by Lavinia Kent
“Are you having second thoughts, my dear?” He walked toward her. “I have decided that I prefer you to your sister and that a wife would perhaps present more complications than I need, but I will not force you. I only like willing women.”
“Do I seem less than willing?” She moved forward, legs stiff.
“A willing woman would have been in bed naked.” He began to remove his cravat and then his waistcoat. When he pulled the shirt over his head she almost giggled at the mass of corsetry that resided under it. Corsets were fashionable for men, but she’d never actually known a man to wear one—not even Dratton.
She had to get her nerves under control. “I couldn’t unfasten my gown.”
“You should have sent for a maid.”
“I thought perhaps you would enjoy undoing it, releasing me. Many men do.” She smiled at him with all the coyness she could muster.
“I am not one of them. I am not a maid.” He walked over and rang for a servant. “I need my valet in any case. Never can manage to unhook this blasted thing.” He gestured to the corset. “Should have thought of that. The man can do your dress as well.”
With the lightest rap on the door the valet entered and, without looking at Violet, proceeded to unhook Foxworthy. His belly fell forward, well marked with the red lines such a contraption produced. Violet looked away.
The valet moved toward her. She turned away and felt cold but proficient fingers move down her back. The dress loosened and fell forward. She caught it in her arms. She was not prepared to be naked before another man this night.
“Do you need help with your underthings, my lady?” the valet asked.
Violet shook her head. With another man she might have thought this scenario designed for humiliation, but, despite his political intrigues, she doubted Foxworthy had that subtlety.
She turned to Foxworthy, her dress still clutched about her bosom.
The man was naked. Despite his belly and lack of height, he was not hideous, not even particularly bad. His skin, while white and unmarked by the sun, was not sallow. It was tight and smooth, not sagging and wrinkled. He was quite hairy.
She stepped toward him.
He leaned back on the high bed. “Drop the dress. Let me see what I’ve bargained for.”
She let the dress fall. Only a thin chemise and light corset still clothed her. She was thankful for the newer corsets that allowed her to unfasten herself. She could not have borne the presence of the valet.
Her fingers made quick work of the hooks. She met Foxworthy’s glance and eased the chemise off one shoulder and then the other. It caught and held for a moment on her nipples and then dropped.
He appraised her naked body. “You are all that you promised. It’s a pity my friends can’t see you now. I’d love for them to know what I am getting.” His pleasure pencil jerked at the thought.
She would not take this seriously. “Do you want me on the bed now?”
He considered. “No, if I’m going for experience I might as well enjoy it.”
“What would you like then?”
He paused for a moment, flummoxed.
She saw him clearly then. The older man who’d probably never had more than the most cursory experiences. She didn’t doubt he’d had sex aplenty, but she felt sure it had all taken place flat in a bed.
She had painted him as a villain in her mind, and now was forced to see his humanity. It might not make him a better man, but it did make him a man, a man who used the tools at his disposal just as she used hers.
She looked away, feeling exposed and naked in a way she had not a moment before. If she had painted him the villain, she had let herself be the victim.
If he was human, then so was she.
She didn’t want to be. She wanted, needed to be a body, only a body.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Do something.” He might be a human, he was not a nice one.
She moved toward him, resting a hand on each shoulder and bending forward to kiss his chest. She ignored the hair, the smell, and concentrated only on her own motions. She prayed for the moment when she would not feel.
She rubbed him, caressed him. She could feel his response against her belly.
He pulled her face toward him, planting a damp kiss over her lips. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. His hands clamped over her nipples, pulling them hard.
Her eyes opened. She could see the pores on his nose. His fingers pulled again. She fought the urge to push him away.
She needed to take control so she would not feel so helpless. She pressed his face away. “Slow down. Remember what I said about anticipation.”
She looked about the room. There was a simple hardwood chair in one corner. She led him toward it. “Sit.”
“Don’t see what can happen in a chair.”
She closed her eyes at his lack of imagination, trying to imagine it was Peter there with her. He had always believed a chair could serve many purposes.
The image would not come. Her mind would not bring Peter there, into that room.
She tried again. Failed again.
She truly was alone.
Foxworthy sat in the chair, legs splayed, massive thighs hip-distance apart. He smiled at her.
She walked behind him.
“I don’t see what you’re going to do back there,” he said.
“Back is the key word. A good rub can serve to inflame at the same time it relaxes.” She dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, kneading, pressing. Gads, the man was hairy. She must quit thinking that. Must quit thinking at all.
“It does feel good, but I am ready to get down to business. I’ve got a good hard one and I am ready to use it. Come around front and let me suck on your titties a minute. You do have nice ones. Bigger than your sister’s.”
“I thought you wanted my experience. Won’t you give me a chance to show you how good things can be?”
“Maybe later, my dear. If I wait too long I might not last. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this hard. Now get over here.”
Violet moved around him, resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands. She had never been a shy woman, but now she felt exposed and vulnerable.
She stood in front of him, hands by her sides, a tight smile on her face. “What did you want?”
“Leave it to a woman to ask a stupid question. I want you, of course, but I think the bed will do. This hard chair is not good for my back.” He pushed himself up from the chair with a creak. “Come. Let’s go to bed and begin. I’ve had enough of this anticipation.”
Violet followed him to the bed and slid in beside him. She had lost track of what he wanted. Did he want her flat on her back or taking a more active, experienced role?
He patted the space beside him. The back it was.
She lay there, staring up at the canopy over the bed. She was reminded of all the whispered references to what mothers told their daughters on their wedding nights to help them get through it. She wished she’d paid more attention.
Foxworthy leaned over and fastened his lips about one breast. He sucked hard and placed a large hand over the other breast, kneading her like a mound of dough.
“Bet you didn’t think I’d be so good at this, did you? I may not have been around as much as some of your fancy boys, but I’ve had my share of women. Maybe next time you can use your mouth, I’ve only had whores do that and I’ve always fancied a lady.”
She could do this. She could do this. It became a mantra in her head. It was her choice. There was nothing he could ask for that she would not do. Isabella. Isabella.
If she was not here her sister would be. No matter how she looked at it she was trapped, trapped by doing the right thing.
Maybe he should just return to Violet’s house. Peter kicked at the step of the club he was about to enter. After two hours of searching he was no closer to finding Violet than he had been when he left her house.
He kicked again.
&nbs
p; He’d heard a rumor that she’d been seen about Town with Struthers and young Winchester, he couldn’t remember the boy’s given name. He’d heard that they visited museums and parks with Violet and had on numerous occasions been seen entering Violet’s home.
He wanted to pound something. They’d been seen with Violet weeks ago and on numerous occasions. She hadn’t even bothered to tell him she was looking for another lover. He didn’t care that he’d walked out on her and been avoiding her at the time. She should have known that he would come back to her. That he would forgive her anything.
Only she didn’t want him back.
He shouldn’t have had so much to drink during his search. It was hard to be mad when inebriated. He was more prone to melancholy. He wiped at a moist eye. Men did not cry, and despite Violet’s frequent comments, he was a man.
Why had she never seen that?
He pulled back his leg to kick again and noticed the large scuff running along the toe of his boot. Now he’d have to deal with his valet as well.
He slammed his toe into the stones so hard the impact reverberated up his leg. Maybe he could find somebody to punch. A good fisticuffs might not solve his problems, but it would certainly make him feel better.
He should go back and pound Struthers. He’d seen him in the last club, sitting in a corner, shuffling cards and pouring whiskey. He’d been tempted to walk up and demand to know where Violet was—only Violet clearly hadn’t been with him.
Winchester. Ian Winchester. That was the name.
He must be whom Violet was with. He knew the lad had kept apartments near the Albany. That would be where Violet was.
He turned on his heels, managed not to fall flat on his face, and set off with only a slight limp. Perhaps he should not have tried to drive his foot straight through the stone.
Winchester, if he remembered right, was a pretty boy. Violet liked pretty boys.
He wouldn’t be so pretty in an hour or two.
Violet lay there flat. Back flat. Emotions flat. She had finally found that spot where her mind and her body were separate. She was not her body; it was only a body.
“God, you’ve got good tits, my dear. A man would be happy to die between them.” Foxworthy was a talker. He couldn’t seem to make a single move without describing it.
At least he wasn’t expecting much participation from her.
“Such big tits. I never liked small tits—might as well fuck a boy—not that I ever.”
Look at the canopy. Look around the room. It was better here than in her own rooms. Here she could focus on new things. Was that Foxworthy’s father hanging over the dresser? There was a similarity, and the cut of his coat placed him only twenty or so years back. Who would want a parent staring at his bed during intimate moments? Did Foxworthy ever consider his proud papa as his buttocks rose and fell in the age-old motion?
It was coming to that soon. She’d been amazed that Foxworthy had not plunged in the moment he had her flat on the bed. He’d seemed the hurried type a few moments ago, but now he seemed eager to examine every inch of her chest—examine and pinch. She would have bruises in the morning.
She would not think of morning.
“Open your legs, my dear. I always do enjoy a good look first. You’re much cleaner than the girls I normally take. Never thought it mattered much, but it does seem to add to the whole thing. I’ll have to insist on baths in the future.”
She wondered if he’d make that connection to himself. If she’d been more involved, she wasn’t sure she could have taken the odor of stale sweat. She’d always adored it when Peter came to her bed still damp from an afternoon of riding. The smell of leather and horses had made her positively—No, Peter did not belong in this bed.
She stared at the picture of Foxworthy’s father again. Was he grinning? She’d shut her eyes, but then she would have to feel.
“Come on, spread them further. I bet your sister is more obedient. She doesn’t have your tits, though. Maybe she would after a brat or two. I’ll have to ask whoever Masters finally unloads her on.
“Oh, you’ve a nice cuny too. It looks like it’s just waiting for me. I’ve seen those boys you normally share yourself with. You must be pleased to finally have a man. I can’t wait to tell everyone how much you prefer me to them.”
He positioned himself between her legs.
It would be now.
And just like that, she couldn’t.
Her knees slammed shut, knocking him to the side, and giving him an unintentional ram in the ballocks.
She lay there a moment, while he moaned beside her.
She couldn’t. She should be able to, but she wasn’t.
She slid rapidly out of the bed and grabbed her dress.
“Where are you going? We haven’t finished.” Foxworthy found his voice, although his knees were still tight to his belly. “Get back here, now.”
“We are finished. I am leaving. I should have left before.” It was hard to speak. She still didn’t feel that mind and body were quite integrated.
“Get back here now,” Foxworthy roared as he rose up on his knees. She clearly should have hit him harder.
Violet didn’t answer, but pulled her dress over her shoulders. The back gaped open, and without her corset the bodice hung loose. She grabbed Foxworthy’s coat, ready to pull it over her shoulders.
“If you take that I’ll have you arrested for theft.” Foxworthy controlled his voice, but not the angry red flush that filled his face and chest. “Get back in this bed. I’ve paid for you and I expect what I bargained for.”
Violet dropped the coat. She wasn’t sure she could have borne the stench of it anyway. She headed for the door, unable to answer Foxworthy. She needed to be gone.
Foxworthy stood and came toward her, a great naked mass. “If you open that door, everything we agreed to is null. I’ll marry your sister and make sure she fulfills my every need. There is nothing I won’t make her do.”
“You will never have Isabella. I’ll see to that.” Violet turned on him in fury.
“What will you do? Masters is the only one who has a say over her, and he will do whatever I wish. He’ll be relieved that I’ve changed my mind again.” He stalked forward.
Violet fought the urge to turn and run.
“I am sorry,” she began, trying to placate him. “I did not mean it to end like this. I don’t know what happened, but I just cannot do what you wish.”
Foxworthy stopped a foot from her. “I would suggest that you end this nonsense now and get back in my bed. Are you so dim you don’t realize it is not your choice to make?”
No words could have set her off more. “It is always my choice. That is what you and my brother have never understood. Women have choices, and you are not mine.”
Foxworthy took half a step forward. Would it be rape? He grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the bed. He was stronger than she’d expected.
She kicked out, catching him in the shin. He released her.
There was hate in his voice when he finally spoke. “You are making a mistake. I will destroy you and your brother and take Isabella as my spoils.”
Violet held her dress tight about her, trying to find a dignity she had long lost. “Do your worst. I’ve already seen your best and I can’t say I am very impressed.”
She pushed down the handle of the door and stepped through, a long line of curses following her. She slammed the door behind her.
She wanted to sink down and give in to the hysteria that was rapidly threatening to overtake her. What had she done? She no longer knew what was right and what was wrong. She didn’t even know why she had stopped. It felt almost as if her body had acted by itself.
One foot in front of the other, she made it down the stairs and to the door. She’d expected Foxworthy to come after her, but there was no sound from the bedroom.
The door wouldn’t open. Her hand moved over the latch and around the door seeking the key in the dim light. She felt the walls, th
e tables. There was no key to be found.
Resting her head against the cool wood of the door, she felt despair beat at her. She refused to call for help, and nothing short of a firing squad would have driven her back up the stairs to Foxworthy.
She moved from room to room, but each possible entrance was blocked. She ended her journey in the front parlor. She could see the dark street through the window. A solitary lantern cast a beckoning glow farther down the street.
She wanted to pound on the glass, to pound through the glass.
There was a noise on the stairs in the hall. She debated whether to hide. Instead she thrust back her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. She had survived this far; she refused to fail now.
She strode into the hall. Foxworthy posed halfway down the stair. He must have called his valet for help because his figure was once again well-corseted under his full evening coat. He swung a heavy door key by one finger.
“I wonder what you’d do for this?” He could not have been more composed. Apparently his dignity arrived with his corset.
“I’ve done all I plan to do.” Her voice matched his.
“I thought as much. It’s clear none of your husbands trained you well—or perhaps the blame was Masters’s. I’ll have to be sure sweet Isabella suffers no such fault.” He stepped down the stairs toward her.
She stared at him, trying to understand the game.
“Did you expect me to whine like a boy? That is what you’re used to, isn’t it? I should have realized you could not handle a man.”
Ah, male posturing. This she understood.
Was she prepared to play? She eyed the key in his hand. It might be easier to toss a chair through the window.
She stepped toward him. “Are you going out? I would not have expected you to dress.”
“I don’t know why you think you know what to expect. I am sure that even the most vivid imagination could not foresee my plans.” He strode forward, his fingers still locked about the key.
He walked to the door and after a quick twist of the wrist swung it open. “Go find one of your boys. Maybe they’ll enjoy your games and your anticipation. I am well rid of you.”