Chapter 12: A Response

The cravat, a silken affair of the finest linen, yielded with the delicate resistance of a wrapped present. "Why must you gentlemen always make such a to-do of things?" Alicia drawled, her voice a languid purr. He lowered his gaze to meet hers. "To conceal the neck, naturally." It was, after all, a cornerstone of gentlemanly attire. When thus adorned, he possessed a certain refined air, a most proper demeanor. "Much like how we ladies are expected to don bonnets when venturing outdoors," Alicia mused, ever one to draw parallels. "Precisely," he agreed, sitting ramrod straight, his eyelashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks. With the cravat discarded, his elegant neck was revealed in all its splendor. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing conspicuously. Alicia reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his throat with tentative curiosity. "Don't..." he began, his eyes fixed on her. "You startle so easily, Cavendish," she observed, not unkindly. He adored it when she addressed him by name, even if it was only his surname. His skin, Alicia mused, was remarkably smooth and unblemished, devoid of any scars. She couldn't be certain about his back, of course. That would require further investigation later. The tailcoat, a snug garment, proved a challenge to remove. Alicia set about undoing the double-breasted buttons one by one. As her fingertips flitted across the fabric, he captured one, his lips closing around it in a warm embrace. Alicia met his gaze, gently extricating her finger. He chuckled softly, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and offered his assistance in doffing the coat. Now, only a waistcoat remained, molding his trim torso. Her curiosity regarding his physique piqued, she pressed against the satin fabric, listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. "Your heart races so," she remarked. It seemed to beat even faster at her words. She continued her exploration, only to find his countenance flushed. Her hands, poised for an embrace, retreated. He remained still, allowing her examination to continue unhindered. Alicia traced the breadth of his waist, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a slight backward shift from him. She embraced his shoulders, savoring the smooth curve. He stiffened further. "When relaxed, muscles should be supple," she noted, prodding him gently. "You always tense up like this on purpose." Cavendish offered a wry smile, finally allowing Alicia to discover a patch of yielding softness. It was surprisingly elastic. She pinched the muscle at his chest. "You are not to touch there," he declared, his breath catching. "But you enjoy touching me there." He was rendered speechless, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. "Alicia, you are sometimes..." Like a curious little creature, both innocent and ruthless. He did not delude himself into thinking she loved him, nor did he attempt to use that love to move her. Alicia was certainly not lacking in love from friends and family. She had always possessed everything she desired, and cared for nothing. Why, then, was he so utterly captivated by her? She finally removed his waistcoat, and he let out a sigh, his gaze fixed upon her. Men's shirts were typically simple in design, but Cavendish, with his refined tastes, possessed a collection where each was unique. He showed her the embroidered initials on the collar, her lips a hair's breadth from his. "A.A.C.," Alicia read aloud. "Are these my initials?" "Indeed," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands and drawing her close for a brief, tender kiss. He pulled the shirt over his head, revealing a lean, lithe torso, radiating a warmth that Alicia often complained was too much when he held her. Yet, when the chill of night descended, she craved his embrace. She urged him onto the bed, her eyes scanning his skin for any imperfections. It was youthful, smooth, and resilient. Wherever she touched, the muscles beneath rippled and flexed. His back, too, was unmarred by scars. He suppressed a smile, his gaze following her every movement. Alicia, as he had hoped, was quite taken with his physique. "Were you not in the army?" she inquired, her fingers tracing the contours of his body as he breathed, a mixture of restraint and longing in his movements. "I was, as an aide-de-camp. I was young then, and recovered swiftly." He showed her a faint white mark on his inner arm, where a piece of shrapnel had once lodged. He recounted how, had he ridden a little faster, the shell would have landed squarely on his head. He never boasted of his service. The aristocracy valued martial prowess; their titles and lands were often the spoils of their ancestors' military exploits. For young, spirited gentlemen, especially younger sons, the battlefield held an allure, a chance to prove themselves and expend their excess energy. But war was no jest, nor was it solely about flowers and glory. Many a soldier, struck by bullets, faced amputation to prevent infection, while others lost their sight or suffered tremors and limps. Cavendish was fortunate, or rather, as the heir apparent to his great-uncle, his safety was paramount, and he had to abandon that path. His life had been circumscribed from the moment of his birth. The old Duke of Devonshire's two brothers had passed away early, both unmarried, and his sister had wed the Duke of Portland. Then there was his cousin, the Earl of Burlington. The Earl of Burlington had many children, but aside from Cavendish's father, his other three uncles had married late, the youngest still a bachelor. This meant that, among their peers, only Alicia and her young cousin were of a similar age. Her eldest male cousin, in fact, was but six years old. The two of them, as the sole heirs of the family's bloodline, were considered precious beyond measure. William Cavendish could not afford any mishaps. His rebellious enlistment and brief stint on the battlefield ended with his recall. Thus, he felt a responsibility towards his cousin, yet he also harbored a certain resentment towards her. He couldn't fathom why this girl, nine years his junior, was to be his wife. She was but a child, yet she held the key to his future, his destiny. This had little impact until he reached fourteen when the Marchioness of Hartington was deemed unable to bear an heir. He didn't particularly need the Dukedom of Devonshire or its lands. He was already destined to be the Earl of Burlington and inherit a substantial fortune. Two of his unmarried relatives had already bestowed upon him an income of sixty thousand pounds a year. Though his mother, Lady Diana, was quite insistent. She had always been resentful that her father's title had passed to her cousin instead of her male offspring. Cavendish saw it as a burden, but one he was legally bound to inherit. To relinquish it would mean it passing to his uncle, who, at the age of 28, was still unwed. What hope was there in relying on a potential future cousin? He was perplexed, yet he began to convince himself to care for her. William Cavendish was grateful he had chosen this path, for he discovered that duty could, in fact, blossom into love. Alicia's fingertips traced the faint scar, a gesture that transformed into an unexpected tenderness. He had clenched a knife between his teeth as the surgeon extracted the shrapnel, beads of cold sweat dotting his brow. He had fled the comforts of England, seeking to forge his own destiny. Wrapped in a blanket, sleeping under the vast expanse of the night sky, the young man's heart fluttered as he imagined his future wife. He preferred someone closer to his own age, unlike the prevailing societal trend where men were expected to marry in their late twenties—deemed sufficiently mature and established—while girls were wed off at sixteen or seventeen. He clasped her hand tightly. This age difference, with the passage of time, had gradually become more palatable. Alicia returned her cousin's kiss. His bare torso was smooth and warm, his strong heartbeat pulsing against her neck. Their intimacy was for the purpose of procreation, a sacred duty, yet he always strived to ensure her pleasure, to avoid any sense of obligation. What did he desire? Alicia often wondered, especially when he professed his love for her. Listening to his heartbeat, she almost believed it to be true. ... "Cavendish, you've been acting rather peculiar of late," Alicia remarked one day. "How so?" "It's as if you have nothing to occupy your time." He had numerous responsibilities and duties, far more than what was expected of women. Of course, he could delegate everything to his agents. But perhaps if he immersed himself in his own affairs, he wouldn't trouble her so. "Cavendish, you must learn to practice restraint," she added after a pause. "I hear that if one exerts oneself during the day, the evenings become more manageable." Alicia nestled in his embrace. For the first time, she faced him, savoring their closeness. They did nothing but hold each other, a silent communion. Cavendish, upon hearing her reasoning, relaxed his countenance. He had feared she was about to cast him aside once more. His thoughts drifted to the mountain of paperwork and reports awaiting his attention. "You refer to the estates I am to manage?" Marriage signified independence. Traditionally, the husband oversaw the estate, while the wife managed the household, with no interference from either party in the other's domain. "Let us postpone that until our return to London. This is, after all, our honeymoon," he said, carefully tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Alicia's life, aside from their intimate encounters, remained largely unchanged from her spinster days. Nor did she experience the anxieties typical of newlywed couples during their honeymoon, such as concerns about mutual affection. She seemed neither to doubt nor to care about such matters. From a young age, she had been surrounded by love. "I am the one behaving normally," he declared with a raised eyebrow. "In the initial weeks of marriage, both parties are typically eager to please and win each other's favor..." Alicia lifted her gaze. "Do you wish for me to please you?" Was that what her cousin desired? Cavendish paused, his gaze lingering. He traced her features with his eyes, then slowly shook his head. "No, it is I who shall please you." "Why?" "Because I am your husband." Your beloved. She did care for him, in her own way, albeit a somewhat detached one. For instance, she had begun to show concern for his feelings. They kissed, lips brushing against each other, his imbued with tender affection. He reluctantly broke the kiss, retrieving a pillow to place beneath her. Her cheeks flushed, she watched him, bewildered by his sudden cessation. Even though his face mirrored her own flush, she could sense his arousal. "What are you doing?" Alicia watched as he shifted below her, his arms encircling her waist. "Pleasing you," he stated plainly. "What?" "I sense that you do not find those acts entirely agreeable." "That's not quite true." She enjoyed his embrace, the strength of his arms. "I believe I know what you truly prefer," he murmured with a gentle smile. "The third night, perhaps?" Alicia regarded him with a questioning look. "That was most unusual." "Then let us try," he said, his fingers interlacing with hers. She recalled the sensations of that night. Indeed, she had been particularly expressive, clinging to him when he attempted to withdraw, urging him to kiss her. "Alicia, I am pleased that you are expressing your desires so openly," he said, his face close to hers, his cool skin a stark contrast to her heated cheek. He whispered sweet nothings, his kisses trailing upwards. Alicia felt a surge of arousal, tilting her head back, savoring this novel sensation, and... anticipation. She sat up, and he clasped her hand, their thumbs touching. "If you dislike it, simply tell me to stop. We shall discover what brings you pleasure." Alicia suddenly realized that this was perhaps a crucial aspect of marriage, the distinction between companionship that was familial and that which was marital. She gazed into his blue eyes, his dark, unruly hair. "Alicia," he breathed. She parted her lips, murmuring, "William?" The name ignited a spark in his eyes, and after a moment's hesitation, a radiant smile bloomed on his face. He was overjoyed, his enthusiasm palpable. A faint smile touched Alicia's lips as she observed him. His reaction intrigued her. She reached out, stroking his dark locks.