by Chera Zade
“Then why are you-“
“Just a new friend I thought you would like to meet.”
Lord Carrington knit his brows. “A potential Club member?” He asked hopefully.
“Just take the bloody dance with the chit,” Standish said.
And so Lord Carrington did, leading Gillian Halliday into the next dance.
Chapter 9
Gillian
Lord Carrington gave her a bow, the same as the other gentlemen gave their partners, but it was clear from the flat, bored way that he spoke to her that he didn’t know who she was.
And why should he? Surely more exciting things must have happened to him in the months since their surprising kiss. Well, kisses, if she was to be completely accurate about it. But while she had remembered every second of it, his husky voice, possessive warmth, the wetness of his mouth, and every detail of his face and body...
Surely, she would have been grateful for even a jibe about being his peeping Thomasina...
But, nothing, nothing at all.
If only her Aunt hadn’t made her wear this ridiculous dress— she was absolutely lost in the volume of fabric. And she was certain that wearing spectacles did not help impress any potential suitors.
She had tried to leave her glasses in her bedchamber, explaining that they were only for close work and reading, but her Aunt had refused, saying that should she manage to find herself a suitor, any husband ought to know what he was getting in the bargain.
But if that were so, then why this dress? The enormous bows completely obscured her womanly curves, a task that heretofore would have seemed impossible.
She looked like a blob with spectacles, and felt like even more of a wallflower than usual.
She felt awkward even in Lord Carrington's masterful arms, finding her feet terribly mixed up. And she couldn't bear to look at his face, so afraid that he would realize who she was, so afraid that he would feel ashamed for having had that moment together in the dark.
Chapter 10
Lord Standish
Standish backed against a column to watch, belatedly realizing he had forgotten to introduce them by name. A skill ingrained in him as a boy, as easy as breathing, and yet somehow he had completely bungled the social niceties.
He watched them and groaned- if he had bungled it, Miss Halliday was doing an even worse job of it- not once did she look up at Carrington. And staring at her feet seemed to do little to give them grace. In short, they made for an extremely awkward set of partners, even Carrington's commanding stance threatened by her foolishness.
He fairly stamped over to the punch bowl.
“And yet your evening seemed to start out so well,” Lord Wycombe drawled.
“I think I’ll soon make my way to the Club.”
Wycombe nodded. “As will we, once Charlotte, er, Miss Langsdale, has gotten her fill of partners.”
“Are you certain that’s the right choice of words? It’s only a ball after all.”
“Considering the number of admirers that are also Club members...,” he smiled. “It won’t just be her dance card that has been completely filled before she sleeps tonight.”
“Tonight? You expect she will actually sleep before morning?”
“Certainly not,” Wycombe grinned. “And neither will we.”
Standish nodded, understanding the offer. Wycombe was generous with her, a generosity that he appreciated and yet was beginning to loathe. She was his to plunder to their mutually enjoyable collapse, but she was not his to own. And no matter how much Charlotte gave him, she wasn’t ever going to be fully his. Not when there was that extraordinary connection between Guardian and Ward.
“You know that Charlotte would make an awful Countess,” Lord Wycombe remarked.
“What makes you think she’d make you a proper Marchioness?”
“Have I ever tried to make her a Marchioness? Now, a Duchess on the other hand...”
Standish froze. “When the time comes, I thought you intended to refuse it.”
“And I’ve always had every intention of doing so. However, circumstances seem to have changed.”
“Does she know?”
“Not yet. No need to trouble her with it until the time comes.”
“Damn you to hell, Wycombe.”
“And same to you my friend. She’d never be able to give you everything you need anyway.”
“But I could give her everything she needs.”
“Could you?”
“A damn sight better than you could.”
“Then I’ll have to take that as a challenge. May the best cock win?”
Lord Standish replied with a short string of invectives.
“Now, my friend, I thought you had better manners than that. What if someone had overheard you? Your lovely reputation, so carefully honed, might be tarnished forever.”
He didn’t mean to grin, but it was impossible not to.
“Now, as we are at a ball, I believe the done thing is to gossip about other attendees. Or is that something only the ladies do? I’m afraid I’ve been away from the ton for too long.”
“Can’t imagine what you’ve been doing with yourself in the interim.”
Wycombe laughed. “No need to imagine. You’ve seen most of it. And as for seeing, who is that bizarre creature I see dancing with Carrington?”
“A poor relation of the Shreve's. I thought to play matchmaker,” Standish replied tersely. “Apparently not one of my talents.”
“Well, she certainly is a change from his usual. I thought perhaps he’d lost a bet.”
“There's more to her than first meets the eye. That dress is hiding plenty of curves, and she does have an animating spirit when she chooses. I could spank the chit though- she had plenty of bottom when she spoke to me, but now she’s gone ridiculously missish.”
“Foolish thing- he likes them saucy,” Wycombe noted.
“Best it didn’t work out. You know how else he likes them,” Standish said. “That would likely give her the vapors.” He frowned. He didn’t know why he had thought that Carrington and the wallflower two of them might suit. Certainly he couldn’t even properly manage for himself.
Chapter 11
Lord Carrington
What was he doing with himself? Lord Carrington thought, as he led the wallflower through her paces. Was this some sort of joke that Standish was playing on him? Why, this girl wouldn't speak to him- wouldn't even look at him!
Well, if that was the case, he wouldn't look at her either.
It was only one dance. Somehow he would get through this.
Somewhere, Standish and Wycombe were probably off having a good laugh at his expense. Well, he'd have it out with them later, even if it meant going to the Club. He hadn't been there since meeting his dream maiden at the Shreve's party at Groton Park, but perhaps that was his mistake. Perhaps he should have already been at the Club. It had been months now since that party at Groton Park. Since returning to town, he had gone to every single event that the Shreves had been to, hoping that he might run into his dream maiden.
Had she been a dream after all?
He was beginning to think that might be the case. After all, no one had answered to her description- not among the Shreve servants, not amongst the Ton.
Just a dream then- a perfect, sweet dream.
Well then, if she didn't exist, he might as well stop denying himself and get his very human needs met at the Infernalis Club. Right after he punched Standish for setting him up like this.
He finished the dance with the antidote as politely as possible, and then fairly sprinted from the room.
Chapter 12
Gillian
Is there anything worse than getting to dance with the man of your dreams, and then having it turn into an awkward nightmare?
He parted from her as politely as possible, and then practically ran from the room.
As angry as she was with him, she was even angrier with herself- she had her chance to be swept off of her feet, and she h
ad done nothing with it.
And now it was too late.
Unless...
She was struck by a wild idea. An idea that was so unbelievably wild that she could not possibly pay it any heed. And yet-- and yet climbing out of her window had brought her to him the first time. Perhaps doing something just as wild might once again lead to his kisses--
Except what she was considering wasn't climbing out of her window in the country, but sneaking out of her Uncle's house in town to follow the man of her dreams across London.
To do what? Apologize? Explain herself? Kiss him? Do all the things with him that she had been dreaming of for months? Things that maidens aren't even supposed to know about, much less think about?
That way lay madness. But her feet were already set on their course.
Chapter 13
Lord Standish
So much for playing matchmaker. And so much for attending society balls. Not only had he failed at his attempt at doing a good deed for Miss Halliday, he had found himself in the unpleasant situation of having to make endless small talk about mundane matters with young ladies who couldn't have been more ill-suited for him, as they smiled up at him and dreamed of being his future wife. He shuddered. No thank you.
Wycombe had escaped from the ball before he had, but he was able to get a carriage quickly enough. And thank goodness. He breathed a sigh of relief. Far more natural and freeing to be back at the Infernalis Club.
Pitiful really. The poor girl- Gillian Halliday. There was a bit of a spark there, but that Aunt of hers was doing her best to suppress it.
That dress— he shuddered. He liked to think himself as at least as perceptive as any other gentleman, but even he had difficulty discerning what her shape looked like.
And the severity of her hair- it had been styled in such a way that she could barely even smile.
And on top of it all, she fancied herself in love with Carrington- Carrington of all people! He could not say that the man was the most debauched member of the Infernalis Club, but certainly Carrington was not without his vices. Perhaps enough to place among the top ten. He could not imagine an odder pairing. But then again, it was said that opposites—
Perhaps he should wipe his hands of the whole thing. Or perhaps he might do something uncharacteristically noble, such as inviting them both to a dinner party. With enough prodding in the right direction, maybe Miss Halliday might open up to Carrington after all.
His thoughts were interrupted by a greeting from Lord Wycombe- “I see you finally decided to make an appearance,” Lord Wycombe said, pausing what he was doing.
“I see you’ve been here a while,” Lord Standish replied, noting Miss Langsdale’s considerably blushing bottom.
“Long enough for some things, but not long enough for others,” Charlotte said petulantly, turning her head to pout at him.
“Tsk, you poor frustrated little thing,” he said, running his hand over the back of her open thighs.
“My Guardian is a beast,” Charlotte moaned.
“Most definitely,” he agreed. “Anything I can do to help?”
“By all means, help yourself,” Wycombe replied, motioning to Charlotte.
He eyed the flogger that Lord Wycombe was still holding, and then looked back at Charlotte. Her ample haunches were glowing, and her cunt was absolutely soaked.
“Happy to,” he said, before grabbing firm hold of her, and, tilting her as much as her bonds would allow, he let himself inhale her special scent.
“Naughty, Charlotte, very naughty,” he said, dipping his fingertip inside her wetness. “And so very tasty,” he added, licking his fingertip. “The thing about these fancy dress balls, he said, is they never put out the kind of menu I crave the most. And I hate to go home without satiating my hunger.”
“Less speechifying,” Charlotte complained, her thigh muscles flexing as she attempted to move closer to him.
“Charlotte,” Lord Wycombe admonished her, giving her a quick flick with the flogger.
She immediately bucked against her restraints.
“Bad Charlotte, very bad,” Lord Standish said, bringing his head closer.
“But delicious,” she moaned as his tongue met her heated flesh, licking her where she had just been disciplined.
His vigorous kisses, trailing over her bottom until he met wetter fare, signaled his agreement.
She was close, wonderfully, close, as he pulled back, admiring the strength of her desire.
Her cunt was begging to be taken, flooded and darkening with desire.
“Please,” she begged him, “please.”
“Sorry, dear thing,” he said, giving her a pinch. “But a punishment is a punishment.”
“Cruel man!”
“Sometimes,” he smirked. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear- “you’ve no idea how fuckable you look like that. Only a few more with the flogger and Wycombe’ll be inside you-”
“You aren’t teasing me?” She whispered back.
“It would be impossible for Wycombe to hold out much longer,” Lord Standish said.
“Thank you then.”
“Always, my friend,” he said, quickly bussing her cheek. “And you are, as always, delicious.”
And there he was, denying himself. As much as he wanted to mount her right then and there, he wanted her to have that moment with Wycombe. Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. Understood. He understood how much she needed to have her Guardian inside her. And it was not a time to put his own wants and needs above hers.
He spent a bit of time greeting some of the other denizens of his club, before he found his path blocked by Lady Batherton.
“The Merry Widow,” he said, “well, this is an unexpected surprise.”
Lord Pye brought me as his guest. She smiled. “Had to undergo the medical inspection.”
“Suitably mortifying?”
“Quite so. The Doctor was very thorough. Lord Pye quite enjoyed the spectacle.”
“And you?”
She smiled. “Am quite looking forward to becoming the next Lady Pye.”
“Are felicitations in order?”
“Oh, not yet. He hasn’t done anything as gauche as propose this early in the proceedings, but he’s getting there.”
“Well, you shall let me know when I should offer my congratulations to you both.”
“Not before you let me thank you for coming up with this marvelous club. I’d heard stories of course, but none of them truly did it any justice,” she said, letting her fingers stroke his face and neck.
“And this thank you of yours?”
She laughed. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories about me.”
There was an infamous rumor that the late Lord Batherton had been dispatched to the great beyond while enjoying the enthusiastic attentions of his amiable wife.
“And are the stories true?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I’ve many charms, but I’m afraid it was my special kiss that did it. You’ve no heart weaknesses, I hope?”
“I’ve been told I have no heart at all.”
“Perfect,” she said, “then I might thank you... fully.”
“There is a perfect spot for it in the next room. Partially open, partially secluded, and with a viewing box from the next room if Lord Pye prefers to view from a more hidden location.”
“Oh, the less hidden the better for Lord Pye,” she laughed, “but I’m impressed by the choices.”
“We do try to cater to all tastes.”
“And your tastes?”
“Will become quite familiar to you in a moment,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the room, Lord Pye following them a few paces behind.
It didn't take long for the sensual widow to arrange things- seating Lord Pye near enough so that he could enjoy watching, but not so near as to reduce their fun.
And then, after he settled himself in a large chair, the feisty widow settled herself in his lap, her ample breasts offered up to him before s
he slowly made her way down his body.
He tried not to think of Charlotte, tried to stay in the moment with Lady Batherton. He leaned back as Lady Batherton unbuttoned his shirt and licked her way down his muscular torso. He was only moments away from enjoying her true talents- a wide sensuous mouth that could take him deeply.
Chapter 14
Gillian
She had fled Shreve House without forethought, and without funds. Nonetheless, when she found a waiting hackney, he agreed to follow Lord Carrington's carriage. She did not know where she expected him to go, but she did not expect it to be a Georgian mansion that was already crowded with arrivals.
The driver was demanding her fare when a footman helped her down.
“Hey there, the driver yelled. “That one ain't paid yet.”
The footman looked down at her. “Is that true?”
“I meant to, but I left my--”
“Courtesy of the house,” the footman said, reaching into a pocket and passing the necessary coins to the driver. “It's a busy night,” the footman told her. “I recommend you go off to wherever you're supposed to. His Lordship dislikes it when people dillydally.”
She nodded. “Remind me where I am to-”
With a slightly exasperated shake of his head, the footman showed her to the servants entrance.
She was about to protest, forlornly watching Lord Carrington step inside the grand entrance, when she realized this was likely the easiest way to enter the building without being recognized.
Once inside, the found the bustling laundry and kitchens, places she did not expect Lord Carrington to have an interest in. Making her way carefully, yet somehow tearing off a few of her flounces, she found her way to the main part of the mansion.
***
She would have been better off in the kitchens. What was this place? She seemed to be in some sort of debauched nightmare. Panicking, she ran into a small antechamber that seemed designed for no other purpose than spying on the other, larger room. But that made no sense at all- why would there be a space set aside to watch the filthy goings on? And yet, she could not help but be fascinated by it.