Aphrodite's Necklace

by Anh Leod

  She blinked. Could he possibly be as innocent as she was? “It laces in the back.”

  He nodded and stepped back around her. “You are trapped in your clothes without assistance,” he observed. “Like a gift for a man to unwrap.”

  “You’re forced to unwrap us very slowly,” she jested.

  He undid the knots on her corset. It was old, but of course he didn’t know fashion, wouldn’t realize the way she had economized. She could just barely catch sight of him in her mirror, rosy tongue between his teeth as he concentrated. His face had a high color she hadn’t formerly associated with the aesthetic person he presented to the world. She wondered about his past. Until now, he’d simply been the forbidding butler. Now, unavoidably, she had to consider the man.

  Distraction came in the form of the corset tightening momentarily. She tried to draw in breath and gasped.

  “Pardon, pardon.” He smoothed his hands down her back.

  “Shhh,” she whispered, feeling her fine hairs rise. “What if someone heard?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She barely felt the corset unmolding her breasts, so turgid were they with her hot blood. “I don’t think it’s avoidable.” Vague memories of what her friend Emily’s married sister had said about her wedding night came to her. But Emily’s husband wasn’t nearly as beautiful as William and surely she had never felt such overwhelming longings as were spurring this desperate act. Bare to her petticoats and chemise, Emily wrapped her arms around William and kissed him hard, using lips, teeth and tongue.

  He lifted and spun her. She tried to wrap her legs around him, but barely managed her ankles because of her petticoats. Quickly, she undid the brass hook and loops of her stiff linen crinoline and dropped it to the floor. The petticoats and stockings received the same treatment.

  “It looks like a battle in here,” William observed. Her clothes draped the floor in disarray.

  “I haven’t won yet.” With a finger, Emily pushed him onto the bed, ignoring the mess and his servant’s desire for order. He sat and she drew the curtains around the bed, enclosing them in a dark world of their own.

  “No candle this time?”

  Her cheeks burned with shyness at his words, at the idea that he’d want to see her naked, but when she touched the jewels at her neck the flames in her cunny overrode any finer feelings. From where she knelt beside him, she could pull off his shirt and did so. The soft rasp of the fabric leaving his skin enticed her and when she had flung the shirt aside she pressed her lips to his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his upper torso. She felt firm rounded flesh and soft nubs of his nipples.

  A quick pinch had him gasping and the next thing she knew, he had pounced on her, holding down her wrists with his own hands. She giggled helplessly, out of breath from the sudden trouncing.

  “You are a merry maid,” he said, his warm breath dusting her cheekbone. “Under these circumstances.”

  “Normally I have much on my mind.” She turned and traced his cheek with the tip of her nose. “None of it matters now.”

  He aligned his lips to hers and took her in a sudden kiss. The play was over and now his passion roused in deadly seriousness. She opened her mouth under his, felt his tongue thrust. Her juices dampened her chemise in response and she wanted her breasts against his.

  She pushed against his thumbs until he released her, then tugged at her chemise.

  “What?” he said, then as he realized what she was doing, helped pull it over her chest. The fine linen nonetheless scraped at her sensitive skin until she wanted to beat her heels into the bed in frustration.

  Then he touched her thigh. Her back bowed with the sudden shock of it and he slid her chemise beneath her. His hand was only inches away from her cunny.

  “No drawers?” he asked.

  “I hate them.”

  “Bless the saints for that.”

  She smiled at his ironic tone and clutched at his trousers. “I have only the necklace on now.”

  “You want my clothes off too?” he asked, all business.

  “Please the saints that it be so,” she retorted.

  He chuckled.

  She felt him come to his knees over her and tug at his clothing until it was off. His dusky scent surrounded her, making her want to relax back and open her legs. A hand at his arm brought his body to hers and she wrapped her legs around him when his pressure bore her deeper into her quilt.

  “This is lovely,” she whispered, content for a moment to ignore the fire in her loins.

  He teased the curls on the side of her face with his lips. “You are so soft.”

  Her lips curved. “Is that the only difference between us?”

  He bit her ear. She felt the sharp little prick of pain as only pleasure.

  “You know better than that. You aren’t so badly educated.” He rocked her hips and she felt his thick cock position itself between her thighs.

  “Will I bleed, do you think?”

  “That’s why I placed you on your chemise,” he said. “But I hope not. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She wriggled as much as possible with her legs around him and his weight on her, felt her juices further stain the chemise. “I feel so marvelous already. I can’t imagine joining with you causing me pain. Please, William. I’m so ready.”

  His swallow clicked in her ear and his breath was hot on her cheek. “Thank you.”

  She felt a blunt pressure between her thighs and pushed toward it with her hips. His hot flesh entered her body. Her back arched again in pleasure and she felt her entire body begin to shake with the glorious full feeling in her cunny. She bit her lip to hold back her cry.

  “Are you—”

  “I’m fine,” she gasped, finding the sensations intensified when she rocked her hips. This was the act of love? How could anyone fear this?

  She heard a quick exhalation from him as he thrust again. Her fingers gripped his back. Distantly she worried about marking him, but then he thrust yet again and she lost all reason.

  Sweat blossomed between them as they rocked together, united in pleasure. He moved his hips more and more quickly, more and more deeply and she took all of him, her virgin’s flesh stretching to accommodate.

  Swirls of color began behind her tightly closed eyes, as she clutched him to her in an exertion quite not in fashion. Her lungs hissed with unaccustomed effort and she didn’t have breath for the moans threatening to break from her mouth. She bucked and he thrust once, twice, then one last time, before she felt a hot pulse against her breast, almost a burning as her body convulsed and her soul exploded from her breast, reaching for heaven.

  As she panted, fine trembles suffusing her body, she felt him thrust one last time, so deeply that this time it did dully hurt and then he began to shudder too. She smoothed her fingers down his back, holding on, soothing him as his own juices mingled with hers. All damp heat, she opened her eyes to the blank cave of their shrouded cocoon.

  He sighed deeply, pushing the necklace into her chest. She cried out in pain for the first time. With a quick press of his hands to the bed, he moved to a kneeling position, still between her legs.

  He cursed. “I knew I’d hurt you.”

  “No, it was the necklace. It bit into me.”

  He caressed her chest, lifting the heavy jewels before settling them back down. “I’d forgotten you wore the necklace. If you roll over, I’ll undo the clasp.”

  She bent her knees until her legs were cleared from his body and did as he requested, holding her chest above the bed on bent arms. Her mind had been pulled from its dreamy float by the pain, but she still found it hard to focus.

  The necklace made a clinking sound as it dropped to her quilt. She picked it up and rolled back over. The gold felt cold now against her fingers, like its fires had banked.

  “Do you suppose it smells of us?” She handed it to him.

  “I’ll wipe it clean.”

  She heard him breathing. Their bodies kept the enc
losed space warm enough, yet she shivered. As dangerous as this act had been, she knew she would risk it again and soon.

  “I won’t give you up,” she whispered. “I want you too badly.”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “As long as we can keep it secret from the other servants, we’ll be fine. My parents will never notice.” She hoped.

  “Only the upstairs maid and perhaps your mother’s maid would be likely to see anything.”

  “You can never sleep here. It would leave us too exposed.” Her passion for him ran hot, but she didn’t want to be a fool, either.

  “Of course. I believe it is close to four. I heard the clock,” he said in the stiff tone she thought of as his butler voice. He cleared his throat. “Shall I play maid?”

  “Please.” She came to kneel at the foot of the bed as he pushed aside the curtains. They wouldn’t have much more time before her mother’s maid came upstairs to wake her from her nap.

  Quickly, Emily made her ablutions, only pausing to watch William’s economical movements of dress. When he had replaced his trousers and shirt, he went to the bed and found her chemise.

  She felt a sick feeling in her stomach as she saw her own blood. She didn’t seem to be bleeding now, but she clearly had been. “Burn it.”

  “It’s good cloth,” he said, with eyebrows raised.

  “It’s old. The seams are coming apart.”

  He looked down again at the fabric. “You are correct.”

  “I must have Maudie make me more,” she said. Her former governess had married and left their household, but she still did a lot of their sewing.

  “I’ll make sure no one sees it,” he assured her.

  “Thank you.” Clean now, she went to her wardrobe and pulled out a clean folded chemise. She slipped it over her head and then went to him.

  His expression was bemused, as he still looked at the chemise in his hands. She pulled it from him and kissed him. Hunger flared in them both and they clung together for long moments.

  “I hate to truss you back up,” he told her. “You are so lithe like this, your body molds to mine.”

  “I am used to it. I almost feel unsteady without a corset.”

  He nodded and gathered her discarded clothes so she could step back into them, then helped her with her corset and dress.

  “Is it like it never happened?” he asked, when she stood in front of him, a proper young lady again.

  She took his hand and moved him back to the mirror. Her hair, while retaining the former style, had a nimbus of curls not present before and her cheeks had a high color.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  She smiled at him in the mirror. “I look quite a different person.” She noted his color was still high as well.

  “Has passion changed us?”

  She turned, clasped him with the looser grip she could manage with the corset constricting her. “I am your Emily and you are my William.”

  He kissed her forehead. “It is enough.” Without another word, he released her and picked up her chemise.

  His tea eyes held her for one long, searching moment before he left the room. She darted to the door and bolted it behind him.

  How could she live in this house with him and not betray herself?

  Chapter Three

  The crimson curtains, carpet and upholstery of the dining room reminded Emily of her maidenhead blood, spilled only hours before. The mahogany of the dining set and other furnishings in this room reminded her of William’s eyes. How could she see him as only the butler now she had experienced passion in his arms?

  The table was laid with hare soup and fried fish. Emily stiffened as her parents entered the room as the clock tolled six p.m. Her mother leaned heavily on her father’s arm and only he smiled at her.

  Thankfully, neither of them appeared to notice anything amiss. Her mother didn’t even comment on the blooming color in her cheeks.

  They ate the first course in silence. When Emily looked up as a maid cleared her plate and placed a new one in front of her, she saw William take his place behind her father. Her heart thumped in her chest and she pressed her hand against herself.

  “Are you well?” inquired her father. “You have a queer look in your eye, my girl.”

  She swallowed hard. So much for being unnoticed. Not for the first time she wished she had living siblings to distract some of her parents’ attentions. “A bit tired, perhaps.”

  “What have you done to make you tired? Your mother tells me she was too distressed by her headaches today to make calls.”

  Emily bent her head. “Yes, Papa.”

  He turned to his wife. “Tomorrow you should visit Mrs. G—, the barrister’s mother. We need to keep up interest in that area.”

  “You think he will be the best choice for Emily?” her mother asked, in a lazy drawl.

  Her father’s lips convulsed, showing Emily how hard it was for him to settle. “She needs to marry. We cannot keep her with us forever.”

  Her mother closed her eyes and Emily knew she was thinking of her lost son and how short a time he had been with them.

  Emily’s gaze moved to William. He stood, stony-faced. With her new understanding of him, she could see the rigidity of his shoulders. The sight of him, tall and strong, made her breasts ache with aroused tenderness.

  “Papa,” she said, picking up her fork to poke at the chicken and curried vegetables that had just been served, “I am afraid Mr. G— may be more interested in Davina.”

  “Why?” asked her mother, with as much indignation as her tired spirit could muster.

  “She is younger.” Emily ducked her head.

  “Well, she isn’t prettier. Your father is more successful…” Mrs. Rogers trailed off when she realized that while Davina and Edgar’s late father may have died less successful than her husband, the Rogers were presently in danger as well.

  Mr. Rogers sighed. “I’ll have a discreet word with an interested party. We don’t want to waste time if he’s sniffing after my niece.”

  How businesslike, thought Emily with a sigh. She looked longingly at William and wished fervently she could be in his arms right now.

  “Emily,” her mother said sharply. “Mind us. This is your future we are discussing.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Emily said, still staring at William.

  Her attention in that quarter was so obvious her father swiveled in his chair to see what she was staring at.

  He harrumphed. “Looking to your grandmother for guidance, my girl?”

  Above William’s head hung a portrait of his mother, the late Mrs. Rogers. Painted after her death as the Rogers family had raised themselves in the world, it depicted a simpering redheaded miss circa 1795, the year of her marriage. She was seated, displaying the short train of her low-cut round gown. Emily was often told she looked like her grandmother, but was sure she’d never worn that expression on her face in her life. It was very possible her grandmother never had either, being a prosperous baker’s daughter who had nonetheless done duty in the shop, which is how she met Emily’s grandfather.

  “What do you think she can tell me?” Emily asked. Marry up in the world? Certainly sporting with the family butler wouldn’t make that possibility likely. How could she resolve her present circumstance? She could scarcely keep her eyes off the bewitching William. Her cunny twitched as she shifted in her chair, uncomfortable under the double gaze of both William and her father. She simply had to pray for guidance, since she couldn’t give him up.

  “She had spirit,” her father said unexpectedly.

  Emily tore her glance from William and brought her eyes to her father’s level. “She did?”

  He nodded. “You’d have liked her, though you are a quieter sort, like your mother. Different upbringing certainly. More genteel.”

  Emily pressed her lips together. If her father only knew. If he had seen what she’d been doing that afternoon, he’d know her breeding was quite of an earlier, earthi
er age.

  “I am sorry I didn’t know her. We have so few living relatives.”

  “More the reason to get you married off then, while you are still young enough to have a houseful of children.”

  Her eyes moved back to William. What if they had created a child? Saints in heaven, even that thought didn’t decrease her longing.

  “The Honorable Mr. O—?” Mrs. Rogers asked faintly.

  “A lecher,” Emily said absently.

  “Emily!” her father shouted.

  She blinked. “And he’s very short.”

  “But a Viscount’s son,” he protested.

  “He’s not for me,” she said stoutly. “I know my own mind in this.”

  “Very well,” her father mused. “Who else were you partnered with at the ball?”

  Emily bit back a smile. Who else indeed. She responded with the contents of her dance card.

  The second course was sent back mostly untasted by the family. Puddings and cheese came next. Emily found it easier to swallow the soft foods past the lump in her throat as her other dance partners were dissected by her parents. It was agreed the Rogers women would visit a Mrs. S— as well as Mrs. O— on the morrow. Mr. S— was a bit young and only another banker, but her father felt the lad had “prospects” and was worth pursuing as a dark horse candidate if Mr. O— left the field. Mr. L—, a doctor, was held in reserve as his prospects were somewhat dimmer, due his profession, even if he did own a beautiful Georgian-style house on Harley Street.

  Emily steeled herself to remain outwardly accommodating and polite through the conversation, but under the table had locked her legs around her chair. At least if her family decided to focus on a new candidate it would lengthen her time with William. That was all she could hope for, unless she married a man with the income it would take to afford a household with male servants. In any case, William would be unlikely to come with her to a newlywed establishment.

  Besides, she doubted any of her present suitors were so flush.

  * * * * *

  With the study door safely bolted behind him, William placed the April housekeeping money in Mr. Rogers’ safe and started to close the metal door. The lady in red’s necklace called to him though and he pulled out his pocket watch to make sure he had time to check on it. There was time. He reached in to grasp the bottommost jewel casket then pulled it out.