“Blaine!” Kurt called as he was entering the apartment, “Blaine, are you home?”

“Just a minute, honey. I'll be right out,” Blaine called from the bedroom.

“I didn't see you on campus after lunch. Where did you go?”

“I was...around.  I had some things to do.  Hey, Kurt, why don't you put down your stuff and sit on the sofa? I'll be with you in just a second.” Blaine was still calling from the bedroom.

Kurt was a little surprised that Blaine hadn't come out to greet him yet with a kiss, but he did as commanded, “What are you up to?”

“Just this,” Blaine said, pushing aside the curtain to the bedroom. He was dressed in Kurt's prom kilt, a white linen shirt, a thin black tie, his own short, black jacket, and a sporran. He had borrowed some socks from Kurt, because he didn't have many pairs of his own, and the few he had were unsuitable for a kilt. He was also wearing black dress shoes.

“Wow,” was all Kurt could think to say, because Blaine in a kilt in real life was even better than he was pictured it in his head.

Blaine walked into the center of the living room and twirled. Kurt's eyes grew wide, “Are you not wearing….?”

Blaine walked over to where Kurt was sitting, put one knee between Kurt's legs, bent down, and kissed him teasingly on the lips, “Nothing is worn under here, my love. Trust me, it's all in perfect working order.”

Kurt groaned, “You did not just say that.” Still, Kurt put his hands to Blaine's bare thighs, and then his hands traveled up until they were grasping the naked, white globes of Blaine's ass.

“Where did you find my kilt?” Kurt asked as his hands began kneading Blaine's round flesh.

Blaine pressed his lips to Kurt's neck, and Kurt threw his head back, eyelids fluttering, “Carole sent it to me,” he said between small bites along the column of Kurt's throat.

“Perhaps we should take this to the bedroom where our stuff is,” Kurt gasped out.

“No need,” panted Blaine. “Look in the sporran.”

Kurt pulled away from Blaine slightly and looked at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

Blaine nodded toward the small pouch buckled around his hips. Kurt undid the clasp and looked in. The pouch was stuffed with condoms and lube.

“Just how many times do you think we're going to go tonight?”

“We have the apartment all to ourselves. I thought we could try to break our own record.”

“Blaine MacAnders, you are a rogue.”

“That's right, Elizabeth. And your virtue is no longer safe with me.”

They stopped midday to eat and water the horses, and Blaine began formulating a plan to see if he might persuade his wife to have a dalliance—maybe a forever dalliance, if there was such a thing—with Finn. Rachel, in the meantime, was plotting a way to get her husband into the arms of the man passing himself off as “Elizabeth.”

When they returned to the road, Blaine persuaded Finn to ride with them in the carriage under the guise that, in his English clothes, Finn was unsafe to travel where he might be observed.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Blaine objected. “That's a little contrived, isn't it?”  They were lying naked on the sofa after a truly marathon session of sex that would probably force them to burn the sofa cushions.  There were stains that were not coming out.  

“It's called suspension of disbelief, Blaine,” Kurt replied in his best bitch voice. “So suspend already.”

Blaine snuggled his head more firmly into Kurt's neck. “Sorry, dear,” he said meekly.

“So, Finn," Blaine said to the groom as they jostled along the road, "A big strapping lad like you. We'll get you kitted out like a Scotsman in no time.”

The color raised on Finn's cheeks as he objected, “Sir, I couldn't run around with my knees sticking out. It's not manly!” Then Finn noticed the bare knees of the man sitting across from him, and he tried to backpedal furiously, “Uh, I mean, it's not right for me, as an English man, but, for you, I mean, well, it's…”

Blaine leaned forward and patted Finn's thigh. “You'll get used to it, son.” Then Blaine noticed where he had his hand and he sat back abruptly, the color now rising in his own cheeks.

Rachel noticed all of this with interest. She was fairly certain that Blaine's taste ran toward other men. It was the only thing that explained his interest in that ugly “woman,” Elizabeth, but she needed to be absolutely sure. She raised a daintily embroidered handkerchief to her mouth and coughed slightly. Then she let it flutter to the floor of the carriage. “Oh dear,” she exclaimed.

Finn, Tina, and Blaine all reached for it at the same time. Rachel knew they would. Tina—although an excellent maid—was also a bit of a strumpet, and she wore dresses that were always a little lower cut than was strictly the fashion, exposing a great expanse of amble bosom.

“No, no. Not more breasts!”

“Blaine, if you interrupt me one more time, we're going to be done here.”

Blaine tilted his head up and kissed Kurt softly on the jaw, “I'll be good, I promise.”

“That's better. Now where was I? Oh, yes, exposing a great expanse of ample bosom…”

As Tina reached down, her dress gaped even more at the neckline, giving an even fuller view of what she had to offer. Finn's eyes were drawn to the display like a moth to a flame. Blaine, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice at all. However, when Finn was the first to retrieve the handkerchief, and he leaned across the carriage to return it to Rachel, Blaine's eyes traveled up the length of Finn's leg that was now exposed at the thigh as his coat rode up.

Rachel felt a stab of jealousy that Finn had ogled the maid, but she reminded herself that no hot-blooded man could resist that much of a display. Of course, the fact that her husband did resist—in fact, didn't even seem to notice—but did notice when Finn was slightly more exposed, boded very well, indeed, for the next part of Rachel's plan. Now she just had to make certain that her husband found out about “Elizabeth's” secret.

Once he did, she was certain, the cook's assistant would only be that much more irresistible.

“You know, this is chapter five, and I only promised you five chapters,” Kurt mentioned after they had settled in on the now defiled sofa, hot cocoa in hand. Kurt had made the cocoa for them after he had finished reading the latest chapter, and they had gotten up, showered, and dressed in their pajamas.

“You can't stop now,” Blaine rolled his head back onto Kurt's shoulder and looked up at him with sad, puppy dog eyes. “Pleeeeeease?”

Kurt gave out a huff, “Well, I suppose if you're very nice, I could drag this out for a few more chapters.”

Blaine dragged his index finger across the top of Kurt's knuckles. “I can be very, very nice. And I can be naughty, too, as I believe I demonstrated earlier. Three times, in fact.”

Kurt groaned, “Don't remind me. If I can walk at all tomorrow, it will be a miracle.” Kurt arched his back into a stretch, wincing at the stiffness. “If I'd known all this historical romance was going to make you so, um, affectionate, I would have stocked the shelves with Barbara Cartland novels years ago.”

“She's Victorian. This is Tudor.”

“I am so very disturbed that you know that.”