by Meg Buchanan
He waited, suspended in time, the world of the room, and the bed drew in even smaller. How far would she go? This wasn’t something he’d taught her last night. She had good instincts.
She moved lower, kisses, licks, hands, hair, caressing, following the plains of his muscles, the hollow of his stomach.
She looked up, and he lifted his head to see what she was doing now.
“You have hair, here,” she said like it was a mystery she had just solved. “I didn’t notice that last night either.” She followed the fine gold trail down to where the buttoned fabric covered it. She eased back a little and tugged at the buttons.
“I think it is time to untie me, Sophie,” he said, his voice thick and not sounding in the least like his own. Her game was interesting, arousing. That was the only reason he hadn’t slipped his hands out from the silk yet. Usually he preferred a little more control.
“No,” she said. “I like you this way, you are less bossy.” And kept working on the buttons. When they were undone, he moved his body enough to make it easy for her, and she slid the trousers down his legs. She pulled them over his feet and threw them to the floor, then resumed her study. She touched the rigid flesh with her finger then looked back up at his eyes.
“I told Kitty about this too,” she said.
“What did Kitty say to that?” His voice deeper and darker than before.
“She said it sometimes happens like this.”
“Only sometimes?” Keeping still now took tantric control, the need to pull his hands from the scarves, grab Sophie, roll her over and bury himself in her almost overwhelming.
Sophie nodded and touched the flesh with her tongue this time. He held his breath, the need growing still stronger. Then he watched her sit back on her heels, rise up a little, gather the skirts of her slip around her waist, thighs and stomach revealed, and lower herself where she had kissed. She moved slowly, until the tip was buried, then stopped.
“Don’t stop,” he gasped quietly. Sophie nodded and moved again. He felt the membrane break. Then their bodies were joined, and a stillness settled over the room.
He slipped his hands from the scarves, held her hips, helped her to lift, then lower again, and guided her to their completion.
Chapter 12
HOURS LATER, Sophie slipped out of bed with the counterpane wrapped around her body and went to the mirror. She stood there preening and talking to him, masking the rest of the room from anyone watching.
He dressed, then arranged pillows under the sheet. They had examined the angles in a whispered discussion and were sure if someone was still on the other side of the mirror, he wouldn’t be seen when Sophie stood in front of the glass.
He waited by the door, out of view and watched Sophie go back to bed and carefully spread the velvet counterpane over the sheet covering the pillows, then slip into the bed herself and curl up like she was ready to sleep.
Once she was settled, he waited for any noises from the next room. It was peaceful, so he went through the door and crept along the corridor.
The exit to the fire escape wasn’t locked. He lowered himself to the ground and stood in the shadows, orientating. He’d worked out the room they were in was at the back of the building so knew he stood in the garden among the rhododendrons on the right-hand side.
In the moonlight, he could see the shape of the house Sophie said she was kept in. A strong light shone in the foyer, and a dull glow came from the windows. Someone was moving inside. He stood in the bushes and shadows waiting and watching. Two men came out, each with a lantern. He’d seen both men at the club. Their duties must change, sometimes working in the club, sometimes guard duty.
“Any problems?” one asked the other.
“No, no one in there.”
They walked around the perimeter of the house, checking doors and windows. Then went back into the foyer. With two men on guard all night and the house lit up the way it was, it would be difficult to get Sophie out undetected. He had no way of knowing how frequently they checked the outside of the house.
He worked his way around the gardens. The house had a veranda on three sides with a porch and steps at the back. Sophie said there were ten doors along each side of the hallway and she thought they were bedrooms.
At the back, a few sheds. He cautiously checked them; laundry, woodshed and storage.
In the dark, he moved across the open lawn to more buildings. The first ones were stables and coach house. He could hear the rustling, stamping and snorting sounds horses make at night. He could see another lantern and hear two more men talking. Guards there too, and as late as it was, they were awake. He moved to the next building, heard the yapping and growling of dogs almost asleep, more men awake and talking. He moved on before the animals sensed his presence and started to bark.
As he worked his way around the property with only the moonlight to guide him, he found each building well protected with too much open space and too many guards out here, each with a clear line of sight to the next building.
He’d have to somehow take her across the open space at the front of the building hoping the fog would give them the cover they needed. The front gardens always seemed less guarded.
He made his way around the building, and instead of the gloom of formal gardens at night surrounded by a border of trees, he stepped into a world of shadows, washed-out colour and people.
Across the lawn, through the mist that hovered over the grass, stretching the full width of the gardens, the tents he saw when he and Sophie were walking were now lit with strings of lanterns. Hanging in the trees like firebugs were more lamps. Braziers burned just out from the tents forming arenas.
He stood there, aghast. In the shadows of the trees, lit by flickering light, bodies, clothed and unclothed mingled and weaved, like a surreal dance. From this distance, trying to see through the haze, he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening, but naked flesh gleamed white and ghostly, clothed in the miasma. Those in real clothes were just shadows, and all was silent.
He moved from shadow to shadow, closer, to see what was happening.
Everyone wore a mask, and only the girls were naked. Endless ghost-like bodies draped in mist. Dreamlike.
“Courtney?” Charlotte walked towards him carrying her mask. Thankfully fully clothed, a carnival of red and black. “Are you joining us?”
“Joining you in what?” he asked.
“Our celebration of Bacchus.”
“Bacchus?”
“Drunken revelry, orgiastic rites, indulging one’s basest desires,” said Charlotte.
“An orgy?”
“Oh, this is so much more.”
“Jesus,” said Courtney.
“I don’t think he’s here,” said Charlotte. “But almost everyone else is.” She took his arm and guided him towards the tents. “Come and see.”
“Watching people fuck isn’t something I do.”
“You may find it enlightening.” She handed him the mask. “You will need this.” It was hardly what he came outside for but wandering around the tents with Charlotte would at least give him a chance to discover the best way to get Sophie out of the grounds.
Closer, the blur of bodies resolved into a series of tableau. Still silent, no talking, no music, naked girls carried plates of fruit and wine, masks hiding their faces. They hovered around the tables and dining chairs set among the tents. Seated or reclining, men, dressed as he was, touched and caressed the girls as they passed.
He went to comment on the scene to Charlotte, but she put her finger to her lips. Silence must be one of the rules of this gathering. A male in a tuxedo, dipped his fingers into his wine, slid his hand up the inside of the thighs of one of the girls. She pulled away from the invasion.
He jerked her towards him and forced his fingers higher, then took her tray from her with the other hand and put it on the table. Finally, she parted her legs a little and fell against him. He stroked the flesh, then settled her astride him on his lap. She arch
ed back as he unbuttoned and positioned her then thrust into her hard. Impersonal, the whole act accomplished without any communication. His companions watched him fuck her.
Courtney looked away. She did choose to be here. Then he remembered that Sophie and Lucy hadn’t. Was it like that for all these girls? Was the fear of something worse happening holding them here?
Wherever his eyes landed, girls were being fucked or standing on tables bending over to open themselves to being touched. Some were lying there moving sinuously as hands and cocks invaded them.
The first tent had four masked girls on a curtained bed fucking each other. The next was a flogging scene. Then a girl with a dog, of all things. Dildos the size of marrows. And golden showers.
And at the tables, the young girls were passed around from man to man. The silence and the mist pressed down and made it all the more horrific. It was too much. There was no way he’d risk trying to get Sophie past all this. They might want new meat, and he couldn’t fight them all off.
He went to leave.
“Not to your taste, Courtney?” Charlotte had to hurry to catch him.
“I prefer to do my fucking in private.” The sooner this place was burned to the ground the better.
Then he saw straw-coloured hair he recognised topping a mask. Seth again, in shirtsleeves. The girl walking away from the tents with him had his tuxedo jacket around her, her legs and feet bare. Lucy shivering, stared at him, a shocked expression on her face, like every time he’d seen her.
“Seth,” he said.
“Samuels. Did you know about this?” Seth waved at the tents and lights. The way he asked the question sounded like an accusation.
“No, just stumbled on it.”
“Me too. Do you see what they are doing to those girls?” It was a howl of outrage. And the boy didn’t seem a prude.
“I saw.” Seth probably felt as impotent as he did.
The boy shook his head. “Disgusting.” He held Lucy closer and moved away with her.
Courtney decided to go back to the room and make sure Sophie was safe. If any of those degenerates were wandering around the corridors, he didn’t want them to find Sophie alone.
He went to the front entrance, through the foyer and up the stairs to the room where he’d left her. He needed a different plan, and he was going to have to leave her here on her own again, unprotected for at least another day. He’d come back with Eugene tomorrow. With the two of them together and a carriage, they should be able to come up with something.
When he got back to Sophie’s room, he undressed and climbed under the covers.
“You’re cold,” Sophie whispered.
“It is freezing outside,” he pulled her closer.
“Can we leave now?” She took his hands in hers, held them away from her body and rubbed them trying to warm them up.
“No, it is not safe, there are men everywhere, we’d be seen.”
Sophie turned in his arm. “Oh.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow with Eugene’s carriage,” he whispered. “We will get you away in that.”
In the dim light, he saw Sophie bite her lip, then nod. “Will Eugene help?”
“I am sure he will if I ask.”
Sophie lifted her hands from under the bedclothes and touched his face. “Thank you.”
“And, tell Charlotte I liked the undergarments, and would like them to continue,” he whispered. “You need to be dressed properly if you’re escaping.”
She nodded as her fingertips gently traced his features, like a blind person learning the shape.
When she had finished the examination, he rolled so he was on top and she opened her legs for him. He took her, gently this time, sighed and barely moved; worried she was sore, and then felt her move against him.
Early the next morning, Courtney went down the curved staircase to the deserted foyer. Through the glass doors, he could see the dining room was empty too, with tables waiting to be set, chairs waiting to be occupied. He was back in his own clothes, he’d found them in Eugene’s suite, clean and folded.
Outside, the cold light of day showed the grounds still littered with debris. The tents and arenas were in the process of being dismantled by a team of men, the flags coming down, dead lanterns piled by the entrance. The man he spoke to when he came from Sophie’s room must still be fetching the trap.
How could he have got it so wrong last night? He chose the one night of the week when the grounds crawled with men and were lit up like gala night at the town hall. Now he was leaving Sophie in Charlotte’s clutches again.
He waited on the steps and watched the carriage that would take the last of the revellers to Thames. The five men already seated looked dishevelled and drowsy, like they would sleep all the way home to their families. The reek of alcohol drifted from them over to him.
Good that he brought the trap even if it wasn’t suitable for rescuing Sophie. He couldn’t have born sharing that carriage with the drunken degenerates inside. He studied their empty flaccid faces to see if he recognised any from last night. But none of them seemed familiar. Perhaps he was doing them an injustice, and they knew nothing of what had gone on.
His trap stopped behind the carriage. The man driving it leapt down, and Courtney went over. Just as he was about to climb up, he saw Charlotte coming down the steps.
“Courtney, you left us before dawn.” Perhaps she’d been up all night. She probably had to oversee the excesses until they were over.
But if that was true, she’d found time to change her clothes. Gone was the silk costume of last night, now she wore a day dress so understated she could be on her way to church this Sunday morning.
He turned away. “I don’t have your stamina Charlotte. I had to get some sleep.” He had hoped to avoid her this morning in case he betrayed himself in some way and let her see his total contempt for her, or his plan to rescue Sophie. He grabbed the bar on the trap that supported the driver’s seat and swung up.
She watched him gather up the reins, then stepped closer. “Or get back to the arms of the beautiful Sophie. Does Sophie still please you, Courtney?” Now she had both hands on the edge of the bench seat and was looking up anxiously. “There are others here that might suit you better. Someone more skilled?”
She was thinking of replacing Sophie? Shocked by the suggestion, he studied Charlotte for a moment. Perhaps he shouldn’t leave Sophie here alone after all.
A few possible scenarios he could employ to rescue her right now came to him. But then he looked at the wide expanse of open grounds and the people working there clearing them and dismissed the idea. His only options were to leave now or spend the day with Sophie.
But if he stayed, all the same problems would exist again tonight. “No, Sophie is perfect.” He’d leave now and come back later better prepared. He lifted the reins ready to signal horse to go.The sooner he left, the sooner he could get back.
“There’s something I need to do, and then I’ll be back. I’ll only be a few hours.”
“I’ll see you then.” Charlotte stepped back from the cart.
Chapter 13
COURTNEY WENT DOWN the long driveway and then slowed ready to turn onto the road to Thames when he saw a small cluster of men near the verge under some trees. As he got closer, he could make out the shapes more clearly. Three men in dark suits, dark-skinned, muscled and menacing, had another baled up against a tree.
He stopped to see what was happening and heard a thud and a grunt, then Seth’s voice. “She’ll have it next week.”
He could see Seth had already taken quite a beating, his coat torn, his lip bleeding and a cut above one eye. Courtney pulled up the horse and leapt down.
“Tonight,” said one of the thugs.
“I told you, I can’t manage tonight.” Seth gasped out. “I’ll be back next week with it.” He took another punch in the gut, and it doubled him over.
Courtney went over to the men. “You all right, Seth?” He didn’t seem to be able to
look the other way anymore.
Seth staggered away from his attackers a little. “Evening, Mr Samuels. These gentlemen are impatient.”
The boy’s assailants turned, he could see them calculating the odds, three against two. They decided the odds were fine and shuffled around. Seth backed further up against the tree trunk, but they were leaving him nowhere to go.
“This is none of your business,” The man closest to Courtney said. The man on the left closed the gap again, took another jab at the boy, and hit him above the eye. Seth’s head flew back at the impact. He shook it as if to clear it, and blood slid down the side of his cheek.
Courtney pushed his way into the group, protecting the boy from the blows. They’d kill him if this carried on.
“I’m making it my business.”
Seth moved enough to give Courtney room. The boy knew what to do, he had obviously been in situations like this before. A blow glanced off the boy’s shoulder.
“Move back and leave him alone,” Courtney ordered.
The men shrugged at each other. One held Seth, and another moved in again. The third approached Courtney tentatively, flexing his shoulders and clenching his fists.
Courtney seized the man’s head with both hands, smashed his forehead hard and then kneed his balls. The owner staggered back and fell. He saw Seth in a clinch and was about to try and help, but the boy got free then flattened the man hitting him with a single punch. Courtney felled the one who’d been holding Seth. All three staggered to their feet and melted into the gloom.
Seth leaned against a tree trunk catching his breath, clothes dishevelled, collar torn, his hair falling across his cheek and sticking to the blood from the cut on this forehead.
“What was the problem?” asked Courtney. He’d come off remarkably unscathed considering he was no fighter and it had been three against two. Perhaps the men had recognised him as someone Charlotte knew and backed off.
