Dragon Age One Shots

Regency Cullen 15

He places her limp body upon the settee, Cullen's heart in his throat as her hand falls to her breast. Picking the pallid fingers up in his, he tries to rub life back in them.

"Sir?" James finally answers the shouts Cullen left ringing from the door to his office. It holds the nearest resting place he could think of.

Cupping his hand over hers and peering over her fluttering eyelids, Cullen orders, "Fetch the salts. Or a doctor, anything to..."

Slowly, the lush lashes crack open an inch. A sliver of emerald green beams up at him and a prayer escapes as a gasp from him.

When she fell in the garden, he feared his proposal caused her to suffer a stroke. Placing the back of his hand to her forehead, Cullen begs, "Are you all right?"

Gwen moves to sit up, Cullen curling his palm around her back to help her rise. After glancing around at the surroundings, she pivots her face to his and a flush rises on her cheeks. "Yes," she whispers, her features turning coy.

"Thank the heavens," Cullen cries loudly, turning his head over his shoulder to shout for James. "We no longer require the salts, though the doctor might..."

"No," her slender fingers curl over his cheek and in an instant Cullen is hypnotized. The tiny tips dance through his scruff, brushing the prickly hairs down as she barely pivots his eyes back to her. "I meant, what you asked in the garden. The answer is yes."

"Really?" he gulps, the rapid thundering in his chest turning to a surprising joy.

Gwen extends her graceful neck, Cullen's eyes drawn to the deep hollow at the base. A thrill courses through him to place his lips to it, to taste her decolletage and unwind the green ribbon hugging below her bosom. But, as she draws her finger across her plush lips, the nail scratching a soft pink line through the soft brown, his plans change.

Unaware of the lecher hiding inside the noble, Gwen laughs, "Yes, truly. I would be most...amenable to your courting."

"Amenable?" Cullen laughs himself, "Is that one of the vocabulary words you're teaching Branson?"

Her smile lights up his heart and she leans closer, her fingers curling around the back of his jaw. With breath barely passing her lips, she says, "He's far too young to learn the word for what I'm truly thinking."

Cullen's breath sputters from his lips, his face swiveling directly into the full glory of her green eyes. He can smell the perfumes cleansed across her body, a hint of jasmine and rose water rising from her neck. Darting his tongue over his lips, he tastes the spark of air between them, his mind filling with the wonders of what a touch of her lips would do to his.

"Sir, I have..." James announces.

Twisting away, Cullen staggers to his feet and instantly regrets it as pain shoots up his knee. With the beautiful woman about to...no, she wasn't. That's unseemly even for a man courting her. Especially for a man courting her. They require a chaperone, he needs a chaperone.

By God, does he need a chaperone.

After glaring at the Steward for the unwanted, but necessary, interruption, Cullen arranges his leg to lessen the pain. James is already digging into the desk for his medicine, and a snifter of brandy to properly dull the pain. As the old sea dog stumbles around trying to hide his broken state, the poor woman who fainted dead away rises to her feet.

The tension percolates as Cullen downs his pills and drink all while James remains standing behind the desk as a reminder of propriety. Gwen's bright eyes drift to the man, but remain focused upon Cullen. His hand rises, aching to wrap her small body in his arms, but he restrains himself.

"My Lord," she begins, and he frowns. Will they have to retain such titles even in the midst of a courtship? Why does he not know these things. "I admit I don't have much experience by way of courting."

Welcome to the club.

"...but, I please ask that I remain with Master Branson as his Governess. After the year he's had another upheaval without warning could be detrimental."

A Duke is asking her to potentially become his wife, and her first concern is for his nephew. Warmth wraps around Cullen's heart even as bitterness drips down his throat for his failure to take into account Branson's feelings. "I would like nothing more," he says.

The smile across her sweet lips is worth his fumble, Gwen curtsying deep. Her eyes remain closed until she reaches the lowest dip. For a breath those emeralds dart up through her lashes, pinning the breath in Cullen's throat. "If you will excuse me, your Grace. I should return to the Young Master before he decides all of his maths are worthless."

Cullen snickers at the idea and gifts her a wave. "What about after supper? When Branson is being put to bed?"

She turns at the door, her eyebrow raising as if to ask, 'So soon?' Is his eagerness a drawback? But the smile curls over her lips and she dips down, "I cannot wait."

Cullen's heart soars as the door closes, leaving him with the now lingering question of what one does when courting a woman. James coughs once and points to the mound of work he's been ignoring for a week in his pursuit of a Governess with eyes as green as jade and a heart bigger than the ocean.

____________________________

"I can't do this. I don't know what I was thinking. This is..." Cullen tries to flee from his own bathtub, but James places a steadying hand to his panicking shoulders.

"You will be fine, Sir," he assures while running a line of foam over Cullen's cheeks. The glint of the razor causes Cullen to clench his toes, but James is careful and quick.

He barely picked at dinner, forced to listen to the vicar and mayor droning on about their menial problems while his ears honed to the woman at the end of the table. She sat beside Branson, insisting he finish all his peas before his pudding. Not once did she look up, her face cool and collected for what is to come. Meanwhile, his Grace was a bumbling mess as he ran to his rooms to freshen up.

Still is a bumbling mess. His chin dips, the razor slicing closer and Cullen holds his breath.

"What makes me think I know how to court a woman? My courting days were spent at sea, romancing sharks and drunken sailors forced to sleep in the lifeboats. No, no," he shakes his head, pulling back from James' trust blade. White foam lingers on his lip and his neck, but Cullen dips into the water, washing it away. The hairs can remain where they began same as his heart.

"Sir," James chides as Cullen rises from the tub. He ignores the hand proffered to him and grabs the rope instead. It's become such second nature, he barely notices until the loud fall of the sandbag as he puts his weight back in his worthless legs.

Rubbing a towel over his scarred body, Cullen shakes his head at the entire idea. Courting at his age. A young lady. How foolish could he be?

"Your Grace, if you please," the Steward oversteps his boundaries and grips to Cullen's naked arm. He glares at the touch, but James sighs, "do you not enjoy this woman's company?"

"Well, yes." He wouldn't have walked down this path if he didn't.

"Do you not find her pleasing to look at?"

The blush chars over his naked body, Cullen wrapping the towel over his hips in the event the thought of Gwen should bring expected consequences. He does not answer the question, but his glare increases upon the sudden forward man.

"And she has wholeheartedly agreed to this?" James continues.

"I would not be in this position if she didn't."

"My Lord, I would say it's rather clear that Miss Trevelyan cares for you." The Steward who's asking for a boot points to the rope and tackle system she made for him.

With a wry smile, Cullen tugs on the rope, hefting the ingenious sandbag higher and he thinks of her kind fingers nailing every bit of it up. "What do I say to her?" he gulps to James.

The Steward smiles, already extracting the navy frock coat and silver vest from the wardrobe. "Be yourself, your Grace. And if that fails, speak of the weather."

God, Cullen prayed while slipping on his trousers, give me the strength to see this to the end.