Theodora’d told her a man liked to have his manhood touched and kissed, but had suggested not doing that this first night. Anne would have liked to touch it, but since it was still inside her, she wanted it to stay there. She felt truly loved wrapped in Simeon’s arms with his manhood inside her. Possessed, protected, cherished.
****
She must have slept for a little time as the fire had burned down low in the grate and several of the candles had snuffed themselves out. But there was still ample light to see Simeon’s muscular arms holding her against his body.
Sadly his manhood was no longer inside her, but it was pressed against her lower belly, very close to where she’d like it to be. If she wiggled her left arm just a little she’d be able to touch him, to explore with her fingers what he felt like, to touch the flesh that had given her such exquisite pleasure.
Moving very slowly, by the tiniest of increments at a time so as not to wake Simeon, Anne inched her hand out from under her side, and down to her belly and his. When it was finally there she almost changed her mind. After all, a man had all the power in a marriage. The woman was his chattel and must do as he bade her. But there was nothing to say the woman couldn’t give her husband a little hint of her desires. Besides, if she touched him softly enough he may never even know of her audacity. So…
Anne let one finger trail across his manhood. The stalk was thick and there was a long vein pulsing in it, taking his life force from where it joined his body to the head. The head itself was a different texture, less firm, softer. Would he wake if she explored inside his foreskin? She really wanted to touch all of him. She let her finger slip over the head, under the foreskin. The head was so soft, and the little entry there was damp.
Her entire body thrummed with excitement and desire at touching him. This wasn’t called a manhood for no reason. It was his core, the centrality of his maleness. The power it gave off was tangible and made her own core weep with the need for him to come inside her again, to love her, to give her the pleasure only a man and a woman could achieve together. She gripped his stalk in her fist and stroked him from root to tip.
“It’s like brushing a horse,” Theodora had explained. “Always move in the same direction.”
He grunted a little but didn’t seem to wake so she moved her hand lower to cup the heavy sac beneath his manhood. Once again it was a different texture, tougher, hairier, but still very exciting to her. Her own honey was dampening her thighs now and she moved her legs restlessly, wishing he was awake to pleasure her again.
She jumped a little when his sleepy voice said, “Grip my cock more firmly, stroke a little harder. It won’t break, you know.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you did. I’d like to make love to you again this night. If you’re not too sore.”
“Oh no. I’d like you to…” Her whole body blushed at what she’d just said and done. She was grateful for the dim light to hide her embarrassment at being caught while acting in a far from ladylike manner.
She bent her head, sat more upright and proceeded to stroke his manhood more firmly, using her entire hand. With the other hand she cupped his sac again and rolled the balls. He seemed to like that, if his little grunts and groans were speaking the truth.
“Sit on me, Anne. Put my cock inside your cunny and ride me like you would a horse,” said Simeon, stretching his legs out and lifting his arms above his head.
Did everyone explain what happens in the bedroom by referring to horses? First her mama, then Theodora, now Simeon. Smiling, Anne did as he asked, holding his manhood as she drew it inside her, loving the feeling of power it gave her to decide how much of him she would take at a time, until he could go no farther. Once again her body felt filled and possessed. She loved having him inside her like this.
Simeon placed his hands on her hips, showing her how to lift her body up and down as she let his manhood out a little way, then sucked it back in again. Soon she had a rhythm going that pleased them both, and she was able to bend forward and tease his chest with her long hair, stroking it over his flesh as she moved up and down on him.
Simeon reached forward to touch one of her breasts. Startled, she watched his fingers pulling on the nipple, elongating it, twisting and turning it, rolling it between several of fingers at once. Seeing his dark, sunburned fingers on her pale flesh, watching the heat and passion in his gaze, was driving her wild. Her honey was flooding his manhood inside her, need was coiling in her belly making her move faster, drive him deeper and harder inside her. But it wasn’t enough.
He must have sensed she needed more, because he tugged her body down until she lay flat on top of him, then held her ass in both his hands and drove himself up into her, grinding his pelvis onto hers and making her pant with the extra stimulation.
Desperately she rubbed her nipples against the hard wall of his chest muscles, surprised to notice that his nipples were hard little points too.
His fingers were teasing around her rear, playing with her there. She was shocked to find she liked it. His finger was—He was actually—He’d driven one, no two, fingers into her dark hole and was stroking her inside there in time with the thrusts of his manhood into her woman’s place.
He took her lips with his and thrust his tongue into her mouth. The surprise of being possessed in three places at once caused a wave of heat to rush over Anne as her pleasure broke across her. Her channel clenched on his manhood as she splintered into scores of pieces of delight. She was still shaking when a burst of heat inside her told her that he’d found his pleasure and released his seed too.
Chapter Three
The servants had polished every inch of the formal dining room and the ballroom, despite the enthusiastic help of the youngest three Arnotts. Joel had contributed the blanket from his bed, upon which Deborah sat as in a sleigh, while the two boys pushed and pulled her over the floorboards until they shone. The language the laundry maid had used when she saw the condition of the blanket after this activity was strong enough to make a sailor blush, but Simeon had only laughed and suggested she give the blanket to the groom to use on the horses.
“When I imagine the trouble those three might have caused, the price of a new blanket is little enough to keep them happy. Although it would serve them right if they went to bed cold this night,” he said.
Cook had been baking for several days, making the pies, blancmanges, and jellies such a large party would eat. An entire sheep had been turning on the spit since early morning, the delicious smell of roasting meat competing with the scents of the armloads of flowers that now decorated the ballroom and all the formal rooms of the house.
Immediately after nuncheon, the ladies retired to their rooms to prepare for the party, while the men played snooker or billiards or sat in the library and dozed in their armchairs while pretending to read The Times and The Gazette.
By six in the evening maids and valets were rushing around ironing cravats, polishing boots, and locating missing fans and reticules. The kitchen staff was finishing preparing a mountain of food for the formal dinner and the midnight supper. Other staff was in the servants’ hall taking a well-earned break from their labors when the butler scratched at Simeon’s bedroom door.
“Yes?” called Simeon, refusing to turn his head from the looking glass as the tying of his cravat was at a critical stage.
“Sir Simeon, did you ask for any alterations in the arrangements for the ballroom?”
“Alterations?” Simeon paused, staring at the man reflected in the glass. He seemed quite agitated.
The butler nodded.
Simeon turned to face him. “What sort of alterations do you mean? Grandmama was the one doing most of the planning for the ball.”
“Yes, sir. But I can hardly interrupt the Dowager while she is dressing, and several of the maids…”
Simeon sighed, dropped the now ruined cravat to the floor, and said, “Very well. I’m coming.”
By the time he reached the ballroom it seemed that most of the household staff was already there. Beside the musician’s dais was a pen holding three frightened-looking chickens. Immediately in front of that was what looked very like a pile of mud holding back a shallow pool of water, with an angry duck floating on it. And swinging from the chandelier was a monkey trailing a long leash, with an imploring Micah offering it a banana and begging it to come down.
Joel and Deborah were also circling around under the chandelier trying to entice the monkey down. All three children were liberally besplattered with mud, and Joel’s breeches had a long tear from knee to ankle.
Barnabas and Georgina rushed into the room to stand beside Simeon. “Trying to go one better than Lord Boxworthy, Simeon?” asked Barnabas, his lips twitching with what Simeon guessed was suppressed laughter.
Georgina called one of the footmen over. “Do go and fetch a ladder and the largest fishing net please, or that monkey will still be here when the guests start arriving.”
Simeon couldn’t decide whether to whip his little brothers or laugh. Finally laughter won. “Come here, Micah, Joel, Deborah. To whom does that monkey belong and how did you get it.”
Micah, the older twin by a few brief minutes, straightened his shoulders and said, “It seemed such a wonderful idea. So much better than Lord Boxworthy’s cows. Every farm has cows but not so many people have a monkey.”
“For good reason, I imagine,” said Georgina tartly.
Simeon had to struggle to put a stern look on his face. “And?”
“Everyone at school could talk of nothing but Lord Boxworthy’s ball. I wanted your ball to be famous too,” added Deborah.
“Notorious, more like,” said Barnabas sotto voce.
“Peter’s sister’s husband’s little sister works for the Bertuns and they let us borrow the monkey for today, but it doesn’t seem very well-behaved,” said Micah, taking up the story again.
“And the mud?”
“The Israelites made mud bricks without straw, but mayhap the sun is hotter there. Ours didn’t seem to dry very well,” confessed Deborah.
Two grooms had placed a ladder under the chandelier while Simeon was questioning the children and now the grooms proceeded to throw the fishing net over the monkey. For a time the chandelier swung wildly, causing Simeon to wonder how he’d explain to Grandmama if it fell from the ceiling and smashed all over the floor just before her ball. But the men succeeded in trapping the monkey, who chattered angrily as it was carried from the room.
Three gardeners with a wheelbarrow, two barrels, and half a dozen buckets were emptying the “pond”, maids had trapped the chickens and the duck and were carrying them outside, and other menservants stood by with spades to remove the mud.
Georgina was talking to the housekeeper, presumably organizing for the floor to be cleaned once the “farm” had been removed.
Simeon put on his sternest face. “You will all go upstairs and bathe and go to bed. There will be no dinner for any of you this night. At noon you will present yourselves in my book room and explain why you should not all be whipped. Micah, you will write a letter to the vicar, in Latin, explaining the salient facts of mud-brick architecture. Joel, your letter will be to the Bertuns expressing sorrow for this foolish endeavor. Deborah, you may draw a genealogy of Peter’s family for four generations. I have no clue what you were thinking about to involve all these other people in your escapade. You will bring your letters to the book room with you at noon. Now go.”
“You have to admit with the children around, life is never boring,” said Barnabas softly after the younger Arnotts left the room.
Simeon waved to the servants cleaning the floor. “True, but I doubt they think of it in that way. And I still have to return that monkey to its owners.”
****
The dinner was a formal affair with dinner partners arranged by rank, but Anne had been out for three Seasons so handled her hostess duties with practiced ease. Once the ball began, she ensured no young lady was left without a dance partner, outmaneuvering Amos and his friends at every turn when they tried to depart for the card room.
As an heiress, she’d danced with all the eligible men herself many times, and was content with her role of encouraging reluctant young men onto the dance floor.
Until Simeon claimed her for a waltz. How she loved being twirled around the ballroom with his big, warm hand on her back. How she loved looking up into his smiling blue eyes and sunburned cheeks, ruddy with good health and exercise, as he led her through the measures of the dance with nary a false step.
After their dance he seated her beside the Dowager and procured a glass of lemonade for her. “I hadn’t expected to see the Earl of Mitcham here. I thought most people invited were family or from the country,” she whispered behind her fan.
“It never hurts to have an earl at one’s ball,” the Dowager replied enigmatically.
Anne silently watched Sapphira. She knew Sapphira had declined the earl’s offer for her hand, but had the young woman changed her mind? Sapphira had never paid undue attention to any of the men who surrounded her, but Anne had sometimes thought the younger woman’s gaze rested on the earl with more affection than she gave anyone else. As always, Sapphira danced every dance and never more than twice with any one partner.
Did she care for the earl? Time would tell. Anne had found that sitting and watching was often far more informative than asking questions.
Simeon bent to her and said quietly, “No one would know there’d been mud all over the floor just a few hours since.”
“You must tell me how the children acquired that monkey. It sounded as though half the county was involved in it.”
“Peter is the twins’ best friend. I can’t now recall the convoluted line of family and friends involved, but someone related to Peter knew of the Bertuns’ monkey. I cannot imagine whatever possessed them to lend the creature to the twins. Anyone whose wits weren’t totally addled must have known no good could come of the plan.”
“Sets are forming for a country dance. I must ensure Amos takes part,” she said rising to her feet.
“I must go and do my duty too,” he sighed.
****
Zethan had engaged Miss Sapphira for both waltzes, but she’d gone into supper with a large party of younger people. At least she isn’t favoring any one particular man. But then, she never has. She never steps beyond the strict bounds of propriety.
At first he’d been very pleased to have been invited to the ball, hoping it meant Sapphira cared for him. But after two days at Kingsdene, Zethan almost despaired of wooing her. She was either surrounded by friends or surrounded by family. He never had a moment alone with her to press his case.
Although many people were returning home the morning after the ball, he determined to stay at least one more night. No lady would rise before noon after such an energetic evening, but mayhap he’d see her at nuncheon or in the afternoon and persuade her to walk in the gardens with him or go riding. Anywhere, anyway he could demonstrate to her that he was deeply apologetic for having been rude and arrogant but genuinely cared for her and wanted to press his suit again. The Season was well advanced and who knew what house parties she’d be invited to and how many charming young men would try to fix their interest with her.
Following this plan, he was up and dressed betimes the next morning, and ascertained from the staff that none of the ladies were awake yet, before he headed out into the garden. His plan had been to see if there was a rose garden or orangery where he could walk with Sapphira. Instead he found himself face to face with a miniature version of his love. The same deep blue eyes and perfection of skin. The same peerless, golden curls. Only this young beauty could have been no more than nine years of age, and must be the youngest Arnott, Deborah.
“Miss Deborah.” He bowed.
“You are the Earl of Mitcham.” The voice was almost accusatory.
“I am.”
“When the Regent is c
rowned king, you will walk in the procession and have a seat in Westminster Abbey. So will your wife.”
This was not at all the kind of conversation he’d expected to have with a child. “Yes, that’s true. But the King is not dead yet, and might not die for many years.”
“But you are not so very old. I expect you’ll outlive him.”
Zethan stifled the urge to smile. “I sincerely hope so.”
“And you’re not fat. You don’t wear a corset, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you understand battle strategy?”
This child’s mind bounced from topic to topic in a most disconcerting way. He’d never expected to have to talk to a child, but he would have assumed such a conversation to involve the discussion of dolls or ribands or suchlike. Not coronations or battles. Still…
“Somewhat,” he replied.
“Tell me about Salamanca. There seems to be two opposing views.” Deborah then outlined both theories at length and Zethan found his jaw dropping at her understanding of events. It was like listening to some of the Peninsula soldiers in his club, rather than talking to a child in a garden. He gathered his scattered wits and answered her as well as he could. At the end of ten minutes he had nothing but awe for her intellect.
“You must marry a brigadier at least. Any man of lower rank would not do for you at all.”
“Deborah? Deborah? Oh, there you are. Excuse me, sir. Deborah, I need your help with this Latin. Have you completed your genealogy? Can you help me? Joel is even worse at it than I am.”
The children ran off and Zethan just stood there, his mind whirling. She reads and writes Latin? One thing was for certain. If he managed to win Sapphira, marriage into her family would never be boring! Although he suspected his elderly retainers might not have been as complaisant about a monkey swinging from the ballroom chandelier as the servants here had been.
****
Sapphira knew the Earl of Mitcham had been trying to talk to her alone. She may have only come out officially this Season, but being out in the Little Season meant she’d gained an appreciation for how life in the Ton was managed. And mayhap she was nowhere near as clever as Deborah, but she was no lackwit either. To misquote Shakespeare, the question was, did she want to talk to him?
Promising Virgin Page 3