by Flora Dain
“Something wrong? You seem ill at ease.”
I glared at him. “Don’t pretend, sir. You know perfectly well what’s wrong.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “Not so cocky when I see a female, then? You’re jealous, my love? All the better.”
With a gleam he slid my skirts up my thighs and slipped his hand between.
“And what’s this? Wet already? Delicious. You’ll have a hard time of it getting through the evening without relief. Shall we see to it now? Would you like that?”
I laid my head back against his shoulder as he cupped my sex, letting my lace flutter over his hand as he started to press my aching, pulsing place in a soft, disturbing rhythm. I writhed against his fingers, desperate now.
“Please, please…”
A rattle of harness outside warned me we’d arrived.
Sadly, not me. I groaned into his shoulder.
“Please, Jacquard. Have pity, sir. Just a few moments more, I beg you.”
“No.” Dropping a light kiss on my nose, he pulled away with a chuckle. “All good things come to those who wait, my love. Including you.”
* * * *
Lady Hornsea’s party was as stuffy as her mother’s. Mercifully, Jacquard stayed close, so I was spared further remarks about my family. But now I saw the evening held a new horror—performance.
While the gentlemen took their ease at the card tables in the next room or lounged at the back, she invited the ladies to play and sing for the company.
I glanced at Jacquard in a panic, but he ignored my plea. With a careless smile, he joined a group of his friends at the back of the room.
I dreaded recitals. Dancing I loved, but my other accomplishments fell far short of the standards here. The music had none of the country folksiness I’d grown up with. Their grace and skill hinted at costly tuition and long hours of practice.
I’d had costly tuition, for sure, but little practice.
To my dismay, I learned I was to follow Lady Hornsea herself. And now I saw my shame would be total. She sang a selection of the latest Italian arias as well as any seasoned professional.
As the applause rippled away, I walked slowly up to the dais, my mind a blank.
Facing the audience, I saw Lady Hornsea flushed and preening, her expression smug. And farther back, among the gentlemen, I caught a glint from Jacquard.
He looked on amused, one eyebrow slightly raised, his fine mouth already curling at the corner.
He wants me to fail? He knows I’ll disgrace myself in front of all these people?
Fighting down a spike of pure fury, I opened my mouth and began to sing.
For the first five minutes the onlookers stared, transfixed.
For the next five they looked aghast, as well they might.
For the last five some of them, including the elderly admiral in the corner, joined in heartily. And as I finished, the applause for my effort was lost in a roar of laugher and much slapping of thighs.
Instead of the fancy French songs my music master had painstakingly taught me, I’d launched into a selection of filthy sea shanties I’d learned from nursing kindly old Gunner Baines when his grog and his pain had gotten the better of him.
I swear that many of the words were new, even to the naval gentlemen among us.
In any case, I had caused a sensation. The ladies looked outraged, Lady Hornsea among them. To my amazement, the prince had also come in. He and the other gentlemen looked on, entranced.
I was an instant hit.
To my relief, Jacquard came over. Laughing, he kissed my hand.
“I swear you’ve started a whole new fashion.” He grinned. “I’d better get you home before they call for more. I never heard such language.”
“Indeed, sir?” I said sweetly. “I’ve no idea what it means. I just like the tunes.”
He growled low in my ear, his grin even broader. “The deuce you do, ma’am. Let’s get you home before you disgrace us further.” His grin turned positively wolfish. “I’ll teach you the meaning of those filthy lyrics. Then we’ll try them.”
* * * *
As we walked into Endale House, he barely paused to shrug off his coat before seizing my hand and dragging me up to his apartments. I was so hungry for him that I ignored the fluttering maids and followed as best I could, scattering my evening wrap, gloves and reticule for them to pick up.
In his rooms, he slammed the door with a swift back kick and fell on my mouth with a growl.
“Deuce take it, madam, watching your luscious little mouth spew out filth like that turned the party into a rout. They’ll be talking of it for years to come. What possessed you?”
His soft laugh sent shivers through me as he tore at my lacing and pushed my gown clear of my rosy, heaving breasts.
“Let me feast on these. Watching you flirt and sparkle from across a room all evening gave me fever.” He buried his head between them, taking each into his hot mouth with a greedy snarl.
“You enjoyed my performance, sir?” I gave him a playful look. “You think your money on my music lessons well spent?”
As he looked up, eyes shining, he ran a light hand down the side of my face. “You delighted me tonight, damn it. You’re bolder than any woman I know. You’ll have the ladies of the ton swearing like fishwives before you’re done. Now lie back on the edge of the bed. Spread your legs. I owe you a treat.”
He pinned my arms to the bed with his powerful wrists and wedged my thighs open with his superior strength. I lay pinned like an insect while, for the next half hour, he plundered my body all over with his mouth and his tongue and fierce, repeated little nips of his teeth until I thought I should scream aloud from frustration.
Just as I started to weep with rage, he landed foursquare on my aching, pulsing little bud, buried his face between my legs and ravaged my all until I screamed aloud with pure, unfettered joy.
Chapter Ten
For the next few weeks I took care to leave the house when Jacquard did and return before he came home. Luckily his mornings were always busy. I juggled visits, shopping and tearoom gossip with my growing number of friends without mishap.
To stay out of trouble, I avoided Lady Hornsea and her set. I missed much gossip but gained peace of mind. Once, I even passed her on the stairs at the Bond Street studio.
She held her sharp little nose so high in the air that she missed me. I pulled my hat brim firmly down.
Once or twice I saw Martin in the street or loitering near the house. I avoided his eye or frowned to warn him off. Each time, he turned away with a look of despair.
If he wanted to speak to me, why not talk openly at one of our sittings? Or convey his message through his friend? I took huge risks doing this. Jacquard was already suspicious, and given the flimsiest proof that I was seeing someone else, all would be lost, including my foolish artist’s fee. Surely even Martin saw that?
The leather rose appeared often. Once on my plate at dinner, once on my seat in the carriage and once even at the theater, when I’d flirted all through the play with a young officer in our party. At the end of the evening, Jacquard tucked it firmly into my bosom while we awaited our carriage in Drury Lane, his look full of meaning.
Each time, the session that followed took us ever deeper into the realms of pain and pleasure. Each time, I awoke next morning sore but fully refreshed. But, to my despair, Jacquard grew ever moodier.
I started to see pain in his eyes all the time, not just when I teased him too far. Something troubled him deeply, but despite my efforts, he refused to say what.
Worse, I saw the young woman again—once leaving our house and another time talking to him in the street.
I hoped he was simply teasing me tit for tat. I bit back revulsion at another possibility—that he was using her for pleasure.
One night, after a long, languid encounter that left us drowsy and tingling, I asked him.
“Who’s that woman you’re seeing, sir? Am I not enough for you?” I k
ept things light, hoping he’d laugh it off.
He leaned up on one elbow, his look stern. “Since when are my visitors your business? The young woman’s helping me with a small, personal matter.”
“Personal?” I swallowed. “You mean— Does she—” I bit back my all-too-obvious question, dreading his answer.
His lazy smile offered no clues. “Jealous? Good. Like I said, now you know how it feels.”
Tears stung.
“I wish we’d never come here. This Season is turning into nightmare.”
He sat up with a frown. I trembled under his touch as he ran his hand up between my thighs and cupped me with a fond, loving caress.
“For both of us, my love.” His murmur had an edge. “Or had you forgotten about me? You spend hours visiting goodness knows whom, goodness knows why. You expect me to rejoice that my wife keeps her movements secret?”
“I told you, sir. It’s for a surprise. You can hardly expect me to—”
“Hush, child.” His sudden grin sent relief spiraling through me. “I’m teasing. Open for me. We’re not yet done. First, you must see to this.”
He nudged against my hand with his cock, stirring again already, glossy and insistent. I took hold of it, thrilling to its feel as it twitched in my fingers, the silky skin growing shiny and distended.
Deep down I felt heat start to pulse.
“So eager so soon, my lord?” Without waiting for his signal, I fell on his monster, kissing it lustily with wide, moistened lips. I heard him give out a long sigh, ample reward for my straining throat and the ache in my throbbing center still aglow from his busy tongue.
As I sucked him to near completion, he stroked my face, his touch light, his breathing heavy. At last he gently withdrew and took possession of my mouth with his own as he rolled onto me again.
I felt a ripple of tension in his powerful chest as he shifted his hips. Then he filled me with a sudden slick thrust that sent a shaft of heat straight to my groin. In rapid, thumping strokes he plunged to his fill, while I wrapped my legs around his back and rode with him, laughing, letting the rough hair around his root do its work on my eager, pulsing little place, until I cried out for joy and pleasure.
But as my orgasm ebbed away, emotion welled up. I clung to him, weeping.
How could it be true? How could he pleasure me so completely and need anyone else? We were perfect together, his worldly experience and my eager, girlish hunger. We fed each other’s needs and completed each other’s happiness, all the time.
So why does he see another woman?
* * * *
Finally my portrait was done and the sittings over. With secrecy still essential, Signor Canelli was gracious about the final touches.
“The jewels still need some highlights, Your Ladyship. And the brilliance of the eyes… And perhaps some extra sheen on the flesh tones… Ground pearl added to the pigment should just do it—”
“Yes, yes,” I said quickly, keen to avoid technical talk. “You’ll finish it wonderfully, I’m sure. Will it take long?”
He assured me completion was only days away, given time to let the brushwork dry. “But are you satisfied, Your Ladyship?”
I took one more look at it, where he’d propped it up on an easel in the middle of the room. It showed me smiling up at the viewer, almost naked but for ruffles and wisps of lace that enticingly hid my most private parts, as if by chance. And I had to admit, under Signor Canelli’s steady supervision, Martin’s painting had come on wonderfully.
This was no slapdash effort like his other pictures. The detail was breathtaking, the colors and composition beautifully done. It looked like the work of a master instead of an untried painter from the back streets of Chelsea.
I turned to Martin’s friend with tears in my eyes.
“It’s truly a marvel, signor. I can’t thank you enough. You observed my wishes to the letter. Why, I’d almost have taken you for the artist.”
He looked dazed for a moment then broke into a polite laugh. “That I— Oh, indeed. Very droll, Your Ladyship.”
He wiped away an imaginary tear of mirth and bowed low over my hand. He ushered me out with the assurance all would be ready in a few days’ time.
I made my escape while he was still telling me what an honor it was and so forth.
But a week later, there was still no sign of my finished picture. Surely Martin needed his fee? Was that why he’d tried to make contact?
No matter. I’d visit his lodgings sometime soon. He’d earned his fee, for sure.
* * * *
Meanwhile, with parliament due its summer recess, the Season was soon to end. For us the highlight would be the Carlton House ball, held partly to honor the old queen’s birthday.
Invitations were highly prized. Everyone wanted to be there because everyone knew its real purpose—for the prince to reveal his new mistress.
Society was all agog, apart from Jacquard. He yawned whenever I quizzed him on the topic. I even pestered him while we’d made love.
“Spare me,” he groaned. “Piccadilly’s full of it. The real surprise is that he’s kept a secret at all.”
“But somebody must know who she is.” My friends had talked of nothing else for weeks.
“I suppose the lady knows, and I suppose the prince knows.” Jacquard grinned, as he dropped a precise line of soft kisses all along my throat. “So it hardly matters who else knows. I, for one, couldn’t care less. Now turn over on your front this time. I want to pay some attention to this.”
With a hearty slap on my rump, he covered me from behind, and in seconds I’d forgotten all about the prince and his new mystery lady as Jacquard had his wicked way with my backside.
But as I dressed for the ball, it was impossible not to feel excited. Tonight we’d witness a tiny piece of history. The mistress of a prince always caused a stir and held great power. Society flocked to her door.
With Jacquard and me there to witness it, I’d see the birth of some new legend in her own right.
In my looking glass, I gazed entranced at my own transformation, with diamonds sparkling in my hair and blazing around my neck. At this very minute, somewhere in London, another lady much like me was doing the same. But by the end of the evening, I’d be just a weary countess with feet tired from dancing, while she’d have stepped into legend.
A star is born…
“Ready, ma’am?” Jacquard, fresh from his valet, was leaning in the doorway. He looked the image of classical perfection, his lean, handsome face lighting up with a wide, appreciative smile at the sight of me.
At least this weary countess will have a rich, madly handsome earl to come home with and not some fat, jowly prince to amuse for the rest of the night.
* * * *
Carlton House was ablaze with light, jewels and beauty. Champagne fizzed, conversation sparkled. The buffet tables held a vast assortment of savories, sweets and spun-sugar confections shaped like swans.
Everything glittered.
I lost Jacquard once or twice in the crowd, but each time he appeared from nowhere, putting his arm around my waist to steal a kiss. At my startled look, he grinned.
“In a crush like this, who’s to know?”
His whispered murmur thrilled me.
At the end of the evening, we’ll be alone. I can kiss him where I want to kiss him. He can fondle me like he wants to fondle me.
At that moment the orchestra blew a fanfare and the prince appeared to wild applause. He beamed around at the crowd, swaying a little.
“Looks like he’s been at the port again.” Jacquard’s quiet growl was meant for my ears alone. Onlookers nearby covered a smile.
The regent greeted the company, only slightly slurring.
“Good evening, one and all. I now have the greatest pleasure in unveiling the portrait of a lady most high in my affections, as I’m sure you’ve all heard.”
More applause broke out as a bevy of beauties pushed through to the front, among them Lady Hornsea
, elbowing the others out of the way to get as close as she could. The look on her face and a dig in the ribs from Jacquard hinted that this was indeed the lady of the hour.
Now the prince pulled a cord to roll back some drapes. Behind them, an easel was placed on a dais. It held a painting covered with an elegant fold of velvet.
The prince beamed around again. “And, ladies and gentlemen, here she is. Voilà.”
At a drumroll from the orchestra, he twitched away the cloth—to reveal my portrait.
Dumbstruck, I stared in helpless horror. Faces turned to me in shock.
My first thought was the painting was sensational. My pose was lewd, my expression alluring. The magnificent diamonds I was wearing for tonight’s ball were mirrored in the portrait. Except on canvas, they were all I wore.
My second thought was this was a disaster. How was it possible? But an awful light dawned as a new arrival joined the prince with a bow. Beaming and smug, he was introduced as the artist.
Signor Canelli.
“Your Highness, allow me to present the subject of your gracious commission. All was done as Her Ladyship requested. I have the greatest honor in presenting to you my latest work.”
Next to me I felt Jacquard stiffen.
“What the deuce?” With a snarl he spun me around to face him. Ignoring the surprised looks all around us, he glared down at me, eyes blazing. “Saffina? Is this your surprise? Are you out of your mind? For pity’s sake, tell me you’ve not pleasured that bloated buffoon of a prince?”
I gazed up at him, pleading with my eyes.
“Hush, sir. It’s all a mistake. Let me handle this.” I laid a reassuring hand on his arm then pushed my way through the crowd.
I’d tackle Jacquard later, when we were alone. First I must right a terrible wrong that I’d done a younger and far poorer man—Martin.
Meanwhile, another drama was being played out before the crowd. The prince was goggling from me to Lady Hornsea and back, as if trying to decide which of us was his favorite, when all at once, his mind was made up for him.