by Juniper Bell
“She is beautiful, nonetheless,” said the Duke thoughtfully. Alicia raised an eyebrow at him. “You must admit she has something unusual about her. A type of dreaminess, as if she has one foot in our world and the other somewhere else entirely.”
The Marquis shrugged away that flight of fancy. “Alicia, I beg of you, have you gathered any clues that might help me?”
“Well…” Alicia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “She’s wary, no doubt. But she didn’t turn tail when I told her you took my virginity. Nor when I lectured her on how we were different from most households. I believe we intrigue her, unless we’ve managed to scare her off completely. I believe there’s more to her than meets the eye. Perhaps you’ve been taking the wrong approach.”
“What approach? I haven’t done a blasted thing.”
“Precisely. Mayhap you’ve been too gentle. Perhaps she doesn’t want to be treated like fine china you’re afraid to break. Like many of us, perhaps she wants to be… Well…”
The Marquis scowled. “What? What might she want?”
“To be mastered.”
He straightened as if struck dumb. “Mastered?”
“You know very well how. You’re the master of it, if I may say so. One more thing,” added Alicia, tapping a thoughtful finger against her cheek. “I believe she likes horses.”
“Horses?”
“I saw her at the stables on her free afternoon. Not riding, just petting and murmuring to Nymph, the chestnut mare who’s about to foal. Perhaps, assuming she doesn’t run for the hills, you should take for her a ride.”
Chapter Six
Sweetbriar Manor—a few days later
Perhaps another girl would have packed her bags and left immediately. I considered it, honestly I did. I lay awake the rest of that night pondering my future, and the shocking truth that had been revealed to me. Not the scene I’d witnessed. But the knowledge that had struck me the moment I saw the Marquis’ powerful naked body and that fierce, dusky rod between his legs. I wanted the Marquis. I wanted him with every fiber of my being. No one in perhaps my whole life had looked at me and seen to the bottom of my soul the way he did.
Even worse, more shocking than that—I wanted to know what it felt like to be Lady Alicia. To be naked and adored, to be the center of so much desire and loving attention. Leave? Impossible.
Over the next few days, I resumed my daily life as normal. None of us made any reference to what had occurred. The Countess and I experienced no awkwardness, for which I was supremely grateful. I returned to caring for Rose. The Marquis went back to London, which gave me some time to compose myself.
Every two weeks I was given an afternoon off—all the household servants were. Most used the time to visit their families or walk to the village. I had no desire to leave Sweetbriar. Instead I explored the grounds. I walked the gardens, visited the stables, even ventured into the fields. Sometimes I imagined I was the girl I should have been, coming to visit as an honored guest. I imagined cricket games on the wide lawn, picnics by the river, strawberry picking in the nearby hills.
One such afternoon, I discovered a little pavilion beyond the gardens. Its columns were twined with royal purple clematis and benches lined the interior. Too restless to sit, I drifted from one flower-draped column to another and imagined a suitor lounging on the bench, beckoning me with his dark, wicked eyes. Eyes suspiciously like those of—
“You’re not easy to find, my child.”
The Marquis.
I whirled around. He leaned against one of the columns, an extravagant purple clematis bloom brushing his face. Color rushed into my face.
“I was just… Milady said I could…”
“Now, now, no panic, please. I came to give you a surprise.”
Alarm filled me. Though I no longer believed all the evil things his wife had told me about the Marquis, he still fascinated me, the way a snake compels a mouse. “A good one?”
He raised an eyebrow; perhaps I’d surprised him. “I believe so. You, of course, will be the final judge. Will you come?”
A flurry of thoughts flew through my mind. What were his intentions? Why would he even think about me enough to give me a surprise? And what if it were something naughty, something deliciously, improperly, dangerously naughty?
I shook myself free from my fantasies. “Very well.” I used my best girl-of-the-manor tone.
“Capital.” He offered his arm. I trembled as I took it. “Do I scare you, Miranda?” he asked in a low voice. “I’d hoped by now that you’d come to trust me a bit more.”
“Oh! No, it’s not that, I promise you. The terror has faded.”
He gave a wry smile. “I’m glad to hear it. And yet you shuddered when I took your arm.”
“A chill.” How could I tell him my reaction was not one of fear, but anticipation because I’d imagined touching him so many times? The reality was even more thrilling than the fantasy. His arm was hard with muscles, and when he pressed my hand into his side, the warmth of his body radiated into me.
“On a warm summer day?”
I didn’t answer. It was impolite of him to press me, but equally impolite to point out his rudeness. The change in my circumstances hadn’t robbed me of my knowledge of etiquette.
He changed the subject, as he ought. “I mention the warmth of the day because it inspired my surprise.” We reached the path that led back to the main house. “You have a few hours free today, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to rob you of your personal time, but I thought you might enjoy the opportunity to—” He stopped and looked in the direction of the stables. Two groomsmen were approaching us, leading two magnificent horses. One was Devil, the Marquis’ black stallion. The other was a dainty roan mare with a white patch on her chest. She halted before me and looked at me with big dark eyes. Just like that, I fell in love.
“This fine filly needs her exercise. I have enough on my hands with Devil here, and Alicia hasn’t had time for riding since the baby was born. I was hoping you might be willing to accompany us. That is, Devil, Candy and me.”
I could barely squeak out a word. As a girl, I’d been horse-mad. Hurtling across the fields on my beloved Kitty had been the closest I’d ever come to paradise. Then, after my parents were killed, my guardian had sold Kitty and limited my riding to the dullest swaybacks in the stables. And now…this strange, terrifying, oddly tender man was inviting me to mount the most perfect mare imaginable.
A haze of tears blurred my vision and my throat closed up. I couldn’t speak a word, not even “thank you”. I reached out and patted the mare’s neck. She neighed and ducked her head as if in greeting. The heavenly smell of horseflesh, warm and earthy, with a tang of leather from her saddle, filled my nostrils.
The Marquis smiled. “You look like you were made for each other. Shall we?”
I nodded, blinking back my tears.
He put his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle, the easy motion like music to my eyes. Only now did I notice he wore riding boots. But all I had was the dress Lady Dorchester had given me. Of course I didn’t have a riding habit. Nursemaids had no need of any such thing.
The Marquis seemed to read my thoughts.
“Come. Don’t worry about the lack of a habit. It’s just a short ride. If your gown is the worse for wear, I’ll acquire a new one for you. It’ll be worth it, I promise. How long has it been since you’ve been on horseback?”
My throat was still heavy with emotion and I could answer only with a shake of my head.
“Come then. Would you like Ned to help you mount?”
I wore my wooden pattens; completely inappropriate for riding a horse, and mounting would be the most difficult moment. I nodded. Ned came forward and put down an apple box as a makeshift mounting block. I put one foot on it, then the other. I whispered to Candy, giving her soothing strokes, watching the muscles under her hide ripple in response.
And then something caught D
evil’s eye and he began to fidget. He neighed, then reared into the air, pawing with his forelegs. The Marquis sharply pulled in the reins and barked a command.
“Better take this, milord.” His groom came as close as he dared and handed something up to him. As the Marquis bent down and reached toward the man, the item in his hand drew my fascinated, appalled attention.
A riding crop.
I jerked backward, stumbling off the mounting block. Ned tried to catch me, but he didn’t reach me in time. I tumbled onto the path, my skirts flying up around me. Horrified, I pushed them down and rolled over, struggling to gain my feet.
“What happened?” the Marquis roared. “Help her, man!”
Ned bent down next to me but I pushed him away. I felt sick, ill, as if I might lose the contents of my stomach. I could practically hear the whoosh of the crop through the air, the sting as it landed on the horse’s flanks. My cheek flinched and my scar burned. I cried out in confusion. Everything seemed to swirl around me—Ned’s worried young face, the stately oaks that lined the pathway, the green lawn, the gravel beneath me. I took great gulps of air, fighting for sanity.
Run, run, my blood chanted, just as it had the day it happened. Get to your feet and run.
Somehow my body obeyed. Tripping over my skirts—more ruined than they would have been by an innocent horse ride—I scrambled to my feet.
“Leave me be,” I managed to tell Ned. And then I ran. Not to the house—too many people. I ran toward the lake, a place where I might lose myself, where I’d be safe, where… But I was beyond reason. I ran because that’s all I knew.
Behind me, I heard the Marquis swear. I heard him call to his groom, swing off his horse, heard his heavy boots hit the ground. Footsteps chased after me.
I ran through the woods, into a grove of birch trees that looked like slender white maidens. I heard footsteps behind me, and the sound of the Marquis cursing. I had the advantage of terror, but he had the edge in swiftness. I stumbled over a tree root and fell headlong onto the dirt. Even though I instantly scrambled to my knees, he caught up to me. He dropped to his knees and grabbed one of my legs to prevent my escape.
“I didn’t know,” he panted. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
I went still, the way a fox does when scenting the air to decide on the best path. Then I cried out, “Let me be,” and tried to kick away from him.
He only tightened his grip. I sobbed and kicked again. “Release me! Release me, you beast!”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Miranda. I would never hurt you.”
Should I believe him? Did I believe him? In the next moment, none of that mattered, because he covered my body with his and claimed my mouth. I trembled violently at the fierce sensation of hot, invading flesh. All thoughts melted in an inferno of desire. When he speared his tongue into my eager mouth, my knees turned to flowing honey. I felt the pounding of his heart under his riding jacket. It made me think of muscles and sinew and dark possibilities. I squeezed my thighs together, feeling an eager throb animate my woman’s parts.
He gave a rough exclamation. “You are a witch,” he muttered. “When I’m near you I can think of nothing but stripping the clothing from your body and stroking you with my tongue.”
I moaned in response. He put his hand to the modest neckline of my pink dress. “If I could, I’d rip this right off you.” Instead he traced the edge with his finger as shivers shot through me. Then he placed his hand on my breast and I jumped. The tip became so hard, so immediately, I wondered if it would thrust itself right through the cloth.
He rubbed his palm over me and I cried out. When he filled both hands with my bosom, my back arched off the grass.
“That feels good, does it? Oh if I could have you stretched out before me, your arms tied overhead, how I would feast on you.” He said that last as if to himself, but the words scorched a pathway through my addled brain. The hot tone of his voice, his provocative words, set off a clamor inside of want and naked craving.
I peeked through my lashes at him, thrilled by the way his eyes lit with black fire. With another muffled curse, he grasped my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the ground above my head. With the other hand, without ceremony, he reached into my bodice and uncovered my bosom. Full and fleshy, my breasts tumbled into the open air, their peaks tight and eager. Air brushed across them, a mist-scented breeze mixed with the hot breath of the Marquis. At first he merely stared at them, but even that stirred their excitement to new heights.
“What lovely, plump nipples you have,” he said, his voice thick. He brushed his thumb across the very tip of one. I twisted at the wild sensation, my wrists tugging against his iron grip.
“Be still,” he commanded.
Still? It seemed impossible with the way he was consuming my body with his eyes and touch. But I clung to the authority in his voice, the calm strength and the utter conviction that everything he did would be sublimely pleasurable.
He bent his head to my nipple and licked it. I let out a shocked gasp but managed to stay still. He swirled his tongue around its circumference, slowly, luxuriously, leaving fairy-dust sparkles of joy in his wake. My entire being seemed to melt and expand. Every thought flew away except those concerning him and the miraculous things he was doing to such a private part of my anatomy. My entire world seemed to narrow to those twin pinpoints of sensation as he tugged and teased.
“My lord, my lord, it feels… Oh my, it feels…”
“Shh,” he said, raising his head briefly from his work. His lips looked moist and red, matching the nipples that still begged for his touch.
“No! Don’t stop.”
He chuckled. “You are a treasure, my dear. You do know I’ll never let you go after this? And this is just the merest beginning. Open your legs.”
Yes! Yes, he was going to pleasure me again, right here in the woods of Sweetbriar. It was wrong and wickedly indiscreet and I ought to deny him, but some part of me must have recognized my master, because no matter how my mind might try to protest, it thrilled me to obey him.
He latched his mouth to my bosom again, flipped my skirt up and put his warm hand on the upper part of my thigh. It burned through my drawers. I moved restlessly, seeking the hand that brought me to raw, craving life.
He drew deeply on my breast, wresting a broken cry from me.
“Please, please,” I begged, for what, I knew not. I writhed against his mouth, which continued to torment me wickedly.
And slowly, his hand inched closer to the beating heart of my desire. I held my breath. The whole world seemed to slow to a crawl, magnifying everything a thousandfold. A thrush rustled the underbrush nearby. Water rushed over moss-covered rocks. Sun beat down on my face and my exposed bosom. And when his exploring hand found the slit in my drawers, sneaked inside and touched that one particular spot, the tiny nubbin of flesh that made me pant in the night, I sucked in my breath and the world sped up to a frantic rush.
Everything spun around me in a wild whirl. He rubbed delicately at first, toying with me like a cat with its prey, long, slow, maddening strokes. When it was just me, I thrust my hand down my drawers and did my business. I had no time for slow, nor any inclination that it might be more pleasurable. And I wasn’t sure it was. I hated him for his slowness. I wrenched my hands from his grasp and beat on his shoulder.
He laughed and pinched my flesh between his finger. Oh it hurt, and yet it didn’t. Pleasure soared like the wild flight of an eagle.
“Who’s the master here?” he asked, his mouth hot against my neck, then took my nipple between his teeth. Oh the marvelous, bittersweet sensation, like a shriek of the skin.
“You,” I gasped. “You.”
“Then put your hands back. Now,” he ordered as I hesitated. As if by their own will, my hands flew above my head, wrists crossed.
He licked the nipple that he’d just bitten, long, soothing strokes like a mother cat with her kitten. I groaned long and hard and shifted impatiently against his
hand. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, but my control went only so far. He said nothing, only cupped my mound in his hand and rubbed, hard, harder, slipping a finger inside me, inside my most private area, where heat and wetness awaited him. My passage clung to his probing hand. I tightened my muscles around it, willing it to be what I needed. It wasn’t—I wanted something bigger, something harder, something that would obliterate my every thought.
I knew where it was. My salvation lay between his legs, a thick bulge covered in nankeen riding breeches. As if he knew what I wanted, he ground his hidden member against my mound. I pushed back, blind with desire. The fabric of his breeches rubbed against my clitoris, oh God, my tender, sensitized, voracious clitoris. I wanted more, more, I wanted something inside me, I wanted something to break me open and shatter me. I whimpered pitifully and thrashed my head from side to side.
He scraped his teeth against my nipple, moved his taunting hips just so, and a conflagration burst within me. Wild waves of feeling cascaded over me, sparkling as a waterfall in the sun. I arched into the air, matching the pressure of his thickened member. He pumped against me, working me until my last shred of dignity was gone amid a flurry of shouts and pleadings and thrusts of my body.
I cared not. All that mattered to me was the ecstasy ripping me apart, body and soul. Miranda Brown would never have allowed anything like this to happen. Miranda Brown was no more.
In her place lay simple Miranda, the wanton, begging servant to my master, the Marquis de Beaumont. A woman who craved pleasure, who felt no more shame, held no more secrets. Who lived in harmony with her true self.
He brought me down slowly from that mad peak. His hands magically changed from arousing to soothing. He gentled me as if I were a horse in a lather; the lather part was certainly true. Perspiration studded my skin, and I couldn’t seem to slow my great, embarrassing pants.
Chapter Seven