Her tits would be medium-sized and full, a perfect fit for his palms. If her lips were any indication, the nipples would be pert and dusky pink. He could picture Percy's blue eyes widening as he fondled her, tweaking the buds between finger and thumb. Her mixture of naiveté and wantonness inflamed him. He would taste one saucy nipple, suckling one peak then the other, until she began to squirm and buck against his hold.
Disobedient chit. She would need to be taken firmly in hand, and by God, he was the man for the job. Nothing stirred his blood like control, and the notion of harnessing Percy's wild yet innocent spirit, of training her to his pleasure, aroused his darkest desires. He knew that once she surrendered, she would do so completely. 'Twas not in her nature to hold anything back. The tempestuous little vixen would give him everything he wanted.
The notion made his rod pulse in his fist. He imagined turning her over his knee. Tracing the elegant dip of her spine and palming the contours of her soft, quivering arse.
You've been a naughty girl, he said.
I haven't. She looked back at him, her hair a glorious tumble. I only did what I had to.
Impertinent chit. Even in his fantasy, she gave him lip.
You'll have to be punished for playing your tricks on me, he said.
His first slap made her gasp. Not out of pain—he hadn't spanked her hard—but indignation. Before she could speak, he delivered another swat to her bottom. His cock throbbed to see her flesh bear his mark, to hear her gasps melt into breathy sighs. She began to wriggle against his lap, telling him without words what she wanted. He parted her trembling thighs, and his breath caught at the sight of her quim. Soft and fluffy blond. Perfectly untouched.
He ran his middle finger along the seam of Percy's pristine pussy, and she sighed with pleasure. Virginity held no special appeal for him (he preferred bed partners who knew what they were doing), yet the thought of being the first man—the only man—to diddle Percy's dewy slit sent heat rushing up his shaft. Wetness oozed from the bulging crown, slicking his palm. He frigged himself harder, his breath driving in and out in harsh rushes.
Please, oh please … take me now, Gavin …
Rolling her onto her back, he spread her white thighs, exposing her pink crease with his thumbs. He buried his tongue deep. He could hear her cries as he licked her. He savored the sweetness of her desire, the intoxicating wildness of her response as she arched her hungering cunny to his mouth, whimpering his name. The pressure mounted in his bollocks. He replaced his lips with his cock, running the head along her drenched sex.
Beg me to take you, sweet. Ask for my cock. Ask to be fucked for the first time.
Her eyes heavy-lidded and bright, she whispered, Please put your cock inside me, Gavin.
With a wild groan, he thrust inside. She was tight as a glove, lush and wet, the perfect hole for his prick. He took her slowly at first, then harder and deeper as she pleaded for more. His lungs burning, he slung her sleek legs over his shoulders and gave it to her. His hips slammed again and again. Take it, take what only I can give you. His muscles tensed as she screamed, her pussy milking him as she spent, dragging him with her ... The climax ripped through him. His shout echoed off the walls as hot seed shot between his fingers.
He fell back against the pillows, panting, confounded by the power of his release. What is it about that bloody chit? Before he could ponder further, fatigue began to spread outward in languorous waves. His eyes and limbs grew heavy. Sleep beckoned, and too spent to resist, he finally followed.
FIVE
"It's not my fault, Mama," Miss Priscilla Farnham protested. "I don't look for trouble. It finds me."
—from The Perils of Priscilla, a stalled manuscript by P. R. Fines
The dank air of the catacombs filled her nostrils as she struggled against the chains. The villain standing in the shadows gave a wicked, cackling laugh.
"'Tis no use. You cannot escape me," he said.
"Let me go!" She strove to free her wrists from where they were shackled above her head. The stony wall abraded her back through the thin linen—goodness gracious, why was she clad only in her unmentionables? "And give me back my clothes, you cad!"
"You won't need those anymore. Not for what I intend, my dear." In the light of the single torch, his eyes reflected a sinister gleam. She tried to make out his face, yet it remained shrouded by the dark. All she could see of him was his hulking, powerful form.
"You'd better release me before my beloved arrives." She glared at him, the effect ruined by the errant blond strand that fell in her eye. Blowing at the irritating piece of hair, she said, "He is a prince. And he will lop off your head and skewer it to the parapet if you harm me."
"Bloodthirsty wench, aren't you? I like that."
His dark voice made her insides quiver in an odd manner. "You won't like it when he runs a sword through you," she retorted.
The villain laughed. Suddenly, he reached up and doused the only light. Pure darkness enveloped the cavern. Her cry for help echoed off the rocky walls.
"You and I both know the prince isn't what you need. You're no princess to sit idly eating bonbons all day."
"As a matter of fact, I love bonbons—"
She broke off in a gasp as the villain's lips skimmed the curve of her ear. Shocks danced along the delicate shell, and before she could regain her senses, he nipped the tender lobe.
"You're a wicked girl, meant for wicked things," he murmured.
"I am not—"
His mouth cut off her arguments. She strained against her confinement, and yet she could not get away from the relentless kiss. Disoriented, she tried to focus on the prince, her rescue ... yet sensations unfurled within her. Sinful ... exciting. Panting, she tried to shut out the feelings, the exquisite chafing of her skin against her chemise. The tips of her breasts turned taut and throbbing. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs.
With her last ounce of willpower, she tore her lips free. "Let me go," she whispered.
"But my sweet," the deep voice said, "there is nothing holding you here."
She yanked against her bondage. To her shock, her hands fell free. No chains at all ...
"Nothing but your own desire," he rasped.
His eyes glowed a subterranean gold, and his scar was a flash of scarlet—
Percy woke on a gasp. Heart thumping, she blinked at the sight of the familiar yellow striped walls, the cluttered rosewood desk, the canopied bed. Her bedchamber. As she sat up against the pillows of the window seat, a book fell from her lap and thudded to the carpet. The Castle of Otranto. She must have fallen asleep reading. Her skin tingled all over. Her cheeks burned with sudden panic.
Dear God, did I have a wicked dream ... about Gavin Hunt?
She was honest enough to admit that naughty dreams were not exactly uncommon for her. In the past year, certain impulses had been plaguing her with increasing frequency and intensity. The more she tried to ignore the sensations, the worse things got. A few times, in the middle of the night, she'd awakened burning with such a feverish need that she'd discovered an unspeakable ... solution.
Shame and confusion tightening her chest, Percy went to the washstand to splash her hot cheeks. As she reached for a towel, her gaze snagged on the portrait above her dresser. Papa had arranged for the four of them to be painted when she'd been a mere babe-in-arms. Looking at her family's content, beaming faces—including her own cherubic one—she experienced a fierce yearning to somehow go back. To that simpler time when they'd all been so happy.
Before Papa had gotten wrapped up with the company. Before Mama had found fault with everything that Percy did. Before Paul had decided to ruin himself and Percy had to consider taking on an indecent wager to help him—
Oh, no. Get the notion out of your head. You are not going to accept Hunt's bet.
She'd learned from her past mistakes. She was no longer a silly hoyden to be tempted by Hunt's machinations. Why, the reason she'd dreamed of him was likely because he'd unsettled he
r nerves. Any miss would be disquieted by a villain proposing to deflower her, wouldn't she? Besides, dreams didn't mean anything. Feeling a bit better, she resolved to forget about Hunt and the wager and to focus her attention on finding another way to rescue Paul.
A knock took her from her thoughts. "Good mornin', miss." Violet, the cheery-cheeked housemaid, poked her head in. "Thought I'd see if you was ready to get dressed for the picnic."
The picnic. Stifling a groan, she said, "Yes, Violet. Thank you."
Percy was not looking forward to the gathering of her old classmates from Mrs. Southbridge's. Though she liked the other girls well enough, their attitude toward her had noticeably cooled since she started mixing in higher circles. She sighed. At least her bosom friend Charity Sparkler would be there. She'd already apprised Charity of Paul's situation—the two girls had shared secrets since their school days—and Charity had promised to put her sensible mind toward a solution.
Fitzwell, the long-time canine member of the household, trotted in behind Violet. He wore a scowl, which Percy didn't take too seriously. He was a pug, after all. When she bent to pet him, however, he walked past her, his snout high in the air. He circled thrice in front of the fireplace and plopped down, presenting her with a pair of cold, fawn-colored shoulders.
"What's the matter, old boy?" Percy said in surprise.
Violet hung the ensemble on the dressing screen and waved Percy over to the full-length looking glass. "With Mrs. Fines travelling, he was already in the doldrums," the maid said as she helped Percy dress. "Now with Lisbett gone as well, he's been in a downright snit."
Lisbett, the Fines' loyal housekeeper, had been called away unexpectedly to attend an ill relative. Knowing the burden this put on the small household staff, Percy said sympathetically, "Any news when she'll return?"
"Lisbett writes she'll 'ave to stay in Dorset at least a fortnight to care for 'er sister. Hold your breath now." Percy obeyed, and Violet gave a deft tug on the corset strings. "She 'opes that you're doing well, miss, and worries about you being left to your devices."
"I'm not alone. I've got Lady Tottenham to look after me."
Violet gave her a speaking glance in the mirror, and Percy hid a grin. No one had known of Tottie's tendency to tipple when she'd been hired on to chaperone Percy during Mama's absence. Now with everyone out of the house and Tottie proving rather true to her name, Percy was having a heretofore unknown taste of freedom. Which she didn't mind a bit.
"'Er ladyship's still abed. Rang twice for 'er tonic already. Tonic." With a grunt, Violet worked on the buttons along the back of the ivory muslin. "Where I come from, they've got other names for it."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Percy asked.
Violet finished tying the lavender sash below the bodice. She aimed a glance at the hearth, where the pug continued to lay with his head upon his paws. In a low voice, she said, "Do you think you could take 'im with you to the picnic? The beast's drivin' us mad below stairs. Last night, Cook nearly carved 'im up after 'e stole a suet puddin' from under 'er nose."
"Poor little chap. He misses Mama so," Percy murmured.
"We all do." Violet sighed, picking up a hairbrush. "Can't think why the missus had to take a trip when she hadn't for all these years."
Percy swallowed, feeling the tug of shame as well as that of the brush. She had a pretty good inkling of why Mama had needed a vacation—to get away from her. Since Papa had passed, she and her remaining parent had been at logger-heads over everything; no matter what she did, she could not please her mother. The failure of last Season must have been the last straw. Her throat thickened.
As she watched Violet tame her unruly tresses, she blew out a breath. Firmed her chin.
I'll make Mama proud this time around. I'll win Viscount Portland and the ton's approval. And I'll find a way to free Paul from Hunt's clutches, if it's the last thing I do.
*****
Percy and Charity made their way up the picturesque knoll away from the rest of their group. As usual, White Conduit Fields teemed with middling class folk escaping the confines of Town. The pastoral grounds offered rolling green hills and paved walks as well as tea rooms overlooking colorful gardens. Cheerful shouts rose from the cricket grounds, where matches played endlessly. Ahead of the two girls, Fitzwell jogged along the grassy ridge, stopping now and again to sniff at a wildflower.
"They hate me," Percy said in despair.
"No, they don't." With her severe, ash-brown topknot and straight brows, Charity projected a somber demeanor. Yet up close, her moss-colored eyes shone with sympathy, dominating her small, angular face. "The girls just don't know how to treat you now that you're no longer one of them."
"Have I grown horns? Sprouted another head?" From the way the others had subtly avoided her or grown quiet when she came near, Percy had felt like some unwanted, alien creature. "I'm still me, aren't I?"
"Yes, but now you circulate amongst the ton. For many of our sort, your situation would be considered a dream come true," Charity said matter-of-factly.
"A nightmare more the like," Percy wailed. "Now I don't fit in anywhere."
At least before she'd had a place with her former classmates whose families had also gained their wealth through trade or other professions. Girls like them occupied terra nova as far as society was concerned: no one knew what to make of them. Rich and privileged, they had difficulty finding suitable matches within the working class. At the same time, their origins in "shop" prevented them from marrying up.
"Fitting in hasn't exactly been your forte, has it?" Charity said mildly. "Why the concern over it now?"
Given that Charity had stood by her through her countless antics at Mrs. Southbridge's, Percy did not fault the other's honesty. In fact, she admired her friend's steady, sensible temperament—and wished some of it might rub off on her.
"Because Mama thinks I'm a wicked girl. She's … ashamed of me," Percy whispered.
"Pish posh. Mrs. Fines only wants the best for you. Indeed, you should count yourself lucky to have a mama to give you guidance."
Charity's wistful tone reminded Percy that her friend had grown up without a mother, Mrs. Sparkler having succumbed to a difficult childbirth. Feeling even more wretched due to her own relatively minor complaint, Percy mumbled, "Well, when I win Viscount Portland's affections, I'll show everyone. And I shan't be a snob about it, either. I'll invite all the other girls to my wedding."
"An invitation that will no doubt turn them green with envy."
Percy aimed a rueful look at her friend. "I suppose that would be small of me?"
"Human of you," Charity said. Linking a slender arm through Percy's, she asked, "How are things progressing with his lordship, by the by?"
The image of Lord Charles' rich auburn curls and dreamy grey eyes rose in her mind's eye, accompanied by an effervescent feeling in her breast. Out of nowhere, another visage popped into her head. Her giddiness gave way to alarm at the flash of harsh, scarred features.
"Percy, dear, are you alright?"
She jerked her attention back to her friend. "Yes. I'm fine."
"So ... what about Portland?" Charity said, giving her an odd look.
"As you know, I've had other matters to deal with." Percy pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Dear God, why am I even bothered by those silly chits when Paul is in danger? It's been three days since I saw Hunt. Time is running out,"—Percy bit her lip—"and I still don't know what to do."
"I've thought it over. I believe there is only one proper course of action," Charity said.
"Yes?" Percy said hopefully.
"You must write your mama and the Marquess of Harteford. Once they know about Mr. Fines' situation, I am certain they will return home with due haste and take care of the matter."
Percy frowned. "I already told you. I promised my brother I wouldn't tell the family. He doesn't want word getting out of his troubles."
"You haven't much choice," her friend pointed out. "You already
tried taking matters into your own hands, and look how that turned out. You are lucky that nothing worse happened."
Sometimes Charity could be a bit too sensible. Which was why Percy hadn't consulted her prior to meeting Hunt—she'd known her friend would disapprove.
"I knew what I was doing," she said, kicking at a rock in her path. "I could have handled Hunt. In fact, I have half a mind to take the wager—"
"Oh no, you don't." Charity braced her hands on her thin hips. Beneath the brim of her plain bonnet, her brows lowered, and she gave Percy a stern look. "That is precisely the kind of thinking that led to all those scrapes at Mrs. Southbridge's. Remember the time you snuck out of class to see the gypsy caravan, and I had to make all those excuses for you?"
"It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have my fortune told," Percy protested. "Besides, I didn't miss anything important. 'Twas just an etiquette class."
The irony struck them both at once. Exchanging a look, they chuckled.
"Now that you've set your cap for Viscount Portland, I thought you meant to reform your ways," Charity said, her lips still twitching. "Ruining yourself is hardly the way to win his affection."
"You're right, of course." Percy sighed. "Writing the family is the wisest option."
"If all goes smoothly, they'll be back in a few weeks," the other said in encouraging tones. "'Tis best for you to wait and carry on as usual so you don't compromise your brother's situation."
Waiting was one of Percy's least favorite activities. "How am I supposed to attend parties and the like knowing that Paul might be in danger? What if Hunt searches him out?"
Worry pinched the other girl's waifish features. For years, Percy had suspected that her chum nursed a secret tendre for Paul—but Charity, being Charity, would never admit to such a thing. And much as Percy loved them both, she could not imagine a pair more opposite than her dashing, feckless brother and her unassuming, responsible friend.
"I doubt Mr. Hunt would think to look for your brother at his current location."
Her Wanton Wager Page 5