Page 73 of Baron in Check
“The Ton will say I’m an opportunist and tried to seize something that’s not mine. I’m soiling the title like I soiled Hermy’s family name.” Greg spoke but Fave and Arnold cast each other brotherly glances. “I hope she won’t regret this.”
Greg surveyed the room filled with guests and spotted Eve and Gustav in a corner, shaking hands with… could it be? He squinted, but they were too far away, and then Eve turned, put on her smile, and Gustav led her into the crowd. The man was gone but the tingling feeling remained deep in Greg’s chest - his grandfather had been at his wedding. “I hope I’m worthy,” Greg mumbled.
“You or me?” Fave asked Arnold.
Arnold pointed at Fave. “You go first.”
“You are one of the smartest men I know, and I’ve known you my entire life but sometimes, you’re an idiot,” Fave said, but a smile crawled onto his face. “A wise man once said that we must grow and learn from new perspectives. This is yours,Your Grace.” Fave bowed to Greg, now an earl and unsure of the gesture, but when Fave rose and Greg scanned his gaze, Fave seemed proud as a brother would be of another.
Arnold suppressed one of his knowing smirks.
“Mazal tov would be appropriate for a wedding, Fave. No need to be creative, you’re doing poorly.” Greg inclined his head with an unspoken warning. It was one thing to have whispers behind his back, murmurs at Whites when he appeared, but having his best friend insult him outright at his wedding was several sizes larger. Worse.
“You just don’t see it!” Fave sounded exasperated. “You’re set up for greatness and you need to fulfill your potential or you’ll wither like a sunflower turned away from the sun.”
“A withered sunflower and an idiot. I’m telling you Fave, a simple word ‘congratulations’ is entirely sufficient.” Greg looked over his shoulder, trying to ascertain whether any of the other guests, the strangers, had overheard them.
“Let me try to break this down for you. At Eton, when Thompson found out that Arnold and I are Jewish, he was angry and scared. You shared the dormitory room with us and called us your best friends. At Oxford, when the other students went from pub to pub ever Friday night, you had dinner with Arnold and me, so we wouldn’t be alone on Shabbat. When our suppliers couldn’t deliver stones for the pieces we were making for the competition for the Crown Jewels, you took Arnold to America and established a trade route so that we could source gems independently.” Fave turned to Arnold. “What am I missing?”
“When Lizzie wanted to marry Caleb, you nudged him in the right direction, didn’t you?” Arnold lifted his chin and Greg had no choice but to nod.
“And when Ben Klonimus wanted to find another piece of the treasure, you kept him safe on a journey to India that tooka whole year! You covered for him and made sure he’d return to his family,” Fave added.
“We also read the transcripts from your speech at Westminster. They don’t let Jews in, but they cannot prevent us from perusing the records.” Fave laid a hand on Greg’s arm. “You are one of the best human beings I know, and I’m fortunate to call you my friend.”
“We never really thank you and it’s time that we do. Your good heart shows time and again, Greg. And we see it, Hermy sees it. When you rise to the next challenge in your life, you’ll soar higher than any title alone could take you. Your parents may have paved the way for you to walk on, but you’re crushing the gravel under your steps with righteousness, integrity, and virtue.” Arnold’s word made Greg blink. It was silly to bat his eyelids like a girl about to burst into tears but there was an odd constriction in his chest that almost felt as though he needed to.
“There you are!” Hermy floated in wearing her beautiful gown with a bridal bouquet in hand and placed the sweetest of kisses on his cheek. And just like that, it was all forgotten.
Fave and Arnold bowed to Hermy. “Countess Stone, it is our privilege to be among the first to congratulate you,” Arnold said.
“Mazal tov and our heartfelt congratulations,” Fave added with a smile to Greg.
Elatedthat the ceremony was over and light-headed from the dancing, Hermy swung her arms around Greg, still giggling at how they’d stolen away from the wedding celebration and left their guests in the dining room at Greg’s house, a room that had gone unused until Hermy brought a fresh wind to his home,his life, and most certainly his heart. Everyone had been there, curious and relentless, just as Sofia had orchestrated.
The only friendly wedding guest on Hermy’s side had been Gambit, her poodle. Facing the flower-laden altar, the charming brown poodle had sat patiently for his cue as ring bearer, his little bow tie perfectly in place and color-coordinated with the flower girls and flower boys of the Pearler and Klonimus families. As the music swelled, Gambit trotted down the aisle with an elegant gait, a small silken pillow with rings held delicately in his mouth. His tail wagged enthusiastically as he neared the altar, eyes full of devotion and understanding, a perfect symbol of loyalty and joy, when he sat and Greg untied the bands. Of course, Sofia had mumbled some comments but Hermy ignored them.
On this day, Hermy had embraced the shadows, finding strength in the remnants of their schemes. From the ashes of their expectations, she had soared anew. Now, in the arms of her dashing groom, her resilience blazed against the darkness of society’s disdain.
His hands came to her waist and his mien grew serious. Hungry.
“I promised to wait,” he rasped.
Hermy erupted in giggles again. “You did a horrible job with that.”
“Really?” Greg pressed his middle against her, the full length of his erection evidence of his impatience.
Her hands came to the back of his neck, and Hermy’s gaze traced the path of the twilight as it danced across the sculpted terrain of her husband’s neck and torso, each ray of sun playing its part in revealing the masterpiece before her. His neck was designed not just for bearing the weight of responsibility, but for turning swiftly towards laughter, and for bowing gracefully in moments of honest humility.
The muscles of his torso hinted at a strength that was both protective and gentle.
As her eyes ventured further, her hands found the knot of his cravat. She had little trouble opening it and pulled it out from his white, starched collar. He’d started to pull his shirt out of his breeches and unbuttoned it, so that Hermy could slide her hands onto his torso. The expanse of his chest captivated her—a landscape of firm, undulating contours that rose and fell with each breath he took. The play of light and shadow accentuated the chiseled planes and dips, each muscle defined with an artist’s precision yet softened by the warmth of his skin.
Yet, for all his physical prowess, there was a tenderness in the way his body curved towards hers, an invitation to explore, to know him not just in the light of day but in the intimacy of shadows of their past.
She parted his shirt, and he dropped his arms so she could push the fabric off him.
Now the breeches—they had to go.
