“I’m going to fuck your arse, you sumptuous little pansy,” he’d say, his fingers moving, probing the little hole, making her grunt. “You’re going to take me there...you’re going to take all of me. My big hot cock. I’m going to fill you up and make you squeal like a little pig.”
Rocking against the bed now, Adela rubbed herself with furious, inaccurate haste. She was desperate to spend, her sex aching. The desire for fulfillment was agonizing, and though she wished Wilson was really there behind her, her own hand would suffice for the moment. As she shuffled and wriggled, pounding herself, she laughed. Perhaps she’d tell him about this, for his entertainment, when he returned. He loved to see her bring herself off, and always encouraged it, whether he was present to view it or not.
Back in her fantasy, her husband opened his trousers and drew out his cock, huge and rampant. Adela trembled. It was very big and her bottom was very tight. Surely he’d need something to ease the way. Her imagination supplied the oil he used to grease the godemiché, and in her mind’s eye, he poured a stream of it between her bum cheeks.
And then he pushed himself into her.
Adela tried to imagine the sensation, but could not with any clarity. But the idea of it, just the thought of it, was enough.
Rubbing her clitoris madly and imagining buggery, she spent and spent with her husband’s name upon her lips.
24
Wilson Reconnoiters
Concealed behind a laburnum bush, against the wall in the garden of Blair Devine’s Norwood villa, Wilson imagined Adela crouching beside him.
What would she look like in man’s dress? He tried to picture her sleek thighs in trousers or breeches, and had to put down his miniature pair of field glasses for a moment, overcome by a sudden gouge of lust. Despite her innate femininity, she’d make a handsome boy with her thick, lustrous hair contained in a cap, and her pert bosom concealed by a loose, untailored jacket. Waiting for Devine—who was framed in the square of flickering yellow light that was his library window—to move from his desk and hopefully reveal the location of his strongbox, Wilson entertained the notion of kissing his wife while she was dressed as a man. Kissing her, and then doing other things. Things an invert man might do to a pretty boy if he had him in his clutches. Or simply daring games that a man, and a woman who trusted him, might play.
This is not the time to get a raging erection, you imbecile.
But still Wilson couldn’t help himself, or control his flesh. Visions of Adela bent over the back of that nearby rustic garden seat taunted him. Her masculine trousers would be around her ankles, along with her drawers, and her creamy bottom present to the moonlight, for his pleasure. He pressed his hand to the front of his own trousers, although there wasn’t much likelihood of stilling the ache now his imagination had got ahold of him. Would he spank her beautiful behind? Possibly...and then, oh, then, which of her lusciously exposed portals would he enter?
She was masquerading as a boy, after all. Why not possess her as a boy, and fuck her perfect arse?
Would she wriggle and struggle and mock resist him? Or would she be stoic, attempting to hide her anxiety—and desire—boldly reaching around to hold apart her own buttocks to ease his entry?
Oh, that would be his daring, fearless Adela. She’d gasp, strain against him, almost compel him to proceed in the dark possession. And she’d be tight, oh, so tight. Her sex was sublimely snug, a perfect embracing fit, but her arse would grip him harder, fiercely holding him as he plumbed her depths and made her groan.
Oh, for pity’s sake, Wilson, you’ll be a poor excuse for a thief if you allow yourself to be distracted by your wife’s arse, right at a critical moment!
He couldn’t laugh aloud, but he grinned at his own foolishness. It might actually be more prudent to have Adela with him, after all. She was all good sense, and her cool disapproving glare would quell his idiocy until the appropriate time.
Still hard, but not distracted by it, he returned his attention to the window, and felt a jolt of attention when Devine rose from his desk.
The man was both smooth and despicable. Wilson had fought a good fight to remain as smooth in return as he’d faced Devine in his office earlier that day. What a hypocrite the fellow was. Feigning concern and sympathy for Sybil’s plight, and yet radiating malice and resentment and a gloating confidence beneath.
Devine had barely been able to suppress his glee when Wilson had suggested that they might present a counter offer to the mysterious blackmailer.
“My sister-in-law isn’t wealthy in her own right, as you know. As a concerned brother-in-law, I want to help in any way I can, but my wife and I, too, are of modest means until the death of her grandfather. The only significant assets we have between us are the Ruffington diamonds.” Oh, how those weasel eyes had sharpened. Did he know that Wilson could pay the purchase price, and barely notice the deficit? Or was it the mention of the gems that had piqued his interest? “My dear wife is fully prepared to sacrifice them, in order to purchase back the...items in question. But I wanted your opinion as to whether just one concession might be wrung from the party involved?”
“I couldn’t say.... It’s possible. These types are sometimes prepared to horse trade if the circumstances are advantageous. It all depends on whether they’ve been strung along in the past, in which case the possessor of the item may be inclined to stand firm.”
Wilson wanted to spring across the desk and beat the man to a pulp. “I’d ask for only a few days...simply to allow my dear wife one last opportunity to wear the diamonds in public at her sister’s engagement ball. Then she’d put them up for sale, discreetly, at a gem dealer of the greatest discretion, and the funds would be readily available.”
Greed and triumph shone in Devine’s pale eyes. “That’s one course of action. Or perhaps we could offer to hand over the diamonds directly? I could draw up a note to that effect and have it sent round to the poste restante if you like? Either way, if the party is a reasonable man, a charitable man—” the solicitor licked his lips “—I’m sure he wouldn’t deny Mrs. Ruffington one last opportunity to dazzle.”
How magnanimous.
When the interview was over, and the formalities settled, Wilson had experienced difficulty in quelling his urge to run from the room and hire a hansom to take him immediately to his favorite Turkish baths. Anything to wash—or steam—away the repugnant sense of grubbiness that seemed to coat him after spending time near Blair Devine.
He felt dirtied by the man even now. Although some of that sensation was probably actual dirt, from lurking around in the bushes, watching him.
Wilson held his breath. What was the odious creature doing? Did he know he was being observed, and was behaving in a way that was deliberately taunting?
Focusing his glasses to their maximum acuity, Wilson watched as his quarry ran his fingers down the edge of a particularly ugly painting of a horse, and abracadabra, the frame swung forward to reveal the heavy iron front of a safe. It was too far away to see the make of the lock as Devine manipulated it, and there was no indication as to whether he kept the key on his person, or secreted somewhere in the room, but Wilson wasn’t daunted. He was sure he could crack most strongboxes in England today, perhaps even in the empire or the whole world...and failing that, he had other avenues of attack. Certain acidic compounds he’d developed could be carefully utilized.
Yes, he could do it! He was confident.
Wilson smiled as he waited for the safe to be closed, the picture to swing back and eventually, the light to go out as Devine finally quit his library.
All Wilson wanted to do now was to get back home to Adela.
25
After Midnight
It was after midnight, and still no sign of Wilson. Adela had heard sounds in the house a little while ago, but there was no way of knowing if it was him, back from his long day of studying the lay of the land, and other preparations, or just one of the servants going about their normal nighttime tasks.
/> Come and tell me about it all, my love. I’m awake. I need to see you, even if you don’t stay and make love to me.
The plea was silent, but as the clock ticked quietly and the low lamp flickered a little, indicating a minor fluctuation in the supply of electrical power, a clearer sound made her heart leap in anticipation.
The door handle was turning slowly and stealthily.
“Adela? Are you awake?” called a low voice quietly from the shadows. Then Wilson stepped into the room.
It was an effort not to fly upright in bed, grinning like a fool. Wilson probably wouldn’t appreciate that. A measured response was better, even if she was elated that he’d finally appeared.
“Yes, I’m awake.” Propping herself up, she reached out for her shawl and drew it around her shoulders. “Have you eaten, Wilson? Shall I ring for Mrs. Rogers to prepare you something?”
“Don’t fret, Della. I’m perfectly all right,” said her husband, moving into the pool of light. His voice was mild and friendly despite the words, and he smiled at her as he stood beside the bed, looming a little as he almost always did. “I’m quite proud of myself. I stole into the kitchen and purloined some bread and ham and milk from the cold box, and now I’m well fed.”
Adela longed to reach out and grab him. He looked so enticing, so lean and powerful in his thin silk robe, and with his dark hair gleaming, as if damp from recent ablutions. “Excellent.” She smiled back at him. “Stealing from the kitchen is good practice for our forthcoming endeavors.”
Wilson seemed to hesitate, still hovering beside the bed. Was he shivering? It was unusually cool for this time of year and the splendid system for heating the entire house that he’d shown her, his own design, was not yet in operation. He certainly appeared weary, too, now she had a chance to look closer. “Would you mind if I slipped into bed for a little while, just to tell you about my progress today?” he said. “It’s very late, and you must be tired, as am I, so I won’t trouble you....”
It’s no trouble, my love. Never...
Adela lifted the covers, shuffled over and patted the place beside her.
“Thank you, my dear.... It’s chilly.” Slipping off his blue robe, Wilson climbed into bed. He was naked, as she presumed was his custom for sleep, and his long limbs were pale in the soft light. She tried not to glance at his cock. This wasn’t a time for carnal matters; he’d said as much. But she still couldn’t prevent herself from stealing a peek.
He was unaroused, and yet somehow, she didn’t feel disappointed. In fact, his quiescence moved her. In this instance, at least, he wanted something other than lovemaking from her, and that seemed more important for the moment than the flesh.
“So, how did you fare? What did you see? Did you speak to Devine?” She shrugged out of her shawl and snuggled beneath the bedclothes, flinging the shawl over Wilson’s side.
He shuddered, clearly with distaste, not cold now. “I did, and that worthy graciously agreed with me that it might be possible to persuade the blackmailer to wait until after the engagement ball for his payment. The gall of the man! I almost got the impression that he knew I knew it was him.... Either way, he seems to like the idea of taking the diamonds in return for the letters, goddamn him.”
“Did you meet at his office? Or his home?”
“His office. It was during business hours, and I think it’s better not to remind him that we’re familiar with where he lives. That way he’ll not suspect there’s a game afoot.”
Adela smiled at Wilson’s relishing the idea of an adventure. He would think this plan out to the very last detail, but that didn’t in any way quash his boyish enthusiasm for it.
“Very good. Sensible thinking.”
“Yes, I thought so.” Wilson beamed, stirring in the bed. Adela held herself still, trying not to reveal how the sensation of his firm bare thigh rubbing against hers through her nightgown excited her. This was not the time, this was not the time.
“Tell me more. What else did you achieve?”
“A very great deal, Della, a very great deal. I do believe we’ll be able to pull off this scrape magnificently.” Edging a little closer, he laid an arm across her, the gesture companionable, almost brotherly, but still welcome.
Speaking low and soft, but with an air of excitement, Wilson briefly and succinctly outlined his progress. After his interview at Blair Devine’s chambers, he’d hailed a cab and ridden to the house of an old friend of his, who, as luck would have it, had recently moved to a house not all that far away from Devine’s Norwood residence.
And he’d sought advice.
“What is he? A criminal? A policeman? A judge?”
“No, none of those... He’s a doctor and a writer, actually, but he has the most original and imaginative mind, with, well...a flair for the devious and the study of crime.” Wilson’s eyes glittered, as if he admired this clever man as a peer and equal. “He was able to make some useful suggestions for our enterprise, and confirm some of my own ideas on how to proceed. He said he’d love to come along...but alas, he has an engagement that evening.”
Adela was glad. Paragon or no paragon, she wanted to effect the escapade with Wilson alone, not accompanied.
After his visit to his clever friend, Wilson had made his way, on that friend’s instruction, to a public house in the vicinity of Devine’s home, and made casual inquiries, saying he was interested in purchasing a house locally and had heard Devine’s might be for sale. After initially drawing a blank, Wilson was preparing to leave when a stroke of good fortune had occurred.
He had encountered a local plumber and handyman in his cups with much to say about Blair Devine, and all of it disparaging. “He’s not well liked by locals, by tradesmen or even by his own servants,” Wilson told Adela. “Fred is quite friendly with Devine’s footman and he sent a note round, with a boy, to fetch him.”
“Won’t that make Devine suspicious, if he finds out about it?”
“That would have been true...if he’d been well regarded. But as he isn’t, I found not only Fred but the landlord also anxious to help. Especially when I was acting in the manner of a private detective looking into Devine’s affairs for a client. And the footman, Earnest, was thrilled to be of assistance in my surveillance.”
“Oh, Wilson, you’re outrageous! A detective, whatever next?” Adela chuckled, even more aware of his body as he hugged her and waggled his brows devilishly.
“Don’t laugh! I think I would have a flair for it. Crafty thinking and all that... And I’m sure Arthur would give me plenty of tips.”
“No doubt he would.... So, what else did you discover?”
Adela listened, rapt, as Wilson described all that he’d learned from the footman, and then how he’d lain low outside Devine’s house for an hour or so, watching.
“No wonder you’re chilled and tired,” she exclaimed, imagining her husband crouched in the cold, watching and waiting. “I hope you haven’t caught a cold.”
“Don’t worry.” Wilson inclined toward her and kissed her on the forehead. “I might look like a skinny, pasty-faced scholar, but you know I’m tough, Della. I’m perfectly well, and I had a hot bath when I got in.” He slid his arms around her and drew her to him. Still gently, still chastely...or almost chastely. Against her thigh, Adela detected something herself. “And Earnest was able to tell me something of the layout of the house, and the best points of access. Our luck is in, my dear. Devine’s study is on the ground floor and has a convenient window...and I was even able to see him open his safe.”
“Goodness...a safe? Doesn’t that make things more difficult?”
“Not in the slightest!” Wilson sounded so confident, and it was difficult not to be swept along. “Remember, my dear, I’m quite an expert on safes, and have even designed several. And this one did not look too difficult. I should be able to crack it quite easily...or failing that, compromise the lock with a spot of acid.”
“Acid?”
“Never fear, you know me better th
an to think I’d take risks with chemicals. It will be safely transported in a vial of my own design, and I shall wear gloves when handling it.”
“If you say so.”
“That I do. Trust me, Della. I’m thinking all this out most carefully, and we’ll be especially cautious as we proceed.”
We. How good that sounded. To be part of this bold scheme to save Sybil’s engagement. To be considered a worthy “partner in crime” by perhaps one of the most brilliant minds in the entire British Empire. Edging closer, she murmured, “I do trust you, Wilson...but I almost feel guilty.”
“Why?” His mouth was against her brow, and she felt his hand come up and his fingers delve into her hair. He loved to do that to sample its texture and thickness.
“Because it’s all so exciting, and I’m really looking forward to it...and I shouldn’t because it’s serious and Sybil’s so upset.”
He shrugged slightly. “It’s a challenge to the intellect and to the spirit, Della. No wonder you’re excited. Of course, we’re both worried about Sybil...but we can still enjoy our little adventure, too.”
They lay in silence for a little while. Adela tried to relax, but she still felt tense. Every part of her was yearning, aching in hope that just this once, Wilson might actually stay instead of returning to his own room. But she wouldn’t ask and she certainly wouldn’t beg. No matter how affectionate he seemed sometimes, and how astonishingly more amenable he was being these days, she must never forget the deal between them. The arrangement. They were both being sensible and adult, and making the best of things...weren’t they?
“Can you not rest?” Wilson’s words made her jump, but immediately, almost as he were doing it purely on instinct, he stroked her hair again.
“I suppose I’m just thinking over our little endeavor and how it might progress. My mind is turning over. You must know how that is. Yours never seems to stop.”
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