by Alice Gaynes
“That’s better.” She walked to the bedroom door and looked inside. Wortham did the same.
Numerous candles lit the room, showing every detail in dreamlike clarity. Margaret lay on her back with the bed things piled around her. Her face showed the bliss of spent passion but she still managed to grip the erect cock of a man standing by the bed. Albert’s accomplice who’d guarded the door during the whipping. Albert himself still rode her, thrusting slowly in and out.
“Margaret,” he called. The sooner he got her attention, the sooner this scene would end. Then the two of them could leave together. He’d find some other way to get back to London, though, rather than share her carriage. After this, he hoped to God he’d never see her again.
She didn’t respond though. She might have stirred a bit but otherwise she gave no indication she’d heard anything.
“Margaret,” he tried again. Louder.
“You’ll have to try harder than that to get her attention,” Caroline said.
“For the love of God, Margaret. It’s James.”
“James?” she said finally. “Are you here too?”
“Bloody hell.” He lunged toward the doorway but the footmen held him back.
“Let me go, damn you,” he shouted.
“It is you,” Margaret cried. “Do join us. We can all peak together.”
“What was in that wine?” he demanded.
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Caroline answered. “It was Oakhurst’s special blend.”
“Does she even know what she’s doing?”
“She knows and she’s doing it of her own choice but it’ll seem like a dream tomorrow.”
He glared at her. “Did Oakhurst ever use that on you?”
“He knew better. My own choice would have been to gouge his eyes out.”
“Up, my lady,” Albert said. “We have another treat for you.”
“Oh good,” Margaret said.
He struggled against the men who held him. “Let her go.”
“Aren’t you enjoying it?” Caroline said.
If they’d all been strangers, he might have found the scene titillating. But he’d made love with this woman. No matter whether it was by choice or not, she wouldn’t have done this while sober. Or would she? “It’s sickening.”
Albert helped Margaret to roll over and then guided her onto all fours. The two men kneeled on the bed—Albert at her rear and the other man in front. In the light of the candle, Albert’s rod looked perfectly enormous as he guided it back into her. When he pulled out again, it was slick with her juices. She gasped in pleasure, wiggled her arse and took the other man’s member into her mouth.
The other man’s eyes closed in bliss but he had the presence of mind to hold Margaret’s hair back from her face to give a good view of his cock sliding between her lips.
“Damn.” The man gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath between them. “Damn it’s good.”
“Pace yourself, lad,” Albert said.
“All right,” Wortham cried. “I give up. Take me back to my room.”
“And miss the climax?” Caroline asked.
He turned his head aside. “I won’t watch.”
With her free hand, she gripped his chin and turned him back to face her. “You will. I watched this and worse for years. All because of you.”
“You’re insane.”
“I wish I were.”
“Now, my lady,” Albert said. “The lad can’t last much longer and neither can I. Let’s all come together, shall we?”
Albert reached his arms around Margaret, his hands sliding over her belly to her sex. He’d find her clitoris and stroke it, much as Wortham had done. He’d make her climax while he plunged into her, much as Wortham had done.
Margaret’s whole body went rigid. Shuddering she pulled the other man’s cock from her mouth and stroked it frantically.
“Hurry,” he cried. “Can’t…hold…off.”
“Now, my lady!” Albert roared.
She shrieked as she spent, her cries building to a crescendo of lust. The other man stiffened too and in a moment, his cock sent out a shower of semen. It sprayed over the bed, arching in the candlelight. Only Albert remained but his grimace said his own climax was near. Massive deep thrusts of his cock into her as his front ground against her rear.
Finally he threw his head back as his whole body trembled. “God…bloody…damn!”
Then the three of them fell into a pile of flesh, arms tangled with legs, tangled with sheets.
“All right,” Wortham said. “I’ve watched. Are you proud of yourself?”
“I don’t remember the last time I was proud of myself.” Caroline sighed. “Take Lord Wortham back to his room.”
Chapter Eight
Dawn was still hours away when Wortham slipped out of the house and headed toward the stable. The footman had probably meant to lock him in his room after that disgusting display in the front bedroom. The latch hadn’t caught though. No matter. He would have kicked the door down if he’d had to. After what he’d seen, he planned to get the hell away from here by whatever means necessary.
Lady Oakhurst had gone too far this time. She’d not only taken him she’d trapped Margaret and drugged her. He might never take her to his bed again but he couldn’t leave a woman he’d enjoyed to whatever fate Sans Regret held for her. She’d come here looking for him. He wouldn’t let her suffer on his account.
Leaving the stable door open to catch as much light from the waning moon as possible, he slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Most of the horses inside were the type for pulling the carriage but one stall held a riding horse, its saddle sitting on a bale of hay. Moving as quickly as possible, he saddled the stallion and swung up onto its back. A spirited beast, it stamped and snorted, but he reined it in easily and walked it slowly out of the stable.
He hadn’t planned an escape. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he’d enjoyed himself more than he’d admitted. If not enjoyed, at the very least he’d been intrigued. He’d been ruled by his cock, not his head.
He sighed and looked around. Somewhere out there stood a wall—a wall patrolled by dogs. It would have to run for miles to circle the entire estate. Somewhere it would have a weakness and no one had enough dogs to guard the entire length. He’d find the weaknesses and breach them. He’d better do it quickly before someone noticed his absence from his room.
He walked the horse silently over the lawn until he’d gone far enough to get out of earshot of the house then urged it into a canter. In the shade of the wooded areas, near complete darkness closed in on them but his mount didn’t hesitate. Finally they emerged again and the wall loomed ahead of them. It was made of stone—a full six feet tall. Too high for the horse to jump. He’d have to find a break in it or some way to climb over. Who knew how far he’d have to walk if he had to leave the stallion behind? There had to be a gate somewhere.
They’d gone about a mile when the sound of yelps and howls came to him. Several dogs—large by the depth of their voices—closing in fast. He kicked the horse into a gallop. No doubt the animal had heard the dogs as well, because in no time at all, it was running at full speed, its hooves pounding on the dirt beneath them.
Wortham scanned the wall for some means of escape. Nothing. The stones stood smooth and tall, as if the structure had just been built. What would he do if he didn’t find any break? Turn the horse and head back to the house? Hell the dogs would only follow them that way too. His only hope was the outrun them, assuming they tired before his mount did.
Then the worst happened. The sounds of dogs came from right ahead of them as well as behind. Trapped.
He yanked on the reins, pulling the horse up, and then turned it toward the house. The new pack came into view—half a dozen or more hounds headed toward them at full speed. The horse quivered beneath him and its eyes went wide. Tossing back its head, it let loose a loud whinny of alarm. Then it spun and took off in the opposit
e direction—headed right toward the first pack of dogs. Damn stupid animal. He fought for control but only managed bringing the stallion to a stop while their pursuers closed in on them from both sides.
A sea of canine flesh closed in on them, circling the horse’s legs. Fangs bared, shining in the moonlight. The horse shrieked and reared. Wortham did his best to hang on but the stallion seemed intent on ridding itself of its burden. Finally it shook itself free and Wortham fell to the ground while hoofbeats pounded away. The dogs closed in on him.
Fangs bared and ears laid back, they snarled at him. Then the snarls turned to bites as they fell on him. His hands, his face—any exposed skin. He kicked and struck out with his fists. One of the dogs yelped, so he’d connected with something sensitive but that didn’t stop the rest of them. One got his wrist in its teeth and shook it. Warmth spread over his hand and arm. Blood. His own. That infuriated the hound and it shook even harder.
No hope. They’d tear him apart. He could beat off one or two but there had to be a dozen. In a frenzy like this, a pack of dogs could kill a deer. They were about to kill him.
One huge face appeared in his vision. A bull mastiff, half the size of a pony. It opened its enormous mouth to show its teeth. When those teeth closed around his throat, the world went black.
* * * * *
Caroline held the lamp high while the two footmen carried Wortham into his bedroom. They’d cleaned him and bandaged him on the kitchen table where the blood would make less of a mess than in his bed. He’d remained unconscious throughout. If she hadn’t seen his chest rise and fall as he breathed, she might have thought him dead. Hell and damnation.
After quickly turning down the bedclothes, she looked up at the others. “Put him there.”
The servants set his naked body down and she studied it for a moment before covering him up. His clothes had been in tatters, thanks to the dogs. Not much work to strip him. Despite all the cuts and bite marks, he was still a formidable sight. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, slender hips. At least his genitals had escaped injury. She ought to be able to nurse him back to health without calling a doctor. She brushed some hairs from his eyes and forehead. Soft—as she’d always imagined a baby’s would be. Quite a contrast to the rest of him. He looked so pale.
“Will that be all, my lady?” Mick asked.
She looked up at the two footmen. “Yes, go to bed.”
They turned to go.
“A moment please, John.”
The second servant froze and his shoulders tensed. He turned back to her.
“Why wasn’t his door locked?” she asked.
“I thought it was, my lady.”
“I don’t like carelessness.”
He looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Lord Wortham might have been killed.”
A throat cleared at the threshold to the sitting room. “You bear some responsibility for that, don’t you think?”
Robert. He’d come in while she’d been staring at Wortham.
“Go to bed, John,” she ordered.
The footman nodded and left the room as quickly as decorum allowed.
“I don’t appreciate criticism in front of my staff,” she said.
“You don’t appreciate my pointing out your fault in this either, I imagine.”
She looked back at Wortham. “The stupid man. Why did he do it? I told him about the dogs.”
“Maybe this time you went too far.”
“By showing him what kind of woman his mistress is?”
“Maybe she’s more than that to him,” Robert said. “Did you consider that?”
She had. From the moment the guards had brought him in, she’d wondered. When she saw what he’d suffered in trying to get away, she’d had to face the possibility that Lady Sherford meant more to him than a casual tumble.
Wortham chose that exact moment to mumble something. Incoherent at first and then clearer. “Margaret. Where’s Margaret?”
“Are you going to let him see her?” Robert asked.
“He’s seen her.”
“Damn it, Caroline, you know what I mean.”
“If you mean will I arrange a tender reunion, the answer is no.”
“The cruelty you endured is no excuse for you to behave cruelly.”
She turned to him. “What in God’s name is the matter with you? Have you forgotten what he did to Cecily?”
“Is this about Cecily or about you?”
“We’re part of the same thing. He ruined both of us.”
“How many people will you ruin to get back at him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered. “The Sherford woman isn’t ruined. She enjoyed herself.”
He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “As you say.”
“You needn’t stay here if you don’t have the stomach for it.”
He sighed. “I won’t leave you, sprite.”
“Then go back to bed. Things will look better in the morning.”
“Yes I suppose you’re right. Good night.”
He left then and she found herself alone with Wortham. After setting the lamp on the table, she sat on the bed and pulled the covers up under his chin. In a few moments, she’d go back downstairs and prepare a draft for him in case he woke. It wouldn’t do to have him thrashing. He might dislodge his bandages and open one or more of his wounds. Bleeding into the mattress wouldn’t do it any good and he’d fare even worse. She’d stay with him, perhaps sleep in the chair where she could hear him if he stirred. She owed him that much.
Stupid man. The stupid, stupid man.
* * * * *
A few days after Wortham’s attempt at escape, Caroline found him sitting up in bed wearing a clean nightshirt. Clearly he’d gotten himself out of bed without help, washed and even shaved and then dressed himself. She stood just inside his bedroom, the tray in her hand and studied him for his reaction to her presence.
Would he hate her now? Would she care if he did?
He gave nothing away but stared at her. That wasn’t exactly true. His face was an impassive mask but his eyes held a hint of something. Resentment? Distrust? Wariness? Probably all three.
She did her best to hold the tray steady and stare back. “You look better.”
“That smells good,” he answered.
“Just some soup. Let’s see how it sits.” She walked to the table and set the tray down. After pouring him a cup of tea, she handed it to him and took a seat in the chair she’d occupied off and on since the footmen had carried him here.
He sipped for a moment in silence. He seemed to be measuring what he’d say next. “Margaret went away, did she?”
“The day after she got here.”
“Did she know I was here?”
She shrugged. “Hard to tell. Oakhurst’s potion works differently on different people.”
“She didn’t mention me.”
“She didn’t talk about that night at all.”
He drank more of the tea, staring ahead of him as if pretending she wasn’t there.
Caroline sorted through all the words and phrases she’d rehearsed in her head. None of them were any good. She took a breath. “Does she matter a great deal to you?”
“Why don’t you say what you mean?”
She lifted her head and stared past him out the window to where a sparrow had settled on the sill. “Do you love her?”
A hand settled over hers, the fingers gripping her own with some force. She looked down to find him staring at her. That same light shone in his eyes. A challenge. A dare. “Honesty this time. You owe me that.”
She stared back at him. It wasn’t easy. He seemed as if he could look inside her, as if he could see the bottom of her heart. That was nonsense of course. If he could see into her heart, he couldn’t bear to look at her.
She pulled her hand from his and stared right back. “Honesty.”
“I don’t love Margaret. I enjoy her.” He paused. “Enjoyed.”
“Of course.”
“Stop that!” he said.
“Stop what?”
He was angry now, his cheeks colored and his eyes narrowed. “How dare you judge other people? Margaret may have slept with a man not her husband. She may have behaved wantonly when you drugged her but none of her sins compare to what you’ve done.”
“Fine. I’m a perfect bastard.” She rose. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”
“Sit down.”
She shouldn’t have obeyed him. He had no power here. But something in his voice commanded her. If she didn’t do as he said right now, she’d lose him. His tone made that clear. She sat.
“I’ll answer your question and then you’ll answer mine,” he said. “Honestly.”
“Very well.”
“I enjoy Margaret’s company. She has a good mind and a quick wit. And she has healthy appetites. We share that.” He stopped and looked into his tea. “Shared.”
Past tense again. That shouldn’t please her but she couldn’t lie to herself. When he’d been at the worst—not even conscious—he’d only asked about the other woman. Robert had only worried that she’d been cruel to the two of them. Her feelings had been much more complicated. Hell she wasn’t even supposed to have feelings about this man, let alone complicated ones.
Seeing him helpless had touched something in her, no more than that. She knew what helplessness felt like and she had more conscience than she’d thought. She was human. She did not care for this man. She wouldn’t allow herself to care.
“Now then your turn,” he said. “Why am I here?”
She looked into his face. He was staring at her again. She couldn’t lie to him but could she refuse to answer? On the other hand, what harm would it do to tell him the truth?
“You seduced my sister, Cecily.”
“Cecily.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t remember anyone named Cecily.”
Dear God, could it be he didn’t even remember her sister? Had he ruined so many young girls he couldn’t remember all their names? “Cecily Durant. A few years younger than I. Smaller and prettier.”