by Chera Zade
Damn him for making her gush, for ensuring that she appeared at the dance the very picture of Venus.
Well, she certainly would not want for partners. Not with heavy lidded eyes and a flush over her bosom, her lip quivering slightly, her mouth having cried out, having the desperate need to cry out for more. Oh, how they would flock to her, desperate for her to have their names on her lips, lips that they wanted to kiss, lips that they wanted to part, to devour, to penetrate.
She whimpered, Lord Standish’s hand at her shoulder, smoothing her sleeve, her arm moving just enough to acknowledge her need.
He nodded, his hand cupped, his hand seizing, his hand playing with her breast, her rounded flesh pressing against his palm as her Guardian continued to spank her.
It was hardly the first time she had been fondled during a spanking, but her body reacted anew, her breast signaling arousal, her body signaling her to prepare for something more.
There was a mewl in her throat, a whimper that was building, a whimper that Standish knew how to control.
He could take her past the edge in a heartbeat if he wished it, or could damn her to purgatory, leaving her betwixt and between, her body thrashing with unrelieved need. Either was possible, for he enjoyed them both.
She was writhing quite a bit now, her belly rubbing against Lord Wycombe’s considerable erection, her bottom throbbing in a way that demanded more, much more than Standish’s fingers inside the bodice of her dress, his thumb circling the outer edge of her nipple, the slightly raised and oh so sensitive ring of pink flesh.
Lord Wycombe spanked hard, measured claps of his hand against her throbbing bottom, knowing exactly where she needed it, knowing exactly how to prolong her pain, to prolong her need.
Lord Standish continued to tease her breasts, her breath coming hard and fast, as she cursed him, begged him for more. With a smile, he pressed his thumb into service with his forefinger, tweaking her poor nipples, one after the other, merciless acts that made her body jolt, bucking hard against Lord Wycombe’s lap, the sensation overwhelming her senses, her body moving in an embarrassingly feral rhythm, until she was no longer being spanked over her Guardian's lap, but positioned between him and Lord Standish, in the lowly but effective wheelbarrow position, her legs spread apart, her Guardian between them, his monstrous beast thrusting hard.
She moaned as he took her, his pelvis taking no mercies against her spanked bottom, driving her to even greater madness as his cock pounded inside her in an intensely fierce claiming.
Lord Standish, still in front of her, adjusted himself so she could take him in her mouth. He was, as always, enormous and ready, his seed already seeping from his aroused cockhead.
She licked her lips and began to mouth him, each kiss an admiration of the beauty of his form.
Oh, what a sight she would be, arriving at the Shreve's ball, with her lips swollen and her breasts fully aroused! And everyone there would know that it wasn't just her mouth that had gotten a good fucking! And with that naughty image in her head, she gave herself over to both gentlemen, experiencing the full triumvirate of pleasures.
Chapter 6
Lord Standish
It was some time later, that Lord Standish arrived at the Shreve ball in the company of Lord Wycombe and his Ward.
After dancing with Charlotte, Lord Standish retreated to the side of the room as Lord Wycombe led her in a waltz.
Charlotte was radiant, Lord Standish observed, her rhythm just as erotically perfect as it had been when she had been between them in the library. Unfortunately, he couldn’t bloody well join them in this particular activity. Well, at least not without scandalizing the Shreves and their guests... or at least the ones who didn’t know about the joys of ménage.
Well, he was going to have to find something else to occupy his time until his second dance with Charlotte. It didn’t do to stare after her like some ridiculous cub, a young pup who didn’t know his way in the world.
He tore his gaze away from Charlotte to survey the room. Instantly, matronly and maidenly heads alike turned quickly away from him, making it obvious that they had been staring at him. Not watching him watch Charlotte, simply staring at him, taking in the worth of him, from his perfectly tied cravat to his perfectly polished boots. A ridiculously powerful and wealthy Earl, he knew that many of them considered him a perfect match.
Because they didn’t know that he preferred debauchery over decency. Or that he coveted his best friend’s voluptuous Ward. Or of the numerous depraved ways in which he had slaked his lusts with her... and countless women before her.
Well, he was stuck here at least until that second dance.
Restless, and out of a need to maintain appearances, he went on to ask several other ladies to dance.
And then he decided he needed a drink. While he certainly had the stamina for it, he could not keep asking ladies to dance, and giving them false hopes that could never be met. Unless one of these innocent misses should surprisingly harbor his favorite perversions, then he had little hope of finding anyone to ever put the Charlotte madness behind him.
Without realizing it, his attempt to avoid managing Mamas and their hopeful daughters had lead him to the most dismal part of the room- the sad little island of wallflowers. He cast an appraising eye over the motley lot of them, frowning. By and large they were unappealing, lacking any amount of sensuality. And the way they were dressed? Who on earth would outfit a poor girl in so many ridiculously flounced layers?
Just at that moment, a young lady waved her fan at him, signaling interest.
He recognized her immediately as one of the Shreve girls. Though he had no wish to offend his hosts, the last thing he wanted to do was let the rigid, moralizing Shreves think that he intended to make one of their daughters his Countess.
It was the matter of only a moment to seat himself next to the worst of the lot, smiling to himself as the Shreve girl glared at him, and then stomped off to an older woman. Mrs. Shreve seemed just as enraged as her daughter that he had sat down with the wallflowers.
“I wish you hadn’t sat here,” the ruffled, bespectacled creature next to him muttered, her voice low
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t think that’s how you’ve been taught to speak to an Earl. And you’re probably the only young lady in this room to wish I wasn’t sitting next to her. In fact, quite a few of them seem quite envious of your position.”
“Yes, and one of them would be my cousin Mary. And an angry Mary is not something to my benefit at all.”
When he had looked over at the wallflowers, he’d asked himself who on earth would outfit a poor girl in so many ridiculously flounced layers? Well, he had his answer now- someone who didn’t want anyone to see past the ugly dress. Which meant that either Cousin Mary or Mrs. Shreve considered this girl a threat. But why?
Chapter 7
Gillian
Gillian didn't know who this gentleman was who had decided to sit next to her. She only knew that his presence next to her was making Cousin Mary angry. And he was interrupting her from watching the love of her life glide one beautiful lady after another through sensual dances.
Morosely, Gillian stared at the dance floor as Lord Carrington worked his magic with one partner after the next.
She had not danced a single dance with him. He didn't even know she was there.
She knew that she shouldn’t have cared for Lord Carrington at all. From the very moment she met him, she knew him to be a Rake. She still was not quite certain what she had overheard in the shrubbery, only that it was illicit and seemingly quite enjoyable, and that it had ended with a few sharp spanks. And then he had the nerve to look her up and down as if she were a strumpet. And then kiss her as if she was a... was there anything worse than a strumpet?
No, she should not have cared for him at all. But she wanted him dearly.
If only she had stayed in her bedchamber.
If only she could interest herself in the sort of appropriate gentleman wh
o might be honored to marry a plump girl with spectacles and a ridiculously enormous ball gown.
If only she didn’t want the man who had taken firm command of her, parting her innocent lips while he held her against his body.
If only her body hadn’t burned for more of his touch, her other breast forever envious of the one he had cupped and caressed.
If only it hadn't felt so exciting when he had trapped her against his body, his hand spanking her closer and closer to him.
If only she hadn't felt the throb of his answering excitement.
If only she hadn't climbed back into her window. If only she had run off with him instead.
If only she had a decent night's sleep since them, instead of finding her body constantly hot and wet with increasingly perverse needs.
It was ridiculous for her to pine after Lord Carrington. For what good could come of it? She was not at all the sort that interested him, and, even if by some miracle she was, it seemed quite unlikely that she could possibly hold his interest for very long.
The kiss, kisses, which had meant so much to her, had been bestowed ridiculously soon after he had parted from his earlier tryst. Unless she was somehow his own true love, that was far too soon to switch inamoratas.
And, she clearly wasn’t his own true love, or he might have at least recognized her.
Ridiculous. She was absolutely ridiculous.
But how was she supposed to want someone tame and civilized after experiencing a taste of what Lord Carrington had to offer?
And what could she possibly offer him?
Having no dowry, her only commodity was her virginity, something which she suspected he might not even value highly. All of his dance partners appeared to be young widows, an indication that he preferred experience.
And what experience did she have beyond their encounter in the dark? Kissing her pillow? Nervously touching herself beneath the covers, until her breath grew ragged and she cried out his name?
No, it seemed that she had nothing to offer that he could want. Nothing she could give that he could prize above all else.
And now she was stuck talking to some gentleman who had decided to humor himself by sitting next to her. One glance at this fellow was enough to know that he didn't belong in the wallflower section at all. Had she not already been madly in love, she might have noted that he was exceedingly handsome. However, her heart already spoken for, she was able to instead note that it was exceedingly bad manners for him to speak to a young lady that he was not acquainted with. She ignored him, yet he continued to speak.
“As I said a moment ago, if we are to anger dear Mary, we ought to do it properly. May I have the next dance?”
She looked at him sharply.
“Don’t try to tell me some ridiculous story about how you’ve suddenly fallen in love with me and intend to take me away from all of this.”
“Nothing of the sort. I find myself in a rather absurd mood at the moment, but I’m not addled.”
“That’s rather cold comfort. Just what every lady longs to hear.”
“Would you prefer some idiot who professes to love you after a moment’s acquaintance?”
She gave him a withering look. Withering yet pained. “Do I appear to have much experience of that sort? But, that’s of no importance. What is important is the fact that you are a complete stranger, and you’ve no claim to even my conversation.”
“My apologies. Not at all my usual, I can assure you. Although chances are, we are already acquainted.”
“Do you know many poor relations?”
“Aside from cousin Mary, who else can you claim as a relation?”
“I'm an orphan. Gillian Halliday.
“There you go. I knew your parents. Attended quite a few of their parties. In fact, your late father was a friend of mine. So, there is already a connection between us. When this dance ends, you will stand up with me, and allow me to lead you in the next one.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because it would be socially ruining to decline my offer.”
“I have no social standing to uphold. And I don’t believe companions are supposed to dance.”
“Well, I admit that’s one social rule I haven’t had reason to know. But you will dance with me.”
“How can you be so certain of that?”
“Because nothing would make cousin Mary angrier. And I suspect you would enjoy that far more than you care to admit.”
“I would never—“
“There is no reason to pretend otherwise. And I am not particularly fond of the cousin Marys of this world either.”
“And that’s it? That’s all you’re after?”
He shook his head. “I’m rather curious as to your interest in Carrington.”
“Lord Carrington? Why would you think that I have any interest in Lord Carrington?”
“Because you’ve been sneaking glances at him the entire time you pretended ignore me.”
“I wasn’t— oh, what’s the use. Even if I had glanced in his direction, what would it matter to you?”
“Carrington happens to be a good friend of mine.”
“And you wish to warn me off?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I’m wholly unsuitable for him.”
“Well, if you’ve decided that, then there is no need for us to have our dance after all.”
“I don’t understand.”
He looked her over. “To the unpracticed eyes, blinded by the hideousness of your dress, you would not suit at all.”
“But you’re able to look beyond my hideous dress,” she said facetiously.
“In a word, yes,” he replied. “Enough so that I cannot say he would be uninterested. But I should wish to see you dance before I could say more.”
“And if I move daintily, you might condescend to give me your blessing?”
He laughed. “Dainty movements would hardly inform my decision.”
“Good, because I haven’t danced in years, and what I had known were merely simple country dances.”
He frowned. “That’s awful.”
“Then you release me from the dance?”
“No, but I shall require you to place your trust in me. I can and will get you through any dance, as long as you are willing to give yourself over to me for the duration of the dance.”
Chapter 8
Lord Standish
What had the Shreves done to this poor girl?
It took only a few minutes of speaking with her for him to realize that Gillian Halliday was far more appealing than she knew, or at least she had the potential to be so. He was tempted to tell Miss Halliday this, but he stopped himself. It wasn’t his place to tell her, was it? For one thing, she was currently too innocent to believe it, and for another, well, better for everyone if she heard it from the right person. It was bad enough to be this far after his best friend’s lover, he didn’t need to embroil himself with yet another couple. But he would help her find her happiness with Carrington.
He looked around the room - all those families eager to marry their daughters to the highest advantage, matchmaking mamas preening over finding their daughters proper titles. Well, he had the ability to put them all to shame, didn’t he? A pretty impoverished thing and a Lord- that was the stuff fairy tales were made of, wasn’t it?
Only fairy tales weren’t usually written by an Earl like him- a man who owned and ran the most debauched private club in town. And the charming hero, in this case Carrington, a fellow Earl instead of a prince, didn’t usually partake in the vices of such a club.
Therein lay the problem- how was he to put them together in a way that gave them an opportunity to get to know each other in the way that they needed to?
If she had been a woman of experience, he need only invite her to the Infernalis Club- after all, there was no end to the demand for admittance. And once there, the wallflower and Carrington could have no end of opportunities to get to know one anot
her... in every sense of the word. But unfortunately, she was all too obviously a blushing maiden. And the Infernalis Club was most definitely not the place for a virgin.
“Come,” Lord Standish said, holding out his hand to Miss Halliday, “I’ll introduce you to Carrington.”
“We are already acquainted.”
He raised an eyebrow
“Although I never had the chance to give him my name.”
“Not much of an introduction, then,” he remarked, reaching for her wrist.
“Not much of an introduction?” She stammered. “He introduced me to--,”
“To what?”
“I can't say,” she replied, flushing.
“To enough to make a maiden blush profusely? Perhaps there is hope for more.”
Lord Carrington had just finished his set and was saying some parting words to his dance partner when Lord Standish practically dragged her across the ballroom.
“Standish,” Lord Carrington remarked with surprise. “Wouldn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“Its been my life as of late. Trying to fix a mistake. What's your reason?”
“Wycombe decided to escort his Ward.” He quirked his lips. “I... graciously agreed to accompany them.”
Lord Carrington nodded, turning to watch Miss Langsdale as she stood surrounded by a brace of eager young men. “Popular, isn’t she?”
Standish gave a slight groan. “Not even half of it.”
“Too wild even for my tastes though. And for my tastes, you’ve brought me—,” he turned toward Standish’s companion, who was looking down at her feet.
Standish coughed and shook his head. “Not a widow.”
Lord Carrington gave him a confused look.
“Not a widow and not a Club member,” Standish said tersely, keeping his voice low.