Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  “I say, Alastair,” Edward tried, “I think my dear cousin merely wishes to understand that all is well with you.”

  “You are too generous, Edward. What you deem a polite interest is little more than prying.” He pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet.

  “I do not deserve such criticism!” Louisa objected.

  “Perhaps not,” Katherine said, “but you should know by now not to tempt the devil.”

  “Your pardon, my lady,” he said to his aunt, “I will excuse myself before I offend further.”

  Knowing her nephew well, Katherine waved a dismissive hand. An awkward silence fell upon the table while Louisa continued to fume. This was precisely why he had not wished to attend the gathering for Michaelmas, and he decided then and there that he would refuse any invitation for Christmas.

  He would depart Edenmoor on the morrow if he could, but first he had to deal with Millie. It was one event he looked forward to during his stay here, and he had much in store for her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I THINK ANDRE delights in abusing me!” Louisa lamented after dinner as they gathered for cards in the drawing room.

  “That is what comes of being the first and only son. He was far too pampered in his upbringing,” Caroline consoled. Then, realizing that Lady Katherine stood near, she added, “I know not what villainy he would have fallen into if not for the influence of our kind aunt.”

  Their husbands, not knowing whether to fear their wives or Alastair more, remained silent.

  The Abbotts, Lady Katherine, and her son formed one table. Mrs. Cheswith opted not to play. The rest of the men formed another table, leaving Millie to play with Alastair’s sisters and Emily. Millie had been grateful not to have had many words with Louisa or Caroline. She had felt the former’s study upon her since the lady arrived. But now she would be forced to interact with Alastair’s sisters.

  “Whist,” Louisa declared. “I will play nothing else.”

  She looked to Millie as if daring her to disagree.

  “If it pleases you, Mrs. Wilmington,” Millie said in friendly way.

  “Now then, Miss Abbott, it seems you have many a political opinion?” Louisa asked as Caroline shuffled the cards.

  Millie withheld from saying that she had thus far offered an opinion on one subject only, but replied that she did.

  “If I were you, I would not offer them frequently,” Louisa continued. “Men may regard you a bluestocking, and even a dowry of four thousand pounds may not influence them to think otherwise.”

  “I should not hold such men in much esteem if they allowed money to sway their true opinions of me, but I am sorry that I spoke when I did. It was perhaps not the best subject for discourse at dinner.”

  “Indeed. I mean only to provide the advice of a sister. A young woman who is too outspoken risks being deemed a conceit, and you have no wish to challenge my brother on such matters. Surely you do not expect a member of the House of Lords to consider the thoughts of one less practiced in the affairs of the kingdom?”

  “I am not equal to his station,” Millie conceded, certain that is what Louisa meant, “but I have not given up hope that his lordship is so dismissive of his fellow men that he will hear nothing of what they have to say.”

  “Oh, but he is!” Caroline cried. She finished dealing the cards.

  Louisa narrowed her eyes. “There are not many in this world who would come to Andre’s defense. Most would say he is arrogant, dismissive and discourteous. Boorish, even. No one is spared his disdain, not even his family.”

  “Especially his family,” Caroline added.

  “Would you not agree with this assessment of my brother, Miss Abbott?”

  Alastair sat at the table beside theirs and could undoubtedly hear many a word.

  “I am far too indebted to your family to speak ill of anyone,” Millie replied. She could not disagree with Louisa without offending her, nor agree with her without offending the Marquess.

  “Is Alastair as generous with others in your family as he is with you?”

  “I am not aware of all that he does, but he is better equipped to answer your question.”

  Millie lost many a hand at whist, for, having to attend to Louisa’s questioning with carefully crafted responses, she could not concentrate on her play. When they finally called an end to cards, Millie felt as if she had survived several jousting matches. She knew not what Louisa wished she would say. On the matter of the dowry, she told Louisa, “I would his lordship were not so generous. I certainly do not deserve such charity.”

  Louisa sniffed. “It is almost unseemly and raises many questions.”

  “I would his lordship could be persuaded to adjust the amount to a more appropriate sum.”

  That had seemed to appease Louisa a little. She turned to Caroline. “Have you spoken with him?”

  “He has even less regard for me,” Caroline replied.

  After the card tables were put away, the Abbotts and Lady Katherine declared the hour well past their bedtimes. The Wilmingtons and Brewsters also retired, as the day’s traveling had fatigued them. Mrs. Cheswith went to look in on her children, for Henry would often experience nightmares. Edward chose a book to read, and Kittredge had settled himself on the sofa and closed his eyes.

  Millie, too agitated with the prospect of meeting with Alastair later, had no wish for the solitude of her chambers.

  “Do you come to rebuke me for my treatment of my sisters?” Alastair asked when she approached the sideboard where he stood.

  “I came to pour myself a glass of port,” she answered, “and your relationship with your sisters is none of my affair.”

  “Would you agree they merit my insolence?”

  “Even if they should deserve it on the grandest scale, and I do not mean to say that they do, must you respond with insolence?”

  He returned a wry grin. “You suffered them with grace. I heard their every word.”

  Millie sipped the port she had poured.

  “You may speak your mind freely with me, Millie. I am well acquainted with the nature of overbearing.”

  “I had much rather discuss this bill for the destruction of stocking frames.”

  “And I do not.”

  “But what think you of his proposal?”

  “I am inclined to support Mr. Farnsworth.”

  “Death ought to be reserved for the worst of crimes.”

  “The destruction of property is a severe crime, and you pursue this discussion at your peril.”

  She hesitated, not knowing what he intended, but she could not resign the topic. “Have you no sympathy for the plight of these men?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “I do not say that they should go unpunished for their crimes, but it is out of fear for their livelihoods that they resort to such actions.”

  “What of the mill owners and the laborers who work the stocking frames? Would you stop industry and the progress of technology?”

  “Perhaps the weavers and others of their trade would feel less threatened if they had other resources, such as the ability to combine and negotiate with their employers as a collective.”

  “Such actions are illegal.”

  “Then repeal the Combination Acts and permit workers to form such societies. What they seek—wages that will prevail with the rising cost of goods—is not unreasonable. But they are rendered unable to help themselves, and the balance of power lies with the mill owners.”

  “Now is not the time to encourage Jacobinism.”

  “Is it wrong to want better wages and better working conditions?”

  Alastair leaned in toward her and spoke softly so that no one else would hear. “Is your backside prepared to take the consequences of your colloquy?”

  Her cheeks burned and she finished the rest of her port in one gulp. “Forgive me if I did not think you so heartless that you would acquiesce to hanging a man without consideration for the arguments against suc
h judgments.”

  “Such arguments will undoubtedly be made by the likes of Burdett.”

  “And the likes of me ought have no opinion of value.” Vexed, she turned to pour herself another glass of Madeira.

  He stayed her hand. “One glass will do for you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but she had no wish to make a scene over an inconsequential glass of wine. Perhaps it was best she retire to her own chambers.

  “I will bid you good night, Alastair,” she said, setting down her glass and turning on her heels.

  “Midnight,” he told her. “And not a minute late.”

  Her heart palpitated. She dared not look back.

  Midnight could not come soon enough.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALASTAIR WAS WAITING for her when she entered the room. Her body's senses heightened at the mere sight of him. He sat in an armchair in his banyan, open to reveal his shirtsleeves. She hoped he would disrobe and treat her to the vision of his naked body.

  “What shall we attempt tonight?” she inquired, try not to appear too eager.

  “The engraving of Angelique et Medor was your favorite among the I Modi, was it not?”

  She was surprised he remembered that it was her favorite. She felt almost giddy. “Yes.”

  “Are you certain your legs have the stamina for the position depicted in that engraving?”

  “I should like to try.”

  “I will grant your desire if you behave.”

  “Have I not done your bidding today? I took those dreadful balls, did I not?”

  He smiled. “Indeed. How were they dreadful?”

  “I think you must know.”

  He rose from the chair. “I wish to hear your explanation.”

  He was taunting her, but she would indulge him for she wanted to experience Angelique et Medor.

  “I said earlier that they were distracting.”

  “How so?”

  She tried not to glare at him. “Because my attention was between my legs the whole time, and it was more than devilish of you to make me ride with those things inside of me.”

  “I could have made you wear them through dinner.”

  She paled at the thought. That would have been horrendous.

  “You have no wish to try them again?”

  “Heavens no!”

  “Why not?”

  “Not only were they an awful distraction, they produced a most inconvenient agitation.”

  “They aroused you.”

  Heat traveled up her cheeks. The area between her legs pulsed with the memory. She nodded.

  “They produced such wetness, I had to send the dressing maid away.”

  His eyes dilated, and his breath deepened. “Surely you did not undress yourself.”

  “I told the maid I was much fatigued from riding and would take a nap before I changed.”

  “And did you?”

  His gaze traversed her body, seeming to take in the swell of her breasts and the thin shift she wore beneath her robe. She grew warm beneath his stare. “I did not.”

  “What did you do instead?”

  She pursed her lips before replying, “I relieved the agitation caused by those bloody balls.”

  A muscle rippled along his jaw. “Show me.”

  She hesitated. Given all that had transpired between them, perhaps she should be comfortable rather than awkward at the prospect of displaying herself before him.

  “I was in bed.”

  “We have a bed.”

  He glanced in its direction, and she knew he meant for her to lie upon it. Reluctantly, she sauntered over and sat down.

  “Did you remove your skirts first?”

  “No, I was in too much haste to release the balls. Once they were out…”

  She took in a slow breath, seeking to tame her quickened pulse.

  “Once they were out,” he prompted.

  “I laid down and pleasured myself.”

  “Demonstrate precisely what you did.”

  She lay back upon the bed and drew the shift past her knees. She paused. “You have a purpose in this?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the sooner you apply yourself, the sooner you may realize the role of Angelique.”

  She thrust her hand beneath her shift and sought that nub of desire between her folds. She stroked the flesh with her forefinger. He pulled her shift past her hips so that he could see everything. She hoped that he would not make her caress herself for long as she much preferred intercourse to self-pleasure. He undid the sash of her robe, which he then opened. He palmed a breast through her shift.

  “Do you ever fondle your own breasts?”

  “At times.”

  Pushing the shift down, he pulled out an orb. “Why not more often? They are such beauties.”

  He took her left hand and placed it upon her left breast. She groped and kneaded herself, hardly believing she was splayed upon the bed, arousing herself in such wanton display. Despite the embarrassment, her middle finger continued to coax the hunger budding between her legs.

  “How many times did you bring yourself to spend?”

  “Twice.”

  He attended to her other breast, gripping it, squeezing it, and rolling it over her chest. He pinched the nipple and pulled it lightly.

  “You have quite the carnal appetite, Millie.”

  “I would rather I did not.”

  “Why, when the rewards are so delightful?”

  “Because the satiation of it is no easy task. I must deal with the likes of you as there is no obliging stablehand about.”

  His jaw tightened, and she wished she had not given in to her impudence, a quality she did not often display save in the company of her cousin.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I was impertinent.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you would not consider lifting your skirts to? The stablehand at Edenmoor is near sixty years of age and suffers from rheumatism, but would you consider seducing him?”

  “I protest. Aside from you and Lady Katherine’s former stablehand, I have not lain with anyone.”

  “Is that by choice or want of opportunity?”

  “Now you are impertinent,” she huffed.

  “By choice or not?” he insisted.

  “Yes, by choice,” she snapped, then wondered why she allowed him to perturb her so. Without antagonism, she said, “But you may judge me a harlot if you wish, my lord.”

  Attempting to ease his vexation, she added, “I would be the harlot with you, Alastair, if it pleases you.”

  She started, surprised by her own words. Dear God, was she flirting with the man?

  He growled and said nothing, perhaps unsure if it pleased him or not.

  Unaccustomed to playing the coquette with any man, let alone Alastair, she sat up. “May we attempt Angelique et Medor now?”

  “Lay down and continue your caresses.”

  He went to stand at the foot of the bed so that he had a better view up her legs. She obliged, wishing they could replicate the easy corporal rapport from last night. For several minutes she stroked herself. A slow but steady arousal built within her.

  “How long do you wish me to pleasure myself?” she asked, noticing his pupils had dilated.

  “As long as I wish.”

  She moaned as he dipped his thumb toward her slit and caressed the edge of it. She hoped he would enter her. She craved to be filled. He rubbed the outside of her slit before sliding two digits into her wet heat. She gasped when he struck a particularly sensitive part inside of her. He knew it, and brushed it over and over.

  “My God,” she managed to exhale.

  She shivered and writhed, unsure if she could withstand the acute pleasure, yet wanting the torment. Desire, a humble fire before, burst into vibrant flames. She gripped the bedclothes beneath as her body rode the most beautiful waves, hoping it would never end. A world of sensation exploded deep within her before sending ripples of rapture to every extremity o
f her body. She cried and laughed in the same breath.

  When at last it seemed her body had peeled itself from the rafters above and settled back upon the bed, the blood still pulsing madly in her loins, her breath was shallow and her head light. She stared into nothingness, waiting for the remaining tremors to fade, before taking a deep breath, in awe of the ecstasy her body was capable of.

  After withdrawing his fingers, Alastair began to disrobe, removing his banyan first, then pulling down his braces to free his shirt. She drank in his chiseled chest and torso before dropping her gaze to the tenting at his crotch.

  “You should undress as well,” he said as he unbuttoned his pants.

  Her slippers had already fallen to the floor and she had but to remove her robe and shift, which she did while seated on the bed. After discarding his shoes, stockings, and trousers, he stood in glorious nakedness. Her breath catching in her throat, she tried not to gape too openly. He retrieved from the pocket of his banyan a linen sheath, then climbed into bed beside her and lay upon his back, stroking the hardness between his legs.

  “Angelique et Medor?” she asked.

  He nodded as he tied the sheath over his member. “But bend your knees. You will find movement much easier that way.”

  With her back to him, she straddled his hips, her knees on either side of his legs. He held her by the hip with one hand as he pointed his member with the other. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him. Her copious amount of wetness allowed him easy entry. With a luscious groan, she sank down his length. Closing her eyes, she relished the fullness.

  “Are you able to move?”

  In response, she pushed herself up his shaft and shivered when it stroked the area his fingers had caressed earlier. He gripped her hips and assisted in pumping her body up and down. She had found such bliss in her previous climax and was surprised to find the craving returned. She truly was a glutton.

  As with the previous night, her legs grew sore, but her need for release was greater. Alastair bucked his hips, slapping his pelvis into her rump. Their grunts and groans filled the room as they pushed their bodies toward the finish line. She wished she could see his countenance, her arousal reflected in him, his muscles tensed in exertion, his perspiration matching hers, but she could not deny the position provided his entry a wondrous angle. Once more the prospect of rapture loomed, the achievement made more worthy by the effort needed to acquire it. Her body exploded into paroxysm, and she was only mildly aware of Alastair spearing himself into her with rapid thrusts until he roared and his body fell into spasms.