“I have not, but I certainly intend to,” she said, surveying the table.
“The kippers are outstanding, and there’s nothing to start the day like a kipper, I think,” he said, reaching for serving tongs and picking one up. He held it out to her. “May I serve you one?”
Miss Niven had never been particularly fond of kippers, but she thought maybe it was time to give them another chance. “By all means,” she said, and put her plate up to receive the fish.
Gerry started moving down the table, stopping at every dish he thought Miss Niven might enjoy. “That’s a fine rasher of bacon,” he said, and added that to the kipper. Then there was toast, and beautiful scrambled eggs, and a slice of melon fresh from the Penfield kitchen garden.
By the time they got to the Cumberland sausage, Alexandra’s plate was already piled high, but Gerry wouldn’t hear of her refusing it.
“I’ve had Cumberland sausage all over the kingdom,” he said, “but never a finer specimen than the Loughlins serve.” He put a fat link on top of her eggs.
When her plate could take no more, he took a kipper for himself, and they headed for the parlor. As it was late, the guests had begun to disperse, either to enjoy the day or to prepare themselves for the evening’s festivities, and they found an empty window seat that could accommodate both of them.
Alexandra looked at her plate with raised eyebrows and a half smile. “I don’t know that I eat this much in three breakfasts,” she said. “I don’t know how I will ever get through it.”
“Oh, it’s not so difficult,” said Gerry. “First you take a bite of bacon, and then a forkful of eggs, and then some toast and some sausage. Then you do it over again, and before you know it you’re down to crusts and bones.” He took a hearty bite of kipper to demonstrate.
Alexandra laughed. This man was so very easy to be with. His manner was open, and his way was honest. She had the sense that there was nothing concealed, that she could learn everything important about him by talking to him over breakfast. His character was as straightforward as his proposal had been.
They spoke of nothing personal over their meal. The masquerade, the other guests, and the weather were their primary topics. The conversation flowed easily, and Alexandra found herself not just comfortable, but happy in his company. His good nature and enthusiasm made everything seem a source of pleasure and amusement.
After a half hour, Alexandra saw, to her surprise, that her plate was nearly empty. Gerry saw her look and chuckled. “What did I tell you? First one bite, and then another, and Bob’s your uncle!”
Perhaps it was merely the thought of all the food she had eaten that made Alexandra feel suddenly full. “I must get outside and take some air to help me digest this breakfast,” she said, standing up.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“I would like that very much. I must first run upstairs and get my bonnet.”
As she turned to head to her room, Georgiana came down the stairs.
“Good morning!” she said. “I was just looking for you, and Miss Mumford told me you had gone down to breakfast.”
“I have just eaten a breakfast that would do a blacksmith proud, and I am going with Mr. Gerard to take a walk in hopes of digesting it.” She wanted to invite Georgiana to join them, but she wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to invite a second young lady on a walk with one’s suitor.
“Won’t you join us?” Gerry asked heartily. “It is a beautiful morning.”
At that moment, Alexandra thought Gerry was a fine man indeed. That he would wish to include her friend, rather than monopolize her for himself!
“Please do!” she said, adding her invitation to his.
“Of course I shall. I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”
“I was just going to fetch my bonnet,” Alexandra said, and trotted up the stairs.
Her room door was ajar, and she slipped through it and stopped in her tracks. It took her a moment to realize what she was witnessing, and another moment to convince herself to believe it was really happening.
It was Miss Mumford, using lipstick to put a large scarlet A on the mirror.
She was shocked. So it was her very own companion who had done all these things, had given Georgiana the poison ivy, had tainted her milk!
She recoiled in fear and disgust. She wasn’t sure what she should do, but Miss Mumford hadn’t heard her, so she slipped back out and ran downstairs to her friends.
Gerry and Lady Georgiana were surprised to see her return hatless and clearly distressed.
“My dear,” said Gerry, “what can be the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It’s Miss Mumford,” she said. “It was her all along!”
“You mean . . .” Georgiana said, looking at Gerry. “She’s responsible for all the . . .”
“Yes! It’s her!”
“But how do you know?” Gerry asked.
“I saw her. She was putting an A on my mirror with lipstick!”
“She was what?” Gerry asked. He didn’t know about Lady Georgiana’s A, and so Miss Niven’s explanation made no sense to him.
Lady Georgiana told him about the A she’d gotten, and explained that it was the latest in the series of threats that Gerry was already familiar with.
“But this is the first threat to Miss Niven, is it not?” he asked, a little confused.
“Well, no,” said Alexandra. “I had one other.”
“You did? What happened?”
“Someone tainted my milk.”
“Tainted your milk?” he asked incredulously. “Were you ill, then?”
Miss Niven hesitated, not wanting to make much of the incident. “I was,” she finally said, “but it wasn’t very bad and it didn’t last long.”
“This is preposterous! If this woman has done these things we must go for the police and have her arrested. This is far beyond the limits of a practical joke or an expression of disapproval.” Gerry was clearly furious. “I’m going to find her right now, and keep her under lock and key until the authorities have been called,” he went on.
“Wait a moment,” said Lady Georgiana, a little alarmed that he might get carried away in defense of the girl he loved. “Perhaps we should find Lord Loughlin. I think he is entitled to know what is going on under his roof, and I don’t think we should take any drastic steps without consulting him.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” said Gerry, looking around the room as though Lord Loughlin would simply materialize there.
He didn’t, though, and Gerry said to the two girls, “You stay right here. I’ll go find him, and then we’ll deal with this.”
Gerry went first to the library, and then to Lord Loughlin’s private study. He checked all the rooms where the party preparations were going on, and even went down to the kitchen, with no luck.
He didn’t think to check the wine cellar.
Lord Loughlin had been with his wife all morning, overseeing the preparations. In previous years, their efforts had been divided; he had seen to the music and the wine, she to the food and decoration. This year, though, they found themselves acting in tandem, side by side. They had recovered, in the events of the last two days, a connection both thought they had lost.
They had gone down to the cellar together, to make sure both that the wine intended for guests was accessible and that the wine not intended for guests was not. This would have taken only a few minutes, but once they’d checked everything and were heading back, Lady Loughlin had another idea.
She took her husband’s hand, turned him around, and walked him toward the back of the cellar. “Show me what you have there,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Do you think we have the time? There’s still much to be done.”
“And it will be done. In just a little while. Show me.”
He nodded in acquiescence, and they made their way back to the dungeon. The door was locked but, as Lady Loughlin looked through the bars, she saw that al
l was changed.
The cask of Armagnac was still on the floor, but it had been moved into a corner. There was still a plush rug on the hard stone, but it was a different rug. She could not see it from the door, but the wooden cabinet that held the toys was gone.
“You changed it,” she said, wonderingly.
“I changed it.” He looked at her with tenderness that went straight to her heart. “That was a chapter that is now closed. You and I will embark on a new chapter, but we will build it ourselves, for us.” He kissed her. And then he kissed her again.
“And is the”—what was the word?—“paraphernalia all gone?”
“Not gone, but not here.” His lips had never moved more than an inch from hers.
“And will you not show me where?”
“I will, but not today.”
She looked at him, and then she looked through the bars again. “Where did that rug come from?” she asked. She didn’t remember ever having seen it.
“It was rolled up in the rafters in the stables,” he said. “I took it down and had it given a good beating, and here it is.”
“Is it lovely and plush and soft?” she asked, putting her hands on his hips and pulling him toward her.
“It is lovely and plush and soft,” he said, “although a tad musty.”
“Musty isn’t so bad,” she murmured, taking the skin on his neck softly between her lips and tasting his saltiness.
“Musty isn’t bad at all,” he murmured back, closing his eyes and feeling for the keys in his pocket.
He opened the door and they almost fell into the room. In a moment, she was pinned against the back wall, her hands on his ass to bring him close to her. She felt the contours of his entire body as though they were new. He was no longer young, but his active life had kept him strong and well muscled, and she relished the feel of those muscles against her softer flesh.
He was exploring every inch of that softer flesh, running his hands first down the sides of her breasts, and then her waist, and then her hips, and down to her thighs. He kissed her with a warmth that fired her, and when he stopped, he looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” he said.
She nodded.
“No,” he said. “I love you in a way that words can’t convey. I love you in a way that means that losing you would have meant losing everything.”
She nodded again, and felt a surge that was love, and desire, and renewal all together. She felt the kind of draw she hadn’t felt since they first started discovering each other as newlyweds. She put a hand on each side of his face and looked at him. She smiled, and she kissed his bottom lip, just barely brushing it.
She traced his face with his fingertips, running them along his brow and around to his cheekbones. She brushed his cheeks with the backs of her hands, and then ran her fingers through his hair.
“I want to satisfy you,” she whispered.
He was about to tell her that she did, but although that was true in its way, he knew that the kind of satisfaction she had brought him in the past was not what she was speaking of.
“You don’t have to,” he said instead. “What I sought here in this room is something I can learn to live without.” He kissed her again, and she marveled that someone who could treat her with such confidence and mastery could want to be mastered in return.
But she had made up her mind. If he wanted to be mastered, she would master him.
She pushed him away from her and stood away from the wall.
“Take off your shirt,” she said quietly, but very firmly. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed with the mastering, but it was clear to her that, if it were to be done, it must be done with firmness.
He looked at her for a moment.
“Take . . . off . . . your . . . shirt,” she repeated, spacing the words out and almost barking them. It was undoubtedly a command.
He took off his shirt.
“Give it to me.” She held out her hand, and he complied.
“And your trousers.” This time she didn’t have to ask twice. He took off his boots and then the trousers.
She had an idea in mind, but she wasn’t sure whether the logistics would quite work out.
“Lie down on your back.” She was finding it easy to assume the role of master, and the tone of her voice was severe. She gestured to where she wanted him to lie down, and told him to put his arms over his head. His hands almost reached the wine racks on one side of the room, and his feet were just a few inches from the racks on the other side. Perfect.
She tied his hands to the rack with his shirt, and his feet to the opposite rack with his trousers. She didn’t have complete confidence in her knots, but she assumed that his object wouldn’t be to work himself free.
When she was finished, she stood over him and just looked. He was completely naked, completely exposed, completely vulnerable. But his cock was pointing straight up from his body, so she assumed she hadn’t gone too far wrong.
She took off her own boots and slipped out of her drawers, but kept the rest of her clothes on. She stood over him, with one foot just outside each of his shoulders. She knelt down, her pussy just inches from his face.
“You are going to lick me,” she said, but she waited, not putting herself in his reach.
They had indulged in this act before, but not often. She always loved the feel of his tongue on her, and now she found the anticipation of it tremendously arousing.
His head was completely covered by her skirts, but she could feel him lifting it, straining to reach her. She raised herself up another inch to remain just out of reach, paused a moment, and then lowered herself down on him.
She felt his lips, she felt his tongue, she felt his warmth and his wetness and she groaned at the very first contact. How was it that something could feel that good? As his tongue explored the crevices and found the sweetest spot of her most intimate anatomy, she felt her whole body warm and yearn.
And then she pulled away.
He again strained toward her and groaned. She lifted the front of her skirt so she could see him.
“Lie down.” It was harder to muster the requisite firmness when she herself was hot with desire.
He did as he was bidden. She waited a few beats, and then lowered herself again, this time holding her skirts up so she could see him. His eyes were closed, and he maneuvered his tongue and lips over her with evident pleasure.
But she didn’t think his pleasure could possibly match hers. The idea that he could do this, and that she could simply demand that he do it!
The tip of his tongue met the head of her clitoris, and she almost lost control. The pressure, the warmth, and the wet muscularity of what he was doing to her were driving her mad.
She pulled away again.
This time he didn’t strain. He had learned.
She kept her skirts up, hoping the cool air in the room would help tamp down the hot fire within.
She waited as long as she could stand it, and then lowered herself back to his mouth. She dropped her skirts and put her hands on the floor to steady herself as she felt the point of no return arrive. She pressed down just a little harder, and that increased the pressure of his light touch. She felt his tongue dart inside of her, and then again.
And then he went back to the head of her clitoris, nudging it with the tip of his tongue, back and forth, back and forth. She started gasping in the rhythm of his motion, feeling each wave of ecstasy build higher than the previous one.
Then arose the wave that overcame her. Every nerve in her body engaged, combining to bring her to a crest the likes of which she had never known. It took in her fingers and toes, and every part of her in between.
Her mouth opened, but she made no sound. The feeling traveled through her, and she was lost in the sensation.
When she came back to herself, she lifted her skirts and saw the need in her husband’s eyes. She slid down his body and, and in a swift, powerful motion, impaled herself on his erect penis. She was so wet
from both his tongue and her desire that his cock, big as it was, slid in effortlessly.
She sat up and bounced gently, knowing how close he was to his own crest. She saw his muscles tighten and strain against the knots. And she saw—and heard and felt—his release. He let out a long, soft groan, and his back arched up off the rug. His mouth was open, his eyes were closed, and she saw that he was as satisfied as she had been.
When he opened his eyes, he saw his wife smiling at him.
She stood up, and then untied his restraints.
“I hope you’ll remember that I’m new at this,” she said with a little laugh. “I’m not quite sure how to go about it.”
“You did marvelously,” he said, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. “Simply marvelously.”
He stood up and dressed, and they left the little room, which no longer seemed like a dungeon. After he locked the door behind them, he took his wife’s hand and kissed it.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
They came out of the cellar into the kitchen, where an energetic staff was producing food of every imaginable kind. Pies were coming out of the oven as others were going in. Hams were being sliced, turkeys being carved, and salads being dressed. All the servants, whether their domain was upstairs or down, were in their best uniforms. Lady Loughlin nodded her approval to her staff. As she was saying a few words to the cook, Dodson, the butler, approached her husband.
“Mr. Gerard was here not long ago, looking for you, sir,” he said. “He seemed a bit agitated.”
Lord Loughlin frowned in concern. It took a lot to agitate Alphonse Gerard. “Did he say where I might find him?”
“He did not, my lord.”
Lord Loughlin turned to his wife. “I must go find Gerry and see what’s going on, and then I’ll rejoin you.” He went off in search of his friend.
His search for Gerry was as fruitless as Gerry’s search for him had been. After he had told the butler he was looking for his host, Gerry had rejoined the two girls in the drawing room.
“I can’t find Lord Loughlin, but I can’t bear the thought of that woman on the loose. Who knows what she’ll do next? We must find her and, if necessary, confine her until we can turn her over to the authorities.”
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