by Mason, Nina
With a bow and a satisfied smile, Watt left him to join a group of officers in the far corner. Though still curious how the baillie had gotten wind of Hugh’s homecoming, Robert let it go and returned to his ale. He had more important matters to occupy his thoughts, starting with the powder keg he was perched upon at present.
Where would all the religious strife end? With the cold-blooded murder of him and his loved ones, probably.
Aggrieved by the thought, Robert emptied his tankard, and ordered another. If the king continued down this path of tyranny, he could see no happy outcome for either monarchy or duchy. Robert might know little of military matters, but he knew this much: one did not extinguish a raging fire by throwing more fuel upon the blaze.
The moment the landlord set the freshly poured ale on the bar, Robert snatched up the tankard, gulped down its contents, and pushed the empty stein toward the proprietor.
“Give me another.”
Drinking might help him forget his troubles for a time, but to make them go away, he’d need to do more than heft a few pints. Much more. Perhaps he ought to go to London and attempt to make the king see reason. Would the endeavor bear fruit? Probably not, but at least he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he’d exerted the effort. He would take Maggie with him, which would offer the added benefit of getting her away from Hugh.
Or would it be more perilous to subject Maggie to the vipers at the Palace at Whitehall, the royal residence in London? The intrigues she’d been caught up in at Holyroodhouse were child’s play compared to those of the larger court.
He ran his hand through his hair. Even if the court was not a nest of spiders, there were the perils of the journey to consider. Given what they’d faced upon returning from Edinburgh, he could not expect to travel all the way to London unmolested. As much as it grieved him to leave Maggie behind, taking her along was out of the question.
God’s wounds! What a dilemma.
He now must choose between the lesser of evils: go to London and risk losing his wife and his hard-won royal favor or stay in Dunwoody and wait for mayhem to shower down on his head.
* * * *
Maggie watched from the hidden chamber with a racing pulse as one of the household’s serving lasses fetched and poured pitcher after pitcher of heated water into a copper bathing tub.
When the tub was sufficiently filled, the marchioness came in with her abigail, a pretty dark-haired girl of Rubenesque proportions. The maid wore a simple linen frock whose laces strained to keep her ample bosom contained. Juliette donned a heavily embroidered riding habit which, except for the petticoat, might have been a man’s fashionable suit of clothes.
The exquisite ensemble provoked a pang of envy in Maggie. What she would not give to own something that lent such an air of elegance and authority to her person. But, alas, she had never learned to ride.
The marchioness dismissed the scullery maid and locked the door after the girl departed. She then proceeded to unbutton her heavy coat as she crossed to the bed. Sitting upon the edge of the mattress, she removed her coat whilst her lady’s maid pulled off her boots.
Maggie kept as still as possible. There would be the devil to pay were she found out. How would she ever explain such deviant behavior? The very thought of being called to account for her actions enflamed her blood.
She had little to fear, for both women appeared entirely taken up with undressing Juliette.
Off came the boots and coat, followed by the cravat. Then, to Maggie’s bewilderment, the maid sat down beside her mistress, said something in French, and began to unlace her own frock.
As soon as the maid’s bodice fell open, Juliette reached for her bulging breasts and disengaged them from the constraining stays. The girl’s great paps broke loose and sagged down in the manner of two great sacks of meal. A more enormous pair Maggie had not beheld since her days at the convent. Not even Mistress Honeywell’s had been so large. And the nipples—by the light of Lucca!—were as big around as Mrs. McQueen’s barley bannocks.
Undeterred by their daunting size, the marchioness set upon them with hands and lips. The maid uttered a soft sigh and fell back upon the bed as if in a swoon.
Climbing off the bed, Juliette lifted the maid’s skirts before stepping aside to continue removing her own clothes.
Maggie gaped in wonder at the dark bush and vermillion ruffles laid open to her view. The urge to touch, taste, and explore welled up inside her with dizzying force. Surely, such feelings were not sinful. For she had observed two sisters at the convent in a similar embrace when she was too young to understand what she’d seen.
Moreover, Robert had assured her what transpired betwixt two women could not rightfully be categorized as “sex,” for, without male penetration, true coition could not be achieved. This, he claimed, was the reason the things he’d done at court did not constitute adultery.
Not that she bought into his convenient justifications.
On the other hand, what was good for the gander was good for the goose, so why split hairs and limit her own erotic explorations? If he could kiss others and engage in gamahuche without being faithless, so could she.
Putting her frustrating husband out of her mind, Maggie watched, atremble with anticipation, as the marchioness removed her shirt and petticoats. Maggie held her breath as Juliette unlaced her stays and let the stiff garment fall to the floor. As far as Maggie could tell, the lady’s comely figure was wholly feminine—from bulging breasts to tapered waist to curvaceous hips. All that remained to be revealed were the secrets between her legs.
Juliette knelt before the maid’s open legs and put her mouth on the girl’s sex. This Maggie observed with acute fascination and growing arousal. Wicked as voyeurism might be, she did so enjoy watching others engaged in perverse pursuits.
When the maid’s vocalizations suggested she was nearing the moment of rapture, Juliette got to her feet and threw herself upon her partner. Seeing only her back, Maggie was left to deduce penetration had occurred by the ensuing mode of thrusting.
The bed shook and the curtains rattled with such ferocity Maggie could scarcely hear the sighs, murmurs, and heaving breaths attending the action, the whole of which added tinder to the fire in her loins. The sensation grew so overwhelming she found it impossible to remain impartial.
Whilst they were in the heat of the action, she stole her hand up her petticoats and set upon her inflamed clitoris with a zeal born of desperation. When the orgasm broke, with the force of Krakatoa, she was too overcome to suppress her cries.
Fortunately, the ardent sounds arising from the other two women drowned out her raptures.
Now recovered, the marchioness dismounted, turned her back on the peephole, and pulled her shift off over her head. Maggie prayed Juliette would turn around, but, to her great disappointment, the lady continued facing away.
As the marchioness stepped into the tub, the maid hastened to attend her. After lathering a cloth, the girl washed her mistress in a manner so erotic, Maggie began to entertain ideas. Perhaps she ought to ask Mrs. McQueen to draw tomorrow’s bath in her bedchamber. She suddenly wanted very much to try washing her husband in an equally evocative manner.
Speaking of Robert—wait until she told him what she’d observed. Not that she’d seen the actual proof of her suspicions, but she’d certainly witnessed enough to invite speculation about what made Juliette “more than met the eye.”
A sudden thought dampened Maggie’s enthusiasm. Would Robert be cross with her for spying on their guest and her maid? Probably not. The duke may be many things, but provincial was not one of them.
After managing to extract herself from the priest hole unobserved, Maggie went in search of Robert, hoping he’d returned from his errand whilst she’d been on her adventure. To her delight, she found him at his desk in the library. Her joy diminished when she saw his grave expression.
“What troubles you, dear heart?”
He met her gaze with worrying solemnity. “There a
re things I must tell you.”
“There are things I must tell you, too. Well, tell and ask, you could say.”
One of his heavy ebony eyebrow shot up. “Oh, aye? Well then, do speak your mind.”
“There are two things I wish to relay,” she said. “The first is that I’ve had word from my father, but I expect you ascertained that already.”
“I am aware you received a letter,” he said, expression still sober, “but not what said letter contained.”
“He wishes for us to visit him when next he comes to Scotland.”
“And are you disposed to accommodate his wishes?”
Heat rose from her abdomen and settled in her face. “I am not.”
“I thought as much.” He still looked troubled. “And the second thing?”
She took a breath to steel her nerves. Please let him not get upset with her. “I believe I have solved the mystery of the fair Juliette.”
His eyes sparkled with interest, but his mouth remained set. “What mystery?”
Oh, dear. She’d forgotten she’d not yet mentioned what Hugh had insinuated about his wife. “Yesterday, when they first arrived, your brother told me there was more to Juliette than met the eye. I meant to discuss the matter with you last night, when you came to my bedchamber.” Pouting, she added, “But you did not come. Why?”
He gave her a small smile, but still looked grave. “Because I’d had too much whisky by the time we finished our card game. Otherwise, I’d have been there with bells on. Now, dearest, do tell. What is the mystery of Juliette and how have you solved it?”
“I saw her just now through the peephole in the priest hole—with her maid.” Shame warmed her face as she added, “In what can only be described as an intimate embrace.”
Much to her relief, he laughed and did not seem the least bit cross with her. “Still the wee voyeur, I see. Well, do not keep the secret to yourself. What peculiarity did you observe during your vigil?”
“Unfortunately, after disrobing, Juliette kept her back to the peephole. I suspect, however, given the manner in which she mounted her maid, she may have attributes similar to the doll Hugh sent you from France.”
Robert did not look surprised. “I should not be surprised. For ’twould seem my brother cannot give the simplest of gifts without an agenda. What I at first perceived as merely a novel gift was clearly meant as a piece in some sort of game.”
She perched herself on the edge of the desk. “I had no idea Hugh could be so cunning.”
“Of course you did not. Because you turn a blind eye to his faults.” As he shook his head and lowered his gaze, his expression gravened again. “Were that I enjoyed the same consideration.”
His accusation bit into her heart. “Whatever do you mean? Have I not almost forgiven you for your transgressions at court?”
“Almost?” His gaze returned to hers. “What must I do to win your complete forgiveness before I away to London?”
The teeth in her heart sank deeper. “You plan to away? When? Why?”
“That is what I wished to tell you. My conscience demands I speak with the king about his continued oppression of the Covenanters. If I fail to do so and he continues lighting fuses, the powder keg will surely blow—with disastrous consequences for all of us.”
His steady gaze told her arguing was pointless. Clearly, his mind was made up on the matter. “Cannot you take me with you?”
“Much as I want you with me, doing so is out of the question. The road to London is fraught with peril. I refuse to risk your life along with my own.”
She knew the dangers, but could not bear the thought of spending an endless string of weeks missing him whilst fretting for his safety. She fell to her knees beside his chair, grasped his hand, and gazed up at him through the blur of tears. “I would much rather die beside you than live on as your widow.”
He gave her a small smile and stroked her hair. “While it gladdens me to know I shall be deeply mourned, I remain unswayed.”
The weight of resignation pressed down upon her chest. “When shall you depart?”
“As soon as I can make the necessary arrangements.”
She set her head in his lap and struggled within herself. If they must part for a time, let it be on the best of terms. Still, she could not simply ignore the thorns of resentment still jabbing her heart. In his absence, those barbs would grow as she imagined all he might get up to at court. How would she ever trust him to stay true to her?
Lifting her head, she looked up at him and sniffed back her tears. “Promise me you will be faithful.”
“I promise.” He brushed the moisture from her cheeks with his fingers. “I only wish I could find a way to restore your faith in me before I go.”
She wished the same and, as she knelt there gazing into his eyes, an idea came to her—an idea that would even the score and facilitate her forgiveness. “There might be a way,” she said with a small smile. “What if you were to observe me as I observed you?”
“Observe you? With another, do you mean?”
She returned his questioning gaze with a determined one. “That is precisely what I have in mind.”
“And may I ask who you have in mind for a partner?”
“Juliette, of course. Since, as you say, two women cannot truly have sex, I would be breaking no vow. Is that not correct?”
“You never cease to surprise me, Maggie. I never would have expected you to propose such a thing.”
“You do not favor the idea?”
He grinned and cupped her cheek. “On the contrary. Show me a man who claims not to have fantasized about watching two beautiful women pleasuring one another and I will show you a liar.”
Her heart took wing. She wanted to forgive him and evening the score seemed as good a way to achieve the goal as any she could come up with. Her scheme also seemed a good way to advance her erotic education.
She looked up at him from underneath her lashes. “So, you agree to my plan?”
“I do, assuming you can pull it off in time.”
“Let that be my worry.” Excitement threaded through her. “If I am not mistaken in Juliette, her vanity will work in my favor.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?
“We look alike, do we not? And what creature as vain as the marchioness is proving to be could resist the opportunity to make love to her own reflection?”
Chapter Six
Maggie had as little trouble seducing her Juliette as Shakespeare’s tragic hero had wooing his. Clearly, her sister-in-law was up for it. Now, but two days after proposing the assignation, Maggie stood outside the marchioness’ bedchamber at the appointed hour, pulse racing, knees ready to buckle, fist poised to announce her arrival. To spare herself the chore of undressing, she’d come clad only her best shift and favorite dressing gown. The pale blue silk one that matched her eyes.
And Juliette’s.
What would come from this night? Regret or expanded horizons?
Robert was already concealed within the priest hole. Though he professed to feel no jealousy over what was about to transpire, she could not accept his denials at face value. When their situations were reversed, her heart had been as inflamed with outrage as her loins had been with desire. Still, she must allow that men were very different creatures from women—creatures who more often than not allowed the head betwixt their legs to dictate their actions and feelings.
How anyone, especially God, could deem such pitiful beings superior to her sex remained one of the greatest mysteries of life.
After drawing a deep breath to bolster her courage, she knocked upon the door.
“Entre,” Juliette called from inside.
Maggie swallowed hard as, with a trembling hand, she seized the knob and turned. The hinges squealed softly as the door swung open. Heart in throat, regret gnawing at her conscience, she stepped into the room.
The marchioness, to her surprise, was already beneath the covers. Good. The sooner they got this over and
done with, the better. For reasons she could not fathom, this felt wrong. Even with her husband’s approval and participation.
As Maggie approached the bed, she glanced toward the peephole. On this side of the wall, it looked out through the eye of a portrait of a lady in the garb of the previous century.
Was he there watching?
Juliette held out her arms in welcome. “Viens, duchesse. Je ne vais pas te mordre.”
What had she said? Nothing of consequence, Maggie would be willing to wager. Because Juliette had little English and she little French, no conversation or direction would be possible. Would the language barrier make what passed between them easier or more difficult? Chewing on the question, Maggie crossed to the bed and set upon the edge beside her would-be lover.
Juliette touched her cheek and fingered her curls with an expression of awe. “Quand je te regarde, c’est comme si je me regardais dans une glace.”
Though Maggie could not understand a single word, she deduced from Juliette’s expression of awe that the marchioness had remarked upon the similarity in their appearances. She, too, found the likeness remarkable. As Robert must also.
She resisted the urge to look towards the portrait. She must do her best to forget he was there lest she grow self-conscious and lose her nerve. Yes, she was anxious, but she still wanted to go through with the tryst, still wanted the experience of bedding a member of her own gender, and still wanted a reason to forgive her husband before he awayed to London.
Juliette must have sensed her reluctance because she took the initiative. Slipping her hands inside Maggie’s blue-silk robe, she fondled her breasts through the thin linen of her shift. Maggie’s nipples, which seemed more sensitive than usual, instantly hardened under the marchioness’s ardent efforts. The resulting onslaught of pleasure emboldened Maggie enough to reciprocate.
Drawing back the bedclothes, she exposed Juliette’s small breasts to her view before bending to take the nipple of the nearest betwixt her lips. Thrills pulsed through Maggie’s bloodstream as she suckled and nibbled the tender pink flesh in accordance with the Golden Rule.