“Take me, Oliver,” she managed to whisper. She wanted him inside of her, and she wanted him now. She needed his manhood like she needed air to breath, and she felt that if she didn’t get it, she would not survive to see another moment.
His breath was getting faster, too, and his hands were moving all over her body. As she stroked his manhood and he pushed his hips against her hands, he again reached down, gently parted her legs, and placed his hand against her wetness.
“You are ready,” he whispered. “And so am I.”
He shifted his body on top of her and pulled her legs further apart. He looked deep into her eyes and said, “I will go slowly. I don’t want to hurt you, but you might experience some pain.”
“I don’t care. I just want you inside of me. Now,” she replied with a breathy whisper. He smiled, and placed the full weight of his body on top of her. He moved his hand down between their bodies, and she could now feel his hard member against her, though it was not yet inside.
He took himself in his hands, and gently rubbed his manhood against her. She moaned loudly and pushed her hips up in an attempt to move him inside of her.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Please, Oliver. Yes, do it,” she begged.
She felt him push against her, and then there was a lot of pressure. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain, which made her gasp loudly, but he was now fully inside of her. He paused for a moment, before he slowly began pulling out.
“Are you good?”
“Yes.”
As she said that, Oliver began pumping into her more quickly, and as he moved in and out of her, she was moaning without even realizing it. He would occasionally brush her nipples with his fingers and kissed her mouth and neck as he pushed deeper inside of her.
With every stroke of his manhood inside of her, Priscilla felt a building ecstasy that she never wanted to end. She was now bucking against him as he quickened his pace, and he, too, was beginning to moan.
“You feel so good,” he whispered breathlessly. “I won’t last much longer.”
The feelings in her body were like nothing she had ever had, and she had a sense that she might explode in pleasure. The tingling between her legs was so intense, that now she had to have some relief.
He quickened his pace once again, and she could see him close his eyes as if he were concentrating. With every quick jab into her, she moaned and almost whined, as she needed him so badly.
Oliver was moving inside of her so quickly now and the pleasure she was feeling was so powerful, she didn’t even know where she was anymore. He gave two deep, hard thrusts, and she screamed as her body filled with a type of ecstasy she had never experienced before. She yelled out his name as the waves of pleasure consumed her, and then his body collapsed on top of her. He was breathing hard while she laid there and allowed wave after wave of ecstatic completion wash over her.
* * *
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, Wright?”
“Lord Seton’s carriage is ready.”
“Thank you, Wright.”
Oliver looked across the table at his wife and son, who were speaking quietly amongst themselves.
“Jamie?” Oliver asked. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Father.”
Oliver could tell that Jamie was feeling a bit apprehensive, but he was sure that Priscilla had fully prepared him to go away to school. The curriculum that she was using was similar to what Oliver remembered from when he was taking his classes.
Oliver stood and said, “Well, it’s time for you to go. Wright has informed me that your carriage is waiting. I am sending two men to accompany you on the journey. They will return here when you are safely at school. How does that sound?”
“Very well, Father.”
“Great. Now, let’s get you off to school.”
Oliver motioned for Jamie and Priscilla to come to him, and he noticed that she had her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. Seeing him leave would be just as hard on her as it was going to be on him. They had become so close, and now, two months after the wedding, even though she was no longer teaching him, they spent a lot of time together.
The trio walked through the dining room and into the hallway, and then slowly walked to the front entrance to the house. Oliver was sure that this would be one of the hardest things he had to do in his life. For eleven years, he had been Jamie’s one protector, and they had rarely been away from each other during that time. Now, however, it would be months before Oliver saw his son, and he could feel a lump forming in his throat as he saw the carriage and the coachman waiting.
“Son, if you need anything, make sure to send a letter as soon as possible, do you understand?”
“Yes, Father. I will.”
“Good. Oh, and Jamie, try to keep the pranks to a minimum. The other students will likely try to prank you, since you are new, but don’t initiate it.”
“I won’t.”
“Well, here we are.”
There was nothing left to do but say goodbye to each other. Oliver watched as Priscilla leaned forward and took Jamie in her arms. She kissed him on the top of the head, and then turned towards Oliver, tears in her eyes. He nodded at her, as way to show her that it would be all right, and then Oliver put his hand out to Jamie.
Jamie took his hand, and Oliver pulled him in for an embrace. He patted Jamie on the shoulder, and said, “Good Luck, Jamie. This is the first step to your destiny, and you should learn as much as you can. We will see you soon. Safe travels.”
Jamie nodded, but didn’t speak. He simply stepped up into the carriage and the door closed behind him. Oliver turned to Priscilla and walked towards her. He knew that she could see the single tear that had formed in his eye as he sent his only son off to school. Though he faced his wife, he could hear the carriage moving off away from them.
“He is well prepared, Oliver. He will do very well.”
“I know, Love. But I will miss him.”
“He is our son. We will both miss him.”
Oliver pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. With Jamie getting educated, owning a thriving distillery, and having a beautiful wife by his side, Oliver felt invincible, like nothing could ever go wrong in his world, again.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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An Immoral Dilemma for the Scandalous Lady
About the Book
In the throes of their passion, his soul lay close to hers; he finally had her all to himself...
Phoebe Elkins, daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, knew from a young age that she would one day marry Evan Boltmon. If an arranged marriage wasn’t enough, her mortification grows even greater when she realizes she is completely infatuated with her betrothed’s younger brother.
Owen Boltmon, the youngest son of the Duke of Bentley, is a dignified and courageous lord...and madly in love with his brother’s intended. When his brother disappears at sea, he is torn between devastation and a twisted sense of relief.
But when a blessing in disguise knocks on the door, what would have been a dream come true under other circumstances, now feels like the greatest burden to bear: Evan returns and he is not the person they remember...
Chapter 1
Duncan Boltmon, The Duke of Bentley, observed the children playing with a proud smile on his face. It was the height of summer, the fleets were on voyage, and finances had never been better.
His own sons, Evan and Owen, were boisterous but mindful of their learning. Their play fighting included all the noble standards the Duke had worked to instill in them, including honor a
nd virtue.
“Where is your sword?” Owen asked of his older brother, Evan. He searched around him for the second of the two wooden swords the pair owned. “The opponents of a duel must be equally matched or it is unjust.”
“Nobody duels anymore.”
“Not even for the hand of a fair maiden?”
Phoebe, the daughter of the Earl of Wycliff, giggled at Owen’s remark, her eyes sparkling. She clapped her hands together in delight while watching them play. Her brother, Roger, jumped up to show he was just as noble as the Duke’s sons
“En Garde!” he yelled, picking up the second sword and thrusting at Owen. The boys laughed and jousted their way around the gardens, their laughter ringing through the air.
Jacob Elkins, the Earl of Wycliff, turned to look at the Duke. The shade of the parasol cast a shadow across his bearded face but most of the shade covered his wife, the Duchess of Bentley, Tabitha Boltmon. She was reclining in her chair sipping at lemonade from a tall glass.
She wore white, always white. She liked to demonstrate that she could wear a new batiste or silk dress every day—and she did. Lady Bentley was a great admirer of the latest French fashions. Her long, soft dress cinched tight under her chest and then flowed to her feet. Her dresses were always embellished with lace or ornate stitching and she owned an exceptional array of hats.
“It seems to me you have something on your mind, Your Grace,” the Earl said.
The Earl of Wycliff and the Duke of Bentley had a long-standing friendship rooted in their own childhoods which was further solidified by their joint business. It had taken many years for them to acquire their fleet and man it with skilled sailors and merchants, but they were certainly reaping the rewards at present.
Here they were, basking in the sunlight, each of them with his own glorious properties and staff at his command, their wives and children dressed in their finery, and they had prominent positions in society.
“Yes, I do,” the Duke of Bentley looked over to his sons, both strapping young boys. Both were dressed in breeches, waistcoats, and matching long grey jackets. They were growing more handsome by the day and he was not unaware of their eligibility as husbands in the near future. “Evan is now thirteen years of age.”
“Yes. He’s a fine young gentleman.”
“As his father, it is time I begin to think about his future, to make arrangements. Do you understand?”
“I believe I do.” The Duke saw Lord Wycliff’s gaze travel to Phoebe, his only daughter.
At seven-years-old, she was still very much a child, but it would not be long before suitors came to court her. At least, it wouldn’t be long before matches started to be made in preparation a future that would be upon them in the blink of an eye.
It was hard to tell at that young an age what kind of lady she would become but there were clues as to her nature. Phoebe was a free-spirited and playful child, much to her father’s chagrin although he loved her dearly. No matter how hard the Earl of Wycliff and the staff tried to teach her etiquette and proper behavior, she would often find some way to have her fun when she thought nobody was watching. The Earl would often tell the Duke about the times she’d been caught rolling down hills in her pretty dresses or brandishing swords at her dolls in play. They would laugh at the perils of fatherhood as old friends do.
Yet she had a profoundly feminine side also. She was completely transparent with her emotions. Everything she found funny drew joyous laughter from her, and every upset brought tears. She was not the sort of child to hold her emotions in or have a stiff upper lip. She laughed, she cried and she expressed herself with complete freedom always.
She had dark hair like her late mother, Katherine Elkins, the Countess of Wycliff. She had the same deep eyes with thick, dark lashes that pulled at your heartstrings when she fluttered them or made you feel like a monster when they caught her tears after a scolding. She had a small nose and high cheekbones and shapely lips. The Duke believed she would grow up to be beautiful. If she was even half as beautiful as her mother had been, she would make a fine match for his son.
“It has been a while since we’ve discussed the possibility of a match for our children. Not since Lady Wycliff was with child and we didn’t know whether the birth would bring a boy or a girl. That was when Evan was six years of age. I was considering these things then, so you can only imagine how urgent my concern now that he is reaching adolescence.”
“Of course,” the Earl nodded, putting his drink down on the little cast-iron side table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and keeping his eyes on the children. The affection he held for Phoebe was evident in his eyes when he looked at her. He had all the natural protectiveness a father should feel, and more so due to the untimely loss of his wife. “It is also in my interest to ensure that Phoebe will be taken care of in the event of my passing and one never knows when that will be. It would allow me to rest easy to know she is spoken for and entrusted to someone I know will treat her kindly.”
“Evan would be a natural match. I do hope you agree.”
“You know I do. It has been all but done since the day Phoebe was born. Nothing would make me happier than to tie our families together through the bonds of marriage. May our children find as much success in marriage as we have found in business. You hereby have my word that Phoebe is betrothed to Evan and that they shall be wed when she turns eighteen.”
The Earl stood then, straightening his coattails as he rose. “Will you excuse me a moment? I’ll return shortly.”
Lord Wycliff took his exit, heading toward the manor. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Bentley sat up and fixed the Duke with the most lethal of glares.
“You have promised our son in marriage to the Boltmons?”
“You know better than to question my decisions, my dear. I would trust Lord Wycliff with my life.”
“A sentiment I simply cannot understand!” Her eyes narrowed to slits, her eyebrows drawing together in the middle of her forehead, making her appear as some kind of solemn bird, not aided in the least by the length and hook of her nose.
She had all the makings of a handsome woman, but her sternness often made her ugly. The Duke would have chosen for himself a prettier, less temperamental bride had he the choice when he was young. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to secure for his son an amicable bride. Phoebe was an exuberant and lively child who was always quick to smile. The Duke had doubt his wife had ever smiled in her life. If she had been able to, perhaps he would have seen a smile on her face on their wedding day.
“I have never understood your dislike of Lord Wycliff. He’s my closest confidant and business partner.”
“Lord Wycliff is irresponsible and selfish. He has lost us half a dozen of our fleet in the last year alone.”
“Lord Wycliff cannot be held responsible for the weather.”
“He can certainly be held accountable for choosing to set sail in a storm.”
“The decision was a joint one. We stood to lose a lot of money if we did not make that shipment on time.”
“And look at what you lost! All because Lord Wycliff convinced you to set sail against your better judgment. You have always been focused and intelligent, my love, yet you put your faith in a gentleman far less able. Now you want to commit our son to his imbecile daughter?”
“Enough!” The Duke raised his voice so loudly and so harshly it stopped the children in their tracks. They ceased playing and turned toward their guardians in shock. “You forget your place again, Lady Bentley! You’d best be thankful the Earl was not here to hear you speak to me in that manner or you would be wincing far more than you do at the sound of my voice.”
She lowered her eyes, twisting the sheer fabric of her dress between her fingers. She withheld her tears in that stoic manner that frustrated the Duke so—he’d have preferred a more fragile, softer lady—and she pursed her lips.
“As you wish, husband, but on your head be it if our son suffers on account of your fai
th in Lord Wycliff.”
“Your boldness will never cease to astound me. Will you ever learn to hold your tongue?”
He gestured toward Phoebe. She was now sitting beside Owen on a carved stone bench, talking about something with avid interest and trying not to gesticulate too wildly. Every time her hands started to fly into the air in excitement, she remembered herself and returned her hands to rest in her lap.
The Duke continued, “This child already speaks more French than both of our boys. She has learned to embroider. She plays the violin with the skill of a girl three times her age! She is no imbecile and so help me if I ever hear you suggest such a thing again.”
“I’ve seen her playing in the pond with frogs! She has none of the graces one would expect of a lady.”
“She is only a child.”
“When I was her age, I would never have walked around with grass in my hair and mud on my cheek, chasing after the boys as if I were one of them.”
“They are the harmless pleasures of childhood. Soon enough she will be forced to leave them behind. Let children play while they are children.”
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