Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Stephen George Michael Drake, Rebecca and Drake’s infant son, whom everyone called Puck for some unknown reason, was also a joy. He had a round, sweet cherub’s face and a most loving nature.

  Both children provided much distraction.

  But at night, all Miranda’s worries and fears came to haunt and torment her with dreams of Adrian being shot. Adrian ashen-faced and bleeding to death. Adrian, unconscious in a bed, dying from a putrefactive fever.

  She would awake, sweating and shaking and many times stumbling from the bed to find the chamber pot and vomit.

  Then, with sleep eluding her, she would wrap her pelisse over her nightdress and go walk in the yard, drawing strength from being near the gardens that gave her such distraction during the day. But she often ended up, sitting on one of the stone benches, with her chin on her knees and hugging her legs tight. And here alone, out of sight of Davey, she would give vent to her anxieties and cry.

  This was how Rebecca had found her one night. The older woman had urged her back into the house and taken her to the kitchen to give her a large mug of heated wine laced with honey.

  Miranda had eventually blurted out all her worries and fears.

  Not just the honorable fears and worries for Adrian’s safety and well-being.

  No, she even poured out all the dark, unworthy, illogical feelings that she scarcely admitted to herself.

  Anger that Adrian had withheld his plans to strike back at Winterton from her.

  Her fear that he loved only her beauty and would tire of her in time.

  Then stumbling over the words, she dared admit her fear that she wasn’t sexually skilled enough to please him long-term. That like Carrville had, Adrian would eventually keep women on the side who would indulge a gentleman’s more exotic tastes that she could not bring herself to satisfy.

  She choked out the whole sordid story of the night Winterton had attacked her mother and what she had witnessed, though she omitted the part where she had shot her father.

  Then, finally, staring into her empty mug, she barely whispered her most shameful doubt: Fear that Adrian had perhaps been tempted by other women in America during his extended visit there.

  Rebecca smiled, her kind eyes radiant with sympathy. “Oh, my dear.” She took Miranda’s hand. “You only feel this way because you were raised in the courtesan’s life.” She squeezed Miranda’s hand. “You are his wife. He chose you out of all the women he might have had. He turned aside from his option to increase his wealth and power through an advantageous marriage to a high-born virgin of good family. He’s courting scandal and now he risks the gallows having challenged your wicked father.”

  “Challenged my father?”

  “Oh come, Miranda, you don’t believe a civilized urbane man like Lord Danvers would have shot Winterton in the back if the head, whilst he was asleep in his bed?”

  “No, no I don’t really believe that,” Miranda admitted, feeling the heavy weight that she had been carrying around with her all this time lift.

  “I don’t either.”

  “But Lord Drake says—”

  “My husband reports the facts until he hears otherwise. At least to others. But privately, only to me, he has confided that he doesn’t believe the stories coming out of America.” Rebecca patted Miranda’s hand. “You have doubted Adrian because he did not share his plans with you. It is understandable that your imagination should run away with you.”

  “Yes, that is exactly it.” It felt so good to be able to admit that to another person. And to have that other person understand. Miranda breathed a considerable sigh of relief and accepted a second half-mug of wine, as well as some bread and cheese.

  The food settled wonderfully on her stomach, smoothing the burning ache, and she began to feel rather contented.

  “We women are often at a loss to understand a man’s actions,” Rebecca said. “Especially when they refuse to share their plans or motivations. You must keep your chin up and wait for him to arrive and explain all to you. Until then, all you have are baseless speculation and that speculation is bound to be of a sinister bent, not helpful.”

  Miranda cupped her hands about her mug, enjoying the warmth. “Of course you are exactly right.”

  Rebecca studied her. “But you still worry over his really being happy with you, because of those things you cannot bring yourself to do?”

  Miranda nodded.

  Rebecca smiled sympathetically then a naughty glint entered her gaze. “Those things can be enjoyable. A woman can hold a great deal of power over a man in those moments, even whilst appearing to be utterly submissive. But when he is mindless with pleasure…” Her smile broadened. “It is a heady sensation to be sure.”

  Fierce longing seized Miranda. “I wish I could conquer my fears, my distaste. But I cannot.”

  “You simply have a certain image of what that act is. It is burnt into your memory.”

  “Yes, it is,” Miranda said, sadly.

  Rebecca bit her lip, her eyes glowing with compassion and naughtiness at the same time, a very odd but compelling combination. “What if you could watch someone, a couple, engage in that act? Not in violence but in a loving manner?”

  Miranda’s mouth fell open and she dropped her mug to the table with a clang. “Wh-what are you suggesting?”

  “You could watch us.”

  “You and… and Lord Drake?”

  “It would give you something to replace the memory of what you saw with Winterton and your mother.”

  “Oh goodness…” Miranda’s insides seemed to turn upside down.

  “Miranda, forgive my bluntness, but in your previous life, you must have at sometime seen others make love? Or at least seen them petting each other very close to engaging in the act of love?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I have told you. I am still more than a little afraid of your husband, I cannot even fathom being in a bedchamber with— well, it would be unfaithful to Adrian, it would be—”

  “Miranda, you needn’t be in the chamber with us.”

  “No? Then I don’t understand, how should I be able to witness—” She gaped at her friend. “Surely you don’t mean for me to be skulking around in the bushes outside the window?”

  Rebecca’s girlish laugh echoed in the kitchen and, feeling more and more absurd by the moment, Miranda joined her in mirth.

  Rebecca waved her hand dismissively. “No, no, not like that at all. Some of the guest chambers in this house have peepholes.”

  “Peepholes?”

  “Yes, of a sort. Stephen has used this house for years to engage in his…” Rebecca pursed her lips a moment. “His business.”

  “I see.”

  Rebecca leaned forwards and touched Miranda’s hand. “Don’t worry. Your chamber and Davey’s are not equipped with the peepholes and special mirrors. I would never have done such a thing to you.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Yes, it is a little disturbing, to think about such an invasion of privacy but he has found it necessary at times in his trade.”

  Miranda had come to realize that what Rebecca referred to as Stephen’s “trade” was spying and perhaps something even more sinister.

  She really didn’t wish to know. “Goodness.”

  It was all Miranda could think of to say.

  “Miranda, you could stay in the secret antechamber and my lord and I will go into the bedchamber where you can watch us without having any contact with us and being in complete privacy. You will be completely safe. Believe me.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Miranda exclaimed.

  But inside, she was beginning to feel curious.

  “Since you won’t actually be interacting with us during the act, it is not an act of adultery on your part. It is just watching, learning what that act, done in love, really looks like.”

  Extreme longing to witness this began to burn in Miranda’s blood.

  “Lord Drake wil
l know?” she asked, her voice small.

  “Of course he will know. Don’t worry. He can be more discreet than most. He will never use this experience to act in a manner untoward to you or to cause you shame. You will not be compromised, ever, by either of us.”

  Miranda shook her head.

  “What now?” Rebecca asked, her voice soft and kind.

  “Why should you and Lord Drake agree to open your intimate life like this?”

  “My dear, we should be happy to help you attempt to overcome such a violent past.”

  “And?” Miranda urged.

  Rebecca’s cheeks flushed lightly. “We should also find it rather arousing to have an audience.”

  “Oh,” Miranda said, now flushing slightly herself. She had known of such desires. She just hadn’t expected such a proper and sweet-natured lady to have them.

  “Take some time and think about it,” Rebecca said, not a trace of bashfulness on her face for having admitted such a potentially compromising desire.

  Suddenly, Miranda’s curiosity grew to overwhelming proportions.

  Dare she partake of her friend’s generous offer?

  Chapter Eight

  With a thousand butterflies battling in her stomach, Miranda settled herself on the plush, velvet covered settee. She looked to the pane of glass before her.

  She could see straight into the other chamber. She gasped and fear tingled through her. A light-headed urge to run sent energy shooting down into her legs and made her fidget.

  But Rebecca had assured her, repeatedly that the occupants in the other chamber wouldn’t be able to see her. At all.

  All that nervous energy made her jump up from the settee and ran to the glass. She touched it, in wonder.

  The door to the other chamber came open and Miranda caught her breath. Her heart thumped hard and she laid a hand on her collarbone.

  Waiting.

  Stephen and Rebecca came into the chamber. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves, his cravat untied. Rebecca was clad in a rich plum wrapper. She held a wineglass and was drinking the last bit. He took the glass from her and sat it on a side table then he took her hand and drew her towards himself.

  Rebecca smiled up at him and he leaned down and put his mouth to hers.

  They kissed for long moments. Lord Drake caressed his wife’s back and appeared in no hurry.

  That surprised Miranda.

  All right, yes, she had truly expected him to push Rebecca to her knees and commence immediately with the act. Quickly. Maybe even crudely. The way she’d seen the noblemen do to the other courtesans at the orgies sometimes engaged in at their balls and house parties.

  It was an act meant solely for a man’s pleasure and a man’s pleasure was to hurry, wasn’t it?

  However, Drake touched his wife so gently, as though she were made of spun glass.

  Heavens. It was so fascinating.

  Miranda pressed her forehead to the glass and caressed her hand down its smoothness.

  Drake caressed Rebecca’s bottom then cupped her buttocks and pressed her closer. Rebecca clutched his shoulders and bent slightly backwards as he deepened their kiss.

  Finally, they broke the kiss. Drake took the belt of Rebecca’s wrapper and untied it then he took the edges and pulled them apart before sliding them down her shoulders. Rebecca’s bare skin glowed like pale porcelain in the firelight, her small breasts appearing high and firm. A slim waist and flat stomach and softly flaring hips. She possessed a surprisingly girlish figure for a woman of her age.

  Lord Drake ran his large hands over his wife’s breasts, rubbing his palm over her erect, bright pink nipples. After a while, he bent and took one into his mouth. Rebecca stroked his coal-black hair then as he continued moving from one tip to the other, she clutched his head with her own thrown back, her eyes closed.

  With Rebecca limp and moaning against him, Drake lifted his head then swung her up into his arms. He carried her to a chaise in the center of the chamber and laid her there. He glided his hand down her belly, slowly, oh so slowly then let his fingers stray over her pale golden-brown mons. Rebecca arched into his touch, her cry of pleasure loud enough to carry into Miranda’s antechamber.

  Miranda jumped back from the mirror, startled out of her transfixed state, blushing hotly and feeling like an interloper. Drake kissed his wife’s stomach then moved between her legs, his midnight dark head a sharp contrast to her alabaster legs.

  Rebecca glanced away. She’d seen men pleasure women like this at the orgies.

  It seemed an eternity—the time Drake spent knelt there between Rebecca’s splayed thighs, teasing her, pleasuring her.

  The intimacy was too intense; Miranda had to look away again. Rebecca’s high-pitched moans brought her attention back to the other chamber. Drake leaned over Rebecca, kissing her forehead whilst she lay panting beneath him, her face flushed and her eyes still closed. He whispered something to her and she smiled, opened her eyes and touched his face. He cupped a hand over her diminutive breast and whispered to her again.

  How strange to see this side of Drake.

  It gave Miranda pause.

  But she had little time to think about it for in that moment Rebecca slid from the chaise to kneel on the floor.

  Miranda’s heart began to pound.

  Drake unfastened his trousers and, in moments, Rebecca had her hand wrapped around his rather large and erect cock.

  He caressed her hair, ran his fingertips over her cheek then traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.

  Rebecca kissed the tip of his cock whilst moving her hand up and down his shaft.

  Drake’s jaw tightened.

  Rebecca opened her mouth wide and took him inside.

  Miranda caught her breath, with her heart pounding harder than ever, watching Rebecca move back and forth on Drake, her cheeks drawn in. He caressed her hair, gazing at her so raptly, his eyes glowing not just with lust and pleasure, but love.

  Rebecca took her husband deeply. Deeper than Miranda realized a woman did a man. Then she let his organ slide from her mouth and stroked him with her hand, jerking his shaft in deft, quick motions.

  Drake shouted her name then wrapped his hands into her hair, pulling her head back, holding her in place.

  Miranda’s breath came rapidly, harshly. This part, this sudden roughness on his part startled her back to awareness and she jumped back from the glass.

  Her legs shook and she stumbled back onto the settee. Oh God, she must turn away. Now.

  But she forced herself to keep watching.

  Drake arched his hips and gripped his wife’s head tighter then he tensed. He groaned, loudly, and his body shook and shook and shook. And Miranda realized that he was spilling his seed into his wife’s mouth.

  Now.

  Yes, now she looked away, her cheeks flushed hotly. She placed a hand to her wildly leaping heart and swallowed against a slight rise of sickness.

  She could never do that.

  When she dared glance back at the other chamber, Rebecca had laid her head on Drake’s thigh and he was caressing her head, whispering to her, his expression full of satisfaction. And love.

  A sudden desire to see that expression on Adrian’s face seized Miranda’s whole being. The desire was so strong that it was painful. She pressed her fist to her lips and moaned.

  She would overcome her distaste for the act.

  She would experience giving Adrian this kind of intense, selfless pleasure. She would overcome the terror that Winterton’s violence towards Mama had caused to live in her heart.

  ****

  The next day, Drake left to visit the nearest village and did not return for several days and so Miranda was saved the embarrassment of having to face him again.

  Rebecca she could face.

  But not Drake.

  She had not imagined the reality of what playing voyeur with them would be like.

  Now Drake was home and she sat with him and Rebecca for supper. The children ate in th
eir nursery as usual.

  “Lady Danvers.” Drake’s slightly hoarse voice confronted her defenses.

  It would be beyond rude not to acknowledge him. Miranda glanced up.

  His dark blue eyes were full of kindness. Compassion.

  It shamed her efforts to avoid him. She forced herself to keep looking at him.

  “It was only sex. A most natural function and no cause for shame.”

  She nodded, her cheeks burning hotly.

  He couldn’t understand. It wasn’t the sexual aspect that embarrassed her so deeply. It had been the invasion of another couple’s intense intimacy and obvious love.

  Yet, Drake and Rebecca had allowed her to enter that circle of trust between them and to gain a vision of what that feared act could really be like.

  And she wanted it to be like that for herself and Adrian.

  Wanted it desperately. Hungrily.

  She lowered her eyes to her teacup. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Drake chuckled, softly. “It was my pleasure, my lady.”

  His handsome face held a boyish charm. His expression was open, carefree. Warm. Miranda could see, for the first time, how a woman as cheerful and open to life as Rebecca could love such a man.

  “Stephen, please do not tease her,” Rebecca chided.

  Miranda raised her eyes again, determined to smile and pretend a sophistication she no longer possessed.

  But Rebecca and Drake’s attention was all for each other. Their shared love brought Miranda sudden, sharp awareness of how deeply she missed Adrian.

  Tears pricked her eyes and she clapped a hand to her mouth and had to flee the chamber.

  She ran all the way outside to the gardens.

  A touch on her shoulder made her turn.

  Drake’s eyes were just as kind as just a few moments past.

  His presence startled her for she would have expected Rebecca to follow her, not the baron. She stepped back.