Miss Simpkins' School: Molly

by Raven McAllan

  Towse had only answered her query with, “I’ve no idea, Miss. Just that you’ll get more information in due course.”

  Molly was impatient for due course to be there and then, not at some nebulous time in the future. By the time she’d agreed on dinner, a simple country meal of local vegetable soup, turbot, pigeon and lamb, removed by jellies and a steamed pudding, which Mrs. Symmons assured her, was a specialty, Molly was twitchy. No news was not always good news. Either she had a pupil coming soon, even if not that day, or she could relax and enjoy her new surroundings.

  Her maid, a fresh faced young girl called Lily—another relative of Towse—had drawn Molly a bath and helped her into the steaming, fragrant water, before a tap at the bedchamber door had Lily scurrying to answer it. She returned within the minute.

  “There now, Miss. Your visitor has arrived and will be at dinner. Towse assures you it will still be at seven. A little late for country hours, but as you requested.”

  “Thank you,” Molly said and nodded. She’d become used to dining at that time when out of the capital, as Ashley, and then he and his countess preferred it to the usual country hours of five thirty or six. “As I have a guest, I assume I dress accordingly?”

  “Yes, Miss. I’ve put out your lemon silk. Your guest assures Towse that they can rise to the occasion.”

  Molly stood up and let the water stream over her body. She took the large fluffy towel from Lily and blotted the water, before slipping into a silk robe. “Does my guest have a name?”

  Lily stared. “I have no idea, Miss.”

  There was no point in quizzing the girl further so Molly let it go. It wasn’t fair to interrogate her. Instead, she let Lily help her into the gown and then dress her hair in a simple style. Lily had the makings of a good ladies maid, and Molly told her so. The maid blushed and stammered. “I, er well, it’s what I’ve always wanted,” she said in a rush. “So I’ve practiced on my sisters. I promise not to let you down, whatever you want me to do.”

  Molly smiled reassuringly. “My maid in London doesn’t like to leave her mother, who is not a well person. Therefore I can now reassure her I will be well looked after here. Right, now I think I’m ready. Let’s hope my visitor is, for I fear my stomach will rumble in a most disconcerting manner if I don’t eat soon. As it wants but ten minutes to the hour, I’m pinning my hopes on punctuality.”

  She smiled and left the room to make her way along the wide corridor, with its gleaming floorboards and Aubusson carpets. At the head of the staircase she hesitated for a moment to enjoy the view below. The entrance hall wasn’t overlarge, but a good-sized rectangle with the staircase at one end, opposite the double front door. To her left a deep fireplace now held an arrangement of late summer flowers. It would make for a snug room once the coals were lit. Now though, it enticed and welcomed.

  A friendly home. May it ever be thus? Molly put her foot to the top stair and slid her hand over the smooth balustrade. Perhaps her pupil was waiting in the drawing room?

  “Hello, Miss Simpkins. Are you ready to teach me all I need to know?” The voice was oh so familiar that Molly thought she must have been hearing things. She swung round, stared, and stumbled. Her foot shot off the stair runner and onto bare wood, and she waved one arm in the air to try and hold her balance. As her weight shifted, her hand holding the bannister slid downward, and Molly knew her next position would either be on her arse or at the bottom of the stairs. She held her breath, and did her best to relax her body. Surely falling down stairs was akin to falling off a horse? The best way to cope with that, she’d been told, was to act as boneless as possible, and roll with the fall. How you rolled with a fall, when you were rolling anyway was a problem she didn’t know how to solve.

  She didn’t have to. As her arse moved ever closer to the sharp edge of a stair, Molly felt her body scooped up, swung around like she was as light as a feather, then held next to a hard male torso. Fine lawn stroked her cheek, and the scent of man and tobacco once more tickled her nose.

  She waited until she was set on her feet inside the drawing room. As she drew a deep breath, and smoothed down her silks she looked into the eyes of her rescuer.

  “You.”

  “Me,” Charles said. “I’m your new pupil.”

  Chapter Seven

  Had he read everything wrong? Charles stamped down firmly on the tentacles of fear that did their best to wrap around him. He knew as well as anyone how audacious his plan was, but he had come to the conclusion he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The sight of her scarred back had driven him to the decanter until Ash appeared and held his head under the pump in the stable yard and offered to thrash the black dog from him.

  To both their horror, Charles had broken down, and instead of a thrashing, Charles found himself on the end of a hug from his elder brother. Not half an hour later their roles reversed as he told Ash what he’d discovered. Then the brothers began to plot.

  Now, two weeks later, Charles was faced with a somewhat irate Molly. He brushed Molly’s hand away from his cheek—it was about to connect with an open palmed slap—rather as if it was an irritating gnat, and set her down on her feet in the middle of an elegant chamber. It was, he surmised, a drawing room, and the fact the door had been left ajar led him to believe it was their intended destination. He kicked the door closed. There was no need to let the servants have a peep show, and Towse had assured him no one would enter until they were called. Towse even roped the bell pull up so it would need determination from Molly to reach it. Such faith in him had given Charles hope. At least Towse, whom he knew was Molly’s most devoted champion, was on his side.

  “Cur!” Molly paced the room, her arms tight against her side, and her fists clenched. He noted her knuckles were white and her eyes shot sparks in his direction. “What game are you playing, Charles?” She came to a halt in front of him and poked him in the chest. “What on earth can I teach you?”

  “No game.” He grabbed hold of her wrists and stroked the rigid muscles under the soft skin. “And you can teach me how to serve my lady. To be what she wants, give her what she needs, and enable us to be together. I’ve been alone for so long, and believe me, it’s no way to live. I have been barely going through the motions of a gentleman, of a farmer. I am only remotely happy when working to forget the memories that clamor for attention.” His voice broke and he bit back a sob. He was a gentleman. They did not show their emotions in front of anyone. “If I toil until I am exhausted, I can shut out memories and... Molly, I’m tired of it. I want to be with my lady. To show her what we’ve missed due to stupid convention.”

  “Miss Simpkins,” Molly said. “And it was more than convention. It was arrogance. Ours, your father’s...Oh forget it. My name is Miss Simpkins.”

  “Eh?” Lud, I sound like a simpleton.

  “You call me, Miss Simpkins. If I’m to be your tutor, we observe the proprieties.” He couldn’t even glimpse one hint of humor in her expression. She was all business. Only the rapid beat of the pulse in her neck showed she seemed affected in someway. Charles could but hope it pointed to a positive outcome. She was correct. They had all suffered with arrogance, but Molly had suffered the results more than he or his father. If she wished to have formality, then formality she would have.

  He inclined his head and bowed. “Then, my dear Miss Simpkins, will you do me the honor of accepting me as your pupil?”

  The silence went on for so long, that Charles was hard pressed not to fidget as if he were indeed a scrubby schoolboy. Just as he was about to assert his dominance, Molly nodded.

  “We will eat and then talk about what you desire from me and my school.” She stretched onto tiptoe, grabbed the pull, and rang the bell. Towse appeared so quickly one had to wonder if he had his ear to the keyhole. Towse looked from Molly to the man next to her and back again. His usual lugubrious features showed mild worry, and Charles risked a quick, reassuring wink.

  “Yes, Miss.” Towse bowed. “Three minutes in t
he dining room. Would you like me to sound the gong?”

  “I don’t think so. We can remember.”

  As soon as Towse left the room, Molly turned to Charles. “Perhaps you would escort me?”

  Her civil, but not particularly friendly attitude set the tone for the meal. By the time Towse placed the port decanter on the table with a sympathetic look toward him, Charles was ready to put Molly over his knee. He didn’t anticipate a pleasant outcome for either of them if he followed his thoughts with actions. Charles had never been one for corporal punishment, even less since he realized what his father had done to Molly, and not to him. Spanking in any form should be for the exquisite pleasure-pain it could bring, nothing else. But at that moment, for Molly, he was almost convinced he could make an exception. The thought frightened him. He always thought himself as an advocate of non-violence in every form. As he strove to even out his temper Molly spoke.

  “Shall I leave you to your port, sir?” Her tone indicated total indifference to his answer.

  It was the last straw. Charles stood up so fast his chair tipped back and hit the floor with a crash. Molly visibly jumped. Her face paled and she opened her mouth.

  “Do not dare to say one more word,” Charles ground the words out. “Or you’ll find your school has a new tutor. One who accepts he must give out corporal punishment without the pleasure a crop on the arse can bring.”

  Molly paled further and Charles gave her white face barely a passing thought.

  “Now, can we behave like sensible adults and discuss this properly? Or do we continue with this charade?”

  Molly’s chair joined his skewed across the carpet. She flew round the table and stood in front of him, her arms akimbo, her hair coming lose from its top knot, and her bosom heaving under its light covering of silk. If he hadn’t loved her before, he would have fallen in love with her then.

  “You started it. Why? Why do we need this? Why can’t we, can’t you, oh lord...” Her voice trailed off and she sniffed. “Why can’t you accept we can never have a future?” Her eyes brimmed with tears and her lashes spiked together with the few that had escaped.

  Charles took hold of her chin and tipped her head back so she had no option but to look him full in the face. She let her gaze roam everywhere rather than catch his. The reluctance to focus on him gave him hope. If she weren’t interested, Molly would say so. She was no simpering miss who shillyshallied rather than facing up to unpleasantness.

  “Molly, my love, the truth now. If you can look at me and say you have no feelings for me other than are proper, that the thought of my preferences abhor you, and the idea of my hand and my cock on you, and in you once more creates shivers of the unpleasant kind, then I’ll accept that and go. However, if the pictures created of my hand on your arse and my cock inside you, wherever we chose, of our fucking and playing, excite and arouse you, then please, for the love of all you hold dear, say so. Because all I want is you. All I need is you, and I think we’ve both done penance for our youthful loving long enough. I long to show you that the kiss of a crop can be just that. That the caress of a hand and the stroke of a tongue will create shivers and tingles to heat, and not chill.” He dropped his voice and went down on one knee. Molly didn’t say a word, but he watched her swallow as her gaze never moved from him.

  “That the love of a good husband is above all the best, most perfect thing to have. As long as it is returned by the woman he loves.”

  “What exactly are you saying, Charles? Asking?” Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear it.

  “Asking, begging, praying, you will agree to be my wife. I have ammunition,” Charles said as Molly widened her eyes and put her hand to her throat. “The head of the Earldom of Addersley gives his consent. In fact the consensus between him and his wife is I best not go to Addersley unless it is with you, and we go there to plan our wedding. So...Will you?”

  Molly smiled. It lit up her face. “Oh, Charles. Do you think we can?”

  He pulled her close to him and let his rock-hard cock rub against her quim. The way she trembled was most heartening. “Perhaps I must show you?” He nibbled the soft skin of her neck, and then traced the mound of her bosom with his tongue. “Take you to heaven and then to Addersley later.”

  Molly moaned, and her lips sucked on Charles neck. The sting hardened his prick even more, and he wouldn’t wonder if the evening breeches would be stained beyond saving.

  She lifted her head to kiss his ear, and spoke huskily. “Much later...”

  If you enjoyed reading Miss Simpkins’ School: Molly, you may enjoy these other Breathless Press titles:

  Miss Simpkins’ School: Flora, Raven McAllan

  Miss Simpkins’ School: Lydia, Raven McAllan

  Miss Simpkin’s School: Miranda, Raven McAllan

  Miss Simpkin’s School: Jane, Raven McAllan

  A Most Unusual Mistress, Raven McAllan

  Available at Breathless Press

  www.breathlesspress.com

  Biography

  A multi-published author of erotic romance, Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

  She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge. As once she is writing she is oblivious to everything else, her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.