by EM BROWN
He had never met this cousin but would not trust the keenness of anyone who recommended Lord Devon.
“You ought return to your father, Isabella.”
“Why?”
He could not tell if her defiance stemmed from her headstrong ways or from pure foolishness. If he could, he would take her back to her father in his own carriage.
“I know that serious look,” she laughed. “La, would you whisk me away, my knight in shining armor?”
A muscle along his jaw tightened. “Isabella—”
“I protest,” Lord Devon interrupted as he came upon them, having torn himself away from the group. “You have occupied Lady Isabella long enough, Rockwell. Have you lost the delightful Miss Sherwood?”
Recalling that he had assured Miss Herwood his return within the half hour, he suppressed the desire to force Devon away—or deck the man in his pretty face. He turned to Isabella.
“You know my concerns, madam. I am at your service.”
He bowed and took his leave. As he made his way back to the West Wing, he shook his head. How the devil was he going to convince Isabella? A part of him wanted to stay with her and keep his eye on Devon, but then he would be a poor host for Miss Herwood.
And he had unfinished business with Miss Herwood.
Frustration with Isabella and anger with Lord Devon had already stirred his blood, and as he neared Miss Herwood’s bedchamber, he was fit to burst. He knocked upon the door and did not wait for a reply. He found her sitting on the settee, but she rose to her feet upon his entrance. Closing the door behind him, he lost no time in doffing his gloves and coat. He unwound his cravat.
Surprised by the swiftness of his actions, Miss Herwood made no movement and only stared. His palm itched to spank that precious arse of hers, but what he intended required patience.
He reached for her, molding her body to his. His lips grazed her neck. He slid his tongue lightly along the side of it.
“You have been extremely disobedient, Miss Herwood.”
She gasped when he took a mouthful of her neck. “If it be meek and obedient women you favor, I wonder that you seek my company.”
At times he wondered as well. He had never doubted her independence and willfulness, which bordered on brash even, but these qualities only enhanced his interest in her.
“You are not in your gaming hell,” he said as he moved his lips over hers, “but upon my grounds. Therefore, you will adhere to my rules.”
“I do pity the woman who must suffer you for a husband,” she murmured against his mouth.
For some reason her statement irked him. He grasped her buttock and squeezed it hard. Her eyes flew open. Heat swirled about his groin. He spun her around and began unpinning her gown.
“If you’ve an interest in the East Wing, you must first prove your mettle,” he informed her as he yanked the bodice down her arms.
The skirts were as easily dispensed with. Standing in only her chemise, stays, and stockings, she shivered, though Bhadra, as he had instructed before leaving for dinner, had had a strong fire burning in the fireplace. He ran a knuckle between her shoulder blades and admired the contours of her upper back.
“How?” she inquired as he unlaced her stays.
“You shall see soon enough.”
The stays fell to the floor. Reaching around with both hands, he palmed each breast. The amount of wine she had consumed was sufficient to lower her inhibitions. She leaned back against him and arched herself further into his hands. He kneaded each mound through the chemise and felt her nipples harden. He pulled and pinched the rosy nubs, making her groan, as his own head swam with the possibilities. She had a strong, beautiful body. If she proved tolerant, there was much he could do to her.
He slid the chemise down her body. Slipping his hand between her thighs, he found her already wet with desire. He stroked her there until she whimpered and ground herself against him. Her arse pressed against his cock, which stretched toward her. How easy it would be to unbutton the flap of his pants and ram his cock into her derriere. To cool the temptation, he stepped away from her and went to one of the armoires to retrieve coils of rope and a cat-o-nine tails. Her lips parted slightly but she was no stranger to the items. She had enjoyed them greatly in the past.
“Remove the stockings,” he instructed as he rolled up his sleeves.
With lust shining in her eyes, she did as he bid and slid the silk down her legs. She stood before him completely naked, a little more at ease than before. Once more he swept his gaze appreciatively over her body. His cock pulsed, wanting action. He sauntered over to her and looked into her eyes, confirming that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He brushed his fingers gently along her collarbone and kissed her shoulder.
Then his demeanor changed. Thrusting his hand into her hair, he yanked on the coiffure to force her chin up, then smothered her mouth with his. She yelped but yielded to the assault upon her mouth. He dug deep into the warm, wet crevice with his tongue. Her breathing became heavy against his upper lip and he smelled the wine from dinner. He would taste of her in as many ways possible before they left, he promised himself. Fire consumed his veins and he disengaged himself abruptly for as much his sake as hers.
“Lie down upon the bed.”
Still breathless from the kiss, she took a moment but complied with a touch of awkwardness. He stretched her arms overhead and bound her wrists to the bedposts with the rope, then did the same with her ankles till her body formed an ‘X’ with each limb tethered to a bedpost. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. Damn. He could see the glisten of wetness between her legs.
She pulled at her bonds, but the ropes had little give. He could see that she felt ill at ease being spread and exposed in such a manner.
“Remember the safety word?” he asked as he retrieved the tails.
“Rati,” she said, the name of the goddess coming from deep in her throat.
Even her speech affected him, and he could not attribute blame to the wine as he had consumed only two glasses in the course of the evening. He steeled his nerves. What he was about to do her required a steady hand.
“Your punishment begins, Miss Herwood.”
He passed a hand from her toes and up her leg, past her hip and ribcage, and up to the bottom of a breast. He cupped it tenderly. It had a lovely shape to it and large areolas. He leaned down and put his mouth upon the puckered nipple. A tiny purr escaped her. He swirled his tongue over it and gently sucked. Her toes curled in response. He flicked his tongue at the nipple, licked it, pulled it until she twisted in her bonds. He reached a hand to her groin, grazing the hair between her legs and sliding a finger against her clitoris. She emitted a shaky groan. While attending to the nipple, he fingered that other nub and occasionally slipped his finger into her hot, soaking womanhood. Her body arched off the bed.
Satisfied that he had her sufficiently aroused, he stepped back and unfurled the tails. He whipped them against the side of her breast, careful to avoid the nipple. She cried out, mostly in surprise. He lashed again at the breast. The mound of flesh quivered at the impact. She sucked at the air. This time he knew it stung a little. He slapped the tails against her inner thigh. Her leg wanted to recoil but was held in place by the bindings. He slapped her there again, and she gasped at how close he had come to striking her cunnie.
“Please,” she murmured.
“Use your safety word if you must, but you will have to endure a lot more if you wish to enter the East Wing, m’dear.”
At that she closed her mouth and awaited his next move. He applied the tails to her other breast until the skin blushed with indignation. She cried out each time but did not invoke the name of Rati. The moisture at her cunnie increased.
He applied the flogger lightly to her ribs, then let the tails fall once upon her cunnie. She would have leapt off the bed if she had not been held down by the bindings. He rubbed her between her legs.
“Do you think you have learned your lesson, Miss Herwoo
d?”
“Hmph?” she responded through a haze of arousal and vexation.
“What have we learned, Miss Herwood?”
“To heed your orders.”
“Swiftly and keenly.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He wanted to inform her that she would only take pleasure from him, that she belonged to him. She was his alone to command and gratify and protect. But these were dangerous feelings to have. Voicing them might render them less fleeting.
“And if you please me, you may find yourself rewarded.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He stroked her cunnie with his thumb. Her body, already near the height, did not require long to go over the precipice. As she spent, she bucked off the bed and writhed violently against the ropes. He did not wait for her to completely descend from her climax and dove once more between her legs.
Confused, she knew not whether she wanted the continued attention. He suspected her cunnie to be exceedingly sensitive. It pulsed hot and wet beneath his mouth. She attempted to move away from him, but he grasped her hips and held her in place. He did not relent and soon had her riding a second wave of ecstasy. Screaming, she succumbed to the stimulation with such forceful spasms that she struck him in the chin. He rubbed her gently until the last of her shivers subsided and she let out a deep sigh. For a while he gazed at her as she recovered herself, drinking in the sight of her stretched across the bed, her breasts still bearing the markings of the flogger, her body flush from the experience.
By Jove, he wanted to fuck her.
Chapter Eleven
AFTER UNTYING HER AND rubbing a pomade upon the places where the nine-tail had landeed, he pulled the covers over Miss Herwood as sleep overtook her. He gathered his coat and stepped softly to the door. He turned at the threshold to look at her in peaceful slumber, her hair spread over the pillows, one bare arm curled above her head. If he did not leave soon, he might be tempted to wake her to relieve the bulge at his crotch. Forcing himself through the door, he tried not to recall how she had looked stretched to the bedposts in glorious nakedness, her sweet cunnie open to him like a blossom to the sun.
When he had first invited her to Chateau Follet, he had mostly selfish reasons. He wanted another taste of her body. He wanted to satiate his own lust. But ever since her acceptance, her pleasure had become the dominant priority. He derived much enjoyment from seeing her spend and surprised himself that he had not yet ravished her for his own sake.
And now another woman took him from attending to his own needs.
He made his way back to the East Wing and headed straight for the ballroom in search of Isabella. The ballroom was the focus of activity for the East Wing. Hearty flames crackled from all four fireplaces and provided much of the light desired by the hostess. The chandeliers above were kept dim, allowing for pockets of darkness throughout the room. Lush sofas lined the walls beneath erotic paintings and golden candelabras. The center of the room, however, looked more like a medieval dungeon with body racks, wooden pommels, an iron cage, and other furnishings of torture.
Isabella sat upon one of the sofas beside Lord Devon. She had partaken of more wine in the meantime as evidenced by her shining eyes, flush cheeks and constant giggling. Her partner, too, was happily inebriated and attempting to devour her neck. He had her legs across his thighs.
“Lord Rockwell!” Isabella exclaimed as she tried to right herself without spilling the wine from the glass she held.
Devon sat up and tried to focus his gaze on Halsten in the darkness. “Rockwell? Where is thy ladybird?”
“Resting,” Halsten replied, grimly staring at Devon. “One should not extend the abilities of a novice at Chateau Follet.”
“Is Miss Sherwood the ninny or you?” Isabella teased.
“Come, have a drink with us,” Devon invited. “Perhaps a good burgundy will provide you the necessary nerve.”
Biting his tongue, Halsten pulled up a chair as Devon motioned to one of the serving maids. A young naked waif approached them with a bottle and glasses. She kept her gaze demurely at the floor as she offered Halsten a glass. Devon ogled the maid as she poured more wine into his glass.
“Lovely is she not?” Devon purred into Isabella’s ear.
Isabella giggled. “They must get very cold in the winter.”
“Winter is delightful. Their nipples are constantly erect.”
He pretended to pinch one of hers. Isabella swatted at his hand and laughed. She seemed to notice the serious look Halsten gave her and stopped
Devon followed her gaze. “Why so sullen, my good fellow? I urge you, bring that Miss Sherwood of yours here. You’ll be a happier man.”
Halsten forced his mouth from a frown even as he retorted silently that he would not bring Miss Herwood within an arm’s length of Devon.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I am content to observe.”
“I’ve no qualms with that.” He raised a glass at Halsten.
Isabella struck Devon playfully across the chest. “Surely you jest!”
“Has Lord Devon not shared with you his fancy for exhibitionism?” Halsten asked of her.
Her eyebrows rose at Lord Devon.
“I assure you, it is quite thrilling,” Devon told her.
Hers was a nervous smile.
“To Chateau Follet and its many thrills,” Halsten said raising his glass.
“Here, here,” Devon replied, downing his glass of wine.
Halsten, who had taken the bottle from the serving maid, refilled Devon’s glass.
A bell chimed, drawing their attention to a clearing in the center of the ballroom. A woman lay naked upon a long table. Her dominant, wearing only a pair of breeches, announced, “It pleases me to share my submissive with the honored guests of Madame Follet.”
“No!” Isabella cried out in wonder, covering her ruby red lips with her slender hand.
“Oh, yes,” Devon growled beneath his breath as he imbibed more wine.
The dominant spread the woman’s legs open as curious and willing guests approached the couple. A woman with silver in her hair knelt at the submissive’s cunnie.
“I can’t look!” Isabella giggled and hid her face in Devon’s chest.
The older woman licked the submissive. Having stolen a peek, Isabella shrieked.
“The odor there is less than desirable, but I do love watching a woman at another woman’s twat,” Lord Devon commented.
Isabella seemed to vacillate between fastidiousness and curiosity, heedlessly sipping at her wine as she gazed upon the center of the ballroom.
She shook her head. “I could never—”
For a moment Halsten wondered if Miss Herwood could ever be at ease or titillated by the touch of another woman. The image of Miss Herwood spread upon the table before another woman made the blood at his groin churn.
The submissive began moaning and writhing upon the table.
“A sight to behold, eh?” Halsten directed at Devon.
Devon pulled at his cravat. “Indeed.”
“How can she...enjoy that?” Isabella asked.
“This is quite tame compared to what my lord has witnessed with previous guests of his,” Halsten said. “Have you not had as many as three women at once, Devon?”
The effects of the wine upon him, Devon hesitated, but conscious of Isabella’s gaze upon him, he waved a dismissive hand. “That be the past. My lady Isabella is certainly worth at least three of her sex.”
Isabella smiled while Halsten frowned.
“I must say your company quite surprises me, Halsten,” she said. “Miss Sherwood does not appear of equal quality. I would have thought you capable of better.”
“She suits my purposes and is far more engaging than meets the eye.”
“You could have commanded the attentions of a greater beauty.”
Her remark surprised him. He supposed Miss Herwood did not possess the classic marks of beauty, but while he might have found her plain upon fi
rst glance, through observation and better acquaintance, he now found her exceedingly attractive.
“She has not your blessings, Isabella,” he remarked with irony and held up his glass to her.
She beamed.
“To beautiful women,” Lord Devon toasted.
They finished off their wine. Halsten motioned to the serving maid for another bottle.
They watched as others took their turn with the submissive. One man fondled her breasts while another woman locked lips with her. While pretending to be engaged in the exhibition, Halsten kept a steady eye upon Devon and Isabella. He ensured Devon’s glass never became empty. The wine made Devon more libidinous but also impaired his motions. Of a thin build, Isabella could not withstand the effects of the alcohol for long and began to fall into a stupor.
“I need to visit the privy,” Isabella grumbled.
“Allow me,” Halsten, already upon his feet, told Devon.
Devon waved his hand, his glassy-eyed gaze fixed across the room on two women engaged in a strenuous kiss.
Isabella stared at Halsten’s outstretched hand. When she made no further movement, he hoisted her to her feet by her waist. As he assisted her from the room, he motioned to one of the servants.
“Have her ladyship’s maid sent to her chamber,” he instructed.
Isabella’s arm slipped from around his shoulder and she sank to the floor.
“This floor is not accommodating,” she murmured.
After she struggled to stand, he decided it was simpler to carry her. As she was light, he made it to her chamber with little difficulty. Once inside, he set her down upon the bed.
“Ohhh, I don’t feel right...” she grimaced and put a hand to her mouth.
He quickly retrieved the wash basin and held it before her just as she retched and spilled the contents of her stomach. Mortified, she covered her mouth once more.
“Let’s have all of it,” he instructed her.
Again she heaved. She gagged but only bile remained. He handed her his handkerchief. With a groan, she lay back. He set aside the wash basin.
