by Fiona Miers
Charlotte moved on his lap and he drew back to stare at her.
“Charlotte, you can’t do that,” he hissed through his teeth. He stopped moving his fingers inside her and could barely concentrate on anything other than her pelvis grinding down onto him and the pleasure throbbing in his balls.
She smiled at him knowingly and asked the obvious question.
“Why? You like it.” She purred like a practiced courtesan.
Archie groaned as he neared the precipice and quickly withdrew his fingers and pushed her away from his cock and along his thighs.
“You stopped,” Charlotte pouted openly. “I don’t feel...” She stopped.
“You don’t feel what?” Archie asked.
“Nothing,” Charlotte mumbled, ducking her head.
“Finished? Relieved?” Archie asked, knowing exactly how she was feeling, but unlike her, he knew what he needed.
Charlotte lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes wide and so uninhibited.
“Do you want me to keep going?” He asked, knowing that there was a possibility that he would finish in his evening breeches if she did.
“Do you know what I need?” she asked quietly.
“Not exactly, but I know where you’re wanting to go. I’ll try my best to get you there.”
Reaching between her thighs again he stopped as one of her hands slid down his chest and softly caressed him over the front of his breeches.
“What about you?” She asked, her voice sounding shy despite her brazen actions. His cock jerked beneath her touch, all the blood in his body flowing to where her hand lay.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll finish myself off later.” Archie muttered, breathing rapidly and attempted to push her hands away.
“I can’t touch you how you’re touching me?” Charlotte asked, sliding closer so he couldn’t dislodge her easily.
“Of course, you can... but it’s probably better that you don’t,” Archie told her, trying his best to sound serious. It felt so good having her touch him there, he wasn’t sure he could make her stop.
“I’d like to touch you, please.” Charlotte sounded exactly like herself, and yet completely different. His brazen, fearless Charlotte mixed in with an excited, innocent but inquisitive Charlotte. The combination was going to be lethal for him.
Archie moaned loudly when she continued to touch him, feather light pressure over the crown of his aching cock.
“Harder, please,” Archie pressed his fingers deeply within her, absorbing her moan as he set up an unforgiving rhythm.
Charlotte arched into his hand and groaned, pressing her hand along his length, matching the frantic rhythm he set with his fingers.
Archie knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. In desperation, he used his thumb to press the small button she had liked him touching previously and was rewarded by a gasp from Charlotte and a tightening of the muscles within her tight sheath.
They were both panting and kissing and straining against each other. Archie worked his fingers and rotated his thumb, praying for strength as her hands worked their magic on his starved body.
Just when he was sure he would finish before her, Charlotte screamed into his mouth and convulsed in his lap. Archie sighed and let go himself, his orgasm crashing down on him in a hot, hard wave. He flooded his drawers and groaned loudly. They both convulsed several more times and then slumped together, lips still touching. They were barely kissing yet they breathed the same air, slowly they resurfaced.
“What happened?”
“We gave each other pleasure.” He explained, his eyes closed, his head still spinning like a top. “Women have pleasure the same as men do, I believe. It’s just that not everyone knows to try to achieve it.”
Archie forced his eyes open and took in the beautiful view of her face still flushed from her orgasm. He carefully withdrew his hand from between her thighs and gently pulled the skirts down to cover her legs. She had beautiful legs. Maybe next time she’d let him kiss her in all the places he had just touched with his fingers. Archie shook his head to dislodge the arousing image, where had that thought come from? Next time? There couldn’t be a next time for them. If he couldn’t marry her, not that she would have him he reminded himself, then he had to stop these encounters. If she was compromised, he would have to offer to marry her and then she would hate him for deceiving her. That would be like hell on Earth for him, having Charlotte be his wife and yet live with her despising him. He was literally between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t imagine either scenario working.
“We should go back to the ballroom.” Archie gently pushed Charlotte from his lap and stood up next to her. The wetness in his breeches was cold and he cringed at the discomfort. He must go home to change instantly. He could not stay in soiled linen, what would his valet think? Archie shuddered to think. He pulled his jacket together and did up the buttons to cover the darkened material.
Charlotte sighed heavily. “I can’t believe you did that to me with no practice.”
Archie struggled to keep the smug grin inside himself as he took her hand and placed it on his elbow.
“Well you had no practice and had no problem with me,” he told her as calmly as possible. Inside he was doing a little jig but he didn’t want her to know that. He had to tell her that this would be the last time they could play with each other and he was suddenly worried how she would take it.
Charlotte laughed musically.
“Perhaps we could meet again next week at Lady Dotherington’s ball?” She suggested, squeezing his forearm firmly.
Archie ached to say that he would love nothing more than to repeat tonight’s experience, but he knew that getting any more involved with Charlotte would be a problem.
“Perhaps not Charlotte.” He told her gently patting her hand reassuringly.
“Why ever not?”
Archie looked down into Charlotte’s bright blue eyes and knew he was going to have to be harsher than he wished.
“Because we can’t be caught, and if we continue to meet like this then eventually we will be.”
Charlotte sighed as they stepped through the door and moved over to a mirror in the sitting room. She surveyed herself critically in the dim light. Her immaculate hair was slightly mussed but not completely undone and her gown was slightly rumpled but not too much of a problem. Her face, however, could not be shinier or more alive.
“Archie, I am not interested in trying to trap you into marriage. I know that you are probably the only man in London who fits my criteria,” Charlotte began, holding up her hand to stall Archie when he opened his mouth to speak,
“However I also want someone who wants to marry me, and you don’t?”
Archie swallowed uncomfortably, unable to lie after his senses had been totally obliterated, he just nodded. God strike him down, he was a fool.
“Good. I enjoyed what we just did and I would be happy to enjoy something similar again. Please don’t turn this into a drama Archie.” Charlotte gave an airy flick of her hand and his stomach dropped with a sickening lurch. Him? Turning this into a drama?
“Charlotte, I didn’t mean to suggest that you would trick me into marriage.”
“Good.” Charlotte said with a nod, an adjustment to her gown and a final admiring glance at the mirror. “I believe pleasure agrees with me, my eyes are positively shining.” Charlotte smiled brightly and Archie got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he could only identify as fear. What had he started?
“However, you need to be getting home to change, so I will see you next week.”
Without even waiting for a reply she swept out of the room leaving Archie standing alone. Why did he feel like he’d been used? He certainly shouldn’t feel that way. He’d got exactly what he wanted. He’d found his own release and he had got his hands on and inside Charlotte. An amazing experience, but one he realized couldn’t be repeated. Although he was glad she hadn’t turned it into a huge important thing, he hadn’t liked i
t when she put it down to nothing at all.
Two days later the question of whether or not to continue intimacies with Charlotte was answered for him. The day Archie had been dreading for ten years had finally arrived. His brother’s doctor wrote from their country estate in Dorchester saying that his brother would not survive the week. Archie had always told all of his acquaintance that his brother was overseas for health reasons. However, that had not really been the case. His brother had been brought back to England soon after his illness had been diagnosed and Archie had spent every summer for a decade watching his brother slowly waste away. The physical symptoms were bad enough, but dealing with his brother’s mood swings and occasionally vicious attacks were even harder.
Archie took his carriage straight to his parent’s residence to join them. They were already waiting in the foyer, packed and impatient to get on the road.
They drove the fifteen miles in complete silence. Not a single tear was shed and not a single word was spoken in over six hours.
There were three of them in the carriage and yet Archie had never felt so alone. His heart ached and his muscles ached from the lack of movement.
All he could think about was the eventuality of this night. How they could possibly cover up how his brother had died and what would they do if the truth was discovered. Archie had always been surprised that his brother’s true illness had never been discovered, but now that death was imminent, people would start asking questions.
He missed Charlotte too, and that made his anguish so much worse. He knew that she would comfort him if she knew what was happening. She would hold him and kiss him and give him that succour that he had never experienced, even as a child.
When he was young, about thirteen or fourteen, he had seen the local vicar’s wife comfort her son. He had only been a few years younger than Archie, too old for most mothers to bother caring for. He had fallen down and scraped his knees whilst running in the village. His mother had come along, dusted him off and held him in her arms until he had stopped crying. Then with a smile and a pat on the head, she had sent him off to play again. Archie had never once had an experience like that. No comfort when he had been sick, no affection when he had been hurt and now that his brother was dying and he would inherit a title he didn’t want, there would definitely be no help offered.
They arrived at the estate and ascended the stone stairs. The butler was already there to greet them, bowing his head and opening the door. Archie followed his parents up the staircase. The smell of camphor and other burning herbs assailed Archie’s nose and he was instantly sick to his stomach.
As they approached his brother’s bedroom, Archie held his breath in hope, but the moment he heard his mother’s gasp, he knew they were too late. He halted in his walking for a mere moment, taking a deep breath to calm the thudding of his heart. Once stable, he moved silently into the room behind his parents and stood slightly to the side of his father so that he could see his brother’s body. No one approached the bed and Archie felt slightly ashamed of his parents. The parents who had brought him into this world made no move to touch the man who had been meant to be the next Marquess of Hunting. Their heir, and first born son.
Archie’s mother choked on a sob and fled from the room, wailing as she moved down the hallway. His father stood a minute longer staring at his heir, but then also left. Archie remained. He sat in the chair next to his brother’s bed and said a prayer for his soul. The body left behind was ravaged with the disease. The doctors had told them that he wouldn’t last five years and yet he had stayed alive twice that long. He may have died a skeleton, but he had lived as long as he could.
Within the week Archie had organized a small burial, monumentally small. A closed casket, of course, for the church and only their three family members in attendance. He sent the death notice to the London paper and had the doctor cite chronic lung weakness as the cause of death. Archie did everything he could do to protect his family, but he still felt helpless.
The next month passed excruciatingly slowly. Archie stayed on at the estate, sorting out tenant issues and paying the bills which his father had neglected. He received dozens of flowers and condolences cards, but refused all offers of moral support or visits. Charlotte sent him a note accompanied by a single red rose bearing a simple message. “Thinking of you.”
He cried.
Archie returned to London reluctantly, in full mourning, they knew they would be unable to attend normal events, but his parents wanted to be back in their town house.
The day after his return, his worst fears were realized.
“Will you be riding at all today my lord?” his valet asked that morning.
“No, I believe I’ll spend the day in my library.” Archie replied, watching his valet adjust his neckcloth and arrange his hair. It seemed a waste to put so much effort into his appearance when they weren’t even receiving visitors, but a gentleman must always look his best.
As he was polishing Archie’s shoes, Archie looked down and noticed his valet’s posture. The normally starched appearance of the proud servant was slumped. What was wrong with the man?
“Jenkins, do you mind my asking you if something is the matter?”
Archie knew very little of his servant’s personal lives, but he knew that Jenkins was married with three children and that he was a deeply religious person. Not to mention, amazingly skilled with clothing and fashion choices.
“Oh, nothing my lord,” Jenkins stammered, blushing a deep red.
Archie had known Jenkins for more than fifteen years and he had never seen the man so ruffled.
“No, really, tell me. If I can help, you know I will.” Archie reassured him.
“It’s nothing about me, my lord...” Jenkins stuttered again and Archie let discontent color his tone.
“Tell me, Jenkins,” Archie turned side on in the mirror checking for wrinkles in his coat. As usual, there were none.
“No, I beg your pardon sir, I will endeavor to be more cheerful this evening.”
Archie wasn’t sure that he should let the subject go, but his breeding demanded that he did. He spent most of the day in the library, reading newspapers and doing research on different stocks. The odd thing today was the servants’ behavior. He never usually noticed them, as a good servant should be almost invisible. They did their jobs expertly without ever bothering him. Archie had never felt he was being watched or that he lived in a house with thirty other people, but today, he did. Every maid that came to bring him tea or a meal glanced at him as though he were about to leap on them. They scampered out of the room so fast, he barely had time to say ‘thank you’. By the time it came around to dressing for dinner, Archie had had enough.
“Jenkins, tell me what is going on. The servants are acting most peculiarly.”
“It is not my place, sir,” Jenkins replied, helping Archie on with his waistcoat.
“It is Jenkins. You are my eyes and ears below stairs. Tell me what is going on. Is it the new title? Is everyone worried I am going to close this house up and they’ll be without a job?”
That was the only plausible explanation. This was his bachelor residence, the one reserved for him as the younger son. As the new heir, it would now be possible for him to move into another, larger property.
Jenkins just shook his head, his eyes averted.
Archie turned around and gave Jenkins his best stare.
“Jenkins, you must tell me what the matter is.”
“I don’t know how to tell you, sir. You know I don’t like to report on gossip.”
Archie chuckled. His valet loved to gossip, but usually about the ton, never about actual domestic matters.
“Jenkins, if there is something which I should know about, then please inform me.”
“It’s about your brother’s death sir,” the man stopped, looking down at the sparkling shoes he was polishing.
Archie swallowed painfully. It couldn’t be out already could it? They had only just arrived.
“Yes?” Archie asked, striving to keep his tone calm.
“I’m afraid that people have been talking about what he died of, my lord.”
Archie could have shaken the man to get him to hurry up with his story but held his patience.
“What could they be saying?” Archie asked quietly, feeling the pit of his stomach drop. This was the defining moment of his life. Everything was going to fall apart and all he could do was watch as it crashed around him. Like a vase, you knocked over accidentally. You could only look on in horror as it broke into a thousand pieces, never to be the same again.
Jenkins was now bowing his head in shame.
“They are saying he died of the French disease, my lord,” he whispered, uttering the words so quietly that Archie thought he may have imagined them.
“And who has been saying this Jenkins?” Archie asked, horrified to hear his own voice so gravelly.
“Most of the servants, sir. I heard it from the kitchen maids, who heard it from the groom of that gentleman that visited your father yesterday.”
That was it. Archie had to sit down. Swerving dangerously Archie lurched towards his bed landing on the ground beside it with a thump, pain shooting up his spine.
“My lord, my lord, are you alright?” Jenkins cried, coming to Archie’s side in mere moments.
“I... we’re ruined,” Archie gasped out against the pain. His heart was thundering in his ears and he couldn’t slow it down. He was terrified of what the result of this would be and yet strangely relieved that the waiting was over. He no longer had to wait for the axe to fall.
It had fallen.
****
Charlotte was walking down the hall towards the gardens when she overheard John and Oliver in the library, speaking in hushed tones.
She knocked once and then opened the door without waiting for them to ask her to enter.
“Oliver.”
John and Oliver exchanged a worried glance and then both rose to their feet. Oliver bowed to Charlotte and kissed her extended hand.