Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  * * * * *

  The brightness of the sun slipping through the curtains informed Deana that it was late in the morning. She stretched her arms above her. The travels of yesterday had tired her more than she expected, but having spent one of the most comfortable nights, she felt quite rested and refreshed. She stared at the designs in the canopy above her. Her body surrounded by soft and sumptuous fabrics, she felt as if she had awoken in the chamber of a princess. With a contented sigh, she threw back the covers and walked over to the sideboard. Bhadra must have come in at one point for Deana found a towel, a brush for cleaning teeth, a pitcher filled with water, and other accoutrements of hygiene.

  Just as she had finished cleansing her face, Bhadra entered with a tray. “Good afternoon, m’lady.”

  “Afternoon?”

  After setting the tray on a small table, Bhadra opened the curtains. “It is past the noon hour.”

  Drawn to the coffee she smelled, Deana sat down at the table and helped herself to the delicious meal of eggs, ham, beans, and bread. Bhadra busied herself with laying out the clothes that she must have unpacked from the portmanteau.

  “My clothes will never feel as pleasant after having worn a sari,” Deana remarked.

  Bhadra gave her a small smile.

  “Do you…service many guests?”

  “There are many patrons of the Chateau.”

  “Do they all wear attire such as this?”

  “No. His lordship requested it specially for you.”

  She was unsure if she should be pleased that he had singled out the garment for her. She decided to take advantage of the opportunity that Bhadra was less reserved than the prior night.

  “Does his lordship come here often?”

  Bhadra paused. “It has been some time.”

  Deana mulled over the information. “Are there many other guests presently at the Chateau?”

  “Not more than usual. Shall I brush your hair, m’lady?”

  Deana went to sit at the vanity. Bhadra uncoiled her hair and removed it from its braid. As the maid brushed her hair, she considered which question she wanted to ask next and how to phrase it to solicit the best answer possible.

  “You may return later, Bhadra.”

  Lord Rockwell stood at the door. Dressed in a dark blue double-breasted tailcoat and spotless white trousers, he presented as smart a vision as any pink of the ton. In one arm he held his hat and riding crop. The other arm was at his back.

  Bhadra curtsied. “Yes, m’lord.”

  He watched her leave—with some tenderness, Deana thought but could not determine with certainty. She remained seated at the vanity, not knowing quite what to do. She was not in her element here at Chateau Follet.

  “I trust you slept well?” he inquired as he strode over to her.

  “Yes, thank you. Are you often in the habit of entering a woman’s boudoir unannounced?”

  He smiled, a little, but did not answer her question. Instead he produced a large velvet box.

  “To complete the ensemble,” he explained and opened the box.

  Deana gasped at the jewelry she beheld. The little diamonds and rubies were laced together with gold in the most intricate and elaborate designs. He removed the necklace, set the box upon the vanity, and went to stand behind her.

  “I could not,” she objected immediately.

  “You shall.”

  “I should be afraid something terrible would happen to it.”

  “You will not wear it for long, but I desire to see how it looks upon you.”

  He pushed her hair to one side and fastened the necklace about her. It served almost like a collar, covering most of her neck. Little red beads dangled like raindrops from the bottom row of the necklace. Methodically, he attached the other pieces: earrings that dangled like miniature chandeliers from her ears; a bracelet that fit first like a ring about her middle finger and ran down the back of her hand before encircling the wrist; and a headdress laid down the center of her head and onto her forehead. Every time his fingers grazed her skin, she felt a rush. The weight of the jewelry, like an extension of his hand, continued to caress her. That familiar tension down below began to simmer.

  Rockwell stepped back and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Deana stared at the same in awe.

  “The jewelers of India cannot be bested,” he said.

  He traced the bottom of the necklace with his forefinger. She shivered as his finger glided along her collar, and suddenly the unquenched desire of the prior night flared through her. She had no wish to be denied once more.

  “What is your desire today, my lord?” she asked.

  A muscle tensed along his jaw. “I thought to show you the extensive grounds. Our horses are being saddled, and I will have Bhadra prepare a picnic.”

  His answer disappointed her, though at any other time she would have delighted in his proposal.

  “Ah,” she said flatly. Recalling how she had once seduced him, she taunted, “Is there no debauchery at the Chateau Debauchery?”

  He raised his brows, though he seemed pleased. “Patience is a required virtue here.”

  She refrained from pouting for she had no wish to be like Miss Walpole, but her desire would not be quelled. She squirmed in her seat.

  “Your intentions are quite the mystery to me, Lord Rockwell.”

  He cupped her chin and turned her gaze to his. “You have much to learn, Miss Herwood.”

  “Then begin your lessons—”

  “I have.”

  “—and, pray, do not prolong them more than necessary. I am an avid pupil.”

  She fixed her most smoldering stare upon him. “Have you no appetency or are you lacking in resolve?”

  She dropped her gaze to his crotch. It was risky challenging his manhood, but she had no interest in a picnic till her ardor was relieved.

  He did not take the bait. “I need no enticement to ravish you, Miss Herwood.”

  “Then ravish me.”

  It was the boldest statement she had ever made.

  “Learn me what you will, my lord,” she urged when he did not respond.

  “Very well,” he decided and gave her a serious stare. “You are short of patience but it can be forced upon you.”

  She did not comprehend his statement, nor care. At last they were to attend to that wanton part of her that wished to experience all that the Chateau Follet portended to offer.

  He undid the gold buttons of his coat one by one. Watching him remove his coat, she sensed desire growing. He hung the coat on the back of a chair.

  “Tell me, Miss Herwood, did you pleasure yourself last night?”

  Stunned by the audacity of his question, she had no reply.

  He went to stand before her. “I have no desire to repeat myself.”

  The sternness in his voice prompted her to speak. “Pleasure myself? In what manner?”

  “I think you know to what I refer.”

  She felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair.

  “There is no shame in the act,” he added. “The Hindus are not alone in their acceptance of this simple human urge. The ancient civilizations of Egypt and Greece regard it as commonplace.”

  “We are neither in Egypt nor Greece.”

  “If we were, would you have?”

  “Perhaps,” she mumbled.

  “I should like to witness it.”

  Her eyes widened. Perhaps she preferred the picnic after all. “I forget—Bhadra may return at any moment.”

  “She will not lest I ring for her. She heeds direction well.”

  Unlike others, he no doubt left unsaid. Deana took a deep breath.

  “Your directions were hardly exact.”

  “She does not require specifics.”

  He spoke with such assurance. There was history betwixt him and Bhadra, she was sure of it.

  He folded his arms. “Now, Miss Herwood.”

  “I should remove the jewelry,” she demurred. “They are too precious to ris
k damage.”

  “Leave them be.”

  Having run out of diversions, she blurted, “What you ask is outrageous.”

  His face was impassive. “And yet you acquiesce to spreading your legs on an inn table to a man not your husband.”

  His words shot straight to her arousal. Indignation and desire fought for dominance within her, making her dumb and immobile. What a fool she was to have come here with him and how naïve to think she could withstand whatever he threw at her.

  “Miss Herwood, do not make me punish you on the very first day.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  HALSTEN DISCERNED BOTH FEAR and anticipation in her eyes at his statement. He knew when he had left her room last night that he had left her wanting. It had been no easy matter for him. He wanted nothing more than to make her spend as she had upon the table at the posting inn, but she needed to be well rested. And it had proven true that a slight delay of gratification could heighten her eagerness.

  His own pants had been fit to burst last night. Even now, as he beheld her in those inflammatory hues and sparkling jewels, her one arm completely bare, he had to fortify his own patience. He reminded himself that he had far more years of experience than she, had learned from a practiced teacher, and been exposed to entirely different ways of regarding the pleasures of the flesh.

  But he did not think he had judged her incorrectly. Her passion was apparent, and she was no stranger to flouting propriety. He surmised that her responsibilities and the weight of uncertainty made the opportunity for abandon appealing to her. She could appreciate releasing control, in the right circumstances, to another.

  When she made no move, he undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up his arms.

  “Very well, we begin,” he pronounced.

  He pulled her to him by the arm, startling the breath from her. To encase her to him, he circled his other arm around her waist. As he gazed down at her, he shook his head at himself. Did he truly think he could resist her? It had been hard enough before, but he had made the task doubly hard with the sari, for he much preferred the colors and cuts of the East. Dressed and adorned like an Indian princess, she was a bloom wanting to be picked. Her earlier flush of indignation had not dissipated. Desire glistened in her eyes.

  Leaning down, he caressed the part of her neck below her ear with his mouth. He felt her relax against him. When he trailed kisses down the side of her neck, a soft sigh escaped her lips. He shifted his hand upon her lower back to position her better between his legs. How delicious her body felt pressed to him. The blood heated and churned about his groin.

  He moved his mouth down below the necklace. She arched her back, causing her hips to move into him. He put his hand to the back of her head to hold it still when he took her wet and waiting mouth. The freshness of her bath from last night coupled with a nondescript scent all her own made for a heady mix that made the blood pound between his ears and in his groin. Parting her lips with his, he tasted of her. Deeper and deeper his tongue went. Her breath hitched at the penetration. His mouth moved over hers in constant, forceful motion. He allowed her little chance to return the kiss, a statement as to who held control. She could only submit to his plunder.

  His hand traveled up her back, gently groping between her shoulder blades before finding and removing the pin that held the pallu in place. The fabric slid off her shoulder. With a swift and practiced hand, he unwrapped the rest of the sari. The garment fell to the ground with ease. There was much to recommend the sari. He considered having her wear nothing else while at Chateau Follet, and, at times, nothing at all.

  He dropped to his knees and grasped both her hips, pulling her to him and drinking in the sight of her bared midriff. She let out a shaky moan when he kissed her there and darted his tongue at her navel. He inhaled the musk of her desire. His erection stretched even further. Reaching up, he grabbed a breast and kneaded the heavy orb. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. Her head fell back, and she threaded a hand through his hair.

  “Ask permission,” he told her.

  She looked at him with a dazed expression, her eyes glossy. “Eh?”

  “You are not to move without permission.”

  He could see the thought sinking in. She withdrew her hand.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Obedience shall be rewarded.”

  She stiffened in obvious resistance to the idea. Undeterred, for he had expected she would not fully accept the practice—at least, not at first—he continued to work the nipple. Pinching, pulling, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she whimpered. He pulled the blouse down below the breast. Rising to his feet, he lifted the exposed breast and attended the nipple with his mouth. She groaned with every swirl of his tongue, every nibble, every suck. When he had her panting, knowing she was wet with desire, he turned her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek was pressed against a tapestry depicting Kama and Rati locked in a naked embrace.

  “Your obedience shall be rewarded,” he repeated, “and your defiance punished.”

  He stepped into her, pinning her body to the wall with his, grinding his desire against her. He circled his right hand around her waist and between the front of her thighs, rubbing the petticoat against her. It quickly dampened. He fondled her more, using the garment to further the friction. She writhed, her movements hampered by the wall and by him. Her legs shook a little.

  His left hand went back to the same breast, mirroring the rhythm of his right. The petticoat was drenched against his hand.

  “Ohhhhh,” she moaned, a melodious sound.

  When he sensed her nearing her peak, he slowed his ministrations. “Now, Miss Herwood, I had directed you to pleasure yourself.”

  She shifted her weight but said nothing. He pulled his right hand away completely. Bereft, she let out a sigh.

  “I am still waiting, Miss Herwood.”

  She squirmed. “What you ask is…degrading.”

  “Degrading? Consider yourself fortunate that I did not ask you to pleasure yourself before all the guests at the Chateau.”

  She sucked in her breath.

  “Pleasuring yourself is no less natural than coition.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. You may find it easy to adhere to Eastern philosophies on the matter, but it is different for me.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Miss Herwood. Come. It would please me greatly.”

  He seized her moment of indecision to pull her petticoat down to her thighs, his own breath catching when he beheld her naked arse. Yes, he remembered her delightful derriere well. He slid two fingers down the curve of one buttock, admiring its contour, before palming it. He returned his other hand between her thighs. She let out an immediate moan.

  Grasping her hand, he forced her to join his caresses. She put up a short-lived resistance until desire overcame her shame. Her hips swayed gently to their joint strokes. He pressed his erection against her arse and closed his eyes for a brief moment. With her body rubbing against him, her grunting and groaning filling his ears, it was all he could do not to unbutton his fall and release his hardened arousal.

  And they had barely begun.

  He took a fortifying breath and gathered his concentration. As he kissed her behind her ear, a particularly sensitive spot for her, he gently retracted the hand that held hers. She did not stop. Satisfied, he reached for her breast and kneaded the flesh while his fingers toyed with the nipple. He ground his hips into her backside, bumping and grinding her into the wall. Eyes shut, she frigged herself more vigorously. His blood was on fire with the motions, the sounds, and the scent of her desire wafting into his nostrils, triggering something primeval and animalistic. Pinching her other nipple, he sent her over the edge. She cried out. Her body shook against him. He caught her about the waist and pinned her to the wall before she slid to the floor. Her breath was fast, her cheeks flushed. He kissed the tip of her ear.

  “Well done, Miss Herwood,” he commended. “Now, ab
out your punishment…”

  * * * * *

  Deana could barely hear him through the loud thudding of her heart. Overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, she kept her forehead pressed to the wall and her eyes closed, not ready to face the world, still waiting for the currents in her body to run their course. She could hardly believe that she had done what he had bid. That she had truly executed the deed was as shocking as the initial request. Shame and impish satisfaction flooded her body. What she had done was wrong and naughty.

  But, oh my, how glorious were the results. Once she had begun, the titillation had surprised her. Eventually the needs of her body had consumed her. The feel of his hands upon her body, the confined space betwixt him and the wall, all added to the concentration of desire. If only he had taken her and inserted himself into her yearning , the experience would have wanted for nothing.

  She felt feathery light kisses planted upon her neck. His hand caressed her upper back, between the shoulders, before he backed away from her. Her petticoat slid to her feet. With her breasts pulled out of her blouse, she might as well have been naked before him. Although being naked before him was nothing new, a year had passed and the novelty returned. Feeling far too exposed before his discerning eye, she bent down to retrieve it.

  He stayed her. “We’ve not finished yet.”

  Of course. He had not spent yet. She was surprised he had withheld as long as he had and wondered how he intended to finish his business.

  “Step to the foot of the bed,” he instructed.

  She did as told.

  “Grasp the bedpost with both hands above your head.”

  Though fulfilled but a moment ago, she felt a new warmth circulating within her. Her timidity had not completely dissolved, but she was feeling more at ease with his directions. Again, she did as he bid.

  “Do not let go. I could tie you to the post but prefer not to.”

  Would he take her from behind? The area between her thighs throbbed at the idea. “Your punishment—”