Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  His hand roamed her body, pressing the small of her back before cupping a buttock. The other hand went to the nape of her neck as his mouth ravaged her throat next. She shivered, relishing the way he filled her space, her senses. She wrapped her arms about his neck and moved her hips against him. How often had the lustful yearnings surged within her and found no release? She could hardly believe her fortune.

  Thank you, Alastair.

  She dared not speak it aloud for fear of distracting him. Wanting to encourage him, she rubbed herself against his crotch and dropped a hand to the buttons of his fall. She was not skilled enough to unbutton him while locked in his embrace, but he was. He undid the buttons and pulled out his shaft. She felt the smooth skin brush over her belly. If she could have jumped and impaled herself upon him, she would have done it. Her arousal demanded no less.

  He wrapped an arm about her and lowered her with him to a nearby chair. Her legs straddled him as he sat down. She found she enjoyed the position as sitting astride his lap made her seem taller. He pulled her head down to his. Their lips met. The kiss began softly, but as the urgency grew between them, she crushed her mouth to his more forcefully. He matched her ardor with his own until their bodies could no longer resist the ultimate joining. He lifted her up by her rump. She dangled above his tip. He teased his hardness against her wet flesh before settling her down upon his shaft. Her lashes fluttered as she sank down and her quim clenched his member.

  It felt as if her body had been made for this moment, for him. He made no movement, but his erection pulsed and flexed of its own accord, touching her most intimate places. She imagined being joined to him forever and doubted she would complain once.

  He fondled a breast, kneading and rolling the supple flesh, before pinching and toying with the nipple, causing the tension between her thighs to throb. She tried to ease the pressure by kissing him harder.

  Slowly, he pulled her hips toward him, grinding her groin to his. She moaned at the delicious sensations fanning through her loins. The yearning of the past several months compressed itself into the heat between her legs, the points of her breasts, the curl of her toes. With a rolling motion, he eased her up and down the length of his desire. When he transferred his hands to her breasts, she took over the motion of pumping herself atop him. His hands cupped her orbs and fondled them, building the pleasure within her. Unaccustomed to the exercise, her legs began to grow sore.

  “Do not stop,” he murmured against her lips.

  She applied herself as best she could. The need inside her demanded her unrelenting effort, but the rhythm of her movements grew shaky. Perspiration covered her brow, her bosom, her legs. She could not recall when she had last made a comparable exertion.

  He returned his hands to her hips to assist her, moving her as easily as if she were a ragdoll. With the muscles of her legs receiving relief, she was able to focus on the rapture. His grunting soon joined her moans. Briefly, she wondered if they ought to stop before a reckless accident should occur, but he had withdrawn from her last time. Surely he would do so again. But as she pondered whether or not she should voice the concern, her lust was lifted to a higher plane as he began to move his hips more forcefully, driving himself deeper into her. All thought was drowned out by carnal bliss, by rapture collapsing between her legs. Her mouth slid off his, and she shut her eyes to receive that most sublime euphoria. She cried out as spasms tore through her limbs. She would've fallen off him if not for his hold upon her. Ecstasy spiked through her, making her shudder and tremble and cry and whine. She collapsed against his chest. He held her as she shivered, her quim pulsing madly.

  When the fierce thudding of her heart began to recede, she noticed she was still joined to him, could still feel his hardness occasionally flexing inside her.

  “Do you wish to, er, finish?” she inquired.

  He brushed a strand of hair from her face before easing her off him. She knelt beside him and watched him as he grasped his erection and tugged. His hand pumped rapidly along his shaft, his hips bucked, his muscles tensed, till his arousal flowed from him. His frame shuddered as the ejaculate shot forth. Afterwards, he slumped into the chair.

  “How does the satisfaction of spending in this manner compare to other forms?” she asked.

  He rolled his gaze to her. “From whence comes such boldness?”

  “I am merely curious.”

  Reaching down to the clothes on the floor, he pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped himself before answering, “It is sufficiently satisfying.”

  She dressed herself. “Is it better than intercourse—of the venereal sort?”

  “Not always.”

  “Do you prefer one to the other?”

  He had buttoned his fall and pulled on his shirt. “Damnation, Millie—”

  “Does it disconcert you to speak of such matters?”

  “It is not discourse I expect to have with my cousin.”

  “Will you not humor my queries?”

  “I have humored you far more than I ought. Now go to bed. I shall leave a few minutes after should there be a servant awake and wandering the corridors.”

  Deciding not to test his patience, she secured her robe about her and took her leave. She returned to her own chambers with light steps. Once settled in her own bed, she found sleep eluded her. Her mind wanted to recite all that had transpired. What might she dare with Alastair tomorrow?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHEN MILDRED ENTERED the breakfast parlor looking a little fatigued, Alastair felt a modicum of guilty satisfaction that he was the cause of her weariness.

  Recalling last night, he felt a tug at his groin and shifted where he sat. Having finished his breakfast, he sat apart from the others with the newspaper and watched as Millie accepted a cup of coffee.

  “Did you sleep well, my dear?” Katherine asked. “You appear weary.”

  Alastair thought he detected a blush in Millie's cheeks, but she kept her gaze lowered. He wondered if she would dare look at him.

  “I think I had perhaps too much tea late in the day, and that kept me awake,” Millie replied.

  “I fear the toast and ham are no longer warm, but I can have fresh toast and eggs brought up.”

  “That won't be necessary, my lady. I am more than happy with what is here.”

  After seeing his daughter take but a nibble of the toast, Mr. Abbott said, “You must partake of more, Millie. The bread is freshly baked, and the eggs are but the day-old. You'll not find a finer breakfast.”

  “But not too much,” Mrs. Abbott objected. “A young woman must mind her figure. While a dowry of four thousand pounds may go far, a woman's appearance still is of significant value to the other sex. Though her current form is acceptable, Millie could certainly benefit from losing a little of her weight.”

  Millie gazed deeper into her cup of coffee.

  “I do not think your daughter wants for anything more,” said Katherine. “She is lovely as she is.”

  “That is most generous of you to say, my lady, and we are appreciative of your kindness. A mother wants only what is best for her daughter. Millie benefits from the gowns she wears. The looseness of the skirts hides her form.”

  As one who had seen her—all of her—without clothing, in bare naked glory, Alastair was a little tempted to respond that Millie's form was more than acceptable. True, it was not perfect, but he had come to appreciate her wider hips and even the roundness of her belly. She was still delightful to the touch.

  Sitting at the second table, Thomas asked, “How shall we amuse ourselves today, Papa? May we go hunting?”

  “Yes, I think that would be in order,” replied Edward. “By all means, let us all have a hunt.”

  “I think I shall stay inside and read,” said Jason.

  “What? Not go hunting on such a fine day as this?”

  “Would you like to stay and knit purses as well?” Thomas mocked his brother.

  “No, no, my boy. We will all take part i
n the sport.”

  It was decided then that the men would go hunting, while the women would prepare a picnic to be shared by all at the end of the hunt. But as the men expected to be hunting for a length, Mrs. Abbott deemed she had enough time to sit and rest a while upon the veranda. Mrs. Cheswith would pen a letter to her sister-in-law while Katherine would finalize preparations for the Michaelmas dinner.

  “I will keep you company,” Katherine offered to Millie when the others left their tables to prepare for the day's activities.

  “I would not keep you, my lady,” said Millie as she accepted a second cup of coffee. “I know you must have matters to attend.”

  “Perhaps Alastair can keep you company for a few minutes.”

  He halted on his way out of the room, and was prepared to decline his aunt’s uninvited suggestion, when Millie responded, rather quickly, “I am perfectly at ease in my own company.”

  At that moment, Kittredge stumbled into the room. He shielded his eyes from the brightness before taking a seat beside Mildred.

  “Good morning, Lady Katherine,” he greeted.

  “Ah, I have company now,” Millie remarked. “There is no need for you to stay.”

  Katherine rose from her seat, but Alastair decided to remain, curious as to why Millie was so eager to be rid of his company. It was she who had insisted that their interactions remain as they were despite what had transpired between them at Château Follet.

  “I will stay with my guest,” he offered.

  “Ha!” Kittredge grumbled. “Since when do you care to extend me such courtesies?”

  “Is it not enough I make my cellar available to you?”

  “I own it is more than enough.”

  “As I have finished,” said Millie, rising from the table, “I will leave you gentlemen in each other's company.”

  “Sit,” Alastair bid. “You will not want Kittredge to think his presence has driven you away.”

  She looked at him as if to say “indeed, it is your presence that I wish to avoid.” Instead, she gave Kittredge a smile before retaking her seat.

  “Finish your toast,” he said after noticing she had barely eaten half.

  “I am no longer hungry.”

  “You will require sustenance to see you through the activities of the day—and evening.”

  “A woman must mind her figure.”

  He lifted his brows at her resistance. “You are fortunate not to be my daughter, or such disobedience would merit punishment.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and pressed her lips together. She knew he had chosen his words with purpose. He stared at her, daring her to continue her defiance. She looked at her toast, applied a little more jam, and took a bite.

  “What are to be the day's activities?” Kittredge asked between mouthfuls of ham and toast.

  “The men are to go hunting,” Millie answered, “and we shall all have a picnic afterwards.”

  “And what of the evening? What is planned?”

  Millie looked to Alastair, but he said nothing, waiting to see how she would reply.

  “Nothing as of yet,” she said. “Lady Katherine's nieces are expected today, and we shall certainly want their opinion if they are not too tired from their travels.”

  “I had thought from what Alastair said that something had been decided upon.”

  A blush crept up her cheeks, but she replied with calm, “I would hazard that Alastair’s evening plans entail a hearty round of cards or dice, though I wonder that it will satisfy him, as our play will not rival what he is accustomed to at his gaming hells.”

  “Not to worry. I take it that is why he brought me along, though I doubt even he would be rude enough to expect that the ladies will match his level of play.”

  “I absolutely would,” said Alastair, as Millie replied, “He absolutely would.”

  They glanced at each other. Kittredge laughed. “By Jove, she knows you well, Alastair. And dares to show it. Your bravery is impressive, Miss Abbott.”

  “We shall see where her bravery lands her,” Alastair said, his hand itching to deliver a spanking. He had the satisfaction of seeing her disconcerted, but his cousin would not be cowed.

  “Surely you are not threatened by what you must own to be an honest assessment of your character? Your candor of your faults is what is impressive.”

  “Ah, you have redeemed yourself, Miss Abbott,” Kittredge praised. “I would be hard-pressed to find a compliment for Alastair. You are clever as well, Miss Abbott.”

  Alastair gazed upon Millie. She spoke with sincerity and, when she was critical of him, there was not the judgment of how he ought to behave. For that reason, he allowed her remarks to pass. “Finish your toast, Miss Abbott.”

  “Does he always order you about in such fashion?” Kittredge asked.

  “Does he not do the same with everyone? He has quite the high opinion of himself.”

  That was a jibe. Alastair reconsidered the tolerance he granted his cousin. “Oh, he bullies me about all the time, but I welcome it, for he would only do so if he considered it worth his while. Thus, he considers you worth his while. It is quite the compliment, for very few satisfy this criterion for him.”

  “I think you credit me too much, Mr. Kittredge. He only orders me about because it amuses him to vex me.”

  “Do you think so? Then subvert his goals and pay no heed to what he says.”

  Alastair grinned at the difficult place Millie found herself in, though Kittredge had intended his advice to be friendly.

  “She disobeys at her peril,” Alastair drawled. “Finish your toast, Millie.”

  “Good God, man, are you her father and she a child?”

  She frowned, clearly not wanting to capitulate to his orders before Kittredge, but not wanting the consequences of defying her cousin.

  “Surely he jests!” Kittredge said. “What can he do to you?”

  “I must be careful, Mr. Kittredge,” Millie said. “I am afforded a dowry thanks to his generosity. He can give or take it away as he pleases.”

  “Or raise it,” Alastair said.

  “You see, I am at his mercy, Mr. Kittredge.”

  “No, no, Alastair is not as bad as that,” his friend protested. “He would not hold your dowry hostage and cares not about your toast. Finish it only if it pleases you.”

  “Your attempts to play the white knight are unwarranted here,” Alastair said. “Miss Abbott is no maiden in need of rescue. She is quite adroit at getting what she wants.”

  “And now he means to impugn my character,” Millie said, putting her hand to her brow in mock despair.

  “You, sir, truly are a blackguard,” Kittredge declared.

  “Stop. I cannot have you at odds. Alastair has few friends, and I will not have your friendship sullied. I will eat the toast to keep the peace.” She took a large bite.

  Alastair allowed her the escape she had conjured. He was confident she would have eaten the toast to satisfy him.

  “There now,” she said when she had finished off the toast. “Are you pleased, my lord?”

  “Do not test my patience again,” he warned.

  Kittredge shook his head. “I hope you do not intend to browbeat your future wife in this manner. I wonder that Lady Sophia would endure such behavior.”

  Millie sat at attention. “Future wife?”

  “If this is how treats the fair sex, I doubt any woman would have him.”

  Alastair said nothing. He had no doubts that he could train Lady Sophia to be as obedient as his dogs, but, for the present, it was more amusing to compel Millie into obedience.

  “Alastair will never want for marital prospects.”

  “I suppose not. Well, Miss Abbott, accept my condolences for your forced kinship to the man.”

  “Kittredge,” Alastair said, “knows full well that if I bid him eat toast, he would do it.”

  “I would indeed. I am far too invested in his collection of burgundy—I swear he must purchase his wine from smugg
lers—to risk losing his friendship over a piece of toast. And I suppose Miss Abbott is indebted to you for her dowry, or such an intelligent woman would not heed you in the least.”

  Alastair did not dispute his friend, but Millie knew full well that he had other forms of persuasion. Breakfast being at an end, Kittredge offered his arm to Millie. Alastair was content to walk behind them. The silly business with the toast had arisen on a whim, but he was satisfied that he had put Millie on notice and even discomfited her a little. He suspected, however, that Millie would not be easily cowed. He would have to assert himself even more if he were to convince her that she was no match for the Château Follet and its practices.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THEY HAD NOT AGREED to take their role-playing beyond the night, beyond the doors of the play room, Mildred huffed as she scanned the book titles in Lady Katherine's library. She could only put half her mind, however, to the task of finding a good book for Jason. Her time at breakfast with Alastair and Kittredge still rankled her. If he had made a polite request for her to finish her toast, she might have done so without protest.

  No, she would've pointed out that what she ate was no affair of his. She had asked for this, after all, though she had not considered breakfast to be part of the arrangement. Nevertheless, she had invited him to take the role of master, and she had been more than willing to submit to his commands last night.

  Last night. Her body flushed at the memories. She could hardly wait for tonight. Should she confess that she had been unable to follow his bidding, unable to withhold herself from spending? But then, what might he do? Would she have lost any chance of experiencing the reward he had promised? Could she, perhaps, find a way to make up for her misstep?

  She would have time to think on it while Alastair and the rest of the men were out hunting.

  She returned to looking at the books on the bookshelf. There were a good many books she thought Jason would enjoy. She wondered if he had read Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift? She pulled the book from the shelf.