Still Darleston’s expression didn’t change, although his gaze slid to where her breasts hung exposed, swaying with the motion of Giles’s penetration. She couldn’t hold Darleston’s gaze any longer. Fortuna closed her eyes, sunk into the sensual energy. Giles fucked her harder, causing her hands to slip over the silky fabric of Darleston’s breeches until her palms rested upon his thighs. She felt his arousal then, vital, between the splay of her hands. Unable to resist she stroked his covered cock with her thumbs, once, twice, before Neddy crawled beneath her.
Awkwardly crouched between her and his brother, Neddy nevertheless raised his mouth to her puss and found her clit with his tongue. Giles’s motion drove her hard against that new sensation, until her climax shook her.
The explosion in her clit, in her womb, resembled the gripping of a fist. Her muscles clamped tightly around Giles’s cock, claiming him. She heard him shout a curse, but unlike on other occasions he didn’t pull out. Instead, she felt the vital pulsing of his cock deep within her as he came.
Climax over, he sagged against her back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. She wasn’t really sure what for, whether for coming inside her, or because he couldn’t save her from her fate.
Neddy blew a cooling kiss over her clit, and a dart of arousal sparked at the contact. But she felt sapped. Boneless, she sagged onto her knees, her head rested upon Neddy’s shoulder. He stroked her hair, smoothing the golden strands that had fallen loose of their bindings back into place. “It’ll all come right in the end, Fortuna. Believe in it and it will happen.”
She couldn’t believe in it any more.
Lord Darleston stood abruptly, forcing them both forwards. “Thank you for that entertainment, Miss Allenthorpe, but it’s time I left.”
Fortuna peered up the long length of his body. She still didn’t understand him. Now, she supposed she never would. How could he be concerned and distant, aroused and yet so unresponsive?
Giles followed him to the door and the whisper of their conversation drifted back as an unfathomable stream of sibilants. Tired, Fortuna’s eyelids drooped.
“I think I should tuck you into bed for an hour or so,” said Neddy. He lifted her in his arms.
“No,” she murmured. “Don’t leave me.”
“You need to rest.”
* * * * *
Giles trailed in Ned’s wake as his friend carried Fortuna to the guest room. They both kissed her tenderly before closing the door and leaving her to sleep. She’d nodded off in Neddy’s arms.
“She’s planning to go home, Giles. We can’t let her marry that brute.”
Giles warily nodded. “I know.”
“Perhaps if we saw the will,” said Neddy. “There might be a way around the marriage.”
“Maybe.”
“We should do it now.”
Giles stopped in his tracks and faced his friend. “Leave her here alone, when she wants to spend her last night of freedom with us? We might come back to find her gone.”
Lips pursed, Neddy nodded. “Aye, but if we don’t take that risk, then how exactly are you going to keep her here come morning? Unless you’re planning on taking away every freedom she has.”
Chapter Ten
Darleston hadn’t intended to walk home. It had just turned out that way. He’d been locked in his own thoughts and the minutes and miles had drifted by until he was stomping up the steps to Darleston House, knocking slush from his boots, feeling overheated and yet frostbitten. Fortuna was getting to him. He didn’t think it was love by any stretch, but there was something about her. He supposed it was lust for that which he couldn’t have. Giles’s obvious love for the girl comprised a large part of what was stopping him from acting on his impulses as much as Lucy’s ridiculous threats, but if he had to watch any more performances like the one Fortuna had just put him through—well, he might not show such restraint, considering that the cold walk home had failed to kill his stiffness.
“Robert!” The countess awaited him at the top of the grand stairs.
Darleston shrugged his great coat into the hands of a liveried footman and slowly mounted the steps to his new mama’s side. In her hooped court dress, complete with towering feathered headdress she did indeed bear a startling similarity to his deceased mother.
“We haven’t seen you in awhile. Where have you been making your bed?”
Darleston held her gaze a moment, having no intention of imparting that information to her or anyone else.
She snapped open her enormous feathered fan when he refused to speak and wafted it under his nose. “Your father wishes your cooperation on this matter, Robert. He’s not at all happy with the way our family is being portrayed. Lady Darleston’s behaviour… Well, it’s drawing rather too many comments.”
“Really,” he remarked. “I’ll speak to her.”
“’Tis not just her behaviour, there’s a small matter of yours too. Your pater had a visit from Mr. Allenthorpe earlier. He is under the impression that you know the whereabouts of his eldest unmarried daughter. Apparently Miss Fortuna Allenthorpe is missing and has been since the evening of my ball, where you were the last person to see her.” She swept her arm out and wafted him towards the open door of the winter parlour.
Darleston strode ahead of her, but turned immediately upon crossing the threshold. “You do know that I danced with her sister afterwards.”
“Robert. I know that you’re no fool. Your father doesn’t wish for an argument with Sir Hector. The girls affianced, if you are not already aware of that fact.”
“I saw the betrothal announcement, but I’m at a loss as to what you wish me to do. Clearly, I do not have her hidden about my person.” He folded his arms across his chest.
The countess swished her fan closed and rapped it against his knuckles. “Don’t play games with me. Do you know where she is?”
“No,” he said coldly. He kept his hand still despite the sting in his knuckles. He was not in the mood to be bullied by anyone, least of all another woman.
The countess pressed her closed fan to her lips. “Then explain why the younger Allenthorpe girls are so suspicious of your little set.”
“I have no idea. You would have to ask them that.” After Alicia’s plea to him just a short time ago, he was surprised to find their suspicions common knowledge. Had the girls’ visit to Giles’s home got out? He waited, expecting another line of attack. Instead she swirled away from him and sat, so that her skirts fanned out across the chaise.
“Andrew Morton is here,” she remarked.
“Excuse me?”
She flashed him the smile that had broken so many hearts when she was a courtesan. “I rather assumed you’d invited him. He seemed eager to discuss your friend Giles Dovecote with you.”
“Where is he?” he asked, his heart pounding a little faster now. God only knew what his wife was getting up to with that sadist.
“I had Dodds show him up to your suite. I believe Lucy is up there. Although, I did send someone up twenty minutes ago to remind her to hurry as we’re attending Queen Charlotte this evening.”
“How exciting,” he remarked dryly. The Queen was undoubtedly the dullest woman he’d ever met. Still, he did not care to hear that his wife was attending to Morton. Time he showed the man the door.
* * * * *
The outer sitting area of their domain was empty, the only light cast by the flickering blaze around the shield of the pretty fireguard. Darleston moved quietly, sliding like a shadow around the perimeter of the room. His first thought had been simply to barge in and demand explanations, but such an overt show of temper was unlikely to win him the upper hand. Besides, he wanted to be certain of what he was dealing with first. Facts, not assumptions, he told himself.
Lucy had been the bane of his life since their wedding night. Time and again he’d wished he could relive that day and muster the strength to make the fateful proclamation of no at the appropriate point. He’d certainly thought it the first time around, but like a
fool, he’d hoped, prayed that something good would come of it.
Six—or was it seven—years of purgatory later, they had no issue. He forced himself into her bed once a month and he detested the sight of her. Actually, once a month was a lie. It may have begun that way, but once she’d taken up with Neddy, he hadn’t really seen the point. He could live with his brother’s child taking the title, and who would ever know save the three of them.
Lucy and Morton were in the bedroom. Not in the bed, but standing at the foot of it. Morton had stripped off his coat and his dun-collared breeches were undone revealing a sliver of white shirt and the hard column of his cock. If that wasn’t proof enough of her current adultery, then her nakedness surely was.
Clad only in stockings and shoes, Lucy was bent over the footboard, her wrists bound to the bedposts with silken cords. Interestingly, it was a similar pose to that which Fortuna had recently tormented him with, and one he favoured. Rear entry allowed for deeper penetration and there were always the delights of that other winking hole to indulge too.
Fortuna’s expression loomed large in his mind. The image of her small breasts bouncing before him as Giles thrust into her from behind and Neddy tongued her clit gave him a raging stiff, forcing him to uncomfortably adjust himself. What a difference her short stay with Giles had made. She’d been a simpering hotpot that first night; now she was a raging inferno.
The sharp slap of Morton’s hand against Lucy’s plump behind pulled him back to the present. His wife gave a squeak of alarm and softly whimpered, but he noticed that she lifted her reddened arse higher, offering herself up for further punishment. Dark pink imprints marred her flesh, and her cunny lay slack and fragrant, moist with arousal that Morton wetted his fingers in, before poking his thumb up her arse and then delivering another smack in response to her grunt of protest.
Morton’s own breaths were sharp between his whispered eulogies of praise. He wiggled the fleshy cheeks of her bottom, clasped handfuls of her reddened flesh in his palms and squashed them together. He landed another smack, and this time rubbed his erect cock over the undoubtedly stinging flesh, leaving behind a silvery trail.
Darleston slid into the room, his presence unnoticed until his hand locked around Morton’s wrist. The man had been poised ready to enter her. He gasped, and his free hand pumped uneasily, before settling protectively over his cock. Meanwhile, Lucy jerked to attention to the extent that her bindings allowed. She turned pleading eyes upon her lover. “Release me, Andrew.”
Darleston gave her a cold glare, but received nothing but defiance in return. He still hadn’t said a word, which he realized was making Morton at least, uncomfortable.
“You don’t satisfy me,” Lucy barked, still jerking against the restraining curtain cords. “Why shouldn’t I look elsewhere? You haven’t even been home for days. You’ve been out fucking that trollop, Fortuna Allenthorpe instead.”
Morton spluttered an oath at her language, which saved him the bother of it. For a lady, she was damned uncivilized. He wished he’d known that before he married her too. It probably would have swung his father’s mind on her suitability.
“Stop it,” he hissed, tempted to slap her across the face. “Stop it because you’re not just going to ruin her with your slander, but the whole family. As if I’d be so indiscreet as to entertain myself with an unwed girl.”
Perhaps because his focus had been on the preservation of the Allenthorpe’s good name and not on her indiscretion, Lucy seemed momentarily surprised, but then her face lit with a purely evil smile. “Why should I care a whit about the reputation of that family of simpering golden-haired prudes? And don’t deny your involvement with the elder. I’m sure she’s well broken in by now. I doubt Sir Hector will find her quite so worthy of his affections once he learns she’s already had three cocks stuffed up her puss.”
“Curb your tongue.”
Morton looked between them in alarm, but to his credit he didn’t struggle or make a sound. Darleston released the man’s wrist. He didn’t think he was going to cause any trouble.
“You’ll understand that I’m offended by your presence, sir,” he said making a point of formality. “I thought I made clear my thoughts on Lady Darleston’s punishment when I removed her from your home.”
“But you sent her to me,” Morton blurted. He hastily did up his breeches, his recently rampant cock now shrivelled and flaccid.
“I what?”
Lucy began to cackle. “You went off to your indulge your vices, husband dear, and I saw no reason to continue home to an empty bed. Andrew was very thorough in his punishment; you’d have no cause for complaint. I feel I can honestly admit to having been ravished by the end of it. In fact, I was so thoroughly fucked I was obliged to spend the night there. Of course, you didn’t actually notice, because you haven’t been home for more than a few minutes these last few days.”
“You went back,” he growled. His switched his attention to Morton. “You believed I’d sent her!”
“Tis almost common knowledge that you’re... shall we put it, free with her favours. Of course I’ll see that you are adequately recompensed,” said Morton
“I’m not bloody free with her.” Darleston stopped himself as the implication of Morton’s words sank in. “I do not pimp out my wife,” he added more firmly.
“No, no, of course not.” Morton edged backwards towards the door, looking as if at any moment he’d bolt.
“Don’t you dare leave me here with him.” Lucy yanked hard at the cords binding her to the bedposts and managed to slip one wrist from the loops. She immediately started working on the knot holding the other.
“I rather think that I probably ought to go,” said Morton.
“No,” Lucy screamed at him.
It occurred to Darleston, on seeing the fear in Morton’s eyes, that owing to the rather bad company he sometimes kept, that he’d actually acquired a reputation for similarly hot-headed recklessness. Dear God, the man was genuinely afraid for his life, which was ridiculous. He had no intention of calling him out. Lucy simply wasn’t worth it.
“There is one matter before you go,” he said, and enjoyed watching Morton squirm. Hell, he deserved that much. The damn fool had still cuckolded him.
“Of course.” Morton ruddy cheeks whitened. He gulped, then gave a grim nod.
“In the sitting room.” He ushered Morton into the outer room and closed the door on Lucy. She howled in frustration, but frankly, he didn’t care. Having lit several candles he settled himself before the fire and waved Morton into a chair. The man looked terrified. Beads of sweat bathed his brow, and he just couldn’t seem to keep his fingers still.
“I wanted to talk to you about Giles Dovecote,” Darleston announced.
“Giles!” Morton sallow face crumpled into wizened confusion.
“Yes. This obsession of your sister’s has to stop. It’s upsetting him, and by virtue of that fact upsetting me. I won’t tolerate being used as a go-between anymore. It’s tiresome and has to end.”
Morton’s upper lip quivered, but his expression spoke of agreement. “I’ve tried, really I have, but she won’t see reason. If Giles would simply break things off properly with her. I know that nothing was ever actually agreed upon between them, but Clemencè seems to see things differently. She was quite besotted with him a year gone, and won’t see that Emily’s death has changed things, that Giles is no longer the same man.”
“Frankly I doubt he’d have married her even back then, but you are right, Emily’s death has changed things. He needs time to move on without your family bustling about as a constant reminder.” Darleston drummed his fingers against his leg. “I’m going to advise him to remove to the country. I’ll leave the handling of your sister to you. I’m sure you are capable of it.” He flicked his gaze towards the boudoir door.
Morton caught the glance and nodded. “It won’t be easy, but perhaps we’ll retreat awhile too.” He stood, and bowed stiffly. “I’m deeply sorry about o
ur misunderstanding, milord.”
Darleston scowled, and showed him the door. He felt badly about what pain he might be inflicting on Clemencè, but he was past doing things the hard way. He wanted the Mortons dealt with, before the backlash of Giles’s involvement with Fortuna started.
Emily Dovecote had been demure, and saintly, not the sort to refuse her husband his conjugal rights or complain of mistreatment. He didn’t doubt that Morton had played rough with her, and he had a horrid gut-deep suspicion that her death in premature childbirth had entirely been that, but he wasn’t about to press Giles for those details. His friend would tell him in his own time.
Once he’d seen Morton away down the corridor, Darleston put his back to the door ready to face the next dilemma: Lucy. He helped himself to a swift swig of brandy before crossing to the door, which he opened cautiously, expecting to be hit by a barrage of shrieks and or blows.
All remained quiet.
“Lucy?”
There were clothes tossed across the floor and the bed, but no sign of his wife. Pulse thrumming in his temples, Darleston hurried to the window and flung the shutters back. The sash window was fully raised and the night wind howled through the opening. For a moment the knowledge that she’d fled numbed him. Below the window, trellising and years of ivy growth hugged the stonework leading down onto the balcony from which Giles and Fortuna had escaped on the night of the ball. “Shit!” he swore. He’d lay money on the fact that the blasted woman would go straight to Macleane.
Darleston charged back through the house, stopping only long enough to grab his coat while they readied his carriage. He had to warn Giles. They had to remove Fortuna from the house right now.
* * * * *
Giles left his carriage on the far side of Red Lion Square in the hands of John, his coachman whilst he and Neddy walked the short distance to the offices of Knapsley & Cox in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. During daylight with the winter sun upon the old building and the white covering over the cobblestones, the small courtyard on which the solicitors’ firm was located had seemed respectable, desirable even. By night under a barely existent moon, it was a place of long shadows and dirty slush.
Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells) Page 19