His Lordships Daughter

by de'Ville, Brian A

  “Oh, ye of little faith!” he quoted.

  Phyllipa smiled then burst out laughing.

  Steven patted the sleek back neck of the stallion “He’s in superb condition. What are you going to do with him?”

  “I don’t know.” Phyllipa replied. “He’ll stand somewhere, but you will have to ask my father.” Nudging her heels into her mount, the chestnut broke into a gallop sending her hair flying from under her riding hat as the autumn breeze shuffled and murmured through a hostile sky. Turning in the saddle she looked at her companion, noticing the easy, almost slipshod way he sat in the saddle. In her book it was the stance of a perfect horseman.

  For a few minutes they galloped in silence, then slowed their mounts to a canter. “I still have something to ask you.” Steven looked at her hopefully.

  “You have the floor!”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Pardon!”

  Steven nervously cleared her throat. “Will you marry me!” he repeated.

  They both reined their horses in. a red chested robin with ruffled feathers was picked up and hurled into the air by a sudden gust of wind., as a flurry of leaves swirled around the horses feet. Steven leaned over and placed his hand on her arm. “I want you to be my wife.” He pleaded, but Phyllipa slowly shook her head as her eyes, normally so crystal clear, clouded with some hidden emotion. “I’m honoured that you should ask me, Steven. But, I’m not looking for marriage. Not yet!”

  Her boss frowned and bit his lip. “Perhaps this isn’t the time or the place?” he hazarded, a little crestfallen.

  Phyllipa squeezed her legs into the chestnut. “At the moment there is no time or place that would get a positive on your question.”

  “I did think that after the other night…?” he stopped as she quickly interrupted him. “Yes! What did you think after the other night?” she snapped, a touch of hostility in her tone.

  “I thought perhaps you and I would be better married to one another.” He replied, lamely, not quite certain that he had said the right thing.

  “All on strength of one night?” her gloved fingers playing around the corners of her mouth and her eyes twinkled. “Let me explain something to you Steven and give you the woman’s side. I have the same physical needs, the same desires, almost the same everything as you. Almost! But the parts of us which are different go very well together.” Her eyes bored into his. “Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

  “I think so. But, I’ve never heard love expressed like that before.”

  “Of course you haven’t, because it is not love!” she snapped.

  He frowned. “Ah! You probably think it was just lust or a one night stand, or even something in support of oysters sort of thing? Well, you would be wrong. Completely and utterly wrong! It wasn’t any of those things. It was because I love you. That’s what it was all about.”

  Phyllipa sighed. “Oh Steven. Lateral thinking is not your strong suit is it? Did I say anything about it being your lust?”

  He reined Sultan in so abruptly, the Black nearly sat down. “Are you telling me that the champagne and carefully arranged diner was all a play just to get me into bed with you?”

  Phyllipa laughed out loud and Steven stared at her, accusingly “Well?”

  “I love your face when you get all excited.” She answered, still laughing.

  “ I’m serious…”

  Reaching over, she pulled his face towards her and kissed his mouth. “Of course you are Steven, that’s your trouble.” She clicked her tongue with mock annoyance. “One night of ecstasy and you are chasing marriage vows.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Just like that!”

  The frown disappeared from his face. “Now I understand, you think my offer was me just doing the decent thing..?”

  “No! I don’t think that at all.” Her eyes clouded again. “I really believe you think you love me.”

  “I know I do.” He maintained “But if you are going to reject me completely. Do it slowly, I bleed!”

  Phyllipa squeezed his arm affectionately. “It is not a definite No!” she explained, happy to see his face brighten. “Let me call it an extended rain check. It will give us time to really get to know one another.” He eyes twinkled again. “After all,there may be things which we may not see eye to eye on.”

  “Such as?”

  “We won’t know till we get there, will we?”

  Steven checked his horse. “There wasn’t anything we didn’t like about one other last night.” A hint of admiration sounded in his voice.

  “Exactly!” Phyllipa retorted. “I rest my case. Now let you and I find out what we are like outside the stud room, eh?” she looked at him coyly. “But not for long!”

  Her companion stared, and shook his head. “When I first met you, I said that you were different. Completely and utterly.”

  “Race you back to the yard.” She challenged, touching the chestnut with her heels, breaking him into a brisk gallop. The suddenness of her actions enabled her horse to head the stallion for a brief moment. But, as soon as Steven asked, the horse swept past like a dark shadow and when she arrived back at the stables, her boss was already fussing over him as the groom removed the saddle from its back.

  “How is your food appetite?” she asked, dismounting.

  “Hungry! I’m looking forward to my breakfast!”

  She smiled and removed her riding hat. “I would like you to meet my father.” Tucking his arm under her own, they walked through the pillared entrance of the house and into the breakfast room. “Then after we have eaten I’d like you to meet something else.”

  Steven’s eyebrows lifted. “Am I going to like it?”

  Phyllipa nodded “I hope so.”

  Lord Hemingham looked up from his eating, eyeing Steven curiously. “You both appear to have enjoyed your ride.”

  His daughter chuckled “Yes, we did.” She looked at her companion. “At least it was different.”

  “Really?” her father enquired, his eyebrows lifting.

  Phyllipa kissed his cheek. “Just a private joke father.” She told him, introducing the two men to one another. They shook hands and Henry Inchcape-Gore stared again at their visitor. “So you are the Steven Grant that takes my daughter away from me?”

  Steven nodded his head. “Yes, my lord. I employ her as my trouble-shooter.”

  Henry stopped eating and looked at his daughter. “What is he talking about?”

  “I chase people.” She explained “I’m what’s known as a gofer!”

  .” Her father shrugged his shoulders, none the wiser. “It sounds interesting!”

  Steven helped himself to a plate of bacon and eggs from the huge sideboard and sat at the table. Phyllipa sat opposite with her scrambled eggs on toast. “Steven exercised Sultan this morning!” Phyllipa informed her father.

  “Did you really?” Lord Hemingham was impressed. “It’s not everyone who can handle him.”

  “He talked to him, whispering things in his ear.” Phyllipa continued shaking her head. “Goodness knows what he said to him, but, whatever it was it did the trick. He is now very much quieter.”

  “He’s a magnificent animal.” Steven said, admiringly. “A bit bad tempered, but so would I be if I was locked up all day.”

  “He is too valuable to be left outside.” Henry explained.

  “Would you think it rude of me if I was to ask you what you are going to do with him?” he’ll be with us for another five months, the he leaves to stand at stud. I won him in a card game!” He looked at his daughter and then back at his guest. “But, you Steven appear to be one of the few people who have managed to get on his back, let alone ride him out.”

  “Have you something on your mind father?” Phyllipa’s eyes were inquisitive.

  Her parent shrugged his shoulders and wiped his mouth with a white napkin. “It’s just that the horse, as Steven implied, needs regular exercise, that’s all.”

  Steven, buttering toast, suddenly looked up, aw
are that both Phyllipa and her father had stopped eating and were looking at him, as if expecting him to say something, but he put both hands in the air in mock surrender. “Whoa! Just a minute!…I’ve got a business to run….and I don’t get a lot of time.” Phyllipa’s eyes fixed on his, impassively.

  Perhaps I could manage a couple of mornings a week.” He agreed, hesitantly.

  “Sultan would like that.” Phyllipa looked across at the table. “Wouldn’t he father?”

  Lord Hemingham nodded. “Yes! He certainly would, and so would I.” He looked more closely at their guest. “You will always be welcome as Rosewood Steven!”

  Phyllipa looked up in surprise. It wasn’t often her father voiced an invitation like that. In fact, he never did, and his daughter started thinking. He might just have picked up some togetherness vibes between herself and their visitor, or he may just be lifting the starting gate on his own approach to matchmaking. After all, he would never be happy until he saw his own daughter, steadied, wedded and bedded. “Well!” she cried, happily looking at Steven and smiling. “That’s settled then.”

  Owing to their healthy appetites, the rest of the meal was completed in silence, until Steven took a last drink of his coffee and looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go!” he looked at Phyllipa “And so have you Ms Gore! In thirty minutes we are due in the Works,” Phyllipa nodded, touched her mouth with a napkin and moved from the table. “I have to change.” She looked at Steven. “But, I would like to show you something before you leave!” excusing herself, she grasped her boss by the arm and guided him through the house to her own private quarters.

  Steven stood in her drawing room and gasped at the sumptuous surroundings “Some place!”

  “I like nice things!” Phyllipa murmured, slipping out of her riding jacket as she walked through to her private room. Quickly she removed her riding boots. “What is it you wish me to see?” Steven asked curiously, walking through the door only to pull up sharply.

  “Sorry!” turning on his heel, he walked straight out again. “Forgive me I didn’t know you were changing. I was just admiring the wonderful décor of the place. Sorry!”

  “Oh do stop apologising Steven and come in.” Phyllipa shouted to him. “I’m just going to take a quick shower.” She stopped as he came into the room again. His eyes hungrily devouring her naked body clad only in a huge fluffy bath towel. She smiled as she walked over to the New Yorker. “This is what I would like you to see!” Steven stood and looked at it.

  “What is it?” He asked, staring at the contraption with a curious gleam in his eye.

  “Don’t you know?” Phyllipa watched him carefully.

  Steven shrugged his shoulders and stood silently thinking, smiled and nodded. “Ah! If I am not mistaken, I am looking at some sort of masochistic machine.” He looked at Phyllipa. “Am I right?”

  “Absolutely! I call it my New Yorker!”

  “How does it work?” he asked.

  Phyllipa quickly placed her body against the metal uprights and reached her hands upwards to grasp the velvet handcuffs causing the bath towel to lose its gravitational fight and silently fall in a heap on the floor. Phyllipa kicked at it with her feet. “Do I need to pick this up and wear it again?” she asked, innocently, spreading her legs as wide as she could against the frame.

  The colour in Steven’s face heightened as he ripped his clothes from his body and threw them on a chair. Phyllipa, her nipples brimming with blood watched with feverish satisfaction at his half thickening erection released from the confines of social convention was already stiffening, causing her to nod with satisfaction. Her morning ride, as ever, had sharpened both her sexual and her food appetite and now, she’d had her breakfast pleasure, it was time for her first carnal pleasure of the day.

  Walking over to a table she selected a silver handled horse crop. Handing it to Steven she pointed to the back of the frame. “I want you to handcuff me to the frame, then stand facing me.” Steven, his face twisting with the effort of restraint, took the whip, then manacling Phyllipa to the frame, stood before her his throbbing flesh standing proud!

  Phyllipa, bending her head, teased the head of the swollen phallus with her tongue. Closing her eyes she suddenly opened her lips, greedily sucking on its length, while Steven gently worked it in and out of the warm mouth. Suddenly she stopped what she was doing and glared at him. “That crop in your hand is for hitting me! I need to hurt!” but her boss shook his head. “I can’t do this Phyllipa!” he confessed, lamely “Sorry!”

  “Why?” Phyllipa was genuinely curious. No-one had ever refused her before.

  “Because I love you too much and I don’t wish to injure you.” He hurled the crop across the room, it skidded along the carpet, disappearing under a chaise longue. “Sorry!”

  “You bit my neck the other night.” She argued, furious at his refusal to give her what she so desperately needed. “Look!” she tilted her head to show him the blemish on her skin. “I’ve still got the mark!”

  Sadly, he shook his head. “That was different. That was a love bite!”

  “That was masochism Steven, Humiliation! Domination. Degradation! Plain and simple. Take your pick!” Her eyes blazed with anger. “Well I took my pick many years ago, and chose pain. The other three don’t interest me, I’m not cut out for any of them. We are all entitled to one insult in this life and I chose to hurt! It is my pleasure, my decision, my right!” the anger in her eyes turned to a burning hostility.

  For a few moments Steven, his grey eyes flecked with anxiety, stood still as if deciding what to do next, then slowly walking around the frame, he unbuckled the velvet braces freeing the woman he loved, who immediately started rubbing her painful wrists. “I’ve had more fun with my hairdresser than this.” She snarled, marching through her bedroom with her head in the air, but she never got there!

  Steven pounced, flinging her bodily like a sack of chaff over his shoulder. Going through to her bedroom, he flung her on the bed, she bounced twice then sat up with her legs outstretched and glowered at him. “As I said, I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained. “Not that way, but if it’s a spot of cave-man stuff that you want, then I can oblige!” grabbing hold of her by the hair, he pulled her struggling to the bottom of the bed, folded her body over the brass rail then rammed his engorged flesh between her thighs, deep inside her. Phyllipa, gasping at the force of his entry, arched her legs as wide as she possible could to capture the thrusting phallus. Already her salacious energy was creating havoc with her sexual intercom. Already her body was greedily accepting that which she believed was hers by right and already forgotten was Steven’s refusal to whip her. All that could be sorted out later. Now was her satisfaction time.

  But, to her utter dismay, the drives were exactly the opposite of what she expected, he just hammered her pelvis with short, insensitive and brutal thrusts which gave her no quarter and very little pleasure.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she screamed at him. “This is not like you!” the pumping got faster and she moaned softly with utter frustration as she tried, without success, to wriggle away from the vice like embrace.

  “You asked for the cave-man touch.” Steven told her. “Now you are getting it!” The brutal thrusting continued causing her to cry out again, until suddenly, with one huge shove she felt the surge of his offering flooding her loins causing his body to fall heavily, squashing her belly against the hardness of the metal rail. Aching and sore, she gasped for breath as she struggled to escape the downward pressure. But, suddenly it eased as Steven looked at his wrist watch. “I’m late.” He complained, rolling off her and on to the bed. “I should have been in the office ten minutes ago.” Kicking his legs to the floor, he turned and looked at Phyllipa. Then, lifting her up in his arms, placed her gently on the bed where she immediately coiled up, coitus fashion and hid her face in her hands. For a few moments he stood there looking at her, expecting her to say something, but Phyllipa stayed silent. Then, shrugging his shoulde
rs, Steven went in search of his clothing.

  Chapter 10

  Phyllipa watched the huge machine as it went about its business of printing cardboard cartons. For some unknown reason the procedure always fascinated her. She chuckled as wet on wet colours built up into the finished product. Perhaps, among all her countless forebears there might have been a budding engineer who, through a latent gene was holed up in her individuality. Whatever it was, she found the machinery of present day mass production, intriguing.

  Pulling a finished sheet from the machine, she studied it. “Eat me early Breakfast Cereal!” in huge red and yellow letters screamed across the front of the carton against a background of falling natural fruit and nuts. “Not bad!” she shouted to the machine minder, who smiled and, stuck his thumb in the air. Checking a glass dial on the machine, she took a printed number from it, wrote it on her clipboard, then, walked slowly back to her office.

  Sitting at her desk, she stuck a pencil in her hair and checked the figures again the Contract breakdown, uttering a grunt of satisfaction as the figures tallied. Her “Kristex” job was bang on schedule.

  She had taken yesterday off! After the charade with Steven, she hadn’t felt like work of any kind. When he had left Roselands she had called him all the bastards she could lay tongue to. But somewhere, deep in her psyche she had a sneaking feeling that perhaps their misunderstanding might have been six of one and half a dozen of the other. After all, from their first encounter with each other at Davenport Hotel, she was well aware of the gentleness he was capable of. For a few moments she mused, tapping the end of her pencil against her teeth. It was a pity about his reluctance to punish her but perhaps they would get the chance to talk it through some time later on. Perhaps he was jealous of the New Yorker! “The repugnance of something, however intimate, which succours* the love of the hater!” she laughed softly to herself as her memory recalled her tame psychiatrist’s cardinal law. He had a name for it, but she could not remember what it was.