His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness: A Steamy Victorian Romance

by Sorcha Mowbray

  Clearing her mind of the chaotic thoughts, she adjusted the grip of the whip in her hand and let the weight center her. Closing her eyes, she could hear the excited breathing of her “client” as he waited. Then she drew in a deep breath, calmed her annoyance, and opened her eyes. She let the whip fly. The man whose back she was using for practice moaned delightedly. “Yes!”

  Ros was masked and had not entered the room until the man was tied up and blindfolded. Mistress Lash had convinced him to leave his pants on since she was training a new Mistress. Though she found the experience of whipping someone to be unsettling in its intimate nature, she knew she needed to practice on someone before she approached Flint. Once Mistress Lash was convinced she had progressed well enough to handle a supplicant, she would allow her to work alone with Flint. The man cried out again, begging for more, harder.

  When Ros was done, she and Mistress Lash would slip away as one of the house girls stepped in to take care of his remaining needs. Focused on her task at hand, she let the whip fly once more, this time, aiming for his upper right shoulder. Evenly she distributed the licks until his back shone a bright red punctuated by the slightly raised welts. She called things to a halt when the man began rubbing his genitals against the wall as he begged for release. Mistress Lash nodded approvingly.

  Ros stepped into an empty room across the hall from the dungeon and pulled her mask off for a moment. Mistress Lash stepped in and smiled. “Well done! I’ve trained others using Douglas, but none have read his responses so well before. I would have to say I think you are ready.”

  Ros sighed. She might be ready, but she wasn’t sure her fiancé was.

  “You do not seem pleased about this.” One of Mistress Lash’s dark brows lifted in question.

  Ros started to pace. “I am very pleased. It’s just that if Flint does not tell me about his issue, how might I raise it without invading his privacy?”

  “It’s his privacy, that’s the bloody problem. The man has needs, and he will not be able to hide them for long. If you do not wish to bring it up, then bide your time. He will eventually recognize he has a problem without the pain, and then he will be forced to tell you.”

  Ros pressed her lips together. “I shall give him some time. But if he does not speak up soon, I shall have to find some way to force the issue. He’s far too stubborn for his own good.”

  If she’d learned nothing else about him, it was that the man could be as obstinate as a mule.

  Chapter 24

  August 1862

  Flint and Wolf stood in the grand hall of Wickerstone Abbey on the Yorkshire moors. Most of the guests of the Earl of Wickerstone were there to kick off the grouse hunting season. Flint was hunting an entirely different animal. But at the moment, he awaited the arrival of his fiancé and her sister. The houseguests were all gathering for dinner and table games to kick off the festivities.

  It had only been a few weeks since he’d proposed to Ros, but already, the burden of giving up his proclivity for pain was weighing heavily. Although, some of the stress could be attributed to his hunt for Cunningham. Everyone who was anyone had decamped from London and was in the process of making their way from one house party to another as the social season drew to a close. Of course, rumor had it Cunningham was planning to make the rounds, so Flint went in search of the man behind all the threats. He dashed first to the race meeting at Goodwood, then to the Henley Regatta, and finally to the Isle of Wight for Cowes Week.

  At each must-attend social event, he would catch a glimpse of his quarry, usually across a great crowd. But, by the time he would arrive where he’d spied Cunningham, the man had moved along. Even more alarming, the rumors that had begun to surface in London were now circulating at the various events. The gist was that the man was in hock up to his eyeballs and in desperate need of funds, all of which Flint knew to be true. And yet, the man had proven elusive in the last weeks of the social season. Finally, Flint was forced to pursue an invitation to Wickerstone as a guest of Cooper.

  Cunningham was certain to make an appearance since the Earl of Wickerstone was the key to his entrée into the upper echelons of society. Wickerstone was an arbiter of good taste and held one of the older earldoms dating back to 1585 when one of his relatives won Queen Elizabeth I’s favor. Flint suspected piracy—or the more acceptable version, privateering—was the catalyst for such bounty. But, Wickerstone never discussed the actual act that won the title, merely the length of its existence.

  Not normally one to enjoy such socially oriented activities, Flint had found it something of a challenge to convince everyone he wished to attend the house party. Fortunately, when Cooper questioned the earnestness of the request, Flint had been successful in convincing his friend he wanted to attend by virtue of his honesty. Cooper needed to be aware of what the likely outcome of the party would be.

  When Ros descended the stairs dressed in a beautiful teal gown that displayed a dazzling amount of cleavage, with her red-gold hair glowing brightly in the gaslight, he wondered why he’d never liked such events. Beside her, her sister Julia wore a lovely bronze gown that highlighted her fiery red hair. Together, they were a stunning pair. With the ladies in tow, he and Wolf made their way into the main salons where the thirty or so guests were gathering. Cooper and Emily stood chatting with Lord Wickerstone, as well as Lord Cunningham.

  Flint barely suppressed his glee.

  “Good evening, Wickerstone.” He nodded to their host.

  Cooper went on to make the requisite introductions, ever a convoluted affair, which Flint could barely stand through, let alone follow. The labyrinthine logic of who should be introduced to whom was beyond his meager social skills. Cunningham had paled at Flint’s presence, a gratifying start to his agenda for the evening. Determined to sink his hooks into the man early, Flint smiled and hoped it did not look as predatory as it felt. “Lord Cunningham, I do hope you will stay around for cards later. I hear you play a skilled hand of vignt-et-un.”

  “I’ve lost hundreds of pounds to him. He is indeed skilled,” Wickerstone said and then chuckled.

  “Ah Wickerstone, I merely had a run of luck a time or two. I’m not sure I can claim skill at cards.” Cunningham demurred and moved to melt away.

  “Well, I’d certainly enjoy a demonstration of such luck.” Flint pressed the man, giving him no room to escape. “I hear it is something to behold.”

  Cunningham glanced around the group of men, his face a mask of composure, though his eyes had the look of someone who was being hunted. Flint took great satisfaction in the way his eyes dilated as his gaze darted around the room. The man tensed at every clink of glass and tinkle of silverware.

  “I’m afraid I merely came to do a spot of hunting. I’m taking a respite from gambling for the moment.” Cunningham seemed to grope for a way of explaining such an odd statement. Everyone knew gambling was as much a part of a house party as hunting. “A spiritual cleansing if you will.”

  “Is that so? I swore I heard someone mention your most recent trouncing at Cowes Week. It was quite a hefty sum if I recall. Who was that?” Wickerstone said as he looked about the party as though the person who’d passed along that tidbit would miraculously appear.

  Flint’s quarry paled and laughed awkwardly. “I’m sure you have me mistaken for someone else, my lord.”

  Wickerstone drew himself up. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”

  “No! Of course not!” Cunningham was close to full panic. “I merely suggested you confused me with someone else.”

  Wickerstone looked peeved with the placating dandy. “In any event, it is commonly known that at Wickerstone Abbey, everyone plays cards in the evening, and we do so for stakes. No one sits out.”

  Cunningham swallowed.

  Flint relished how neatly the man had been cornered, and with so little effort on his part. Wickerstone and his well-known addiction to gambling did all of the dirty work.

  With no other option but to acquiesce, Cunningham bowed to th
eir host. “Of course, Lord Wickerstone.” He turned to Flint. “I shall see you at the tables, my lord.”

  “Excellent.” Flint nodded and let the man escape. He then looked to Wickerstone. “I certainly hope he follows through on that. I would hate to think someone was so rude as to enjoy such fine hospitality as you offer, only to slip away in the night without fulfilling their obligation as a guest.”

  “Cunningham is many things, but a coward is not one of them. He will be at the tables as promised.” Wickerstone nodded and then sauntered off.

  Flint was not convinced. But then, neither were any of the Lustful Lords in attendance. Cooper and Stone looked as doubtful as Flint felt, and Wolf merely glowered at the room in general.

  Before long, the dinner chimes rang, and everyone moved into the dining room. Cunningham sat across the table and down three seats from where Flint was seated. All throughout the meal, the man talked to his dinner partners, though he barely ate. Instead, he used his fork to push the food around his plate as he smiled and nodded or offered some comment.

  After what seemed to be an interminable period, the ladies rose from the table, signaling that dinner had come to an end. The men remained behind to smoke and talk politics, though a few begged their pardon so they could go upstairs and refresh themselves. Cunningham was among that number, causing Flint and his friends to also beg off.

  In the hallway, the group quickly clumped together. Flint gave voice to his concerns. “He’s going to bolt, I’m certain of it. He doesn’t have the blunt to play at the tables.”

  “I agree,” Stone said. “Cooper, go up and check his room. I shall head out front. The two of you should take a look around the stables.”

  They all murmured their agreement and split off in their various directions.

  ~

  Flint and Wolf each took an aisle of the stables. Straw muffled the stomp of hooves as Flint made his way along the row. Each stall appeared to have an occupant until he reached the last two stalls. Meeting up with Wolf at the end of the stable, his friend confirmed that all stalls appeared to be filled. They glanced around, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing, they were about to turn and leave when the creak of leather drew them out of the stable and behind the structure.

  As they stepped outside, the trees cast heavy shadows making it difficult to see anything. But then, the snort of a horse drew their attention to the deepest part of the shadows. The tension was shattered when a voice yelled out, “Go! Go! Go!” As the traveling coach lumbered to a roll, Flint realized it was carrying Cunningham away. Refusing to let him escape, he sprang into action. Grabbing onto the coach as it drew past him, Flint was able to swing himself up onto the back of the vehicle. He edged around the outside of the cabin as Wolf sprinted by on the back of a horse and leapt onto the closest horse in the harness. The carriage slowed as they came around the side of the house, allowing Flint to pull open the door of the cabin. Inside, he found Cunningham opening the other door and crouching to leap out. Flint lunged across the small space and dragged the man back inside. “I don’t think so, my lord.”

  “Stop! Cease! Unhand me, you brigand!” Cunningham yelled.

  “Oh, shut up,” Flint growled and then punched the man in the face.

  Once the vehicle stopped, Flint dragged an unconscious Cunningham from inside it, letting him land on his back in the dirt.

  “What is the meaning of all this?” Wickerstone demanded as he strode up to the scene flanked by torchbearers. Behind him, most of the guests followed, eager for any hint of excitement.

  Flint pointed down at Cunningham. “It seems you had a guest who decided to depart early.”

  Wickerstone sneered. “While such behavior is in poor form, and certainly speaks little of the man’s honor, it is not a crime.”

  Wolf circled around from the rear of the carriage, holding two large silver candelabra. “Lord Wickerstone, I feel safe in assuming these do not belong to Lord Cunningham as I recently saw them perched in the hallway upstairs.”

  Wickerstone looked outraged as he sputtered, and the gathered guests gasped. Then the whispers swept through the crowd from front to back. Flint knew then that Cunningham was ruined. However, he decided to make sure the job was thorough. “In addition to being a shoddy guest and a thief, he also had Mrs. Smith accosted on a London street as well as myself on separate occasions. The man is penniless and apparently will do anything to hide that fact.”

  The murmur of the crowd swelled before settling again when their host finally spoke up. “Fetch the constabulary, and let us bring everyone inside. It seems we have quite a bit to sort out.”

  Chapter 25

  September 1862

  Ros sat in her parlor nervously, waiting for her first guest to arrive. The weather outside was turning decidedly cool, which meant most of London was still off galivanting around the countryside from house party to house party. Lord Cunningham’s ruin was being carried along the way, multiplying its reach with each house party that ended so another might begin. Content with letting London’s upper crust complete that which Flint had set in motion nearly a month ago, it was time to turn her focus to more important matters. Hence, the gathering that was soon to take place.

  The doorknocker’s tap-tap-tap echoed through the house, setting her nerves on edge.

  A moment later, Julia sailed into the room, looking fresh with her rosy cheeks and a smart tweed walking dress. “Hello, Ros. Have you been out today? It is just amazing outside. I love the crispness of the air as it pushes the summer stench away.”

  Just behind her came Theo and Emily looking equally as lovely and excited. “Good day, Ros!” They chorused together.

  “I’m so glad you all were able to come.”

  After a few moments of hugs and kisses all around, they were just sitting when the last two guests arrived. In swept Marie and Madame de Pompadour, both sporting fall-colored day dresses in rich copper and a stunning hunter green that made Ros wish she had chosen something more seasonal than her soft blue day dress. “Welcome, Marie, Madame. Thank you both for joining us.”

  “Of course! I wouldn’t miss such a gathering.” Marie smiled and greeted everyone else.

  Once they were all settled, Madame cut straight to the chase. “So, how may we be of further assistance to you, Rosalind?”

  Taking a deep breath, Ros explained her worry. “As you know, Madame, I have been visiting The Market regularly, though I dare say the rest of you are quite in the dark as to what has transpired. I needed a little time to adjust to the idea, but soon after our last discussion, I embraced your collective recommendation and sought out Mistress Lash for lessons. I have been taking lessons from her for some time now and have become quite proficient in the art of wielding a whip.”

  Theo clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, that is capital! And how have your lessons aided your particular situation?”

  Ros tilted her head while her mouth made a small moue. “That is why I have once again called you all together. Flint is unaware of my newly honed skills, and I must find a way to raise the issue as he has continued to stubbornly refuse to discuss his needs with me. In fact, he has gone so far as to insist on having ordinary sex with me.”

  There were gasps all around as the weight of what she said landed amongst the group.

  “Oh no, that is not acceptable at all.” Madame shook her head and tsked. “That man is far too noble for his own good.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ros chimed in. “So I am seeking your excellent collective council once more. How do I tell him I am prepared to meet his needs,…all of them?”

  Julia let one red brow lift. “Simply tell him just that. If I had merely spoken to Wolf of my fears and concerns, I expect we could have tackled our issues far earlier and with much less angst along the way.”

  Marie smiled serenely, “Oh, I fear our secretly noble Lord Flintshire would not listen to reason so easily. He has clearly already made up his mind to hide his nee
ds from Rosalind. No, I fear she is going to have to rouse him to some heightened emotional state. Fear, anger, jealousy…”

  “Jealousy is the one,” Theo said. “Flint is capable of managing his fear and anger; he’s done so for years. But jealousy—that is an emotion he is not yet comfortable with.”

  Emily nodded. “Without a doubt, it is the one that would push him over the edge. But how would you rouse such an emotion in him?”

  Theo popped to her feet and commenced pacing as Ros was learning she was wont to do. “You must appear to have a clandestine meeting with a man at The Market. The notion shall drive Flint to distraction. But who would he not be likely to kill over such a possibility?”

  “Lucifer should do the trick!” Emily offered, her voice raising an octave.

  “Oh, I’m not sure about that option. His half-brother…” Ros worried her lower lip. The idea had merit, but would Lucifer co-operate? And if he did, would he do so in the way she needed?

  “What?” Theo all but shouted as she froze and faced Ros.

  Ros’s face heated. Bloody hell! It seems Flint had still been keeping that tidbit under wraps. “Oh, um. Nothing important.”

  “I disagree, dear sister,” Julia said. “Do share with everyone.” She eyed her sister, making Ros shift uncomfortably in her seat.

  “I fear Lucifer may not be a good choice as it seems that he was interested in Flint because they are half-brothers. Flint found out just before everything with Cunningham came to a head. I must ask that you ladies keep this information to yourselves until he chooses to reveal it to his friends. I very much regret my slip of the tongue.” Ros tried to push her panic down.

  “Oh my!” Theo sank into her seat, stunned.