by Flora Dain
By the time my maid had finished my hair and Madame Junot had supervised the lacing of my new evening gown, it was almost time for dinner.
At last I quit my rooms and went in search of Jacquard. I found him scolding his valet and cursing his secretary for a fool for forgetting some papers.
His secretary looked so downcast that I asked innocently what kind of papers he’d forgotten. But the moment I appeared, Jacquard cleared the room, turned the key in the lock and held out his arms.
I glared at him and stubbornly folded my own. “What are you about, sir? You’ve sold me to a bordello? What kind of greeting was that?”
He laughed softly, leading me across the room to his bed and pulled me down onto his lap. I perched stiffly on his knee, melting a little as he started to unlace my gown and his touch worked its usual magic.
“It was a joke. A code we shared at school. A warning about one of the guests. Nothing important. But you’re right, child. This place is not all it seems. Madame la Marquise is not his wife, nor those painted doxies his daughters. My lord Marquis has a taste for foursomes. The male guests here are vastly wealthy, some of them titled—mostly gentlemen looking for pleasure. Save for you, the ladies here are ladies in name alone. Some are professionals, some permanent mistresses. Guests here are expected to entertain the company as payment for their stay. Our display takes place in a few days’ time.”
“Display, sir? What kind?” My mind was racing now. So my first impressions had been right. This was some kind of bordello. But what would I have to do? I was eager for pleasure and to meet handsome new beaux, but fat old men were low on my list.
He narrowed his eyes. “The less you know, the better. But I might remind you we are guests here. Mind your manners with the gentlemen, however overfriendly. You’ve no need to give in to their demands, but you’ll not disgrace me by seeming a prude.”
“Me, my lord? A prude?” I grinned, rubbing against him like a cat. My belly still glowed with unrequited heat. Here, at least, we could indulge in some party fun, possibly with others looking on. The very thought sent little shivers of wicked pleasure all through me.
He eased my gown off my shoulders then hoisted my skirts, pushing me back onto the bed, his expression stern. “Your manners still fall short of my standards.” His voice lowered to a purr. “Definitely in need of correction. I’ve gone easy on your discipline during our journey. We’ve some catching up to do.” His eyes gleamed. “We’ll see to it now.”
My outraged gasp was instantly muffled as he captured my mouth and teased my lips open with his tongue. I yielded to his kiss with abandon, reveling in the luxury of his surging tongue. I nestled in the softness of his lingering lips and the heat of his entwining arms, glad of his company in this strange new place.
But a punishment? So soon? We’d barely arrived…
With a shiver, I played for time, well aware how hard and fast he would drop his hand once he had me over his knee. Arousing though I found it, I was in no hurry to begin.
“And your secretary, sir? What’s he done now?” If my guardian’s constant scolding was any guide, the poor man was forever at fault.
My distraction certainly worked. Jacquard sat up with a frown. “He’s to find you a steward.”
“Do I need one? Why?”
“We may be away many months. There will be rents to collect, tenants to replace, repairs to supervise. He’s found a few candidates. He was to bring their details with him, but he’s left them in his London office.”
“Send him back for them. You can manage without him for a week, surely?”
I slid a finger along his jaw and resumed my kisses, trying not to giggle when he folded his hand around my breast and gave it a suggestive squeeze.
In response, I reached down and squeezed him back in the place he’d tormented me with for so many long hours during our journey here.
Mistake. With a low growl, he pulled me over his lap and gripped my wrists with one hand. Seconds later he landed his other hand with a crash on my bare bottom with all the force he could muster.
At first I shrieked. Then, as he continued, I howled. At last I sobbed quietly and blissfully into the covers as the blows went on and on, his rhythm broken by the occasional rapturous pause for a soft, tender caress. His hand felt cool now on my burning, punished bottom.
At last he pushed me off his lap and eased my heaving breasts free of my rumpled garments. “Kneel up on the bed. You displayed your bosom for the marquis to stunning effect. I was proud of you. Now me.”
Such unlooked-for praise brought crimson to my cheeks. Still tearful from my harsh spanking, I scrambled into a kneeling position and leaned forward, scooping my heavy bosom up into my arms.
There was a gleam in his eye. “Lean back and present them. Cross your hands behind your back and hold your ankles.”
I gasped, reaching behind me and fumbling to obey, bewildered at his sudden urgency.
“Your dinner beckons, sir? Or your cock?”
He signaled me to silence and fastened his mouth on first one jutting breast then the other, kneading with both hands, raising my sensitive nipples into hard, eager nubs then squeezing them more until they tingled with excitement. They flowered pink, then red and, at last, stiffened to numbness.
I moaned with pleasure, my thighs aching and my center throbbing painfully at the forced, unnatural position. He forced my hands away every time they strayed back around to fend him off.
At last, as I thought my pulsing little bud must erupt, he pulled away and towered over me.
“Now kneel up.” He freed himself, letting his hot, twitching erection spring in front of me, glossy and purple. I gasped at its size and its rich, deep color. For the first time I sensed vaguely that his long denial had been as painful as mine.
“Lick the end. Just a little.” His low murmur thrilled through me, making me glow. He ran a finger down my cheek, his eyes as warm as his touch was tender. His sudden switch from stern to gentle made tears sting.
At the same time moisture pooled and flooded between my legs, my need for him oozing its hidden, shameful moisture. With trembling lips, I struggled to obey, shaking now and almost dazed at the welcome sight of his rigid cock.
When he was as aroused as this, I never failed to wonder how such a monster could possibly fit inside me at all, let alone slip unaided through my lips and come to fruition in my mouth. It looked impossible. Now I glanced up, trembling at his burning look, his stiffly clenched jaw.
Have I tested his patience? The consequences could be dire.
When aroused, his mood was capricious, his manner stern. Whether I pleased him or not, I’d learned by now that his will was unyielding.
Obediently I parted my quivering, moistened lips and licked him gently, instantly thrilling to its heat and its rich, salty taste. I took the silky, rounded crown a little way into my mouth, but he quickly pulled free and insisted I lick. The strain in his eyes told me he wanted nothing so much as to plunge into my enthusiastic mouth there and then. The stern line of his jaw warned he meant to take his pleasure slowly.
As I would have to take mine…
“Are you sure, sir?” I whispered slyly, eyeing him through my lashes.
His eyelids lowered. “Take it between your tits.”
Leaning up, I folded my swelling, bulging globes around his rigid heat and began to ride him. I plumped them up in my hands and licked eagerly, dabbing with the tip of my tongue and sweeping his length with my mouth as my stroke sped up. After a while, his breathing grew harsh. I felt him grip my head then pull me onto him.
“Now take it in your mouth and suck. And if you do it well, I’ll let you come. Spread your thighs.”
I pushed deeply over his shaft, guzzling it into my throat as he reached down to my pulsing, greedy slit. He separated my swollen little folds with the slick skill of his delicate fingers, smearing my juices over my pulsing, tight little rosebud. In seconds he erupted into my mouth, flooding my tongue with hi
s cream. At the same, blissful moment, I convulsed around his hand, the ecstasy of release rolling through me in waves, powerful and soothing as the surge of the sea.
* * * *
After dinner there was dancing. As usual, Jacquard stayed aloof. A flurry of whispers followed us through every room, mostly in French but also in German, Italian—and some in English. I was a newcomer here, so bound to arouse curiosity. But I quickly sensed the real reason was my guardian.
Without meaning to, he always managed to dominate a room—the females in it, anyway. Lord Endale was wealthy, good-looking and notorious. His dark allure mesmerized females at a hundred paces. But tonight, among the startled whispers that followed us around the room, I heard another name being linked to his—Mme Lamont.
Was she also Jacquard‘s mistress? I had to know. As the dancing took off, I managed to get him to myself for a moment, free of the crowd. He was standing by one of the great windows and gazing out onto the courtyard.
As I drew near, he glanced down at me, the heat in his eyes making me shiver.
“Not dancing, ward?” He turned away instantly, a slight twitch at the corner of his long mouth.
I slipped farther into the shadow of the tall velvet drape, well out of sight of the dancers and the watchful footmen. “Is—or was—that woman your mistress?”
His mouth twitched again. “Which one?” The slight flare to his nostrils gave his cynical smile an air of disdain.
“You mean—?” For a second I gaped. “What, sir—all?”
“Never ask a question if you fear the answer.” He turned back to the window, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
I followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual except yet another carriage. There had been a constant stream of them all evening.
Jacquard glanced at me again and arched an eyebrow. “A new guest. Someone important, by the look of the outriders. A minister, perhaps. More meat for your pretty little teeth.”
I stared at him, surprised at his bitter tone. But his attention was now fixed on the scene in the courtyard below.
A lone arrival was stepping out of the grand carriage and being greeted warmly by a fleet of servants. The man was plainly dressed in dark, sober clothes. He looked about him with a rather superior air.
Jacquard stood perfectly still for a moment, as if lost in thought. All at once he drew me close. I pressed against him eagerly, wishing instantly we were more private and already terrified someone might see. He touched his lips to my shoulder, his breath on my skin making me shiver. I burned for him to explore me, to ravish me then and there, hard up against the window embrasure behind the heavy damask drapes.
Surely no one would see? I rubbed against him and felt him tense as he murmured in my ear, “Later. Have patience.”
With a light laugh he spun me round and landed a hard slap on my rump. “Go, child. Do your worst. I’m off to the card tables for some sport.”
Chapter Three
I loved dancing and quickly found willing partners. After Jacquard’s cool refusal, I needed some flattery. My dance partners, all finely dressed and clearly rich, hardly matched him in looks or rank but more than made up for it in easy charm.
Compliments quickly smooth ruffled girlish feathers.
I was just taking my place with yet another willing beau for a lively galliard when a shadow fell between us. A quiet voice cut through the music.
“Would Lady Saffina do me the honor?” The speaker was plainly dressed. The new arrival.
I gaped. He’d come straight to the ballroom without even changing?
He ignored the flushed nobles looking on, already poised to take the first steps of the dance. His manner brisk, he stepped in front of me. “If I may say so, your beauty exceeds all reports of it. Please.” He elbowed my new partner out of the way and took my hand.
The bucks crowding around me looked shocked at such rudeness, as well they might. But to my surprise, they all hung back.
Who is this? He looked ordinary enough to me. He looked severe rather than handsome and more suited to a counting house than a ballroom. Puzzled, I glanced back to the alcove for some kind of guidance, but Jacquard was gone.
The stranger looked around with a stern glance, as if to warn others away. He turned to me with a chilly half-smile. “My name is Henri Toulon, recently appointed to a senior diplomatic post. At your service, milady.”
As the orchestra struck up the opening chord, he gave me a stiff little bow and we were off. With half my mind on Jacquard and the other half on the dance steps, it took a few moments to tune in to what the newcomer was telling me.
I gathered he fancied himself a rising star in the new regime. But his new position required a stay in England. He’d just learned I needed a steward.
Would I consider him for the post?
Henri was an awkward partner. He spoke too quietly to be heard easily over the music so in truth I missed much of what he was saying. My thoughts still mostly elsewhere, I smiled warmly at him whenever the dance brought us close. I almost forgot him each time it took him away.
But his manner and bearing put me in mind of something very different from dancing.
I must find Jacquard. Surely he’d see I was taking control of my estates now, not just relying on his decisions? Monsieur Toulon might be no star on the dance floor, but he was serious and polite. He looked solemn and official. And if he was fit for a government post, he must be well connected.
He’d make the perfect steward, for a time at least, until we could find a more permanent one.
As the dancing came to a pause for refreshments, I gave him a half-wave and headed for the card tables. To my annoyance Henri tagged along behind me and flagged down some champagne.
“You tire of dancing, Lady Saffina? Some refreshment, perhaps? Tell me more about your estates. Somewhere quiet.”
I accepted a flute of champagne from the passing footman and summoned my patience. “This is a dance, sir, not a time for business. I have other partners waiting. We can talk later.”
I broke off as he deliberately barred my way, his face stern. “I’d prefer to talk now.”
With an effort, I reined in my temper. A glorified clerk and clearly not nobly born, he would doubtless know little of ballroom etiquette. “Your zeal does you credit, sir, but I have commitments,” I said gently.
He frowned. “Not when my needs come first. You forget, Lady Saffina. We have a new order in France now. Aristos no longer lord it over government officials. Quite the reverse.”
Startled, but unwilling to pull rank, I hesitated.
Choose your servants with care. Treat them with respect. Jacquard’s very words. Now he’d see I could put them into practice.
In a flash I’d made up my mind. As I sipped my drink, I told the newcomer what little I knew of my estates, roughly what they were worth and how many tenants paid rent.
He listened closely, no doubt trying to impress me with his interest.
At last I bobbed him a curtsey. “And now I really must see to my waiting partners. Delighted to meet you, Monsieur. We’ll talk more tomorrow, when you’ve seen my guardian.”
I almost said and earned his approval but bit it back just in time. Why should I need Jacquard’s approval? I am my own mistress now.
I must find him.
I was bursting to tell him that one little problem was solved. He need never have sent his poor secretary all the way back to London to fetch some dreary old papers. But in the card rooms there was no sign of Jacquard. He’d not been seen for over an hour.
At last I made my way up to his apartment with a faint sense of déjà-vu. He’d vanished from the card tables once before, to devastating effect. Fighting down a twinge of dismay, I prayed he’d be changing his jacket or writing some last minute instruction for his secretary.
Or—perish the thought—was it possible he’d be with that Madame Lamont?
That was it. I was sure of it. Rage quickened my steps. In his corridor the lighting was dim. F
or a moment I caught a movement in a looking glass—a maid, perhaps? I paused and looked again. Something white hovered in the shadows. I scanned the gloom beyond the pool of light from the candles guttering in the wall sconce. It flickered again—a pale shadow, little more. Then it was gone.
At the same moment I shivered as the air turned cold. Then the feeling passed.
I blinked. Was it a trick of the light? Too much champagne? I hesitated for a moment then knocked at his door.
No answer. Around me all was silent. I pushed open the door, walked in and stood very still.
The room was empty.
Not bare—it had a bed, drapes, the usual cabinet and a dressing table. But there was no sign of Jacquard—his valise, the silver dressing set his valet always laid out on the side table, his damask retiring robe or his night attire.
In fact, no sign of him at all.
At a footstep in the doorway behind me I spun round to see the marquis, flushed and sweating. He’d brought with him a strong smell of cognac.
His instant, slobbery leer should have warned me to flee. Foolishly I stayed.
I lifted my chin. “Where is he, monsieur?”
The marquis lurched toward me. “Who, my lady? Some lover? Is that whom you seek in a gentleman’s bedroom? Seek no further, mon ange. You’ve found him. We’ll make a night of it.”
I stood my ground. “No, no. My guardian, monsieur. I have urgent news for him. Have you seen him?”
“Your guardian? Ah yes, milord Endale. But his lordship has left us, ma mie. He’s gone.” As he spoke, he flung his arms around me with a bellow.
I wriggled out of his grasp just long enough to shout, “Gone? Where? He said nothing about a journey.”
The marquis lumbered toward me again. This time he pinned me to the wall, gurning at me with slobbering lips. He probed deeply into my skirts while I fought him off.
“What’s all this? Is my apartment to host an orgy, Monsieur le Marquis?”