Lord of the Abbey

by K. R. Richards

  It was so titillating for him to know that when he was a wealthy and respected man, he’d have whatever he wished along with any woman he wanted with a snap of his fingers. Like the lusty Lords of the Avalon Society, women would fall at his feet and beg to suck his cock just because of who he was.

  Percy Davitt, the discoverer of the scroll exposing and proving the secrets, or Secretum Domini, of Glastonbury. It had such a pleasant ring to it. His find, from the information handed down by his ancestors Esau and John Davitt. He was certain to gain admittance into the Royal Society of Antiquaries. And if he were able to help his superiors in this endeavor denounce the Avalon Society as a band of frauds along with his good fortune, ruin the good names of those same Lords, what a bonus that would be! The thought excited him so much he came before he thrusted into the whore a dozen times. Oh well. He received great satisfaction from such wonderful thoughts. Yet, he needed more. Greater release.

  “Now, my naughty Amelia. I’m not quite finished with you tonight. I need that sinful red mouth on my cock.”

  “George Whitely?”

  “Who’s asking?” George Whitely sniffed disdainfully, speaking with the superior demeanor of a gentleman of his rank and station.

  “Someone who knows you’re involved with the trouble at Stonedown.” A large hand pinned him against the tavern wall, while the hand of another large man snatched the arm of his coat and pulled him back further into the shadows of the alley.

  “You hired men who shot three people. The constable knows, and will come to collect you tomorrow when he receives the writ from the Judge. Unless, of course you wish to confess, and tell us what you know. We can arrange for a deal.”

  “You lie!”

  “No.” Trevan Chynoweth gave him the names of the two men in the gaol. “Since you hired those men and were named by them, you will be accused of the shooting of the Lord Amesbury, Lord Wincanton and Lady Caroline Bellingham, the sister of the new Earl of Glaston.”

  “Come here! And be silent or I’ll cut your throat.” Wyldhurst pushed Whitely before him. After the dazed man walked a few steps, Wyldhurst reached out and grabbed his coat, pushing him roughly to face the wall.” He leaned very close to his ear and whispered, “Look through this window. There’s a hole in the curtain. Tell me if that is your wife sucking Percy Davitt’s cock.” Wyldhurst grinning broadly, stood back, crossed his arms, and looked to Trevan.

  George Whitely stepped back after peering through the hole, his eyes so large both Trevan and Wyldhurst thought they might pop out of his head. He gulped, nodded his head. “Y-yes. That is the bitch I married.”

  They pushed him further back into the dark alley. “Before you came outside, they were talking about how they were going to get rid of you. It appears it might be as soon as tomorrow night.”

  George Whitely suddenly felt nauseous. “What can I do?” he whined.

  “Help us. We’ll make certain you won’t get charged for the deeds you are already wanted for.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Wyldhurst brandished a rather evil and wicked smile as he held up a large knife. “I kill you. Now.”

  “Tell me what I need to do.”

  “Very well. Come with us, Mr. Whitely.”

  Amelia Whitely entered the foyer and removed her gloves. The light in the library was on which meant her bore of a husband was still up.

  “Darling is that you?” His voice filtered into the entry from the library.

  “Yes, George.” The only reason she sounded genuinely happy was because this might be the last night she walked back into this shabby old manor house to find him here. Percy would rid her of him for good!

  “How was your meeting at Mrs. Enmore’s?”

  “Lovely. Well, I am very tired. I’m going to bed, George dear.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Whitely. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  After the lady’s footsteps on the stairs were no longer heard, Wyldhurst emerged from behind the ridiculously full, velvet draperies. He knew in the low lamplight his hulking size, and dark, angular features would render him even more menacing to the already worried man. “Well done, George. Say anything to your wife about us, and we’ll let Percy kill you unless we decide to do it ourselves first. I will remind you that your house is being watched. If you try to leave tonight or tomorrow, your throat shall be cut by my man outside. If you do as we tell you to, everything will be fine. You will go free.”

  Wyldhurst continued, “Keep your appointment with Percy tomorrow evening, stay calm and collected and we won’t allow him to kill you. Do this and all will be well. If he contacts you before then, even tonight, send a message right away, to number 5 at the George and Pilgrim. Remember, my man is right outside your home.” Luc left him with a smile. He enjoyed frightening the little weasel. He felt he did a superior job.

  “Yes, number 5. I’ll remember.” George Whitely sighed in relief after the large man left. He never did trust that Percy Davitt or his whorish wife. Dalworth was a lunatic. Things turned in his favor this night. Dalworth and Davitt would be caught, he’d divorce his wife, and he would go free. He wasn’t leaving his library until it was time to meet Percy and this was finished and well behind him.

  “Where is Wyldhurst?” Elveston asked when the gentlemen were once again ensconced in the library.

  “Harry sent Wyldhurst and I to visit Mr. George Whitely earlier this evening. Wyldhurst decided to stay for a few hours more. He will be back at some point in time.” Trevan shrugged.

  “Whitely.” Micah asked, “wasn’t he the one who was named by both the hired brown-coated thugs from London? And the man whom we saw in the George and Pilgrim, Harry?”

  Harry nodded.

  “The one that ordered us shot?” Lyon was reclining on the chaise, a brandy in his hand. “Wyldhurst should kill him.”

  “Whitely is just a puppet for Davitt. He agreed to help us.” Trevan smiled.

  “Why did he agree to that?” Newt inquired, more curious after noting the smug look on Trevan’s face.

  Trevan relayed the entire story.

  Harry was pale when Trevan finished. “So we don’t have a clue what Dalworth is planning or when? Davitt is letting him go off half cocked to do his own thing. To come after my wife?”

  “I’m afraid so, Harry. The man is a bona fide lunatic, he’s over the edge. Wyldhurst and I were going to follow him, but he had three men with him tonight. They walked off together toward the High Street back toward the George. But if we hadn’t stayed behind to listen to Davitt and Whitely talk, and then Davitt and Whitely’s wife, we wouldn’t have George Whitely in our service.”

  “I know, Trevan. It’s just…” Harry’s voice faltered.

  “You’re worried about your lovely wife, and all the other ladies, as are we. No one is going to get through us to harm any of them Harry.”

  “No one, Harry,” Micah stated. “Dalworth is a madman to even try to get in this house. So is Davitt, for that matter.”

  “Davitt actually thinks he can get in?” Elveston snorted. “Not likely. And what about that Avalon Society business Trevan mentioned, I don’t recall someone like Davitt applying to be a member.

  “I do,” Gabriel Chynoweth, Trevan’s cousin and fellow society member answered. “He’s pasty with pale yellow hair and scary eyes, right?”

  “Yes, Gabriel, that’s him.” Trevan listened with interest.

  Gabriel continued, “He presented some ridiculous article on Proof of Vampires in the House of Lords along with his application for admission into the Society.”

  “Oh, that bit of farce. I remember that. I know we are supposed to be open-minded in our field, but the man presented no proof to support his claims. He was clearly attacking the Peers. He supplied no evidence whatsoever to prove any member in the House of Lords was a vampire. His application was declined immediately that same morning,” Micah informed them. “I personally declined it.”

  “So he is a lunatic, also.” Harry shook hi
s head in frustration.

  “Yes. It seems. But look at the bright side,” Trevan said with a wicked grin, “it might be easier for us to catch unhinged, bona fide lunatics.” Trevan laughed. “We already knew they were crazy trying everything they’ve tried so far with us. Now we know who they are, and with any luck, we’ll learn what their plans are from that weakling, Whitely. If not, we know what we are dealing with and to remain on guard. I sent a couple more of my cousins into the town. We are now watching them. Both Dalworth and Davitt.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable that we are dealing with two lunatics working separately. I’m tempted to just go and slit Dalworth’s throat tonight while he’s in his bed and get him out of the way,” Harry threatened menacingly, as he paced.

  “That’s cold-blooded murder, Harry. Dalworth is crazy, he’ll trip up. He’ll never get in. We’ll shoot him before he makes it inside,” Trevan argued. “Then it’s legal murder.”

  “Relax, Harry.” Micah spoke up. “Go upstairs to Rowena. It’s your wedding night. We’ll work out the plan, and fill you in tomorrow morning after breakfast. We’ve increased the outside and inside watch. We’re good tonight.”

  “Go on, Harry,” Trevan coaxed. “I’ll be up to relieve Tremayne in a bit. He’s already up there watching Rowena’s room and the parlour where the treasures are. Tomorrow morning, I will look at the Aramaic scroll. Micah and I feel that one is the oldest scroll of the lot. We’re guessing it’s the one Davitt is looking for. We’ll put it in one of the safes after.”

  “I will start on the oldest Greek scroll, my Aramaic is not so good.” Micah looked Harry in the eye then. “Go upstairs, Harry. You’re too emotionally attached to be making these decisions, and you know it. We are all your friends, you trust us, and you know we will not forget Rowena’s or any of the ladies’ safety. It’s your wedding night. Your lovely bride is waiting.”

  Harry sighed heavily. “Very well. I’ll go. But I expect to be told everything you discuss first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “I give you my word,” Micah promised.

  After Harry left, Lyon boldly inquired, “So, you’ve got to tell us, can you hear anything outside their door when you’re on guard duty. I mean it’s obvious they’ve, ah, you know.”

  “Yes,” Grinning from ear to ear, Trevan opened his mouth to speak. Receiving a silencing glare from Micah, Trevan’s grin disappeared, and his mouth closed tightly. He then said, “Snoring.”

  “Oh, come on. Give us something on Harry!” Lyon laughed.

  “No,” Micah scolded, “Can you imagine having to live that way, you’re in love with a wonderful woman and there must be a guard outside your bedchamber door even on your wedding night. How horrible would that be?”

  Lyon grinned, “If I had an audience, I’d make certain they got an earful.”

  “I believe that. Yes, you would do that.” Micah nodded his head. Rolled his eyes.

  “You’re telling me Wincanton, you didn’t listen to a bit of what was going on in there?” Trevan challenged Micah with a knowing grin.

  “I tried not to. Oh, hell, Trevan! Enough. Let’s just say Harry is a very fortunate man.”

  “Indeed he is!” Trevan laughed, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. “A toast to Harry and his lovely wife! She’ll be breeding soon, I guarantee it.”

  They drank to their friends.

  “Now, back to business. Let’s get our plan down on paper.” Micah grimaced as he rubbed his throbbing thigh. He accepted another glass of brandy from Trevan. Lyon’s glass was refilled as well.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Rowena, you’re still awake.” Harry smiled as he entered their bedchamber. He carried a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.

  “Of course I am. I did not want to sleep through our wedding night.” Rowena flashed her husband a sultry smile. She set The History of the Dulacs of Glastonbury on the table beside the bed.

  “Wine?”

  “Yes.” Harry poured them each a glass. “I thought you might prefer it over brandy.” He handed one to his wife.

  “It was brandy that started this whole thing wasn’t it?” Rowena laughed.

  “That started the kissing.” Harry set down his glass, removed his coat, waistcoat and shirt. “But it started when I first set eyes on you at the Grange.” He sat on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, then his trousers. He slid into bed beside Rowena after retrieving his glass of wine.

  “Oh?” Rowena took a small sip of her wine. Then, remembering the effects of the brandy the night of her first kiss with Harry, she took a longer sip. She turned and set her glass on the table near her side of the bed. Her hand on the thick poster of the massive Jacobite bed, she rose up on her knees and removed her nightgown. She let it float to the floor.

  “Stay right there, my love, don’t move,” Harry rasped huskily, and was behind her in an instant, also on his knees. He placed her free hand on the dark wood next to her other. His hand moved to her soft folds. She was already moist. He pushed her hair over her shoulders to reveal her bare back. His lips moved along her shoulders, then worked down her spine, then on to the curve of her bottom while his fingers massaged her from the inside. He brought her to a climax quickly, then still on his knees behind her, he entered her, thrust deep inside her, his hands grasping her hips, keeping her tight against him.

  Instinctively, Rowena arched, her hands tightening on the thick poster. It did not take her long to figure out she could hold on to the poster while sliding her sheath freely up and down his shaft. It did not take Harry long to realize he if he reached around her, placed his hands above hers, he could thrust his cock deep into her while she was pinned between he and the smooth, dark wood of the old bed.

  Neither one seemed to care that the antique bed, though solid, did creak and groan some during their prolonged and titillating bout of uninhibited and perfectly acceptable wedding night sex. Nor did they care that when their release came, that they both cried out from the sheer force of such ecstasy.

  “Oh love, can we keep your magnificent bed? Move it to our bedchamber at the Grange? And the bedchamber there needs to be redecorated by the way it’s quite ghastly in my opinion. If we can’t take this bed to the Grange, then I’ll find another very similar,” Harry pleaded against her ear after they tried out the poster on his side of the bed some hours later. His chest still heaved. Their bodies were slick with sweat.

  “Yes. I must insist we do. I am very attached to this bed.” Rowena gasped as she allowed Harry to guide her back onto the sheets and into his arms.

  “As am I. More wine, my love?”

  Rowena nodded her head, “Mmm. Yes, I’m quite parched.”

  She sat halfway up as he brought his glass to her lips. She took a long sip. As he removed the glass to return it to the table, a drop fell onto her breast, slid down the full, creamy mound.

  Harry drained the glass then dipped his head to lick the trail of wine from his wife’s breast. He paused to lightly bite at her nipple as well. Returning the empty glass, he then gathered his wife into his arms and drew the covers over them. He whispered, “Let’s sleep a little love. Then we can try out the posters at the foot of the bed. There may be other uses for those. We may find we like one side of the bed better than the other.”

  “Mmm. We will try it later.” She yawned, cuddled against him. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell asleep with, Harry thought, a very contented smile upon her face.

  Outside in the hall, his chair before their door, Trevan Chynoweth sat in the chair grinning from ear to ear. Trevan was never going to let Harry forget about this. Ever!

  No one knocked upon the door at dawn, for it was perfectly acceptable for a man to remain abed with his wife, especially his newly wedded one.

  When Rowena woke, it was to the wondrous feel of her husband’s hand upon her one breast and the fingers of his other between her thighs stroking her. “Harry.” She felt his finger slip into her wetness. Before she even opened her eyes, his cock slid
into her. His hand moved to her hip, she arched back, her bottom pressing against him so she might take him deeper. “Mmm.”

  His tongue traced the outline of her ear, his lips placed small kisses to her neck, along her hairline, captured her lobe, moved to the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder.

  “Good morning, wife,” he murmured huskily as he continued to taste her.

  “Good morning, husband,” her voice was silky with passion.

  They continued the slow, deep rhythm for a long stretch of time, neither wanting to break the gentleness, the intimacy of the moment.

  It was continuous ecstasy, the flames of passion rising high then lowering to a heady simmer. Rising again, nearing the point where they might burst into flame then pulling back again. They both reveled in the sweet ecstasy, hovering on the edge of oblivion.