by EM BROWN
She looked at the words. She had had no idea the novel was so explicit.
“’Phoebe, at this gave me a gentle jog, to prepare me for a whispered question: whether I thought my little maidenhead was much less? But my attention was too much engrossed, too much enwrapped with all I saw, to be able to give her any answer.
“’By this time the young gentleman had changed her posture from lying breadth to length-wise on the couch: but her thighs were still spread, and the mark lay fair for him, who now kneeling between them, displayed to us a side-view of that fierce erect machine of his, which threatened no less than splitting the tender victim, who lay smiling at the uplifted stroke, nor seemed to decline it. He looked upon his weapon himself with some pleasure, and guiding it with his hand to the inviting slit, drew aside the lips, and lodged it, after some thrusts, which Polly seemed even to assist, about half way...’”
Her whole body felt warm with embarrassment. She glanced at Lord Devon, who wore a most pleased expression. His trousers had tented at the crotch. Deana quickly looked back at the book.
“Read it...slower,” Rockwell said.
She took in a deep breath.
“’But there it stuck, I suppose from its growing thickness: he draws it again, and just wetting it with spittle, re-enters, and with ease sheathed it now up to the hilt, at which Polly gave a deep sigh, which was quite another tone than one of pain; he thrusts, she heaves, at first gently, and in a regular cadence; but presently the transport began to be too violent to observe any order or measure; their motions were too rapid, their kisses too fierce and fervent for nature to support such fury long: both seemed to me out of themselves: their eyes darted fires: "Oh! . . . oh! . . .. I can't bear it . . . It is too much . . . I die . . . I am going . . .." were Polly's expressions of extasy: his joys were more silent; but soon broken murmurs, sighs heart-fetched, and at length a dispatching thrust, as if he would have forced himself up her body, and then motionless languor of all his limbs, all showed that the die-away moment was come upon him; which she gave signs of joining with, by the wild throwing of her hands about, closing her eyes, and giving a deep sob, in which she seemed to expire in an agony of bliss.’”
“I say!” Devon exclaimed. “You are a natural, Miss Sherwood! Such emotion! Such flare!”
Deana looked at Isabella, from her parted lips and glassy eyes, seemed to be in a daze. She looked next at Rockwell.
“I concur with Lord Devon,” he said, his stare upon her quite intense. “Well done.”
Suddenly she wished she were very much alone with him. The passage had aroused her, and she wanted the ability to express it with him.
“Lady Isabella, you’re next!” Devon said. “Though it shall be no small feat to best Miss Sherwood’s abilities.”
Her ladyship frowned at this and looked upon Deana as if she, and not Lord Devon, had made the offending statement.
“But I insist you read one of my preferred passages,” Devon said, taking the book and flipping through the pages till he found what he wanted.
Book in hand, Isabella cleared her throat.
“ ‘No sooner then was this precious substitute of my mistress's laid down, but she, who was never out of her way when any occasion of lewdness presented itself, turned to me, embraced and kissed me with great eagerness. This was new, this was odd; but imputing it to nothing but pure kindness, which, for aught I knew, it might be the London way to express in that manner, I was determined not to be behind hand with her, and returned her the kiss and embrace, with all the fervor that perfect innocence knew.
“’Encouraged by this, her hands became extremely free, and wandered over my whole body, with touches, squeezes, pressures, that rather warmed and surprised me with their novelty, than they either shocked or alarmed me.
“’The flattering praises she intermingled with these invasions, contributed also not a little to bribe my passiveness; and, knowing no ill, I feared none, especially from one who had prevented all doubt of her womanhood by conducting my hands to a pair of breasts that hung loosely down, in a size and volume that full sufficiently distinguished her sex, to me at least, who had never made any other comparison ...’”
In her attempt to outdo her predecessor, Isabella tended toward the dramatic. Her voice was sultry, but she read with such exaggerated emphasis that her performance overpowered the words.
“’I lay then all tame and passive as she could wish, whilst her freedom raised no other emotions but those of a strange, and, till then, unfelt pleasure. Every part of me was open and exposed to the licentious courses of her hands, which, like a lambent fire, ran over my whole body, and thawed all coldness as they went.
“’My breasts, if it is not too bold a figure to call so two hard, firm, rising hillocks, that just began to show themselves, or signify anything to the touch, employed and amused her hands a-while, till, slipping down lower, over a smooth track, she could just feel the soft silky down that had but a few months before put forth and garnished the mount-pleasant of those parts, and promised to spread a grateful shelter over the seat of the most exquisite sensation, and which had been, till that instant, the seat of the most insensible innocence. Her fingers played and strove to twine in the young tendrils of that moss, which nature has contrived at once for use and ornament.
“’But, not contented with these outer posts, she now attempts the main spot, and began to twitch, to insinuate, and at length to force an introduction of a finger into the quick itself, in such a manner, that had she not proceeded by insensible gradations that inflamed me beyond the power of modesty to oppose its resistance to their progress, I should have jumped out of bed and cried for help against such strange assaults.’”
The imagery that danced in Deana’s mind surprised her. She had never imagined a woman being fondled by another woman before. She felt extremely flustered.
“I vow I have never enjoyed the work more,” Devon declared. Lust flamed in his countenance as his gaze fell upon Deana.
“I think I should like to stroll near the stream to stretch my limbs,” Deana said, rising to her feet. She had a great need to cool the heat in her body and wished she had brought a fan to aid in that effort.
Chapter Thirteen
WITHOUT SEEKING AGREEMENT, Miss Herwood began walking in the direction of the stream. Halsten did not like the way Lord Devon had eyed her and did not blame her for wishing an escape.
“Do not stop, my dear,” Devon instructed Isabella. “More delights await.”
Isabella began reading once more. Halsten decided to join Miss Herwood and caught up with her at the stream.
“What say you to the work of John Cleland?” he inquired after they had walked apace in silence. He had noticed her flush earlier and was curious to know her thoughts.
“He is a rather talented writer. Few details escape him. He, well, he creates a vivid picture,” she answered with some unease.
“Do you find the imagery of Fanny and Phoebe repulsive?”
Her cheeks colored. After a moment of thinking, she replied. “No. Do you?”
“The body of a woman is far lovelier than that of a man. Two is twice the sight.”
“But pleasuring one another? Is it not unnatural?”
“I should think a woman more familiar and therefore more adept with what pleases another woman.”
She considered his words. “I suppose you are right. Are there...women such as Phoebe and Fanny at the Chateau?”
“There are.”
Her breath caught. He studied her keenly but detected no strong degree of revulsion. “Would you find such a sight disturbing or stimulating?”
“I know not. As you say, much can be admired in the female form, so I do not think I should be disturbed. I think I should be more curious.”
God help him, the thought of Miss Herwood with another woman would be his undoing. He glanced back towards the picnic. They had walked out of sight, but he had no desire for Devon or Isabella to show up unexpectedly if he were t
o initiate anything with Miss Herwood. Bad enough that Devon was in the company of Isabella. He had no wish for Devon to be further interested in Miss Herwood.
“Have you an interest in reading more of Fanny Hill?” he asked, steering the discussion away from a topic that would have his cock bursting.
“Yes. And I would read of de Sade as well.”
He shook his head. “The images of de Sade are far more dark and savage.”
“That the heroine is but twelve is most disturbing.”
“Devon would not be so dismissive if he had a daughter of his own.”
“Or a sister?”
The hairs on his neck stood on end. The mere thought of Lucille suffering anything of what Justine had endured was enough to drive him mad. He quickly changed the direction of discussion.
“As a work of political philosophy, there is much to be said for de Sade. His work is undoubtedly provocative.”
“Then I would read it but for one overbearing Baron who believes the constitution of the fair sex too weak to bear the imagery.”
He stiffened. “I have faith in your constitution, but I cannot say the same for Lady Isabella. Hers is more delicate.”
“Ah.”
She turned away from him, and he could not read her expression. He sensed a coolness in her demeanor. He tried to improve it with praise.
“You read extraordinarily well. The work is much improved through the quality of your voice.”
She turned to look at him, and he sensed the distance had melted.
“I was relieved to be reading English. My French is not nearly as good.”
“You were aroused by what you read.”
She blushed. Her loveliness had somehow grown from a year ago. He wanted nothing more than to reach for her, but if he did, he was unsure he could stop himself from taking her upon the pebbled ground. Or maybe he could pin her against a tree, her legs wrapped about him.
“As was Lord Devon,” she murmured.
His jaw clenched. He would have her refrain from ever uttering that name.
“If you’ve a strong desire to read de Sade, I can procure you a copy of Justine.”
“Hopefully in less than two day’s time, I will have a hundred pounds from you. I do not require more than that.”
Their remaining time together sounded awfully short of a sudden. He had to have her soon. And all to himself. The ride and picnic with Devon and Isabella had been his own doing so that he could keep an eye upon Isabella.
“We have walked a ways and should return.”
They turned around and headed back to the picnic. There was no more talk of de Sade or Cleland. He admired the comfort of their silence. He knew far too many women who felt the need to fill a void with chatter.
When they came upon Isabella and Devon, he sensed something amiss. Isabella was staring into her glass of wine, her mouth twisted as if she had stomach ache. There was moisture in her eyes, and her hair was a bit mussed. Devon was lounging an arm’s length from her, reading from Justine.
Dear God.
Halsten fisted his hand. It was all he could do not to take the riding crop and whip the man into oblivion.
“Let us return to the Chateau,” he said.
They packed their articles. Isabella had the deportment of a shy little girl as she wordlessly went to stand beside her horse. He went to assist her in mounting, leaving Devon to do the same for Miss Herwood. Isabella winced as she sat upon the horse. He steeled himself and said nothing.
Isabella was silent the entire ride back. Devon prattled on about inane matters, addressing most of his comments to Miss Herwood, who listened politely and occasionally voiced her acknowledgment of what he said.
“I think a nap would do me good,” Devon said after their horses had been seen to the stables. “Proper rest is required for the nighttime activities at Follet.”
He bid them all adieu in the foyer and headed off to the East Wing. Halsten looked between Miss Herwood and Lady Isabella, whose eyes remained downcast. Fortunately, he saw Bhadra from the corner of his eye.
He called to the maid, “Bhadra, please escort Miss Sherwood to her chambers and assist her with her riding habit.”
After seeing Miss Herwood off with Bhadra, he turned to Isabella. “May I escort you to your room, m’lady?”
Isabella placed her hand in the crook of his arm and they walked wordlessly to her room.
“Isabella, are you well?” he asked after he had seated her upon the settee and rang for the maid.
She nodded.
He took a fortifying breath. “Did Lord Devon hurt you?”
She shook her head, then abruptly looked up at him. “I did not expect it to hurt so. It was nothing at all like what Cleland described.”
He tried to temper his anger at Devon for even the most tender of lovers could not grant a painless penetration of the hymen. He remembered the one and only time he had been with a virgin, a young Indian maid. She had shrieked so loudly, he had been frightened out of her. Then she had taken to such fits of sobbing as to convince him that he was surely the most miserable bastard alive.
“Are you bleeding much?” he asked gently.
“I have not determined, but there is a viscous moisture there.”
Lord Devon’s seed. The thought made him sick.
“A bath will cleanse and refresh you,” he told her. “Then you should consider returning to London.”
“By myself?”
“Madame Follet will relinquish one of her maids to accompany you.”
Isabella was quiet. He sensed some reluctance on her part but decided not to pursue further discussion as she was still recovering from the shock of losing her maidenhead.
“Some rest after the bath would be beneficial,” he said as the chambermaid appeared.
He took Isabella’s hand and kissed it before taking his leave. She rewarded him with a wan smile.
“Does it—does it improve?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And will it be as blissful as what was described in the novel?”
“That depends on a great many variables, my lady.”
“Oh.”
“Isabella.”
“Yes?”
“If you should require anything, if Lord Devon should impose upon you the slightest discomfort, I am at your disposal.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Halsten.”
He bowed and left her room. In the hallway, he paused and considered seeing to Miss Herwood, but first he marched to Lord Devon’s room.
“I say!” Devon protested when Halsten entered without knocking. “A little politeness would be much appreciated!”
Devon had taken off his coat and boots. His valet was assisting with the cravat. Halsten dismissed the valet, who as if sensing something amiss, scurried away.
“I did not think you so desperate as to require a virgin for company at Chateau Follet,” Halsten began.
Devon straightened. “I had no idea Isabella was a virgin. She certainly did not conduct herself as if she were.”
“Was it not obvious? Or were you so lost in your own passion that you could not notice?”
“Well, it was a little late when I did. The surrender of a woman’s maidenhead is never painless. But no real harm has come of it.”
Halsten imagined drilling his fist into the pretty face before him.
“Lady Isabella is the daughter of the Duke of Trent. I would take proper care of her if I were you.”
“I do not mistreat my guests and take offense at your implications and your imposition.”
“If you harm Isabella, I will see that you are never welcome at Follet again.”
Devon stared at him, then pursed his lips. “Do not threaten me, Rockwell, lest you wish to draw swords at dawn. I do not fear you or the Duke of Trent. My father is the Earl of Kensington. I suggest you attend to your own guest, the lovely Miss Sherwood. It would be a shame if she were to feel neglected.”
Devon’s words struck a cho
rd. Halsten had noticed a look of disappointment upon Miss Herwood when he had chosen to escort Isabella to her room. It would do no good to come to blows with Devon, though he was more than tempted by the prospect of drawing swords with the man. Nonetheless, the best strategy was to keep him away from Isabella until one or the other could be removed entirely from the Chateau. Until then, what was he to do with Miss Herwood?
* * * * *
“Is something amiss, m’lady?” Bhadra asked as she assisted Deana out of her riding habit.
Deana mustered a half smile. Rockwell was clearly interested in Lady Isabella and would be with her were it not for the presence of Lord Devon and obligation on the part of Rockwell to play the good host.
“I am well.”
“Have you enjoyed your stay here, m’lady?”
The maid’s effort to initiate conversation surprised Deana out of her doldrum. “Yes, the hospitality has been more than welcoming.”
There was a pause, and Deana wondered if Bhadra would protest that she had not intended to fish for compliments.
“And your company?” Bhadra continued. “With his lordship?”
It was a very forward question, and Deana wondered at what prompted the maid to ask it. But she could not observe Bhadra, who was lacing the stays from behind.
“Yes,” Deana replied slowly. “I must admit I found his manners rather disagreeable at first, but he is much improved with familiarity. However, I do not think he is entirely partial to my company.”
“Why would my lady think otherwise?”
“If I were a man, I should prefer to pursue the Lady Isabella.”
“His lordship is most concerned with your welfare and asked me to service you with the best of care.”
“He is a magnanimous host.”
“It has been some time since last his lordship was here, but in times past, it was apparent he only half-enjoyed his time and company.”
Deana caught Bhadra’s gaze for only a few seconds before the maid retrieved the bodice of the evening gown. She wondered at the purpose of Bhadra’s statement.
“But he seems to derive much satisfaction in yours,” Bhadra finished.
