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

by Pearl Goodfellow

  The spaceship dropped from the azure sky, the hull a glowing, heated orange against the otherwise gleaming, titanium craft, and vectored toward the Palace de Versailles as per the instructions relayed by the Terrans. The captain, Smokey ‘Sunshine’ Kargon, a burly bearded man of indeterminate age, winked at Tiberius ,who gave him a nod of approval. It was something they had done on all five visits to Earth. Breaking off from the instructions provided by the Terrans and flying low at mach four, the XXX-1369 buzzed down to the Palace de Versailles grounds. The sonic booms echoing off the walls of the grand structure, elicited a round of cheers from the Martians, as they pictured the palace’s flustered, angry flight control operator. Kargon put the conversation on speaker for all in the ship to hear, as was custom.

  “XXX-1369, this is Terran Control. Be advised, you are on vector 223. Come to 332 and reduce speed to 250 clicks, over.”

  “Roger that, Control. Coming to vector 336 and reducing speed to 2,800 clicks, over,” Smokey replied, an ear to ear smile, showing his stained teeth, separated his fuzzy brown beard from his overgrown mustache.

  “Negative, negative, TripleX-1369. Vector to 332, repeat, 332. Slow to 250 clicks, repeat, two-five-zero clicks! Over!” The frustration and panic in the flight controller’s voice carried over the audio system..

  Tiberius knew Sunshine was trying not to laugh, and was fighting hard to control his own mirth. Some of the men were already laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces. This was new to them and they enjoyed hearing the Earthman squirm. Only TK and Sunshine himself, were veterans of the trip to Earth. Blood law stipulated that different men be brought each time to the Haute Societe to ensure diversity in the gene pool, or at least that is what they told the Terrans. The truth is that it was a matter of fairness and everyone should have a chance to fuck the brains out of a virgin Terran female. A lottery was held on Mars, for each mating trip ,with previous breeders excluded, save for the leader. The pilot of the craft would be forbidden to even leave the ship; this would be breaking Terran law, but Smokey did not care. He was a rarity on Mars at 63, and was far past caring about sex. In Earth years, he was 113.

  Keeping his voice calm, Kargon replied, “Roger, roger, Victor, I read your vector. Coming to three-five-six and reducing to 2,900 clicks.” He cut off transmission for a few seconds and turned to Tiberius. “By Jupiter, boss, but this is the most fun I’ve had since…last time! These fuckin’ baboons never learn.”

  The controller was screeching in a high pitched wail when Kargon keyed his communication earbud. “No, no, no, negative, negative, 1369! Damn it! If you keep going, you’re going to crash into the Palace de Versailles! Come to vector 332, that is three-three-two. Now! Repeat, you will cra--.”

  The explosion of sound was like a howitzer exploding in an eardrum, as XXX-1369 passed within a quarter mile of the palace grounds at only four hundred feet and drowned out the yelp from the controller at the same time. The poor controller crapped himself in the sheer terror of the moment, and knew he would lose his job, as his supervisor wrinkled her nose at the instant eau de merde that permeated the air. Guards dove for cover while the wealthy, strolling the grounds, ducked down and covered their ears with soft, well manicured hands. Those damn Bloods had done it yet again! The cursing of the Terran's on solid but shaking ground was matched only by the belly guffaws of the 300 Bloods above, as they did, in fact, vector to the original coordinates provided. The landing was smooth. Tiberius allowed himself a snort and guffaw of his own, but he had an image and reputation to keep. His fellow Bloods were not fooled. In any other clansman, it was akin to falling on the floor in a gut wrenching display of frivolity. They did not care and only respected their president more for allowing it. Open joy was rare on Mars.

  Chapter 13

  After their earth juddering landing, the Bloods’ were tasked to the reading of the HS Rules, and of dealing with the Hover-Bot assignments. Every Blood that exited the XXX-1369, save for Tiberius, had a Bot assigned to him. The Terrans wanted the unruly, foul mouthed barbarians watched at all times, to prevent any unapproved interaction with the population in general, and the Debs specifically. The Martians were forbidden from knowing who it was they mated with, hence the elaborate masks that hid faces and hair, and the “skins” that obscured any markings that might identify a Debutante. The regulations had remained virtually unchanged for years, and TK knew them by heart. He plastered a smirk on his face and stifled a yawn as he listened to the Minister of United France’s Public Relations read off the list of no-no’s’ and taboos that would result in a Blood being barred from participation in the Haute Societe. The media waited impatiently for the law to be laid down. All secretly enjoying the fact that Tiberius had already broken protocol with the daredevil landing that near enough buzzed the heads of the guards of the Palace de Versailles once again.

  “Bloods of the Blood Empire, these laws you must follow or face banishment from Earth forever. Each of you, um, er gentlemen, will have a Bot, that is a careware unit assigned to accompany you at all times during your visit. These will keep you out of, um, er trouble, as our customs vary so wildly from your own more primit… um, your ways. You may have limited access to the grounds here at the Palace de Versailles. There are guards everywhere, if one of you requires assistance. This is for your own safety.”

  A few snorts of derision could be heard from the 300 gathered Martians. More than one careware unit had been destroyed by an annoyed Blood in the past when the intrusion became too much for the surly clansmen. And on two occasions in the past when a guard became too pushy or argumentative with a Blood, he had found out how strong, fast, and skilled the Mars men could be. While no deaths had ever occurred, the broken bodies from the work of overzealous guards had made the Terrans a bit paranoid. One Blood had taken on five guards and two Bots. He came away from the encounter with a scratch, while the Bots were only pieces of miniscule scrap, and the guards came out of the Clinic with nano bandages for their broken bones and spray-stitch on their lacerations.

  “There is to be no interaction with Debutantes prior to the Haute Societe ball and selection process. Remember, careware units record everything if there is any question as to what might have happened (he left out the ‘you barbarians’). Following the selection process, Bloods and Debutantes will avail themselves of the Socialization complex, and it’s smaller chambers. The skin masks may not be removed even during coital activities, just as the Venetian facades remain in place during selection. You have two days before the Haute Societe begins to explore the surroundings, as outlined in the maps of the handout you received upon embarking from your ship. Please stay within the confines of the boundaries as transgressions will result in expulsion from…”

  “Your momma,” a voice from the middle of the Bloods standing together shouted. A ripple of muted laughter from the Martians and the milling media worked its way through the crowd as the flustered minister faltered and then regained his voice.

  “The planet, um, er Terra. Yes, Terra. So, you um, er people will be here for seven Earth days total, two before the grand event. The remaining five days are the Haute Societe, 100 Debutantes per night to choose from as they grace the Strutway for your um, er enjoyment and…pleasure. At the conclusion of the 5th night’s activities, you will board your ship and return to Mars.”

  “With your sister!”

  The press corps laughed again as did everyone within earshot, as the red faced minister quickly exited the stage, an embarrassed look mixed with rage on his face, a vein in his left temple pulsing a greenish-blue. The next hour found the grumbling Bloods with careware units dogging their every step. They were not allowed to talk to the media until the Bots were assigned so there was no problem with mis-quotes. Although not assigned a Bot, Tiberius made them wait. He was used to the shouted questions, most directed at him because of his status as the leader of Mars, but the inane queries irked and angered. He never gave anything away and made the “maggots” work for every quote no
matter how stupid.

  “Hey, Tiberius, how are you enjoying your 5th trip to Earth?”

  “Just another rock,” he growled.

  “Mr. Koln, is it true you prefer tall women?”

  “I like my women pliable and with a ready mouth.” Koln always enjoyed faking this kind of crude facade.

  “Is it true you have four wives back home?”

  “Yes, you wanna’ be number five? Bend over bitch, I’ll drive.”

  The reporter blushed, but did not shy away.

  The other Bloods, emboldened by their leader’s remarks, started to shout crudities of their own and began to break into smaller groups in the media room to be interviewed by the rapacious press. During the hour long blitz, the reports filled V-screens across Earth, as the commoners and rich watched in rapt fascination. The Martians were crude, rude, and socially unacceptable, but it was like a train wreck; one could not seem to look away. Many Terran's secretly wished they had the courage to speak out against the conglomerate Fecund Clinic and their governments that ruled with their tidy micromanaged steps, and for the apparent lack of care for the people they kept poor and helpless. Some eyes watched with anticipation, not for the Haute Societe ball, but for the very real, impending revolution that was about to come.

  Chapter 14

  The first four nights of the Haute Societe went as smoothly as ever before, with the exception of Tiberius Koln, Master Seeder, not selecting a single Debutante. To be sure, he had participated in the socialization process, having sex with multiple Debs, but he had not selected a woman to be his own for a night. There was no way for the Terran's to know if it was TK that had contributed his genetic code to a particular woman. The one place the careware units were prohibited was the socialization complex, and the Bloods had found each and every one of the hidden camera devices as they had every year in the past. They had kept their word not to injure the young, nubile Debs, at least not within the confines of Terran law, but rumors of the Roman-like orgies were legend. Debutantes were subjected to as many as 20 partners in a night, and not everyone used the same ingress when ravaging the hapless women. The low born and most of the wealthy, of course, were never informed of the sanctioned “stepping out”, which was ultimately an over zealous gang bang. No wonder the Debutantes refused to talk about the experience with anyone, including between themselves. It was a dirty little – no, big – secret. They were the saviors of Earth, why tarnish what they had to do and have done (especially after they were not warned) to achieve the propagation of the human race?

  Most secrets do not last long, but the people of Earth that knew what went on behind the Palace de Versailles every 22-23 months had managed to bury the reality. It was not all rough and tumbles, no holds barred, violation of the Debutantes by barbaric Bloods, but it happened enough that the secrets were kept. Most Debs had no idea who the biological sire of their child might be. It was a matter of pride to be chosen by the Master Seeder alone because the “lucky” Debutante could claim lineage and status. The majority could and would not claim to be the sole recipient of the alpha’s attention lest she be singled out as a liar and disgraced for the entire world to see. Debs did not cope well with ridicule and shame. The last Deb who had succumbed to such shame, 76 years ago, had burned herself alive in a public plaza, as Buddhist monks in the Vietnam “conflict” had done centuries before: the former in protest, the latter in shame.

  Tiberius sat in the First Chair night after night, more bored than turned on, by the parade of pliable flesh before him. Watching as the Debs strutted and enticed, first him, and then his fellow Bloods, he kept coming back to the feeling that he was missing out on a certainty, an extra sensory perception that he was waiting for something, someone special to appear and assuage the creeping ennui. The closest he’d ever come to a psychic connection was with his mother, Marianna, and his Number One, a man he’d been in combat with against scorps on many occasions. Ducking, rolling, and slashing their way through the hideous creatures, neither had ever had to utter a word as they stayed out of each other’s way while dispatching the deadly creatures. Then Springuel had come along and the need for telepathic comprehension was not needed nearly as often, after the geneticist hadcreated his sulfuric elixir to dispose of the scorps. Why did he feel so empty? So disinterested in all this?

  The taking of Debs; the sex primed imps, who practically threw themselves at TK’s feet, had lost its thrill for Koln. Or was it his overactive mind that took away the fun of deflowering a naïve wannabe? Koln still participated in the socialization festival, as was his due, and which was definitely expected by the Bloods, but his heart was not in it. The 5th night arrived, and Tiberius worried that he was getting soft in the head; no longer fit to rule his planet. No, that was a falsehood. He could still easily take any comer who challenged him. Improvements to life on Mars kept materializing under TK’s leadership, and some on Mars had even started to add “The Great” to his title. Koln was disciplined, a chieftain, and his reign of his planet secure; he hardened his resolve and admonished what he thought of as weakness. On the 5th night, Tiberius decided he would choose a suitable female. He did like the ‘tall ones.’ Sasha Posy was on his radar, and he swore to look out for her willowy form.

  Saffron's Father had become distant, or even more so, since his proclamation that second place was worthless to him. His daughter suspected that he was not only betting, but had put his credits on her blonde, bombshell of a rival. Mother remained mute on the subject, as usual.

  Saffron entered the ball wearing her traditional garb and Venetian mask, flirting with the Bloods, smiling and playing the wanton vixen, teasingly fondling her taut ass, thighs, and sometimes breasts, as she shimmied by. Suddenly, Saffron realized that she still had her ear bud communication device in. The shame of the possibility of being discovered and bringing her family down, hastily drove her to the edge of the morass of bodies. The mask, a white and gold affair haloed in a sheen of black feathers, hid her unintentional gaffe. She had become preoccupied with listening to the odds of her waning possibility for success, in snagging the coveted first position. She slipped stealthily into one of the corridors, where the bloods preferred to swig their smuggled, full potency, jango-juice. The way the natural light cast through the lead plated windows, confused their careware units processors’, and so the Blood’s took their one second chance at drinking from their jango flasks, while the processors re-oriented.

  Saffron nodded to the guard standing at attention in the hall, who pretended not to notice her, although it was obvious by his darting eyes that he ogled her petite form with more than casual interest. Saffron could not enter the ladies room without undue interest and therefore feigned the opposite; disinterest, in the event unfolding near by. The event being a bulge forming in the guard’s neoprene suit, and Saffron cast a reproachful glance at the fumbling guard's crotch. A few seconds later, the aroused man excused himself as he hurriedly pushed open the bathroom door to do who knew what.

  ‘Alone at last,’ Saffron thought, and checking the hallway for Blood's, she slipped her elaborate mask over her head releasing her mid length, glossy black hair. She dipped her head to the side and removed the isonomic device in her right ear. Stomping on the illicit communicator with stiletto heels, her peripheral vision registered a large man leaning against the wall and casually observing her every move: a Blood! At least it wasn’t one of the guards or careware. The latter would surely mean her doom. She pretended not to notice the man's commanding presence, reaffixed her ornate mask, and pushed past him as if he were not there.

  Tiberius had grown bored with the foreplay of the ball before selection, so he ducked into the hallway to imbibe a few shots of Jango-juice. He was in the shadows, when he saw the vision that he instantly knew was his elusive future: her head was bent in such a way that he could see a heart shaped birthmark, so diminutive, on her neck, just below the bottom of her ear. A delicate lobe, with a blue stud of sapphire, that sent out dancing rays of blue light, to
join the myriad of light patterns in the hallway. TK’s heart skipped a beat, then another, as he gazed on the missing piece of the galactic enigma, absent from his otherwise successful life. ‘By the gates of Valhalla, I am complete at this moment and ready to meet my fate,’ he thought in less than the blink of an eye. The vision before him, he still had trouble believing his own eyes, was a vibrant sun that made him want to be a better man. He sensed that she saw him although she gave no overt indication as she stomped on some small object. It was probably a communication device illegal in the arena of what the Bloods called the “Deb Pit”. ‘Where is the guard?’ Tiberius wondered.

  Before he could contemplate further, the woman that embodied the love of his life, donned her masked persona, and pushed past Tiberius before he could even think of what to say.

  “Hey, big boy, never seen a real woman before,” the mystery woman murmured as she passed. He had no response and he gaped at her retreating form as he tried to memorize her every movement, her every nuance, so he could find her again. He HAD to find her! ‘I’m a tongue tied scorp,’ raced through his mind as he helplessly watched her join the crowd of Debs and Bloods, vying for something that no longer mattered to him. Tiberius Koln now knew what had been missing in his life, the final piece of the puzzle was almost in place, and what he wanted was untenable and out of reach. Terran laws forbade what he wanted, craved, and needed.