Educating His Elinor

by Viola Morne

  Elinor waved a hand. "Don't apologize, for heaven's sake, Thomas. I am just happy to see we were all wrong. It's wonderful, simply wonderful."

  He smiled then , and bent to kiss her hand. She raised her other hand and touched his hair. Dear Thomas. She blinked. What was she going to do about the major?

  #

  Winter found himself whistling as he pulled up on his horse in front of the house on Bruton Street. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy to be in London. Elinor made all the difference. Even this house, where he hadn't live in twenty years, felt more like home than it ever had, full of flowers and light.

  Winter dismounted , and tossed the reins to the groom , who'd run up to greet him. He climbed the steps , and opened the door. The hall was empty. Strange. Where were the butler and the footmen? He passed the stairs , and headed towards the back of the house. There were voices coming from the morning room. Elinor. He pushed open the door , and stopped dead on the threshold. Elinor lay on the sofa sopha, while a young man bent over her. What in hell?

  The man turned his head , and smiled at Winter. Christ. Bancroft, back from the grave. He blinked. Still there.

  "Elinor..." But what was there to say, after all? Her true love had returned.

  Elinor raised her head at his voice , and struggled to get up. Bancroft helped her, a hand at her waist. Winter ground his teeth. His, the thought rose in his befuddled brain, his. His hands fisted. He took a deep breath, trying to quiet the possessive beast that which rose within him.

  "I'm surprised to see you, Bancroft . , We we had given you up for dead." There, he sounded quite calm.

  Bancroft rose and held out his hand.

  "I'm delighted to have proved everyone wrong."

  "Yes, of course. Good to have you home." Winter had never wished the young man ill. He just wanted him far away from London, and from Elinor. He spared her a glance. She looked white and shocked. Winter grabbed a woolen throw from a chair , and placed it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, and he cupped her chin lightly.

  "Everything's all right, my dear." Her eyelids fluttered. She nodded. He backed away, satisfied. Whatever happened, his girl would be fine. That was the important thing.

  "A tea of tray is in order, I think. Or would brandy be better?"

  Elinor cleared her throat. "Tea is fine."

  "Well, then I'll see to it." Winter turned abruptly , and left the room. He strode to his study , and made straight for the decanters. He threw back a stiff measure of brandy , and leaned his hands on his desk. It was over. Elinor was no longer his. It would be Bancroft who claimed her now, Bancroft who would have her in his bed, and bear his children. Fuck. He pushed himself upright and poured another glass.

  #

  Mrs. Henry bustled in with the tea tray. Thomas joined her. Elinor tried to tidy her hair. She had never fainted in her life , until today. Thomas! She'd been so happy to see him. Until the major walked in, and she'd seen the look on his face. The major was always strong, always in control. But today, she'd seen the happiness of his homecoming slide from his face in an instant. Winter would never wish Thomas ill, but he'd looked distraught at the sight of them, together. Perhaps he cared more for her than he'd ever admit.

  "Here, my dear." Thomas handed her a cup, prepared just the way she liked it. So thoughtful, as always. Thomas was such a dear man.

  "And now, Elinor, we are free to continue with our lives and pick up our plans where we left off. How soon can we be wed?"

  Elinor opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her mind returned to a particularly heated encounter with the major. Would it be right for her to marry Thomas now? Would he want to, if he knew what she'd done? What the major had done to her?

  Thomas pressed a finger to her lips. "It doesn't matter what happened while I was gone. We are here together, again. Will you marry me, Elinor?" He took her stunned silence as agreement , and pressed another kiss to her hand. She closed her eyes. What was she going to do now?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Winter kept on drinking steadily through the betrothal dinner. Elinor wasn't looking her best, he thought critically. She was pale, and her hand trembled when she lifted her glass for a toast. She ought to be happy. The love of her life had returned from the great beyond, or India as everyone else called it. Yes, she must be as happy as a pig in shit.

  Thomas hovered beside her, intent on anticipating her every wish, her every need. As if that puppy had an inkling what a woman like Elinor needed. Thomas would cosset and spoil her, and Elinor would be bored to death in a month. Not that she'd realize that until it was too late.

  What Elinor really needed was a firm hand and a hard cock whenever her husband felt the urge. Elinor would run circles around Thomas. She was clever and bright, with a huge heart. She was...not his. Winter signaled the footman to refill his glass. She was not his.

  He sensed Elinor's gaze, and, for a moment, kept his eyes firmly on his plate. Why torment himself any further? Finally, he looked up. Her wide-eyed stare was full of need. His cock stirred. He was trying, desperately, to maintain his distance, even though she still slept in his house each night. Had she started wearing her drawers again? Or did she sit, even now, in her betrothal gown, with her ass bared? His hand tingled with the desire to pull her over his lap , and spank her, for hurting him, for daring to leave him.

  Elinor frowned at him. His thoughts must show too plainly on his face. When would this blasted dinner be over? He couldn't take much more. Winter gulped down his wine.

  #

  Elinor rubbed her forehead, where a headache threatened. She'd dismissed the maid , because she needed to be alone. She met her reflected eyes in the mirror. She didn't see a happy young woman about to be married in a cloud of lace and excited anticipation. She saw a woman who was trying to please everyone else by accepting an offer from a respectable young man who professed to love her. What about what she wanted?

  No, she was doing the right thing. The major didn't want to marry her. He was not a marrying man. He'd told her so himself. If she returned to Winterhill, Elinor would be his housekeeper. He might even make her his mistress. Would that be enough, if it happened? What if the major married someone else? Could she stay here then, with another woman in his bed? No, that could not be borne. Enough. Elinor had made her decision, and she would live with it.

  Thomas truly cared for her, and he would make her a wonderful husband. If only her whole body didn't ache for her master's hand. How long had it been since the major had touched her? When she burned the muffins. Elinor knew he'd been happy she did it , because it gave him the excuse he needed to spank her. Not that he needed one. He could have had her over his knee with a glance , . in In his bed with a word. But that word would have to be love, and the major didn't love her. He couldn't, not if he could countenance her marrying another man. Would Thomas spank her? She couldn't imagine it. He would probably excuse her conduct , and kiss her cheek.

  Elinor faced herself in the mirror. Why couldn't she love the man who wanted to revere her? Why did she long for the one who marked her flesh? She stood , and pulled up her night rail. She peered over her shoulder. Faint bruises still marked her bottom. She brushed them with her fingers, as if to say goodbye.

  The door flung open. Winter stood there. His chest heaved, as if his breath fought to break free of his lungs. Elinor froze, the fabric clutched in one hand. He strode in, slammed the door shut behind him, and headed straight for her. She stared at him, lips parted, her own breathing loud enough to hear. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. He grabbed her bruised bottom with one large hand, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. He lifted her onto the dresser, and pressed open her thighs, so wide they quivered in protest.

  Winter thrust two hard fingers deep inside her. She wasn't wet enough, and she winced at the burn. His fingers circled inside her and then pumped, over and over, until her wetness soaked his fingers and spread down her legs. He kept working her, relentless, as the pressure with
in built and built. So close. He wrenched his fingers away , and dropped to his knees. His tongue swiped over her nub. She moaned, and her head dropped back against the mirror. He licked along her entrance, pulling her right into his mouth. His tongue pushed inside and began moving, in and out. Lightning Lightening sparked along her skin, down her thighs and back again, arcing back to her womb. She convulsed , and screamed at the pleasure. He drank her down, until she collapsed.

  Winter raised his head, lips wet with her essence, and crushed her mouth to his. She moaned again , at her taste on his lips. His eyes glittered with desire, his muscles taut with unslaked lust. He plucked her from the dresser and tossed her on the bed, then turned her over the foot board. He leaned over her, so close she could hear the pounding of his heart.

  "Tell me you want me." His voice was filled with unspeakable longing.

  "I want you." She felt him shudder at her words. He smoothed the skin along her back, rounded her buttocks, before he slipped his thumbs along their crease. He opened her, and his hot breath gusted against her quivering flesh.

  "This is mine." Winter dipped one thumb inside her secret spot. She cringed at his invasion. He pushed in deeper and twisted, until something sparked deep within.

  "Tell me you want this." She gasped. He pressed his other thumb inside her. "Tell me you want me to fuck you here."

  Her breath came faster. Sensation stoked a fiery path along her veins.

  "Tell me you want me to fuck you in the ass."

  Elinor groaned , and forced the words out. "I, I want you to fuck me...in the...ass."

  "Ahh." He pulled his fingers from her. Her flesh protested, tried to hold on to him. She heard him walk away, the sound of glass chinking, drawers being pulled. He walked back and threw something on the bed that leaped against her, cool and smooth against her fevered flesh. Then she felt him again, spreading something cold and moist against the skin he'd invaded. She smelled lavender and rosemary. Her face cream.

  He applied the lotion with a lavish hand, delving inside to moisten her inner tissues. He pulled her closer, stepped between her legs. Then she felt the blunt head of his member push against her lubricated hole. So much bigger than his thumbs, God, so huge. She whimpered and he withdrew, applying more cream before he pushed into her again. Her skin stretched and burned as he thrust into her, slowly, without stopping, until he was seated full inside. She pulsed around him, automatically opening to his length, accommodating his width. He withdrew an inch, then two, and shoved back inside, harder. She mewed with pain, with pleasure, sensations warring and fusing. He began to thrust steadily, stoking the dark flames that which rose within her. He spread her wider, thrust in deeper, and she cried out. So full. Mastered. He reached beneath her as he thrust, his fingers slipping along her sopping flesh, until he found the crux of her desire. He stroked her there, while he pushed inside her with his cock. It was incredible ; , it was wrong.

  She came hard, keening as the pleasure cascaded and surged through her, her womb pulsating to the rhythm of his cock in her ass. She felt him his swell within, until it seemed he would felt as if he'd burst, and then he did, flooding her with his essence. He groaned and pumped until he collapsed on top of her, his breath hot in her ear. She lay still beneath him, conquered, sated.

  Winter withdrew. She couldn't move, drugged with sexual release. She heard the water in the basin, and then he was beside her, wiping her with a cool cloth. Elinor murmured , and relaxed beneath his ministrations. He wiped her with tender attention and pulled down her gown. Winter dragged her up the bed , and tucked her beneath the covers. She heard his boots drop on the floor, the swish of his shirt being pulled over his head. Then he was beside her, naked, drawing her close, her back to his chest, one arm across her breast, the other cupped over her womanly parts, warm and possessive. She fell headlong into sleep, exhausted.

  Elinor woke before dawn , with Winter's fingers deep inside her, stroking her to orgasm before she was fully conscious. He slipped from the bed and pulled her towards him, her head tilting off the mattress.

  "I want to fuck your mouth." He pressed her jaws open. She felt the smooth head of his cock between her lips, and he pushed in. Her mouth opened wider, and he slid in deeply, until he hit the back of her throat. Winter withdrew before she could gag, then thrust in again, a little deeper each time until her saliva coated his member, and he could thrust inside her with ease. He held her head, pumping over and over again, until he stiffened, strained against her, and poured himself down her throat. She swallowed him down eagerly. At last he sighed and withdrew. He bent to kiss her swollen lips and then tucked her in again. When next she woke, he was gone.

  #

  Dawn had not yet broken when the major saddled his own horse , and rode out of London. He hadn't slept, content with holding Elinor , and memorizing each curve of her face, every inch of her skin.

  The sun rose as he reached Chiswick, turning the dull gray sky the delicate pink of a young girl's cheek. Christ, he was getting maudlin. Enough of that . , He he had one more thing to do.

  Finally, Winterhill lay tranquil and beautiful before him. He stood and stared for awhile, at the home he loved, with the memories he hated. He stood there so long that Chadwick came out on the drive to ask him if he needed anything.

  "Yes," the major told him, still looking at the house. "Go and find me the sharpest axe you can find. And be quick about it."

  "Yes, sir." Chadwick turned on his heel, and left him, nearly running in his anxiety for his master. He was back in five minutes, panting.

  Winter took the axe , and ran his finger across the edge. The blade caught on the roughness of his skin. "Open the door."

  Chadwick signaled to a footman, and the door to Winterhill swung open. The house felt empty without Elinor, but he shoved that thought aside. He took the stairs two at a time, up to the landing on the first floor. Then he climbed to the second floor, to the room that which was always kept locked. The lock gleamed in the afternoon sun , which flooded the hall.

  Winter hefted the axe , and broke the lock with a single swing. He kicked the door , savagely, and it burst open, hanging askew from its broken hinges.

  He whipped the covering from the bench , and flung it on the floor. The dark oak shone, mellow with years of polishing. It beckoned to him, as if his father whispered in his brain. Winter lifted the axe , and cleaved it in two with a single blow. He wondered if the very wood was imbued with the tears and pain it had witnessed. And then, with quick, economical strokes, he chopped the damned thing into kindling.

  Winter threw the pieces on top of the cover cloth , and bundled the whole thing together. He dragged it down the stairs, through the door, and into the stable yard. Something was missing. Winter went back in the house , and gathered every open bottle of spirits he could find: brandy, whiskey, sherry, and port. He emptied them all on top of the pile. He yelled for a groom to bring him a branch brand . He tossed the flaming branch onto the heap, and the alcohol ignited with a howl. The wood was old, and dry, and it burned quickly.

  Winter watched the flames devouring the bench , as it burned through his memories: his child self, bruised and bleeding; sweet little Molly, sobbing and broken; his darling girl, whom he had used so ill. He watched until only ashes remained. A breeze teased along his cheek, and then swooped low to gather up the ashes and carry them skyward. Winter released his breath. He left the yard, walked past the garden, and continued down to the brook. He pulled off his boots , and threw himself into the water, until he was cool and clean once more.

  #

  Elinor hadn't seen Winter since the night of her engagement dinner. For all she knew, he could be on his way back to Winterhill, or Paris, or even Hades for that matter. That was his leave - taking? To possess her so thoroughly, that she could still feel his touch, still taste him, and then nothing. Blast him. Why were men so stupid anyway?

  "It's all those extraneous parts, my dear. They get confused because while they try to think with their brain
s, they inevitably think with their cocks."

  Elinor whirled around. She must have been thinking out loud. Wait, had Cousin Cecelia just said "cocks"? The world was becoming a very strange place indeed.

  "Don't look so shocked, Elinor. Just because I never married, doesn't mean I don't know what a gentleman keeps in his breeches. Though calling Winter a gentleman does call for a certain amount of leeway."

  "Cec e i lia, please. I know he doesn’t seem like a gentleman. He’s just . . . Caine Winter, a man unlike any other He is a gentleman, he's just...himself ."

  "My poor girl. You must love him very much."

  "I do."

  "I fail to see the difficulty then. Winter clearly thinks you hung the moon."

  "He thinks he's not good enough for me."

  "Well, that's true."

  "You're not helping."

  Cecelia pursed her lips. "You're a clever girl, Elinor. Can't you change his mind, if that's what you want?"

  "I suppose...I don't know. I don't seem to think very clearly when he's around. I get distracted..."

  "I'm not sure you should marry him if you are so attached. It will give him too much power over you."

  That brought to mind memories of their heated encounters , and a warmth to her secret parts.

  "I want him."

  "Lord knows why, but I'll help you if I can."

  "I'll need a plan."

  "Naturally."

  #

  "Mr. Bancroft to see you, Miss Kendall."

  "Thank you. See him in."

  "Elinor!" Thomas smiled at her across the morning room, where she'd retired after breakfast. "I was delighted to receive your note."

  "Thomas. Do sit down. I think we have a good deal to discuss."

  He chose a seat across from Elinor. She suppressed a smile. The proper Thomas would never sit beside her ; , it would be unseemly.