“Ooh...I found a book called A Pirate’s Pleasure. It was full of all sorts of wickedness.”
“A Pirate’s Pleasure,” he repeated, roughly scraping his fingernails across her naked skin. “I’m familiar with that novel, and I’m very pleased you told me. One day soon you must tell me your favorite parts. But I must not be distracted. Your punishment is almost over.”
“May I please move up a little? I’m dreadfully uncomfortable.”
“You may,” he replied, delighted at the prospect of watching her wriggle across his lap, but as she squirmed forward, he caught sight of her pussy.
A smile crossed his lips. In spite of her deep embarrassment and horrified protests, glistening wetness shone between her legs. Having her bottom spanked, then bared, had fired her erotic fever. His cock, already at half-mast, stirred urgently.
“Are you ready, Connie?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, reaching for a cushion and burying her head.
Raising his hand, he let fly with a volley of hard, stinging smacks, bouncing his flattened palm from cheek to cheek, but her new position constantly exposed her womanhood.
“I must say, you do have a lovely bottom,” he murmured, pausing to caress her scalded skin, then slipping his fingers between her legs, he quickly rubbed her clit.
He heard a gasp, then a soft moan.
“My goodness, how wet you are,” he murmured as he felt her sink into his lap. “I’ll give you what you want after a few more smacks, but these you must ask for.”
“Ask for?” she panted, turning her head to the side.
“Indeed. You’ve been very naughty, Connie. You must have extra for trying to trick me.”
“Yes, Sir. Please, will you spank me for being conniving?”
“Conniving! What an excellent word. I certainly will. How many smacks do you think you deserve?”
“Oh, Sir...”
“Answer me. How many?”
“I don’t know,” she whimpered, squirming on his lap.
“How many would the pirate give his wife?”
“Uh, I think about six on each side, Sir.”
“Then six it will be, and you’ll count them out, a slap on each cheek being one! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Lifting his hand, he swiftly spanked each of her glowing moons.
“Ow! One, Sir.”
He delivered the next, but increasing the force.
“Ooh, two, Sir.”
He spanked again on the same spot, she muttered out the count, then moving his hand to her sit spot, he heard a hiss through her teeth before she spoke.
“Four, Sir.”
“The last two will be there again, right where you sit. Bury your face.”
As he swiftly delivered the last two swats, she threw back her hands, but too late to interfere.
“You’ll feel tender when you take your chair at dinner this evening,” he declared, rubbing the prickling sting. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. If I have to repeat it, you’ll be very sorry.”
“Ooh, I have learned, Sir,” she whimpered, raising her head.
“You’ll learn being over my knee can bring both pleasure and pain. I’m always happy to deliver both,” he continued, softening his voice and returning his finger into her womanhood, “I’m sure this will help to ease your suffering.”
Letting out a grateful groan, she sank in his lap, but his stiff cock begged to be released from the confines of his trousers.
Placing his hands around her waist to help her, he ordered her to crawl off his lap and lie on her back, but as she stretched out, the torn chemise fell from her body. Gazing longingly at her naked form, he rose to his feet and peeled off his clothes.
“You look so powerful,” she murmured as he stood over her. “You’re like a great warrior. Perhaps you were a gladiator in ancient Rome.”
“Perhaps I was. I have never backed away from a fight,” he said, staring down at her and wishing he could thrust his manhood into her succulent depths. “Close your eyes, and tell me,” he murmured, kneeling beside her, running one hand over her breasts as the other slipped into her pussy, “did you touch yourself when you read A Pirate’s Pleasure.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, gasping as he tweaked a nipple.
“Were you able to bring yourself to an orgasm?”
“Most of the time, but that was before...”
“Before the tragedy,” he murmured, finishing the sentence for her. “Don’t think about that, just think about how my finger feels rubbing you.”
Fervently massaging her clit, he dropped his lips to her breasts and hungrily drew in her nipples, increasing the pressure as her moans grew louder.
“Remember, you’re not to cry out,” he growled, his voice hot and husky in her ear, “but very soon I will have you naked in my bed. You’ll be able to make as much noise as you wish, and you will find out how much of a gladiator I can be. I will possess you, Connie, and I will make you scream.”
His promise had a profound and immediate effect.
The telltale orgasmic red rash crossed her chest, her breathing grew ragged, and urgently clamping her legs together, she arched her back and let out a series of bleating cries. For a moment he thought she would wail, but abruptly gripping his arm, she held it with a fierce grip, until, letting out a heavy sigh, her body fell limp.
Taking hold of his rigid cock and staring down at her many charms, he stroked himself zealously, pausing only for a second to snatch up her torn chemise to use as a cloth.
Gazing at her bountiful breasts, her puckered nipples and sable pussy bush, his climax seized him. Swallowing back his groans as his cock jerked in his hand, he shuddered through the sizzling convulsions.
The climax had been quick, but powerful. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he wiped the mess from his member and fingers, then climbed on the couch and brought her into his arms.
“This must be a dream,” she murmured, still drifting in her post-orgasmic haze.
“It is a dream, Connie. A dream come true, and it will only get better.”
“I’ve landed in the arms of the rough gentleman.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have a confession,” she said, shifting in his hold to look up at him. “When I used to see you at the balls, I would imagine what it might be like to feel your kiss and your arms around me. Your reputation—the stories I would hear—they made my tummy tumble. Did you know the ladies call you Malcolm Mead, the rough gentleman?”
“I should spank you again. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure, but is it true you punched a man at a dinner party for being rude to his wife?”
“He was being rude to everyone, not just his wife. Someone needed to put him in his place.”
“My goodness! I wish I’d been there. What about Lady Felicia? Did you pin her against a tree and bite her neck like a vampire?”
“Such gossip,” he muttered. “Is nothing sacred?”
“Did you? Please tell me.”
“She wasn’t spoken for at the time, and yes, I did.”
“Tell me more. What else have you—”
“I may be rough at times, but I’m still a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” Then pausing, he added, “I would like nothing better than to lie on this couch with you for the rest of the afternoon, but I have something extremely important to show you.”
“Do we have to get up this minute?”
“I’m afraid so, but the tea will be cold by now. I’ll ring for more.”
“Yes, please. I’m desperate for a cup, and I’m starving as well.”
“I’ll help you dress, but I must ask, why are you not wearing a corset?”
“Edith’s were too big, and I no longer have mine. It was impossible to get in and out of it by myself. I threw it away ages ago. I’d always hated the jolly things anyway. I don’t care if I never see a corset again.”
“You’re
quite the rebel, aren’t you, Connie Clifford?” he muttered, tilting his head to the side and grinning at her.
“If knowing what I want makes me a rebel, I suppose I am.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the less layers under your dress the better, and speaking of such things,” he said, rising to his feet and reaching for his trousers, “I don’t know what Edith brought for you, but make a list of anything you need, and I’ll have Mrs. Melville see to it.”
It only took them a few minutes to dress, and as Malcolm hid the soiled cloth behind a cushion, silently reminding himself not to forget it when he left the room, Connie walked back to the tea and sandwiches waiting on the coffee table.
“These are delicious,” she declared, hungrily eating one, then quickly following it with another.
“Have the whole plate if you want,” Malcolm said, his voice falling solemn as he retrieved the black velvet pouch from the cabinet.
“What’s wrong? You suddenly sound so serious.”
“Connie, I’m about to show you something profound. I believe it is the cause of what happened that awful night.”
“Malcolm! What is it?”
“An Egyptian artifact. I’ll hide it away again before I ring for Corbin, but you must see it,” he said gravely, walking over to her and sitting down. “Prepare yourself. You won’t believe your eyes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Placing the priceless treasure carefully on the coffee table, Malcolm opened the top of the drawstring bag and slid it down.
“Malcolm, where did you find this?”
Connie’s voice sounded eerily calm. He jerked his head to look at her.
“In the shed where you were sleeping.”
“What? No, surely not.”
“Under the floorboards.”
“You were at my home? When did you go there?”
The questions had tumbled from her lips, but her eyes had never left the glowing antiquity.
“While you were resting I decided to walk by your house and find out the name of the agent. I didn’t expect to gain entry. The butler you spoke of, Kendrick, spotted me and he had a key. The agent left it with him in case anyone stopped by, but Connie, do you know about this relic?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied, finally turning her eyes to him, “but I still cannot believe you found it. Malcolm, I really am feeling quite faint. I need a cup of tea, but as you said, the pot will be cold.”
“My goodness, yes, of course. Forgive me, I’m sure you’re still quite weak,” he said hastily, rising to his feet. “I’ll ring for Corbin.”
“I’m not as weak as you might think. I’m only breathless because you found the Statue of Kharute,” she murmured, lifting it off the table as he moved across the room. “What a beautiful thing you are, and you’re so warm in my hands, but how on earth did you end up in the shed? Malcolm, did you know this is supposed to be cursed?”
“I did, as a matter of fact, but I don’t believe in curses,” he stated firmly, pulling the bell cord.
“Neither do I, but you found it in the shed, and look what happened to my parents.”
“Connie, if your parents were murdered because of that statue, greed would have been the motive, not a curse,” he declared, returning to sit next to her, “and there’s something I don’t understand,” he continued as he took it from her hands and covered it back up. “I visited the newspaper earlier today and read about the disappearance of a priceless antiquity, but the report never mentioned the Statue of Kharute. It was simply referred to as a treasure.”
“That is odd,” she said thoughtfully as he carried it back to the cupboard. “I think it’s even stranger you found it in the garden shed. I can’t imagine how it ended up with my parents, or why they put it there.”
“It was stolen, so it had to be hidden somewhere.”
“But my parents would never steal anything. I’m sure they wouldn’t.”
“Maybe they didn’t,” he suggested, moving back to her, “but someone decided your home was the place to stash it away. The question is, who was that person, and why didn’t they come back to collect it? Regardless, I have to believe that statue is the reason your parents were killed,” he said gravely, then pausing, he added, “You said you’ve seen it before. Where?”
“My mother and father were fascinated by ancient Egypt. They often held parties with members of the society. When the exhibition returned we were invited to a private showing of the artifacts at the museum. To be honest, I found the whole experience rather disturbing.”
“Why?”
“We were led into this dark vault. I felt as if I was in the very tomb from which the treasures were taken. It gave me the willies. It still does when I think about it. I don’t mind objects found in ruins, but taking precious items from tombs really bothers me.”
“Ah, I see your point. What is this society you mentioned?”
“The Egyptian Historical Society. The membership is exclusive and quite small.”
“You rang, sir?” Corbin said, entering the room.
“Ah, yes, Corbin. Please bring us a fresh pot of tea.”
“Right away, sir,” Corbin replied, moving across to them and collecting the teapot. “Cook would like to know what time you’d like dinner, sir.”
“Early. Six o’clock.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I need to find a way into that society,” Malcolm murmured as Corbin left the room. “I wonder if Edith knows anyone who might be a member. Now I wish I’d been more socially active.”
“Malcolm! I just remembered something!” Connie exclaimed excitedly. “A few days before that dreadful night, several people from the society came for dinner.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, but there was a stranger with them. An American. I’m trying to remember his name. Daniel or David... I don’t recall. He seemed pleasant enough, but the only thing they talked about was the exhibition, so I didn’t pay much attention. Roger was there. He seemed almost interesting by comparison, and Roger was rarely interesting.”
“Roger?”
“Roger Witherspoon,” she said with a sigh. “I told you about him. The eldest son of the Duke of Hatley.”
“Oh, yes. My apologies.”
“My father wanted me to marry him, but fortunately my mother knew we weren’t right for each other and made sure nothing came of it.”
“Do you recall who else was at that dinner? Perhaps I can track down the stranger through one of the other guests.”
“That’s easy. There were three other couples. Walter Fairchild, the treasurer, Thomas Salsbury, the secretary, and the most important person, the president, Samuel Mountbatten and his American wife, Josephine. The guest was a friend of theirs. Oh, my goodness,” she suddenly gasped. “Mountbatten! Monty! Why didn’t I think of that before?”
But Malcolm had already made the connection.
A dark frown crossed his brow.
“Because you’ve been in a terrible state,” he said solemnly, taking her hand. “We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but it’s certainly possible.”
“He’s tall! And he’s not a very nice man. Goodness, I should have realized!”
“You mustn’t be so hard on yourself, and I’m glad you didn’t. If he is Monty and you’d started watching him, you might not be sitting here right now. But we know nothing for certain, and that dinner... do you remember any details about the conversation?”
“Not really, and as usual, when we’d finished eating the men stayed at the table for their cigars and brandy, and I joined Mother and the wives in the drawing room.”
“Yes, quite. Any serious talk would have taken place after you’d left. Samuel Mountbatten, Walter Fairchild, and Thomas Salsbury. Each of those names rings a vague bell. No doubt they live around here and our paths have crossed. What can you tell me about Samuel Mountbatten?”
“Let me think. I suppose he’s most noted for his marriage to Josephine Sinclair, a wealthy Ameri
can.”
“Yes! Now I remember Edith talking about it. She said he needed the woman’s money.”
“The Mountbatten family has more titles than I can think of. I can’t imagine why he would have been in financial difficulty, but that was the rumor.”
“Grand estates can gobble up the pounds if not properly managed. He wouldn’t be the first to find himself in trouble.”
“It’s an odd marriage. From what I understand she spends most of her time at their country estate, and he lives in their home in Mayfair.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Corbin declared, entering the room. “Your fresh pot of tea.”
“Thank you, Corbin.”
“Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you, but you can answer a question for me. Are you familiar with Samuel Mountbatten?”
“Yes, sir. He’s the Earl of Landenbury. I have seen envelopes bearing his crest delivered to you, sir. Invitations, I believe.”
“I get so many I barely look at them. Thank you, Corbin, that will be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Malcolm, why have you shied away from socializing?” Connie asked as she poured the tea.
“I’m not a noble, or a working man. From the age of fourteen I spent my life in fine schools and the grand home of a duke, yet I’m the humble son of a groundskeeper. I am a man betwixt and between, Connie. Everyone appears genuinely happy to see me, but I remain something of an oddity, and that’s how I feel at the dinners and balls.”
“But you’re so popular,” she exclaimed, taking a sip and reaching for a piece of cake. “Everyone I know—or rather—used to know, is in awe of you.”
“I doubt that.”
“It’s true. Why do you think you get so many invitations?”
“I’ve often wondered that myself, but shall we get back to the matter at hand?”
“Yes, definitely. What are you going to do with the statue?”
“I must be honest,” he began, lowering his voice. “I want to use it to flush out the evil people who ripped your life apart.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked softly, her eyes wide. “It sounds terribly dangerous.”
“It’s the best plan I can think of, and yes, it could be dangerous, but I won’t put you in harm’s way. I have a country home, and I—”
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