by Fiona Miers
“I did not give you leave to use my Christian name,” she snapped, fire flickering in her usually warm brown eyes.
Rupert grinned, ecstatic to have elicited a reaction. He felt about five years old and didn’t mind it for a moment.
“You were ignoring me,” he reminded, giving her his most charming smile and crossing his massive arms across his proportionally massive chest.
She glared at him.
“Of course I was. If you don’t want to have a proper conversation with me, you may as well leave,” she snapped again, waving her hand towards the edge of the park, her eyes flashing angrily.
Rupert’s smile fell off his face as quickly as it had appeared. What was she talking about?
“Of course I want to have a proper conversation with you,” he argued, confused now. When had he given her the impression he didn’t want to talk to her?
“Then why did you lie to me?”
Rupert opened his mouth to deny her claim, then shut it again with a snap. She wasn’t the usual ton lady. He couldn’t charm his way out of this. Fear prickled on Rupert’s skin as he chose to do something he rarely did with anyone, even his friends. His senses told him to run, but instead he moved to the other end of the park bench and sat down, turning to face her.
“I have never shared my thoughts with anyone,” he admitted, guardedly, despite his best intentions to be charming. It had been a very long time since he’d been completely honest with anyone and it stung.
Lizzie’s shoulders seemed to sag and she smiled up at him.
“Then say that, but don’t lie to me. You asked me a question and I told you the truth. I am not someone who tolerates lying and I’m not someone you are going to charm into your bed. So stop trying so hard, I like you much better this way,” she stated, then flushed as Rupert’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
One of the most genuine smiles of Rupert’s life spread across his face. She liked him now, did she?
Lizzie held up her hand, “But don’t start feeling pompous about that. I’m not sure you can manage to be honest for more than one sentence.”
The barb hit somewhere near Rupert’s heart and he shifted in his seat. Why did he have a sudden and rather intense urge to pull her into him for a kiss?
What insanity was this? They were in the middle of a very public area. She would be ruined. Hell, he would be ruined. Forever!
“I was thinking about my brother,” Rupert explained gruffly, before he lost the nerve. The words stuck in his throat. He hadn’t realised that talking about this was going to be quite so hard. He cleared his throat loudly and swallowed.
Lizzie smiled encouragingly.
“He has five daughters, and doesn’t intend to have any more children with his wife. Therefore, I am his only male heir.”
“Does he have other children?” She asked softly, seeming to realize what he had left out.
“Yes, he has two sons by his mistress.” Rupert admitted, flushing despite himself.
He had once had a French mistress that said the most shocking things to him in bed and yet she had never made him even the slightest bit embarrassed. This moment however, he blushed.
“That must be difficult for his wife. Does she know?” Lizzie asked politely, her tone not one of condemnation or disregard, but calmness.
Rupert’s face darkened again. Yes, she knew. He had heard their rather nasty conversation a couple of months ago. His sister-in-law had been begging her husband to return to her bed and his brother had stated that he was sick of bedding a woman who couldn’t conceive a son or give him any pleasure in the bedchamber. Then the Countess had started screaming about her husband’s whore and Rupert had left the house.
He nodded tightly, unable to talk about a private conversation he had accidentally over heard.
“Well, I sincerely hope my next husband doesn’t keep a mistress, I’m not sure I could handle the betrayal.”
Rupert quickly got on the defensive, thinking of what his brother must have endured, going to an unwilling wife’s bed. He had never bedded a woman who didn’t want him, and he wasn’t sure he could if he had to do so. Another reason why marrying a suitable lady for him was a most disturbing idea.
“Well, it really depends on the man. Most men consider mistresses to be vital for their sanity.” Rupert announced, in as casual a manner as he could.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lizzie asked, horrified.
“I mean that a lot of wives hate going to bed with their husbands. Would you blame your husband for seeking out another woman?” Rupert asked, leaning back against the park bench, one arm outstretched.
“I would never deny my husband,” Lizzie burst out, blushing furiously when Rupert gave her a rather meaningful look.
“Yes, dear lady, but would you enjoy it? There’s a big difference between duty and enjoyment.” He smiled knowingly, seeming to realize that his point had been made.
Lizzie gasped aloud, looking as though she were ready to jump to her feet in outrage. She stilled instead and looked at him in thoughtful silence for a moment.
“That is something my next husband can find out,” she declared, sticking her nose in the air in the ultimate gesture of obstinacy.
Rupert burst out laughing, stopped, looked at her face and then exploded with laughter again.
“You make me laugh so much. How ever do you do that?” Rupert wiped a tear away from his eye. He hadn’t laughed properly in such a long time. It felt wonderful. His belly fluttered with happiness and a lightness filtered through his soul.
“Perhaps, you would walk me to my carriage, Rupert?” Lizzie asked him, tentatively using his name for the first time. She waited for him to offer his hand and help her to stand up.
Rupert jumped to his feet, a feeling of warmth spreading through him at her use of his Christian name. Were they friends now?
He took her hand with courtly grace and they walked slowly back to where their carriages were waiting, companionable silence between them.
“It was lovely talking to you, ma’am,” Rupert said, bowing and chastely kissing her hand as he handed her up to her carriage door.
“It’s Lizzie,” she said quietly, smiling at him with true kindness. She really was an amazing sight to behold.
“Lizzie,” he repeated, his heart thumping along with a steady and strong rhythm to the beat of the horses’ feet as the retreating vehicle carried his new friend away.
Chapter 5
‘The Spares’ still met on a regular basis. Despite Oliver now being the Duke of Lincoln and Archie being the Earl of Tother, (his honorary title until he inherited the Marquessate from his father) Rupert still thought of their group only as ‘The Spares’, the name the group had acquired when it had consisted solely of younger sons of aristocrats.
They met at their club for drinks often and tonight was one of those occasions.
“How is my sister?” John asked Archie, throwing a card down in front of him. They were playing poker for fun. Rupert was competitive by nature, but the other three weren’t and they never wagered any money.
“She is well, John.” Archie quirked a brow at his childhood friend who was now his brother in law. “She misses you. Why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow?”
John shifted in his chair and dropped his gaze to his cards again.
“I’m not sure on my arrangements tomorrow, but thank you for the invitation.” John replied, giving no indication of whether he would accept or not.
Rupert shared a confused look with Oliver, both of them feeling the cutting knife of unease in the silence.
“Sarah misses Charlotte even when they don’t meet for a day. It’s amazing how close they have become.” The Duke of Lincoln spoke thoughtfully of his wife.
Archie’s brown eyes softened again as they did every time he spoke of his wife.
“I know. I am very happy that they get along so well. This means our sons will grow up together, just as we did.” Archie smiled fondly, looking at
John again who still refused to look up from his cards.
“Another drink?” Rupert asked gruffly, oddly moved by what Archie had said. He had never thought about it like that. Oliver and Archie had sons only a year apart. They would grow up together. Go on holidays together. Begin school together. As the youngest son he had never been able to play with anyone. He had been extremely lonely.
“Definitely,” John replied, lifting his hand to call a footman.
The footman brought over the whiskey decanter.
“More?” Rupert asked the other two, who were still nursing their second drinks. John and he were at least into their fourth, with many more to come Rupert was sure.
“No, no,” Oliver and Archie both chimed in, moving their glasses out of Rupert’s reach.
“Why you old fuddy duddies,” Rupert scolded good naturedly, pouring himself a drink.
“Can’t have another in case the wife finds out?”
Archie smiled his secret smile and Oliver sighed.
“Unlike you gentlemen, I must be sober enough to please my wife in bed tonight.” He joked, his smile showing how much he was looking forward to the task.
Rupert laughed but John choked on his whiskey. Gone were the days that they joked about their mistresses, now they were joking about their wives. How times had changed.
“But hasn’t Sarah given birth but recently?” John got the words out before coughing roughly to dispel the whiskey that had found its way into his lungs.
“It’s been two months,” Oliver reminded him, smiling whilst he drank a sip of his whiskey.
John stared at Rupert in horror. Rupert stared back and shrugged. He had no idea how long you had to wait before the bedding process could continue. He had always assumed one had to wait at least a year, but then again, what did he know about love matches? Perhaps it wasn’t necessary to wait that long. Looking at the shared glance between Oliver and Archie, Rupert was sure he had been mistaken.
John poured himself another huge portion of whiskey and downed half of it. Rupert blinked. What was wrong with John tonight? He was obviously bent on forgetting the world, Rupert recognised the signs well.
“Are you serious?” John asked again, obviously unable to believe what he was hearing.
Oliver laughed at the look on John’s face and even Archie smiled. John looked horror struck.
“The doctor said six weeks,” Oliver shrugged casually but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.
John took another long drink and looked at Archie.
“You ttt…oo?” He asked, slurring his words.
“Do I need to be sober enough to please my pregnant wife, or did I only wait six weeks too?” Archie asked, in a rare show of sly humour.
John turned beet red but resolutely held Archie’s stare.
“The six week bit.”
Archie smiled again and shared another glance with Oliver.
“Six weeks was long enough,” Archie drawled in another rare show of his masculine side.
Archie had been a virgin for so long, he had never joined in on any of their conversations when they had discussed women in the past. Rupert had always secretly wondered if Archie enjoyed it as much as they did once he finally started. Perhaps he did.
John gurgled in his throat before saying, “I am truly shocked.”
Rupert burst out laughing with Archie and Oliver, John did look truly shocked. His eyes were glassy and his hair was unkempt. When had that happened?
“Just wait until you are married too, John. You’ll know all these things too.”
“Hardly. If I ever marry, my wife won’t be the only woman I will be bedding.”
Rupert chuckled at John’s arrogance. He had also thought similarly. He wasn’t so sure he wanted that any more. Looking at Oliver and Archie, they both appeared to be the happiest of men. There wasn’t a gentleman at the club who looked happier or healthier than they did.
Archie and Oliver both frowned in disapproval at John, but said nothing.
“I think it’s time to go home.” Oliver announced, drinking the last of his whiskey. “My entertainment will be wanting to go to sleep soon.”
Rupert grinned at his friend. That was one way of talking about the blonde haired angel whom Oliver had married.
Archie rose too.
“I also need to be get home.” Archie agreed in his smooth voice.
Rupert sighed. Gone were the days that the three of them would be trying to drag Archie by the scruff of the neck into a brothel. They’d never achieved it and now that he had Charlotte, they never would.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” John called to Rupert, dragging his coat on.
Rupert watched John stagger around with some envy. Rupert was considerably bigger than all of his friends, so he needed a much larger amount of alcohol to become intoxicated.
John led the way out of their club and they hired a hackney carriage to take them to a local upmarket brothel. The building had heavy curtains drawn across every window facing the street. Light shone out dimly from every window, the brightest being the window to the right of the front door. Rupert knew that window was the sitting room where most of the girls sat, waiting to be chosen.
Rupert was as randy as he had ever been, but he stopped at the front step. How was he going to do this? He had spent the past week thinking about nothing other than Lizzie. Was he really going to assuage that lust in another’s body?
John called out, “Come on!” from the front door and Rupert walked up after him.
The madam greeted them with familiarity, a generous smile and a warm greeting. They were good customers.
John quickly picked a young brunette with large breasts and staggered out of the room with her.
Rupert sat on the chair he was offered and looked about the room. It was the first time he had looked at anything other than the girls. The room needed a good clean and some work done on the plaster. There was also a nasty smell coming from one side of the room where someone must have vomited recently.
Rupert crinkled his nose in displeasure. Could he possibly leave?
“Who would you like, Mister Willoughby?” The madam asked, sitting on the arm rest of his seat and stroking his arm. She saw his hesitation and changed her approach.
“I have a new girl I have been offering to only special customers.”
She clicked her fingers and Rupert watched a young girl appear. She would have been just older than sixteen and had hair the colour of Lizzie’s. She smiled shyly at him and dropped her shawl so that he could get a better look at her half clad form. She was in little more than a chemise. Her skin was beautiful and her breasts pert and well shaped. Rupert perused her happily and waited for his body’s reaction.
Nothing.
He chuckled to himself. He was in a room with more than ten women, all with their charms displayed for his pleasure and he felt absolutely nothing. His cock didn’t stir and Rupert sighed grandly.
He wanted Lizzie. His body twitched at the mere thought of her and he laughed, properly this time. If he pictured Lizzie, he could take this new girl. He could do that. He wasn’t letting himself be emasculated by a woman he barely knew.
“I’ll take her,” Rupert announced, throwing back the last of the cheap whiskey the madam had poured for him.
The young girl’s eyes widened when she saw how big Rupert was, but she resolutely turned and walked out of the room.
Rupert stumbled behind her down the hallway, glad that she didn’t have a room upstairs.
The young prostitute moved into a dimly lit room that was clean by a brothel’s standards. Rupert took a moment to enjoy the silence, then he began to undress. Jacket, cravat and shirt, all were dumped on the floor.
The young girl’s eyes widened again, but this time Rupert saw less fear and more excitement in them. He knew his body was pleasing to most women, strong and lean.
She lifted her skirts and lay back on the bed, displaying a beautiful pair of young smooth thighs and pu
bic hair the same colour as her head.
She smiled gamely and held out her arms to him.
Rupert stifled the need to roll his eyes. He wasn’t ready, nowhere near ready.
“I need you naked,” Rupert told her gruffly, clearing his throat loudly.
The girl blushed a becoming pink. Heavens, she really is from a different place!
She stood up and began unbuttoning her clothes. She had very little on except a sheer chemise and a bulky skirt. Both were pooled around her ankles within moments, her need to please both reassuring and disconcerting.
She shivered visibly and Rupert’s heart sank, as did any level of arousal he had acquired. He couldn’t do this. She was barely old enough to be here, but she did have a gorgeous young body. Pert little breasts topped off by red nipples, a flat stomach and long legs. She was lovely. But he couldn’t get his body to respond.
Get a grip you pansy. Rupert dropped his pants, displaying his flaccid penis.
“Lie on your stomach,” he told her, moving over to the bed so he could stand behind her.
The girl did as he asked and spread her legs a little for him. Rupert closed his eyes and pictured Lizzie. His blonde haired, brown eyed girl. Her face swam into view and Rupert saw her smile, saw her lips part as though she wanted a kiss from him. His body stirred to life and Rupert grinned.
Rupert opened his eyes and ran his hands over the beautiful derriere of the girl in front of him, enjoying the satin smooth skin and soft flesh beneath his fingertips. She turned her face slightly so that he could see her profile and Rupert lost it.
His senses came alive as though he had been sobered with a bucket of cold water. He could smell the other men who had been in this room. He could see that the girl in front of him wasn’t Lizzie, and she didn’t want him. He was absolutely disgusted, to the very depth of his cold stomach.
He hauled up his pants and grabbed his jacket and shirt.
“Thank you,” he yelled and still half undressed, he broke out the door. He couldn’t stay in that room a moment longer. He’d truly embarrass himself if he did.
The madam walked into the foyer to see who was making such a racket, her eyebrows high in suprise. Rupert tucked his flaccid penis back into his breeches and hastily dressed himself.