by Cheryl Holt
"I wouldn't tolerate the news very well."
"Is that why you're out here with me? Are you eager to betray her, hoping to make her jealous?"
"I don't understand why I followed you. When you left, it just seemed as if I should come after you. I couldn't stop myself."
He wouldn't confess the truth, but she knew what it was: He was a man, so he thought with his cock. He'd chased after her because he was anxious for them to have another bout of raucous sex, and he was correct in assuming they would philander.
For some reason, she was desperately attracted to him. It was an insane need that had been growing since they'd first met. He lusted after her, too, and while his motives might be purely physical, it was so bloody refreshing to have somebody want her for something.
She flicked at the top button on his trousers, then at the next, and the next. The placard was loose, and she reached in and took him in hand, expertly sliding her thumb across the sensitive crown. Without being asked, she knelt down, pushed the fabric aside, and sucked him into her mouth.
She had no pride, no shame. Charles had taught her well, and if she was going to cheat, she would do it in grand style.
She cupped his balls, but to her surprise, he jerked away and yanked her to her feet. "What's the matter?" she inquired. "Not like that," he said. "Not yet." "Then what do you want?" "I'll show you."
He led her to the cushioned bench, and he eased her down and came over her. He was a big man, and she enjoyed feeling his weight on her.
He evaluated her curiously, and she was humored by his expression. He was clearly confused—by her lack of inhibition, by her enthusiasm to do whatever he demanded—and her zeal had him flummoxed.
"What is it?" she finally said.
"I want to fuck you lying down together like this," he explained, "and I want you to watch me the whole time."
"Fine."
"I want you to be glad that it's me, and if you can't be genuinely glad, then I want you to pretend that you are."
"I don't have to pretend. I am glad it's you."
Her comment had a palliative effect. He fussed with her skirt and settled himself between her thighs; then he took his cock and guided it to her center, forcing it in without hesitation or preparation.
She winced, but raised no complaint. She was used to brutal handling, and had endured much of it when Charles was being a beast.
Mason was immobile, apparently waiting for the protest he expected, and when none occurred, he started to flex. He was braced on his palms, and he held himself over her, not changing the tempo, not doing anything to arouse her, not speaking or touching her except where their bodies were joined.
He kept on for an eternity, and gradually, the experience metamorphosed into something besides an awkward and illicit tryst. His motions gentled, the regard in his eyes warmed.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured.
The tender remark made it seem as if she were young and pretty again, and she kissed him with a frantic passion. Isolation and despair were suddenly crushing her, and she felt more alone than she'd ever been, as if they were the last two people on earth, as if—should she let go of him—she'd float away.
He was a tether to the world she had relinquished eons ago, the one where she'd been a normal woman with ordinary hopes and dreams, before she'd abandoned them for Charles Prescott.
The power of his thrusts increased, the culmination approaching, and she didn't want him to finish. Once he spilled himself, he'd leave, then she'd have to proceed to her room, and the notion of being by herself, of ruminating in the dark, was the most depressing thing she could imagine.
With a low growl of satisfaction, he stiffened and came, his cock buried deep; then he exhaled a heavy breath and drew away.
As if they were strangers—which they were—he sat up and straightened his clothes, so she sat up and straightened hers, too. They peered off across the yard, not looking at each other, and she knew she should say something, but what?
Eventually, he shifted toward her.
"You seem very sad," he said.
"Not sad. Just quiet."
"I didn't do that very well."
"Didn't do what?"
"I didn't make love to you."
"I didn't expect you to."
"Do you always demand so little for yourself?"
She shrugged. 'This isn't a Grand Passion, Mr. Mason. It's merely a hasty tumble in the gazebo. In a situation such as ours, I don't anticipate much."
He snorted, then inquired, "Will Lord Kettering seduce Lavinia?"
"He might, but he'll marry Penelope."
"I thought she was destined for Lord Romsey."
"She is."
"Would Kettering cuckold his own son?" "We'll see."
She wasn't about to discuss the two Prescott men, or the fiscal crises driving them. Both Mrs. Gray and Miss Gray were aware of Jordan's money troubles, but Anne was certain neither of them understood Charles's urgent condition. They were probably both salivating at the prospect of wedding a wealthy aristocrat, but whichever one wound up with him, she would be in for a huge surprise.
"How long will you and Kettering stay at Gray's Manor?"
"Until he's ready to go."
"Then what?"
"I haven't the foggiest."
He stared at the house, then at her. "I want to do this with you in my bed sometime." "I'm sure it would be divine."
"If I asked you to stop by my residence, would you? My boys are visiting their grandparents for the summer. It would be quite discreet."
"I believe I would, yes."
"And would you arrive early and spend the entire day?" "I would."
Was she really contemplating such an outrage? Could she carry through? To what end?
"Why have you invited me, Mr. Mason?"
T don't know."
"You must have some idea."
"I just want it," he said, unable to expound.
She nodded. She felt much the same. By being with him, she was filling an empty spot that had grown so vast it constantly echoed with the reminders of all that was missing. No home. No family. No friends.
Just Charles Prescott, and the ashes of what remained of their relationship. Would she ride it to its tortured conclusion? Or would she have the courage to flee before he tossed her over yet again?
"I'll come as soon as I can."
"I live just through the woods. It's a quick walk."
"Which will make it easy to slip away."
"Yes." He reached for her, dragging her across him so that she was over his lap and on her knees.
She scowled, questioning, and he muttered, "I must have you again before I go."
"All right."
"I want to do it over and over. May I?" "You don't have to be so bloody polite. Just take me. Take me however you'd like. I'm happy to oblige." He loosed her dress and tugged it down so that her breasts swung free. At seeing them, he rippled with delight and cupped them, thumbing the nipples. Then, he pulled her closer and as he suckled, she let out an odd sound, a sob of pleasure, or perhaps relief. It had been so long since she'd been touched with awe or affection.
His hips rose, and his phallus found its target all on its own. He began his slow, methodical thrusting, and she gazed out at the water on the lake, wondering who she'd become, for she hadn't a clue, and she was terrified over what would happen next.
Chapter Twelve
Charles puffed on a cheroot and studied the dark, cloudy sky. As he’d huddled in the shadows, he'd seen Anne walking back from the lake, but he didn't waste any energy wondering why she was out there by herself. He was too busy with more pressing concerns.
A door furtively opened, and he glanced over, smirking as Penelope sneaked out onto the verandah. The foolish child! He'd known she'd follow him and had specifically gone for a smoke so that she would have an excuse.
She threw herself in his path at every opportunity, as did Lavinia, and he relished how both women fawned over him. I
n the end, though, there could only be one choice—that being Penelope and her fortune—but he liked having them on the hook, and the sexual possibilities were intriguing.
He'd participated in many instances of menage a trois and was pondering whether he shouldn't instigate a few trysts with Penelope and Lavinia in his bed together.
He'd never had a mother and daughter duo, and the incestuous prospects were almost too thrilling to contemplate.
Penelope had espied him, but he ignored her and strolled farther down the path, certain she would keep coming. She was like a fish on a hook. All he had to do was reel her in.
Shortly, he was waiting on a garden bench, and as she stomped up, he pretended to be surprised by her appearance.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"What did you want?" she snapped in reply.
"Me? Nothing."
"You did, too. You wanted something. You intentionally lured me out."
"You are so full of yourself. I merely sought some peace and quiet. I get tired after so much socializing."
He finished his cigar, tossed it onto the grass, and snuffed it out with his heel.
"You've hardly spoken to me since that day at the gazebo. Why not?"
"I don't like you, and I never fraternize with adolescent girls. I find them boring in the extreme."
"I suppose you like my mother better."
He was amused by her jealousy. "Yes, I like your mother very much. She's very charming, very feminine."
"But she's so old!"
"To a man of my years, she doesn't seem so." "I don't believe this!"
She paced, and he relaxed, watching her strut and fret.
Suddenly, she whirled to face him. "Take a good look at me, you disgusting roue! I'm the prettiest girl in a hundred miles."
"Yes, but you have the personality of a shrew, and I like my women to be sweet and biddable." "Like my mother?"
"She understands how the game is played. She knows how to curb her sharp tongue and make me happy." "/ could make you happier." "Could you?"
His question hung in the air. She was an innocent, but she wasn't stupid. She recognized the sexual innuendo, and she evaluated him, sifting through her responses as she calculated which behaviors would bring her the fastest success.
"Let me prove it to you," she begged.
"How?"
"My mother has been exceedingly explicit in describing what's required. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it without complaint."
His nose wrinkled with distaste. He hated the entire notion of maternal guidance. If a child knew what was to occur in the bedchamber, it took much of the excitement out of the encounter. He liked to be the one to teach them, to browbeat them as they grew anxious.
Where was the fun in fucking a virgin if you couldn't scare her just a bit?
"I may be inexperienced," Penelope boasted, "but I'm not timid. I'm eager to oblige you."
"Let's see."
"Let's see what?"
He held out his hand. "Come here." Her bravado faded. "Why?" "I want to look at your teats again." "You already saw them once."
He scoffed. "You are such an impertinent tease. Go away and leave me be."
She was conflicted—yearning to storm off, yearning to stay—and he grabbed her wrist and tugged her onto his lap. She struggled, but only for a second as she remembered that she'd vowed to do whatever he demanded.
He smirked again. It was like taking candy from a baby.
"If you hope to entice me to matrimony, you'll have to exhibit a tad more interest in carnal affairs." "I'm interested! I am!"
He eased her back so she was draped across his arm, and he slipped his fingers into her dress, pushing the fabric away from her breasts. He gazed at her tiny nipples, then bent down and sucked on one of them till it was raw and inflamed; then he pulled away.
"This is the sort of pursuit I enjoy."
"I know. I let you do it, didn't I?"
T realize that you're hot to wed an earl, but I warn you: I will do the same—and much worse—every morning, noon, and night. I won't permit you to refuse me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Lift your skirt."
"What?"
"You heard me. Raise the hem to your waist."
She hesitated, then reached down and did as he'd commanded. She had on drawers, and he undid the string and jerked them down so that her privates were exposed.
She groaned with embarrassment, but he ignored her. She was the one seeking an alliance, and if he agreed, she would gain many boons through their association, so she had to pay the price.
"A lovely puss," he murmured. "Is it virginal?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. If some buffoon had stuck his rod up there, don't you think I'd recollect?"
"Has any man touched you here before? Not your father? Not a kindly neighbor? Not a friendly uncle?"
"No."
"Has any man so much as peeked at it?" "No," she said again.
He slid a finger inside, relishing how tight she was, how he could make her gasp and squirm. He probed much longer than he should have; then he stopped and shoved her to her feet. He stood next to her, watching as she straightened herself.
"Why are you treating me like this?" she challenged. "I don't have to put up with it."
"No, you don't."
"If you don't quit being such a bully, I'll tell my mother."
"Be my guest. She'll be delighted to learn what a little harlot you are."
She lashed out to slap him, and he snatched her wrist and gripped it so firmly that she winced in pain.
"If you ever hit me," he threatened, "I'll hit you back."
"You're a swine!" she seethed. "I definitely can be, but you've been very clear that you'd like a match with me anyway." "Maybe I've changed my mind."
"Have you? If so, speak up. I'm happy to let my son have you—although you should know that I plan to live for many decades, so you may never hear the word countess attached to your name."
"I hate you."
"Which I deem a rather poor remark from a female who claims she'd like to be my bride."
They were silent, with her glaring, while he smiled and acted as if he hadn't a care in the world. And he didn't really. She could marry him or not, and if she declined, he'd find another stupid, rich debutante to ruin.
"I don't wish to wed Lord Romsey," she eventually grumbled. "How could I convince you to have me instead?"
He nearly shook a triumphant fist in the air. "You need do nothing. I'll handle the details." "How can I know you're sincere?" "You'll have to trust me."
He probably should have proceeded, then and there, by forcing her down on the bench and raping her, but he had to orchestrate the conclusion so that the appropriate people saw what he'd done.
He imagined that it would take a crowbar to pry Penelope's dowry away from Lavinia, so he had to devise the perfect place and time for her downfall to occur.
"Will you propose," Penelope nagged, "or talk to Lavinia, or what?"
"Your mother is set on your marrying Jordan." "I won't do it—no matter what she says." "Are you certain?" "Positive."
"Good. We'll arrange events so that Jordan won't ever want you."
"What will I have to do?"
"If your mother has informed you, I shouldn't have to explain it."
"We'll have marital relations?" "Yes. What did you suppose?" "When?"
"Whenever you decide you're ready. Just sneak to my room. Any night is fine by me. You'll stay till morning, and the maids will stumble on you. It will all be accomplished quite easily."
"I can't come to your room!"
"Then you'll never have me as a husband, will you?"
He had no intention of going to her. She would have to take the steps for it to transpire, so that there was never any doubt as to who had instigated the dirty business. In the future, if she was miserable, she'd never be able to throw the scandal in his fac
e. It would be her doing and none of his own.
Finally, she spun and stormed off. He chuckled, satisfied with his scheme; then he strolled inside, wondering which woman or women would join him before the evening was through.
Lavinia tiptoed into Charles's bedchamber. A candle was burning, and he was awake and propped against the pillows, so obviously, he'd been waiting for her, and she could barely keep from preening.
On several occasions, she'd stopped by, accepting his not-so-subtle hints that she'd be welcome. Where was his fancy London mistress now, hmm?
Mrs. Smythe was in her own bed, that's where! Lavinia was the woman he wanted!
She was thrilled with the progress of her seduction and felt that, very soon, he'd realize he couldn't live without her. Perhaps there would be a double wedding. Penelope could marry Jordan, and Lavinia could marry Charles.
"I didn't think you'd ever arrive," Charles complained. "I was about to call it a night."
She walked over, shrugging out of her robe so that she was clad only in a sheer negligee. "I can't come until everyone is asleep. You know that."
"Your standards are so provincial."
"Would you rather have your son and my daughter gaping at me as I saunter down the hall?"
"Who cares about them? Their opinions are irrelevant."
Lavinia wasn't concerned about them, either, and she couldn't figure out why she was being so cautious. What was it to her if others learned that she and Charles were carrying on?
"I'm sorry I was late, darling." She loathed apologizing, but he expected that she would. "Let me make it up to you."
"Please do."
He never demanded she perform fellatio, but from the first, she'd begun in this fashion, and it had become a routine she couldn't break.
Just once, she wished something else might happen, that he might arouse her, that he might show some awareness of her sexually, but he never did, which was extremely aggravating.
She pasted on a smile and snuggled next to him. He didn't like a lot of nonsense, no kissing or cuddling or even much caressing. He liked her to get down to business, so she took him in hand and pumped him into a fine erection; then she nibbled down to his phallus. Within seconds, she had him in her mouth, and he was thrusting with the bored control at which he excelled.