by Anh Leod
“Have you seen Miss Rogers?”
She recognized the voice of Mr. G—. Her cousin Edgar answered.
“I saw her leave the drawing room,” he drawled in his insufferably high voice. “Coxe won’t have allowed her to get far.”
He was her jailer, Emily realized, outraged. Yet, she had the upper hand at this moment. Instinctively, she reached down to take his cock in her hand.
Emily was stilled by Coxe’s hand on her mouth. Had she missed some sign of ingress into their alcove? Would they be discovered?
Chapter Two
Emily rubbed her toe in the hideous and faded forty-year-old Wilton carpet in the quiet drawing room. The winged snakes, lions, urns, labyrinths and hieroglyphs in their red, yellow and Prussian blue shades had fascinated her as a child, but now they just looked tired, along with the only slightly newer faux bamboo furnishings. They had been au courant circa 1820 and were now an embarrassment the servants had removed completely before the ball the previous night. They must have been up very early to return all the furniture that belonged in the large room.
She imagined how she could redecorate if only the necklace was hers. Perhaps a new Axminster carpet, with Egyptian cartouches to leave some hint of the former style. A piano of better quality was necessary and curtains of Chinese silk. She would buy a more beautiful clock for the mantelpiece and install a bookcase for a new collection of beautifully bound volumes. Her mother’s small collection of silver would be expanded and have display cases of its own. Of course, all new sofas, ottomans and chairs, possibly upholstered in crimson fabric would be necessary and tables of good wood.
None of this fantasy would be possible, for the necklace was not her property. With a sigh, she went back upstairs to report to her mother the drawing room had been restored to her satisfaction.
In her own room, she opened her wardrobe, where she had hidden the necklace under summer dresses. She pulled them away, exposing the piece. The diamonds winked at her and she stared, wondering about its mysterious owner.
Taking the gems into her hands, she circled the room, looking for a better hiding place. Her palms grew warm under the piece, almost as if the heat was coming from the necklace. It made her feel unsettled and reminded her of Coxe, the heavy, satisfying feeling of him in her mouth.
Her suitor and cousin had not discovered them in the alcove, despite their candlelight. Luckily the curtain shading the alcove was made of heavy stuff. They had quickly turned away from each other and straightened their clothing. As soon as the corridor was empty they had gone in opposite directions. Emily fled to her room to calm her tangled nerves and hide the necklace. Coxe, she supposed, had returned to his duties. She had not seen him again, making sure to stay in the drawing room when she went back downstairs.
Quickly, she thrust the necklace into a hidden recess of her desk and stepped back, her heart pounding. This lust for money was quite unbecoming. Surely that was all it was, a desperate wish to have the things these gems could buy. It couldn’t be a sensual obsession with the family butler causing her body’s betrayal. She had other men to think of, a husband to find. Nothing but ruin awaited her if she pursued this attraction to the darkly, ascetically handsome William Coxe.
* * * * *
On the way to her room early Monday afternoon, Emily passed Coxe in the corridor on some errand. She felt her face flush and her lips suddenly went dry.
“Coxe,” she greeted him with an unsteady voice.
“Miss.” His deep voice betrayed nothing of what had passed between them during the ball.
She had made sure to fulfill every line on her dance card that night after their encounter and her father had smiled his approval in the early morning hours when the ball ended. She had evaded his questions when he asked how things proceeded with Mr. G—. It had crossed her mind that marriage might be a refuge for her, now that her womanly senses had been so awakened. Certainly her sense of herself had been quite different in the day and a half since the ball. She was so aware of her body now, even the kiss of fabric against her skin.
Now, looking at Coxe, she wondered if her womanly senses would respond to any but him. Her mouth might be dry, but that womanly place between her legs was weeping with anticipation. Her fire from that night was back and she didn’t know how to make it go away. She had never felt anything like it before their encounter and had barely slept when she finally reached her bed.
“You had a pleasant ball?” he inquired.
She hadn’t spoken to him since and suppressed a smile at his guarded words. What was he really asking? “Some of it was pleasant,” she answered carefully. “Some downright alarming. You might even say, it was thrilling.”
He drew in a rough breath. “I quite agree.”
Emily drew her skirt aside, trying to hide her fluster as she permitted the upstairs maid to pass them. “There is a little matter I must discuss with you, Coxe.”
“Miss?”
She blushed, but tried to stay practical. “The matter of the necklace.”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes, miss.”
“I still have it.”
“Miss?”
“In my writing table.”
“Why did you not return it to the lady in question?”
“She was gone when I, er, returned to the festivities.”
He frowned. “I never saw her exit and after we…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I took a post closer to the front entrance.”
She felt herself blush again. “She must have left, umm, during.”
“Yes, miss, I believe you are correct in that assumption.”
“She was dressed like a queen. She had a diamond tiara and gold coins sewn to her dress, which was quite a lovely shade of red. Someone must remember her. Perhaps when Mother feels well enough to make calls I can ask our friends.”
He cleared his throat. “I will inquire among the servants in the neighborhood, to see who your description might fit.”
She inclined her head. “Thank you, Coxe.” Her heart was pounding in her breast so strongly she wondered if he could hear it. She could smell, ever so faintly, that musk that had entranced her at the ball. Was it ever present, or was their current physical closeness causing some sharpening olfactory reaction in him?
“Will there be anything else?” His voice cracked on the last word.
She made a quick decision. “I would prefer to entrust the item to your care. You have access to my father’s safe, correct?”
“I do, yes.”
“I’d like you to put it there for safekeeping. It is clearly such a valuable piece and I fear my nerves will not quite settle until it is out of my chamber.” Nerves indeed. The piece made her entire body tingle when she touched it. She knew if it didn’t leave her possession she wouldn’t be able to stop touching it. It lured her somehow.
“I understand.” He blinked as if a thought had suddenly crossed his mind. “Would you like me to fetch it now, or will you bring it to me?”
“Oh,” she considered. “We should get it now, for safety.”
His pupils dilated as she watched him. She wondered if his trousers were bulging now as well, but didn’t dare to check under his frock coat to find out. The maid could pass by again at any moment.
“Very well,” he said.
He followed her as she walked briskly down the hall. Her heart beat many times for each step she made on the worn carpet. She could almost feel his ballocks in her hand, like they had been on Saturday night. How heady it was to feel feminine power in its most intimate fashion. Why was it that she felt like she’d touched another soul for the first time that night? Surely a young lady of status and a butler had nothing in common.
They reached her door. Her fingers trembled as they touched her doorknob. As the knob twisted, she felt as though she was starting a new life, which was silly, since she merely entered the room that had been her safe harbor almost since birth.
Her room was cozily furnished with good though somewhat elderl
y mahogany furniture that had belonged to her mother’s family, who were distantly connected to a barony in the north of England. Her large four-poster bed was hung with burgundy curtains, recently washed and her washstand and writing desk were neat. She would not show herself to be a poor homemaker here.
When she turned, she noticed the butler looked a little pale.
“Coxe?” she inquired.
“I’ve never been in a young lady’s room,” he said, closing the door behind them.
They were alone together again! She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, then coughed convulsively.
“Let me get you some water!” She rushed to the water carafe on her washstand and poured the liquid into a glass. In her headlong dash to get it to him and his to take it from her, they collided.
Half the glass’s contents spilled on his frock coat.
“Oh dear!” Emily brushed at the water, only further dampening the fabric. Mindlessly, she started undoing his buttons. Just as quickly, he slipped the coat from his broad shoulders and hung it on the back of her chair.
Then she saw the evidence of his manhood. The prominent, elongated shape so clearly outlined under tight trousers made her own mouth dry and as the glass was still in her hand, she took a deep gulp, draining it.
Coxe coughed again. “Miss?” he said, hoarsely.
“Oh, dear,” she repeated and went back to the water jug to fill the glass to the lip. She had never known a man’s bulge could be so distracting.
He took the glass from her and sipped, but his hand shook. A little of the water spilled onto the shawl she had tightly wrapped around her shoulders, since he was towering over her. His enticing bulge was, as a result, hidden from view, but she could smell him. Her eyes closed so she could draw that secret scent into her lungs.
She let out a little moan.
“Miss Rogers?”
She opened her eyes. “Oh! Pardon me. I drifted for a moment.” Her senses were swimming in all that was Coxe.
His lips trembled as much as his hand. “There is water dripping from your shawl.”
She touched it, felt the water, then walked over to her looking glass. Had any young woman ever looked such a hoyden? Her shawl was damp, her hair had somehow become mussed and her color was alarmingly high.
Coxe had worked for her family for three years. Why had she never felt his manly appeal before?
She unwrapped her shawl and placed it on the seat of her writing chair, since the back was already covered in Coxe’s coat.
“I had better get you the necklace,” she said, “before we destroy my room.”
The desk had a secret drawer at the back, behind another drawer. She pulled out the first and reached into the dark space to unlatch her hiding spot. Her fingers grasped the medallioned chain of the necklace. She removed it. Once again, her heart began to race as she clutched the expensive piece that had the power to conclude all her worries.
“I suppose we must find its owner,” she sighed.
When she turned, Coxe was leaning over her and her body bumped his. She looked up, meeting his eyes in the frail March sun and felt the breath expel from his sculpted lips. His darker orbs mesmerized her eyes. Her lips fluttered toward his.
“Miss Rogers,” he said in a low voice, then captured her mouth with his.
This, their first kiss, was a rapturous experience worthy of the finest poetry. His lips caressed hers as if she were a rose petal, even as his arms crushed her to his chest. She locked her own arms around his waist, cursing the petticoats that hid the sensation of his limbs against hers, his bulge against her belly. How she wanted to feel his warm flesh against hers.
Why couldn’t she? Her arms were bare. All she had to do was lift his shirt from his trousers. He made not a sound of protest as she inched up the white linen and wrapped her arms around his solid, warm frame. They made a delicious duet of simultaneous moans when their flesh touched.
His hands slid from her cheeks to her neck, then down her shoulders to her arms. Gently, he pulled her arms from his and eased his lips away.
Tears welled in her eyes at the separation.
“Don’t go!” she pled.
“I’m not,” he replied, “I just want to look at you.”
“Oh.” She touched her hair. “I’m a frightful mess. I can’t understand what’s gotten into me.”
He pulled her to the mirror, placing her in front of it, as he stood behind. “You are a beauty, Miss Rogers, an English Rose with hair of fire.”
She smiled at his description, not feeling much like a rose with her bosom heaving with every breath. She was more like a Bleeding Heart, with every emotion on display. Her nipples were tight nubs under her corset again and moisture pooled between her legs. If she had a scent like he did, surely he could smell it now.
He, on the other hand, looked dignified behind her, even with the unmannerly hair she had tousled before rearranging his shirt. She saw the surprise in her own reflection as he took the necklace from her hands and placed it at her throat. The gold connected with her bare skin at an elemental level, causing sensation to radiate from her chest to her extremities. She felt his fingers fumble with the clasp at her neck until the circle of the necklace was complete.
Her fingers traced the line of three large emeralds in the center of the necklace, surrounded by diamonds created from many small winking stones. Feeling impish, knowing it would have some effect on him, she lingered on the pearl drop at the bottom of the piece, stroking the elongated gem as if it were a tiny cock.
Not unexpectedly, she heard the sharp intake of Coxe’s breath.
“Witch,” he whispered. “Sorceress.”
Her eyes widened at his words. She watched his large hands leave her neck and slowly, so slowly, move around her bodice until, more felt than seen, they clutched her breasts.
How she wished her dress, corset and chemise were gone so she could feel his touch on her skin! If she were a witch, she would will them away with a muttered incantation. But she was only a woman and would require intimate assistance to rid herself of the now hated garments.
“Coxe?” she said in a purr she barely recognized. “Is the door bolted? I require your assistance in a personal matter.”
“I believe not, miss.”
“Then, please,” her voice caught. “Please, William, bolt the door.”
He nodded gravely. “Very well, I am at your command.”
Only a moment passed before he returned, but she already ached for him.
“What power you have over me,” she whispered, stroking his cock through his trousers. Its shape was strong under the fabric and her fingers, with almost a mind of their own, began to unbutton and free him.
He stopped her with a hand on hers. “Miss, if you do that now, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Call me Emily,” she said softly. “We are not mistress and servant here.”
His lips parted, then fell on hers with an indescribably delicious hunger. She felt his arms wrap around her shoulders, crushing her to his solid chest. Her lips opened beneath his. Barely had she done so than his plundering tongue swept in. She smelled mint on his breath, felt it tickle her nose. Opening wider, she shyly touched her tongue to his and he suckled it, triggering a wave of delight. The tips of her breasts swelled in response and she felt juices moisten her cunny.
Her pelvis angled toward his and she shifted her legs so they encased one of his in their imprisoning fabric. She wanted something so badly, needed to end this ache between her legs and she knew only he could help her. When would this longing for his body end? It felt eternal and more important than anything else.
Even if her mother had walked in at this moment, she could not have stopped her explorations. She was locked in passion’s spell.
Her day dress was of a fine blue wool and short-sleeved despite the early spring chill. Now that her shawl was on her chair, she felt fine goose pimples on her arms, though her face and neck were warm where he touched her. As his
lips left her mouth and trailed down her cheek, she bared her neck to him. The tender skin there flushed under his kisses and her whole body shuddered as he nipped a particularly tender spot on the left side. Her torso felt like it was on fire and rubbing herself against his leg only increased the steam between her legs.
William groaned against her. The vibrations sent a pulse right to some spot she’d been hitherto unaware of in her cunny. The moistness there became luscious wet heat.
Desperate for the touch and smell of his skin, she wrapped her arms around his warm waist. His lips were back on her mouth now and she felt a tear in her eye and the sweetness of his kiss.
“Buttons,” she murmured, breaking away.
“What?” His tea-dark eyes were glazed with heat, his thin face’s noble cast enticed her.
She separated her legs from his and turned, never entirely losing contact with his form.
“Undo the buttons.” She quickly shed her black silk apron, about the only item she could remove herself.
He clasped her around the waist. “There will be no going back from this,” he cautioned.
Her heart fluttered, as if waving a handkerchief, forbidding her to stop. She ignored it. She must. “There is a fire in me that cannot be quenched by anything less than your flesh next to mine.”
“I should say no,” he muttered, “but I can’t.”
“Then play maid for me, William,” she begged.
She heard him swallow hard, then felt his smooth fingers on her back, against the buttons. As he undid each one, the fabric momentarily tightened, then loosened, constricting her breasts with pleasured little jabs before letting them loose, full and heavy. Once he had pulled the dress over her head, momentarily ensnaring her in the scents of her own body there was still more.
Impatiently, she pulled at it until she was free of the blue wool and stood before him, feeling aroused yet somewhat defiant at the confusion in his eyes.
“I’ve never seen a corset,” he told her.