Making a complaint to the Fallow Authorization Committee had crossed his mind. Dissatisfaction wasn’t a just cause, and neither was financial strain, but he could come up with a High Sin of some sort, even if he had to fabricate one.
But not that day. He’d rather keep his own mood pleasant. He didn’t even require pills for that. He could get by with a balanced diet, regular exercise, and at least three romps a day, an hour after every meal, and once or twice before bed as well, if he had the energy. Lately, though, and for reasons beyond his control, he had been limited to twice a day or less! And it was all rather mundane—couldn’t they pretend to enjoy his efforts?
The inadequacy on their part was certainly affecting his overall wellbeing. Two fifteen in the afternoon, and still, he was at a big fat zero for the day! Martha was right. He was cantankerous, or getting that way, and it wasn’t just about the food delays, the unwanted interruptions, or Dr. Wayward’s incessant gouging.
He had to remind himself that his morning with Virtue was time—and money—well spent. Because the moment she said, “I do,” she would belong to him and he could do with her as he pleased. All was not lost if he could make an afternoon of it . . . an evening . . . a night of it too, with the right herbal boost. He’d pay Dr. Wayward extra for that. His wedding night was a special occasion.
“. . . And then there was Courtney’s birthing complications from last month.”
Captain’s daydream came to an abrupt halt. “I thought I already paid for that!”
Oh, Courtney too! She had gained too much weight during her over-term pregnancy and he had to suffer the consequences of that as well, and in more ways than one.
“No, I’m very sorry. But my records show that you paid half. And there’s a note that says we’d come to an arrangement for the rest.”
“Ah, yes.” Captain had dodged a bullet there. But he still had to supply the goods and services. “Now I remember.”
“And . . . didn’t you say there was something else that required my attention?”
“Yes, the timing of your house call is actually quite convenient. Because I’m thinking of taking on wife number thirteen. I wanted you to be the first to know . . . since you’re here.”
“Congratulations are in order, then! I assume we’re speaking of that sweet cherry blossom who’s doting upon your newborn son? Holding that lucky boy so close to those full and luscious—”
“All right. That’s my future wife you’re talking about. But yes, that has to be Virtue. Not her real name, but . . . we’ll get to the bottom of that . . . now, I suppose.”
Captain smiled at the thought of airing out a few of Virtue’s mysteries.
“Why, yes we will!” Dr. Wayward pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and began dabbing at the shine on his balding head. “And very well done, sir! She is . . . magnificent.” Then, without further ado, he snapped open his medical case and pulled out a bottle of white cream. He poured out a handful and began massaging it into his hands for a long while. But it wasn’t absorbing well into skin that was clearly saturated already. “And I assume you would want her medical exam performed as soon as possible?”
“That would be preferable. You know I like to see what I’m getting myself into.”
Dr. Wayward closed his fists, opened them, and then flexed his fingers a few times. “And if we discover that she is . . . Indecent?”
He gave Captain an exaggerated wink.
“Well. . .” Captain had to consider that for a second. He preferred virgins. But, for all of her, well, virtues . . . would he allow her to be the exception?
Captain sighed and began rattling his fountain pen. They were nowhere near any discoveries of that sort yet and therefore, the dickering over the what-ifs was getting tiresome. “We’ll have to see if she is in fit condition otherwise. And then we can determine the price of your discretion.”
“Which is rising, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t want to earn a reputation for being too lenient, now would I?” A high-pitched giggle erupted from the doctor. Captain shot him a pointed look. In response, Dr. Wayward’s eyes widened and his amusement came to an end as if he suddenly found his decorum. “In any event, let’s bring her in and have a looksee.”
The doctor clapped his hands together exuberantly and made one last effort to rub the last of the grease into his skin.
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Captain said to him, and Dr. Wayward rose to his feet. “Then, while you set up, I’ll have to propose to her, of course, and go over the terms.”
The doctor nodded at Captain’s request and left the room. He returned soon thereafter, guiding Virtue inside with his hand at the small of her back. “Don’t be shy, dear. We’re here for you. We all want this to go as smoothly as possible.”
Virtue’s eyes fluttered toward the doctor and then narrowed. After a downward twitch of her lips, she slid her arms over her middle, pulling the halves of her red robe tighter in the process.
She was so adorable—and titillating—when she was unsure of herself. Maybe she was a virgin after all.
And the buoyancy Martha and Dr. Wayward had sapped from him suddenly returned with a burst. “Have a seat, Virtue.” Captain uncrossed his legs and shifted to the edge of his chair. Virtue sat across from him at the desk. “I’m sure by now you’ve figured out why Dr. Wayward brought you in here to meet with me.”
Her robe didn’t quite cover her thighs. She tugged at it as she tried to settle in her chair. “No, sir. I haven’t.”
While his focus dipped to her lap, her eyes darted to the window. The view wasn’t the best in the rain and fog, but it was probably magnificent to her. He didn’t want to compare her to Amber, but from what he had heard, Virtue had a modest upbringing as well. It was unlikely she had ever been to an estate as grand as his was. He had no doubt that that would work to his advantage. “You are absolutely stunning. I’ve had such a pleasant time in your company as well. And that is why I’m granting you my Letter of Intent.” He removed the letter from the top of his document pile and placed it in front of her. “Would you do me the honor and be my wife?”
She stared at the letter. It was concise and very standard. Names, dates, and legal language. Nothing questionable or debatable. That would be the ground covered in the Prenup.
Finally, she looked up, just as Dr. Wayward knocked something down in the storeroom. The noise was jarring, and so was the following interruption: “I’m sorry, my Captain. But didn’t you have an exam table in here at one point?”
“It’s in there somewhere!”
“Been a while since we last used it, eh?”
Too long. His last bride was Amber, four very long years ago. And after dealing with her, he felt considerably older and wiser.
The doctor winked at them and Captain did his best to ignore it. “Virtue?” he requested firmly.
Her mouth was in the shape of a gasp, but she gulped it back quickly, and gave him a tentative grin. “I’m flattered. Truly. But—”
She was cut off by the sound of another crash. “I’m still not able to locate it,” Dr. Wayward emerged again to inform them. And upon the receipt of Captain’s glare, he cowered sheepishly. “Not to worry. I’ll keep looking. And if it can’t be found, any flat surface will suffice.”
He disappeared inside the storeroom again.
“I apologize for that,” Captain said through the smile he forced. “You were saying?”
“Well, I. . .” Virtue picked up the Letter of Intent. It shook audibly in her hand. Then she set it back down, neatly sliding it away with the corners parallel and perpendicular to the other papers sitting on the desk. “I’m twenty-one years of age and only two months past the onset of Bearing Age. And I regret to inform you that I’m already fielding other requests.”
He let that settle deep down to his core. And it didn’t land anyplace agreeable. “I doubt you’ll receive a better offer.”
“That could very well be the case. But that is for me to decide.”
<
br /> She stood to leave.
“Wait.”
Captain rose from his chair as well. And at that precise moment, Dr. Wayward stepped out of the storeroom. He seemed to finally realize that he should keep his mouth shut, but he was still making quite a racket removing the folded exam table from the doorway.
With his blood near boiling, Captain ripped open his desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys. “Dr. Wayward,” he wailed. And when the doctor set the table against the wall, Captain tossed him the keys. “Part of what I owe you.” The doctor bobbled the keys in his slick hands but then caught them against his girth. “And would you do us all a favor and see to our arrangement?”
“Oh, I intend to.”
At that, the doctor left the office at a speed that Captain had rarely ever seen him achieve.
“Now, Virtue. Please sit.”
She cautiously obeyed. Perhaps he should demand her hand in marriage. With the right threats, she’d probably do anything.
But not yet. . .
He’d give her one more chance.
“Now, where were we?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the precise answer . . . her refusal to acknowledge what was best for her.
He rose to his full height and stared down at her. When it appeared the message had been received, she dragged the Letter of Intent closer and gave it another look. And that’s when he finally retook his seat.
He studied her while she read it. Her lovely bosom, bound to make many appearances in the robe she was wearing, and yet her breasts had retreated beneath a hand over her chest and within her crouched shoulders. Her entrancing eyes didn’t ever lift, even when he was sure she had read the entire page at least twice. And her exposed knees, not once, did they ever spread apart.
“Would you like to look over the Marriage Bond Application and Prenuptial Agreement? We can go over everything point by point, if that’s what you wish. And then the medical exam can be performed right here in the privacy of my home. With the all clear, you could be a married woman within the hour.”
When she looked up to shake her head, her tears about to fall, it all clicked together for him.
Herald.
He was acting like an impudent child earlier. But it never occurred to him that Herald was anything other than jealous and territorial.
Herald the weak! Herald the perpetual failure! His subordinates were better at his job than he was. Handed every opportunity imaginable, and he couldn’t even earn his father’s respect or his mother’s love.
Why would a girl like Virtue debase herself to his level? But clearly, she had, and obviously, she had enjoyed every filthy minute of it.
They were both in for a rude awakening. . . .
“I don’t believe that’s necessary,” Virtue said once she found her tongue, which he no longer regarded as quite so chaste. “I hope you won’t mind if I consider your proposal and get back to you at a later date.”
“Fine,” he said, dismissing her with the back of his hand. “And just so you know, Virtue, you can give those disobedient heroines of yours some semblance of hope. And fill our heads with nonsense. But if you’re looking for true love in this life, you’ll never find it. It doesn’t exist. Because men are men, and want only what gives them power and control. As a woman, there are only two options: bend or break.”
Virtue absorbed that with a courteous nod, but it seemed to harden her resolve to trot back to her lover. “Thank you for a very eye-opening afternoon. But at your earliest convenience, I’d like to return to the lighthouse.”
“If that’s what you wish, I’d be happy to oblige.”
***
Captain was in no hurry. His schedule had opened up considerably. He now had plenty of time to eat his late lunch . . . and stew . . . alone in his office. Well, alone enough. He was not to be disturbed, but he did have Wellesley at his side, drooling.
Thankful that Wellesley was of the male persuasion and didn’t give him a lot of grief, he cut the first strip of rib-eye steak for his pet.
“Yes, that’s right,” he crooned, massaging the dog’s ears. “Good boy! It doesn’t take much to keep you happy, does it?”
Unfortunately, the slice of meat the dog was trying to swallow was the only piece that was still juicy. Otherwise, his steak was on the tough side. His roasted potatoes were a bit dry and chewy as well. Clearly, Martha had reheated his meal rather than prepare a new one.
He dug the knife into the steak for his third bite. This was what his afternoon had come to. He wasn’t in a steaming hot bath, sharing champagne and strawberries with his new wife. Or indulging in the nut, chocolate, and fine cheese selection at his bedside. Wouldn’t it taste like heaven to her after a week-and-a-half of apples by the basketful, stale bread, and butterless shellfish?
And there would be no rose petals or scented oils to feel, taste . . . to experience, over and over again.
True, he had twelve wives available to perform their wifely duties. But Amber was crazy and he was tired of her antics. And Claudia had pneumonia. Charity was much more talented in the kitchen. Then there was Courtney who had just given birth. At her rate of consumption, she would never get her figure back. Belinda, of course, was eight months pregnant. Madeline was five months along. In both cases, rotund was not something that fired up his libido. And the rest of them were over thirty-five and had hardly gone out of their way to maintain a “youthful glow.”
So what was he doing instead? He was grinding through overcooked meat and grizzle with a steak knife that was too dull.
Abruptly, he dropped his silverware on his desk, not particularly hungry anymore. He gave Wellesley his whole plate of food and considered tossing the irksome knife into the rubbish bin. Where did she even get this one? The back of the drawer?
But then he figured he could find some use for it.
With that slightly more uplifting thought rising into his consciousness, he wiped off the knife and pocketed it. After shooing Wellesley out of the room, Captain followed him out.
His wives—and presumably Virtue—were all lounging around, probably gorging themselves on fresh macaroons in the parlor to his right.
That was the last place he wanted to be right then. So he made a left. He traveled the long hall of his wing of the house. There was a billiard room. A full bar. His weight room. His own personal library. Dusty these days. Who had the time?
He came to a set of glass doors. After unlocking them, he went down the steps that leveled into another hallway. He passed his storage areas and his wine cellar.
At the end of the corridor he came to another locked door that was plain and unassuming. He unlocked that, too, and descended a narrow stairway that only he and a few of his associates even knew existed.
Slowing to a stop at the bottom, he was facing four rooms along one last corridor. His den, at long last. Hearing screams and grunts emanating from the left, he was about to bear right when Dr. Wayward emerged from the second door.
“Phew,” he said upon noticing the Captain. “That was inspiring.”
He zipped up his trousers and began rubbing a handkerchief over his excessively moist face.
“You have a little. . .” Captain gestured to his own cheek.
Dr. Wayward swiped at his face where the Captain had suggested. “Oh dear,” the doctor said, looking at the smear of blood on the handkerchief. “It appears I got a little carried away.”
“Eh, she’s not long for this world anyway.”
“In my educated opinion, I would have to agree.”
The doctor giggled and at the same time, shivered from the euphoria that was likely coursing through him, since he obviously wasn’t cold.
Captain put his key in the third doorknob. There was only so much conversation a man should tolerate at this particular juncture. But Dr. Wayward wasn’t known for his propriety.
“So sorry about Virtue,” he correctly inferred. “If she is what you desire, I’m certain you can find a way.”
“Indeed,�
�� Captain replied, and that was that. “Your banknotes are in an envelope on my desk.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
Before Dr. Wayward had a chance to barrage him with more of his blathering, Captain opened the door at his frenzied fingertips and locked it behind him with an explosive sigh.
For a moment, he was blinded by the daylight coming through a small barred window at eye level. He stepped aside and his sight adjusted. And he was pleased to see his chained and naked Fallow meandering over to him on her knees. Her feet, of course, were useless, the way men of his standing in society preferred for their secret Fallow collection.
She approached him humbly, because compliance and obedience usually meant food. “Sorry, none today,” he informed her, stroking a hand over her eager open jaw and up the back her stubbly head of hair. He liked shaving their heads himself, but, alas, he was a busy man.
His little Plucky. Always the good girl. . .
Disobedience, on the other hand, was a reason for punishment. While Plucky was assuming the position, he glanced at the worthless pile of skin and bones in the fetal position on the floor. “Get up!”
He charged over to her, the one he referred to as Sloth. And he removed his dull steak knife from his pocket in the process.
The slice of the blade across her thigh didn’t do much damage beyond a scratch, but it jarred her to at least pretend she was still alive. She listlessly joined her sister in Fallowhood, backing toward him on her hands and knees.
With his knife still in hand, he unzipped his slacks and let out his pride and joy—twelve wives, twenty-three children, a thirty-five room private island estate and that was just his living quarters. . . .
And every fiber of his omnipotence had, for too long, been pressed firmly into his fat, aching erection.
Virtue would pay for this pain . . . this embarrassment . . . somehow.
Grabbing Sloth by her bony hips, she received the first thrust, which was always the hardest. And then he became deeply embedded in a fantasy—full breasts, small waist, a plump and firm derriere, and orifices that would actually supply some resistance for a change.
The Fallow Page 5