“He knows of the peacock and the poison ivy, but he doesn’t know about the milk,” said Georgiana.
Miss Niven looked uncomfortable. “Must we tell him?”
Paulette had real sympathy for the girl, but she was firm. “We must. It’s his home too. But first you must tell me whether there is anyone you suspect.”
“There is an obvious suspect, but I don’t suspect her.” Georgiana gave a little laugh and continued. “I saw Rose in the corridor just before I found the peacock, and it was Rose who delivered the milk to Miss Niven, but I have spoken with her and she seems like a kind, sensible, hardworking girl.”
“Rose has been with us only a little less than a year, but I have been very pleased with her, both as a parlor maid and as a member of our household. She works conscientiously, seems good-natured, and is not without a sense of humor.” Paulette mused for a moment. “I don’t know why I should value a sense of humor in a parlor maid, but there you are.”
“I think a sense of humor is something to be valued universally,” said Georgiana, “so I am entirely of your opinion.”
“I am glad of that, but it gets us no closer to answering our question,” Lady Loughlin said. “Is there anyone else whom you suspect?”
Miss Niven said, “‘Suspect’ wouldn’t be quite the word I would use. ‘Wonder about’ might be more accurate, but it did cross my mind that, somehow, Miss Mumford heard about what had happened to Lady Georgiana and thought that, if she were to do something like that to me, the crime would be attributed to someone else.”
“Or,” added Georgiana, “it’s possible that it has been Miss Mumford all along. She has certainly made her disapproval manifest.”
Paulette looked doubtful. “She is such a respectable lady. It’s a little hard to imagine.”
Miss Niven nodded. “It’s quite hard to imagine. But it’s hard to imagine anyone doing this.”
“We even thought about Mrs. Sheffield, for no other reason than that she is so very respectable, and her condemnation of me has been commensurate,” Georgiana said. “But I think it’s even harder to imagine Mrs. Sheffield doing such a thing than it is to imagine Miss Mumford doing it.”
The other two women nodded, and there was a pause as they seemed to run out of suspects. When Miss Niven and Lady Georgiana had been alone, they had also talked about whether this might be Freddy’s idea of a fine joke, but neither of them wanted to suggest this to his mother. His mother, though, knew her son better than either of her guests did.
“This just possibly could be the work of my younger son,” Lady Loughlin said ruefully. “He’s been known to pull what he’s thought of as a prank, but what others consider a serious misdemeanor. And, with two distractingly beautiful young ladies under the same roof, what little judgment he has may go for naught.”
Miss Niven wouldn’t have dreamed of seconding her hostess’s opinion, but Georgiana took the privilege of long acquaintance. “It did cross my mind,” she said. “It is the kind of thing Freddy might find amusing.”
“If it is Freddy,” Paulette went on, “it’s rather a relief than otherwise. He would never go beyond the confines of what he considers a good joke, and there is no danger. I’m much more worried that it isn’t Freddy, and someone may get hurt.”
The three women were quiet for a moment, each contemplating the possibilities. Then Lady Loughlin broke the silence. “I shall certainly speak with Robert, but I can’t think that there’s anything else any of us can do, except keep eyes and ears open. In the meantime, you must excuse me. The Earl of Grantsbury is due this afternoon, and I want to make sure all is right with his accommodations.”
With that, she headed upstairs to look in on the suite of rooms reserved for the earl. As she expected, all was in order. Her instructions had been explicit, and her staff had followed them to the letter. She gave a quick nod of satisfaction and went off to find her husband.
The Loughlins, husband and wife, each had a dressing room and bedchamber adjoining a sitting room they shared. She had little hope of finding him in their rooms at this time of the afternoon, but she checked there before she sent her maid, Jean, to find him.
“Please tell him I must speak with him, and that he will find me in my dressing room.”
“Yes, my lady.” Jean curtsied and went off in search of her master.
Lady Loughlin did not have long to wait. Not ten minutes passed before her husband knocked at the door, which she had left ajar.
“Come in, my dear,” she said, and Robert entered and sat in the soft chair that Paulette kept in the room for the tête-à-têtes she liked to have there.
Lord Loughlin reflected that it had been a long time since anything resembling an intimate conversation had passed between them, and wondered why he had been summoned.
“It’s about the ‘harlot’ notes,” she said, launching directly into the problem at hand.
“But we’ve already discussed that,” he said, disappointed that a more pleasant subject hadn’t been the subject of his summoning.
They had discussed the notes after the incident of the peacock, but not to much advantage. They were both angry that someone in their home—servant, family, or guest—was doing this, but neither of them knew what steps to take. It wasn’t trivial enough to laugh off, but it also wasn’t serious enough to call in the constabulary—at least, it hadn’t been when they last spoke.
“There’s a new development,” Paulette said grimly, and told him about Alexandra and the milk.
Lord Loughlin sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. “That’s bad.”
“Yes, that’s bad. But what are we to do about it?”
“I spoke with Rose, but she seemed to know nothing whatsoever about it, and was in tears at the suggestion that she could have had anything to do with it. She was quite convincing. And I must say, I can’t see her being behind something like tainted milk.”
“Whom can you see being behind it?” she asked her husband almost plaintively.
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “But there’s one thing I do know, and that is that I don’t want you to have to think about it.”
“But how can I avoid thinking about it?” She raised her hands, open palmed, in a gesture of frustration.
“You can assure yourself that I am thinking about it and pursuing it. We have a houseful of guests, and our biggest event of the year is the day after tomorrow. Even when all is well, we need the lady of the house to set the tone for the festivities, and I think it’s even more important now. The story of Georgiana’s notes has gotten out, but everyone is inclined to think of it more as a joke than a menace. We must do everything we can to ensure that they continue to think of it that way. Our friends are here for the company, and for the masquerade, and it is our obligation as hosts to make certain that they have a good time while they stay with us. Let that be what you think about.”
Lady Loughlin was accustomed to taking the lead in managing the household, and slotting her husband into her plans where she thought he belonged. Now here he was slotting her—in a way that made perfect sense. She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “That is, I think, an excellent approach. I shall do my level best to keep my end of the bargain.”
“And I to keep mine.” Robert stood, leaned over his wife, and kissed her forehead. She took his hand as he did so, and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said, with some feeling.
He stroked her cheek with his free hand, and leaned over to kiss her again, this time on the very corner of her mouth. Lady Loughlin knew this as an overture, and was touched that he was making it. Had she not had a full house, the impending visit of an earl, and party preparations to think about, she might have responded to it differently. But she did have those things, and although she was sorry to do it, she put him off.
She stood up and kissed him tenderly. “I’m afraid I must tend to the house and the guests.”
“I think both the house and the guests would survive your te
mporary absence,” her husband said.
She knew this to be true. “It is me, not them, who would struggle. You know I never can do anything but be a hostess when, well, when I’m a hostess.”
“But you are a hostess so much of the time. Can you not be both a hostess and a wife?”
He hadn’t intended this as a rebuke, but it sounded like one to Paulette’s ears. “I believe I am always a wife,” she said indignantly. “And I hope I have always been a good one.”
Robert sighed. “You have, my dear, you have.” And it was so. He looked at his wife rather sadly and left.
Robert knew that very little went on in his house without the servants’ knowing, and he spent the next several hours making inquiries. He spoke with the kitchen staff to find out about the milk, the garden staff to ask about the poison ivy, and everyone he could think of to see who might have made off with poor Eustace. Invariably, he came up against ignorance and confusion. The house was so full of people, and the servants so caught up in the hubbub, that there was simply too much activity to make sense of.
Eventually, and reluctantly, he set off to find Jean. He generally made an effort to avoid her, both because the fact of their interludes in the dungeon made him uncomfortable around her above stairs, and because he was always afraid she would do or say something to betray him. She had never let slip any inappropriate word or expression when other people were present, but when it was just him and her, Jean put on a knowing and familiar air that Lord Loughlin disliked.
He knew, though, that she paid close attention to everything that happened in the house, and diligence required him to seek her out.
He found her in the sitting room he shared with his wife, straightening things up.
“Jean,” he said, “may I have a word?”
“Of course, sir.” She looked at him with just a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
Lord Loughlin gestured for her to sit down, took a chair facing her, and proceeded to explain what was happening and ask her the litany of questions he’d been asking all the servants in the house. Had she seen anyone loitering on the grounds or in the kitchen? Had anyone been acting strangely? Had she heard any general disgruntlement, or any specific criticisms of Lady Georgiana or Miss Niven?
The answers were no, no, and again no. Jean had been busy attending to her mistress, and her realm was far removed from the kitchen and the grounds. What with all the activity in the house, Jean had had very little time to talk to the other servants. Her feel for the goings-on at Penfield was rather worse than it generally was, what with her many responsibilities.
When Jean came to the part about her many responsibilities, she leaned over and placed a hand on each of Lord Loughlin’s legs, just above the knee. “But there’s one responsibility I must never neglect,” she said softly as she ran her hands up his thighs.
“Jean!” he hissed, bodily taking her hands away. “Lady Loughlin could walk in at any moment.”
“I don’t think so,” Jean said. “She’s gone out to the stables to make sure there’s space and water and food for Lord Grantsbury’s horses.” She put her hands back on her master’s thighs. “But if you’re more comfortable somewhere else, we can go downstairs.”
Jean stood up so her weight was concentrated on the palms of her hands, and she rubbed them up and down on his legs, inching closer and closer to where she could see the first signs of stirrings in his groin.
Lord Loughlin fought his desire. He made it a point never to use the dungeon during the day. Old Dodson, the butler, had a key to the wine cellar, and if he came there he might hear something and feel compelled to investigate. They had had one scare when Dodson did come downstairs while they were there, but they heard the heavy cellar door and were quiet until he left again.
Besides, there were so many things that needed his attention. He couldn’t just disappear in the middle of the afternoon.
Jean had worked her way up to his cock, which was now fully erect, and he involuntarily closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he felt her stroking it through his trousers. She worked her thumbs into the crease between his thighs and his balls, and pressed. The combination of dull pain and acute pleasure made his mind up for him.
“Come down in ten minutes,” he said, then stood up and left the room abruptly.
Jean smiled to herself, finished neatening the room, and went downstairs.
She had her own key to the wine cellar, but the other servants would wonder if they saw her use it. She made sure no one was about, and then quickly opened the door, slipped through, and locked it behind her. She made her way to the back of the cellar, where Lord Loughlin was waiting for her in the dungeon. He closed the door behind her and looked at her with a curious combination of desire and something Jean could only call hostility.
Robert clearly wanted her—he wouldn’t be there otherwise—but he didn’t want to be a victim to his desires. He wanted to indulge them on his own terms, and not feel so overwhelmed by them that he couldn’t resist.
But she knew he couldn’t resist. When Jean bent over the cask of Armagnac in the middle of the room and flipped up her skirts, she knew exactly what to expect. She braced herself for the feeling of his hands, kneading and slapping her buttocks, and knew, without turning around, that the sight of her ass, reddened from his blows, was arousing him almost uncontrollably.
Usually, at this point in their game, Lord Loughlin would sit on a stool set up in the corner for the purpose, and watch as Jean deliberately undressed. This time, though, he told her, almost gruffly, to take her clothes off, and he went straight to the cabinet where he kept his toys. He took out the leather harness, the anal plug with the horsehair, and a large, soft sheepskin.
He removed his shirt and trousers, and Jean waited for the moment when the power shifted to her and he became submissive and yielding, but as he handed her the harness so she could put it on him, she did not sense submission. He gave her the reins, literally, but she didn’t think he gave her the authority to use them quite as she would.
Robert threw the sheepskin over the cask and straddled it as though he were a stallion mounting a mare. Jean rubbed the plug in the tub of Carston’s Complexion Cream, and worked it into his asshole.
They’d played this game before, with Robert in the role of stallion trying to get at the mare, and Jean in the role of handler, keeping him just out of reach of the sheepskin on the cask. Jean stood behind him and pulled on the reins to get him off the cask, but either she pulled only tentatively, or he hung on with particular tenacity, or some combination of the two. She couldn’t get him off.
“Pull, girl, pull!” he said. He wanted the familiar strain against his chest. He wanted to reach for the cask but not quite get there. He wanted to be tantalized; he wanted to be controlled. But, somehow, today was different. As he yelled at her to pull, he struggled against her all the harder.
Jean couldn’t quite understand why he had asked her to come down there, and then changed the rules. She didn’t see that she was at fault, and she resented the displeasure in his tone.
If he wanted her to pull, pull she would. Jean was a slim girl, but she did physical work all day long, and she called on all her steely strength as she pulled the reins. She turned her back to Lord Loughlin and put the reins over her shoulder so she could brace herself against the rug and pull him away.
Away he came, and she felt strangely exhilarated. Every time she’d been in that dungeon, her power over him had been illusory, granted to her temporarily by his decree. But now this power was real. He was really fighting her, and she felt a heady mixture of arousal and adrenaline.
He was genuinely surprised that Jean had the strength to pull him off, and as he reached for the cask but came up with only air he, too, felt the reality of what had heretofore been playacting. He wasn’t acting. He was feeling, and what he was feeling was anger. Angry at her, yes, but angry mostly at himself.
He reached a foot behind him to get a better purchase
and strained against the harness once more. He was certainly the stronger of the two, and once he had leverage against the floor, he managed to reach the cask. He grabbed it with both hands and mounted it. The blood was coursing all through his veins, and he felt an insistence in his erection that he had seldom felt.
Jean, for her part, seemed to realize there was no point in trying to pull him off again. Lord Loughlin felt the reins go slack, and made an effort to master himself and turn around. Her look of bewilderment reached through his anger and his excitement, and he knew he hadn’t been fair to the girl. He stood up and reached for her hand. She took a step toward him, and he bent her over the casket and stood behind her.
Robert spread the cheeks of her ass with his hands and laid his cock in between them. He reached underneath and gently massaged her clitoris with his index finger, and the arousal that had drained away came roaring back. She held the cask with both arms, her body braced against the soft sheepskin.
He took his hand away and slipped his cock inside her. It went in easily because she was so wet and ready for him. For the first time, they were two people making love instead of two people playing games, and the freshness of that feeling fueled both of them, enveloping them in an all-consuming warmth.
His already hard cock stiffened that last little bit, and he slowed down to prolong what he knew would be his last few strokes in and out of her.
And that is when Lady Loughlin found them.
FIFTEEN
Lady Loughlin had come down to the cellar to get a bottle of port to leave in the room intended for the Earl of Grantsbury. She’d borrowed Dodson’s key to do it. As she perused the racks, looking to see if there was a stray bottle of the ’72 left, she heard noises of what sounded like a struggle.
She ventured back and back until she came to the cage where she knew her husband kept his prize wines, and when she looked through the bars she got what she could safely say was the surprise of her life. There was her husband, wearing a leather harness and sporting what looked like a horse’s tail, fucking her maid from behind over a barrel covered with sheepskin.
My Lady's Pleasure Page 18