Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  He looked up at her. “Thank you, Lady Athena.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Their gazes met through their masks, and it seemed his eyes invited her. She felt an uncomfortable throb in her nether region. This would not be the first man to arouse the carnal urges within her, but his was a body that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. She was tempted to slide her hands up over his shoulders and down the bulge of his upper arms. He had such shapely arms. She would have liked nothing more than to glide her hands along each and every muscle.

  “You have a strange predilection for punishment,” she said to distract herself from her feelings. “It is not the usual expectation here at the Ballroom of Pleasures.”

  “I did not come to Madame Botreaux’s seeking punishment,” he replied. “I favor the cries of ecstasy I am able to wring from the women I pleasure and would be pleased to demonstrate upon your ladyship.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Ignoring the effect, she went to return the paddle. “That is a privilege that must be earned.”

  “Has no one earned such a privilege with you, Lady Athena?”

  “No.”

  “And why do you make yourself suffer such failures, Lady Athena?”

  She pressed her lips into a line. “I suffer nothing.”

  “Are you unfamiliar with the sublime elation of orgasmos, of your body wracked with uncontrollable delight?”

  “Do you mean to imply that I have never spent?” she evaded.

  “Many women have not,” he stated plainly. “Or they may know some lesser form but have not had pleasure wrung from their bodies until they can bear no more.”

  Her cunnie pulsed at his words. She knew the lesser form, and only from pleasuring herself. But she had heard the ecstatic cries of other women in the Ballroom with undeniable envy. She had often wondered what it would be like to experience their bliss.

  “Why deny yourself, Lady Athena?” he asked. “Should you not expect—nay, demand—that your lovers service you and bring you the pleasure you deserve?”

  Her lower lip trembled. She could feel her body yearning towards him. Would it be so terrible if she had him…

  No! She could feel the power of Lady Athena slipping.

  “Be it cries of delight that you seek?” she asked him. She strode from her alcove and motioned for one of the maidservants. She directed the young woman to lie upon the chaise and lift her skirts.

  “You will service her—with your hands behind you,” Gertie informed Hephaestus.

  He smiled. “Hardly a challenge, Lady Athena.”

  Gertie shook her head as he shuffled on his knees to the other woman, whom he instructed, “Come closer towards me, m’dear.”

  The blushing maid slouched down, pulled up her skirts and spread her legs. Positioning himself between her thighs, he leaned in towards her mons. Taking a seat in the chair nearby, Gertie folded her arms across her chest and watched as he lightly tongued the pink flesh before him. His tongue circled the folds, gently urging the nub of flesh between them to protrude. The woman closed her eyes, a peaceful murmur escaping her lips. Her body relaxed against the chaise. He took his time with slow thorough licks, his tongue a brush against her canvas. His languid strokes against her clitoris drew long low moans from the woman. Gertie had never seen such a look of contentment—the kind worn after an itch had been scratched or after tasting the sweetness of a ripe summer berry.

  The warmth in Gertie’s loins had spread to every limb, but she remained motionless as she watched. He was staring at her over the body of the woman. His eyes seemed to say, “I could be doing this to you.” A shiver went up her spine.

  Gradually he quickened the pace of his fondling. At times his tongue would slip below and dart into her cunnie, eliciting a delighted gasp. Gertie marveled at the stamina of his tongue. He wielded it as if it were his erection. He plunged his tongue further into the woman, and from the hysterical sounds coming from the woman, Gertie imagined his tongue to be doing all manner of feats within her. Gertie felt her own body straining in unison with the woman on the chaise. Her own clitoris throbbed for attention. The woman began to spasm on the chaise, but he did not stop his tongue until the majority of the woman’s wailing had waned. With tender caresses, he eased her down from her orgasm.

  Gertie closed her eyes and cursed the other woman, then herself. Her hand had itched to fondle her own clitoris, to seek relief and some semblance of the pleasure experienced by the redhead. Instead, her body remained as tense as a violin chord over-strung. And though it had been her idea to bring in the other woman, she could not help but feel that she had played into his hands. She glanced at him, but his expression was not one of triumphant smugness. He gazed at her without emotion, waiting for her next command.

  “You may leave us,” Gertie told the maid.

  “Thank you, Lady Athena, thank you,” the maid said with a grateful bow. “If you require my presence again…”

  I will not, Gertie thought silently.

  When the woman had left, she turned back to Hephaestus. The lower half of his face glistened with the other woman’s cunt juices. Gertie felt a flare of jealousy. Her desire to test him had faded, and she now found herself wondering what to do with him next.

  * * * * *

  Phineas set down his morning coffee and attempted to read the Times his butler had handed him, but his mind kept drifting back to last night. Back to the Ballroom of Pleasures. Back to Lady Athena. She had looked quite magnificent in her flaming red corset. Penelope had told him that much of Lady Athena’s attire were of her own designs. He liked her creativity and her boldness. He even liked the fire that she cast at him through her glares. However, he was beginning to suspect that, despite all appearances, she was not as imposing as she pretended to be, even if she had given his arse a proper paddling. He shifted in his chair.

  It made little sense why Lady Athena would punish herself by denying her body pleasure. She was not immune to arousal. He had seen that as he serviced the maid. Lady Athena had made no gesture, nor spoken a word, but he had detected the flush in her cheeks. And though his nose had been buried in the other woman, he could sense Lady Athena’s arousal. He wondered if she had gone to seek relief in some other form, by herself or perhaps with another subject, someone she trusted. She certainly had left him abruptly last night, leaving him to wonder if their time together had come to an end.

  “Master Robert is here,” his butler announced.

  “His Lordship, the Baron Barclay,” Phineas corrected. “You are not so addlepated that you would forget his title, eh, Gibbons?”

  “But you are—”

  “I am not yet, and if I had it my way, my brother would remain Baron.”

  Gibbons inclined his head. “I have been some five and twenty years with the family. Old habits die hard, my lord.”

  “Especially when grounded in purposeful stubbornness. You may show my brother in.”

  The young man who entered the dining room resembled Phineas in eyes only. Robert Barclay had inherited the petite slender frame of their mother as well as her chestnut hair. Though he was still handsome as all the Barclay siblings were, he had developed more hollowness beneath the eyes in the five years that Phineas had been absent.

  “I agree with Gibbons,” Robert declared.

  “You agree that he spent some five and twenty years in the service of our family or that old habits die hard?” Phineas returned.

  His brother pressed his lips together before answering, “I agree that I am Master Robert. You are the Baron Barclay.”

  “Not yet, thank God. Coffee?”

  Robert eyed the eggs and ham upon the dining table. “I had quite a large breakfast this morning. I think I shall not eat till supper.”

  “I do miss the hearty English breakfast,” Phineas said as he cut into his ham. “How is a man to start the day properly on coffee and pastries alone?”

  With a sigh, Robert sank into a chair at the table. “You need not wait to recla
im the barony. The paperwork is merely a formality.”

  “I did not return to England to reclaim the barony. My ‘death’ has worked out quite well in that regard.”

  “But you are the rightful baron and much better suited to the position than I!”

  Phineas shook his head. “You have always been the upstanding Barclay, though our aptly named sister Prudence may best you yet. I am an irascible rake recovering from a scandalous duel, and as you and our dear friend Lord Bertram have reminded me: a second scandal would spell my doom. How am I better suited to the barony than you?”

  Robert let out an exaggerated sigh. “Phineas, I have not the disposition for a Baron.”

  “That matters not. You have the capable Mr. Hancock to manage all affairs concerning the estate and its businesses—”

  “Yes! And he will not stop speaking to me of the copper mine.”

  “How is Bettina? I have been in England over a fortnight and have yet to set eyes on my dear sister-in-law.”

  “She continues to caution me against my association with you.”

  “She is a sensible woman. You were quite right to marry her.”

  Robert watched in disbelief as Phineas buttered his bread nonchalantly. “Of course I told her that as you are my brother, I am bound to you.”

  “You did not have to procure this lovely apartment for me—or do you mean it as an inducement if I take back the barony?” Phineas asked with amusement before biting into his toast.

  “I would do better to heed her advice and leave you to your own devices!” cried Robert.

  “You would. May I recommend that you listen to your wife more often?”

  “Phineas, I would that you would stop your jesting! Hancock is most insistent on this matter regarding the mine.”

  “What of our mine?”

  “Apparently there is evidence of a significant copper load down one of the tunnels, but to access it, we must bore below Lowry land. The steward for Lowry likes us even less than the Earl himself. Hancock will have no success talking to him. I have attempted to bring up the matter with Alexander, but he refuses to engage.”

  “Not surprisingly. I doubt Alexander takes much of an interest in the business of his estate.”

  “Even if he did, I have not the skill in persuasion.”

  “I would be worse. I am convinced the man loathes me.”

  “Well, Hancock did relay a new bit of information. Apparently, the Lowry steward consults not with the Earl but with his wife.”

  Phineas looked up from his plate. “The Countess?”

  “Yes, and I thought…well, since you have a way with the fair sex…”

  “I would not raise my hopes. I think she may loathe me more than her husband at present.”

  “How is that possible? She barely knows you.”

  “I made a rather impertinent remark to her at the Bennington ball.”

  His brother’s face fell. “In God’s name, what could you have possibly said?”

  “You have no wish to know.”

  Robert’s frown deepened. “And what compelled you to say what you did?”

  Phineas contemplated. “I had no intention to vex her, though it was clear to me afterwards that she did not take to my suggestion warmly, but I confess a part of me wished to confront her after she had clearly demonstrated her disdain of me, and I had yet to make her acquaintance.”

  “She is a Farrington or had you forgotten in your absence how much they dislike us?”

  “They are not all as scornful as you think,” Phineas replied, recalling how easily Sarah Farrington had responded to him.

  “And since when do you give a damn if someone should spurn you? You and Abigail have always done as you please without a care for what others have thought of you, and Georgina following in your footsteps. If I had the nonchalance the two of you possess, I should be quite the cheerful man, I assure you!”

  “A dreadful prospect.”

  Robert threw up his hands. He reached for a slice of toast and began to butter it furiously. Phineas watched his brother with sympathy and a twinge of remorse. Robert had inherited the barony at four and twenty, a young age for a man of his tender disposition. Certainly the circumstances could not have been more distressing. Nonetheless, Phineas would not have allowed the barony to remain with Robert if he had not thought his brother capable.

  “Tell me more about the Countess of Lowry.”

  “What of her?” Robert replied with a mouthful of bread.

  “Have we met her before?”

  “I think not. Her family is quite bourgeois.”

  “She is familiar to me somehow.”

  “You have lain with so many women, I wonder that the entire sex is not familiar to you?”

  “You may be a cheerless man, but let it not be said that you have lost your humor.”

  “I have no opinion of the Countess of Lowry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Should I?”

  Phineas recalled what Mrs. Pemberly had offered in the way of opinion.

  “Why an interest in the Lady Lowry?” Robert asked.

  “If I am to broach the matter of the mine with her, I should like to better understand her temperament.”

  Robert perked up. “Well, our paths do not often cross, but she is mostly reserved the occasions I have seen her. She did not seem to be particularly disagreeable. I attended the wedding, and she was cordial enough. Do you truly intend to speak with her?”

  “It is the least I can do to relieve some of the burden you have had to shoulder in my absence.”

  “Yes.”

  The little word was spoken with great relief. Phineas realized he would have to do more to assist his younger brother.

  “But what if she will not see you?” Robert asked, his brow furrowed. “You said that you had vexed her.”

  “That will pose a challenge but not an insurmountable one.”

  Finishing his coffee, Phineas decided that he would send his card to Lowry House that day to request an audience with the Lady Lowry.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I HAVE NO DESIRE to grant him an audience today,” Gertie informed the Lowry butler as she donned her bonnet. “Nor do I expect to have a change of heart the morrow.”

  “Lord Barclay will ask, as he has done the past dozen times, if you would—” the man began.

  “He may ask a hundred times, the answer shall be the same,” Gertie declared as she buttoned her riding jacket over her olive green gown.

  The butler hung his head. “Very well, your ladyship.”

  Gertie regretted her curtness with the butler, but she could not help but be cross whenever she had to think of that Phineas Barclay. Perhaps she needed to pay a visit to the Ballroom to relieve her nerves. It had been a sennight since last she went, attempting to dispel the anguish over Alexander and his mistress. Although the anguish remained, Hephaestus did provide some relief in the form of a distraction. She had been tempted to return earlier, curious to learn whether he had given up on Lady Athena, but she wanted some distance between them, some time to recapture her old form. Perhaps he would have moved on in her absence, and she would be relieved by it—and a little sorrowful. But it would prove much safer if they parted ways. She could not shake the suspicion that he was up to something.

  “Perhaps my lady would like one of her maids to ride along?” the footman inquired when her horse had been brought around to the front of the house.

  “I would keep them unnecessarily from their tasks,” Gertie answered as she stepped onto the footstool and mounted the steed. “I can manage quite well on my own.”

  Taking the reins, she barely managed to guide the horse beyond the square when a voice stopped her. At first she thought it was Hephaestus, and her heart nearly stopped. She had been discovered! But how?

  She turned around slowly and saw instead Lord Barclay, mounted gloriously on a trotter. With his graceful posture and smart attire—a French striped coat with square tails and black bic
orn—he cut a most gallant figure.

  “Good day, Lady Lowry,” he greeted.

  The most simple words throbbed with sensuality when spoken by him. Gertie straightened her back and prepared her armor.

  “I fear I am indisposed at the moment,” she replied. “I have an engagement to keep.”

  He looked around her. “You are riding sans a chaperone?”

  “I am no young maid but a married woman of many years.”

  “You have six and twenty years—hardly an old matron.”

  She ground her teeth. For some reason it irked her that he knew her age, but then there was little that did not irk her with Lord Barclay.

  “I should be delighted to accompany you to your destination.”

  Her eyes widened before she could stop them. The last thing she desired was his company! Glancing towards the sun, she saw that the day was much later than she had hoped, and she did not wish to keep little Peggy waiting.

  “That will not be necessary,” she informed him. Of all people, Lord Barclay would be the least qualified to serve as a woman’s chaperone!

  As if reading her mind, he said, “Any indignity of our riding together would be mitigated as you are a married woman of many years.”

  “I am in some hurry.”

  “Where do you go, m’ lady?”

  Gertie shifted in her seat, causing her horse to scamper in its place. Wanting an end to their conversation, she replied truthfully, “St. Giles.”

  “The parish?”

  “Yes, and if you would be a gentleman, I should like to delay no longer.”

  He frowned. “You cannot venture to St. Giles alone.”

  “I can manage quite well on my own,” she snapped. “I have been there many times before alone.”

  “I would be a poor gentleman if I allowed you there.”

  “Thankfully I do not require your permission.”

  She urged her horse forward.

  “Then you will have to suffer my company,” he said, reigning his horse next to hers.