Submitting to His Lordship

by EM BROWN

  Spotting the maid, he instructed the servant, “That will need cleaning, but first see her ladyship to bed. She is not to leave her chamber tonight.”

  The maid nodded. With a last glance at the groaning Isabella, he shook his head and left the room.

  Damnation. Isabella was worse than Lucille. God help Lucille, if he ever discovered that his sister had behaved as recklessly, he would lock her in a dungeon till she was thirty.

  Isabella, however, was not his sister. Miss Herwood had accused him of assuming roles that were not his. Minding Isabella had certainly cut into his enjoyment of Miss Herwood’s company. Were it not for Isabella, he would have been in bed with Miss Herwood. He imagined his body entwined with hers. He wondered if she was awake.

  He decided to see for himself if she was. Back at the threshold to Miss Herwood’s chambers, he quietly opened the door. The last flickers of the flames in the fireplace provided a sufficient glow for him to see. Miss Herwood lay serenely asleep in her bed beneath the plush covers. He ought not disturb her peaceful slumber, but his cock had reared its head at the sight of her. Recalling how she had felt in his arms, how soft her skin had felt beneath his hands, he could not move himself to leave.

  As if sensing his presence, she stirred. Her eyes opened half-way. A smile flitted across her lips. She stretched and opened her eyes more.

  “Back for more, your lordship?” she inquired.

  There was no leaving now. He had denied his need long enough. He began to untie his cravat. She sat up against the pillows and watched as he placed the linen at the foot of the bed and shrugged out of his coat. He unbuttoned and shed his waistcoat next. He walked over to the side of the bed and threw the covers off of her. Instinctively, she covered herself with her arms and hands. He could see the bites of the nine-tail upon her breasts and legs.

  He put one knee on the bed and moved her arm off her bosom. “There is no need to cover such beauty.”

  Grasping her chin, he pulled her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. He inhaled the smell of her as he worked his lips and tongue over her, each taste increasing his appetite and enflaming his body. He had to have her. And possess her he would.

  Circling an arm around her waist, he crushed her body to his. His erection pressed hard against her. He was tempted to take her without ceremony. Feeling between her legs, he found a wetness there that could not have been simply from their prior encounter. Her desire was more than intoxicating. With a groan, he delved his tongue into her mouth. He fondled her clitoris till she panted against his mouth, struggling slightly to keep up with the onslaught.

  His cock stretched, more than anxious to merge with her hot, wet cunnie. He had thought to disrobe more fully, but when one of her hands wrapped around his neck and buried itself in his hair, he decided kicking off his shoes was sufficient. Lips still locked, he leaned her back into the bed and lay atop her. He could feel her breasts pushing into his chest and her glorious wetness seeping into his pants. He kissed her harder. As always, she tasted divine.

  He took her nipples next. His ardor would not allow him more delicacy and he sucked them forcefully, making her gasp and writhe beneath him. He was relieving his impatience and the stress of the evening through her, but if she were not so damned alluring, he might have found it easier to be more gentlemanly. Instead he ground his cock into her as if he would penetrate her through his clothes.

  “Take me.”

  At first he barely heard her, but when he looked into her eyes, she repeated her words.

  “Take me.”

  Her gaze seemed to challenge him. He needed no further invitation. He unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, and his cock sprang at the ready. He rubbed its head against her folds, so deliciously wet. Her eyelashes fluttered, and a purr escaped her lips. He pushed against her opening, and she tilted her hips for him. With as much forbearance as he could muster, he pushed the head of his shaft into her. She gasped at the intrusion, her muscles pulsed about him. He sank himself further into her. She moaned.

  “My God,” he breathed when he had buried himself to the hilt.

  The heat. The moisture. It had been too long. How had he managed to stay away from this for a year? He should have been inside of her sooner.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck. He began to slide in and out of her, slowly and carefully, for he needed to steel himself against spending too early. She met his every thrust, and they began to build a steady rhythm. Once he felt himself in control, he palmed a breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple. He propped himself up to view her face, her eyelids lowered and her cheeks flushed.

  He speared into her with increasing force while ensuring his angle produced the maximum response from her. Their rhythm quickened, and she grasped his biceps to keep herself in place. Her moans turned into cries as her wave began to build. He pushed against her, wanting to become one with her body. There was nothing finer than being buried inside of her, enveloped in her desire. Despite his clothing, he relished the feel of her naked body. He squeezed the breast he held as the fire in his scrotum threatened to boil over.

  With a wail, she bucked and shuddered violently beneath him. Her fingers dug into him, but he felt only the pressure of desire from his groin. With a low grunt, he pushed himself into her as deep as he could go. His muscles tightened, then released with a series of convulsions as he spilled himself into her. He thrust at her a few more times until the last of the tremors had subsided. Relief washed through him from head to toe.

  My God. It felt as magnificent as the first time.

  He kissed her below her ear before pulling out of her. Rolling onto his side, he collected her in his arms. She nestled against his chest with a satisfied sigh. He closed his eyes. For the moment he forgot all else, conscious only of how it felt to hold her in his arms.

  * * * * *

  Deana woke earlier than usual but felt she had slept deeply. She opened her eyes and found herself alone. She had been somewhat aware of his leaving her bed in the middle of the night but had been too tired to pay much attention. As she stretched, memories of last night flooded her immediately. His lordship had untied her bindings with a tenderness that contrasted with the sharpness of his discipline. From her vanity he had retrieved and applied a pomade to the marks on her sensitive breasts. She cupped an orb and felt a tug between her legs. She trailed a hand there, remembering how delightful his attentions had been. She rolled her clitoris between her fingers, amazed at how quickly her arousal had flamed. Would she always find herself in such a heightened state while at the Chateau or in the company of Lord Rockwell?

  And then he had returned and taken her at last. She felt satisfied at the soreness between her legs. She had begun to wonder why he had not entered her before. How marvelous it had felt when he did! With her previous lovers, she had not always spent. With Lord Rockwell, she had attained those delightful paroxysms without fail.

  With thoughts of his lordship, she fondled herself until she spent. Despite the release, she felt hungry for more. Rather, she felt hungry for him. Throwing back the covers, she decided to start the morning and attempt a normalcy in spite of the setting. She had survived one day and needed to last two more. She rang for Bhadra and went to the wash basin to refresh herself.

  Bhadra appeared with a breakfast tray in hand. Deana marveled at the luxury. She supposed she might as well enjoy it for she was not likely to experience it again.

  “Is his lordship awake?” Deana asked as she selected a simple muslin for the morning.

  “I believe him to be on the veranda overlooking the garden. He asked that I inform him when you are ready to receive his company.”

  “He is not to make a habit of entering unannounced?” Deana could not help herself and saw Bhadra suppress a grin. “A man of his station can take great liberties with impunity.”

  “But he is a good man.”

  Having spoken, perhaps more than intended, Bhadra quickly busied herself with items of the toilette. Deana understood Bha
dra’s quick defense of Rockwell and did not press the maid.

  After dressing and finishing her breakfast, Deana went downstairs in search of Rockwell. As Bhadra had indicated, his lordship was on the veranda. He sat at a table with quill in hand, his brow furrowed in thought. Treading lightly, she had the opportunity to admire him without his notice. He had allowed his hair to grow since their appointment of a year ago. Today it had a wind-swept appearance and she was tempted to run her fingers through it.

  He looked up and the lines about his face eased. “Good morning, Miss, ahem, Sherwood.”

  She smiled. “Good morning. I see that you are occupied. Let me not disturb you.”

  “Stay.” He gestured to the teapot and cups upon the table. “Coffee or tea?”

  She joined him at the table and saw he was composing a letter. It began “Dearest Lucy.”

  As if seeing the subject of her gaze, he said, “My sister. She is my junior of nearly ten years and I her guardian.”

  Recalling his look of concern earlier, she said, “I hope all is well with her?”

  “Yes,” he replied unconvincingly.

  “Forgive my prying, but you seem troubled, my lord.”

  “She is a willful young woman.”

  He shook his head but there was love in his words.

  “Better willful than meek,” Deana said.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “You would rather she relent to others without question or consideration of self?”

  “Where I am concerned, yes. I have her best interests at heart. I have written as much, but I have the sinking suspicion she will pay little heed.”

  He rose and cast the letter aside.

  “I know a little of willful young women. May I?”

  He hesitated at first, but then retrieved the letter for her. Though unfinished, the letter clearly indicated that Lucille had taken a fancy to someone the Baron disapproved of.

  “Your tone is didactic and scolding,” she commented after reading.

  He seemed taken aback, then waved a dismissive hand. “Merely the result of superior experience and sophistication.”

  “I do not know your sister, nor the extent of her willfulness, but it is a delicate matter addressing a woman of her age.”

  “She has barely had her come-out. It seems but yesterday she was in leading strings.”

  Deana could not help but find his vexation rather charming. “Does she love you?”

  Her question baffled him, but he answered, “Yes.”

  “And respect you?”

  “To an extent.”

  “Respect and obedience are not the same.”

  “If she had complete respect for me, she would not challenge me on this matter.”

  “Perhaps if she feared you, yes. That she does feel comfortable speaking her mind to you is a positive quality.”

  “She is not being rational. As I state in the letter, I have been in the world of men far longer than she. My judgment of them is clearly more considerable than hers.”

  “Ah, but matters of the heart are rarely rational.”

  He weighed her words, then shook his head. “They are irrelevant.”

  “Pray, what do you find objectionable in this Wilson fellow?”

  “He is a soldier and his family background questionable. Though he is with a good regiment, his future hardly holds much promise.”

  “You could purchase a commission for him.”

  He glanced sharply at her. “A point Lucille was quick to make as well.”

  “Is she quite taken with him?”

  “That is what concerns me. They became acquainted whilst I was in India last year. I have been remiss in my duties as guardian, but I intend to redouble my efforts.”

  She had not seen him this cross before. The prudent course would be to change the subject, but she was not ready to retreat.

  “What sort of man would satisfy you where your sister is concerned?”

  “An honorable one, capable of ensuring Lucy’s happiness. One who treats her well, with affection, compassion, and generosity.”

  “And this Wilson does not fit these criteria?”

  Rockwell was silent.

  “As you say, you are a better judge of character. But you may find better results with her if you took a more gentle approach. Prohibiting her from consorting with this young man, as you allude to in your letter, may very well have the unintended consequence of enflaming her affection for him and halt any confidence she may share with you.”

  He had his arms crossed and looked at her solemnly. Her intentions had been altruistic, but perhaps she had overstepped her bounds. She decided to pour herself a cup of tea. The beverage was no longer hot, but she drank it nonetheless.

  “Do you speak from experience?” he asked.

  “Not exactly, but what young person has not rebelled against parent or guardian at some time?”

  His features softened, and his posture relaxed. He sat back down at the table but continued to appraise her.

  “You are possessed of sense and wisdom.”

  His compliment took her by surprise. Coming from a man as confident and worldly as he, it was no small statement.

  “If that is so, it is only because I have been through much trial and error.”

  When she looked up from her cup, she found him staring at her with an expression she could not place. As with that night in the rain beneath the umbrella, the world seemed to have shrunk to the space between them. Resisting the moment and surge of emotion in her bosom, she turned her attention to the wonderful view of the garden, lush with spring blooms and ripe lemon trees.

  He followed her gaze. “Would you like to see the garden?”

  She nodded. “And, as it seems it shall be another fine day, perhaps we could take the horses again later?”

  He paused before saying, “Let us address the garden first.”

  She wondered that he did not jump at the chance to ride again. He seemed to enjoy being on horseback.

  Rising to his feet, he took the letter and tore it into quarters. He offered his arm, which she accepted. They strolled the garden in comfortable silence. Between the birds chirping overhead and the trellises covered in wisteria, Deana felt as if she were in another world. And the quiet between her and Rockwell was remarkably precious. He kept her arm in his, and she sensed him also to be at ease.

  Finding herself enjoying the moment far too much, she broke the silence. “My father took me to Ranelagh Gardens a number of times when I was younger, but I rather prefer the wildness of this garden to the manicured arrangements at Ranelagh.”

  They both looked at the violets and primroses mixed with an eruption of bluebells.

  “Are there many gardens in India?”

  “Depends where in India. The climate is quite diverse there ranging from arid to tropical. The Taj Mahal has one of the more impressive gardens.”

  “Yes, I have seen a painting of the Taj Mahal. It must be quite wondrous to behold in person.”

  “It is.”

  “Did your sister spend many years in India?”

  “She was born in India, but my mother returned with her to England when conflict escalated between the Company and the Maratha Empire.”

  “How long have you served as her guardian?”

  “Six years. After my father died of malaria. My mother died of a broken heart a year later.”

  He was looking into the distance, and she could not read his expression.

  “They were taken before their time then, but it seems they were blessed with a loving marriage.”

  He turned to look at her. “Yes, they were. It is a rarity.”

  “Have you no hope for such fortune yourself? Surely a man of your position...”

  “Has more opportunities?” he finished.

  “Yes.”

  “Lucy fancies love a required ingredient for matrimony. I do not.”

  “A practical approach,” she agreed.

  They walked
across a bridge and fell into silence once more. Beyond the shrubs and a bed of rose bushes stood a little pavilion flanked by marble statues. On one side was a nude with his hand upon his very stiff, very long cock. The other side was a female nude stretched upon a pedestal, her mouth open, one hand gripping a sheet draped over half her body.

  “Madame Follet has a most brazen collection of art,” Deana commented.

  “And what say you of her selection?”

  She studied the statue of the man. A familiar sensation stirred in her groin. “Stimulating.”

  He grinned at her impudence. She stepped up into the pavilion. When she turned and looked at him, his grin had faded, replaced by a serious expression.

  “What is it?” she asked, wondering at first if he was troubled by concerns for his sister.

  He sauntered to where she was. She saw then a ravenous look in his eyes, and her body responded immediately, her senses leaping to attention.

  He tilted her chin up and ran his thumb against her lower lip. Her heartbeat quickened at his touch. She wondered that his ardor had been stirred so easily and that her own was proving every bit as eager.

  Chapter Twelve

  BUT HIS EYES ALSO held a different look she could not place. His gaze traversed her physiognomy as if he were a scout surveying the terrain, landing eventually upon her mouth. Lowering his head, he took her lips with his. Her guard melted away. Though they lacked complete privacy, she welcomed the kiss. It felt all too pleasant.

  He worked her mouth with an almost tender quality, coaxing all sorts of feelings to stir inside of her, including that familiar longing in her abdomen. She detected the scent of his shaving cream mixed with the coffee he drank, and idly realized that there was little about Lord Rockwell that did not appeal to her. She would have thought herself quite expended after the activities of last night, but she wanted him again.

  “Shall—we—return—to—the—house?” she asked in between his kisses.

  “Why?” he murmured against her lips.

  For privacy, of course. Instead, she replied, “You have a penchant for public displays, my lord.”