by EM BROWN
Vale frowned. “Mrs. Olyvia Robertson? She is a friend of Lady Falconet, is she not?”
Harrietta shrugged and spooned a bite of the soft-boiled egg into her mouth. She did not offer up the knowledge that Lord Elroy and his sister would most likely be in attendance as well.
“Another night, then. Perhaps we can see the fireworks,” Vale said. “And we should visit Ranelagh Gardens as well. They are currently featuring a traveling menagerie.”
“Oh, yes!” Harrietta exclaimed, unable to believe her luck. “I should very much like to visit Ranelagh as well.”
“Then it shall be done.”
He smiled at her, and she returned it, wondering what she had done to merit such attention from her husband. Briefly, it made her feel even more guilty for her visit to Madame Botreaux’s last night.
“Would you entertain a simple request of mine, Harrietta?” he asked when she had finished her breakfast and prepared to head back into her bedchambers.
“What is the nature of the request?”
“I wish for you to take a walk with me in the garden. The gardener has planted some new flowers, and I am not enamored of how he has configured his selection of flora, but if it pleases you, I will allow the garden be kept the way it is.”
Harrietta hesitated, but surely a glance at the garden would prove no long duration.
“I should be delighted,” she responded.
He offered his arm, which she took, but it was no easy matter to keep pace with his steps when her body from her abdomen to her thighs were clenched as tight as can be.
“Harrietta dear, are you in pain?” he inquired.
“No!”
The word flew too quickly from her mouth, though perhaps she should have admitted to some pain as an excuse to retire to her chambers.
“Good.”
He slowed his pace to accommodate her. In the garden, he pointed out the new plants and explained what had been there before. He ruminated over what might prove a better choice and asked a plethora of questions: did she prefer the delphiniums where the bergenia once grew, how did she find the grey lavender lining the path, were the bushes trimmed to her liking?
Harrietta kept her answers brief. The tiny vibration of the balls were agitating, and it took all her effort to keep her focus off her lower body and concentrate on what her husband was saying to her. The balls were slipping. She could not hold them in for much longer.
“What a lovely spring day,” Vale commented. “Perfect for a ride. Shall we take the chaise out to Hyde Park?”
She paled at the notion of riding in an open carriage with the balls bounding inside of her. All the bumping and jarring would be the death of her. Fortunately, the footman arrived to tell them that a gentleman was here to call upon the Marquess. Harrietta could not imagine when she had felt more relieved. Vale excused himself, and she fled back into her chamber—as quickly as one could while pressing her thighs as closely together as possible.
Fortunately, Vale did not approach her again with his invitation for a ride about the park and instead took himself to the bank with his visitor. She wondered at his sudden interest in spending more time with her. Was it because she apparently had her own life to lead? Did he expect her to stay at home pining for him? Had he quarreled with the Countess? She had almost fallen to his charm, like some grateful puppy hungry for attention. If she allowed it, those grey-blue eyes of his would penetrate the armor she had built for herself, the armor she needed to survive in their loveless marriage.
As much as she would have liked to see Vauxhall, she was glad to be having dinner at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, where Harrietta received more reasons to resist falling for her husband a la his many other mistresses—two of whom Harrietta sat next to at the card tables after dinner. Alexandra introduced her to Mrs. Fiona Springwood and Lady Venetta Drury over vingt-et-un, which had now become Harrietta’s favorite for its thrilling fast pace. There were two men at the table as well. One was clearly flirting with Alexandra, who did not discourage his attentions. When Alexandra left the table, citing she needed some fresh air, the gentleman immediately rose and followed her, leaving Harrietta alone with Fiona, Venetta and Mr. Garetty, an older man who was hard of hearing.
“How fortunate you are, my dear,” sighed Fiona, a beautiful woman with dark brown curls and a flawless complexion, “to be married to Dunnesford. He is a fine specimen of a man.”
Harrietta kept her gaze on the cards she held in her hands. Was it appropriate for a woman to comment on another’s husband in so forward a manner or was such behavior typical among London’s beau monde?
“Ah, but it is the Countess D’Alessio who has the best of all worlds,” commented Lady Drury, who, but for the sneer on her face, would have been quite attractive as well.
“It surprises me that he has been with her thus long,” Fiona replied. “Alas, he was with me but three months. But it was a glorious few months.”
The corner of Venetta’s mouth curled conspiratorially. “Aye, the month we shared might as well have been a twelvemonth for all the tumbling we did.”
Fiona leaned in toward Harrietta with glimmering eyes. “The Marquess has the most marvelous cock. I commend you on your choice of husbands.”
Harrietta nearly fell out of her seat.
Lady Drury rolled her eyes upward. “Ah, yes. It is most finely shaped. I would I were a sculptor that I might make a mold of it.”
“And the taste...the feel of it in one’s mouth...divine...”
A flush filled Fiona’s cheeks. Harrietta glanced at Venetta, who was smiling at her. The curl of her lips made Harrietta cringe inwardly.
“You must come from a wealthy family?” Fiona asked Harrietta.
“Not at all,” Harrietta responded, hoping her feigned nonchalance sounded convincing as she picked up a card Mr. Garretty had dealt her.
“Then how did you come to marry him?” Lady Drury inquired.
“Were you a secret mistress of his?” Fiona added.
“I won him in a game of cards,” Harrietta replied casually as she laid down her cards for she had exceeded twenty-one.
Lady Drury narrowed her eyes. “Surely you jest?”
But Harrietta was saved from further conversation by the appearance of Lord Elroy. From the glare he was casting Fiona and Venetta, Harrietta gathered that he had heard enough of what had transpired.
“Lady Dunnesford,” he said, “my sister requested your presence for a moment. Would you tend to her?”
He offered his arm, which Harrietta was only too willing to accept. He escorted her away from the card table.
“Those two can be such vultures,” he said to her in an apologetic tone. “They are merely jealous.”
“I was aware that I would not be a favorite among certain women, but I am glad not to have to be in their company if necessary,” Harrietta confessed.
“You handled them with great aplomb,” Lovell praised. “My compliments.”
They strolled out onto a balcony.
“You said Alexandra needed me?”
“I lied,” Lovell revealed. “It was the only way I could think of to extract you from those two fire breathing dragons.”
Harrietta smiled. “Thank you. You are a true knight in shining armor.”
Lovell bowed. “At your service, madame.”
She turned to look at the moon, which had recently risen above the horizon, and leaned against the railing. “’Tis a shame. I rather liked the game of vingt-et-un.”
“Do you enjoy cards much?”
“My sisters and I often played whist, but I find vingt-et-un much more exciting.”
“Then perhaps you would grace a card table with your humble knight?”
He bowed again, and she laughed. “I should be delighted, Sir Elroy of the Round Card Table.”
At Elroy’s table, her luck with vingt-et-un was not improved, but at least the company was better. Lovell was affable, courteous, and witty. And generous. When she had run out o
f the allowance that Vale allotted her, Lovell offered to front whatever she needed. After a dismal run at the tables, she and Lovell retired to the corner of the room where a harpsichord stood. He performed the variations of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star by Mozart for her amusement. The evening passed quickly, and she found herself reluctant to part ways except that she had a rendezvous at Madame Botreaux’s.
“Au revoir, mademoiselle,” Lovell said to her as he bowed over her hand. “I think I have never enjoyed cards as much as I have tonight, and I have your company to thank for that.”
“Well, I am committed to mastering the game of vingt-et-un for I will repay you for what you lent me tonight,” Harrietta told him, noting how striking his blue eyes were and how firm the grasp of his hand on hers was. Were she not married, she might consider falling for Lord Elroy.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied.
“I insist. I will honor this debt. It would not sit well with me if I do not repay you.”
“Then your wish must be my command, my lady,” he said with another bow.
He was quite the gallant, Harrietta mused. She turned to leave.
“My lady.”
When she turned back around, he took her hand and pressed a small object into her palm. The warmth of his fingers over hers made her flush.
“I believe it be yours,” he explained.
Opening her hand, Henrietta saw her golden earring. It was a set that Harold had given to her on the year of her come-out.
“Thank you. I should be devastated to lose it,” she said, affixing it back to her ear.
“I am most gratified to be of service...and hope that I may continue to be your humble servant.”
The length of his gaze into her eyes surprised her. She studied Lovell more closely. He had spent most of the evening with her and had been amiable but not flirtatious. There was little indication as to whether or not he held any interest in her beyond mere friendship until now. She gave him a small smile, bobbed a curtsy and left.
But could Lovell truly have an interest in her? she pondered after departing the Roberts home. Handsome, wealthy, titled. And virulent. There was something about him that made her a little nervous. A dangerous element. Perhaps a little exciting. He was not the sort of man she expected would take the time to entertain someone like her. Was it because she was now a Marchioness and married to the much admired Vale Aubrey that she should generate such attention? Or was it because she felt a different woman—more of a woman—since becoming a more frequent visitor to Madame Botreaux’s?
The Dunnesford carriage carried her home. Not surprisingly, Vale had not returned. After making it known to the servants that she was retiring, she slipped out her usual door and down the street where Charlotte’s carriage was waiting. Despite her best efforts, the conversation between Lady Drury and Fiona would not fade into the night. Harrietta knew the women meant to get under her skin for, as Lovell suggested, they were probably jealous, but she could not help but be affected. She could not rid herself of the image of Mrs. Springwood’s mouth wrapped about Vale’s cock.
But, damn it all, she herself—the wife of Dunnesford—didn’t even know what his cock looked like!
“What disturbs you, ma petite?”
Standing naked in her usual spot in the Cavern, Harrietta snapped to attention. “My lord?”
“Something weighs upon your mind,” his lordship replied as he eyed her more closely.
He stood near her, barefoot, in only a pair of black breeches, his mask, and a loose linen shirt. Harrietta gazed at the ridges of his chest and abdomen. She wondered if Vale had such a shapely torso. Her eyes dropped to his crotch. What did this man’s cock look like? Would it match the beauty of the rest of his body?
“Only how I might please my lord tonight,” she responded.
“A sweet answer, but there is no need for you to lie. If you’ve no wish to tell me, I will not force it from you. I have no interest in your personal affairs. Recline upon the bench and spread your legs.”
She did as told. It amazed her how comfortably she took his orders now.
He inserted a finger into her quim.
“Grasp my finger,” he instructed.
She contracted her muscles down there.
“Needs more work,” he commented and went to retrieve another box.
Did he honestly expect results so quickly? she wondered, watching him take out two smaller silver balls. He knelt between her legs and pushed one ball, than the other, into her. They were heavier than the ones he had given her before. And different. For a moment they seemed to generate their own motion.
“These are hollow,” his lordship explained, “and have in their core another ball inside them.”
His head bent low over her mons. He seemed to inhale her fragrance. Then his tongue pressed against her clit, and Harrietta felt her body leaping off the bench. She had never been touched by a man in such a fashion. By his tongue.
He glared sharply at her, and Harrietta settled her body back into position. The balls had rocked inside of her when her body jerked, jarring her nerves.
“You are not to spend without my consent,” he told her, then dipped his head back between her thighs.
He flicked his tongue against her clit, sending sparks through her stomach. It felt wondrous. Even more marvelous than the touch of his hand. She felt his fingers parting her folds to better access her clitoris, which he teased and tormented. What a remarkable instrument his tongue was! She felt her body simultaneously melting and straining against his touch. And the balls rolling ever so slightly inside had magnified her awareness of her lower body. The flexing of her vaginal walls about them sent ripples of arousal through her. It was almost more stimulation than she could handle.
She would spend before he allowed it. She held the sides of the bench near her head and dug her fingers into the wood. Her body tried to escape his caresses by moving up along the bench, away from his mouth, which was no longer tasting but devouring her. He grabbed her thighs and pulled her back. The back and forth motion only disturbed the balls inside of her more. She tried to think of less arousing thoughts, but her mind was trapped. The sensations too overwhelming.
She came, long and hard, at the mercy of his tongue.
When she opened her eyes, he was standing upright, staring at her with a frown. He grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her back to the center of the room.
“Wait!” Harrietta exclaimed.
He paused and looked at her.
“My lord. Is there aught I can do for you, my lord?” she asked him.
He raised an eyebrow.
“It would seem—have you no wish to be pleasured in return, my lord?”
He seemed to stiffen.
“I should like to pleasure you, my lord. I could—I could fondle your cock. Or place it in my mouth.”
“You have not earned the privilege of my cock,” he said.
“When—how can I earn it, my lord?”
“You desire my cock much, do you?”
She thought about Fiona and Lady Drury. Flushing, she declared, “Indeed, my lord. I should like your cock.”
“You may have it only when I deem you worthy.”
Grabbing a long rope, he bound her wrists behind her head. It took some time and quite a bit of rope, but when he was finished, she was suspended from the ceiling like a bird in flight, her legs spread behind her. It was uncomfortable, yet exquisitely erotic. The fiber of the ropes ground against her skin, but she felt secure.
He came to stand at her head. When she attempted to lift her gaze, she found herself staring straight into his crotch. She wondered if he had ever bound a woman similarly and had that woman suck his cock in such a position. She wanted to see his cock again. She had never had one in her mouth. But it was the naughtiest prospect, and she found it titillating. And even her ‘lord,’ with his cold calm did not seem impervious to the eroticism they engaged in. She could see the outline of his cock bulging in his breeches.
>
“You have failed,” he told her, “to withhold your orgasm. Your disobedience must be punished. If you cannot withstand your punishment, you may signal your desire to quit by holding up your right two fingers. That signal will end your punishment and your tenure here at the Cavern. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” she responded, more afraid because his voice quivered as he spoke.
“Now open your mouth.”
He inserted a red ball hinged to a black strap, which he tied behind her head. The ball prevented her from speaking and barely fit into her mouth. He reached beneath her for her breasts and fondled her nipples until they hardened.
She stifled a scream when he affixed an ivory clasp to each nipple. Her body jerked in vain to shed the clasps, but they bit into her nipples with the ferocity of a famished pup on a tit. The pain made her head spin. She gritted her teeth and tried to refocus her mind elsewhere, to separate conscience from her body.
But he made that difficult when, walking to the other end of her, he put two similar clasps to the lips of her labia. This time Harrietta cried out in anguish, though the sound was muffled by the ball in her mouth. She struggled against her bonds, desperate to free her hands so that she might pull off the offending items.
“Cease!” he commanded with a swat at her buttocks.
Her struggling had aggravated the silver balls still lodged in her vagina. She stopped and tried to take in slow, long breaths.
“You will adjust to the pain,” he assured her.
At the moment, she doubted him. She wanted to curse, even unleash a string of oaths at him, but she was only capable of incoherent grunting. Her jowls felt sore from awkwardly encasing the ball.
His hand reached underneath her, and he stroked her clitoris. Her body wrenched in surprise. Gently, he rubbed her, plying and teasing her clitoris. How was it possible? He was arousing her body, even while the clamps affixed to her continued to smart. In fact, the clasps near her quim only seemed to alert her more to the pleasurable stroking between them. It was a maddening mix of pain and pleasure. And ultimately of arousal.
And as he had said, her body began adjusting to the clasps. She moaned as the familiar waves of bliss began rolling from between her legs through her body. Her head hung between her shoulders and she could only see his two legs. What a quixotic arousal. The ultimate in corporal stimulation. The juxtaposition of the biting clasps with the tender flesh of his fingers working their delightful magic....she felt herself ascending toward that plateau. He had not expressly forbidden her to spend...although neither had he allowed it.
