“I am not. I am saving you for marriage,” he said.
Annabelle had never wanted anything more in her life. She desired him, wanted him to tear her clothes off, to make love to her under the moon. She knew he would make love to her. Bertram had fucked her. Duke Blackburn would not do that. His hands would be soft, electric like his kisses.
“Take me,” Annabelle said again.
“Marry me.”
Anna began to feel frustrated. She had just had a man inside her, but here she was, her loins screaming for Duke Blackburn, and he would not give in to her. It drove her wild.
“Please,” she begged.
“Marry me,” he said again.
Anna stood up and huffed. She spun on the man. “You are pig headed!” she said, suddenly angry, unable to think clearly. She wanted the man inside her so badly.
Duke Blackburn laughed, which made her even madder, and she spun and rushed for the manor.
She went upstairs, wishing to be alone, and found another room, drawing room of sorts with a balcony. She went outside and stood in the breeze. She still had Duke Blackburn’s jacket around her shoulders, and she held it around her.
“There you are,” a voice said, and she turned to see Bertram.
“I do not wish to speak,” she said.
“Things did not go well with Duke Blackburn? Then I am the winner, am I not?”
Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “No, you are not. I enjoyed what we did, and I will never regret it, as long as I live. But to you, I am just another warm woman in a cold bed, am I not? You will never stop doing what you do, and I don’t think I wish to be a wife who sits at home alone, while another woman warms you.”
“That’s not fair,” Bertram started.
“Goodnight, Duke Sutherland,” Annabelle said shortly, and the man knew not to argue. He left, and she turned to gaze out at the grounds again.
She never heard Duke Blackburn sneak up upon her, indeed didn’t know he was there until he was wrapping his arms around her from behind. He pushed against her, and she felt his penis harden against the cheeks of her ass, the cheeks which Bertram had expelled the contents of his testicles across. Knowing that she had so freshly been penetrated, and having another man harden against it, it made her slicken once more down there, and made her knees weak.
“I want you,” Duke Blackburn said against the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her there. It made her flesh tingle, and then his hand dipped down, and he was gathering her skirt up. When he felt her, he made no mention of the fact that she wore no smallclothes. She was wet, and his fingertip found her clitoris, tucked under a fold of skin. It sent shockwaves through her system.
“I thought you did not wish to make love to me,” she groaned.
“Then you were not listening. I do, but I will not. Still, there are other things I could do,” he said. The man used his hands to turn her around, and he held her skirt out to her. She held it up and he knelt down. He lifted one leg over his shoulder, and then his lips were against the lips between her legs.
His tongue lapped along her slit, and then pushed into her. She groaned and moaned. He flicked the tip of his tongue against her clitoris, and Anna used her free hand to grip the short hair on the back of his head.
“Oh my,” she said, and it was all she could think while the man brought her to an orgasm that was more intense than the one she had had just half an hour ago. When he was done the man stood up, and helped her smooth her skirt down.
“Marry me,” he said again, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him. She tasted herself, and it made her smile. Duke Blackburn was giving. He was kind, and gentle, and he had made her feel like no man ever had, or ever would.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will, under one condition.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“Don’t stop doing that, even after we marry.”
Duke Blackburn laughed and kissed his young fiance on the cheek. “I will not,” he promised.
A Game of Love (by Sarah Thorn)
David Weatherby stood near the fence that separated the wooden stands from the dirt racing track where the horses ran. The stands were full, despite the overcast sky, thick with dark gray clouds which promised rain at any time. David stood alone, dressed smartly, a hat upon his head, the brim pulled low in an effort to hide his eyes, which were tired looking, with dark circles beneath them.
It had been some time since he had slept. He often went a day or two without rest, so caught up in his carious gambling that he couldn’t find the time to lay his head upon his pillow. The way his gambling had been going of late, he had probably already bet his pillow and lost it, so there was nothing at home for him to lay his head upon.
The horse race would be different however, he always did well at the sport. They were gathering the horses at the starting line now, and they would run once around the circuit, ending at the same line they began from.
David could see the horse he had bet on, and he had bet heavily upon it. He had a meeting to play cards later on in the evening, and it was his hope to go into the meeting with a heavy purse, full of winnings from the race. He had bet on a horse which was a long shot, but as always, David had some information the other men in the stands did not.
And there were not only men in the stands. A few women were there as well, and one came up behind David and spoke, her voice high pitched and pleasant.
“Mr. Weatherby,” she said, and David turned to see Caroline Hampton standing before him. She was dressed in a light blue dress, the skirt rustling lightly in the considerable breeze. Her hair had a reddish tint to it, and it was piled in ornate designs upon her head. Her bosom was ample, and that’s where David’s eyes travelled to first. The woman noted this, and she blushed.
“Ms. Hampton,” David said, finally looking at her eyes. He took her hand and bowed his head to kiss it, and she curtsied as well as she could between the first row of benches and the fence.
“I was hoping I may see you here,” the woman said.
“And why were you hoping that?” David asked.
“Well, it seems as though after finally taking me to your bed, once I allowed it, you have little interest in speaking with me again,” the woman said quite plainly, and David had to hide a wince.
David Weatherby had a reputation around the city, and it was twofold. One: he gambled often and won and lost huge sums of money. As of late, there had been few wins and many losses. Two: he charmed most women he met, and they lowered their defences eventually to his charms. He used them in a way a man can and then moved on to his next conquest. So far, there had only been one woman who proved immune to his ways, the one who was betrothed to him, and had been since they were both teenagers.
Now, at just twenty, David’s list of conquests was lengthy, enough so that uncomfortable meetings like the one he was having at the race track were growing rather common.
“My lady,” David said softly as he grinned. “Surely you think nothing unkind of me, it’s simply my business endeavors that have kept me away. I wish it wasn’t so.”
“Is this a business endeavor?” the young woman asked, motioning to the horses.
“Of course it is. How’s this? Tonight, I will pick you up at your home at seven thirty, if you’ll agree to accompany me to dinner. We can spend some of the considerable sum I am about to win.”
“How do you know you will win? Isn’t a horse race a game of chance?” the young woman asked.
David laughed and shook his head. “Some may accept that it is a game of chance, but I do not. See my horse there?” David asked, pointing to a tall horse the color of deep chestnut, with a rider upon him and a purple sash about his neck. “I know that he will win, though he is what is called a long shot.”
“How do you know he will win?” Caroline asked.
“His trainer has found a new supper for him,” David said quietly. “I will say no more.”
“A new supper?”
David nodded and
leaned toward the woman. “It is of utmost importance what these great beasts eat. It can give them quite an edge if their diet is looked after. This horse's trainer has found a new mix of oats and grain, which is said to provide an energy to the horse that few can match. He will be faster than the others.”
“We shall see,” Caroline said. But she didn’t sound convinced, and David turned away from her to watch the race, more than a little offended and annoyed.
“Here they are now,” he said needlessly, and the crowd behind them grew quiet for a moment, and there was a firearm shot into the air, and the horses were off.
David often forgot himself while at the horse track, and he was slamming his hand down upon the top of the metal railing as he watched his purple sashed horse surge out of the gate and take an early lead.
“I told you!” David couldn’t help but gloat over his shoulder.
And then, disaster. Halfway around the track, David’s horse tripped up and fell. His rider went flying, and there was a massive gasp from the crowd. The other horses surged around the fallen one, and the rider who had fallen scrambled to the safety of the fence, throwing himself up and over it. David’s face was a shade paler than normal as he turned to the young woman who was still standing beside him.
“I shouldn’t expect you for dinner, then?” she asked.
David glared at her and then made his way towards the exit, even as the race ended behind him and the crowd gave up a great cheer.
“You’ll never be anything!” a hurt Caroline yelled after him, and though she had hoped her brash words would be drowned out by the crowd, David Weatherby heard them all too well.
*****
David had some time before his card game, so he took a carriage to his father’s house, hoping for a meal, and perhaps even a quick nap. His father was a large round man with a booming voice and hard eyes. He sat in the library, reading as he so often did, a large leather bound book open in his lap. He was contemplating something when David found him, the book face down, open to hold his place, and his eyes set on something outside of the window besides which he sat.
“Father,” David said as he came up on the older man. He took a seat across from him.
“Son, what have you been doing today?”
“I was at the races,” David said.
“I wanted you to go into the bank today, if you remember,” David’s father said.
David nodded. “I know, I was hoping it could wait until tomorrow.”
“It will wait, as I wait for you to come to your senses, take over the bank, marry that wonderful girl, and build a life for yourself and a family,” David’s father said. His name was Curtis Weatherby, and he owned and operated one of the most well-known banks in London. He was ready to retire and enjoy the wealth he had built, without the stress of running the business, but his only son was dragging his feet on growing up.
“I’m sorry father, I simply…” David said, but he didn’t know how to end the sentence, and so it trailed off into the air, like a line of smoke from a candle, twisting up higher until it vanished completely.
“How much money did you lose today?”
“I’m going to win it back tonight,” David said quickly.
“I doubt that very much, son,” Curtis said. “You have not been winning as of late.”
“You never seem to complain about my gambling habits until I’m losing, father,” David said.
“You like to gamble? Here’s a gamble for you then,” Curtis said, setting the book on his lap on a table beside him. “If you go to that card game tonight, and you don’t bring home the money you lost at the horse race today, I will cut you off. You will not spend my money anymore, you will not sleep in my home, nor eat my food.”
David couldn’t keep his mouth from hanging open. “But father!” he complained. “Surely you jest.”
“I do not,” Curtis said. “Of course, you can choose not to go to the game, and tomorrow you will accompany me to the bank and begin the transition so you may take over within a year.”
David stood up, shaking his head. “I don’t not want to run the bank,” he said shortly.
“Then I hope your card game goes well,” Curtis said, and he watched his son go from the library with his hard eyes.
David went into the kitchen in hopes of finding food, but the staff wasn’t there, being between meals, and he had to satisfy himself with some bread and butter he found on the counter. He ate two pieces and then went up into his room. He undressed and lay upon the bed.
When he woke, the sky outside of his windows was dark, with hundreds of shining stars blinking down tired light. David washed up at the water basin, splashing his face and drying off, before dressing in one of his finest suits, and hurrying out to find a cab. He did not come across his father, nor his mother or sisters, and for that he was thankful. It was a short ride through the city to Brook’s, a popular gentleman’s club which always had a number of card games going on.
David had been invited to play by a man everyone called Red because of his bright red head of hair. He was Irish, fair skinned and quick with a joke. He drank a lot, gambled a lot, and whored a lot, and there weren’t many in London who didn’t enjoy his company, one way or the other, depending on their sex.
David had befriended Red at a horse race the year previous, and they had gambled together often. Where David went in ups and downs, it seemed as though Red was always down. He lost often, and lost a lot, but there always seemed to be more money in his purse, and so he kept losing.
David arrived at the club and paid the driver before stepping inside and handing his coat and hat over to a young man who stood waiting to take it. He then made his way towards the back of the establishment, into a small room where Red usually played. There were three men in total around a small circular table, each of them preparing to play. Red saw David and stood and clapped his hands together.
“Finally we may start!” he said as David made his way to the empty chair beside his friend and they shook hands. David knew the other two men by name, and he bowed his head to them slightly as Red introduced each. Then he sat down, and they began to play.
The game of the night was Whist, and David played with a man named Samuel Carlyle as his partner. He was thankful it had worked out this way, he knew playing with the unlucky Red would be his downfall.
And indeed in the beginning, it looked as though he was well on his way towards winning back the money he had lost at the horse race, along with much more. And then his luck changed, and he and Samuel couldn’t win a hand in ten straight. His purse felt lighter and lighter, until finally, it was empty.
Despair and panic set in.
“I need a loan,” David said, turning to Red.
The Irish man laughed and shook his head, taking a moment to sip from a glass of brandy that had been brought to him by a pretty young woman earlier in the night.
“I think not,” Red said as he put the glass down. “You are my friend, and I do not want to mix business and friendship.”
“Please,” David said, leaning to the side, closer to Red. “My father…”
He trailed off, and Red shook his head slowly. “Is no concern of mine,” he said. “If you have no more money for me to win, perhaps you should leave.”
Red looked at David with narrowed eyes, and then they flicked to the doorway that led back towards the main hall of the gentlemen’s establishment. David was being dismissed, and he knew it. He stood, mustering up courage to keep some dignity intact, and he bowed his head after gathering his hat from a nearby rack.
“Gentlemen,” he said, and then he left.
Outside of the club he pulled on his overcoat, and went to stop one of the passing cabs. Though it was late, the sky fully dark with an inky black and tiny pinpricks of light, the cabs were heavy in this area, as popular as it was. One pulled to a stop in front of David and the driver looked to him.
“Where to, sir?” he asked, and David was about to tell him as he stepped for
ward and placed his hand on the frame of the cab to steady himself as he climbed in. He stopped though, and stepped back, looking up to the driver as he realized he had no money now, and couldn’t pay for a ride home.
“Never mind,” David said, shaking his head. “It’s a nice night for a walk, I think.”
The driver shivered in the cool air as the wind picked up, and he smirked. “Sure,” he said, and with a crack of the reins the carriage rumbled off down the street, and David began to walk. He was worried what his father would say.
*****
Elizabeth Crawford was nineteen, three years younger than the man who loved her. He was named Rupert Eastman, and sat in the Crawford garden with Elizabeth as they drank tea, and he tried to steal glances of her long slender neck. Her neck was the most attractive part of an attractive package, at least in Rupert's eyes. She was fair skinned and fair of head, with long blonde hair which often sat flowing down her shoulders and to the small of her back. He body was shaped like an hourglass, with a thin waist and robust hips, and a large bosom. Most men looked there, Rupert new, at the top of her pale breasts as they sat in the low necklines of her gowns and dresses. But her neck was what he enjoyed most.
There was a small freckle there, on the right side of her neck, a lone dark spot in a sea of milky white. He imagined kissing it, imagined nibbling it. But Elizabeth he knew, was promised to another man. A scoundrel, a rake named Weatherby. He was a compulsive gambler younger than Rupert was, and though he had nary a quality which Rupert appreciated, for some reason Elizabeth was taken with the man.
The Crawford’s and Weatherby’s were long-time friends, both in the banking business, but never letting their competing banks get in the way of friendship. Often they would find ways to work together.
Elizabeth sipped from her tea cup and then set it on the small saucer. A table sat between her and her friend Rupert. She looked him over as he appeared lost in thought, though he was looking right at her. They had known each other for a decade, ever since Rupert’s father had come to manage her daddy’s bank. She liked the man, and he was handsome, but she had been promised to David by the time she began to take notice in men, so she never entertained the idea of Rupert. He had a strong jaw, and broad shoulders, and she knew there wasn’t a man stronger than him in the city. She also knew there wasn’t a man who cared for her more.
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