying to block out the whole thing. She was serious though! Why this man was trying to ruin his own plan? 

“And if not, what if she chokes on them? Come on he’s dead he should know these things!” She continued unfazed by what was being shown as she had been the entire time. 

Well, that was just slightly untrue as both of them had let out pitiful sounds at the fate of a side character’s dog.

“No not the puppy.”

They had both whimpered as they watched the scene that could have been left out for all they cared. Poor Sinclair seemed to be affected by it the worst out of them both. Of course, he would be, he was part puppy and seeing anything happen to his family was upsetting.

The moment had him laying his head on her shoulder as he looked away from the screen. His face buried as if trying to hide away, and instinctively Amiee’s hand went to stroke his head as the scene played out. Sinclair stayed like that until Amiee gave him the all clear, but of course, he stayed on edge the entire time. 

Their hands stayed tucked together the rest of the movie and up until Sinclair got Amiee into the car before they drove back to the Wharf for dinner.

“I admit the plot and lore was fascinating. But I’ll never be able to look at bees again in the same way,” Sinclair blanched as the waiter took their menus away after they finished their orders. “And then the poor puppy! Amiee, they didn’t have to hurt it,” he whined, still upset about that part of the movie. “I think I may have nightmares tonight.”

“If it makes you feel any better I bet the pup got a lot of treats that day during shooting,” Amiee offered in hopes of cheering him up seeing as he was mainly upset about the dog. “I bet they used jam or something for the effects and had to keep it from licking it all up. It was probably a fun day for it!”

“Now that you mention it! I know one of the tricks they use to get dogs to lick someone is to put flavored grease on the person,” Sinclair pointed out happily. “ I read it in a movie magazine before and thought that’s brilliant of them. I’d be enticed by the smell of bacon grease too, and I’m not even a dog!”

‘Well not a four-legged one but there are definitely some puppy genes in there.’

Amiee thought to herself as she tried to avoid laughing to herself.

“Yeah! It was probably the same as this movie. Maybe we should see if they can add some bloopers in the credits where we get to see the dog rolling around,” she joked swirling the lemon in her water before taking a sip. “Plus, we don’t need you staying up all night when you have an early morning tomorrow.”  

The statement garnered a puzzled look from Sinclair who didn’t understand what she meant. He didn’t think he had anything he had to do in the morning. Unless he was missing something, which he didn’t think he was.

“I do?” He asked, along with an adorable tilt of his head to the side that had her ‘awwing’ internally.

“Yes! I mean…Well actually now that you’re asking me I don’t know!” She laughed. “Don’t you go into the office on Saturday mornings, you’d always used to,” she pointed out, before giving him a cheeky smile. “Unless you’re telling me that you’ve finally fallen out of love with work.”

She always thought it was a bit strange that he went to work on Saturday mornings. Wasn’t forty hours a week and occasionally fifty enough? When she asked him about it one day, he simply just said he liked it, and it helped him keep up with all the work he had. 

Secretly though, she always thought it was to catch up on work he hadn’t done due to his time management. Or lack thereof. Even as perfect as he was, he needed a flaw. Hiding her laughter she listened to him.

“Oh well no, I erm,” he paused for a moment thinking of a way to explain the situation while carding his hand through his hair. He thought and thought and yet there wasn’t any other way but to directly say it. 

“Well you see…oh god this is such a weird place to be talking about this,” he chuckled nervously, even though there was no humor in his voice and his hand had dropped to fidget with his fingers.

“Then we don’t have to,” she replied swiftly, not meaning to bring up anything heavy. “Sorry didn’t mean to rain on the parade, I just always thought it was funny that you went in on Saturdays. You couldn’t pry me from my bed if I didn’t have to be anywhere,” she grinned.

“You’re such a sleepyhead,” he teased, causing Amiee to give him a proud look before a thoughtful look crossed his features. “But no, please don’t apologize, it's not like you would have known. It’s just, well…” He trailed off with a shake of his head before answering truthfully. 

“I stopped going in because, during marriage counseling, the therapist asked me to. They believed it would help mend the issues that had caused us to have to go in the first place.” He explained to her. “It didn’t, hence the divorce, but I did find out I do actually enjoy a nice lie in during the weekend.”

Listening intently up to the end, she couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for Sinclair. He did what he was asked to do, and she assumed that he did try but it didn’t work. Though he did gain something at the end which had her ears perking up. 

“Sinclair?” 

“Hmm?”

Taking a breath, she spoke.

“This is going to make me sound like a right arse but.” There was a pause as she looked at him, a waiting expression on his face before she finished with, “I’m pretty sure I told you that before!”

By the way his eyebrows raised, he hadn’t been expecting that statement to come from her. Even more confused than before he blurted out, “you did?”

“About the lie in thing? Yes!” Her voice was higher than normal as she tried to keep herself from falling over with laughter. She didn’t know why it was so funny but it was, especially paired with the surprised look on his face. “You slept like an absolute log on Saturday mornings when I would stay over. I don’t know why’d you ever torture yourself going in like that.”

“See but that was easy! Do you know how cozy it is to sleep with you-?”

There was a sudden pause, and he could feel his cheeks becoming warm at his terrible word choice. Brown eyes that had widened at his statement stared at him, and he could see a pale red blush begin to spread across her face. 

‘Damnit don’t embarrass her!’

The voice in his head chided him even though in reality Amiee wasn’t embarrassed at all. More flattered than anything. 

“No sorry I-I mean!” Spluttering and tripping over his words, he fumbled for a moment more before carefully stringing the words he found together. “It was nice to have someone that didn’t mind being held or you know, have someone who liked to hang off your back like a kola…it’s very cute, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

What? Did his ex not cuddle with him often? She needed to meet this woman and find out her problem because who wouldn’t want to cuddle with Sinclair? You know what, never mind, maybe it was for the best that they didn’t meet.

“Well, then I’ll have you know that I for one am glad that you are taking the advice and staying home now on Saturdays,” she chirped truthfully. “You work too hard. It's admirable, but also don’t go working yourself to death! I need someone to spot me when I’m being dangerous.”

He grinned warmly at her statement and all she could do was sigh internally. How was one person so handsome, sweet and playful? It was truly easy for her to forget about her problems with him.

“I will try not to! But also please don’t, it would scar me,” he half joked as it probably would do that.“Anyways, enough about me! What do you have planned? I hope that flat hunting is in the cards because I still don’t like where you’re living. It’s not safe.”

Of course he didn’t.

“Sinclair it’s perfectly safe where I live. I’ve been there for almost two years and the only danger to me is my flat itself,” she joked even though it didn’t seem funny to him. 

He just pouted at her and she resisted the urge to playfully roll her eyes at him. She knew he meant well, but she was also used to living in places that were a bit rough around the edges.

That didn’t mean he was wrong though, she did need to find a new place. Not only because she wanted to be closer to the office as the hour commute both ways was draining, but also because she needed an extra room for when Angie came to stay with her.

“If it pleases the court to know,” she informed, sarcasm dripping from her voice, “I’ll probably be moving in autumn after I save a bit.” And it did seem to put him at ease as he let out a pleased ‘good’ while she could only shake her head humorously at him.

“But for tomorrow I’m actually going home! Angie’s getting out of hospital and I was gonna spend a few days with my parents and her. Make sure she’s alright.”

This was the first time Sinclair had heard about this, and his face absolutely brightened at the good news. He knew she had gone back one more time since the initial visit but that was about it. 

“Amiee that’s wonderful!” He exclaimed warmly, his eyes shining while Amiee’s cheeks hurt more than usual at how much she had been smiling. “I’m so glad to hear she’s alright. Do you need my help or anything? Since I’ll be at home I can take you if you want? I quite liked the visit last time oh- no that’s not what I meant. I mean you know it had been a while since I went there, not that the situation was any good.”

“I know what you mean Clair,” she said, saving him as she shook her head with a chuckle. “But no, it’s fine. I’ll probably go sometime in the afternoon since I’m going to stay till maybe Wednesday. But it’s great. I’m just super, super happy I don’t have to see her with that tube again. It’s just…ugh.” 

Just the thought of her sister in hospital made her stomach churn and she tried to push the thoughts as far away as possible. All that mattered now was that she was better, and they could figure it all out after she was home and on the mend.

“Do you know if she’s going to be alright? I mean you know…I’ve read that with things like that it only takes a few minutes to impact the brain and it can damage-.” Stopping his spiel abruptly, Sinclair looked down for a moment as if a thought crossed his mind before he returned his attention to Amiee who patiently waited. “Oh actually, I shouldn't bring something like that up. I’ve been trying to keep in mind that it’s not appropriate when it comes to stuff like that, sorry.”

What he said was a little off putting as she hadn’t at all found it inappropriate. He liked to share information, and it was always accurate when it came to whatever subject they talked about so she didn’t mind. 

Plus, it just meant he cared about what he was talking about and wanted others to know. She wondered briefly if his therapist also told him that. Granted she was getting the idea that it may also have been influenced by someone else. She grimaced at the thought.

“No, no it’s okay! It’s the truth and something the docs were looking out for as well,” she explained. “But thankfully, when I talked to her the other day, even though she sounded a bit croaky, which fair I would be too if I had a tube shoved down my throat. It seems like her motor functions will be fine, and they just want her to do a few months in physical therapy.” 

“Thank goodness! That’s scary stuff and I’m glad she’s okay,” he sighed in relief. “Will you tell her I said hello when you see her? Maybe I can send some flowers with you to take to her as well?”

“Clair no you don’t have to! I’ll tell her you said hello though, she’s going to flip out probably knowing that we work together again.”

This piqued his curiosity, as did most things in life, but this really interested him.

“Really how come?”

It was Amiee’s turn to look down and away from him, hiding her face as she tried to figure out how to tell him her sister was a raging romantic, and would probably go crazy knowing they were ‘together’ again. 

“Oh god, erm how do I explain,” she laughed nervously as she tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear.“Just know Angie used to consider you as one of my ‘bad’ decisions. But in a good way.”

“I don’t follow, a bad decision? In a good way?” Again an adorable head tilt followed his confusion. “Those can’t exist, they’re the complete opposite of each other?” 

“Well okay, how about I put it like this, from the last I read, London’s a city of almost 7 million right?”

“Yes, that's what the BBC showed a few months back. We’re growing at a steady rate.”

“Right, So I don’t think it’s a stretch to say, it’s a bloody miracle that I applied to where you work, and that Arthur happened to not come in, leading you to be the one I had to talk to.”

There was a thoughtful expression on Sinclair’s features as he pondered what that had anything to do with why her sister would freak out. But slowly, he started to get the image and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. To say he was merely happy was an understatement.

“Rubbish!” He exclaimed, startling her before grinning at her reaction. “Is what I would have said, because where’s the logic in that? But, when you put it that way, statistically a lot of things had to go right for us to run into each other again.”

“Exactly! I’m glad you agree,” she nodded. “And I don’t know about you but I’m proper chuffed that things somehow turned out this way.”

“Me too! I’m happy you’re here Amiee and I hope you don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. If you do, I’ll be sure to follow. There are billions of people in the world, and I don’t want you to get lost among them.”

Because he would be damned if he lost her again. 

A warmth bloomed in her tightening chest at his words. His amber eyes were bright, and warm, just like a crackling fireplace on a cool autumn day. The smile he wore radiated that same feeling, as he declared how happy he was, even though just from how he looked, at her one could properly tell how he felt. It caused feelings that swirled in her to push at her, wanting her to get up from her seat and hug him. To never leave again and to stay put with him. 

But, she did her best not to succumb to them as her mind constantly reminded her it was too early. That even if her heart, still entangled with his wanted more, she should wait because things had changed and they needed to tread carefully. At least she could promise him she wouldn’t leave again, because truthfully, she didn’t think she could survive that heartbreak a second time.

So with a shake of her head, she smiled at him, a gentle smile that was illuminated by the warm orange lights of the restaurant. A smile that made him forget that there were other people around as everything became background noise. It was just her and him as she spoke.

“No, not this time. Promise.”

By the time they had finished eating, and Sinclair had gotten them back to her flat, it was almost midnight, and they were both absolutely knackered. Helping her get out of the car, Sinclair led her up the stairs to her flat. Her hand comfortably resting in his as they chatted and laughed up until they made it to her door.

“Well this is me,” she yawned, her body alerting her once more that it was past her bedtime after the fun evening. “Thanks for the film and dinner. And I’m going to pay you back one day I swear.” The last part added on as she had been unsuccessful again at paying for their meal.

“You’re welcome and I absolutely won’t accept it unless! You being around is payment enough!”

“Well if you put it like that how can I say no?” She beamed, causing him to reciprocate her gesture with a grin of his own before they laughed. “But really, thank you for tonight Clair, I had such a good time. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve laughed till my face started hurting!”

“Me too! Hopefully…we can do something like this again soon?” He asked hesitantly, not wanting to make it seem as if he was pushing her to do anything. 

“I would love that! Maybe we can talk about it some when I get back to town? How’s that sound?”

“That’s absolutely perfect!”

His little shout of happiness was accompanied by him squeezing her hand, reminding her that they were indeed holding hands once more. His larger one engulfed her smaller one and she couldn’t help but enjoy the comfort it brought as she squeezed his back.

“Well, it’s getting late and while you’re lucky to get to snooze in, I have a train to catch tomorrow,” Amiee pointed out as she stroked his hand with her thumb absentmindedly. “Drive safe and please call me when you get home okay?”

“I will! And…will you do the same when you have time tomorrow? When you get settled of course!” He added not wanting to seem overbearing, but just wanting to make sure she was safe.

“Of course,” she nodded before they stood in silence. 

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a feeling of underlying energy as they watched one another. Waiting to see who would move first to do anything. If one of her neighbours came out at that moment, they would think they had interrupted a pair of lovers with how close the two were. 

“Night night Clair,” Amiee whispered to break the stillness as she looked up at him. Even in the dim light, his eyes shone bright as they stayed trained on her. 

“Good night Amiee,” he responded in a murmur as he watched her carefully, admiring how she added beauty to any setting they were in. Even in the hallway of her building.

They stood for a moment, hands intertwined for a little longer before they let go of one another. Lingering for a bit to just say goodbye one more time, Sinclair waved before he made his way down the hallway. Amiee watched until he disappeared around a corner before she let herself into her flat which was illuminated by the hallway light.

Kicking her shoes off and relocking the door, she stood there quietly, her back facing the entrance as her mind raced with thoughts. A loud exhale left her lips before she found her back against the door, and she couldn’t stop the smile that brightened her expression as she wrapped her arms around herself. 

Similarly, as Sinclair sat in his car, the radio turned low to provide background noise, he looked in the direction of her flat’s building. Resting against his seat and thinking of all the emotions he had felt that day, he noted that most, if not all of them, were feelings of fondness. It felt good as it had been a while since he had felt that way and it was all because of her. 

Still staring in the direction of her flat, he noticed a light illuminating from her window that was not on earlier. A sense of comfort washed over him knowing she was inside safe and he knew it was okay for him to leave. So giving the building one last glance, he whispered a tender,

“Good night darling.”

A/N: Ekkk i had so much fun with this chapter! I hope it makes up for how angsty the past chapters have been. These two deserve some fluff haha. I'll probably be a while in updating again (as if i'm ever quick) as I think I want to finish more chapters before posting but we will see.

[snowblossomreads]

The Eternal Summer

VI. Cowboy Blues

Summary: Elliott Marston/Reader | Judge Turpin/Reader | Elliott makes his intentions clear - just in time for Turpin's arrival.

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

It had been the longest, strangest month of your life.

What you and Elliott were, you couldn’t say. But it certainly wasn’t what anyone had envisaged when your husband had ordered you to keep his cousin’s bed warm while he made arrangements in Melbourne.

For one thing, he was only supposed to be a few days behind you. Yet here you were, one month later, still at Elliott’s station with no way of knowing where your husband was, if he was ever coming to collect you, or if he was even still alive.

You begged Elliott to send men to Melbourne to search for news of Judge Turpin, but with Quigley on a rampage in the outback, Elliott’s men were dwindling every day, and he couldn’t spare any until Quigley was put down.

So you were left in limbo, separated from your husband, unable to move on.

All you knew for sure was that you didn’t want to let go of how comfortable you were with Elliott. You welcomed his touch, his kisses, and when he took you, you felt like he was giving you pleasure just as much as he was taking his own.

Yet you still missed your husband, and it made everything so much harder. Your cunt might be on loan to Elliott, but was it even possible for your heart to be too?

One morning, you must have seemed particularly down, because Elliott asked you to accompany him somewhere. He didn’t say where, or why - he simply saddled up his horse, ensured you were securely sat behind him, and rode a few miles west, until he finally slowed the horse to a stop and helped you down.

You looked around. You were at a nearby town, in the graveyard behind the church. Elliott reached into the bag affixed to the saddle and withdrew a bunch of flowers. He took you by the hand and silently led you to a grave.

The gravestone was one of the larger ones like you’d seen in the graveyard of St Dunstan’s in London, which were double the width to accommodate two graves: those of a husband and wife. This gravestone, like some of those, marked one grave and one reserved plot; one spouse had died and waited to be joined by the other.

A wilted dark-crimson rose sat at the foot of the grave. Elliott bent down to clear it away and replaced it with a single pink carnation from the flowers in his hand. As he stood up, you looked at the gravestone and read:

Here lies Victoria Marston 1826 - 1860

Underneath was a blank slate, room reserved for her husband - for Elliott.

“We were only married for a year when the sickness took her,” Elliott said quietly, speaking for the first time since you’d left the station.

You looked up at him. You knew he’d been married before, but only because he’d mentioned it once the first day you met. Otherwise, there was no trace - no belongings left behind, no children. Only this one gravestone, a plot of ground, and the flowers Elliott brought.

“It was five years ago, and still I visit her grave once a month. I loved her very much. I… still love her.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if refusing to let grief take hold of him.

“I will always love her. Every day I spend with you, [Y/n], it’s… the happiest I’ve felt since I lost her. And yet, I feel twisted with guilt, as if I’m betraying her somehow. I know it’s not true, that she’s dead and gone… yet still I feel as if I’m betraying my vows to her.”

He turned to you, eyes looking into yours searchingly.

“I’m telling you this, [Y/n], because I want you to know that I understand how it feels when your heart yearns for something that goes against the vows you made. But sometimes… it’s time to move on.”

He held up the remaining flowers in his hand.

“These ones are for you.”

Red and white roses. One didn’t have to be well-versed in floriography to know what those meant.

“Elliott…”

You glanced at the pink carnation on the grave, then back to the roses in his hands.

“My husband isn’t dead, Elliott. He’s coming for me.”

How did you know? You couldn’t, not really. But a part of you knew, some part of your soul that was intrinsically linked to that of your husband, knew he was alive, and you’d see him again.

“You don’t have to leave with him, [Y/n]. You can stay. Stay here, with me. I’ll keep you safe. From him, from anything — and I would never hurt you.”

“Safe from him?” you echoed, frowning. “He’s my husband, Elliott. He’s not a danger to me.”

“No? Then why are you so frightened of him?”

You ducked your head, ashamed to let Elliott see the truth in your eyes.

“I’m not scared of him,” you lied. “I love him,” you said truthfully.

Elliott took your chin between his fingers and forced you to look at him.

“No good husband offers his wife to another.”

“And does a good man accept the offered wife?”

“I don’t claim to be a good man, [Y/n]. I never did. But I believe I was a good husband to Victoria… and I would be a good husband to you. You could be free, free to be whoever you want to be. I can give you that freedom.”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the tears that were welling in your eyes.

“Even - even if I wanted to stay, Elliott… I can’t marry you.”

“Why, because you’re already married? Petition for divorce. It would be granted on grounds of cruelty, I know it would.”

“Do you think any judge is going to let another judge’s wife divorce him?”

“Then he’ll divorce you. You’re an adulterer, after all.”

You took a step back, wiping an errant tear from your eye.

“He’d never. He loves me, Elliott. He’d fight for me.”

Elliott’s hand twitched near his gun.

“So will I.”

“Don’t you dare! Not everything can be settled with a gun, Elliott. I’d never forgive you.”

“And I’ll never forgive myself if I let you leave with him.”

“Why are you saying this now, Elliott? We’ve been… whatever this is… for a month. What’s changed today?”

Elliott gestured towards the carnation on his wife’s grave.

“I’ll always remember her. But I’m not coming back here. I want to move forward — with you, [Y/n]. We can be a family here, you, me and Tommy.”

You blinked, taken aback. “…Tommy?”

“Of course,” Elliott said as if it were obvious. “You think I’d continue employing him if I married you? From what you tell me, you practically raised him, so we’d adopt him as our own and - mmph!”

You cut him off when you grabbed him by the lapel of his waistcoat and pulled him in for a kiss. He was taken aback for a moment, but he quickly melted into the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight while the other kept hold of the flowers you still hadn’t accepted from him.

You kissed him until your lips were numb, and when you finally parted for breath, your skin was sore from rubbing against his facial hair, but you didn’t care.

“Is it too late to accept those flowers?”

“Was that really all I had to say?” Elliott said breathily, and you laughed.

You took the flowers and held them up to smell them. They were fresh and stunningly beautiful. You had no idea a land as barren as Australia could bloom something so lovely.

“I’m… I’m not saying yes,” you said, your voice hardly more than a whisper. “But I’m not saying no. I need time.”

Elliott nodded.

“I understand. Shall we get home? I’m expecting Quigley to show his face any moment now, and I need to be there when he does.”

Home. Was that not London anymore?

***

You arrived at the station in the mid-afternoon, and while Elliott tied the horse, you made your way into the house to find a vase for your flowers. You heard movement in the house, but you paid it no mind, assuming Elliott’s servant was going about his business. After placing the flowers in a vase from the kitchen, you opened the door to the lounge and let out a yelp of surprise when you saw a figure sitting on the sofa with a book in hand. Your immediate thought was that it was Quigley, waiting for Elliott to get home to shoot him, but as the moment of shock passed, your mind caught up with your situation and you realised that you very much recognised the visitor, even from behind.

“William?”

Your husband turned to you. Yes, it was him, it was really him! His skin had tanned in the sun, but no doubt yours had too.

“Darling,” he said with a smile as he put the book down, and he was hardly to his feet when you threw your arms around him. You recognised his smell, the feel of his body against yours, the low rumble in his chest as he chuckled at your enthusiasm.

“Oh, Will, I was so scared,” you cried, head buried against his chest. “I thought you’d died or - or decided you didn’t want me anymore…”

“Oh, bunny, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m sorry I took so long to come for you. The administration in Melbourne is a nightmare, it took a week just to get a house, and another two until I was satisfied it was hospitable enough for you. Did you miss me, then?”

You sniffed and looked up at him. “Very much so. I don’t want to be parted from you for so long ever again.”

William smiled. “You won’t, I swear it. I need my bunny, after all. Won’t you greet your husband with a kiss?”

You squealed happily and lifted yourself on your tip-toes to kiss him. You’d missed this so much, his warmth, his touch, his taste. William wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close against him, his tongue desperately seeking yours, as if a month without you had parched him desperately.

Hearing movement and voices from within his house, Elliott kept his hand over the barrel of his gun as it sat in its holster, ready to whip it out at a moment’s notice. When he pushed open the door and saw another man holding you close, lips and tongue accosting yours, he nearly did draw his gun - until he realised who it was.

He was still tempted to shoot him down.

“Finally arrived, then, cousin,” Elliott said instead, leaning back against the doorframe with his arms folded, as if it were a perfectly normal scene for him to walk on.

You made a muffled grunt of surprise, as if you’d completely forgotten whose house you were in. William finally withdrew his tongue from you, panting heavily, his eyes blown with lust as he looked down at you with a hungry grin.

“Elliott!” you exclaimed, looking over to him, and you felt a pang of guilt when you saw the way he was watching you. “So sorry for the lack of decorum. But isn’t it wonderful? William’s finally here, and he’s alright!”

“Yes. Wonderful.”

“You could be happier to see me, Elliott,” William said with a raised eyebrow, finally tearing his eyes from you to address his cousin. “You’ll no longer be encumbered with hosting duties. I do apologise for stretching your hospitality so far.”

“Nonsense, [Y/n]'s been excellent company,” Elliott replied with a nonchalant shrug. “She’s patched up all my clothes, and my men’s, and fulfilled all the duties she would if she were my own wife.”

“Yes, I bet she has. Well, we’ll be off soon, so you won’t have to bear her company much longer.”

“Do we leave very soon, my love?” you enquired, fear suddenly striking your heart that you might find yourself leaving Elliott too soon.

“Not tonight, obviously, it’s getting dark. And I’m not just here for you, darling, I have other matters to attend to. This Quigley business, Elliott, we’re hearing all about it in Melbourne and he’s stirring up quite a storm. If he shows up here, I’ll arrest him and bring him in for trial myself.”

“Oh, no need to trouble yourself with Quigley, William, I’m expecting him soon enough and I’ve got it quite in hand.”

Elliott patted the gun on his hip with a confident smirk.

“You’re aware of the arrangement I have with Major Ashley-Pitt?”

“Yes, well, if you kill him, so be it. It’ll be much less hassle than escorting him back to Melbourne. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a long ride and I’d like some rest. Do you have suitable quarters?”

Elliott scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well, there’s the men’s quarters, but that’s not good enough for a man of your standing, I suppose. The only bed I’d imagine is suitable would be my own. Go ahead and make use of it, I can bear to sleep in the lodge for a night.”

“Very gracious of you, Elliott, thank you.”

“Of course. Get yourself rested up, William, I’ll get the servant to make dinner for three tonight.”

“Excellent. Come along, [Y/n].”

William placed a hand on your lower back. You glanced at Elliott apologetically, then allowed your husband to guide you to the bedroom.

“Lord have mercy, [Y/n], the hold you have on me,” William said with a groan of relief as he pushed the door closed behind him. “I’ve been unable to sleep without you by my side. Dress off, darling, I need to see you.”

He assisted you with the lace of your dress, although his method seemed to involve a lot more breast-fondling than your own. You let the dress fall away, and William let out a moan of desire when your breasts popped out of the bodice. He grabbed at the waistband of your bloomers and pushed them to the floor, then stood back to get a good look at you.

“Even more beautiful than I remembered. Have you lost weight?”

You looked down and examined your figure. “I suppose I have,” you mused. “The food isn’t as luxurious out here as it is in London.”

“Hmm, I hope Elliott’s been feeding you properly. I won’t have my wife wasting away.”

William placed his hands on your hips as he looked you up and down appraisingly. He smirked in satisfaction, then turned you around to look at you from behind. He ran his hands over your rear, and you shivered with anticipation. William hummed with approval, then pulled your body against him, his hard cock pressing against you through his trousers.

“Oh, I have missed this. Have you missed me, bunny?”

“Yes, yes, I missed you so much, my teddy bear,” you mumbled, then gasped when William slid a hand between your legs and pushed a finger into your folds. He slipped in with ease, and you heard the familiar squelching noise that betrayed your arousal.

“Mmm, you must think me such a cruel husband, getting you addicted to my cock then taking it away for a month. How your cunt must have cried out for me. No matter… I’m here now, and I’m going to live in your cunt until you swell with child. Get on the bed, darling, else I won’t be able to contain myself much longer.”

“How do you want me, sir?” you asked obediently as William stepped back from you to undress himself.

“However you want, darling. It’s the least I can do after starving you for so long.”

He was letting you choose the position? Perhaps a month in Australia had changed him, too.

You climbed onto the bed and laid on your back, head on the pillows, your legs open and ready for him.

“Ah, classic missionary, is it? If my bunny insists.”

“I want to see you, Will.”

William grinned. “Good. I want to watch your face as I fuck you again. I had to take the whores in Melbourne from behind, I couldn’t stand looking at their faces knowing they weren’t you.”

Your heart dropped, and you shrunk into yourself slightly. William, meanwhile, finished undressing himself and climbed on top of you, apparently unaware of the effect of what he’d said.

“You… took whores in Melbourne?” you asked quietly.

“Of course I did,” William replied curtly, as if the question were obvious and bothersome. “You know how hot-blooded I am, darling. Did you expect me to abstain for a month? Don’t worry, I didn’t finish inside any of them. Now, keep your legs nice and wide for me, bunny…”

You obeyed, although your heart wasn’t in it anymore. He slipped inside you with ease, and you whined as you felt him stretching you out, and though you’d ached to see his blissful face again, now you felt nothing but anguish knowing he’d shared that same intimacy with however many whores he’d found in Melbourne.

You wished now you’d asked him to take you from behind so you could hide your face from him. You settled instead for wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and burying your face in his neck, letting him think it an act of intimacy, when really you were hiding the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes.

It had been a long time since you’d tried to hide your anguish as William fucked you into the bed, uncaring if he even noticed your feelings, but it was a skill you’d picked up early and one you remembered now as easy as breathing.

He was grunting loudly with each thrust, and if you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he was being loud on purpose, making sure that Elliott could hear you from the lounge, reminding him that he was your husband, reclaiming your cunt that had merely been on loan.

Elliott could, indeed, hear his cousin’s passions through the walls. He heard William’s grunts, the squeaking of the bedsprings, the thud of the headboard against the wall, the slapping of skin against skin. But what he distinctly didn’t hear was you. He knew how vocal you were; with the intensity of the way you were being fucked right now, you should have been moaning too. So why weren’t you?

He knew he should leave. He could sit out on the porch, practise shooting, get some work done around the station. He had no cause to sit at his desk as he was now, staring blankly at his ledger, fooling himself that he intended to work when all he could do was sit and listen to another man taking you in his own bed.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He thought that if he did, William might know somehow that he wasn’t there to protect you, and what was now just selfish lovemaking would turn into something worse.

So he stayed, staring blankly at the ledger, and when half an hour had passed, Elliott had to give his cousin credit where it was due - he had considerable stamina for his age.

Eventually, Elliott became so used to the noise that it became background noise, and he was actually able to get some work done. By the time the noise stopped and William’s grunts were shortly replaced by his snoring, an hour had passed.

Elliott closed his ledger with a sigh, then stood up to stretch his legs. Just as he did so, the bedroom door opened, and he spotted you in a nightgown scurrying across the hall to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, you emerged, and you jumped when you opened the door to find Elliott standing against the doorframe, waiting for you.

“Sorry, it’s all yours,” you mumbled, thinking he wanted the bathroom. You stepped aside to let him in, but instead Elliott wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you in close.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him, even with his lips pressed against your ear.

“No,” you replied softly.

“Then why are your legs shaking?”

You glanced down and realised that your legs were indeed shaking, as if you were a newborn foal walking for the first time.

“I’m just tired. I need to rest.”

“Come and sit down.”

“…Alright.”

Elliott led you back into the lounge and sat you down on the sofa. He disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, then returned with a glass of water, which you took gratefully.

“I’m surprised you can ever sleep at home with those snores,” Elliott commented as he sat down next to you and delicately wrapped an arm around your waist.

You smiled. “It took some getting used to, but now I can’t sleep without the sound of snoring. That’s why I never complain about yours.”

“I don’t snore!” Elliott protested, and you laughed.

“Not as loud as that, but you do. It’s fine, I told you, I like it. Especially when I wake up first and I can feel your breath on my neck… and even in your sleep, as soon as I move you pull me in close and kiss me…”

You smiled, blushing, then your heart dropped slightly when you realised you’d probably never wake up next to him again.

Elliott looked at you, saw the sadness in your eyes, and made a decision. He took your glass from your hand and set it aside, then crouched down on one knee in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“It doesn’t have to end, [Y/n]. Stay with me.”

You closed your eyes, willing the tears not to spill.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“[Y/n], I just had to sit here and listen to that man fuck you for an hour solid, and not once did I hear a peep from you. He doesn’t even know how to please you! You think he cares about your happiness? I can give you so much more, [Y/n]. I can give you freedom. Freedom to be who you want to be. To discover who you want to be. Tommy too, we’ll adopt him and he’ll be free from his service. Don’t you want that?”

“It’s not that simple, Elliott,” you said with a shake of your head. “I love my husband, I’d never hurt him.”

“Then let me hurt him.”

You looked up at him in disbelief through watery eyes, and you could tell from the hard look in his eyes that he was being completely serious.

“No,” you said firmly. “Not everything can be solved with a gun, Elliott.”

“Then how do we solve this?”

“Don’t you see? We don’t! We can’t. There’s no resolution here that doesn’t break my heart.”

Elliott sighed, closed his eyes resolutely, then bowed his head to steel himself. It was now or never.

He looked at you. You, with your eyes full of tears, holding them back even now in an attempt to be strong. You, who had done nothing wrong in your life, and was being punished for it with a marriage to a man you thought you loved, but when you spoke of how he treated you, how could you love a man like that?

Only a heart strong enough to love a man like Judge Turpin could be capable of loving Elliott Marston.

That was the irony of it all. If you weren’t married to his cousin, you’d be free - but you’d have never come to Australia. You’d never have met.

There was no way your love could be anything but doomed.

But it was real. He loved you, and he knew you loved him. You proved it every day with your sweet words, your blushes and smiles, your kisses and your embraces.

But you’d never say it, not while married to another man, not when to admit it was to break your own heart.

Well, his heart was breaking anyway. He might as well go all the way.

Elliott reached up to cup your face in his hands, his thumb wiping away an errant tear.

“[Y/n]… I love you.”

And there it was. The truth of the matter, laid out in three simple words.

I love you too, Elliott. Let’s get married tomorrow. We’ll adopt Tommy, have more children of our own and live out our lives together as far from London as we can get.

That was what you wanted to say. And maybe you would have but for the fact of your husband, asleep in the other room. Yes, he could be cruel, and he cared more for his own pleasure than your comfort, but without him you’d not be here at all. You’d still be on the streets of London, Tommy would have hung from the gallows, and you’d be all alone, if you were even alive.

How could you repay that with heartbreak?

So instead, you closed your eyes, not wanting to look at Elliott as you broke his heart and your own instead.

“You can’t,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Elliott.”

“[Y/n] —”

“The lady said no, Elliott.”

Your heart dropped when you heard the familiar sound of your husband’s voice. When had the snoring stopped? How long had he been standing there in the doorway, listening to Elliott pour his heart out to you?

Elliott stood and whirled around, his hand instinctively jumping to the gun on his hip.

William had apparently been awake long enough to dress himself, although in the Australian heat he had forgone the cravat and waistcoat over his shirt.

“I let you fuck my wife for a few weeks, and this is how you repay me? By trying to steal her from me? You may have borrowed her cunt, Elliott, but her heart is mine.”

Elliott sneered, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of his gun.

“Of course she thinks she loves you, William. She had to convince herself of it, because the alternative was hating you.”

William glanced at Elliott’s hand that gripped the gun, and he smirked.

“Are you going to shoot me, cousin?”

“Here and now? No. I’d not do you the dishonour of shooting you unarmed. But if you don’t have a gun with you, I’ll lend you my second revolver.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

Elliott stepped towards him menacingly, fingers twitching as he resisted pulling the gun out there and then.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to duel you for her.”

***

You hadn’t dressed in such a hurry in all your life. You were fairly certain you hadn’t laced your bodice up fully, but that was hardly your main concern right now.

You rushed outside to find the two men pacing around, each checking their guns. A small crowd of Elliott’s men had formed, jostling and laughing with each other, as if they were getting ready to watch a sports match.

You ran up to Elliott and grabbed his arm.

“Elliott, don’t do this, please!”

He looked up at you, a fierce look in his eyes.

“He’ll never let you go, [Y/n]. You know that. This is the only way.”

“I’ll never forgive you if you kill him.”

“I won’t shoot to kill. I just want to hurt him.”

You sniffed. “You’re hurting me, El.”

Elliott frowned, looking imploringly into your eyes, desperate for you to understand him, but you couldn’t.

What you did understand was that he and your husband were men, and men always did what they wanted, regardless of your feelings. This was no different.

So you stepped away, retreated to the porch, and sought comfort in Tommy, who was waiting for you there.

“Don’t look, Tommy,” you said dully, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you.

“I’ve seen loads of duels by now.”

You didn’t argue. Tommy was still a child, but he was growing into a man, and he’d do what he wanted too.

The men took their marks. Elliott had promised not to shoot to kill, but what of William? He held no issue with sending men to the gallows, but would he fire the shot himself?

Did either of them really expect you to want to be with him if he killed the other?

“This is the last chance,” called Cavanagh, who was apparently officiating the duel, as William and Elliott took their stances. “Lord Turpin, do you forfeit the duel and give your wife up to Mr Marston?”

“Of course I bloody don’t,” William snapped.

“Mr Marston, do you forfeit the duel and give up your pursuit of Lord Turpin’s wife?”

“Never.”

“Alright, then. Count of three. One, two… three.”

BANG-BANG!

The sand at Elliott’s feet blew in the air, and he laughed as he realised the shot hadn’t landed.

Your relief that Elliott was unharmed was short-lived when you looked over to William and saw that he’d fallen onto his side.

“Will!”

You ran to his side as fast as your legs would carry you over the sand, and skidded to your knees next to him. William was cradling his shin, which was bleeding profusely, and you immediately tore apart his trouser leg to expose the wound.

“Fucking bastard! He shot me! Your fucking boyfriend shot me!”

“I know, I know, I saw! Just hold still and let me look at it.”

Bloody Elliott and his bloody perfect aim. The bullet had just grazed the lower leg, and was probably lying around in the dirt somewhere. Even so, you knew from your own experience that it was a painful wound, so you didn’t begrudge the stream of swear words currently spewing from your husband’s mouth.

You tore a strip off your dress and wrapped it around his thigh to keep the bleeding as limited as you could to allow you to get him inside. You turned to Elliott’s men, who were still gawking, and shouted, “One of you help me get him inside!”

They hesitated, but behind you, Elliott nodded, so Cavanagh jogged over to pull William to his feet and let him lean on his shoulder as he hobbled back into the house.

You watched them go, fraught with worry for your husband, then turned to Elliott.

“Happy now?!”

Elliott shrugged. “I told you I wouldn’t shoot to kill. Just be glad I didn’t shoot him in the dick.”

You scoffed, then turned your back on him to follow William into the house. Cavanagh had just sat him on the sofa when you came in, and the servant poked his head around the door.

“Do you know how to clean a wound?” you asked him.

The servant nodded - why hadn’t you ever learnt his name? - and sat down on the floor, already with a cloth and bowl in his hands. How many times had he cleaned up a victim of Elliott’s gun-happy rages?

“I don’t care what he thinks his duel means,” William hissed, gritting his teeth against the pain as you knelt by his side. “He won’t have you.”

“No, of - of course not. I’m still your wife, William. I’ll always be your wife.”

“Try and leave here with her, and I won’t aim for the leg,” Elliott said from the doorway, his voice dripping with venom.

“Try it, you bloody bedswerver!” William shouted back. Whether it was the pain in his leg or the emotions of the whole situation, you couldn’t tell, but any sense of decorum your husband had was long gone. “I swear, I’ll drag you to court and sentence you myself - bloody hell, man, be careful!” he shouted at the servant, who was now dabbing rubbing alcohol on the wound.

“The only way you’ll leave here is alone or in a casket!”

“Stop it, both of you!”

You surprised even yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d raised your voice - and it had certainly never been at a man.

You stood, fighting back the tears that were welling in your eyes.

“It’s always the same with you men, fighting over who has control! I’m sick of it! You both claim to love me, yet neither of you seem to give a damn what I want!”

Elliott stepped towards you, looking you in the eyes earnestly.

“Then tell us what you want, [Y/n],” he said calmly, with none of the anger he’d been showing your husband. “Look me in the eye and tell me truly you want to leave here with him, and I won’t stop you.”

You hesitated.

“I… I don’t know what I want,” you said truthfully.

William scoffed. “You never know what you want.”

“Have you ever asked her?!” Elliott spat.

“I don’t need to ask her, Elliott, I know what she wants. Better than she does! Don’t let this man poison your mind, [Y/n] —”

“Poison her mind? With what, independent thought? God forbid.”

William grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, his leg now wrapped in a bandage. He and Elliott stared daggers at each other, both men’s faces twisted with hatred. William put a possessive hand on your shoulder.

“Very well. Let her choose. She won’t choose you anyway, Elliott. What, marry you and live out here, in this backwater desert? We live a life of luxury in London, don’t we, [Y/n]? In a few months we’ll be on our way back there and this whole debacle will be behind us. You’ll be nothing but a memory to her.”

Elliott sneered, then glanced at you, and his expression softened when he saw the tears in your eyes. He looked back at William.

“We’ll sort this Quigley business, then I want you out of here. Whether or not she leaves with you… that’s up to her.”

William considered the proposal, then nodded curtly.

“Very well. Until then.”

***

Dinner that evening was the most awkward affair you could have envisaged.

You were grateful that the servant, more observant than perhaps Elliott gave him credit for, had moved your chair to be seated next to your husband, making for you the awkward decision of whether to sit with Elliott as you always had, or to move next to William.

You did your best to fill the awkward silence, asking William about Melbourne, his work, the house he’d taken so much time and care to find for the two of you.

“And how do you find Australia herself?” Elliott asked, speaking for the first time since you’d all sat down. “She’s a harsh mistress, not every man can handle her.”

“Far too hot, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“You’ve certainly tanned, darling,” you said, raising a hand to gently touch William’s cheek. “I always thought you don’t get nearly enough sunlight cooped up in court all day. You look healthier now.”

William looked at you and swelled with pride at the compliment, then raised an eyebrow at you.

“And you, my dear, appear to have burnt. Did you overcook yourself?”

You withdrew your hand and blushed, although there wasn’t much skin to turn red that wasn’t already.

“I… sat out on the ridge too long. I was - um - waiting for you. Elliott had to bring me back before I roasted completely.”

William glanced over at Elliott. “I’m surprised you let her burn as much as she has, Elliott. Or do you like your girls crispy?”

Elliott’s jaw twitched. Before he could speak, there was a knock on the door, and one of his men let himself in to ask him about the reward for Quigley.

“Do you suppose he’ll be here shortly?” William asked with mild interest when the man left.

“Yes, I think so. I’ve got what’s left of my men guarding the whole station. That does beg the question, however, of what I’m going to do with the two of you.” Elliott pointed at you with his fork. “That man’s not getting remotely near you, that’s for sure. You’re staying inside.” He chewed thoughtfully, then said, “I suppose we don’t want you dying either, William.”

“I don’t intend on putting myself on the front line to protect your station, Elliott,” William scoffed. He placed a hand over yours. “I’ll look after [Y/n].”

Elliott didn’t seem to approve of that, but he said nothing about it.

“And what about you, Elliott?” you asked, your voice laced with worry. “I don’t want you dying either.”

Elliott smirked with self-assuredness you prayed wasn’t misplaced.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll kill Quigley before he has a chance to blink.”

After dinner, William retired for an early night, not having taken the nap he’d meant to take earlier on account of spending an hour fucking you instead. Although you weren’t tired, you obligingly went to bed with him, and when he fell asleep two orgasms later, you slipped out of his tight grip and got back into your dress.

You followed the sounds of gunshots to find Elliott around the back of the house, shooting at apparently nothing.

“What are you doing?”

Elliott turned around, and smiled when he saw you were alone.

“Just emptying my revolver. I want it freshly loaded when our visitor shows up. And I couldn’t stand to listen to William fucking you again, so I thought I’d pretend these fence posts are his dick.”

“Elliott, you shouldn’t say that,” you said in hushed tones, glancing around as if your sleeping husband could hear you from inside the house.

Elliott chuckled and wrapped his spare arm around your waist to pull you in close. You hesitated, but your body reacted to his so naturally, you found yourself melting into his embrace. He smiled and kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s going to be alright, [Y/n]. I promise you.”

You looked up at him, desperate to say the words you never could, your heart aching from being torn in two.

“You said you’re sleeping in the lodge tonight?”

Elliott nodded questioningly.

“Maybe we could… go there now? Together, I mean…”

A devilish grin broke out across his face, and you ducked your head in embarrassment at your own forwardness.

“Well, well, well… sweet Lady Turpin, sneaking out of bed to proposition another man while her husband sleeps. You have grown bold, haven’t you?”

“I… we don’t have to… I don’t mean — I just want to be alone with you for a bit. Is there something wrong with seeking a bit of companionship?”

Elliott leaned down to kiss you, but then a shot rang out in the distance, and you were both jolted out of the moment, both of you turning towards the direction the shot came from.

“Maybe Scotty’s got Quigley,” suggested one man as he came jogging around the corner.

Elliott rolled his eyes, then took your hand and wordlessly pulled you away towards the lodge.

“They’ll warn me when he’s here,” he said, his voice low with the darkness that he saved for his men but dissipated when he looked at you. “Until then… you’re right. A bit of companionship is just what we both need.”

The lodge was a cabin near the back of the station, nothing as comfortable as Elliott’s house, but it was much better than the men’s quarters, and when the door closed behind you, you could almost forget you were anywhere at all. The lodge was the world as far as you cared, and nothing mattered to you in that moment but Elliott and his wandering hands as he pushed you up against the wall and kissed you as if he could only breathe air from your lungs.

You clung to him desperately, any sense of propriety or reservation forgotten the moment you closed the door.

Elliott grabbed hungrily at your bodice, pulling it down to release your breasts, and you whined into the kiss when he began pawing at you with desperation, as if it was his last chance to touch you and he might be interrupted at any moment.

You finally gasped for air when Elliott pulled away, your already sore skin stinging from the friction of his facial hair, but you didn’t care.

Elliott dropped to his knees in front of you and pulled your dress down past your hips. He let out a hungry growl when he saw your cunt, and you gasped when he buried his face between your legs, tongue desperately seeking the sweetest spots that he knew only took well.

The fact that his cousin had finished inside you only a short while ago did nothing to deter Elliott as he passionately made out with your cunt, and you felt your stress melting away with each lick, each contented hum from Elliott’s lips that betrayed the pleasure he found in worshipping you.

When his tongue began caressing your sweet spot with gentle yet rapid caresses, your orgasm came over you like an explosion. Elliott held your thighs firmly in his large hands, steadying you as your legs buckled beneath you, and he took your weight with no protest as you shuddered through your high, only pulling back when he was satisfied you were completely sated.

You were so lightheaded that at first you didn’t realise Elliott was making no move to take his own clothes off, and in fact it wasn’t until he was guiding your arms through your sleeves that you realised he was redressing you.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” you asked, feeling a little dejected that he apparently had no interest in you.

“I don’t need to fuck you to show you how I feel,” Elliott said softly. He took your hand and led you over to the nearby couch, and when you settled into his arms, you felt like you could fall asleep there and then.

“You’re right,” he murmured in your ear. “I just want to be alone with you for a bit.”

“Then why did you use your tongue if not to ready me for you?”

Elliott chuckled, his warm breath tickling your ear.

“You’ve been fucked enough today, [Y/n]. I wanted to make you feel good. Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Good. That’s all I care about anymore.”

You must have dozed off for a bit, because before you knew it, night had fallen and you were awoken when Elliott lifted you gently to move away from you. You blinked, bleary-eyed, wondering why Elliott was leaving. He opened the door and you heard the noise of a galloping horse, prompting you to shake yourself awake and follow Elliott outside.

The horse came to a stop in the middle of the station and you caught up with Elliott just as he met up with the half a dozen men that had gathered around the riderless horse.

A piece of paper was pinned to the horse’s saddle. One man tore it off and opened it to read, “Anyone can leave safely before dawn except Marston. The girl will not be harmed. Yours cordially, Matthew Quigley.”

Elliott snatched the paper from the man’s hand and screwed it up in anger. “He must think I’m stupid! This just means he’s gonna spring something on us in the night. Alright - nobody sleeps.”

He grabbed his hat from Cavanagh’s head. “Give me that!” he snarled, taking the jacket too, before taking you by the arm and leading you back towards the house.

“Come on, we’ve got to get you safe.”

“But the note said —”

“I know what the note says. Don’t believe a word of it. A monster like him, he’ll shoot anyone in sight, innocent or no. Go back to bed with your useless lump of a husband, meanwhile I’ll keep the monster at bay.”

“You expect me to sleep now?” you asked as you crossed the threshold, and Elliott stopped in his tracks, clearly not intending to follow you in.

“Sleep, read, fuck, whatever you want. Just stay safe. Quigley wants me, which means for once you’re not safe by my side. The only other man I trust to protect you, God help me, is William. Promise me you’ll stay inside.”

“I promise, El. Just - be careful, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

He smiled smugly. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll outfox this snake if it’s the last thing I do.”

[snowblossomreads]

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask Game Part II

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy? 🎥 Pick a fic and I'll tell you the song I imagine playing during its movie trailer.

📝 How many words do you have posted?

🤩 What's the most meaningful comment you've ever received?

🔮What's your favorite plot twist you've ever written?

👄 Your OTP are having their first kiss. What song do you imagine is playing?

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

🙊Your coworkers or classmates stumble across one of your fics, but don't know you're the author. Do you fess up? Or keep quiet?

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

👶Fankids: How you do you feel about them? Would your OTP have kids?

🐗How do you handle trolls?

🟥How long do you spend in edits?

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

💪What motivates you to write?

🚿Where do your best ideas seem to strike?

🌠What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

💻What do you write your stories on? Laptop, phone, paper, etc.

🤔What are some words or phrases you find yourself overusing?

📕How do you feel about people printing your fics?

🤷‍♀️What's a fic you didn't expect to be popular, but really took off?

🍎What's something you learned while researching for a fic?

🥘What wip are you most excited about?

🦗Do you write in sequence or jump around?

👀 Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

😱What's your greatest fear as a fanfic writer?

☕Coffee or tea while you write?

📈Which are your top three most popular fics by bookmarks?

🎬One of your fics gets turned into a TV series. Which one is it and what network is it on?

🛌 What's a trope you haven't written, but want to?

🐸 If you incorporated your OTP into a Disney movie plot, which would it be?

👩‍🎓 Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

⏳If you could go back in time and tell your younger writer self something, what would it be?

💯 What rating do you write the most? Gen Audiences, Teen, Mature, or Explicit? How many fics at that rating do you have?

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For the Love of Books | Sinclair/Betty (OC)

X. The Lion's Den

Summary: Betty and Sinclair attend a party.

AN: Now with added Lionel :D

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Betty had never been one for adventure. She preferred to stay in and read about other people having adventures. Moving all the way to London from Falmouth to open her own bookshop had been a terrifying prospect, and certainly the most daring thing she’d ever done.

Learning to drive, being in a relationship, having sex - these were all things that most people did as a normal part of life, but they’d passed Betty by. Then came Sinclair, bringing all these adventures into her life, showing her new ways to experience the world. She loved the adventure that was being with him, and she happily agreed to any crazy idea he came up with.

But even so, his latest idea had taken some convincing and a lot of puppy dog eyes. For there was no way Betty could ever understand the appeal of rollercoasters, yet eventually she caved and agreed to go to Thorpe Park with him.

Leaving Goldie in Mei-Li’s care, Sinclair drove the two of them in the Accord to the theme park, which was only a 20 minute drive away but it felt like an eternity to Betty, especially when the tallest rollercoasters loomed on the horizon as they got closer. Sinclair, of course, told Betty all about the theme park that had opened 13 years ago, and he assured her that the rides were safe.

Sinclair practically bounced out of the car and Betty had to jog to catch up with him at the park entrance. His enthusiasm was admittedly infectious, and Betty thought that some of the rides might be fun, so long as they weren’t too fast or too high.

Somehow, Sinclair convinced Betty to go on the ‘Flying Fish’ ride. He was practically vibrating with excitement when they got off, ready to go another five times, and he turned to Betty to suggest that they go again when she dashed off into the nearest bush and promptly vomited.

“Betty!”

Sinclair quickly ran to her side and gathered her hair in his hand to hold it back from her face. With his other hand, he rubbed her back soothingly as she vomited again, then after a few moments she straightened up and Sinclair offered her his handkerchief.

“I’m never doing that again,” she mumbled as she wiped her face.

“Definitely not! Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and have a sit down.”

Ten minutes later, Betty emerged from the toilets feeling as clean as she could having used a public toilet, and found Sinclair at a picnic bench, tucking into some no doubt overpriced food.

He swallowed his mouthful of hotdog and said, “I bought you some fries in case you’re hungry but if you still feel sick and you don’t want to eat that’s okay. How do you feel?”

“Better. When we have kids, you can take them here, I’ll stay home with Goldie.”

“…When we have kids?”

“Well, I fully intend to get married and have kids and grow old with you. You’d better tell me now if you don’t want to, before I get invested.”

Sinclair smiled and wriggled happily in his seat. “I’d love that. Let me just get divorced first, though. Speaking of how much I love you - it’s a lot, by the way - Valentine’s Day is next week.”

Betty popped a fry into her mouth. She was hungry, but she didn’t want to upset her stomach again.

“Yes, it is. Did you want to do something for it? I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day before. What do we do that’s so different to every other day?”

“Well, I was going to offer to take you out somewhere nice to eat, but last night my cousin called me, he’s having a party on Valentine’s Day. He’s no romantic but he’ll take any excuse to throw a party. Would you like to go? He always throws the best parties, he’s got a huge manor in the countryside and all the food and drink is free!”

“You want me to meet the family already?”

Sinclair waved a hand. “It’s only my cousin. Neither of us had siblings and we’re the same age so we’re the closest either of us has to a brother.”

“Big manor in the countryside? Is he rich too, then?”

“Oh, very. Much richer than me.”

“Richer than you, eh? Is he single?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened as he bit into his hotdog, and Betty laughed.

“I’m kidding, Sinclair! Your cousin could be the richest man in the country and I’d still rather be with you.”

“Goo’cuseis,” Sinclair replied with his mouth full of hotdog.

“What?”

Sinclair swallowed, then repeated, “Good, because he is!”

“He is what?”

“The richest man in the country. He’s a billionaire, I’m just a humble millionaire. Only the Queen is richer than him.”

Betty thought back to last year’s Sunday Times rich list for a moment, then dropped a chip in surprise.

“Your cousin is Lionel Shabandar?”

Sinclair nodded, as if he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb on her.

“So do you want to go? It’s okay if not, we can stay in or we can go to a restaurant —”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Betty said quickly. “I’d like to meet your family. I want to hear all the stories about what baby Sinclair got up to. I bet you were so cute!”

“What do you mean were?” Sinclair asked in mock offence.

“Well, of course you’re still cute now. What do you want to do for the afternoon?”

“Oh, don’t you want to go home? I thought you might not want to go on any more rides.”

“No, I don’t, but I don’t fancy a car ride either. I’m happy to watch you go on the rides. Plus there’s other stuff we can do. I’d love to go to the petting farm!”

“Yes, let’s do that! But don’t tell Goldie we’ve been petting other animals, he might get jealous.”

Betty decided not to mention that Goldie couldn’t understand English, and if he did he probably wouldn’t be jealous, and instead she fished out the park map to find their way to the farm while Sinclair started listing all the animals the farm had.

“I heard they have ponies, do you want to pet the ponies? And sheep and goats too, but I don’t think I’ll pet the pigs, although they are still very interesting so I’d like to see them.”

“I want to see all of them, and maybe once you see how sweet pigs are, you’ll stop eating their brothers and sisters,” Betty said with a smirk, looking up at Sinclair, who had finished his hotdog and was now licking the mustard from his fingers. He looked at her with alarm.

“Do you think they’ll be able to tell?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out if one of them jumps at you.”

Betty stood up and Sinclair followed her, eyes wide with worry that an angry pig was going to tackle him.

“Can pigs jump? I have no idea if pigs can jump. Maybe we should ask someone there, just in case —”

Betty laughed and took Sinclair’s hand as they meandered through the crowds towards the ferry station for the farm. “Relax, Sinclair, they’re not going to be able to tell you’ve eaten pork.”

“Do you want me to stop eating pork? I can stop if you want, although I’ll miss the pork sandwiches that David does, but your halloumi burgers do look really nice.”

“Just pork or other meats too?”

“All of them! I’ll stop eating meat from right now. That hotdog was my last meat ever! Oh, no, but I have some chicken in the fridge… well, I’ll finish that off, then I’ll stop.”

Betty stopped walking suddenly, and Sinclair skidded to a halt when he realised she’d stopped, her hand in his preventing him from moving any further.

“You’d give up meat for me?” she asked with a frown.

“Of course,” Sinclair said with a shrug, as if it was a trivial thing. “It makes you uncomfortable so I’ll stop. Besides, when one of us cooks we always eat vegetarian so it’s not like - mmhm!”

She interrupted him with a kiss, which he happily reciprocated, and when they separated Betty was looking at him with such sweet adoration in her eyes that Sinclair wanted to melt.

“You never cease to amaze me with how sweet you are, Sinclair,” Betty smiled.

“I just want to make you happy, Betty. I love you.”

“I love you too. Now, come on, let’s go pet some ponies.”

---

The following Friday, Betty stepped out of her dingy London flat feeling like an absolute imposter, dressed in a gold dress and heels to go to a party at the home of the richest man in the country. Not only that, but she was attending as the date of said richest man’s also very rich cousin, who had managed to avoid mentioning in the last four months of knowing her that his cousin was Lionel Shabandar.

Sinclair was waiting outside, and they both equally gaped when they set eyes on each other.

”Sinclair - a limo?!”

”Betty… you look amazing.”

She blushed. She’d closed the shop early and spent all afternoon and far too much money at the salon getting her very curly afro straightened and the money she had left after that had gone towards her dress. She knew that the type of people she’d meet tonight were the type who could tell if she wore a dress from Primark, and would judge her hard for it.

”Thanks,” she said with a smile, fiddling with her hair nervously. “You look even more handsome than usual. Have you combed your hair?”

”Have I —? Never mind my hair! Look at yours! I almost didn’t recognise you! Oh - before I forget - since it’s Valentine’s Day…”

He produced a bouquet of roses from behind his back with a grin, and Betty blushed even harder.

”Sinclair! You didn’t have to go to all this trouble…”

”But it’s Valentine’s Day!” he said with his best puppy dog eyes. “And I have the best date in the world!”

”You’re so cute.” Betty leant up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. Let me just put these upstairs —“

”It’s okay, there’s a vase in the limo! It’s so much fun, there’s a mini fridge too, and a TV, and —“

”Are we going to a party at a mansion or in the car?”

”Both! Come on - here, let me help you in.”

Sinclair opened the door for her and helped her in like a proper gentleman, then he tucked the roses into a compartment and instructed the driver to take them to his cousin’s mansion.

”Clair, be honest, do I look okay? I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb among all these rich people…”

”You look so beautiful, Betty! I mean it. How did you get your hair so straight? That must have taken ages.”

”Oh, it took all afternoon. Straightening an afro isn’t an easy task, I wouldn’t dare to try it myself, I had to get someone to do it. It’s why I don’t straighten it often, it’s far too much effort.”

”It looks amazing. So beautiful. I’d love it if you were able to magically straighten it so you could have it like this more often. Not that I don’t love your curly hair, I adore your curly hair, but I love this too. You’d look good with any hair. Or no hair! Please don’t try that, though. And the dress is amazing! Gold suits you. Any colour suits you, but I really, really like this one. Do you want to see what’s in the mini fridge? I had a little peek on the way over, but I haven’t had any of it yet. Only the snacks. There’s still some crisps left, I think, but I ate most of them, sorry. There’ll be loads of food at the party, and loads of drinks, and they’re all free! Lionel really goes all out for his parties. He goes all out for everything. You think I’m rich, wait until you’ve seen his place. He has artwork worth millions of pounds, just sitting there!”

”Is that any different to your cars just sitting there?” Betty interjected.

”My cars aren’t worth that much!” Sinclair insisted. He was pouring the champagne into glasses now, and shooed Betty’s hand away when she tried to help. “Okay, a few of them are worth millions, but not nearly as many. Natalie always said I had more money than sense, but if anyone does, it’s Lionel. Here you go!”

He finally stopped to breathe as he handed her a glass of champagne.

”Happy Valentine’s Day to the best girlfriend ever!”

Betty laughed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Clair. I love you.”

His eyes lit up as if she hadn’t said it a thousand times before. ”I love you too!”

They clinked glasses and drank, and Betty swore it tasted just the same as a £20 bottle from Somerfield, but she was sure the price tag was significantly higher.

”So, you just kind of dropped the bomb on me the other day that your cousin is Lionel Shabandar,” Betty said as she leant back into his arms on the double-wide seat. “Do you know him very well? I barely know my cousins.”

”Yes, we’re the same age, so we grew up together and went to Winchester at the same time. We were both very interested in business, and obviously we’re both rich and successful, but he’s even better off than I am because he invested a lot of his money whereas I’ve always loved spending. Then he bought all these media companies and put them into one big company so he owns most media companies in the country now and he can afford to spend even more than I ever did.”

”Yeah, I know he’s got a huge publishing house. Most of my stock is published by Shabandar Books.”

”Not just books! He owns TV channels, magazines, newspapers. I keep telling him he needs to invest in the internet, all my research at work says it’s the next big thing.”

”What’s internet?”

Sinclair’s eyes widened in the excited way they did when he realised he could explain something new to her, and so Betty spent the rest of the trip listening to him explaining some miraculous technology that let computers talk to each other even when they were miles apart. She was so focused on listening to him that she almost didn’t notice the limo slowing to a stop as they approached the mansion, and she almost jumped when the driver got up to let them out.

”Wow.”

It wasn’t eloquent, but it just about summed up Betty’s feelings when she stepped out of the limo - aided, of course, by her very gentlemanly boyfriend - and saw the mansion before her.

She clung onto Sinclair’s arm and let him guide her down the path. The gardens were packed with partygoers, and Betty didn’t want to get lost in the sea of people.

Sinclair was narrating as they walked down the path, pointing out stories behind statues, most of which seemed to be, “Lionel likes lions because of his name so he buys anything with a lion on it.”

“Oh, there he is!” Sinclair exclaimed. “Lionel!”

A man turned around, around the same age as Sinclair and bearing a strong family resemblance. He smiled and went to greet Sinclair with a handshake, but instead Sinclair pulled him into an embrace.

”Good to see you, cuz!”

”Ah - Sinclair. Good to see you too,” Lionel said with a restrained smile. He endured the embrace until Sinclair let him go. He turned to Betty and smiled very differently - warm, welcoming, and his eyes looked her up and down. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Elizabeth Bennett,” Betty said, holding out her hand to greet him. She blushed when, instead of shaking her hand, Lionel took it gently and kissed the back of her hand as if the sound of her name immediately turned him into Mr Darcy.

”A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Lionel Shabandar.”

”Yes, I… know who you are.”

Sinclair wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. Lionel raised an eyebrow and dropped Betty’s hand.

”Betty’s my date for this evening,” Sinclair said firmly. “And every evening.”

”Oh, is that so?” Lionel replied, though he didn’t take his eyes off Betty for an instant. “You’re not tired of my cousin talking your ear off yet?”

”Of course not, I love listening to him talk.”

”Well, someone has to, I suppose,” Lionel shrugged, then turned his attention back to Sinclair. “What happened to that wife of yours? Natasha, was it?”

“Natalie. We’re divorcing. Didn’t your mum tell you?”

”Oh, probably, I don’t really listen when she starts talking about family drama. Well, I’m glad for you, Sinclair. She was such a bore. I’m sure you’re much more engaging, aren’t you, Elizabeth?” Lionel said, turning to Betty once again.

”I hope so.”

”She’s amazing!” Sinclair gushed. “She’s so smart, she owns a bookshop that she runs all by herself, and she used to be a librarian so she’s read almost as many books as I have, and she’s great at memorising things like the Dewey decimal system, cooking recipes, and she can recite most of Shakespeare by heart!”

Lionel chuckled. “A literature lover, I take it? I’m quite partial to paintings myself, and they do say a picture can paint a thousand words.”

”A thousand words isn’t actually all that much. Especially not when you’re dating Sinclair. He can say a thousand words in one breath.”

“She’s right, I can!” Sinclair grinned. “And she’ll listen to every one of them. Or at least pretend to. Say, Lionel, why don’t you show Elizabeth some of your artwork? She didn’t believe me when I told her you had paintings worth millions.”

“Yes, of course I will! But it’ll have to be later, I have rounds to do. Excuse me.”

Lionel took Betty’s hand to kiss it again, then sauntered off to speak to some other important rich white man.

“Well, he’s… charming.”

Sinclair sighed and shook his head. “That’s one way to put it. I should have known he’d try to flirt with you - he loves beautiful things, and you’re the most beautiful thing here. Not that you’re a thing - I mean because you’re beautiful. More beautiful than anything or anyone here.”

Betty laughed and leaned up to kiss Sinclair on the cheek. “You said the food here was free. Shall we go feast?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Yes, let’s!”

It soon became evident that getting some alone time with Sinclair was going to be impossible. He was constantly running into people he knew, greeting them like seeing them was the best thing ever, then proudly introducing Betty as his partner. The reactions were mixed - some were surprised or confused that he was with someone other than Natalie, some seemed happy to see him rid of her, and one or two looked at Betty like she really shouldn’t be there. Those people, as soon as their faces fell, Sinclair quickly turned cold to and made an excuse to get rid of them.

Sinclair was deep in conversation when Betty finished her food, so she excused herself to get some drinks. On the way back, she saw from afar that Sinclair was already chatting to someone else and was nearly finished with his food, so she stopped at the buffet table to grab him some more as she knew he’d be torn between continuing his no doubt very interesting conversation and eating more food.

She arrived at the table with a plate of food in one hand and drinks on a small tray she’d borrowed from the bar in another. She placed the drinks tray down first, followed by the plate of food, and Sinclair looked at the plate in surprise, then up at her, and his eyes lit up when he realised she’d brought him some more food.

“Ah, more drinks, excellent,” said the man Sinclair had been talking to, an older man in a suit as fancy as everyone else’s there. He helped himself to one of the drinks, and Betty frowned at him.

“Hey, that was mine!”

The man frowned at her, as if surprised she’d said anything. “Excuse me, young lady, these drinks are for guests.”

Betty froze. She didn’t want to cause a scene, not in front of Sinclair. It was their first fancy event as a couple, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. But she knew exactly what the man meant - he thought she was a server.

Sinclair, it seemed, had clocked too, because he straightened up and shot an icy glare at the man.

“I think you’ll find there are three guests at this table, Mr Benson. I did say my partner had gone to get drinks.”

“Well, then, she’ll have to fetch her own, won’t she? Rather than sending a server to bring them over.”

“I am the partner, dickhead!” Betty hissed.

The man looked at her with shock, as if the concept of his fellow rich white man dating a black girl was unprecedented.

“I’ve changed my mind, Mr Benson,” said Sinclair coldly. “I don’t think I have capacity to take you on as a client after all. I think you should leave now.”

“Well, I never!” Mr Benson spluttered, before standing up and storming off.

Betty felt her shoulders relax and she took her seat next to Sinclair.

“I’m sorry,” they both said in unison, then laughed.

“Don’t be sorry, Betty, you handled that very well.”

“I called a potential client a dickhead.”

“Well, he was being a dickhead. Besides, I don’t want someone like him as a client. You’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I’m sorry you had to go through that at all."

Betty shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be used to it!” Sinclair insisted stubbornly. “People like him are morons. I can’t believe anyone would look at you and think anything other than, Wow, she’s so beautiful, I can’t believe how lucky Sinclair is.”

“Yeah, well… I can’t believe anyone would be married to you and think, Hey, maybe I’ll fuck my brother. There are some strange people out there.”

Sinclair laughed. “We must be the only sane ones!”

“We must be.”

She kissed him chastely on the lips, not wanting to be too affectionate in public, and he responded by squeezing her hand under the table.

“I can’t believe you brought me more food without me even asking!” Sinclair said with a grin when their lips parted and his attention turned to the food in front of him. “You’re so amazing. Here, why don’t you have the drink Benson didn’t touch?”

“That’s okay. Actually, it’s getting a bit crowded in here for me. Do you mind if I go for a wander? You can stay here and mingle, I just need a bit of quiet for a bit.”

“Mmm-hmm!” Sinclair replied, his mouth already full of sandwich. He swallowed, then said, “Of course you can, Betts! Maybe see if you can find Lionel and get that tour from him!”

“Good idea. I love you.”

“I love you too!”

She kissed him on the cheek and left him to his mingling, and she was barely on her feet when he was already waving over someone he recognised.

The crowd thinned when Betty managed to squeeze out of the gazebo, but with so many people she didn’t know it was still quite overwhelming, and she was relieved when Lionel emerged from the crowd and greeted her.

“Elizabeth! There you are. How would you like to have a look at my artwork now? I’m desperate for a break from all this chitchat.”

“I was just looking for you to ask that myself.”

“Perfect timing, then. Come along.”

Lionel offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, glad to have someone to anchor herself to in the busy crowd, and she felt like she could breathe again as they left the chattering people behind and approached the front doors to the manor.

Betty followed Lionel inside, eyes wide and mouth agape as she stared at the incredible architecture - and this was only the reception hall. The walls were adorned with painting after painting, and Lionel steered her into a hallway, where more paintings stood proudly on display between lion statues.

”You certainly seem to like lions,” Betty commented.

”Well, they’re the kings of the jungle, aren’t they? And the business world is a jungle in itself.”

”And you fancy yourself the king of it, do you?”

Lionel smirked at her. “I am the king. Come along.”

He placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her down the hall, naming each painting and its artist as they passed it, and Betty wondered how much he’d paid for each one of them. The insurance alone was probably more than she’d make in a year.

”You know, king of the jungle is a misnomer,” Betty commented as they turned a corner to be greeted with yet another lion statue. “Lions don’t live in the jungle. They should be called the king of the savannah if anything.”

”Actually, jungle is a Hindi word for a place uninhabited by humans - such as savannahs.”

Betty glanced at him, surprised, and he shrugged. “Sinclair isn’t the only person who knows things. So what do you think of my collection, Elizabeth? Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

”There’s certainly a theme,” Betty said, glancing between two of the many paintings that depicted naked women.

”Well, I also have a collection of landscapes, but I must admit that I have a penchant for the feminine form. This one seems to have caught your eye.”

She felt more than heard him come up behind her as she examined a painting labelled Otahi .

”What is it about this one that intrigues you, Elizabeth?” Lionel asked softly. “Is it the way she sits? You know, this particular painting was considered rather controversial when it was painted. The way she sits… ready and waiting… exposed. Do you feel an affinity to her, Elizabeth? Does this particular painting arouse something in you?”

When had he got so close? Betty suddenly felt very aware of Lionel’s breath on her neck, his hands on her hips - when had they got there? - and when he pulled her back slightly to press against him, she felt a bulge on her lower back - just where —

“Lionel —”

”Hmm?” Lionel replied absentmindedly, his lips by her ear, the gap between them growing ever smaller as he leant his head down towards hers —

“I’m here with Sinclair.”

”Are you? I don’t see him anywhere. He seems to have abandoned you.”

”You led me here…”

”You were all alone.”

”He was talking to someone…”

”He’s always talking to someone. Gets distracted so easily. But don’t worry… my attention is solely on you, dear. Let me kiss you, Elizabeth. I sorely want to kiss you…”

Can I kiss you? … I’d really like to kiss you now … Can I have another kiss?

Sinclair’s voice rang in her head, and Betty felt as if she’d just been jolted awake from a hypnotic state. She tried to pull away from Lionel, but his arms were wrapped around her torso tightly - when had that happened?

”No, thank you,” Betty whispered, her voice hardly audible. She could hardly believe she was turning down the richest man in the country, but as much as he looked like Sinclair, he wasn’t Sinclair, and she only wanted Sinclair.

Lionel only chuckled. “Must you play hard to get, darling? It’s Valentine’s Day. A day for lovers… for making love…”

“Thank you for the advice. I’d really prefer to make love to my boyfriend.”

”And who says who that has to be? Hm?”

”Lionel —”

”Betty?”

Lionel let go of her as if her skin had burnt him. Betty took a sudden, deep breath, as if he’d been suffocating her. Maybe he had been. She turned to see Sinclair standing at the corner of the corridor, looking between them both.

”Sorry, I interrupted,” he said in a cold, detached voice, unlike anything she’d ever heard from him. “Don’t mind me.”

Sinclair turned and left, and Betty followed him as quick as she could.

”Sinclair, wait!”

He left through a side door that led to a quieter part of the grounds, and she jogged as fast as she could to catch up with him.

”Sinclair - come on! I can’t catch up to your long legs in these shoes - ow!”

She hissed as she stumbled, twisting her ankle to the side, and she grabbed onto a nearby lion statue to steady herself. She hopped to a bench and sat herself down to take her shoes off, but before she could do so, Sinclair was suddenly on his knees in front of her, unstrapping the shoe from the ankle she’d rolled.

”Thanks. I don’t think I’ve twisted it. Sprained, maybe.”

”You shouldn’t be running in these,” Sinclair muttered, not looking up at her as he eased the shoe from her foot.

”I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t run off like that.”

He looked up at her, his eyes full of anger and hurt, and it broke her heart to see it.

”What was I supposed to do? You clearly needed your privacy —“

”Sinclair, stop it,” Betty snapped harshly. “I’m not Natalie. Okay?”

”Am I supposed to believe that was innocent?”

”From him? No. Maybe I should have told him to back off more firmly, but… I didn’t know what to do. We were just looking at art and suddenly he’s got his hands on me and I can’t make a scene, not with someone like him, not in his own house, so I just… froze. But I said no. He asked for a kiss and I said no. Then he said it’s a day for lovers so I said the only lover I wanted was you and…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let it get that far. Maybe I should have seen it coming when he pulled me away from the party and started showing me his collection of paintings of naked women, but I’m an idiot, okay? I thought he just wanted to share his art. I forgot men are pigs.”

Sinclair didn’t say anything at first. He just held her ankle gently, looking at it as if it held all the answers. Then he looked up at her meekly.

”Not all men are pigs,” he muttered. “You always said I was more of a puppy.”

Betty smiled. “Yeah. You’re my puppy.”

”You know, dogs can get very possessive. They growl at people who try to take what’s theirs. And what’s a little puppy compared to a great lion?”

”Hey.” Betty stroked Sinclair’s cheek softly. “I’d choose my puppy over a lion any day.”

Sinclair’s eyes shone a little more hopefully then. “Really?”

”Yes, really,” Betty laughed. “I love you, Sinclair. Do you really think I’m gonna sneak off to shag your cousin?”

Sinclair shrugged dejectedly. “Better my cousin than your brother, I suppose.”

”Oh, god, don’t even joke about that,” Betty gagged. “Will you get up here and cuddle me already?”

Sinclair got up from his knees, ignoring the grass stains on the knees of his very expensive suit, and sat next to her on the bench. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cuddled up to his warmth.

”I’m sorry,” Sinclair mumbled into her hair.

”Don’t be. At least now I know you don’t want to lose me.”

”Never! I never want to lose you, Betty. You’re everything to me.”

She leant up to kiss him, and he finally smiled.

“I love you, puppy.”

”I love you too, kitten.”

“Do you wanna dance?”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “You said you hate dancing!”

“Yeah, well, you have a way of making me see things in a new light. I think I might like dancing if it’s with you.”

“What about your ankle?”

Betty gave it an experimental flex. “It’s okay. I think I was just being a bit dramatic.” She leant down and slid her shoe back on, then stood up, cautiously putting weight on it. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she concluded. “Come on, Mr Bryant, ask the cute girl to dance.”

Sinclair immediately stood and straightened his posture, and Betty laughed when he gave her a little formal bow.

“Miss Bennett, would you do me the honour of accompanying me in a dance?”

“Why, Mr Bryant, I’d be honoured!”

She took his proffered arm and let him guide her back towards the party, which was still in full swing, with plenty of other couples already dancing, but Betty was pretty sure none of them were as in love as she and Sinclair were.

“You’ll need to lead me, I have no idea how to do anything other than the robot,” Betty admitted.

Sinclair spun her around suddenly, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her up against him, their noses almost touching, and Betty felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Focus on me,” he said softly. He was quiet, and the music was loud, but Betty still heard him, because to her there was no one else in the world.

She looked at him, his sweet amber eyes alight with excitement, and nodded.

Betty hated dancing because it made her self-conscious, but for the first time, she felt she could move without fear of being watched. Maybe she was being watched, maybe her dancing was terrible, maybe people were laughing. What did it matter? She was with Sinclair. She was holding him, being held by him, their bodies moving in tandem, perfectly synchronised and so clearly made for each other.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Sinclair murmured in her ear. Betty blushed, shrinking in on herself slightly, and Sinclair gently lifted her chin back up to look at her. “I mean it, Betty. I think you’re even more beautiful than…” He thought for a moment. “Julia Roberts.”

Betty laughed. “Julia Roberts?!”

“She was voted People Magazine’s most beautiful woman last year. And she is beautiful, I suppose, but she’s nothing compared to you.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s your favourite thing about me?”

Sinclair, whose hands were currently around her waist, reached down for a cheeky butt grab.

“This!”

“You can’t say my bum! Or my boobs. Or my heart, that’s such a cop-out.”

“Okay, okay!” Sinclair returned his hand to her waist and grinned down at her. “I love your eyes. I love how they sparkle when you laugh or smile, and the way your pupils dilate when you look at me. And I love your smile too, you have so many different smiles, but I think my favourite one is when you’re trying not to laugh. And your nose is so cute too - and I love your hair, of course. Can I just say everything?”

“Sinclair, saying everything is your whole thing.”

“That’s true! If you think I don’t shut up now, just ask me to list everything I love about you, I really won’t shut up then!”

“If we ever get married, you might well set the record for longest wedding speech ever.”

“If I was on Mastermind, my specialist subject would be you.” Sinclair gasped. “I should go on Mastermind! I’d be great at it! I don’t need the money, I’d probably donate it to charity, or just spend it on you. Not that there’s anything I wouldn’t buy you anyway. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you, Betts.”

Betty bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well… there is one thing I’ve always wanted to do but I’ve never been able to afford it.”

“Anything!”

“I’ve never been abroad.”

Sinclair was so shocked that he stopped moving, and Betty almost stumbled.

“Never? Surely not. Not even to France?”

“Devon’s the furthest we ever went for holiday.”

Sinclair shook his head stubbornly. “Devon’s not a holiday when you live in Cornwall! That’s just going up the road! No, that’s it, we’re going on holiday. Let’s find a travel agent tomorrow and book somewhere. We could go to the Caribbean, the Maldives, Hawaii… what kind of holiday do you like? I suppose you won’t know, will you, if you’ve never been away… do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, I needed one to get the shop set up. I don’t need to go somewhere fancy, Sinclair, but it’d be nice to go somewhere just the two of us, no work or Natalie in the way —”

“We need to bring Goldie!”

“Can’t Mei-Li look after him?”

“Well, yes, but she deserves a break from us too. Think about where you want to go and we’ll go! Somewhere dog-friendly with lots of fun things we can do!”

“I can think of some fun things we can do wherever we go,” Betty said suggestively, her eyes alight. “We wouldn’t even need to leave the hotel room…”

Sinclair blushed and glanced to the side, as if checking for anyone who might have overheard. “Betty…”

”Mmm?”

“Be careful what you say… you’ll make me want to whisk you off to one of Lionel’s many spare rooms.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I don’t think he’d mind…”

“I’d much rather get you home where we can cuddle and sleep afterwards.”

Betty laughed. “Sinclair, if we wait until we get home, it’ll be another hour before we leave while you say your goodbyes to everyone.”

“I… don’t have any condoms with me.”

“I bet Lionel does.”

“You’re determined to have sex in my cousin’s manor, aren’t you?”

Betty grinned. “What can I say? I waited a long time for you. I’m gonna savour every moment.”

She trailed a hand down his chest, stopping just a few inches shy of his waistband, her fingers teasing at the buttons on his shirt.

“What d’you say?”

Sinclair glanced around. No one was paying either of them the slightest bit of attention. He grabbed Betty’s hand and led her away from the dancefloor, away from the crowds, and no one noticed them slip away into the manor.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Betty giggled five minutes later as Sinclair hastily unwrapped a condom he’d snuck out of a drawer in Lionel’s study.

“It was your idea!”

“I thought we’d go to a bedroom, not Lionel’s personal art gallery!”

Sinclair grinned cheekily, a twinkle in his eye. “I thought it’d be more fun. We can go somewhere else though if you want —”

“No, here’s good, I don’t wanna wait.”

Betty hitched up her skirt around her waist as Sinclair unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out to roll the condom down.

“You don’t wanna go on the bench?”

“No, wall’s good. C’mon, Clair, I need you —”

“I love it when you’re desperate.”

Sinclair gently pushed her thighs apart, then tugged the fabric of her soaking wet knickers to the side and began teasing her entrance with his tip.

It was easy to forget their height difference when they were in bed, but it was glaringly obvious now as Sinclair loomed over her, and though she knew he’d let her go if she asked, she liked feeling enveloped by him, as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of them.

“Arms around my shoulders,” Sinclair instructed her. She obeyed, and he lifted her thighs up with his large hands, wrapping her legs around his waist to allow him to slip inside her.

“Fuck , Clair…” Betty sighed with relief as he sandwiched her against the wall, pushing himself past her walls and settling in comfortably.

“Sinclair, please… please fuck me…”

He kissed her cheek and smiled.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Betty had never in a million years expected this, yet here she was, getting fucked against the wall of a rich man’s personal art gallery, in the arms of her best friend, the sweetest and most loving man she’d ever met, who apparently had a daring sexuality with a bit of encouragement.

She felt completely safe in his arms, physically and emotionally, knowing he would never do anything to hurt her, that he loved and accepted her even with all her flaws.

“I love you, Sinclair,” she murmured against his ear, and Sinclair whined in response.

“I… I love you too, Betts,” he panted. “Mhm - fuck - this is really hot, but can I put you down?”

She giggled.

“Yes, I know I’m probably quite heavy. Wanna move over to the bench?”

“Yes, please.”

Sinclair put her down and pulled out of her, but he was back inside her within seconds when she bent over the bench and spread her legs for him.

He gripped her hips firmly as he thrust into her, and though he preferred to see her face, he did love the sight of her arse jiggling with each thrust, and he could see her hands holding on to the edge of the bench, trying to hold herself steady as he thrust inside her.

Betty knew that if either of them put a finger anywhere near her clit, she’d be done for. The sound of Sinclair’s moans, the slapping of his flesh against hers, filled the large, empty room, echoing back to them, and neither of them cared much that at any moment someone might decide to have a break from the party to have a look at some art.

They were so lost in the moment that they didn’t even notice the door open partway, only to close again as soon as Lionel realised he’d found where Betty and Sinclair had snuck off to.

Sinclair leant forward, his torso pressing against Betty’s back, and with her hair straightened he was able to pepper the side of her neck with kisses, alternating between kisses and murmured words of adoration, reminding her how much he loved her, how happy she made him, how much she’d changed his life in just a few short months.

“Clair… Clair, touch me, please, I need you…”

“Yes, yes, of course, anything for you, Betty…”

He reached around her body to rub at her sweet spot, and his expert fingers quickly had her cumming hard around him, her shouts of his name echoing around the gallery, and he came with a garbled cry soon after, the feeling of her walls shuddering around him too much for him to endure.

Some deranged part of Betty’s brain wanted him to cum inside her, to fill her up completely, and when he pulled out and lifted his weight from her, she felt like a part of her had pulled away with him.

She caught her breath, then let him pull her to her feet, giggling incoherently as she pulled her dress down.

“We really ought to get out of here before someone realises what we’re up to.”

Sinclair wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, smiling.

“Mmm, cuddles first though. Then how about we get cleaned up, say our goodbyes, and we go home and cuddle some more?”

“I’d like that. Can we fuck some more too?”

“Definitely.”

Sinclair had never left a party so quick.

[snowblossomreads]

very normal fic writer ask game

If [insert fic] was made into a poison, what effects would it have on the drinker?

If you put all your fics into a crockpot, what would be the resulting soup?

Which fic are you using to introduce yourself to your new therapist?

Which fic are you using to scare away unwanted suitors?

When future scholars analyse your work, which fic will they find most puzzling? 

Which fic would cry the most if you decided to orphan it?

Which fic would you be too afraid to orphan, lest it enact revenge?

Have you ever been commissioned by the devil to write, and what were you offered as payment?

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of your longest fic.

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of your fic with the most comments.

Select a mutual to ensnare within the narrative of [insert fic]?

Attempt to make a monster by assigning each of your fics a body part.

A witch has cursed [insert fic] into a monstrous creature. Please describe its new plot.

If you melted your three most kudos'd fics, what would they smell like?

If you put your three least kudos'd fics in a blender, what would they taste like?

Assign each of your fics (or selection of them) an illicit substance.

Assign each of your fics (or selection of them) a cryptid.

Break up the main pairing in [insert fic], and give them both new partners.

You've been arrested for [insert crime], which fic is the prosecutor submitting as evidence?

Uh oh! All the kids are hooked on your fics—what behaviour(s) are their parents now concerned about?

If you were starving and had to feast on one of your fics to survive, which fic would it be?

If you forgot your WIP in the oven and burned it, what would happen to the characters?

If you left your WIP out on the counter and it spoiled, how would it now end?

If your WIP fell into a vat of toxic waste, how would it change?

All of your fics are featured in a nature documentary, which one goes viral for its absurd behaviour?

[snowblossomreads]

I wanna read it! But first I must write it @renee561 @snowblossomtumbles

[snowblossomreads]

“How’s your WIP going?”

"Have you made any progress?”

“How close are you to being done?”

[snowblossomreads]

The Eternal Summer | Elliott Marston/Reader

III. Moth to a Flame

Summary: Elliott has a plan.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

You were sleeping peacefully in Elliott’s arms while he struggled to fall asleep. His mind was spinning with plans. He had to find Quigley and kill him, that was certain. Earlier that day, Major Ashley-Pitt had arrived at the station with the bodies of the men who’d taken Quigley into the outback and sealed his fate.

Turning down the work was irritating, considering the lengths he’d gone to to get Quigley there, but he’d have let the man go on his way back to America without any fuss if he hadn’t decided to raise his fists.

Elliott’s back was still sore from his fall. You, with your tender heart and soft hands, had patched him up the best you could, but it still ached. Not only had Quigley made Elliott seem weak in front of his men by throwing him out of his own house, but he’d embarrassed him in front of you too.

Now, Quigley had killed his men, and probably stolen their supplies too. Which meant that he was probably still alive, and though Australia might still do her work on him, there was a chance he’d survive.

Elliott couldn’t let that stand. He had to make sure the American was dead, and if Australia didn’t do it for him, he’d do it himself.

Matthew Quigley wasn’t his only problem. He also had his cousin’s shadow looming over the beautiful woman in his arms, who he was falling more in love with every day. Sometimes he thought perhaps you might be falling for him too, but then you’d mention that bloody husband of yours.

As well as the bodies of his men, Major Ashley-Pitt had also delivered the news from Melbourne that Judge Turpin had been held up in finding suitable accommodation for him and his wife, he’d be travelling to collect his wife as soon as he could and he apologises that she may have to stay at the station a little longer.

That gave Elliott an idea. He didn’t want to have his cousin killed - they were family, after all, and he hardly expected you as a grieving widow would want to be with the man who’d had her husband killed. But he could delay William’s arrival a little longer, giving himself more time to win you over. Then, when William arrived to pick you up, Elliott would challenge him to a duel for your hand. William would either accept, and inevitably lose, or decline and give you the choice to stay.

You hummed with contentment in your sleep and wriggled closer to him, as if you’d heard his idea and thought it splendid. Yes, he’d do that, he decided as he planted a kiss to your head and finally closed his eyes to settle into sleep. In the morning, he’d send three of his craftiest men back to Melbourne and task them with delaying Judge Turpin’s arrival at the station for as long as possible, giving him the time he needed to win your heart.

***

Thanks to his sleepless night, Elliott awoke later than usual in the morning and found the bed empty. He got himself dressed and stepped out onto his porch, the hat on his head protecting his eyes from the glaring sun as he looked around to make sure everyone was at work.

The only person not at work that should be, he in fact noticed, was your brother, Tommy. He had apparently decided that 11 o’clock in the morning was the perfect time to be playing hopscotch.

“[L/n]! Why aren’t you working?” Elliott called just as Tommy hopped onto one leg, causing him to lose concentration and fall down.

“Elliott, you did that on purpose!” you said with gentle admonishment, appearing from around the side of the building with a hat in your hand. “That can only mean that Tommy can go again since he was unfairly distracted.”

“It’s almost noon, he should be working by now!”

“He’s working very hard, aren’t you, Tommy?” you said as you placed the hat on your brother’s head. “Tell Mr Marston what you’re doing.”

Tommy bit his lip, a habit he shared with you. “I’m - erm —” 

“Yes?” Elliott prompted, leaning against the pillar with his arms folded.

“He’s keeping me amused, since you’re too busy sleeping to do it yourself,” you said, standing next to Tommy with a protective hand on his shoulder. “I had to have breakfast all by my lonesome this morning, so Tommy offered to keep me company until you woke up.”

Elliott narrowed his eyes at you. You were picking up an attitude, and while that kind of cheek wouldn’t have been acceptable from any of his men, in you it stirred something inside him.

“I don’t accept cheek at my station, Lady Turpin,” he reminded you with a low growl. “[L/n], go find Coogan, he’ll give you something to do. [Y/n], inside.”

Tommy ran off quickly, glad to have avoided Elliott’s wrath, and you followed Elliott back into the house with far less subservience than he would have liked.

As soon as the door was shut, Elliott pushed you up against the wall, lips tantalisingly close to yours.

“Where’s this attitude come from, hm?” he said in a low voice, eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?”

“I must have,” you replied with a mischievous grin that only served to stir Elliott’s cock. “Are you going to remind me?”

Elliott’s hands ran down your body, resting on your waist, his fingers flexing as he resisted grabbing you elsewhere.

“Your place… is right next to me,” he growled. “If I’m in bed, so are you. If I’m oversleeping, you wake me up with your mouth. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Elliott grinned. He pressed himself against you, and you could feel the outline of his growing erection through your skirt. He took a deep breath, as if collecting himself.

“Normally I’d teach you a lesson by taking you right here, right now… but as you say, I overslept. I have work to do. I’m afraid your lesson will have to wait.”

“How are you gonna work with this?” you teased, brushing your fingers against his crotch, and he groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, [Y/n]… what happened to the innocent lamb I met in Melbourne, hm? The girl who was so shocked at the idea of laying with another man.”

“You happened.”

Well, there was no way he could resist that.

But… he did have work to do.

He’d better multitask, then.

Elliott took you by the arm and dragged you over to his desk. He pushed his chair back, giving you room to kneel as he pushed you to your knees, and you knew immediately what he had in mind when he sat in his chair and unbuckled his belt.

He pulled his cock out, hard and dripping with precum, and you instinctively opened your mouth for him. Elliott sighed with relief when he slipped past your lips and his cock sat heavy on your tongue, stopping just shy of the back of your throat. You instinctively tried to open your throat to take him fully, but Elliott grabbed the back of your head and held you still.

“Stay still, darling. I just want you to use that slutty mouth of yours to keep me warm while I work. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded as best you could, and Elliott smiled hungrily. You were so good, so obedient. The perfect little wife.

He pulled out a pen and some paper and began drafting demands for Quigley’s capture and promises of a reward. His servant came in with a plate of jam and toast for his breakfast, and you tried to extract yourself when you heard movement, but Elliott put a hand firmly on your head and kept you in place.

He considered drafting orders to the men he’d choose to delay William, but he decided against it. If written proof were found of his instructions, his cousin could cause him some serious trouble. No, this was something that would have to be done surreptitiously.

Since he was so comfortable at his desk with you between his knees, Elliott wasn’t keen on moving, so he took the time to work on some other paperwork he’d been putting off. He wrote some letters, kept his accounts ledger up to date, and occasionally slipped his spare hand below the desk to stroke the side of your face, making sure you knew he appreciated how good you were being for him. He’d have to think of a worthy reward for you later.

About mid-afternoon, satisfied with the paperwork he’d got through, Elliott sat back in his chair and looked down at you. He gently pulled your head back to pull out of you, and you immediately rubbed your aching jaw.

“Oh, are you aching? You’ve been such a good girl, [Y/n],” Elliott cooed, stroking your jaw affectionately. “Come on, get up here. I think it’s about time we had a break, don’t you think?”

You nodded and stood up, desperate to get off your knees and onto his lap, and Elliott chuckled at your eagerness.

“Skirt up, bloomers down. Be a good girl for me.”

You obeyed, and when your bloomers came down your knees they were soaked. Elliott looked so handsome, sprawled in his chair with his legs spread out, shirt half-buttoned and chest hair poking out - how could you not be dripping for him?

You hitched your skirt up to your waist as you climbed onto Elliott’s lap, knees either side of his hips, and slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. He groaned with relief, finally giving into the desires that had been swirling around his mind for the last few hours, the desperate need to fill you up until you could take no more.

Even though your knees were aching, you desperately wanted to feel the friction of his cock moving inside you, so you ignored the ache as you rode him, focusing instead on the delicious pleasure inside you, the stretch you felt as you impaled yourself over and over again on his cock, the beautiful way he groaned with pleasure, letting you know you were doing well.

“Such a good… good girl…” Elliott muttered. He sucked on your breast through the fabric of your dress, desperate to rip the fabric apart to get at the soft flesh beneath your bodice. If it were easily replaceable he would have, but it was a dress you’d made yourself and he wouldn’t dare ruin your hard work.

There was something so deliciously sinful about watching you ride him fully clothed. Your skirt fell over both your laps, and if it weren’t for your skilled bouncing and both of your sinful groans, a visitor might think you were sitting on his lap quite innocently.

Yes, you looked innocent, but underneath the exterior image of the sweet little Lady was a cockhungry slut, desperate to be fucked and loved the way you deserved, and Elliott knew he was the one to give it to you. Sure, William fucked you three times a day, but did he make you cum? Did he look after you, make sure you were clean and comfortable, adore and worship you the way you deserved, even out of the bedroom? From everything you’d said about him, Elliott suspected not.

He grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements, and lifted you up to place you on the desk. He supported your back with one hand while he laid you down, hair a mess and dress crinkled, your cheeks bright red, all splayed out on the desk for him to see.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before thrusting into you once more.

Elliott’s face was red and sweat was dripping off his brow thanks to the Australian heat plus the exertion of fucking you into the table, but that didn’t slow him down. You could see his chest glistening too between the loosened buttons of his shirt, and the way he looked at you, with both adoration and hunger, was an image you wanted to burn into your memory forever.

“Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Elliott nearly faltered in his movements, and if he weren’t already bright red from exertion you might have seen him blush.

“You think so, huh? Even when I’m fucking you into the desk?”

“Uh-huh. Especially now. You’re so lost in the moment, it’s - ah! - it’s beautiful.”

Elliott laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been called a lot of things, [Y/n]. That sure isn’t one of them.”

You were too lost in the moment to hear the door open, but you did hear the voice of one of Elliott’s men as he walked in.

“Hey, Mr Marston, me and the boys were wondering - woah!”

Elliott stopped his movements but stayed buried inside you.

“I am busy, Cavanagh,” he hissed.

“Yeah, I see that. Hey, I thought we weren’t allowed to fuck this one?”

“This one has a name. And no, you’re not allowed to fuck her. She’s mine.”

“Ain’t she married?”

“None of your business, Cavanagh, now fuck off.”

The door slammed shut, and Elliott sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly. “Just keep - keep going, please…”

Elliott grinned. “As you wish.”

Cavanagh had a point, Elliott thought as he continued his desperate thrusting into your cunt. You were married. And yet — here you were, on his desk, legs spread open for him, telling him he was handsome when he fucked you. Telling him he was beautiful. And when he slid his hand under your skirt to press his thumb against your clit, you moaned his name so sinfully, he wanted nothing more than to mark you as his.

Your orgasm washed over you, causing you to scream his name loud enough for the whole station to hear, and the way your cunt clamped down around his cock made withdrawing impossible as he exploded inside you, shooting his seed into your womb, a long, sinful groan stuttering from his throat.

Elliott almost collapsed on top of you, just about catching himself with his elbows, and you took the opportunity to kiss him, silencing any apology he might have been forming for spilling inside you. In fact, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in further, as if trying to push his seed as deep inside you as he could.

He trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, murmuring words of praise, telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked in the throes of pleasure… he had to stop himself from telling you how much he adored you, how you invaded his every waking thought, how desperately he was falling in love with you.

Those words would have to wait. But if your words and actions that afternoon were anything to go by, it wouldn’t be long until he could have you all to himself.

***

A few days later, you were sitting in the shade of a tree with a pile of the men’s clothes next to you. You’d offered to patch up the holes in some of Elliott’s older shirts, and when the men heard what you were doing, they began bringing you their torn clothes too. Elliott made it very clear to them that they had to ask you politely, and if he heard of anyone treating you like a servant, they’d have no dinner that night.

You, of course, had no idea of this instruction and thought the men were all just being very polite, and you were too polite yourself to say no. Not that you minded - you liked being useful, you liked sewing and you liked sitting under the tree. Most of all, you liked that you could look up and watch Elliott at work, ordering his men around. Even the way he stood was attractive to you, his hands on his hips, stance relaxed yet powerful at the same time. Any stranger coming into the station would know he was the man in charge.

You had no idea, as he stood giving instructions to three of his men, that he was telling them to sabotage your husband’s journey to pick you up.

“When you can’t delay him any longer, you offer to escort him here,” Elliott was saying to them. “Keep him alive, treat him with respect, but make the journey slow as possible. He’ll get here eventually, and when he does I want him unharmed. Understood?”

“Yessir,” the men all said.

“Good. Get your supplies together and get going. The longer he takes to get here, the more I’ll pay you.”

Excited at the prospect of more gold, the man clapped each other on the back and scarpered. Elliott looked over at you and smiled when he realised you were watching him. He gave you a little wave and you waved back before ducking your head to focus on your sewing, a little embarrassed that he’d caught you watching him. He had a spring in his step as he went around the back of the station to find the women where he’d hoped he’d find them, tending to the allotment that had been cultivated to the rear of the station.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said, tipping his hat to them. “I wonder if any of you are versed in floriography?”

***

The next day, you spent almost all day patching up the clothes you’d been given, and it wasn’t until almost evening that you were able to finish the last shirt.

You laid out the men’s clothes in a pile outside their lodgings, then you were about to go searching for Elliott when you saw him approaching you with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought tonight we might dine under the stars,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Just you, me and Australia. How about it?”

“I’d love to!” you grinned.

“Excellent, I’ve got the wagon all set up. I know just the spot!”

He took your hand and led you out to the wagon, which was waiting at the gate with Elliott’s servant at the helm.

Elliott helped you up into the wagon, which you hadn’t been in since your arrival, and you noticed that he’d already loaded it up with baskets and blankets.

“Why, Mr Marston, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were taking me on a date,” you teased as he heaved himself up into the wagon and took a seat opposite you.

Elliott winked at you, then hit the side of the wagon twice to signal to the servant that he should start moving.

You were excited for your date, or whatever it was. You always ate alone with Elliott, but your meals were too often interrupted by his men bursting in with some question or news. He always shooed them away, but that didn’t stop them interrupting again when something else came up.

“How’s your search for the gunman going?” you asked.

“I’ve put up a reward for his capture, and I’ve got men out looking for him,” Elliott replied. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll be heading to Melbourne to get the first boat back to America, so I’ve sent some out that way too.”

“Is it a good idea to send so many men out to find him? What if he kills them like he did the last two?”

“There’s never a shortage of men looking for work,” Elliott shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure they’ll bring him in soon enough. He’s a long-range shooter, he’ll be useless at short range. They just need to get close enough to him.” He shook his head and put a hand on your knee. “But never mind that nasty business. I want to know all there is to know about you. You’ve been by my side for a week now and I feel I’ve hardly scratched the surface of you.”

You shrugged coyly. “You know all there is to know, Elliott.”

“I doubt that. For example - I’ve noticed there’s a scar on your left arm. There must be a story there. How does a gentle thing like you end up with a scar?”

Your hand instinctively grabbed at your upper left arm where the scar in question was. You forgot about it most days, as it was hidden underneath your sleeve - but Elliott, of course, did everything he could to get your clothes off.

“Oh, yes… that’s from when I was shot.”

Elliott’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You were shot?”

“Why so surprised? You love shooting things.”

“Yes, but not women!”

You laughed.

“I suppose not. I was shot by the sailor who stole William’s ward away. She ran away quite literally; I chased after down the street. He shot at me to keep me at bay. He only grazed my arm, but it was enough to delay me, and enough to leave a mark.”

“Why were you chasing after them and not William?”

“He was busy finding a constable to arrest the man who’d tried to kill him.”

The confused frown on Elliott’s brow deepened, and you laughed.

“I’m sorry, I’m telling the story backwards. I should tell it from the beginning. It was frightening at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s quite an exciting tale.”

Your telling of the tale of Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street, lasted the whole journey, and you were just telling Elliott about the death toll on the final night of Todd’s reign of terror when the wagon pulled up at your dinner spot.

“What a horrifying experience for you,” Elliott said as he helped you down from the wagon. “No woman should be exposed to that sort of thing, especially not someone as sweet as you.”

He took a blanket from the wagon and laid it down on the ground for you.

“Here, have a seat and admire the view while I get our dinner unpacked.”

Seated on the blanket, you admired the view just as Elliott had told you to - but the view you were admiring wasn’t the horizon, as beautiful as the Australian landscape was, but Elliott as he unloaded the baskets from the wagon - particularly when he bent down to open the baskets, and you got a lovely view of his bum.

You were restless after the journey, so you stood and looked out over the landscape. Elliott had taken you to the top of a cliff that looked out over the outback, a landscape that stretched for countless miles, with not a building in sight. You saw trees, and animals, and a few ponds, but mostly it was empty plains. It made you feel small, but it also filled you with pride, knowing that the land you were looking out on was Elliott’s.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Elliott said softly as he came up behind you.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” you replied with a smile. You turned to him, and you gasped a little in surprise when you saw that he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I gathered these from the allotment for you,” Elliott said, and you blushed hard when he held them out to you. “Would you accept them as a token of affection from my humble self?”

Your heart was all aflutter. Who knew he could be such a romantic!

“Oh, Elliott, they’re beautiful!”

You took the flowers from him, and your heart skipped a beat when you realised they were red tulips. You hesitated, then held the flowers to your chest and smiled at him shyly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder might be heard in Melbourne.

Elliott smiled, and you swore you saw relief cross his face. He offered his hand to you and led you to sit on the blanket, where he’d laid out an array of snacks for you. You sat there together for hours, and when the sun went down and the air became chilly, Elliott wrapped his coat around your shoulders to keep you warm.

“Now, I’m sure you’ll agree that the best way to enjoy strawberries… is with chocolate,” Elliott said proudly as he opened a tin of melted chocolate, and your eyes widened.

“You’ve got chocolate!” you gasped. “I haven’t had chocolate in years! And so much of it too - Elliott, you shouldn’t have, this must have cost a fortune…”

“Nonsense. It’s worth every penny to see the look on your face right now.”

You glanced at him and blushed when you saw the way he was looking at you, eyes alight with admiration.

“Oh, but it’s all melted!”

“Trust me, that’s how we want it.”

Elliott picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the chocolate and held it up to you.

“Open.”

You obeyed, and when your teeth sunk into the strawberry, you thought you must have died and gone to Heaven, because nothing on Earth could possibly taste this good.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded your enthusiasm, mouth too busy savouring the flavour to speak. You took a strawberry and dipped it, then held it up for Elliott to take a bite. You giggled when you saw that he’d managed to get some chocolate in his moustache, and when you pointed it out his response was to dab some chocolate on the end of your nose.

“Why have chocolate-dipped strawberries when I can have chocolate-dipped [Y/n]?”

“Oh, sure, I bet you’d love to lick it all up off me, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elliott replied innocently, before licking the chocolate from the end of your nose.

“Hmm, then I guess you won’t mind if I do this?”

You forwent the strawberry and dipped your finger straight into the chocolate and dabbed it on Elliott’s lips. He caught your finger in his mouth and sucked it clean, but you still managed to get some on his lips, so once your finger was free you licked his lips clean in a motion that one might have mistaken for a kiss.

Elliott wrapped his arms around you and pulled you with him as he fell onto his back, both of you giggling like children.

“Careful, you’ll knock the food on the ground!”

“You think I care about that?”

“I don’t want to lose any of the chocolate.”

“Have a preference for sweet things, do you, [Y/n]?”

“I like you, so I must do.”

Your words flooded Elliott’s brain as he kissed you, and though the chocolate was long since cleaned up, he continued exploring your mouth with his tongue, and to his surprise your tongue fought back, fighting for dominance between your mouths.

“God, I want to fuck you right here, beneath the stars,” Elliott growled when you both called the battle a draw and paused for breath. “All of the land below us… and my cock in your cunt, just as it was made to be.”

You grinned mischievously and sat up, scooting back slightly to sit on his legs, pinning him to the ground while giving yourself access to unbuckle his belt.

“You’ve done so much for me today, Elliott. Let me return the favour.”

He stared at you, flabbergasted, wondering what had happened to you to suddenly want to take the lead. But he wasn’t complaining - there was something so incredibly sexy about you owning your power.

Elliott closed his eyes and groaned when you took your cock in his hand, and his eyes shot open again in surprise when he felt you sinking onto him almost immediately.

“[Y/n]…”

You hummed inquiringly, as if you didn’t know exactly what had him so surprised.

“Are you… not wearing any bloomers?”

You grinned.

“Why bother? They always end up a mess anyway. I might as well save on the washing, and be ready for you whenever you want me.”

Now it was Elliott’s turn to wonder if he’d died and gone to Heaven. But he’d killed too many men to ever get anywhere near the pearly gates, so he must still be in the mortal realm, you the visiting angel who was blessing him with your grace, your presence, your kind heart and — son of a bitch, your damn fine cunt too.

He loved watching you ride him with your dress still buttoned, your skirt pooled around your waist, your hair just about still pinned up but threatening to fall out at any moment with the ferocity of your movements. Dressed like a prim and proper Lady, fucking him like the desperate slut he knew you really were underneath. Even under the confines of your corset, he could see the movement of your breasts bouncing in time with your hips, desperate to be free of the stifling confines of your dress.

If only you could always be as free as you were now, taking your pleasure because you wanted to, not because you thought you had to. Elliott could give you that freedom here, the freedom to be your own woman. Even if you were his wife, he’d let you be free, doing whatever you wanted. If you wanted to have five kids and devote yourself to being a mother, he’d happily build a bigger house to keep them all; if you wanted to devote yourself to creating and mending clothes to earn your own money, he had plenty of space to build you a shop. He’d give you anything you wanted, anything at all. You only had to ask. You already had his heart; what was anything more on top of that?

You grabbed his right hand from where it was holding onto your thigh and guided him under your skirt towards your sweet spot.

“Touch me, Elliott,” you begged. “Please…”

Oh, with pleasure, he meant to say, but it came out as more of a mumble, his brain too addled by the pleasure you were bringing him to focus on something so menial as forming coherent words.

You could have happily stayed there for hours, bouncing on Elliott’s cock while he caressed your sweet spot in just the right way, but your cunt had other ideas, and you could feel the pleasure building up inside you.

“If you cum on my cock, [Y/n], I don’t think I’ll make it,” Elliott warned you, his voice high and whiny, betraying the way you were sending him absolutely fucking wild.

You leant down, pressing your clothed torso against his, and Elliott gasped when you nibbled on the skin on his neck.

You pressed your lips to his ear and whispered, “Go ahead. I want you to.”

Elliott immediately increased the speed with which he was touching you, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, and just as he’d promised, when your cunt clamped around him and you moaned his name into his ear as ecstasy overtook you, Elliott shuddered as his seed spilled inside you, filling you up with his desire, his adoration and - fuck it - his love for you.

“[Y/n]… [Y/n]… oh, [Y/n]…”

He mumbled your name like it was the only word he knew, as if saying it over and over again would be enough to tell you everything he could never say.

You stayed in his arms even long after you’d both come down from your highs, savouring each other’s presence, lingering in the cloud of everything you could never say to one another.

But maybe you didn’t have to say it. Because once upon a time, when Johanna was teaching you to read, she showed you a book with many pictures and short descriptions, a book which also taught you about the secret language of flowers among the social elite, and you remembered the entry for red tulips very well.

I declare my love.

You were in big trouble.

***

You’d been at the station for over a week now, and you were starting to get worried.

William had promised to join you within a few days of your own arrival. Elliott tried to assure you that delays happened, he might have been held up in Melbourne or on the journey, and there was surely nothing to worry about.

That didn’t ease your mind. You remembered what Elliott had said to you in the bathroom about your husband taking whores in Melbourne. Surely he wouldn’t? He had promised fidelity in his wedding vows, after all, and your husband was a pious man. He didn’t make promises lightly, and certainly not promises before God.

Then again, he’d ordered you into Elliott’s bed, even knowing it was infidelity. He’d sworn no one else would ever have you, yet he’d offered you up as if he were simply lending a book. Was he getting bored of you? Did he even intend to pick you up at all, or was your ‘visit’ a ploy to get you off his hands? Perhaps he’d found whores more skilled than you in Melbourne, or even a better wife, one of good standing whose womb would take his seed.

Or… perhaps he had left Melbourne, never to arrive. Maybe he got lost in the plains. Maybe… maybe he was lying dead in the sun somewhere, dingos picking at his corpse —

You pushed the thought out of your mind. You couldn’t stand to even imagine it.

You were sitting atop the hill that shielded the station from the worst of the sun, looking out across the land that stretched to the horizon and, somewhere beyond it, to Melbourne. It was peaceful here; with your back to the station, far enough that you couldn’t hear the goings on, you could almost imagine you were alone.

That was, until you heard the footsteps of someone coming up the hill behind you. They stopped, and you ignored them, continuing your watch over the horizon.

“What on earth are you doing up here?”

When you didn’t reply, Elliott clamboured over to you and sat by your side.

“You know, sitting in the sunlight for too long can make you sick.”

He pushed back a strand of your hair that had fallen across your cheek, and you winced.

“[Y/n], you’re bright red. You need to get inside. What are you doing out here?”

“Which way’s Melbourne?”

Elliott looked at you for a long moment. Then, he looked out at the horizon and pointed. “Two or three days that way, speed depending. Maybe four if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Elliott seemed to know what you were thinking because he put his hand over yours and said, “Sitting here won’t bring him any closer.”

“But I’ll see him sooner —”

“And he’ll be greeted by a burnt red tomato for a wife. Believe me, [Y/n], you don’t want to be burnt by the sun. Please will you come back to the station with me?”

You hesitated, but you agreed, and Elliott helped you to your feet. You took his arm to steady yourself on the uneven ground, and as you walked, you noticed your skin was feeling dry and tight. You raised your spare hand to your cheek, and noticed the heat radiating from yourself.

“Am I very red?”

Elliott stopped walking, turned to face you and pushed your bonnet back to examine your face properly. He winced, and you knew it wasn’t good news.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, we need to get you inside. I’ve got some ointments to help with the dry skin. I’ve caught the sun plenty of times, but it’s not a pleasant experience, and certainly not one I wish for you. You should have told me you were going up there, [Y/n]. You could have been taken by an Aborigine or worse.”

“I wanted to be alone,” you replied dejectedly. “And I wanted to wait for William —”

“I know, sweetheart,” Elliott said softly, gently cupping your face in his hands, and though he smiled sympathetically, a fleeting sadness crossed his expression when you said your husband’s name. “But you need protection, even from Australia herself. I could have given you a parasol for the sun, a gun for defence… Well, never mind that now. Come on.”

As you entered the station, you passed some of the men practising shooting tin cans, and you recalled Elliott’s comment about giving you a gun for defence.

“Would you teach me how to shoot?”

Elliott looked over at you, a hint of excitement on his face. “You’d want to learn? A delicate lady like you?”

“I’m tougher than you think!” you insisted stubbornly. “I grew up on the streets of London, remember?”

Elliott chuckled and put his arm around your waist as you entered the house, and you had to admit the shade was a relief.

He sat you down on the sofa and pulled out a jar of ointment from his desk drawer. “Alright, I’ll teach you how to shoot. But only for emergencies, understand? You should stay with me whenever possible, so you’ll always have me to keep you safe.”

He sat next to you and carefully took your bonnet off to start applying the ointment to your reddened skin.

“You’re so protective,” you said with a giggle. “Like a lion. Will you protect me from the scary dogs and the wild people, my big strong lion?”

“I’ll protect you from anything,” Elliott said seriously. “I’m the fastest draw in Australia, there’s nothing and nobody I won’t shoot down to protect you.”

“You can’t shoot the sun, Elliott.”

“I can try. How do you feel?"

Scared for where my husband is. Frightened of how I feel for you. Terrified that I want to stay.

“It stings.”

“It will, but it’s necessary to heal.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I’ll do anything to have you.

“I’m a dangerous man, [Y/n].”

He gently turned your head to the side to pay attention to your other cheek.

“You don’t seem so dangerous to me.”

Elliott smirked. “The most dangerous men seem harmless, until they stab you in the back.”

“You won’t stab me in the back, Elliott. You’d shoot instead.”

He smiled.

“Shoot you? Never. But if a man threatened to harm you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

He glanced at your eyes before returning his focus to your skin, wondering if you understood his meaning. He didn’t want to tell you that he planned on challenging William to a duel for your hand as soon as he arrived, but when it did happen, he wanted you to understand that he was doing it to protect you, because from everything you’d told him, no man had harmed you as much as your husband had.

“Have you had news of the sharpshooter?”

Elliott’s lips thinned and his brow furrowed in the adorable way it did when he was annoyed.

“He killed more of my men last night. Seems to have decided he’d rather protect the Aborigines for nothing than shoot them for pay.” He scoffed. “I’ve upped the reward. I can’t afford to lose so many men so quickly. There, I think I got it all.”

Elliott stood to return the ointment to its drawer.

“What will you do when someone does bring him in?” you asked. “Oh, if you have him arrested, maybe William can send him to the gallows.”

Elliott smirked and pulled his revolver from its holster. “Nah, no point in all those formalities for the same outcome. I’ll kill him myself.”

He turned the gun around in his hand and pointed the handle towards you.

”Still wanna learn?”

Frankly you were still scared of guns, but you were more scared of Matthew Quigley and, though you’d never tell Elliott this, the men at the station, who leered at you when Elliott’s back was turned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

Wary of your fresh sunburn, Elliott waited until sundown to teach you how to shoot. He stood behind you in the middle of the station, hands on your waist as he guided your stance. The heat being what it was, you’d taken to wearing thinner skirts, which made it a lot easier for you to feel the outline of his cock pressing up against your bum.

“Do you stand this close to your men when you teach them to shoot?” you said with a smirk.

“Of course I don’t,” Elliott murmured in your ear. “But I find myself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.”

“Careful, sweetie,” you whispered in reply. “The moth dies in the flame.”

“And what a way to go that’d be. Now… remember what I told you?”

“That I look pretty in this dress?”

Elliott chuckled, his breath warm on your cheek. “You look pretty in everything, darling. No, I mean about the gun. How do you make sure you don’t accidentally set it off?”

“Safety on at all times. Click it off only to use it, then straight back on.”

Elliott kissed your cheek. “Good girl. You wanna give it a shot?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Alright. Show me your grip.”

His heart swelled with pride when he saw your fingers slide into place around the barrel of the gun, as if you’d held one a thousand times before.

“Good. Now, aim it at that can over there.”

He pointed to a can that he’d placed on the fence. You raised your arm, holding the gun straight, and Elliott gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Relax your arm a bit. You don’t want to be tense, or the recoil’s gonna be a bitch. Now, I wanna see how you aim naturally. Give it a go, but don’t worry, I don’t expect you to get anywhere near it on your first try. Take your time. Breathe. Line it up… then take the safety off and pull the trigger.”

He still had a hand on your waist, but rather than distracting you, you found it soothing, as if his very presence was grounding you.

You thumbed the safety off, then pulled the trigger, and winced at the loud bang as the bullet shot out the end - and the can toppled off the fence.

“Holy shit,” Elliott breathed.

“Hey, I got it!” you said with surprise.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” Elliott growled. He wrapped his arms around you, groping you hungrily, and you felt his cock pressing against your bum again. “God, that was so hot. You’re a natural, [Y/n]. You sure you’ve never shot before?”

You blushed, excitement tingling through you, pleased with yourself that Elliott was impressed with you.

“I just figured it’s not much different from sewing, right? Except it’s a gun and a bullet instead of a needle and thread. The target’s just the hole for the thread.”

Elliott grinned. “Brilliant. So brilliant. Here, let’s see where you managed to hit it.”

He jogged over to pick the can up from the floor and examined it. It was dented right at the top - you’d managed to hit it, but only just. He brought it back to you and showed you the mark your bullet had left.

“Not perfect, but a damn good shot, especially for your first try. I have men who practised for days before they could hit it.”

“Not perfect?” you repeated with mock indignation. “If that was a man’s head, he’d be dead either way.”

“True enough, sweetheart. Even I don’t shoot it perfectly on target every time.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got, cowboy?”

Elliott looked at you with a devilish glint in his eye. He loved to shoot, he loved to show off, and he especially loved to show off in front of you. 

He replaced the can on the fence, then took your spot to ready himself to shoot at it.

“Nuh-uh, mister!” you protested. “That’s a beginner’s spot. If you’re such a good shot, you need to take another… six paces back.”

Elliott shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He took six steps back, making sure they were big strides too, and you stepped back as well, not wanting to be close to his firing range - not that you expected him to miss so wildly as to hit you.

Elliott locked eyes with you and grinned cockily. You hardly had time to smile back when his gun was out and the can was flying off the fence.

You retrieved it this time, and just as expected, there was a round bullet-sized hole slap bang in the middle of the tin and mirrored on the other side.

Elliott jogged up behind you to examine his work.

“See? I told you,” he said proudly. “Best shot in Australia.”

“Sure you are.” You grabbed his hat, which he’d left hanging on a fence post when the sun went down, and placed it on your head. It was a little big for you, so you tipped it back to stop it covering your eyes.

“Look at me, I’m Elliott Marston! I like shooting things, making jelly and fucking [Y/n] [L/n]. I own so much land in Australia but I wish I was an American cowboy. I have a massive cock and I know how to use it. I —”

BANG!

You let out a squeal of surprise when the gun in your hand went off, and you instinctively dropped it to the floor. Fortunately, the bullet only lodged into the fence post, but Elliott instinctively pulled you back anyway.

“What’d I tell you about the safety!” he hissed. “You gotta turn it off as soon as you’re done shooting!”

He grabbed the gun from the floor and clicked the safety on. He tucked the gun under his belt and turned to you to check you were okay, and to his surprise you were standing with your head tucked, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with your dress.

“I’m sorry,” you said meekly. “I’m too simple for guns, I shouldn’t have tried —”

“Hey, hey, shh!”

Elliott cupped your face in his hands and forced you to look at him.

“Hey, come on, now. You’re nothing of the sort. You forgot in the excitement, that’s all. You’ll remember next time, won’t you?”

You nodded, and Elliott thought he might just melt at the sight of your doe eyes, so sweet and innocent, looking up at him as if you were frightened of him. Had he ever given the impression you had anything to fear from him if you did something wrong?

No, he thought as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tight, murmuring soothing words against your skin as he littered soft kisses over the top of your head. He’d never done anything to make you fear his anger - but he was willing to bet your husband had. You’d been so timid in Melbourne, so frightened of disobeying William that you’d even agreed to warm a stranger’s bed because you had no choice but to obey your husband.

And simple? In what world were you simple? Or was that just an insult your husband used to keep you believing you weren’t good enough to be anything more than his obedient wife?

“I think you’re brilliant, [Y/n],” Elliott said, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “You hear me? I…”

He faltered. He’d nearly slipped and said what he should never say to another man’s wife, what he couldn’t say, not here, not now.

You knew, surely? Could he make it any more plain without saying it?

“Why don’t we work on your draw, huh?” Elliott said, ignoring the thoughts swirling inside his head, willing himself to draw his attention away from your beautiful doe eyes. “It’s all well and good aiming, but if you’re too late to draw, you won’t have chance to aim.”

You nodded, and Elliott kissed your forehead warmly.

“Come on. Bet you can draw faster than half the men here.”

(You could.)

[snowblossomreads]

NSFW Alphabet - David Friedman

Time for our favourite scruffy southern detective ;)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He likes to cuddle. Leant up a bit against the headboard with you snuggled up against his side with your head on his chest and his arms around you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He wouldn't say he particularly likes any part of his body. Only time he really considers his own body is when he notices how much various places ache from his job taking its toll. On you, it's your legs. It was the one of the first things he noticed about you and your legs have been a turn on for him ever since.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Prefers inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This one's a dirty secret you share. No one can ever find out you and David once had sex in an interrogation room at the precinct.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's had a few partners, and he was married. He's experienced enough to know what he likes and how to please you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Chair sex, with you straddling his lap. That way he can touch as much of you as he wants and have you nice and close.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's not overtly goofy or anything. He has a dry humour that surface at times, especially if you two are getting a bit creative and hurried.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Shaving his face and combing his hair is about as much as he fusses with personal grooming, never mind anything else.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a rough edges with a soft centre kind of guy. He may not be romantic with words but in his actions, things like the way he looks at you, how he strokes your hair and brushes his fingers down the side of your face. Moments like that feel very intimate and romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You can't always be together, but you're good at phone sex. You love listening to the sound of him pleasuring himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He likes handcuffing you to the bed. Sometimes he'll let you put the cuffs on him. Like the time you cuffed him to a chair so he couldn't touch you while you gave him a lap dance. Satin and lace. The world he spends most of his time in is hard, bitter and ugly and he likes when he can distance himself from it. Part of that is he likes seeing his lover wrapped up in something soft, silky and pretty like lace lingerie or a satin nightgown.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Pretty much anywhere at home. And the back seat of his car.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you wear tight pencil skirts and heels. He loves the way it makes your ass and legs look.

When you pull him in by his tie to kiss him.

Sass. Whether it’s aimed at him or someone else, he loves when you bust out the sassiness.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No knife or gun play.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to receive, but he will go down on you if you want him too. Not that he doesn't like it, he just thinks he's more skilled with his hands.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Kind of in the middle. He likes to take his time before he goes hard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sometimes you have to take advantage of time and/or place. A favourite is before work or if you can both get away during a lunch break or something.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's pretty happy with how things are, but if something gets him or you curious, he's usually willing to try it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Twice. He lasts a decent amount of time, and he's thorough on the foreplay.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Nothing that he'd gotten himself. But he did find the vibrator you had from before you got together and asked you to use it while he watched.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He'd say he's not trying to tease, he's just enjoying himself. But the effect on you is the same.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Mid-range. Grunts and gasps.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

David’s job has him seeing the worst sides of humanity almost every day. He’s built up a had shell, but it does still get to him, it hurts him, makes him angry and scared. He’s trying not to drown his feelings in a bottle so much. Instead he’ll bury himself inside you. Holding you tight, skin to skin, breath in your scent, brings him a feeling of peace and safety like nothing else.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Average length but thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high. A combination of love for you, personal tension and wanting to make up for the times he's not there, you have a lot of sex.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s got a bit of insomnia, so it usually takes him a while to fall asleep. Having you tucked up against him helps and listening to you breath and feeling your heartbeat helps lull him enough to sleep.

[snowblossomreads]

The Eternal Summer | Elliott Marston/Reader

II. Obsession

Summary: It's your first day at the station and Elliott's growing attached to you… maybe too attached.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

When you woke the first morning, for a few moments you forgot where you were. You thought you were still on the ship and that the man holding you against his chest, his erection pressing up against your bum, was your husband.

You opened your eyes and your heart skipped a beat in panic when you didn’t recognise your surroundings, then your mind caught up with you and you remembered where you were: in Australia, in Elliott’s house, in Elliott’s bed… with Elliott.

You shifted slightly in the bed, and Elliott’s arm around you tightened slightly.

“There she is,” he said softly. “Thought you were gonna sleep all day.”

“Whassa time?” you mumbled sleepily as you turned around to face him.

“Aout half ten. I didn’t wanna wake you.”

You were surprised not to have been woken by Elliott taking his pleasure from you, since he’d seemed so excited by the idea… was it possible he’d done so and you’d slept through the whole thing? You were a deep sleeper, but you always awoke when your husband slipped inside you during sleep, his lovemaking being passionate as it was, even so early in the morning.

But you felt dry, Elliott was still erect, and he seemed to be quite sleepy too. Perhaps he’d changed his mind…

“You’re such a pretty sight when you’re sleeping,” Elliott said. He traced a line down your body with his finger, as if trying to paint a silhouette of your figure. “And awake too, of course… but there’s something so innocent about the way you sleep. I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”

“I’m awake now,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t give away your nerves as you tried to be seductive. You tentatively reached out and took his cock in your hand with a light touch. “You can do whatever you want to me…”

Elliott screwed his eyes shut and groaned with relief at the feel of your touch, but he seemed to be holding back. Usually when you took William’s cock into your hand he would thrust forward, desperate to feel some friction, but Elliott did no such thing; in fact, he moved his hips back slightly, away from your touch.

“No… it’s whatever you want, [Y/n]. Tell me what you want.”

“I, erm…” You hesitated. You hadn’t even thought about what you wanted. You just knew that he was erect, and it was your responsibility to give him his morning pleasure. Your husband had given you to Elliott for exactly this reason, after all.

“I… want to help you with this,” you said, wrapping your fingers around him again and giving him a small tug.

“Mhm… is that what you want, [Y/n]? Or is it what you think I want?”

You frowned, confused. It was too early in the morning for all these questions. Elliott’s cock was throbbing with desire, and you had to relieve it. Why was he asking you all these questions?

“I… I want to ride you,” you admitted with a blush.

Elliott smirked. Whatever had had him resisting fell away at your offer, and he rolled onto his back.

“By all means, darling… use my cock for your pleasure. I’d love nothing more than to see the look on your face as you bounce on my cock.”

You threw a leg over his waist to straddle him, and he held your hips in his strong hands to help you guide yourself onto him, a small whine escaping your lips as his cock stretched you out, your walls stretching and expanding to accommodate his size.

“Fuck, your pussy’s so tight,” Elliott groaned. “It almost feels like you’re a virgin. Does William really take you three times a day?”

“Yes, I… I do yoga exercises every day and it helps to keep my walls tight even though my husband stretches them out every day. It feels better for him when I’m tight.”

Elliott ran his hands up your thighs thoughtfully, his large hands rough and calloused from manual labour, so different to William’s softer hands that had seen little more exertion than the movement of a quill.

“And what about you? Does it feel better for you when you’re tight?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “I like the stretch… I can feel it now, the way you’re filling me up…”

“Hmm… good. Well, then, I hope you continue your exercises while you’re here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you, [Y/n]… I’m no knight. It’s Elliott.”

“Sorry… Elliott. Would you like me to ride you now?”

“Fuck yes,” Elliott groaned.

He was skinnier than William, which meant your legs weren’t spread as wide as they usually were, and it took you some adjusting to find the right position. You ended up leaning back slightly, your head tilted back in pleasure, and Elliott marvelled at the sight of you, letting the pleasure take over, all sense of propriety dissipated. He watched your breasts bouncing, your jaw twitching as you moaned, your fingers digging into his flesh as you moved further and further towards your climax. He could feel his own building up too, but he wanted to see you make yourself cum on his cock first, so he pressed his thumb against your clit and, if your increased moans were anything to go by, your pleasure wound up further as he circled the sensitive nub in rhythm with your thrusts.

He felt your orgasm before you made it heard - your walls clenched tighter around him, your thrusts became more erratic, and when he began thrusting up into you to make up for it, the friction plus his fingers sent you over the edge, a delectable moan tumbling from your lips, and he was grateful you didn’t moan his name because that might well have sent him tumbling over the edge too, and he didn’t want to pull out before your climax had completely washed over you.

When your moans faded into sighs, Elliott grabbed your waist and pulled you off him with one strong hand, and the other tugged his cock until his seed came shooting out, splattering you, him and the bedsheets with his seed in a delectably deranged fashion.

Elliott pulled you close to him and kissed you gently. You giggled at the way his moustache tickled your nose, which led to both of you laughing, slightly delirious in your respective post-orgasm hazes.

“You’re certainly a skilled young lady,” Elliott murmured in your ear, and you blushed. “Go get yourself washed up, I’ll have breakfast made for us out on the front porch.”

You joined Elliott on the front porch some time later, both of you washed and dressed, looking nowhere near as sinful as you had earlier. Elliott had his hat on and was looking out at the ranch, watching his workers in their morning routines. From the corner of your eye, you saw the glisten of the gun sitting in his holster.

Elliott smiled at you warmly as you sat next to him, and he took no shame in placing a hand on your knee. If you were in private, he’d have lifted your skirt to do so, but since his workers were about and he knew you were shy, the fabric of your skirt stayed between your knee and his hand.

The Aborigine manservant followed you out and placed a plate of fresh fruits in front of you both. You thanked him as he bowed his head respectfully and retreated back into the house.

“Do you normally thank the servants in London?” Elliott scoffed as he speared a berry on his knife and popped it in his mouth.

“I do. William doesn’t. He says their pay is thanks enough.”

“And you don’t agree?”

You gave a small shrug. “A ‘thank you’ costs no extra.”

Elliott smiled and shook his head. “You are a fascinating creature, [Y/n]. Do be careful talking to him, won’t you? I wouldn’t want his base instinct to take over and he tries to rape you. I have him tamed, of course, but he’s an animal at heart, and you’re a beautiful woman.”

You frowned as you cut your fruit up into small chunks. “Why is he more likely to rape me than any of your other men?”

“Well, because of what he is,” Elliott explained casually.

“But I don’t understand why that means he’s likely to rape me. I mean, William did and he’s nothing like him.”

You continued eating, oblivious to the way Elliott frowned at you.

He leaned forward and said softly, “[Y/n]… do you mean to tell me William’s raped you in the past? Before you were married, I mean?”

You looked up at him and blushed, realising suddenly that Elliott appeared disturbed.

“Well… yes. It took me some time to understand the gift he was giving me by taking me in, so for a while I resisted. But I learned my place eventually… and I came to love him.”

Elliott leaned back again, his lips thinning, and the hand that lay on his lap near his gun twitched.

“Oh, please don’t tell him I told you!” you said quickly, your eyes widening with alarm when you sensed Elliott’s disapproval. “Yes, we had sex before marriage, but I was little more than a whore —”

Elliott shook his head, and you stopped talking. He sighed, looking thoughtfully out at the horizon.

“I always thought my cousin to be so stoic, so law-abiding,” he said eventually. “I suppose you never really know someone, do you?”

You didn’t really know how to respond, so you focused your attention on your plate of food. It was diminishing fast, as you were always quite hungry after sex, and you wondered if Elliott would allow you to ask the servant to bring you some more.

“My next lot of hires should be here this afternoon,” Elliott said eventually once both your plates were cleared. “I’ve gone to great lengths to hire a new sharpshooter, so he’ll be dining with us tonight, then I’ll talk business with him after we’ve eaten so that you can excuse yourself from any boring men’s talk.”

You nodded your understanding. “Who else have you hired?” you enquired curiously.

“I’ve asked the men to find a boy to sweep the chimneys and help out around the farms. Boys can be hard to find here, as they rarely get sentenced to transportation, but hopefully they were able to find one. We still have some time before they arrive - would you like to go out and see the sheep?”

Your eyes lit up, which Elliott thought very endearing. “Oh, yes, please! Do you have many?”

“A few dozen, providing the Aborigines haven’t stolen any more. We have some pregnant ewes, so perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to see a lamb being born.”

Lady Luck must have been smiling on you, because you saw not one but three lambs being born.  It was certainly not the prettiest sight to watch the shepherd pulling the lambs out of the ewe, but the sight of the mother ewe licking her babies clean while they shook the gunk from their faces was adorable.

“You handled that well,” Elliott said as you rode back towards the station, you sitting behind him on his horse with your arms wrapped around his waist.

“I’ve seen childbirth, that wasn’t dissimilar,” you replied. “I wasn’t expecting the shepherd to put his arm in the sheep, though. Or that there would be three!”

“When did a lady like you see childbirth?”

“When my brother was born.”

Elliott didn’t question you any further. When you were nearly at the station, he veered slightly from the path and helped you dismount at a treeline. He tied the horse to a secure branch, and before you could ask why you’d stopped, Elliott pushed you up against a tree and kissed you. The sun was hot, even in the shade of the trees, but his body was hotter, the heat of his desire radiating from him.

“Does watching a lamb’s birth arouse you, Elliott?” you giggled when he pulled back slightly to look down as he unbuckled his trousers.

“No, but you do,” Elliott growled. “I’ve always wanted to take a woman against a tree, spill my seed into the very ground of Australia… and I just can’t resist you any longer.”

He pulled up your skirt, pushed your bloomers past your knees, then pushed his body against yours as he slipped inside you.

Elliott was lost in the fog of his arousal, not caring much for anything but the pleasure he felt from fucking you against the rough bark of the tree. He knew your back would be red and sore later, but the thought only turned him on further. He knew that you were close enough to the path that if anyone were to travel down it, they’d hear his fierce grunts from between the trees, though you were hidden from sight. But he didn’t care about that - even if someone were to pass by, what would it matter? This land was his, and for the next week, your cunt was his too and if he wanted to fuck you on his land, there was nothing anybody could do to stop him.

He was just about aware enough to pull out of you before he came, and he thought all his Christmases must have come at once when you reached out and finished him off with your hand, even making sure to aim his cockhead towards the earth so that his seed splattered on the ground, just as he’d told you he always wanted to do.

Back at the station, you sat in the lounge of Elliott’s house with a book while he got some jobs done. Some time in the afternoon, you heard a commotion outside, and you peered through the curtains to see that a wagon had arrived from town.

You put your book down and stepped out onto the porch, securing a bonnet on your head to protect yourself from the sun, and watched as the men unloaded themselves and some luggage from the wagon. Elliott approached the men and started talking to a man who was holding a very long gun - the gunman he’d been expecting, you surmised.

“We found a boy too, sir,” said one of the men. He gave a hand to a boy who was still in the wagon and helped him down. “Got him cheap off some fella from Sydney.”

“Good news all round!” Elliott replied, tipping his hat to the boy. “Welcome to my station, kid. My name’s Elliott Marston, I run this place. What’s your name?”

“Tommy, sir. Tommy [L/n].”

Your heart skipped a beat. The last time you’d heard that name was in your husband’s courtroom, summoning him to the dock for sentence…

You hurried around the wagon to get a better look. He was a few inches taller, and leaner too, but you’d recognise your baby brother anywhere.

“Tommy!” you called out.

He turned, surprised to hear someone call his name, and it took him a few moments to recognise you - after all, you were older too, and looking like a lady rather than a street urchin - but your brother’s eyes lit up all the same.

“[Y/n]!”

With a grin, and all sense of propriety thrown out the door, you ran forward and scooped your baby brother up in your arms, spinning him in the air as you both laughed with relief at seeing each other again.

You placed him down on the ground again to get a good look at him.

“Look at you, you’re so big! And strong too, look at those arms —”

“I almost didn’t recognise you! You look so fancy! Why are you out here?”

The story of how you’d come to marry the man who’d sent Tommy here, who also happened to be the cousin of his new boss, you decided would have to come later, when you were alone. Instead, you looked up at Elliott and explained with a grin, “Elliott, this is my brother!”

Elliott raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking between the two of you. You’d never looked much alike, and now with the differences in class between you, you looked even less like siblings than ever.

“Is he now? Well, that’s a coincidence and a half. How about you two run along and have a catch up? I’ve got a few questions to ask of Mr Quigley here, then I’ll come see you about what you’ll be doing for me, Tommy.”

“Yes, sir,” said Tommy.

“Thank you, Elliott!” you said with a grin. You kissed him on the cheek, then took Tommy’s hand and ushered him inside, eager to hear all about what your baby brother had been up to for the last two years.

“Are you married to Mr Marston now?” Tommy asked as you closed the door behind you and set about grabbing the two of you some water to stay hydrated while you caught up.

“No, I’m married to his cousin. My husband’s in town, he’ll be here in a few days.”

“Can I meet him?”

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

You handed Tommy some water, which he gulped down gratefully, then you turned the conversation to him, anxious to hear about how he’d been for the last two years. He told you about the last farm he’d worked on, which by the sounds of it had gone well until it was destroyed in a fire. The pastoralist had brought Tommy and the rest of his men who hadn’t died in the fire to Melbourne to sell them off in an attempt to recoup some of the money he’d lost, and that was where Elliott’s men had bought him.

“Does your husband have money? Do you think he could buy me from Mr Marston, then I could come live with you?” Tommy asked eagerly.

“I - I don’t know,” you replied hesitantly. “We’re only here temporarily and I don’t know if you’d be allowed to leave Australia, even if he paid for you. That’s something you’d have to ask him.”

You knew William would do most anything for you, but allowing a criminal to come back from Australia early - even if he was your brother - would be a lot to ask of him.

Just then, Elliott poked his head through the door.

“[Y/n]! We’ll be having dinner with Mr Quigley soon, so get yourself ready. Tommy, come with me, I’ll give you a quick tour of the station.”

You knew that it was important to Elliott that the dinner with Quigley went right, so you made sure to wash yourself up and wear the nicest dress you had with you. Sometimes William had people over for dinner, usually higher up judges and ministers that he wanted to impress, and he always kept you out of sight. He said it was because he didn’t want any of them to look at you hungrily, but you thought perhaps it was so you didn’t embarrass him with your lesser education.

You were flattered, then, that Elliott wanted you at this dinner and you wanted to do your best for him, to prove that you weren’t an embarrassment. You entered the dining room just as Elliott and Quigley were sitting down, and Elliott smiled when he saw you enter, his eyes lighting up when he saw the effort you’d made.

“Ah, and here’s our dinner companion now. [Y/n], this is Matthew Quigley, my new sharpshooter. Mr Quigley, this is Lady [Y/n] Turpin.”

Quigley looked at you in surprise. “A Lady? Forgive me, my Lady, we don’t have your sort where I come from. Am I supposed to bow?”

You smiled good-naturedly as you took your seat to Elliott’s left. “Of course not. And just [Y/n] is fine.”

Elliott reached over and gave your hand a squeeze. “[Y/n] here’s staying with me for a few days while her husband sorts some business out back in Melbourne. I’ll be sad to see her go, she’s been excellent company.”

You blushed, and fortunately Elliott’s manservant chose that moment to enter with the food, otherwise you might have had to answer some very awkward questions about the nature of your relationship with Elliott.

You were mostly quiet during the dinner, but you listened as Elliott talked about his passion for the American West, his guns, and the mint jelly he’d made himself. You loved how passionate he was, and you blushed when he put his hand over yours and squeezed as he talked. At one point, he paused eating his own dinner to help you cut a particularly tough piece of your lamb steak.

“Tell me about the dingoes,” Quigley said once the three of you had finished eating. “Ten pound a month shooting wild dogs seems like a whole lot for not much.”

Elliott turned to you and rested his hand on yours. “[Y/n], darling, would you excuse us? It seems it’s time to talk business.”

“Of course.”

You stood, gave Quigley a polite curtsy, and kissed Elliott on the cheek before heading outside.

You found Tommy sitting outside with the men, finishing up a dinner of their own, and they fell quiet when you approached. Elliott had warned them not to treat you like a whore, and they apparently knew no other way to treat a woman, so they opted for not talking to you at all. Tommy, however, grinned when he saw you approaching.

“Hey [Y/n]! How’s it going in there?”

“I wouldn’t know, they saved their business talk for after I left. He seemed nice enough, though. What’ve you had for dinner?”

“I think it’s rabbit,” Tommy replied thoughtfully, looking at the bones left on his plate. “What’d you have?”

“Lamb. I think —”

You were interrupted by a sudden smash, and everyone whipped their heads around towards the source of the sound just in time to see Elliott hit the ground, having apparently been thrown through the door.

Everyone ran towards him, the men pulling out their guns to apprehend the assailant and you running to Elliott’s aid.

Elliott pushed himself to his feet and raised a hand to keep everyone back.

“No, stay right where you are!”

He locked eyes with you, your brow creased with concern, and he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he insisted before turning back towards the house. “No man knocks me out of my own house.”

He stormed back in, but a few moments later, he came out again in the exact same way, landing hard on the ground.

Elliott looked back at the gathered crowd. For a long moment, nobody moved. Elliott looked around at his men with exasperation then said, “Don’t just stand there. Get him!”

He pushed himself to his feet, leaning against the beam for support and you ran to his side to examine his wounds.

“Has he got the rifle with him?” asked one man cautiously.

“He keeps it right beside him,” said another.

Elliot grabbed the first man and threw him towards the hole that was once the door. “I said, get him!”

The man crouched by the opening, listening for movement. Inside, a candle was extinguished, leaving Quigley in the dark.

“He’s just sitting in there with that big gun,” said the man from his vantage point.

Another smash came from within the house as Quigley turned the table on its side to use as a barricade. The men spread out, more emerged from buildings with guns in hand, and Elliott pulled you away from the house.

“Elliott, what happened?”

“Man’s a lunatic, that’s what happened! You need to get yourself to safety,” Elliott insisted, but you shook your head.

“But Elliott, you’re bleeding —”

“And you’ll be bleeding worse if you get shot! Go, hide in one of the buildings, and get Tommy safe too.”

You still hesitated. You didn’t want to leave him, not just because he was injured, but because he was the only safety you had in this place.

“Go, [Y/n]. That’s an order.” He stroked the side of your face affectionately. “Let me keep you safe.”

You finally conceded and left, grabbing Tommy by the hand and pulling him behind one of the buildings.

You winced, waiting for the sound of gunfire, but it never came. There was another smash from inside the house, quieter this time, and you peeked around the side of the building to see Elliott’s manservant dragging an unconscious Quigley out into the open.

“What shall we do with him, Mr Marston?” asked one of the men.

“Shall we shoot him?” asked another.

You watched as Elliott walked up to Quigley and nudged him with his foot. Quigley rolled onto his back, apparently just about still conscious.

“Show him some of that hospitality you showed him in Melbourne, Coogan,” Elliott declared. The men clapped each other on the backs in excitement and Elliott retreated to his porch and watched as his men circled Quigley and began laughing and kicking him.

You ran up to Elliott, keeping a careful distance from his hollering men.

“Elliott, what are they doing?”

The look in Elliott’s eyes frightened you. He looked just about ready to kill Quigley himself, but when he turned his attention to you, his eyes softened. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close. You instinctively buried your head in his shoulder, as if the closer you were to him, the safer you’d be.

“They’re teaching him a lesson, [Y/n],” Elliott said in a low voice. “No one disobeys me.”

“They’re not gonna kill him, are they?”

Just then, one of the women who’d arrived in the wagon earlier ran into the circle and jumped, screaming, onto one of the men, who easily knocked her out and threw her on top of Quigley’s unconscious body.

“Wait here, sweetheart.”

Elliott kissed the top of your head then approached the men, who parted to let him through.

“Throw him in the wagon,” you heard him decide. “Haul him two days from here and dump him. Let Australia kill him.”

 As the men hurried to obey Elliott’s orders, he stormed back towards the house, where you were anxiously waiting for him on the porch. The glass crunched beneath his feet and he turned back to his men.

“And get this glass cleaned up! If [Y/n] gets even a sliver of a cut it’ll be half portion dinners for all of you!”

He beckoned you inside and you followed, treading carefully over the broken glass. Inside, the manservant was cleaning up the mess Quigley had made when he turned the table over. Elliott walked past him without acknowledgment, then headed into the lounge to sit himself on the sofa with a sigh.

You went into the kitchen, and when you emerged with a cloth and a bowl of water to clean him up, the frown on Elliott’s face melted into a smile.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said with a weary sigh. “A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be exposed to the ugliness of men like Quigley. If I’d known what kind of man he is…”

“I’ve seen worse,” you said truthfully as you began gently dabbing the wet cloth on his face to wash away the blood.

“You are a peculiar woman, [Y/n],” Elliott commented with mild amusement. “Lady Turpin, wife to the formidable Judge Turpin… who’s seen blood and brawls, rats and childbirth. Is London really so bad these days that even the gentry are exposed to the scum of the world?”

“I told you why my brother was transported,” you said quietly. You washed out the cloth, gave Elliott’s face one last wipe for good measure, then set to examining the tears in the cloth of his shirt. “I’ll need to take this off so I can see if you’ve got cuts on your arms.”

Elliott smirked. “You just want me to take my shirt off, don’t you?”

“You fell onto broken glass!” you insisted.

“Relax, [Y/n], I’m joking. Here.”

He pulled his waistcoat off, then let you unbutton his shirt.

“Remind me about your brother.”

You glanced up at him. You’d hoped to distract him from the topic by taking his shirt off, but no such luck.

“He stole a loaf of bread. We were starving. I - we…” You paused, sighing. “I wasn’t always a Lady, Elliott. I climbed the ranks of society when I married William. When we met, I was nothing. Just a - a seamstress’s assistant, begging Lord Turpin for my brother’s life. He’d have been sent to the gallows otherwise.”

“And so he married you?”

“Well, at first he… kept me. As a - a personal whore.” You blushed, unable to look Elliott in the eye as you dispelled the image he had in his mind of you as an innocent Lady. “But over time… we fell in love. He was going to marry his ward, Johanna, but she betrayed him for a sailor and he wanted a wife who loved him. So he married me.”

You bit your lip anxiously and finally looked up at Elliott, who was looking at you with a curious look on his face, and you weren’t sure if he was going to throw you out into the Australian wilderness along with Quigley.

“You gave yourself to a man you didn’t know… in order to save your brother’s life?”

“Well… yes. Although if he’d promised me nothing in return, only taken me because he wanted to, I’d have not had much choice. He takes what he wants, just as you do. I’m very grateful I was able to at least save Tommy at the same time.”

Elliott raised a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone as if to check you were real.

“You are… remarkably brave.”

You blushed. You hadn’t been sure how Elliott would react to knowing the truth, but that certainly wasn’t what you’d have expected.

You were about to speak when Elliott laughed.

 “I’m sorry, I seem to have smudged some blood on your cheek.”

He took the wet cloth from you, washed the blood from his hands, then gently wiped the smudge from your cheek.

“There. All better. It should be my seed on your face, not my blood.”

You blushed, which made him laugh again.

“I believe you were taking my shirt off.”

“I - yes,” you stammered. You helped him ease the shirt from his shoulders, trying not to get too distracted by his chest as you examined him for cuts.

His chest and arms seemed fine, but when you asked him to lean forward, you saw he had an array of cuts on his back.

“It’s pretty nasty back here. You might be best off getting in the bath if you have the water.”

“First my shirt comes off, now you want me naked and wet. You needn’t make excuses, [Y/n].”

All the same, Elliott stood, poked his head into the dining room and instructed the manservant to draw him a bath. You sat yourself on the sofa and pointed to the floor in front of you.

“You’ve got some glass still in your skin. Sit here facing away, I’ll get it out.”

“Facing away? Are you sure?” Elliott said with a glint in his eye as he followed your instructions. “If I face you, it’ll be much easier to lick your gorgeous cunt.”

“That’s no way to speak to me when I’m picking glass out of your skin,” you said, glad he couldn’t see you blushing as you carefully pulled out the first shard. “If you distract me, I might push it back in by accident.”

“That’s true, and we don’t want you to take longer than necessary. I really do fancy that bath actually, and I’d like you to join me. I’m sure your back must be pretty beaten up too after our little escapade in the trees earlier.”

“I think my dress took most of it. I appreciate your concern, though, and I’ll gladly join you. I haven’t had a bath in months. Some people bathed in the sea during the journey but you need to be able to swim. William can swim, of course, so I just watched him.” You smiled, remembering the sight of your husband in his striped swimwear, soaking wet, climbing back onto the ship. One would almost be forgiven for thinking he was an ordinary man.

Elliott turned slightly to look over his shoulder at you.

“Do you truly love him?”

Your hand almost slipped in surprise at the audacity of the question.

“Of course I do! I love my husband more than anything! Serving him is the only thing that matters in my life.” You huffed. “Now stay still, I need to get the rest of this glass out.”

Elliott didn’t ask you anything more about William, and when the bath was ready and the glass picked from Elliott’s back, he led you into the bathroom and helped you unlace your dress.

“Mmm… the chance to see that beautiful body of yours all wet and shining, pressed up against me… it’s worth any number of cuts on my back.”

“You don’t need to get yourself cut up to get my clothes off, Elliott,” you said coyly.

Elliott grabbed the loosened neckline of your dress and pulled it down. He groaned with desire when your breasts popped out, his hands immediately wrapping around your chest to fondle them.

“‘I love my husband more than anything,’” he quoted at you mockingly. “Yet here you are getting your tits out for me.”

You turned your head away from him, not wanting him to see the upset on your face.

“I’m here because he told me to. If I had my choice, I’d still be in Melbourne with him.”

“Mmm, and what sort of husband does that make him, huh?” Elliott taunted, his hand leaving your breast to push your skirt down further and slide underneath your bloomers. “Getting you out the way, keeping you busy by offering up your most skilful services… how many whores do you think he’s had since we left Melbourne?”

Elliott was lucky he had you trapped in his arms, or else you might have slapped him.

“I’ve changed my mind. Perhaps you ought to have your bath alone.”

You tried to extract yourself from Elliott’s grip, but he was stronger than you, and he just held you tighter.

“Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. You said it yourself - you give me your body because your husband ordered it. And you wouldn’t want to disobey him, now, would you? No… no, I think I’ll take you right here, over the bathtub.”

He pushed you forward, forcing you to bend over the bathtub, your arse in the air while you grabbed onto the opposite edge to stop yourself from going head-first into the steaming water.

You braced yourself for the inevitable intrusion between your legs, but it never came. Elliott just stood behind you, breathing heavily, and you had no idea what he was doing or what he was thinking. Moments dragged, then finally Elliott groaned in frustration and, to your surprise, pulled you up straight again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against your ear, his breath hot on your cheek. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

He sighed, apparently lost for words.

“You’re not a whore. Nor are you my wife. I promised I’d only take what’s freely given, and I’m a man of my word. I won’t… I won’t do that to you.”

He took a step back, freeing you from the enclosure he’d locked you in between his body and the bathtub.

“Go on, you can go…”

You turned around, and to your surprise Elliott seemed embarrassed, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Who’s gonna clean the blood off your back?”

He shrugged, as if the answer was unimportant. You shook your head and pushed your skirt and bloomers to the floor, followed quickly by your shoes. Elliott watched, confused, as you undressed yourself then slid into the bath, sitting at the end with your legs open for him to climb in with you.

“Come on, then,” you said.

Elliott stripped, then climbed into the bath with you, fitting neatly between your legs with his back to you so you could begin gently sponging down his back.

“You’re a very compassionate person, [Y/n],” Elliott said quietly. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No. What does that word mean?”

“It means you’re kind. Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

“Everyone deserves kindness. Even those who don’t believe they deserve it. Perhaps especially them.”

Elliott wished he could embrace you, but he settled for placing his hand on your knee. He was glad you couldn’t see his face, because you might have seen the anguish on his furrowed brow, his desperate attempt to stop himself falling in love with you. But how could he not, when he almost lost control and your response was to wash his back? The joy he’d seen in your eyes when you saw the lambs’ birth, the devilish smile you gave him when you tried to be shy even as lust coursed through you, the joy on your face when you saw your brother again and the kindness with which you treated everyone you came across, even him. You’d seen him be thrown out of his own house and sentence men to their deaths, he’d almost forced himself on you over the bathtub, and yet… here you were, cleaning the wounds on his back.

As far as he was concerned, you were an angel sent to him, and by god he was going to treasure you for the rest of his life.

He just had to get your pesky husband out of the way first.