“I was thinking of going to bed,” he told her.
“Why, what a coincidence,” Zinnia said coyly. “So was I. Why don’t we go together?”
“I find I’m rather tired this evening, or I’d be delighted to take you up on your generous offer.” He couldn’t deny to himself that his rod had risen to the challenge with remarkable alacrity. It now pressed, almost painfully, against his trousers.
“Oh, I understand. You’re waiting for you, er, cousin.”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled, and dipped, and wiggled her derriere. “This is her room, isn’t it? And she is out at the moment?”
He felt annoyed at his own stupidity. “True, true. I wasn’t thinking. My cousin and I have a great deal of catching up to do. We haven’t seen each other in months.”
“How nice. I do agree with strong family feelings. I’ve got them myself. I’ll leave you then. After I wish you sweet dreams.”
She swished across the floor, feathers floating, the long open robe trailing behind her. Before he guessed her intent, she spread her legs and sat astride his thighs on Hermoine’s dressing table stool. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him deeply. When she drew back, her mouth was moist, and her eyes sparkled. “You’re a rare one,” she said. “Wasted unless I miss my mark.”
“You’re a rare one yourself,” Horace said, pulsing with need.
Promptly Zinnia slipped undone two little buttons that held the straps of her shift in place. The garment fell to her waist and Horace was confronted with two perfect, gold-tipped breasts. He wriggled on his seat, and the girl reached down to squeeze him.
“Just a little kiss good night,” she said. “Or two or three. Here.” With happy abandon, she cupped her breasts and offered them to him.
“Look,” he said, eyeing the irresistible flesh, then the door, “it would be difficult if Hermoine were to, well, you know.”
“Well, then, the quicker you have a little taste, the quicker I’ll be gone. I’ll be gone, and you can think about the next time I come to kiss you good night, can’t you?”
She jerked back and forth on his thighs, and he felt warm moisture penetrate the cloth of his trousers.
“Oh, all right, just one, then,” she told him, lifting one breast, and hauling his head down until his mouth met her nipple. “There you are. It’ll make you feel ever so much better.”
Better? He fought temptation for a second before opening his mouth and drawing in as much of her as possible inside. She squealed with delight, and began to bounce up and down on his thighs, and to croon.
He grasped her other breast and pinched it until she forced him to switch his mouth there. Groping, he delved between her legs and found things as he’d assumed. She wore nothing beneath the scant shift, and she was wet, and hot.
Dimly, Horace heard the door opening.
“Bloody hell! In my rooms.”
Dazed, he raised his face and looked into Hermoine’s flashing golden eyes.
“Oops,” Zinnia said, standing up. “Caught! Night, all.” Holding her clothing together, she made a wide circle around Hermoine and ran, laughing loudly, from the room.
“Zinnia,” Horace said. “Don’t go too far away.”
“What are you doing here?” Hermoine demanded, glaring, and slamming the door behind Zinnia. “What gives you the right to be here with that whore?”
“You’re too harsh,” Horace said, his heart slowing only the slightest bit. He was still aroused. “She came to comfort me, is all. We didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, I can see that.” Looking pointedly at the bulge in his trousers, she tossed her reticule on the bed and went to the dressing table, where open drawers were proof that he’d been searching her possessions. “Find anything of interest?”
“Lots, dear cousin.” He took advantage of the opportunity to look down the front of her dress. “More and more of interest. You always did have the best pair I ever saw.”
She slapped his face hard but he caught her wrist and twisted it. “I shouldn’t advise you to try that again. Not unless you want me to really hurt you. And you know I can. And you know I’m not speaking of hurting you physically. I can ruin your little plot.”
“Go away,” she told him. “I don’t know what you’re doing here in Scotland. And neither does the countess. We thought you’d died in France.”
“And you’re both extremely disappointed. Can you imagine how that makes a man feel.”
She found her diamond-and-ruby necklace and earrings and sighed with evident relief.
“Oh, Hermoine, dearest, I’m so wounded. You didn’t think I’d take anything from you, did you? Why, all I’ve ever wanted was to give you things.” With that he thrust his hand beneath her skirts and found the way inside her drawers to stroke the curls between her legs.
She struggled to evade him, but he took a firm hold on rapidly moistening hair, and held tight.
“You’re a beast! A sick beast. Unhand me at once.”
Rather than do as she asked, he put a hand around her waist and pushed several fingers into her heated channel. He restrained her and worked up and down until she cried out and panted and sagged against him.
“Still want me to unhand you?”
“This is wrong, and you know it.”
“I don’t know it. That little harlot served to get me in the mood for a real lady. You are a real lady, Hermoine, and your sex cries out for me. And, after all, what are relatives for if not to aid each other in times of need?”
Her sudden twist away caught him by surprise. She freed herself from him and backed across the room to take refuge on the far side of her bed. “What do you want, Horace?” she said.
“To be your champion,” he said easily. “You said it so well earlier. I am going to be the support you need at such a time. Your needs will be met, I’ll see to it. I shall stand beside you in all things?”
“And then what? What do you intend to do once I am married to Max Rossmara?”
He spread his hands. “I have been giving that some thought. But after all, darling, I’m not at all sure you intend to marry the man.”
The draining of blood from her face gave him all the assurance he needed that he had come to the right assumption.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she said. “Of course I will marry him.”
“Will you?”
She glared at him. “Yes, I will, and if you try to get in my way, I’ll kill you.”
He knew a cold moment of fear. She might just hate him enough to do what she threatened.
“I wouldn’t get in the way of the good of all, my little bird. Oh, no, I will help the cause, you may depend on that. Did you have a chance to, er, do any reconnaissance tonight?”
Her frown let him know that Gertie hadn’t revealed his knowledge of the plot at hand.
“I do know about the journal, my lovely.”
“What journal?”
“Oh, don’t take that tone with me. The Journal of the League of Jolly Gentlemen. What else?”
She grew even paler. “Who told you?” she whispered.
“A certain gentleman who knows of my connection to you and Gertie. He sent for me. Quite the moment that was, I can tell you. After all, we’ve all heard a great deal about him. Finest general this country has ever known, perhaps the world has ever known. And he sent for me and talked to me like an old friend.”
“You mean Welling—”
“Don’t speak his name aloud, not ever, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But why did he want to talk to you about—well—about it?”
“Because his name’s there. The esteemed gentleman who compiled the journal in the first place—a man of the highest rank—wrote down the names of all who took part in his little experiments as he liked to call them. Their names and some enlightening diagrams.”
“I know,” Hermoine said. “But it was another gentleman who came to the countess. How many
more of them can there be? Rich and famous ones, I mean?”
Horace got to his feet and approached the bed. “Quite a number, I gather. Quite a number with good reason to want that book out of harm’s way. And if what I was offered by the person we’ve discussed is anything to go by, we’re going to be set for life.”
“If we can get our hands on the journal,” she reminded him.
“We will. Stolen by a scrawny red-haired pickpocket in Covent Garden. Why, the royal gentleman himself told the story about how the boy leaped into his coach and made off with a valuable fob watch and the journal. The boy was never seen in the area again. And that was the night when Viscount Hunsingore took a little criminal into his home and called him his own son. A little, red-haired, green-eyed bastard whose sister the viscount had already rescued from a brothel. Can’t be two of them, can there?”
Hermoine’s smile pleased him. She was a fighter, and she wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this. “Ella,” she said. “I’m told she’s married to a Lord Avenall and leads a life above reproach. And Max Rossmara is her brother. Their early lives were hideous. You’re right, clever Horace, there cannot be two such brothers and sisters connected to the Rossmaras, and connected to the situation we know of in Covent Garden.”
“Well,” he said. “So the time has come to find out exactly what our pigeon did with that journal. He’s got it about him somewhere. You can be sure of that. He’s waiting for a moment when he thinks it’s worth the most—only you’re going to get it for us first.”
“What if the journal is just that, a list of names? Who would care about that?”
Horace laughed. “I know different.” He gathered a handful of ribbons from the dressing table. “The royal gentleman considered himself quite the artist. As I said, he liked to draw certain diagrams, as it were, of certain activities. I insisted that at least a few were described to me, so I’d know when I had the right volume.”
“Really?” Hermoine said.
“Really, cousin. Of course, I’m going to have to make sure you’ll recognize them, too.” He rushed her, backed her into a corner beside the bed. “It’s been too long since you and I had a little fun, and this is in the name of commerce.”
She pressed herself into the corner.
“You’re limber, my love. I remember that, too.” At moments like this he wished his belly didn’t overhang his greater glory. “Of course, you’ll have to remember that the Jolly Gentlemen shared and shared alike. All for one and one for all, as it were.”
“You’re frightening me, Horace. I shall scream.”
“Come back in here, Zinnia, my love dove,” he called. “Come in and close the door.”
“No,” Hermoine cried. “I don’t want her here. She’s nothing but a leech. Send her away.”
Zinnia, her face flushed, entered the room and obediently closed the door.
“Hermoine and I are going to perform an experiment,” he told her. “An experiment guaranteed to silence Hermoine’s strident tongue and bring her to heel very nicely. Are you strong, Zinnia?”
She ran her tongue over her lips. “Oh, very strong. There’s some who say Zinnia’s got the strongest legs in the land.”
“Stop it at once, Horace,” Hermoine demanded. “Otherwise, I shall summon the countess.”
“By the time you are able to do so, it will be too late. We are going to study one of that elevated personage’s diagrams and follow his instructions—as they were explained to me. Get on the bed, please, Hermoine.”
She let out a howl and crossed her arms.
“Now, if you please.” He had to break her if he was going to make her his willing emissary.
“Nooo.” She slid down the wall and huddled on the floor.
“Very well. Zinnia, kindly assist me. I shall take Lady Hermoine’s ankles, you shall take her wrists. She will try to strike you. Can you manage?”
A look of pure delight entered Zinnia’s eyes. “Oh, I can indeed, sir. She’ll be no match for me.”
“Good. Since she abhors the bed, kindly help me carry her to the center of the floor. Oh, you might want to lock the door first.”
Zinnia rushed to do his bidding and returned, standing like a fighter with her arms and legs spread and her tongue held between her teeth.
“Now,” Horace said, and managed to capture Hermoine’s flailing feet.
With only slightly more difficulty, Zinnia pinned Hermoine’s wrists, and they carried her between them across the room.
“Put down my skirts,” Hermoine shrieked. Horace hoped that wasn’t a hint of laughter he heard in her voice. “At once. How dare you treat me like this. You’ll suffer, see if you don’t.”
Horace met Zinnia’s excited stare and shook his head. “Help me get her clothes off.”
Hermoine screamed afresh, and Zinnia cackled. She put Hermoine’s wrists on the floor above her head and knelt on them, then set about leaning over her victim to tear at the lilac gown.
“I shall kill you for this,” Hermoine said through her teeth. “The countess will have you thrown out.”
“You will never say a word, will she, Zinnia? After all, how could a woman of any respect explain what she will take part in tonight. Especially when we both speak of the entire affair having been her idea.”
“Let me go!”
Her bodice parted, torn asunder, and Horace dealt with the skirts and petticoats. In short order Hermoine lay dressed only in stays and drawers. Her chemise was a tattered thing that was quickly disposed of.
“Look at those tits,” Horace said.
Zinnia promptly pulled her flimsy white garment over her head and, completely nude, resumed her position on Hermoine’s wrists. “She doesn’t have anything I don’t have,” Zinnia said petulantly.
“Of course she doesn’t,” Horace said. “But there are variations in all things.” He’d forgotten how sumptuous the fair Hermoine’s body was, how shapely her legs and curved her hips below a tiny waist, and her breasts, ah, yes, such breasts.
He struggled to free himself of his trousers.
“You wouldn’t,” Hermoine gasped, and this time Horace was certain she was trying not to laugh. “Not in front of her.”
“Not exactly.” He hauled her to her feet. Quite the little actress was Hermoine. “Lie down, Zinnia, if you please.”
“Now, look ’ere, I—”
“Lie down. I assure you this will be an occasion to remember.”
Moving far too slowly for his liking, she began to stretch herself on her back.
“On your face,” he snapped.
“I don’t know what you’re about,” Zinnia complained.
He made a circle with a forefinger to encourage her cooperation and said, “But you’re going to find out.” Containing Hermoine’s struggling body became more of a chore, but a rather pleasant chore.
Zinnia did as she was told, and without ceremony Horace pushed Hermoine down so that she lay back-to-back with the other girl, who lay facedown. Sitting astride them both, he appropriated the long sash from Zinnia’s robe to lash the pair together. Casting about, he located a piece of ribbon and joined their wrists. Anything they might choose to do with their legs could only make the process more interesting.
“I’m puffed,” Zinnia said, sounding weak. “She’s ’eavy.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“You’ll soon be transported, both of you. Pain will be a small price to pay for such a prize.”
“Let me up,” Hermoine beseeched. “I don’t like this.”
“Don’t you?” Horace said, standing to remove his trousers and smallclothes. “Just tell yourself you’re going to feel the ecstasy all the way to your vitals.” He was erect and ready, and he must be fast. “And remember how deliciously wicked this is—under the circumstances. A reenactment of an historic event, as it were.”
He gave them no more time to protest, but fell upon Hermoine and parted her drawers to admit his engorged rod. He grunted, and she panted. With so
mething close to transportation, he fastened his mouth on a nipple and suckled while he pumped. For an instant he thought he’d not have the restraint to stop in time, but in the second it took to move to her other breast, he withdrew his penis, and helped himself to quite another part of the woman beneath her.
Zinnia howled, then laughed, a long, deep, gurgling laugh. And all the time he sucked and nipped at Hermoine’s magnificent breasts.
“Horace!” Her face was puce. “Oh, Horace, I do believe you . . . Well, this is beyond all. This was in the book?”
“Hush, my love,” he said, raising his face but unable to bring hers clearly into focus.
She jerked her hips up and down. “Finish it, Horace. Please. You can’t leave me like this.”
“We’re on our way,” he said, and sweat fell from his brow onto her white flesh. He rose up and contrived with great effort to turn the two over.
Zinnia shrieked with laughter again. “Wait till I tell Wisteria and Dahlia. They’ll both want a turn.”
“Tell them nothing,” Horace said, while deciding he’d have to make sure they got their “turn.”
“Get off me,” Hermoine said. “At once, do you hear? I’m becoming impatient.” Unconcerned with Hermoine’s patience, Horace set about plunging himself into Zinnia’s weeping center. She jerked her hips up and down to meet him and grinned, passing her tongue around her lips. He licked her nipples, and that’s when the last of his control failed.
He poured forth into her, to the accompaniment of her uproarious giggling. “I won,” she hiccuped. “Nothing for Lady Hermoine. Everything for poor, common little Zinnia. But who can blame you Horace, love. How could you resist me?”
“You’re disgusting,” Hermoine growled from beneath her adversary. “Let me up at once. I must bathe. Ooh, disgusting.”
Horace joined Zinnia’s laughter, but he quickly untied their wrists and separated their bodies. Before Hermoine could recover enough to fly at Zinnia, he grabbed the latter’s clothes and pushed her into the corridor with them.
The Wish Club Page 10