Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “THE RAINS HAVE stopped,” Gertie noted the following morning with a sense of disappointment. She nestled her naked body closer to Phineas as they lay in bed.

  “It will still take some time for the roads to dry,” he said as he wrapped an arm about her shoulder.

  “Ah, then you may not rid yourself of my company so easily,” she teased.

  “My dear, I have not the slightest wish to do as you claim.”

  “Surely you have another conquest lying in wait—this ‘friend’ you are visiting?”

  He paused. “She can wait.”

  The displeasure in his voice made her wonder if she had asked an invasive question, but then he had seemed a man who comfortable speaking about anything. She found herself wondering who this lady friend of his was.

  “And now, Lady Lowry,” he said, “there is the matter of the wager that you lost.”

  Her eyes widened. “I thought we had settled the matter of our wager?”

  “Did I actually bind you?”

  She thought through what had transpired the day before. She had lost at vinght-et-un, she had performed fellatio upon him, they had had dinner together and enjoyed a relaxing afternoon reading by the fire. After a light supper, they had retired to his room, he had pinned her against the wall and fucked her there. She shivered at the memory.

  “I suppose not,” she answered.

  He got out of bed and went to retrieve his cravat, the sash from his banyan, and two of her stockings. She felt her skin tingle in anticipation. Returning to the bed, he took one of her ankles, wrapped the stocking about it, and tied it to a corner bedpost. He did the same to her other ankle. The rigging forced her legs apart, exposing her quim. He admired the view for a moment before moving to her wrists, binding each to a post until she was stretched to all fours corners of the bed.

  “Lovely,” he murmured as he stood back to observe his work.

  She noticed his erection was as stiff as one of the bedposts she was bound to. She admired his body—the ridges of his chest and abdomen, the tight curve of his arse, the swell of the muscles in his upper arms and legs. She was reminded of Hephaestus, whose body had also made her salivate. She had not thought much of the male form until her patronage at Madame Botreaux’s. With Phineas Barclay, she longed to caress all parts of him. How beautiful he would have looked bound in Lady Athena’s favorite alcove…A strange sense of familiarity overcame her. Had she dreamed just such a thing, for the vision flashing before her felt so vivid.

  A slap on her inner thigh snapped her attention back to Phineas.

  He ran a knuckle along the arch of her foot. “Your body is at my complete mercy, Countess, to use as I will.”

  Her cunnie throbbed. She tested her bonds. Well tied. It was quite obvious he was no novice at this. But the experience of being tied instead of the one in command was new for her. A part of her found the deprivation of freedom thrilling. Another part became wary of it. She knew not what he would do.

  Obtaining another linen, he wound part of it around one hand, took the end with his other hand, then backhanded it against her quim. The linen slapped sharply against her. She gasped and strained against her bonds. He slapped her quim again. The attention to her most private part made her feel incredibly vulnerable. She wondered if she should be enjoying it. Would Lady Athena be aghast if she did?

  “Perhaps if you are good,” he said, “I will allow you to rig me to the bed.”

  The thought perked her.

  Phineas stroked her clitoris and soon had her panting and writhing. He dipped two fingers into her sodden cunnie. She flexed against him to indicate her desire. He pulled out of her and walking to the head of the bed, he pushed his digits into her mouth.

  “Suck,” he instructed.

  The musky, slightly salty flavor did not agree with her, but she did as he bade, licking his fingers clean of her juices.

  He straddled her across the ribs. She saw the head of his rod glistening with the first drops of his semen. Reaching back, he covered his fingers once more with her wetness and rubbed it onto himself. He pushed her breasts together and slid his shaft between them.

  “There are so many ways to derive pleasure from a woman’s body,” he commented.

  She wanted to tell him to take his pleasure in all the ways, but she was half mesmerized by his thrusting. The head of his erection would peer in and out from between her two orbs. She wondered how it felt for him. How did the flesh of her breasts compare to her cunnie? He pinched and twisted her nipples as he continued to mash her breasts about his length. Her cunnie ached with want of attention.

  By the furrow in his brow, she could see that he was close to spending. He felt as hard as her crop’s handle, and the rubbing action was beginning to burn as the lubrication wore off. He ceased and positioned his rod at her mouth. She took him in eagerly, suckling him hard and furious in the hopes of being rewarded.

  “My word but someone has a voracious appetite,” he observed as he popped himself from her mouth.

  “Take me,” she responded.

  “Did you not wish to beg for it?”

  “Please, I wish for you to ravish me. Take me, sir, take me.”

  “I should like to take you anywhere and at any time I wish.”

  She whimpered. If she were not bound, she would have frigged herself, regardless of what he would do.

  Phineas went to kneel between her legs. He pointed the length of his desire at her cunnie. She strained to reach him. He teased her by pushing only the head of his length into her. It was maddening to have so little of him inside of her when her cunnie burned for him. She pulled at her bonds and wriggled to encase more of his shaft, but the breadth of her movement were confined by the bondage and he was situated too far.

  She groaned in frustration. “Please, I must have you. Please.”

  He plunged inside of her. She squealed in delight. He pumped himself vigorously into her as he lashed the strip of linen against her breasts or backhanded them with his bare hands. The smarting of her breasts, contrasted with the waves of pleasure pulsing from her groin, was exhilarating. She did not know which sensation to focus her mind until the two seemed to fuse as one, sending her body over the precipice of control. Her body jerked against her restraints as if stabbed by ecstasy. She felt a warm stream of liquid filling her, his hot seed spilling inside of her.

  When their bodies had ceased to shake against each other, he reached over and unloosened her bonds.

  “Care to lose another hand at cards?” he inquired.

  She smiled wanly at him. She would lose a hundred hands to this man. There was nothing more she wanted at the moment than Phineas Barclay, body and soul.

  She would ignore the sobering thought that it was not to be.

  * * * * *

  It was with some heaviness of heart that Phineas bore the news that the roads had dried enough to be traveled upon. His only consolation was that Gertie, too, seemed less than pleased. They sat alone in the dining room after their breakfast as her driver prepared the chaise.

  “You will not—you will not speak of what happened here to anyone?” she ventured.

  “’Pon my honor, wild horses could not drag your name from me.”

  She pressed her lips together.

  “You doubt my word,” he deduced.

  “It is only…you have had so many liaisons…and everyone knows of your conquests…”

  “There are many more that are unknown.”

  He tilted her chin towards him. “Alas, my dear, you cannot take back what has happened. You may trust me or not. I can only offer you my word.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  “Do you wish you could undo what has happened?”

  “No, but I suppose I had not fully considered the consequences. Even were you to keep your word, the servants might talk.”

  “Francis would not have survived in my employ if I could not trust him completely. As for those at this in
n, you could not have chosen a more discreet location for your assignation.”

  “I had no intention of seducing you, sir!” she protested. “Would you believe that I deliberately orchestrated losing the wheel to my chaise?”

  He laughed. “Have you never attempted to seduce another man? Or harbored thoughts of doing so?”

  “I have been devoted to my husband till now,” she said simply.

  “Have you, Countess?”

  She squirmed and glanced away. “I have not been unfaithful,” she restated.

  “And how do you define faithfulness?”

  He thought of all that she must have done at Madame Boreatux’s. Alexander would have locked her up in Bedlam if he ever found out, but even a more reasoned husband would not have approved.

  “I have not been free of lust,” she relented.

  “Is that all?”

  “And I have not taken any man to bed.”

  “And thus you may claim to be a faithful wife—because you have not copulated?”

  “Yes—but you have ruined me now.”

  He grinned. “Why have you been the faithful wife? If you have lusted for one that was not your husband, why did you not attempt to seduce him? Why remain devoted to Alexander?”

  He sensed a little of the ire that she had exhibited the first night he had talked of her husband. They both knew what he had left unsaid this time: that Alexander was not worthy of such loyalty.

  “It is different for men,” she defended.

  “And is that fair?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why succumb to unfair standards?”

  “I have not. I have lifted my skirts to you of all people!”

  “Should I be flattered or offended?”

  His words appeared to relax her.

  “The ruling on that remains unknown,” she taunted.

  He looked at her with frank intensity. “Why did you marry Alexander?”

  “Because he was a good prospect.”

  “And?”

  “If you must know, I was not one who could attract many such prospects as he. His attentions flattered me and my vanity.”

  “Were you in love with him?”

  “No, I think I knew even then that I was not. But I believed my affections for him would grow. He need not have been the perfect husband. So many men are barely considered decent husbands. I thought—I thought if I had a child, it would not matter if he were a miserable husband. I should have someone I could love—and who would love me. That is the marvelous thing about children: they are so willing to give of their love. Perhaps that is why I want the appearance of a good wife. I will not have any slander upon me visited upon my child.”

  “Is that why you are a patron of the orphan asylum? Because those girls have become like your children?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why did you alter your course with me?”

  “I have not. I am determined to have a child and as bright and happy a future as can be had for him—or her. I think I should be delighted if it should be a girl.”

  He smiled. “You should have a daughter. A little one as beautiful and steadfast as her mother.”

  She seemed to catch her breath, and the shine in her eyes made him swell with tenderness. He reached across the table and curled his hand about hers.

  “And what would you name this daughter of yours?”

  The thought of a name delighted her. “It would be no ordinary name, but something rare and special.”

  “The name of a goddess perhaps? One whose qualities you admire? Artemis or Athena…”

  She frowned. “No, nothing so fanciful, though I like the goddess Athena most among all the Greek gods.”

  “For her wisdom or her imperviousness to the powers of Aphrodite?”

  “Both. But I would not wish for my daughter to be untouched by love if it could bring her happiness.”

  “And if it could not? Love is the greatest venture of chance. The odds are never known.”

  “‘So dear I love him that with him, all deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life,’” she quoted. “I wonder that love can so alter the value of life, such is its power?”

  “Do you envy Juliet her Romeo?”

  “I know not. I have yet to be in love. I have resigned myself that love, of the amorous kind, shall not come. Indeed, it would be useless as I am married.”

  “Marriage need not prevent love.”

  “You speak as if you are an advocate of love, but surely you scoff at such sentiment?”

  “I have been in love,” he replied. “And I have lost. My first love was when I was six and ten—to a woman older and wiser—and married. She had only a fleeting tenderness for me and soon cast me aside for a new lover. I thought I would die from my broken heart. My second love was when I was twenty. She was a lovely young maid, and I meant to court her with the intention of marrying her, but her family wanted nothing of me or my family. Since then, as with you, I find little use for love.”

  “You have adopted the practices of your mother and father.”

  “Yes, my older sister Abigail and I have not fallen far from the tree, as it were. But it may surprise you to know that my mother and father loved one another. I know not when or how their marriage went to ruin, and I suspected they engaged in their liaisons as much out of spite as sport. But when my mother died of the consumption, I would find my father sobbing in his study, clutching a small portrait of her.”

  “Oh,” Gertie sighed sadly. “I think if people knew your family—truly knew them—they would not be so quick to cast aspersions. And you. I was wrong to have judged you so harshly. You are much more than you seem.”

  He ran his knuckles along her cheek as he looked into her face. “As are you, Countess.”

  He was about to rise from his chair to kiss her, but the driver entered then to inform Gertie that her chaise was ready. It startled Phineas to think that he might not secure one last kiss from her. He assisted her with her pelisse, wondering how soon he might see her again.

  She turned to look at him, her face a mixture of expressions. For once, he could not discern what a woman was thinking.

  “I—I enjoyed your company, Lord Barclay,” she said stiffly.

  Was that all? Or did she hesitate to say more in the presence of her driver?

  He brought her hand to his lips and detected a slight tremor in her. “Shall I escort you to your chaise, madam?”

  She nodded. Outside, he cursed the brilliance of the sun that had terminated their tryst. He handed her into the carriage, desperately wanting her to say something to indicate that their days at the Four Horse Posting Inn might not be an isolated affair. Already he could feel a sense of longing pooling in his bosom.

  “No regrets,” he reminded her as he observed the driver mounting his perch.

  “None,” she responded.

  “Au revoir, Countess.”

  The driver cracked his whip, and the chaise lurched forward.

  She had attested to no regrets, but as he watched the chaise departing from view, he had the foreboding that the regrets would come with time, and a time too soon.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE MARCHIONESS OF Dunnesford threw her arms about Gertie. Gertie returned the embrace of the petite, slender woman.

  “Motherhood becomes you well!” Gertie sighed when she had pulled away from Harrietta. “You look more striking than when I saw you last!”

  The Marchioness was no beauty of the first order, but she had a vitality that shone from her eyes and a warm manner that had put Gertie instantly at ease when first they had met. It was as if Harrietta had sensed Gertie’s tension upon being introduced into gentle society as the wife of an Earl, perhaps because she, too, had not been born into the elite. The Marquess had shocked his peers in selecting her for his wife, though he had done it initially from obligation, but his devotion to her now was steadfast. Gertie stood in awe of Harrietta for she found the Marquess a rather intimidatin
g man.

  “Let us see the little one,” Gertie prompted.

  Harrietta led Gertie to the nursery where the baby lay sleeping. He had chestnut hair like his mother.

  “Hettie, he is beautiful,” Gertie whispered.

  “I am blessed, Gertie, for he has the disposition of an angel,” Harrietta said.

  They tiptoed from the room and went down into a drawing room for tea.

  “Now tell me you did not come through that horrible storm?” Harrietta asked after they had been served. “And all without servants? Do you lack funds? I could have a word with Vale. I am sure he could assist--”

  “No, pray do not. I manage quite well. We stayed at a rather delightful inn waiting for the rain to pass and the roads to dry.”

  The Marchioness pounced quickly. “’We?’”

  Gertie blushed. “A friend—or not precisely a friend—the wheel came undone from the post-chaise, you see—he happened by—the rain was pouring–”

  Harrietta had a bemused look upon her face. Gertie took a deep breath. Of course she could not hide anything from her dearest friend.

  “Hettie, I have sinned.”

  “How delightful! And I thought my dear friend incapable of such a thing.”

  “Yes, he considers it a tragedy as well,” Gertie mumbled as she stared into her tea.

  Harrietta shifted to the edge of the rococo settee, one of many exquisite pieces of furniture that graced the drawing room. Gertie suppressed a stab of envy. Harrietta had it all: a beautiful home, a remarkable husband, and now a darling baby boy.

  “Something happened at this delightful inn?” Harrietta guessed.

  “Yes, but—but it was in passing. It was meaningless.”

  “But you are blushing, Gertie! I protest I have never seen such gladness in your eyes.”

  In truth, the memory of it all continued to thrill her, but harboring such feelings was hardly helpful. Perhaps she would indulge only a little in her retelling. She told Harrietta how Barclay had come across her on the road, how they were sequestered in the inn by the rain, and how much he vexed her.