Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  “Very impertinent,” Sarah acquiesced as her gasps quickened.

  Gertie marveled at how this Barclay could fondle Sarah with one hand without interrupting the rhythm of his kisses. Imagining what he might be doing beneath Sarah’s skirts stirred sensations in her own loins. His ministrations were apparently quite effective for Sarah was panting and moaning, one hand clutching the edge of the sofa with whitening knuckles. Gertie shifted her weight in discomfort. She needed to find a way out for she knew not how long they intended to stay, and though the fullness with which his mouth explored the neck before him mesmerized her, she did not think she wanted to view her sister-in-law much more than she had.

  Sarah’s moaning became high pitched grunts and wails. She was close to her climax, her eyes shut tight. The two were absorbed enough for Gertie to slip away. Slowly, she brushed aside the curtain and stepped from her hiding place. Her toe struck the footstool as she dashed towards the door, but she suppressed her cry. Once safely outside the library, she hurried down the hallway and allowed herself a grimace for her poor toe. She found a mirror on the wall and examined how her tears had smeared her powder and rouge.

  She also noticed one of her earrings to be missing.

  * * * * *

  Just before Sarah cried out in ecstasy, Phineas thought he heard something behind him. After gently coaxing the last tremors from her orgasm, he allowed her a moment of peace before moving himself to examine the room about them. He saw no one, but the door was not completely shut and he was sure that he had closed it when they came in.

  “What is it?” Sarah murmured as she stretched with the satisfaction of a cat freshly woken from a nap.

  “Nothing,” he responded. There was no need to alarm her. “I think dinner will be served shortly. We had best return.”

  It was possible someone had sought to enter the library and he had simply not heard the door open. Sarah had been rather vocal. But then he noticed the overturned footstool. Someone had been in the room.

  “When shall I see you again?”

  “Methinks your brother bears little fondness for me, madam,” he answered wryly as he studied a spot of discoloration on the carpet.

  Sarah pouted. “What does that matter?”

  It was no discoloration. He bent down and picked up a garnet earring.

  “Alexander may be my brother, but I am near twenty years of age and quite capable of deciding whose company I wish to keep.”

  “No doubt, but I have no desire to find myself in another duel.”

  He tucked the earring into the pocket of his waistcoat.

  “Alexander would never have the courage to challenge you.”

  Phineas had to agree with her assessment. He had seen enough of Alexander, who was near in age to his own brother, growing up to believe that the Earl lacked much of a backbone. But it had been made clear to him that the scandal of another duel would send him into permanent exile or to a trial by peers. A friend of his who served in the House of Lords had advised him not to test his luck with the latter, saying “If you hadn’t made half of them a cuckold by bedding their wives, I would have said otherwise.”

  Turning to Sarah, Phineas offered his hand. She rose from the sofa and straightened her skirts.

  “I will be at Hyde Park tomorrow,” she informed him as she patted her ringlets to ensure they had not come undone. “I should be most pleased to see you there—if you are not otherwise occupied.”

  He brought her delicate hand to his lips. “I will make myself unoccupied.”

  She gave him a broad smile, one that looked odd upon her customarily humorless physiognomy. It amused him at times the women he chose to seduce. With Sarah Farrington, she was as much the seducer as he. Having made eye contact with him, she had immediately thrust up her fan, but her eyes had told him all he needed to know. They had beckoned, and when he had not immediately responded for he had no desire to be part of the group of pups that lapped at her, she had sought him out, conveniently dropping her fan at his feet when their paths crossed in the hallways.

  At dinner, Sarah glanced often over her pigeon pie in his direction. She was not the only one to eye him. He was keenly aware that he and not the much touted lobster was the cynosure of the evening. There was not one pair of eyes that did not look his way. One set in particular had caught his attention. The soft green eyes, set in an unremarkable but tender physiognomy of rounded cheeks and supple lips, had studied him from across the dance floor. He had found her familiar, and though he possessed an astute memory for faces, he could not place her.

  “When did the Earl of Lowry marry?” he asked of Mrs. Pemberly, who was seated next to him.

  “He has been married to Gertie some three years,” she replied, clearly pleased to be the source of information for him.

  He looked down the table at the Countess of Lowry. She did not appear to be the kind of wife he would have expected Alexander to take.

  “I do not think I know her family.”

  “Well, her family is of the bourgeoisie but a good family nonetheless. Her father made quite the profit in the sugar trade.”

  Ah, that explained Alexander’s choice of spouse, Phineas thought to himself. He had known Alexander to be rather vain and would not otherwise have taken a plain woman to wife lest she possessed some other prevailing quality.

  “If you ask me,” Mrs. Pemberly posited, “I would rate her family above that of the Farringtons. Gertie is far too good for the likes of him.”

  He studied the elder woman and decided she spoke sincerely and not with any attempt to flatter him with her awareness that the Farringtons and Barclays were not the fondest of relations. Mrs. Pemberly seemed a woman who hesitated not to speak her mind. He returned his attention to that of the Countess, who stirred her soup aimlessly. She sat between Alexander and the Dowager Lowry, both of whom ignored her the whole of the dinner. Phineas recalled seeing the Earl and his wife earlier in the evening. He stood too far to overhear their conversation, but he had seen the livid expression upon Alexander and the forlorn look of hopelessness in Lady Lowry after he had berated her in what must have been harsh terms. Though he knew not her person, Phineas felt a tug of sympathy for the Countess. He knew of few women he would recommend Alexander to. Perhaps Sarah Farrington if she were not already his sister.

  The powder and rouge upon Lady Lowry wanted another application, he noticed. His gaze drifted to her garnet necklace, the design of which matched the earring in his pocket.

  “I should introduce myself to this new relation of mine,” he commented.

  Mrs. Pemberly eyed him carefully. “Indeed?”

  “The relations between the Barclays and the Farringtons are not as strained as the rumors would have you believe. We converse quite amicably.”

  “Indeed?”

  He looked her square in the eyes and smiled. “Indeed.”

  She was the first to blink. “Well, you will find Gertie a pleasant and honest girl. She is quite refreshing in that regard. You will find no nonsense with her. While she may not be up to snuff with all the de rigueur of gentle society, she is extremely sensible. I myself have seen her maturation through the years and regard her with as much affection as if she were mine own.”

  Noting the claws of the lioness, he replied, “You are protective of her.”

  “I will not see her harmed.”

  “And you fear that I am a wolf in search of a sheep.”

  “Though I suspect Lady Lowry is not the type to inspire your predilections, I confess your motives puzzle me.”

  “A simple desire to acquaint myself with a new member of the family does not satisfy you?”

  “Certainly the marital situation of a woman has not stopped you before,” she continued without answering him, cognizant of the rhetorical nature of his question. “Dare I presume that you have mended your ways?”

  A brash question deserved a brash reply.

  “Do you hope that I have?”

  Mrs. Pemberly colored, then a
llowed a grin to creep into her lips. “Fair enough.”

  The dinner over, Phineas rose to his feet. He turned to Mrs. Pemberly and raised her hand to his lips. “What delightful dinner company you have been, Mrs. Pemberly. I esteem a woman who speaks her mind. I hope that Fortune will grace me again with your presence.”

  The blush rose in her cheeks once more. She raised a thin eyebrow at him. “I rather think that your sojourn on the Continent was spent not in repentance but in perfecting your charms, Lord Barclay.”

  “You are a woman after mine own heart,” he noted of her ability to compliment and critique in the same stroke.

  She fluttered her fan before her with a little more vigor. He offered her his arm and escorted her from the dining hall. Across the room, Alexander was engrossed in a conversation with another gentleman, leaving his wife alone to walk behind him.

  Mrs. Pemberly must have noticed the same for she said, “Did you not wish to make the acquaintance of the Countess of Lowry?”

  Phineas bowed to his dinner companion and made his way towards the Countess.

  “Lady Lowry,” he addressed.

  She had begun to walk away from the crowd, perhaps attempting to steal away to some haven of solitude, and was obviously startled that someone had called to her. When she turned to face him, he saw that she was not as plain as when seen from afar. Her cheeks had a natural blush, and though her eyes were not the large sparkles of color that graced the physiognomy of her sister-in-law, they possessed more depth. Unlike the shallow waters of Sarah Farrington, the verdant eyes of the Countess intrigued him.

  They stared at him in displeasure.

  Undaunted, he introduced himself with a bow. “I am Phineas Barclay, a relation of the Farringtons.”

  “I am aware that you are a distant relation,” she replied coolly.

  He had the feeling that even though she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, she was attempting to look down at him. Perhaps she shared the sentiments of her husband towards the Barclays.

  “A much belated congratulations on your nuptials.”

  Her frown deepened. He would have not have been surprised to hear her tell him that congratulations were unnecessary from him as he had not been invited to the wedding.

  “Yes,” she said, mustering more hauteur into her expression, “I was told you had been banished to France.”

  Her dislike of him, which was becoming increasingly palpable, amused him, as did most of the disdain people would have towards him. The son of parents who shocked gentle society with their wanton spirit and numerous illicit affairs, he had become immune at a tender age to what others thought.

  “You put it harshly, madam. I like to think of my time there as a holiday,” he replied. “I had occasion to travel to the Côte-d'Or and would highly recommend the region. The wines there are par excellence.”

  He could tell his impudence riled her.

  “Ah, then you will be taking yourself back there?”

  He nearly chuckled at her juvenile attempt to rid herself of his company. “I shall be staying in England for some time. I have come across a pursuit of great interest to me.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said wryly.

  “You do?”

  She faltered, “I mean…naturally you will have missed much of what England has to offer, perhaps not the same quality of wine that you would find in France, but perhaps a rousing game of cricket or warm Yorkshire pudding on a cool winter morning, and certainly friends and family, from whom I will keep you no longer.”

  She turned to leave. He refrained from specifying that she was now family.

  “Before you leave, Lady Lowry,” he said, stopping her in her tracks. “I believe this to be yours.”

  He held out the earring. Her eyes widened upon seeing it. She hesitated, as if she contemplated denying ownership, but it was obvious that her one ear was missing its adornment. When she reached for the earring, he deftly reached for her with his free hand, pulling her closer. Though the nearest guest was not within earshot, he meant his words for her ears alone.

  “Next time, feel free to join us, Countess,” he murmured as he pressed the earring into her hand.

  She burned brightly to the tips of her ears. Grasping the earring, she turned on her heel and hurried away from him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “YOU APPEAR PERTURBED, my dear. Are you well?” asked Penelope Botreaux.

  Gertie realized she had been staring into the distance, clenching and unclenching her crop, as she stood at the top of the stairs that descended into the Ballroom.

  “No—I mean to say yes, I am well, thank you,” Gertie hastened to reply.

  “That is a remarkable corset. I have never seen the likes of it before.”

  Penelope held up her quizzing glass to admire the scarlet satin. Gertie had fashioned the corset over a year ago but had never had the bravado to don it till tonight. She wore it over a black chemise, also an unorthodox article of her own making; her customary black boots; and a black satin mask decorated with three slender plumes emerging from its centre.

  “Your gentleman awaits you,” Penelope informed with an eccentric smile and a tone of…impatience.

  Gertie nodded. Though she had hoped he would not return, tonight she felt differently. Tonight she was ready for him. Tonight she was Lady Athena. Strong and powerful. Not the pitiful Lady Lowry who had cried over an undeserving husband and flushed before a presumptuous rake. The mortification she had felt at the Bennington ball after her encounter with Lord Barclay had turned into anger. She had never met such an insolent and despicable person. That he should not be rotting in Fleet for having murdered young Jonathan Weston in that duel was a travesty of justice.

  Yes, murdered. In the court of her opinion, she had tried and found him guilty. No matter that the seconds, his and that of Weston, all refused to elaborate on what had occurred, as if they had taken a vow of silence. Rumors had it that Weston, having been made a cuckold by Barclay, had challenged the latter. That Barclay had been tumbling Mrs. Weston was apparently common knowledge.

  Gertie shuddered. And now he had chosen Sarah Farrington for a lover. His choice of Sarah convicted him as much as anything. Gertie could think of no one more vile than Phineas Barclay, and when she recalled how roused she had been in the Bennington library, she despised him more. She had already heard his parents to have been quite the wantons. His older sister, now a widowed Duchess, had a string of lovers that might have rivaled her brother’s in number. His second sister was currently engaged in a scandalous crim con. The youngest sister had not had her come-out, but Gertie suspected she would prove no different from her older sisters. Oddly enough, the Baron Barclay remained a decent man, honest and faithful to his wife. Though Alexander had no attachment to any of the Barclays, Gertie had found the younger Barclay to be modest and agreeable.

  Not at all like his brother.

  Squaring her shoulders, she made her way down the stairs and into her alcove. As Penelope had said, Hephaestus waited for her. He wore only his breeches and his mask. The candlelight flickered across the planes of his pectorals, and Gertie could not help but admire the ridges of his muscled chest. He stood in attentive silence. She circled her prey. An exciting eagerness budded within her, but the Lady Athena must always be calm and contained.

  “You have returned,” she remarked with nonchalance.

  “But of course,” he replied. “Lady Athena.”

  “You may come to regret your decision.”

  “Is it your intent to make me regret, Lady Athena?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “A good servant would not ask such an improper question. In forewarning you, I am exhibiting a measure of benevolence. Do not tax my generosity.”

  “Your charity is unnecessary, Lady Athena.”

  She inhaled sharply. They had been together all of five minutes and already he was beginning to ruffle her. “I speak because you do not appear to have benefitted from your punishment.”

&nbs
p; “Then punish me again if you wish. My body is yours.”

  His words made her shiver.

  “Very well. Let us see how well you follow orders.”

  She went to her writing table and opened the drawer to remove a wooden paddle. Lance, having seen her punishment of Hephaestus the other night, had offered it to her.

  Hephaestus took in the paddle but showed no emotion.

  “Brace yourself against the table,” she told him. She thought of having him shed his breeches once more, but the sight of him half-naked was sufficient to stir a warm agitation within her.

  He did as told. Grasping the handle of the paddle with both hands, she swung it against his buttocks.

  “Well done,” he praised, “but I know you capable of more, Lady Athena.”

  Warmth surged inside her. He made a mockery of her. She failed to understand him, his purpose in seeking her out and provoking her into punishing him. Well, Lady Athena would not be underestimated,

  The image of Phineas Barclay flashed in her mind. If only Lady Lowry could be Lady Athena always. Barclay would not have dared to speak with such audacity to Lady Athena. Or if he were to be such a fool, instead of scurrying away in defeat, she would have made him cower, made him repent his impertinence. Strange, but Lord Barclay seemed to inspire more anger in her than did the intelligence of her husband’s mistress. Perhaps it was easier to direct her fury towards him than at her husband. Her private conversation with Lord Barclay had been more embarrassing to her than any public disdain she had received from Alexander.

  Barclay’s eyes, twinkling with merriment, haunted her even now. They pulled at her with an inexplicable gravity, and she found herself falling into their sapphire depths. They were beautiful eyes, fringed with dark golden lashes. The gods had been too kind to him. Lady Athena would not have stood for such injustice. Lady Athena would have…

  Gertie stopped, suddenly aware that she had been walloping his backside quite hard. He should have made a sound or some movement to snap her from her trance. Stilling the shaking of her hand, she went to stand in front of him.