by Josie Litton
Not to mention whatever it was that Charles had instructed Antonio to construct in the southern wing of the house. Neither of them would say a word about it, much to Gemma’s chagrin. Taken together, the cumulative effect was of several major construction projects underway within the walls of the venerable old house.
It was all much more than she had envisioned when she conceived the notion of a make-over. Rather than let that worry her, Gemma preferred to minimize it.
“I should have mentioned that we’re having a little work done,” she told Tillie. “But don’t worry, I’ve put you in the guest cottage.”
“I’m sure that will be delightful…” Tillie began, only to trail off as her attention was diverted by the gentleman emerging from the west wing.
Deep in conversation with a colleague, he didn’t notice the ladies at first. When he did, Antonio Ricci’s handsome face lit with a smile. He promptly handed the rolls of plans and swatches of fabrics that he’d been carrying to the other man and dismissed him.
Directing his full attention to Gemma and Tillie, he said, “Ladies, I had not thought that this morning could be any more delightful but clearly I was mistaken.”
Gemma laughed; she was becoming quite fond of the Italian’s naturally flirtatious manner especially matched as it was with genuine brilliance and a work ethic she could only marvel at. True to his word, Antonio had returned promptly to Ardsley Manor with a sufficient designs to get work underway at once.
How exactly he had pulled off that miracle she couldn’t imagine but neither was she about to question it. Instead, she happily accepted his assurance that they were simpatico, which she took to be a marvelous Italian word explaining how smoothly everything was going.
“It is about to get even better,” she said gaily. “May I present my dear friend, Mrs. Tillie Fenster. Tillie, I have the great pleasure to introduce Mister Antonio Ricci, surely the most gifted interior designer in all of England, not to say the world.”
“Too kind,” Antonio murmured as he bent over Tillie’s hand, his gaze never leaving hers. He had the air of a man confronted by a sudden surprise, one that wasn’t by any means unpleasant but which still startled him.
“How nice to meet you, Mister Ricci,” Tillie murmured. The calm composure that Gemma associated with her seemed suddenly absent. She looked almost unsettled.
“Antonio, please. It would give me the greatest pleasure to count myself among your friends.”
Wasn’t that nice, Gemma thought. Tillie seemed to agree. Beneath her mature beauty, she blushed.
The three chatted a few more minutes before the ladies departed for the guest cottage. Once they were alone, Gemma was at last free to pose the question uppermost in her mind.
“Is Cerise all right?” she asked softly as Tillie began unpacking her bags.
“Your sister is fine. She longs to see you but your mother has yet to give her permission.”
“Why is that?” Gemma asked. She wasn’t surprised, just mildly curious as to what passed for reasoning in her mother’s mind.
“Something about wanting to be sure your marriage sticks.”
Gemma frowned. Granted, she and Charles had not met in a normal fashion--brides being bartered for debt thankfully not being the norm. But did her mother seriously believe that made their marriage any the less stable?
“I am sorry to say that she doesn’t trust you because, of course, she doesn’t know you. If she did, she would have an entirely different opinion.”
That was kind of Tillie but Gemma did not think for a moment that it was true. Had her mother actually been aware of her independent turn of mind, she would have called her an unnatural creature and had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
Before she could ponder that, Tillie said, “But I do have a letter for you.” With a smile, she withdrew a promisingly thick envelope from her pocket.
Gemma seized it and gazed lovingly at her sister’s familiar handwriting.
“I’ll read it later,” she said softly. “Now catch me up all about you. It seems ages since we’ve really talked.”
At dear old Mary Magdalene, outside friendships were frowned upon, mail and calls were heavily censured and visitors were few and far between. Gemma’s parents had visited once a year and looked acutely uncomfortable the entire time. She would have liked to believe that was from a sense of guilt but she knew better. Tillie--considered a mere servant by the ignorant--would never have been allowed to come.
“Well…” Tillie began, “this year’s geraniums are doing well. I’ve a new hybrid orchid that I’m quite pleased with and….I probably should mention that Mister Fenster passed away.”
Gemma had been aware that the apparently now late Bartholomew Fenster had been several decades older than Tillie. Still, the news of his death was a shock.
“What? When did that happen?”
“A year ago,” Tillie said with a lingering note of sadness. “It had been coming on for a while. His heart, you know. I would have written to tell you but even if I could have, there seemed no point burdening you with it.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gemma said sincerely. Her impression was that Tillie’s marriage had been a happy one even if it did involve a bit of subterfuge on the matter of who was the gifted gardener. Mister Fenster had seemed content to follow his own interests, centered primarily on the taxonomy of the millipede about which he had authored several well-received papers.
“At least my parents had the sense to keep you on.”
“Oh, they have no idea that Bartie died,” Tillie said. “So long as their friends go on envying them their gardens, Sir Hubert and Lady Eugenia won’t question a thing.”
“That’s a relief,” Gemma said. She knew how much those gardens meant to Tillie, who had coaxed them from the barren, boggy ground that was her family’s land. Bad enough to lose a husband but to lose one’s life’s work at the same time… How terrible of society to allow any such thing.
“Perhaps while you’re here,” she said, “you could advise on the Ardsley Gardens. That is, if you wouldn’t mind?”
She certainly did not want Tillie to think she had been brought there for any purpose apart than friendship. But on the other hand, she would greatly appreciate her expert guidance. The gardens were lovely, of course, in the way of places that have received centuries of lavish care are inevitably pleasing to the eye. But they seemed to cry out for something…a spark of imagination and daring perhaps. Just the ticket for Tillie.
“I’d be delighted to. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish up here and then roam around a bit.”
“By all means but I must apologize. With all the redecorating going on--” She’d had no idea how many decisions would have to be made--paint, wall paper, furnishings, upholstery, carpets and the like. Antonio was very good about it but she didn’t want to hold him up by being indecisive.
“Not at all,” Tillie assured her. “I shall be more than content to explore on my own.”
The friends parted a short time later with plans to reconvene for tea. Gemma quickly made her way back to the house. She had thought that Charles was off riding, sensibly enough to escape the noise and dust. But to her surprise, she saw him emerging from a part of the house he had declared off limits to her.
Her husband took one look at her and smiled in that terribly provoking way he had. The one that made her go all fuzzy in the brain and far too inclined to acquiesce to anything he desired. A pleasurable shiver of anticipation ran through her as she wondered just what he was up to now.
Chapter Five
There you are,” Charles said. “I was about to go in search of you.”
A little frown creased Gemma’s forehead. He had the look of a boy bursting with a guilty secret that he could scarcely contain.
“I thought you’d gone riding,” she said warily.
He had the grace to flush. She marveled at that even as she found it rather endearing. He could do the crudest, even one might say unnatural
things to her without blinking an eye. But tell a fib and his conscience proclaimed it to the world.
“Yes…well, no. I misled you about that. Sorry.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“This and that. Marvelous fellow, Ricci. Really knows how to get a job done.”
Gemma allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She had done her utmost to keep her husband in a cheerful frame of mind despite all the banging, smashing, hammering, sawing, swearing and the occasional boom of a wrecking ball. Indeed, she had focused so intently on making sure that he was well diverted that she thought she might have wrenched a muscle or two. No matter. It would all be worth it in the end…she hoped.
“Here,” Charles said, “put this on.”
Glancing down, Gemma noticed that he was holding a long, narrow white scarf. Where had that come from?
“How…?” she began only to have her husband take matters into his own hands.
“Like this,” he said and tied the length of silk around her eyes.
Startled to find herself blindfolded, Gemma hesitated. This was new and more than a little disconcerting. Still, she was reassured when Charles guided her carefully with a strong hand at the small of her back.
A door opened. She felt a brush of air. Brighter light filtered through the silk.
She anticipated that he would whip it off and reveal whatever surprise he had planned for her. Prepared to express delight no matter what it turned out to be, she was startled when her husband said, “Raise your arms.”
Hesitantly, she obeyed only to gasp when he swiftly secured both her wrists to an unseen apparatus hanging from the ceiling. Her feet still touched the floor but only barely.
“What are you doing?” she demanded with sudden alarm. Being fucked in all manner of ways was one thing; this felt like quite another. “Wait!”
“Hush,” he murmured. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
Would she, really? Gemma was doubtful. It smacked just a little of some of the disciplinary measures at dear old Mary Magdalene of which she was most definitely did not approve. Yet there was no denying the fact that as her husband began to remove her clothes, the sensation uppermost in her was more one of anticipation than fear.
He made short work of the light cotton skirt she wore with a little camisole blouse. Very soon, she was naked save for the a pretty pair of panties that were really little more than a scrap of pale pink lace.
“Hmm,” Charles murmured. “I think I like these.”
Gemma gasped as he slid two long fingers passed the fragile barrier and eased her swollen labia apart. Finding her already quite wet, he chuckled.
“Told you you’d enjoy this.”
Pressing her lips together firmly, Gemma only just managed to remain silent. While she could hardly disagree with him given the blatant evidence of her arousal, she wasn’t about to acquiesce so easily.
He was smiling as he brushed a light kiss along the curve of her shoulder. Moving behind her, he ran his hands down her sides, over her breasts, lingering to tease her nipples with the rough pads of his thumbs before cupping her pert ass.
“Oh!” Gemma exclaimed as he slapped one cheek firmly. She jerked against her restraints.
“Oh!” she cried again, more loudly, as the other received the same treatment.
His breath caressed the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “You knew when you started this redecorating business that it was going to be more than you were letting on, didn’t you?”
“N-not really,” she murmured. As close as he was, she could feel his rampant erection straining against her bottom.
“I’ve never done any re-decorating before,” she said. Her voice had gone all wobbly. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I really had no idea what would be involved.” A bit plaintively, she added, “It hasn’t been so terrible, has it?”
“The Italian knows how to get things done,” Charles allowed. His hands slid up her again, palming her breasts. He caught her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and tugged.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Terrible.”
He chuckled again. “Liar. I could make you come just like this. But I have other plans for you.”
Without warning, he spun her around so that she was facing him. Hoisting her legs over his hips and with a steely arm wrapped around her waist, he applied his mouth to the crest of one breast and then the other. Nipple, aureole and beyond were subjected to the most shamefully delicious torment.
Bolts of hot, fierce need shot through Gemma. The velvet sheathe of her cunt clenched. Blindfolded as she was, all her other senses were heightened. She was vividly aware of the scent of crisp cotton, wool and that subtle citrusy aftershave he favored. Beneath it all, growing with each passing moment, she inhaled the musk of her own arousal.
Her nipples felt impossibly long and hard. And so exquisitely sensitive! He been right; she was on the verge of coming when abruptly he broke off.
“No,” Gemma whimpered. She was in no mood for that kind of play. She needed--she wanted. Scratch that, she demanded!
“Patience,” her husband murmured. He set her feet back down on the floor and turned her again. With her bare back pressed to his chest, he knelt and peeled her panties down her legs. Standing again, he reached around and spread her nether lips.
A sharp, plaintive cry tore from her as he began stroking her clit. Round and round with just the pad of his finger, back and forth, every touch made slick by her own copious juices. She could feel the moisture trickling down her thighs, feel the heat building her, the tightly coiled need--
Suddenly, the shackles holding her wrists were loosened. Her arms fell to her sides. The world turned upside down before just as quickly righting. When she could next catch her breath, she was horizontal, lying all akimbo with her arms and legs splayed out and the slick coolness of satin beneath her back.
“God, you look incredible like that,” Charles said huskily.
Feeling his gaze on her, Gemma flushed all over. She could only imagine the appearance she gave--her nipples glistening, long and stretched like ripe teats and her cunt… She could hardly bear to think of how swollen and flushed it was, her clit throbbing and pearly liquid dripping from her.
Mercifully, the sound of her husband stripping off his clothes--the snick of buttons passing through their holes, the whisper of a zipper, the thud of a shoe tossed aside distracted her. Even so, she was panting when he came down suddenly on top of her, the touch of his naked body all along her own almost enough by itself to make her come.
“You’re a goddess,” he murmured. “Aphrodite…Venus…” A muscled thigh thrust between her own. Hard hands slid under her, raising her to him.
She felt the hot velvet crest of his cock against her and all but sobbed in relief only to suddenly stiffen in alarm. What was that whirring noise, soft, faint but still distinct?
Oh, sweet heaven, no!
At the same moment that her fiendish husband thrust fully into her, knocking every bit of air from her lungs, he applied the tip of a vibrating wand directly to her engorged clit. Instantly, the tsunami of pleasure crested inside her and began to break only--
He didn’t! He couldn’t! He had…snatching the wand away just in time to deny her the physical and spiritual fulfillment that was every woman’s sacred right. When she did get that law degree--and she damn well would however she had to contrive to do it--she would bring suit to make orgasm denial a serious civil offense if not outrightly criminal.
Her fists pounding against his muscled back, she tried to dislodge him but succeeded only in redoubling her torment.
As though any more proof was needed that he was a fiend, Charles laughed.
“What do you need, wife? More of this--” He flexed his hips, his massive cock rubbing right where she was most acutely sensitive. “Or this?” The touch of the wand was almost painful in a thoroughly ecstatic sort of way. In retaliation, she sunk her teeth into his shoulder.
He grunted but did not relent. Instead, he slid the wand under her so that it vibrated against the taut, exquisitely sensitive skin between her cock-stuffed cunt and her ass. The sensation was electrifying; it was all she could do not to throw her head back and howl like a demented she-wolf.
Not content with having gone so far to bring out the animal in his sweet, little wife, Charles kept the damnable wand right where it was as he gripped her hips and thrust with slow measured strokes.
In truth, he knew full well that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the seductive torment very long. The vibrations of the wand penetrated the walls of her body; he felt the effects along every inch of his cock. This well-indulged part of his anatomy had taken on the characteristics of a hand grenade from which the pin had been pulled.