by Lacy Danes
“Surely, Sibila.” Emily stepped to the side and glanced at each of the men in the dining hall as she took Sibila’s place. Had she referred to Adam with that mumbled comment about her heart? Maybe she and Adam were more than simply friends who futtered. Or had she made that remark about one of the men in the hall? They were all handsome in their own way, but all an impossible match for a maid. Poor thing indeed if she longed for more from one of them, for this house was far from a fairytale or a magical den where a prince would come to sweep her off her feet no matter the social implications.
“So who shall be your first, dear Emily?” Sibila’s blue eyes glinted as she questioned her. “You should give the eldest son, Christon, a thought. He is gentle and wicked. It is why I asked you to trade places. So you can serve him.”
Emily glanced down the row of servants. Adam stood two people away, his red hair glittering with golden highlights in the candle glow. His gaze settled on Emily with a fire burning deep in his eyes.
Her knees weakened and her throat tightened. He was a lion. A lion that wanted to slowly lick her with his big, prickly tongue. The hairs on her arm stood, and the flesh he had so thoroughly enlivened tingled. In a single line, they followed Mr. Waterton into the dining hall.
“This is a special treat that we like to share with those who are close friends.” The eldest son’s deep voice pulled her attention to the table before her.
Each servant stepped forward and stood behind one of the chairs. Sibila stood to her right and behind the son whose sheets she had soiled. To Emily’s left, Adam stood behind the dark-haired devil woman with the fuzzy bunny name.
His heat unwantedly reached out for her, surrounding her in comfort and unease. Her stomach flipped. It was as if he touched her, though he was an elbow’s length away.
Emily stared at the crisp, stiff collar of the eldest son before her. She closed her eyes.
The eldest son reached up and rang a small dinner bell. On that signal, each of the servants raised a long thin slip of cloth up and over each of the diners’ heads and slid it across their eyes. Emily’s hands trembled as she did the same. Wrapping the cloth about Christon’s eyes, she slid the cloth above his ears and then tied it behind his head, trying not to catch his perfectly placed coal black hair.
“Now we are all at the will of our senses and our cocks. If you have one.” Christon’s deep, commanding voice echoed in the room. “The servants behind you are here to serve you. Take liberties as they feed you. We all do.”
Emily leaned around and grasped a small piece of the sugar cake. “Open your mouth please, sir.”
He opened it. She brought the cake up to his mouth and he closed his lips just as it touched them. The cake smeared against his closed mouth.
She pulled the cake back. Why had he done that? “Pardon, sir.”
“Lean in farther and press your breast against my neck. Clean my lips with your tongue.”
Oh dear Lord. Her stomach tightened. So it began. Emily glanced at Sibila as Sibila rubbed her breasts against the middle son Albert’s back and with her free hand gently caressed his cheek and chin.
Adam’s foot brushed against her skirts, and she gazed at him, catching his eye. His lips curved up, and he leaned in and gently took a spoonful of ice and touched Miss Button’s pouty lower lip. She opened and stuck out her tongue.
“Are you listening, girl?” the deep voice called from in front of her.
Emily jumped and turned her attention to the son before her. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand me?” His tone was harsh and commanding.
“Yes, sir.”
Placing her small bosom up on the chair’s edge as Sibila had done, she leaned in—her heart pounded so loud in her ears she could hear nothing else—and gently cleaned his lips with her tongue. That was not so bad, and the sweet cake was delicious.
He slid his tongue out and wrapped his about hers, pulling a small crumb into his mouth. Startled, she jerked back. She had not expected that, though she supposed she should have. She inhaled a deep breath and raised the glass of wine. There was a tug at her skirts, and the man before her slowly gathered the fabric of her skirt. Slipping his hand below the hem, he trailed his fingers along her calf. She jumped.
“You are skittish, aren’t you? Such a treat.” He moved his hand back and forth, caressing her stockinged leg. “Wine, please, and use your mouth.”
Use her mouth? She once again glanced to Adam, who now caressed Miss Button’s shoulder lightly as he dipped his finger into the glass of Madeira and raised it to her lips.
Emily continued to bring the glass up to the eldest son’s lips, and at the same time she trailed the fingers of her opposite hand along his chin to tilt his head back.
Adam bent his knee and pushed harder into her skirts, finding purchase on her thigh. At that same moment, Sibila’s elbow gently brushed her upper arm, bumping her and tipping the glass she held. The ruby red liquid traveled up the side of the glass to the rim, spilling a droplet down the outside edge. She would end up dismissed if she spilled the wine, or it would end up being removed from her pay. She glanced first to Sibila. Why had she done that? Sibila’s fingers trailed down the jacket of the man before her to the flap of his trousers as if she had done nothing. Emily then glanced to Adam, who glared at Sibila as if she had committed something far worse than sin. Emily frowned.
“New girl.” The eldest son before her shifted in his seat. “Either there is something of some scandal going on and you are watching, or you have decided this is not a post for you.”
Emily jumped. Don’t lose your post here! Be bold. Adam is watching you. She brought the glass to her lips, sucked in a generous swallow of the spicy wine and placed her lips to Christon’s plush, masculine ones. She imagined she kissed Adam. He parted his lips and she slowly, playfully, drizzled the wine onto his tongue.
He swallowed and swallowed.
When her mouth was empty, she licked his lips, wishing it had been Adam. She wanted to kiss him again to show him how much she appreciated his protection.
“What a treat indeed. Better than a tongue and naughty.” His finger traveled up her thigh while at the same time he reached out his other hand for Sibila’s skirts.
Emily lowered the glass back to the table and smiled. She could do this. Her breath heaved. It was odd to serve in this manner, but her only other option was to leave. She didn’t want to do that yet—
“Ummm.” His tongue slid out and glided along his top lip as if searching for more. “You are a taunt.”
She hesitated as the tip of his fingers puckered the cotton at the slit of her knickers.
He leaned to his right, reaching out. He grasped and lifted Sibila’s skirts. His hand greedily searched for her mound.
Sibila pulled away from him and continued to feed the son before her. The eldest son pushed to his feet, knocking Emily back. She caught her balance and stared at him as in a quick motion he grabbed Sibila about the hips. He spun her to the table and yanked up her skirts. Sibila was silent. He hastily undid his trousers and pushed her legs apart. His manhood stood straight out from him. “Don’t you ever pull away from me. Do you understand?”
Sibila continued to stare at him without saying a word.
He thrust his cock into her opening, rattling the dishes on the table. Sibila gasped and bit her lower lip as if enjoying and fighting the pleasure. He thrust again and again.
Lord Gregor reached up and pulled off his eye cloth. “Well done, lad.” He then pulled the blonde servant who served him into his lap and grasped her breast. Emily stood frozen, her gaze jumping from one person to the next.
“You indecent excuse…” Miss Button’s voice screeched from besides Emily. A glass clattered to the floor.
Adam jumped back and to the side, away from Miss Button’s chair. “Pardon, ma’am. I thought that would please you.”
“Well it did not!” Miss Button pushed to her feet, ripped the cloth from her eyes. Her eyes widened and
she stared directly at Christon, his hips continuing to flex and relax as he futtered Sibila on the table they had just eaten upon. “This family…and this house…” She darted past the row of chairs as if leaving the pits of hell and bustled out of the room.
“I guess she really doesn’t like cock after all,” Lord Gregor’s tone humored from down the table.
Adam stood staring at Miss Button’s empty chair as if in shock. He reached out and grasped the glass from the floor, then picked up the remainder of the dessert plates, placing each one on the tray. Not saying a word, he headed back to the small servants’ room off the dining hall.
What had happened? Was Adam well?
“This should stop, Christon,” the middle son’s harsh voice scolded from beside her. His chocolate-colored eyes grew small and beady with disgust.
“No. It should not, Albert.” Christon didn’t bother to take his blindfold off or even turn his head in his brother’s direction. He grasped at Sibila’s breast and, with his other hand, reached out and back toward Emily. Instinctively, Emily jumped back a step, out of his reach. Then she closed her eyes. She should not have done that. She opened her eyes to see if anyone watched her. No one did. Her shoulders relaxed.
Albert pushed back his chair and stood. “Well, I will have no part of you ruining a decent woman’s mind.”
“Carry on.” Christon’s hand rose into the air and he dismissed his brother with a single flip of his fingers.
Emily slowly scooted to the side, gathered up the remaining dessert items from Albert’s placing and headed back into the servant’s room as quickly as possible. The room was empty. Where had Adam gone? And what had he done that had so upset Miss Button? She quietly scraped the remaining dessert off the plates and then stacked them to carry down to the kitchen.
Chapter Six
Adam sat at the large servants’ table. Several other servants sat eating and drinking in groups about the long table. He lifted his third glass of red wine to his lips. Serving dinner had not gone well. He normally enjoyed the above-stairs games, but tonight had been stressful and distracting, not to mention vexing. He swished the wine around in his mouth and swallowed, not tasting the fruity essence.
Miss Grey’s frown while serving dinner and the dulling of her eyes spoke of challenge and disappointment. He would not change his interference, both with her post and with her task at the table, but he wished she understood his intentions were pure.
Or did that matter?
She seemed set on staying…for the moment. He had given her the time to see what she needed. Then one of the master’s sons would take her after those days were up, and his intentions would be useless. No matter the outcome, she would not thank him. She saw his gesture as interference, that much he knew.
Miss Grey entered the room, casting sunshine on his wine-fogged mind. Her hazel gaze, as splendid as a drop of dew on the morning grass, moved with purpose down the left side of the table, then the right. She settled on him staring at her in fascination. Damn, he’d had too much wine. He smiled at her as his heart thumped beneath his breastbone. He liked her. Worse, he feared for her happiness. He would have to explain his failure in the dining hall to her. Miss Button was filled with contradictions. He sighed. Explaining that was not something he wished to do.
The empty seat next to him was the only one at the table. She walked down the right side of the table between the chairs and the stone kitchen wall. She stopped next to him. He did not raise his gaze to her, but concentrated on the glass of wine in his hand.
The air about him smelled of sweet roses. He wanted to inhale again and again, until his nose brushed the soft petals of her skin. His stomach sank, and he closed his eyes, holding in a sigh. Where had such a thought come from? There was nothing more than protection guiding his attention to her. Her good smell was simply a welcome addition.
He opened his eyes as the chair next to him dragged a dotted heartbeat on the floor. Simply ask her how her first day weighed on her. Nothing more is necessary. You know that. You certainly don’t need to explain your actions to her.
Her lips were thin and as dreary as a dead twig on the forest floor. She sat, and her skirts brushed his legs in pin-picks of awareness. His throat tightened and he cleared it.
“How are you, Miss Grey?”
She stared at him. “Adam.” She lowered her gaze as if she had something uncomfortable to say. “I-I need to apologize…” her eyes met his again, “…for my rude behavior in the stairway and at serving. You did what you did out of kindness, not out of anything more sinister, and I let my vexation with myself out at you.”
Adam tilted his head and regarded her as she continued to stare at him as if a expecting a meaningful reply. One that, if he was not floating in a haze of wine, he would probably have for her.
“Thank you.” So, he expressed his thanks to her for being kind in the face of such emotional upheaval? He ran his hand through his hair, and the room spun lightly. The wine and the day had truly gone to his head.
He placed the glass back firmly on the table and released the spirit to the rest in the room for their enjoyment.
Her small hand reached out and touched his wrist. “What happened to your hands?” Her soft and soothing tone lapped against his skin as her fingertip trailed up his rough skin to the red welts and bruises on his knuckles.
“The cane,” he said flatly while nodding.
“Cane?” Her eyes widened with understanding. She picked up his hand and gently flipped it to show his palms. The bright red welts cut across the center as if they were his own palm lines.
Her pearl-white teeth snagged the plush contour of her rose-colored lower lip. “Oh Adam.” Her fingers gently traced the line and then began to rub the uninjured flesh of his palm. Pain mixed with pleasure rippled up his arm, and he did not know whether to shudder or sigh in relief.
Her small, lily-colored fingers continued to calmly draw small circles all around his hands, drawing the ache from a hard day’s work and the pain from the cane out to the tips. With a pinch of her fingers, the strain released into the air that tightened between them. His muscles relaxed and the fine hairs on his neck rose as awareness of her grew.
“No one has ever done this for me.” With that one sentence, the deep meaning of the words collided in him. He adored her gentle nature mixed with her spirited streak. “You remind me of my mother.” In all the best ways.
She tilted her head up and smiled at him, pleasure showing on her round face. A deep contentment bloomed in his chest as he watched her expression change to one of enjoyment. Her strength showed in this moment. In her sure and untainted caring for others’ pleasure. Did she even know it?
A laugh across the table pulled his attention to Miss Wicking feeding the gamesman Goodchild cheese from between her breasts. He stared back at Miss Grey’s delicate hands rubbing his churlish palm so tenderly. This house would ruin her by taking and never giving back.
“Why are you still here?”
“I have no other post, Adam. It is either this post and a chance at a reference, or becoming one of London’s vast unfortunate pinch-bricks.”
Was this post better? He slid out his tongue and wet his lower lip. He could give back to her in a way Portage Place never could. He typically didn’t withhold pleasure from his diddles, but he could make it explicit with her.
He would protect her and give her pleasure.
The air about them swirled with the scent of sweat, arousal and lavender. He turned his head. Sibila stood behind them. He nodded slightly to her as his jaw tensed. What she did at dinner would have cost Miss Grey a lashing if she had spilled the glass of wine. He would have words with Sibila for her behavior tonight. Miss Grey glanced at Sibila and smiled a welcoming smile. He would not allow anyone to know his new course with Miss Grey. Sibila would snip Miss Grey’s emotions in two if he openly showed Miss Grey preference.
Sibila pulled out the chair across from them and sat facing them. She grasped his cup of
wine and raised it into the air. She called loudly, “To Emily. For surviving her first day in sin.”
“Here! Here!” Everyone in the room cheered, shattering the calm moment they had shared, and raised their glasses.
Miss Grey smiled shyly and slowly released his hand, her touch retreating to her lap beneath the table’s edge. The contentment of her touch wrenched away from him.
That damn word, sin.
Damn Sibila for the games she played. He would not play her game this night. She would find her entertainment elsewhere and not at Miss Grey’s expense.
He reached for Miss Grey’s hand like a puppy deprived, searching for his scratch under the table’s edge. His fingers glided over the soft material of her skirts to her arm and her hand lying like a cup waiting for him to fill.
He lazily dipped his fingers down the curved handle of her thumb and into the creased bowl of her palm. Slowly, he drew small, intimate circles on the skin.
She trembled, and he imagined seeing the ripples pooling sin in the teacup of her hand. His gaze stayed steady on her face, blocking out the sounds of the others and of Sibila, who no doubt focused on them.
The soft, creamy skin of Miss Grey’s cheek tipped in a rose flush from arousal. Her eyes met his, and her desire burrowed inside his skin. He squirmed, her need wrapping about him. The fear of his touch no longer glared back at him. Lust and true want of him—of his touch—was all that resided in her eyes.
The expression alone satisfied his longing desires. He had not seen that heartfelt look on a woman’s face since before he arrived at Portage Place. He would not let this moment pass untutored.
“Emily—” He paused. Adam slowly gathered up the velvet material of her skirt and petticoat. He wanted to touch the soft folds of her glistening wet cunt and make her shudder again and again as she deserved. “Pull up your skirts and expose your curls for me.”
His throat spasmed. He wanted his cock buried deep in the slick walls of her virgin cunt. He needed to be the one she chose. It could be no other. His brows pulled tight, and an unfamiliar emotion fluttered his gut. His mouth dried as the fear of what that meant crawled up his spine. He wanted more than to simply protect her. He could not deny that.