by Nan Ryan
Long minutes ticked away. The baron grew tense. Had the young lady changed her mind? Had she refused to comply with his wishes that she…
The lord struggled to rise. Just then the beautiful blonde stepped into the candlelit room. He smiled broadly at the exquisite young woman in a figure-hugging ball gown of shimmering blue satin. Jennie returned his smile, dimpling prettily. She eagerly came forward to meet her titled visitor, the British blue blood who was a man of great wealth and old enough to be her father.
Lord Nardees took both her hands in his, lifted one to his lips, and kissed the delicate knuckles. His eyes held hers for only a moment, then lowered to gaze at the magnificent body that was his to enjoy for the evening.
So ripe, so luscious. He thought about skipping the preliminaries—the sipping of champagne and nibbling on caviar, the polite small talk. But he would wait; he was not an animal. He was a baron, a cultured man of breeding who had invited a beautiful young lady to spend a pleasant evening with him.
“My dear,” he said, his face red with excitement, “may I offer you a glass of champagne?”
“That would be lovely,” Jennie replied and watched his hand shake as he poured the chilled wine into two long-stemmed crystal flutes.
For a few minutes the two sat side by side on the sofa, conversing politely. Lord Nardees did everything in his power to remain calm, to draw out the evening, to wait patiently.
But he felt like a small boy who had been given a beautifully wrapped package and he had to wait until his birthday cake was eaten to open the gift. The prospect of unwrapping six willowy feet of delicious femininity caused his heart to pound furiously.
And when he had unwrapped it and…
He could wait no longer.
“Darling, shall we retire to the other room?”
Jennie lifted a hand, pressed two red-nailed fingers to his fleshy lips, and said, “Give me fifteen minutes, Dr. Clean.”
The lord thrilled to being called his secret name by this beautiful blond creature. The glint in her eyes told him she knew exactly what the name meant. There would be no surprises, no objecting, no refusing him.
“My dear, I will come in to you in exactly fifteen minutes.”
Jennie smiled, rose and left the room, making sure he was watching as she walked away. She headed directly to the bath; there she undressed down to her silky skin. She bathed again although it had been only a couple of hours since her last bath. She stood and carefully dried her body and, naked, moved toward one of the many mirrored doors.
Most were closets.
One was not. It was this door that Jennie opened.
She stepped into a well-lit, windowless, sterile-looking room with a sheet-draped physician’s couch at the center. On the small instrument table beside it rested a pair of scissors and a gleaming straight-edged razor. A low, round stool sat at the end of the couch. In the corner was a porcelain sink.
Jennie blotted all the moisture from her body and tossed the towel away. She shook out her long flowing blond hair and climbed up onto the physician’s couch. She carefully spread the clean white sheet over herself, tucking it in under her arms. She lay quietly waiting, knowing exactly what was in store for her.
Lord Nardees entered the room. Gone were his stained shirt and wrinkled suit. He wore a doctor’s starched white scrub gown and a surgeon’s cap on his head. Over his mouth was a surgical mask.
Nardees said nothing to Jennie, but went right to work. He crossed directly to the porcelain sink and turned on the faucets. He picked up a new bar of strong soap, lathered his hands, then rubbed them vigorously together, scrubbing, washing, rinsing the short, stubby fingers. He reached for a small firm-bristled brush and worked on his ragged, dirty nails. He rinsed his hands once more and carefully dried them on a clean white hand towel.
Then he came to Jennie.
All business, he carefully removed the covering sheet, leaving her stretched out naked before him. He stood for a long moment admiring her. Then, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, he reached out to the utility table, picked up a pair of sharp surgical scissors and made short work of cutting Jennie’s long gleaming hair until it was no more than an inch all over her head.
He laid the scissors back on the tray.
He picked up a shaving cup and brush. He worked the soap into a rich lather and spread it over Jennie’s shorn head.
She closed her eyes.
A silver-plated straight-edged razor glinted in the strong lamplight when Lord Nardees took it in his right hand. He sighed with erotic pleasure as he stroked a long, sure path directly across the middle of Jennie’s head. In less than ten minutes the beautiful Jennie’s head was bald as an eagle’s.
The beaming baron meticulously washed all the lathery residue from her shiny scalp and felt his groin stir beneath his scrub gown.
“My dear, you are exquisite,” he said. “Never have I seen a more perfectly shaped head on a woman.”
Jennie said nothing. It was only the beginning.
Lord Nardees, locked in that light sterile room with razor in hand and dutiful blonde stretched out before him, spent the most exciting hour he had known since his last visit to Palmetto Palace a year ago.
He leisurely lathered and shaved Jennie’s long, silky legs. Then her underarms. He checked the lush, full breasts for telltale signs of silky hair around the large nipples. There were none. He purposely prolonged the scraping away of the wispy little line of silken hair going from her navel down her flat belly.
Nothing left now but the part he most relished.
Savoring the joy, hating for it to end, Lord Nardees drew off his rubber gloves, tossed them aside, and slid a panel open underneath the couch. From inside he took a pair of stainless steel stirrups. He fitted the stirrups into the end of the table, turned and went again to the sink. He washed his hands, pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, and returned to Jennie.
With his toe, he dragged the low stool into place at the end of the table. He took a seat. Then he instructed, “My dear, lift your feet up into the stirrups.” Jennie complied. “Good, good. Now slide your lovely bottom down closer to me and let your knees fall apart.” Again she did as he asked. “Wider, my pet.”
His breath now coming in loud, hissing spurts through the mask, Lord Nardees moved into position between Jennie’s parted legs.
As a master craftsman shaping a rare work of art, the stocky baron very carefully, very slowly shaved away all the crisp white-blond coils from Jennie’s pubis. His hand was steady despite the fact that his eyes were gleaming demonically and his fleshy bottom lip was sucked behind his teeth in fierce concentration. Sweat dotted his forehead. And his white surgeon’s gown was lifted, tentlike, away from his body by his rigid male member.
The blond woman, willingly parting with the last of her body hair, lay with her slender arms folded beneath her shiny bald head. She was as calm and relaxed as if the strange ritual were an everyday occurrence.
“Ah, there, there,” the razor wielder finally said and reluctantly laid down his work tool. He rose, went back to the sink, and mixed a few small drops of iodine with warm water. He returned to lovingly bathe the newly shaven mons pubis with the soothing hygienic solution.
Beside himself now with sexual excitement, Lord Nardees peeled off his covering white surgeon’s gown. Totally nude, his short, tubby body was every bit as hairless as that of the tall woman he had just shaved. Not one single hair on his chest, belly, or groin. Beefy arms and flabby legs as smooth and slick as silk.
Agilely, Jennie got up off the couch and preceded Lord Nardees out of the small, sterile room and into the plush boudoir. At the bed Jennie paused and turned to face Nardees. His pudgy hands clasping her upper arms, he leaned to her and kissed her, his lips open, his tongue thrusting against the barrier of his surgical mask.
He released her and climbed up onto the bed. He stretched out on his back. Jennie stood beside the bed, smiling at him. She ran her hands sensuously over her gleaming bald pa
te and her hairless body. Her slender fingers lingered on her full, high breasts before slowly sliding down to touch and cup her freshly shaved groin.
She licked her lips.
Then she got onto the bed.
Slowly, regally, Jennie stood up on the bed. She rose to her full imposing six feet, then stepped over the wheezing lord’s portly body so that she was standing astride, directly above him with one bare foot on either side of his naked hips.
Then suggestively running the tip of her wet tongue around her open mouth, Jennie bent her knees and slowly squatted to him. And waited. Offering him an unobstructed view of his handiwork—that which so excited him. She also lifted her hands and erotically caressed her shiny shaved head.
While the baron stared, drooling, Jennie shifted slightly. A shaft of light from the bedside lamp caught and perfectly framed her temptingly slick female flesh. Lord Nardees gripped his painfully swollen shaft and shoved it up into the beautiful hairless Amazon.
Jennie had only to bounce up and down on him a few times before his neck bowed on the pillow and his eyes rolled back as hot semen squirted up into her. She slipped from him, turned, and slid off the bed.
She rose, turned about to face him, reached up and tugged down his surgical mask. She leaned over him, kissed his loose lips and asked, “Did I please you, Dr. Clean?”
He smiled dreamily. “My sweet, you have no idea.” He pointed across the room. “Look in my trousers pocket. I have a little something for you.”
Lord Nardees sighed contentedly as the bald beauty swayed across the room, grabbed up his trousers, and withdrew from the pocket the dazzling diamond choker. She hurried back to the bed and had him fasten the necklace for her. Then she got into bed and stretched out beside him.
Resting her weight on an elbow and fingering the fabulous stones gracing her pale throat, Jennie pressed her bare, hairless body close to his and whispered, “Take me with you to Saratoga?”
Lord Nardees caressed her gleaming bald head and smiled. “Perhaps next year, my dear.”
Thirty-Three
Her final week at the Springs.
The old relaxed Claire was gone; she was now sick with worry.
Not only was the genuine Duchess of Beaumont soon to arrive, but the evil Lord Wardley Nardees was due in Saratoga any minute. Would he unmask her? Reveal her for the fraud she was? And if he did, would Hank despise her for deceiving him?
He would.
And she didn’t blame him.
“Hank, would you mind terribly if I stayed in this afternoon?” she asked on that final Sunday when he came to drive her to the races. “I’m not feeling very well.”
“Ah, Duchess, it won’t be any fun without you,” he said, looking for all the world like a disappointed little boy.
Touched, feeling for him more than she cared to, Claire laid a hand on his handsome face and said softly, “We have had fun, haven’t we?”
“And we’re going have a lot more. Come with me, sweetheart.”
Claire looped her arms around Hank’s neck and smiled. “Once again you’ve talked me into it.”
Claire took her chances.
This would be her last day at the races. Her last day with Hank.
Tomorrow she and Olivia would leave on the early morning train. And twelve hours later the Duchess of Beaumont would arrive in Saratoga on the late afternoon train.
Claire went with Hank to the races, but she wore a broad-brimmed straw hat with a concealing veil covering her face. Once Hank had escorted her to their private box and ordered champagne and strawberries, he excused himself, explaining that he needed to go down to the paddock for a few minutes to speak with Fox.
“Be back before you can snap your fingers,” he said and left her.
Alone in the box, Claire looked anxiously around for the portly baron. And her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest when she spotted the wicked lord in a box which was uncomfortably close.
Claire tilted her hat brim so that he couldn’t see her face. She held her breath when, from out of the corner of her eye, she saw the baron abruptly rise and leave his seat. She quickly looked the other way and kept her head turned for several long seconds.
Finally she cautiously glanced back at his box. He was not there. She released a sigh of relief.
The red-coated bugler took his place below the grandstands and played the call to post. The crowd cheered as the parade of sleek Thoroughbreds came onto the track single file. Momentarily forgetting her troubles, Claire raised her binoculars and gazed through the gauze of her veil, smiling when she spotted Hank’s green-and-white colors on the big gray-coated stallion, Silver Dollar.
When the horses had passed the grandstand and were heading toward the starting gate, Claire casually turned her binoculars on the crowd around her and felt her heart slam against her ribs when she spotted Lord Nardees in the box with Caroline Whit and Parker Lawson.
The lord was laughing and talking with Caroline. Claire froze when Caroline leaned close, whispered something to the baron, then nodded in Claire’s direction. Quickly lowering her binoculars and looking away, Claire felt her stomach clench with alarm.
Caroline Whit had always made her nervous. It wasn’t just that Caroline wanted Hank for herself and therefore disliked Claire. It was more than that. On a couple of occasions, Claire had caught Caroline staring at her intensely, carefully studying her, as if she suspected something.
Claire closed her eyes, opened them. She drew a shallow breath and told herself she must remain calm. Caroline Whit did not know the truth and as for the repulsive Lord Nardees, she would not be meeting him face-to-face.
She was, for the moment, safe.
But not for long.
After the longest half hour she’d ever spent, Hank finally rejoined her, and he immediately said, “Good news, darlin’. Lord Nardees, the baron I mentioned I ran into in the city…well, he’s here. Right here at the races. He came down to the paddock and we got to talking. He’s seen Black Satin and he’s really interested in buying him.”
“But I thought…aren’t you running Black Satin in the Travers Stakes next week?”
“Yes, and he’ll win it, too.” Hank winked at her. “Then the asking price will go sky-high.”
Claire nodded. “But you’ll wait until then to sell the stallion?”
“I may never sell him, but I’m willing to consider a generous offer,” Hank said, then added as an afterthought, “You know the baron, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Well, I…”
“He said you two are acquaintances, have attended some of the same social gatherings back in London.” Claire could do nothing but nod and attempt a smile. Hank continued, “He’s considering buying several of my Thoroughbreds, so we need to discuss it further. I invited him to drop by your estate after dinner.”
“Discuss what further?” she murmured, her blood ice-cold.
Hank laughed. “Darling, you’re not listening to me. The baron is genuinely interested in buying Black Satin and perhaps a couple more of my Thoroughbreds. He’s coming out this evening.”
“This evening?” Claire repeated, aghast, wondering if her face was as white as her summer dress.
“You don’t mind, do you, Duchess?” Hank said, staring at her, looking concerned. “What is it, Charmaine? I didn’t think you’d object. The baron won’t stay long.”
“No, I…No, of course not.”
Claire couldn’t get her breath. She felt sure she was going to suffocate. Lord Nardees was coming to expose her and there was nothing she could do about it.
Pleading a nagging headache, Claire insisted Hank take her back to the estate before the final four races had been run.
“No, darling, don’t get out,” she said, stopping him when the carriage pulled up before the house. “I need to lie down for a while.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” he said. “You look pale. I’m worried about you, Charmaine.”
“I’ll be fine, Han
k,” she assured him. “Dinner at eight.”
“I’ll be prompt.” He nodded, then said, “After dinner, once we’ve gotten Lord Nardees out of the way, I want to take you for a long ride in the moonlight. Away from the town, away from everyone. Say you’ll go.”
“I’ll go.”
Olivia laughed merrily as she stepped up to the betting window and cashed in her winning ticket on the last race of the day. She had been lucky all afternoon, thanks to the valuable tips from Fox.
Stuffing her winnings into her reticule, she made her way back to the rapidly emptying grandstands to wait for Fox. He had promised to drive her home as soon as he’d finished up at the stables.
Olivia sat down with a sigh of contentment. What a wonderful afternoon it had been. Hopefully, the fun and luck would continue. An evening at Canfield’s seemed the appropriate way to end this lovely day.
Olivia glanced cautiously around, then took the wadded bills out of her reticule and carefully counted and recounted them. If she knew Fox, she wouldn’t have to twist his arm to get him to take her to Canfield’s tonight.
Olivia put her money away and tightened the reticule’s drawstrings. She smiled with pleasure as she gazed out over the oval track where bits of fine dust raised from the day’s final race still hung in the thin mountain air. Horses nickered from the stables out past the track, and trainers and jockeys walked back and forth, calling out, laughing and teasing each other.
Olivia loved the sights and sounds of the racetrack. The excited crowds cheering on their favorites. The sleek Thoroughbreds thundering around the rail. The miniature jockeys, sporting their owners’ bright colors, up astride those big, snorting beasts. The trainers waiting behind at the barns, hoping for victory.
The thought suddenly struck Olivia that this would be her very last afternoon at the track. She was, she knew, a sentimental old fool, but the knowledge that this fairy-tale summer was about to end made her suffer a bout of melancholy.
She felt tears spring to her eyes and had to quickly blink them away when she looked up to see the smiling Fox Connor coming toward her.