Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  “Would you?” he pressed.

  “How dare you ask such an odious question!”

  He admitted it was in poor form, but he was curious. He pinched her rosebud. “Answer me.”

  “How could I? It were not possible!”

  Her lack of easy pretense gratified him. He had previously found her naivete rather dull, but her artlessness was now refreshing. He decided to provide her a solution.

  “It is quite easy, madam. Simply spread your legs beneath your husband as you have done for me. Do this upon your return home and he will be none the wiser.”

  She renewed her struggles. The shifting of her body atop him made him harden with lust. He sank two curled fingers into her and found a spot within that made her gasp and tremble.

  “And if he hesitates to take you, you have but to make the pretty noises you make now, and he will want nothing else but to fuck you.”

  “Oh…God…” she panted as her legs shook. “…Stop…”

  When she tried to slide once more off him, he pulled her down to him. Her head fell against his chest. A range of emotions swarmed within him: arousal, anger, gratitude, guilt. He was undecided if he welcomed her coming to Château Follet. At first, he had considered it nothing but awful. But then he had seen a part of her he would never have known existed. Though her intended infidelity enraged him, he was also glad not to be the only guilty party.

  He stroked her and watched as her eyes rolled toward the back of her head before she shut her eyes.

  “Please,” she whined. “No more. I am done.”

  “Your body contradicts you. I think it would readily spend again.”

  Her eyes flew open. “No!”

  “There is no virtue in resisting. You have taken my member into your mouth and allowed me to spend within you—”

  She grabbed the hand between her legs. “I did not! I did not know you would take such a liberty!”

  Trudie was not practiced in such circumstances. The advantage had always been his, and he had not hesitated to press it.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said.

  “I won’t!”

  He stopped. The force of her words surprised him. “Won’t what?”

  “I won’t pardon you!”

  “As I’ve said, your husband need not be the wiser.”

  “But I am the wiser. I could not perpetrate a deceit such as you have described.”

  “You would confess the truth to him?”

  He saw the agony in her eyes and cursed himself for a blackguard.

  “I would,” she whispered.

  He believed her, and for a moment, he felt unworthy of her honesty.

  “Is your husband deserving of your honesty?” he challenged, now vexed that she seemed to hold the superior moral standing though it was she who had come to the Château seeking to commit adultery.

  “It matters not. I could not bring myself—I have not the wherewithal to carry on a deception that would require me to live a lie every day of my life!”

  “But you have already deceived him in coming here.”

  “Yes, but…I had not thought—I would not have sinned had I not crossed paths with you!”

  He recalled her resistance earlier in the night, which now felt like days ago. It was true he had forced himself upon her, but surely she was not all reluctance for she had spent at his hand?

  “You bear no fault?” he returned.

  “I did not say that. I have been complicit enough in my sin and shall rue it till the day I die.”

  He scoffed, “That is a theatrical approach you need not take. You have merely equaled his infidelity, and if he is none the wiser—provided your friend, Diana, is discreet—”

  “I could not bear it if he were to learn from another! I must tell him myself…”

  For a moment, he sat stunned before asking, “You mean to confess to your husband?”

  “I must,” she answered slowly. “I could not harbor such a secret such as this. It would eat at my soul.”

  Hearing the misery in her voice, he put a hand to his head and tried to fight back the guilt. He had felt only a small amount of remorse for hiding his mistress from Trudie because his motivations had been kind. He had thought to shelter Trudie from the pain of his faithlessness.

  “And how do you think your husband will receive your confession?”

  “He will be livid. Furious.”

  “Then why confess? Is it to satisfy to your own conscience?”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “Or perhaps he will be relieved,” he offered.

  “No. No husband would be anything but affronted and vexed to be made a cuckold. Only…you knew Diana from before. Did you also know my husband?”

  He had eschewed her earlier question of the same. “Not everyone reveals his identity at Château Follet. I may have crossed his path and not know it. But why do you think I would know your husband?”

  “Diana…”

  His jaw tightened. “Your friend told you?”

  “Not in words, but you had said her cousin was a patron here. My husband is the only cousin of hers I know of …Pray tell me, was my husband—has my husband been here before?”

  He drew in several silent breaths as he debated the response he wanted to give.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LEOPOLD COULD SEE THAT Trudie was stunned. He allowed the newfound knowledge time to sink in for her. In his revelation, he had hoped to ameliorate some of her self-reproach.

  She broke the silence by asking, “Did he come with his mistress?”

  “He was a guest many years ago,” he replied. “I do not think he has returned since.”

  “But how would you know?”

  “He strikes me as the sort of man who does not take matrimony lightly. He would have made an attempt to be the honorable husband, but you would know better.”

  She shook her head. “I think I hardly know him at all.”

  He swallowed the guilt that threatened to rise in his bile. He moved the hand that remained between her thighs, startling her. “Did I not say I would return you to your husband a better wife?”

  He stroked her gently, but she resumed her earlier resistance. The wriggling of her arse upon his lap woke the lust that had cooled during their dialogue.

  “Please—” she demurred.

  “I seek only to pleasure you. You need not worry that you will have to attend me.”

  “I am overcome. I can hardly think—”

  He brushed his fingers against her folds. “Spending can clear the mind.”

  Her hesitation was all he needed to continue. He stroked her clitoris and breathed in the arousal emanating from between her legs. He murmured in her hair, “Come, you have earned this.”

  “I have not.”

  "I command you to spend for me."

  She groaned, "Have I not done all that you have asked?"

  "What purpose does denying yourself serve?"

  "Perhaps I could take your—take you into my mouth one last time?"

  "I much prefer to see you spend. It is a thing of beauty."

  "Have mercy on a wretched soul, sir."

  "One last time and I shall set you free."

  "Only once more?"

  "Once more."

  Taking her silence as acquiescence, he sank his digits into her hot, wet cunnie. She gasped when he curled his fingers and stroked her, making her shiver from head to toe. When he felt certain she would not try to escape, he dropped his other hand to her breast, rolled the orb and gently tugged at the nipple. With a moan, she closed her eyes and surrendered. No longer angry at the fact that his wife writhed beneath the hands of a man she thought a stranger, he sought only her pleasure. With his hands, he coaxed her to that ultimate carnal bliss, relishing her every sigh and purr, the flow of wetness between her thighs, and the rise and fall of her bosom.

  But his forbearance could only withstand so much. Her squirming and panting, the flutter of her
lashes, her naked form all conspired to lend his lust the upper hand. He ground his groin against her bottom. His strength of will crumbled.

  In one motion, he stood and bent her over the chair. She yelped in surprise. "What do you—" she began.

  He positioned himself behind her, taking in the fullness of her arse rounding the edge of the seat. Reaching around her hip, he returned his hand between her thighs, fondling her till her breath grew shaky. He rubbed his shaft between the cheeks of her derrière. Angling his shaft lower, he thrust into her.

  "No! Wait—"

  Her objection turned into a long low moan as his fingers strummed her wet flesh. Over and over, she groaned while he bucked his hips, slapping his pelvis into her rump.

  "Such a good wench," he muttered, his thrusting causing the chair to scrape against the ground.

  "Please don't spend—oh—my—God," she babbled.

  He dared to thrust harder. Her tightness was exquisite. The way the flesh of her arse quivered, the heat and wetness encasing his shaft, the sound of flesh against flesh—he was near to spending himself. A cry burst from her lips, and her body began convulsing atop the chair. Her cunnie clenched, and he lost control. The tension in his groin unraveled and spilled into her. With a groan, he speared himself deeper into her as spasms wracking his body. He pumped himself into her, claiming her through his release.

  Collapsing onto her back, he remained inside of her until his cock became flaccid and slid from her of its own accord. He kissed her between the shoulder blades. "My dear, you are marvelous.”

  She made no sound, but when he drew her up from the chair, she turned around and began to pommel him.

  "You brute!" she cried.

  He grabbed her wrists. What the devil was wrong with her?

  She continued her efforts to assault him, though he easily restrained her.

  “You spent!” she accused. “Inside me! Again.”

  Her reaction baffled him for she had not erupted in such a manner in the Orange Room.

  “Calm yourself,” he said. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry of.”

  Capitulating to his superior strength, she sank to her knees. He replaced his fall and looked upon her as she hung her head. He dropped to a knee before her.

  “My dear, you fret needlessly.”

  She lifted her head and glared at him through what appeared to be tears. “You selfish bastard!”

  “Nothing will come of it.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Why torment yourself with what may not come to pass?”

  “Torment? Yes, it will be a daily torment until—what if—what if the worst—but you do not have to suffer the consequences! You may indulge in being a selfish rogue without penalty.”

  The pain in her countenance cut at him, and her words were salt upon the wounds. He reached to put a comforting hand upon her, but she swiped him away.

  “Touch me not,” she seethed.

  The vehemence in her voice surprised him. Until now, she had been the nervous and timid Trudie he had always known.

  “Did I not provide a solution—” he began.

  “You wish me to mislead my husband? I told you I could not! I would not deceive him into raising another man’s child.”

  “Does your husband not need an heir?”

  His response seemed to stun her. She gave a cry and lunged at him. He caught her wrists.

  “Trudie!”

  The sound of her name stayed her. Eyes wide, she retreated from him.

  “I promise you that all will be well,” he assured.

  “How…?”

  He knew not whether she asked how he knew all would be well or how he knew her name. Either way, there was but one way to allay her fears.

  He removed his mask.

  * * * * *

  Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling her scream. He cursed in silence to see the horror upon her features.

  “You see now that there was no reason for your distress,” he said, hoping relief would soon manifest for her.

  Her bosom heaved and her hands trembled as she continued to stare wordlessly at him.

  “And the sin which you thought to have committed never took place.”

  When she made no response, he began to wonder if she had heard him. He bridged the distance between them and reached for her, but she shied away from him.

  “Trudie…”

  To his surprise, she shook her head vigorously, brushed past him and was out the chamber.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Two Months Later ~

  “WILL YOU NEVER FORGIVE him?” Diana asked as the two strolled the small garden behind the home of Mrs. Atwood, a longtime friend of Trudie’s mother and whom she had been staying with for the past two months. After leaving Château Debauchery, Trudie had not returned home.

  “It is Christian to forgive,” Trudie replied as she watched a robin fly from its perch in a birch tree.

  “But I think you have not forgiven Leopold or you would have returned to him. Did you receive the letters of his I forwarded?”

  “I did.”

  “And did you respond to any of them?”

  “No.”

  Diana heaved a sigh.

  “I hope you did not inform him of where I was?” Trudie worried.

  “Of course not. I betrayed your trust once. I could not do it again.”

  Trudie bit her lower lip, feeling sorry for the pain upon her friend’s countenance.

  She had forgiven Diana for concealing the fact that Leopold had once been a frequent guest of Château Follett, but it was true that she had not completely forgiven her husband for his deception. She had come close many times, having spent many sleepless nights oscillating between remorse, guilt, anger, and sorrow. She understood Leopold had come to Château Follett in disguise so that he could observe her faithfulness, or lack thereof. And she had failed him.

  No matter that her paramour had turned out to be her own husband. He had been known to her only as a stranger. And she had succumbed to this ‘stranger.’ Not once, but over and over again. She had spent for her debaucher in ways she had never done with her husband. She was guilty of a terrible sin, and no excuse could exonerate her.

  She had overcome her anguish at Leopold for such acts of depravity that would surely send her to hell because the wanton part of her did find titillation in the wicked acts. Recalling them, she would often find herself aroused and needing to touch the parts of her body his fingers and mouth had kissed. Not only had she discovered, at last, that carnal euphoria she had envied in Diana whenever her friend spoke of it, she had felt relieved that she could find pleasure in her body, that she was not doomed to forever recoil at the thought of congress with her husband. Perhaps, then, she should be thankful that she had been liberated from her prior shackles.

  She had even felt desired. Seeing the lust burn in the eyes of her debaucher, she had felt emboldened, even beautiful. That man had wanted her. He had grown hard for her. And that man was Leopold. The discovery ought to have thrilled her to no end. Because she had never thought it possible.

  It was her own doing. Had she not come to Château Follett in the first place, none of this would have come to pass. She would still be the faithful wife, quietly enduring the fact that Leopold had a mistress whom he desired more than his wife. Did she truly want such an existence? It was clear that at Château Follett, she had pleased him greatly when she had doubted she ever could. At most, Leopold would tolerate her. Was she not, then, improved in some manner as a result of Château Follet?

  But the pain she had felt, when she had thought she could be with child and was tortured by the pain, disappointment, outrage that such a revelation must cause her husband, proved too much still. How could Leopold have allowed her to wallow in such agony when he knew the truth? Did he not believe the sincerity of her pain? Did he not care to lift her misery?

  But he had or he would not have revealed himself.

  Diana sighed. "I fe
el I am to blame. I have made matters worse between you and Leopold."

  "I was unhappy in my marriage," Trudie replied. "That would only have continued. And I could not make peace with it or I would not have come to Château Follett with you."

  "It is kind of you to say so, but who knows, Leopold might have tired of his mistress and returned to your waiting arms."

  "You must not torment yourself with such thoughts. They shall never bear fruit, or not of a good sort."

  "You have come to accept what had happened then?"

  "I have accepted that I cannot change the past."

  "And what do you intend for the future?"

  It was a question she had no answer for. "What do you? Does your husband still know nothing of Château Follett?"

  "I thought for certain Leopold would tell Charles. He was plenty furious at me for having brought you to Château Follett. But I think he was too grieved over what had transpired betwixt you two that the part I played was a secondary concern for him. How much longer do you intend to make him suffer?"

  "It is not my intention to make him suffer at all."

  "Then why do you not answer his letters?"

  "Because I have not yet read them."

  Diana stopped in her tracks and stared wide-eyed at Trudie. "What? Not a one?"

  Trudie looked up at the clouds in the sky. "I thought the wounds made by Château Follett should heal before I am ready to read his letters."

  "Are they much healed or near to healed?"

  Trudie dropped her gaze to the ground. "Do you know if Leopold has returned to his mistress?"

  "He has not."

  "How can you be certain?"

  "I'm fairly certain. He asks of you almost daily. And when I was at the opera a fortnight ago, I saw her in the box of another gentleman, engaged in heavy flirtation with him."

  Trudie released the breath she had not realized she had been holding. She found comfort in the news, though she believed she would not have reproached Leopold for returning to his mistress, especially after his wife had committed adultery. Perhaps she should not have run away from Château Follett. But she had been consumed too much by her own shame, by confusion, and horror at what she had done and what he had done. She had managed to make it to a posting inn and took the first available post-chaise to a destination she knew not nor cared not. At the end of the day, she found herself in the county where Mrs. Atwood resided. The woman had been much surprised to find Trudie at her door, but the kindly widow could plainly see that something was amiss and welcomed Trudie with much warmth and tenderness. She had made gentle inquiries, but when Trudie offered little explanation, Mrs. Atwood did not pry. Trudie had not intended to stay a two-month. She had trespassed upon Mrs. Atwood's hospitality long enough. But as time lengthened, she found it more and more difficult to return home, to confront her husband.