Clean Regency Romance: The Earl's Temptation (The Pure Heart Triumphs Series Book 1)

by Pearl Goodfellow

  “Of course, of course,” agreed Saffron’s father too quickly, “I must apologize for Saffron’s juvenile behavior. She is not normally like this. I take my oath on that. Please, do come in. Rosita will show you to your room. I take it that your luggage will arrive shortly?”

  A curt nod from Biscayne confirmed the question, and he stepped across the threshold into a 30 foot ceilinged foyer tiled in white and maroon veined marble. Large, ornately gilded oil paintings, some by the masters of yesteryear, and family portraits hung on the cream colored walls. Francois recognized and noted a Van Gogh and Rousseau. Settees and divans in tasteful, neutral hues strategically dotted the large foyer, with mahogany tables of varying sizes, heights, and shapes for those coming to or leaving one of the famous parties thrown by the wealthy Mountbattens. He nodded his approval as he gazed down the 100 foot hallway that went all the way to the back of the humongous abode. He could see a sparkling pool surrounded by manicured green lawn and shrubbery through the bank of French doors and nodded again. He was not easily impressed, but he admitted to himself that this was true splendor on a grand scale.

  Although Biscayne was from a lower class, he was one of the few who had worked his way up the ladder of success. His skills were in high demand and he was well paid for his services as a tutor to rich Deb wannabes, molding young girls into Debutantes who would be selected for the Haute Societe. Every single one had been selected to participate in the Haute Societe ball. He coached them on how to stand, talk, move, act, and yes, seduce the coveted but crude Bloods that came to ravish and impregnate Earth’s last hopes. Biscayne would live in the Mountbatten residence until Saffron, at age 19, was selected to attend the ball at the Palace de Versailles. Francois would be the young Deb’s instructor, disciplinarian, coach, and confidante for the next nine years. Laughter indeed! The young girl before him would become a “capable” woman under his tutelage and guidance, and she would learn to respect the minute, green eyed man.

  The first two years, age 10 to 12, were spent preparing Saffron to enter into the trials and tribulations of waiting around at the Fecund Clinic. These first visits to the clinic were crushingly boring to a child, so Biscayne had to play the part of entertainer. The visits were also initially frightening, so alien were they to a 10 year old child, that Francois had to calm the excitable Saffron, so that tests could be conducted efficiently.

  Saffron was taught how to exercise, what activities she could and could not participate in, and what and how much to eat. Debs in training were wooed by the various talk shows that, like cockroaches, had survived W.W.V and still aired regularly. Reality TV had it’s beginnings in the old world, but it positively flourished in the new world. Public appearances and interviews to talk about Bloods and their odd, often vulgar behavior were commonplace, and the public ate it all up. In short, from age 12 on, a Deb in training was under a media and global governmental microscope. Every aspect of progress monitored and aired to the salivating masses. The Terran V-screens were kitted out with deflection hardware, however, so Mars' satellites couldn't penetrate the network's defenses. The identities of the growing Deb's were still unknown to the Blood Empire's inhabitants.

  Saffron fought the new restrictions for the first few weeks, but Biscayne was as talented a manipulator as he was an instructor. Getting students to do what they don’t want to and getting them to like it is an art and an HS instructor’s best trick, next to classroom management. A good teacher is also a psychologist who learns and truly comprehends the body language, macro and micro facial expressions, and what tone and timbre of voice means. Francois had fine tuned and used all of these attributes. He never raised his voice and his “projects” soon forgot about his diminished height and comical appearance: they were mesmerized by the focused, magnified green orbs which seemed to look into one’s very soul and discern every weakness and strength. There were many who took on the responsibility of turning young, fertile, and rich little girls into Debutantes worthy of the Haute Societe ball and subsequent impregnation, but Francois Biscayne was the best of the best, and everyone on Earth knew it. He had trained the best over the years. The most successful Deb's were all found to be under his tutelage. Maddie Pallister, the most famous Deb there was, was his finest accomplishment, and most prestigious addition to his resume. Maddie was long since missing in action. Word had it that she had gone quite mad, and was living in obscure poverty somewhere in the hinterlands of the Asian Consortium. Apparently, she had made a raving public appearance on the V-screen, denouncing the HS Ball and the Fabulous Five Hundred. Her hacked transmission was brought swiftly to an end by the network bots, however, and the fascinated public soon forgot her wild eyed stare, and disheveled appearance quickly.

  Two years passed quickly, and at age 12, Saffron Mountbatten was presented to the Fecund Clinic for her first real anatomical evaluation. As she walked; no strutted, through the double, opaque glass doors of the clinic, wearing a pink chiffon dress, white patent leather belt tied at the back with a silk bow, just so, the receptionist guessed right away that this Deb was a product of the great Francois Biscaynes’ handiwork. Saffron carried herself, not as a diminutive, frightened girl, but as young lady of impeccable breeding. Her low heeled, white shoes matched the belt, and click-clacked with confidence as she approached the reception desk. The woman behind the island noted Saffron’s pink satin clad legs and mauve hair ribbon, but also her air of arrogant entitlement, and nodded her approval. Yes, this was definitely Biscayne’s work.

  Saffron sashayed up to the desk and announced her arrival, projecting a confidence she did not feel in the least. Inside, she fought the urge to turn tail and run from the facility. Now she understood the unlady-like term “scared shitless”, but her face was an impassive mask like the one she would wear in the not-so-distant future. Biting back the bile rising in her throat and plastering a wide smile on her face, Saffron spoke in a clear, concise voice just short of terse, “Saffron Mountbatten to see Doctor Saymen. I have an eight o’clock appointment.”

  The maturity projected by Saffron hid her inner turmoil, trepidation, and fear. The receptionist did not get a chance to ask the young Debutante to have a seat in the well appointed waiting room, as Dr. Saymen appeared, as if by magic, and ushered Saffron through another door. Saymen was slight of build, but wiry in an energetic way, and his soft voice made one strain to hear what he said at times. He did this on purpose to make others listen to his words of wisdom and calm them at the same time. Biscayne timed his own entrance to coincide with Saffron’s departure into the inner sanctum of the Clinic. Without a word or even a glance toward the secretary at the reception island, he sat primly on an overstuffed cushion at one end of a posh sofa and crossed one leg over the other. His demeanor and posture did not invite conversation and the receptionist wisely busied herself with superfluous duties, whilst steadfastly avoiding eye contact. The matronly woman was secretly in love with Francois for reasons she could not fathom, as she had spoken to him only twice in all the years he had brought his protégés to the Clinic. She did not realize that Biscayne, perfidious and unreadable as he was, loved her too, but was painfully shy and for all his talents, could not approach the woman behind the desk. He knew he would die of embarrassment and his otherwise clever banter would completely fail him. It was true love for both of them, from a heart wrenching distance.

  Saffron was ushered into a white sterile room by a nurse and told to undress and don a thick, soft terrycloth robe. A screen gave her some measure of privacy, but she trembled in the cool, sterile room. Francois had told her what to expect so many times that she knew there would be no surprises, but the reality was daunting. He had told her this too. The robe was a smidge too big and it gave Saffron some much needed reassurance: “I can hide in here!” she thought, and then admonished herself for the foolish musing. The nurse waited patiently for the youngster. She was used to first timers. They took their time, probably afraid in the new environment. Nurse Pregollotti knew that within a few months
the child would move quickly to get through the process as it became “just a part of life”.

  Looking at the stainless steel table, a cushion resting atop, and a silk coverlet wrapping the pad, Saffron began to shake. It was not the table per se, but the gleaming metal stirrups affixed to each corner at the foot. Nurse Pregollotti did not give Saffron long to contemplate and easily hoisted her up and onto the table.

  “Now dear, there’s nothing to be worried about. All Debs go through this. The first time is the worst because you haven’t done it before. It’s a little cold, the speculum, but it’s over in a few seconds and voila, we’re talking about diet and exercise and menses and such. You’ll be fine. You are a Mountbatten, are you not?’

  Saffron mutely nodded, her big, blue eyes in wide eyed focus, and remembered that many people were counting on her, even Earth itself. As her father, mother, and Monsieur Biscayne reiterated at every opportunity. The nurse told her the doctor would be in to see her momentarily and that she would stay put as required by clinic regulations. Pregollotti even told Saffron that she would hold her hand if she needed, but the young Deb declined the offer. ‘This one is the real deal,” thought Pregollotti with a knowing, reassuring grin. The nurse went on to inform her charge that Dr. Saymen was the best doctor at the Clinic, “the world, really”, and that she was in great hands. A second later, Saymen swept into the room with white laboratory jacket flowing out behind and asked if Saffron was ready to enter adulthood.

  “The first test I administer is the most important, the INtact exam, as it determines whether we will move forward to the ultimate goal; the Haute Societe ball where you will make your family proud and help to save Earth.” Saymen’s quietly spoken words carried the intensity of his message and emboldened Saffron. until the cold instrument touched her now lightly tufted vagina, that is.

  “Oh, oh, ooh,” was all she managed as the tool spread her labia. Dr. Saymen smiled and told her that though the speculum was “a tad chilly”, his finger would be warm and she would feel no pain as he checked to ensure the hymen was intact. The Martians demanded virgins for their orgiastic trysts following the ball.

  “Have you experienced the onset of menstruation yet?”

  “Two months ago, Doctor.”

  “Very good, and your hymen is in perfect shape. Any problems with the menstruation process? No? Excellent! You are using pads? No tampons! Good, good. The next time you ovulate, I want you to bring a sample for testing. We want to make sure your protein levels are where they should be and rule out any anemia problems before they start. Saffron, you’re in great shape! I applaud how you are taking care of yourself. Now, let us get you to sonogram to look at the rest of your reproductive system.”

  Saymen’s soft voice and expert manner reassured Saffron such that she forgot her apprehension and was surprised when the semi-invasive procedure was finished. The rest of the testing revealed the Debutante in training’s reproductive system was in pristine shape. Saffron was surprised that four hours had elapsed when she was informed that she was done for the day. An appointment for the next month, and every month until a Deb strode the Strutway would be the standard by which Saffron lived for the next seven years. Each month, the INtact exam was administered to ensure that the hymen was not torn or damaged in any way. Nurses even taught the young girls/women how to masturbate without endangering the precious, membranous shield. Discovering her clitoris surely alleviated some of the tension from the high expectations, but it seemed like something was missing. It was all so cold, so clinical. Where was the emotion? The joy of sweet shared release? Questions only brought vague answers and evasion, so Saffron learned not to ask.

  Chapter 9

  The years of lost childhood faded into the mists of time in the blink of an eye. A Debutante’s schedule, comprised of activities geared to the ultimate purpose, and were ongoing from waking until falling exhausted into bed. Saffron wondered if the other Debs had the same fitful dreams. One recurring nightmare that plagued her was trying to find something, someone that was just out of reach. She could never see the person’s face, it was a man she was sure, but he remained elusive. She ached to know the man, talk to him, and would often awake in a cold sweat between the silk sheets of her four poster, canopied bed, the wanting of something unknown still churning in her taut gut as her breathing came in staccato gasps. Classes taught by Biscayne, as well as outside instruction from the Clinic were all based on attracting the alpha male from the distant red planet. The present leader of the Blood Empire, Tiberius Koln, was sought by every Terran family to impregnate their daughters: they all knew his name. He was what many considered the Master Seeder, and the Debs were taught foremost to seduce the Blood sitting in the First Chair at any cost, as long as no rules of interaction were overtly broken. Saffron became obsessed with Koln, watching as many interviews on the V-screen as Biscayne would allow, and reading his numerous biographies of his life on the alien planet. She learned about his rise to leader of the red orb, how his clan: The First bloods had held power for generations. His prowess of hyper cycling in his earlier years, and of TK’s victory over the scorp’s inhabiting the barren planet. Saffron watched as Koln’s inscrutable features, belied the horrors and harsh life he endured on the rock. He was rugged, and strong looking. Not your typical manicured kind of handsome that the Terran males possessed. But more of a worldly, seen-it-all attractiveness, that spoke to something deep in Saffron’s core. He seemed familiar somehow. A just-out-of-reach recognition burned in her heart, whenever she saw Koln’s face gracing the latest digital edition of Deb-World. She tried to ignore the stirring feeling inside her. The First Blood was obviously a brute. An ill-mannered, arrogant ass, with a blown up ‘bad-boy’ attitude. And, yet, she longed to be noticed by him. She daydreamed incessantly of their coming together; of him noticing her, and taking her hand to guide her to a private chamber, and of him tenderly making love to her; not merely to seed her, but to have her for heartfelt reasons. Fully and completely. She grew up with these torrid daydreams, and they never diminished in intensity.

  Chapter 10

  A growing unease infiltrated Saffron’s psyche as the Haute Societe ball neared, now only months away, but she hid it well as she had been trained to do. A competent young woman now, she practiced strolling the Strutway with the other Debs from her country, United France. “And sashay, step, two, three, four…and stop...stalker pose, hold it…and swing those hips ladies, give the boys a looksee at what they came for…c’mon now, thrust out your chest…smile, smile…provocative now, come hither, bedroom eyes…hand on hip, and…” and so on. Saffron stopped to pose, looking over one shoulder, catching Biscayne’s appraising catlike green eyes, and she pursed her lips (as she’d been taught) and gave him a seductive wink. He gave her a faint smirk in return, one of his signs of approval. Saffron knew she was the favorite, the one Debutante everyone tried to emulate, but they did not have her natural beauty or apparent ease of poise under pressure. And was she good enough for Tiberius to notice, she wondered? The media never once mentioned whether TK had a ‘type’. He remained impassive to this line of questioning. Although rumors about him liking tall women were rife. Saffron felt more than a little dispirited at this news, as she herself was a petite 5 foot 3 inches. Oh, what was the use thinking like this anyway.

  Safrron’s mind took in the angles. She knew her longing for the Alpha’s attention was folly, as union with the Martian males was expressly forbidden. What use were beauty, and a cool, confident exterior, if those very attributes were to be left behind on Earth when the Blood’s departed anyway? Saffron knew, in her heart, that she would one day -- and soon -- be wed to an unexciting, privileged Terran male, who befitted her own social status. Her heart was way too heavy for a nineteen year old who had her whole life in front of her.

  The other women were hotties to be sure, however, they lacked the je ne sais quoi, that extra something innate to Saffron. Francois had told her time and again that she was special, that a Deb lik
e her only came along every three or four generations, but she thought he was “blowing smoke” to keep her motivated and confident. He had always applauded her aloof, polished composure. Not to mention her stunning beauty. Saffron was exceptionally beautiful. Jet black hair, pale grey eyes, skin like creamy alabaster. The more she was exposed to the other women hoping to be chosen and inseminated by the Master Seeder, Tiberius Koln, the more she understood that her tutor was correct in his evaluation of her talent. But had the years of training been worth the cost? Why did she have doubts about her success in the whole practice of Haute Societe?

  One day, four weeks before the grand event, Father and Mother took Saffron to Paris for a day of shopping on the Champs Elysees. Colorful boutiques, cafes, and garish hotels blended with the rich aromas of bakeries and restaurants, and the common folk who seemed to move around in a swirling din of splendid sound. They sat at a chic café, Chez Charles, sipping espresso from tiny demitasse cups, when Saffron noticed a young couple about her own age. She would be 19 the next week. They walked hand in hand, heads close together in a tête-à-tête, as if nothing in the chaotic surroundings could touch their world as a couple. The man, his long brown hair hanging to the side as he dipped his head closer to the woman, whispered something to her which made her throw her head back and laugh, her laughter being swallowed up by the noise of the street. They slipped their arms about each other’s waists and continued on, disappearing into the crowds. Saffron caught glimpses now and then of the red beret perched at a jaunty angle atop the woman’s ash blond hair but they were soon completely lost to sight.

  Saffron strained to espy the pair again, but to no avail. She felt the familiar ache of something lost. Something that she had never had in the first place, as in her recurring dreams of the mystery man. Father asked Saffron what was troubling her, a rare occurrence that he would even notice, and she lied, telling him she was tired from the arduous day. Mother watched her daughter from the corner of her eye, betraying nothing, but a knowing expression crept onto her face as she turned to Saffron.