Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance

by EM BROWN

  It was not a plea, but a directive. She added,

  “I dare you.”

  THOUGH SHE WAS NOT long in the world of Madame Botreaux’s, Harrietta was sure that a submissive was not supposed to dare her lord and master. But she wanted both to exalt in his caresses and provide him a set-down. She could only imagine how self-satisfied he must have felt after their last encounter when she had not returned. She wanted to prove him wrong and prove to herself that she could master this game. She could reign in the impulses of her body.

  There was silence. She was desperately curious to see his face. Did it possess a wry grin? Did it frown at her suggestion?

  “Making you spend and allowing you to spend are two entirely different matters,” he said at last.

  “You need not worry of the latter, my lord,” she replied. She harbored some doubts of herself, but she hoped her verbal boldness would permeate her confidence.

  He snorted, “What fierté we have grown in the last few days.”

  Raising a hand to her head, he threaded his fingers through her hair and yanked her head down so that she could see him from the tops of her eyes.

  “How long before you are a quivering puddle of pleasure, ma petite?” he asked in her ear.

  His words ran down her spine and her heart accelerated. Damnation. Despite her determination, he still managed to send jolts through her body, and she wondered if perhaps she had done a foolish thing in challenging him. She closed her eyes and thought about Vale. Of the smile on Adia’s face when he had offered his arm. Her “lord” would not be such a person. She wondered if the man held any values beyond the sensual.

  With his free hand, he playfully slapped the underside of one breast, then pinched its nipple.

  “A woman’s body is a delight,” he said as if engaged in a soliloquy. “There are so many ways to pleasure it.”

  He twisted the nipple until she gasped, and immediately a warm ache ignited in her quim. Letting go of her head, he grasped each side of her midsection. His grip conveyed such power.

  “From the smallest and most oft ignored,” he continued, nibbling on an earlobe, “to the large and obvious.”

  Again he slapped a breast. He grabbed both breasts once more and kneaded them into her chest. Her head had fallen against his shoulder when he had pulled on her hair, and she did not attempt to move it.

  His hands dropped to her legs, and he pulled them apart.

  “This organ here,” he noted, flicking her clitoris with his finger, “is most intriguing as it seems to serve no purpose but that of sexual stimulation. It is a divine creation.”

  He circled the nub with his fingers.

  “Have you ever been flogged here?” he asked.

  She skipped a breath. Flogged? In such an intimate and sensitive place?

  “I take it you did not like the clips I placed on your nipples the other night. What if I were to place one on this dainty piece of flesh?”

  He pinched her clitoris, and suddenly, she felt nervous, which only heightened her senses. The thought of the excruciating pain that would accompany a clamp there made her all the more aware—and grateful—for the pleasing attention her clitoris was currently receiving at his hand.

  While he continued to fondle her clitoris with one hand, he dropped his other hand to cradle a breast. With his mouth close enough to tongue her ear, he asked her in hushed tones, “How would you like your breasts bound?”

  He traced his hand from the bottom of one breast to the top of the other, and whispered, “I could bind them gently with silken ropes or tightly with ropes of hemp.”

  He squeezed a breast, and she felt the ache in her quim throb with the pressure.

  “Either way, they would protrude nicely for my mouth to devour them,” he continued as he tugged at a nipple. “Have you ever had your breasts serviced properly?”

  He had asked her a question, but she had lost herself in the image of his hot, firm mouth on her breasts. She could only imagine how wondrous it would feel if it resembled the slightest what she had felt when he had tongued her quim. Would he do that again?

  She summoned her mind back and replied shakily, “No, my lord.”

  “A shame.”

  His other hand stroked her fast moistening slit. He slid two fingers into her. A ring—one set with a gem—bumped against her folds. She had never noticed a ring on him before, but then, her attentions were usually focused elsewhere.

  “Shall we try the pleasure balls again?” he inquired. “Or let us pursue something different.”

  Reaching over to the table of accoutrements, he selected a dildo, which he slid against her wetness. The waves of delight rolled from her loins, through her abdomen, and down to her toes. Parting her nether lips with two fingers, he pushed the head of the dildo into her. She groaned, but the ache inside of her needed the pressure from within. He pushed the instrument further into her. The walls of her cunt grabbed the mock penis with greed.

  With the dildo half lodged inside of her, he began to fondle her clitoris. Harrietta closed her eyes, opening them only occasionally to see the profile of his chin. She could do this, she told herself. She could contain and master her body. The ripples of pleasure were growing, a wave collecting strength, but she kept it at bay. He worked the rest of the dildo into her. Now it was buried inside of her to the hilt.

  “And this be only the smallest one at my disposal,” he commented.

  The thought of a larger one alarmed her, but if there was too much pain, she was less likely to spend. She won either way. The hard part was trying to remember to keep her wrists together as if they were bound.

  Slap.

  Harrietta jumped at the touch of the crop on the inside of her right thigh. A few more inches to the left and he would have caught her where it would truly hurt. She wondered if that was where he was headed. Would he strike her quim? But he tapped his crop in the same spot while continuing his ministrations of her clit. The combination of fear and arousal amplified all that she was feeling. She clenched her stomach to prevent the rush of sensations from overpowering her.

  Whack.

  A stronger blow from the crop. The feel of the dildo expanding her cunt, the increasing aggression on her clit, the sense of vulnerability accented by the crop...she had never experienced such a deluge of sensation...she was close to spending.

  She tried to twist her lower body slightly to free her clit from his constant molestation, if only for a few seconds of relief, but he struck her thigh harder for her attempt. His cock—a real cock—felt hard as stone against her, and she wondered briefly how it would feel to have two cocks inside of her.

  As if reading her mind, he told her, “Move again and you will have the largest dildo up your arse. The whole cavern shall know your situation by the screaming that will ring through the rafters.”

  She groaned. She could spend in an instant. Her climax dangled temptingly close. A devil in angel’s guise. She gulped for breath as she began to writhe against his body, wishing she could sit immobile for the feel of him only excited her more. His leg alongside hers. His hard chest supporting her shoulders. His arms wrapped around her body. She fought the desire to fall over the precipice, but his assault on her sensations had no reprieve.

  For what seemed an eternity she dangled on an edge, balanced as if on the point of a fulcrum. The worst agitation her body had ever experienced. Her fingers had dug deep grooves into her palm. She gasped for air and either she would no longer be able to breathe or she would finally relent and allow her orgasm to claim her like the inevitability of death.

  And then the heavens appeared.

  “Spend, ma petite. Spend.”

  Her body wrenched forward. A cry tore from the depths of her as her body shook uncontrollably. The dam had broken, and wave after glorious wave swept through the whole of her body, bringing tears to her eyes. The spasms nearly felled her from the bench, but he held onto her as he speared her orgasm to completion. She shuddered for a long time afterwards,
a residual wave of pleasure shooting through her like the last flashes of lightening in a storm.

  Her limp body lay against his chest. It was only until after her panting and the trembling in her limbs had subsided did she realize that he was holding her in his arms. The tender cradling of a lover more than a master. Gently, he withdrew the dildo from her.

  “You did well, ma petite.”

  He continued to hold for some time. She felt too exhausted to exalt in her triumph. He stroked her hair with the comforting calm of a parent. The back of his knuckles grazed her jaw purposefully.

  It felt like Vale’s touch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE WOMAN’S CHEEKS were turning red, making her round face resemble that of a tomato, but Harrietta held firm.

  “That Adia’s presence should alleviate some of the work of the other scullery maids does not trouble me,” Harrietta informed Mrs. Stewart. “I have reviewed the budget for the household servants and find there is ample funds to retain Adia, who will not require a significant wage as we will be providing her room and board, though I am determined that she will earn what is fair. I will not take advantage of an orphan.”

  Harrietta felt slightly awkward sitting behind the writing desk of the room that Vale had set up for her needs. Till now she had very little use for the room save for one she wished to pen a letter to her family. She thought of Harold issuing commands to his troops. She would do him proud in her own little way.

  “But I have no place to put her,” Mrs. Stewart protested.

  “Adia is a small child. I should be happy to survey the servants’ quarters with you to identify a suitable place for Adia.”

  Mrs. Stewart bristled and glanced at the doorway as if searching for a means to escape a conversation she clearly did not relish. Relief lighted her eyes when she saw the figure clad in embroidered silk.

  Harrietta, too, looked to see her husband standing at the threshold. He had not been present for breakfast, much to her disappointment for what had transpired last night at Madame Botreaux’s had only increased her eagerness to see Vale this morning. As always, he looked impeccable. He must have just returned home for his three-cornered hat was still upon his head and he held his ivory-handled cane in hand.

  “Pardon my intrusion,” he said. “I meant only to apologize for my absence at breakfast this morning.”

  Harrietta smiled at him and was thrilled when he returned her smile with equal warmth, a warmth that made his eyes sparkle.

  “Mrs. Stewart and I were discussing the addition of—” she began.

  “It would be a waste to hire additional hands that would not be required,” Mrs. Stewart addressed to the Marquess. “Especially hands that are untrained—”

  “We could train Adia in little time,” Harrietta defended. “She is a bright girl.”

  Mrs. Stewart turned imploringly to Vale, who was now leaning his back against the doorframe, his lids half-lowered as if bored.

  “Why look to me?” he asked her. “It would seem the Marchioness has made her decision.”

  “But—”

  “The reigns of this household are in her hands now, Mrs. Stewart, and I have no wish to clarify that point a second time.”

  Mrs. Stewart looked down at her folded hands. “I understand, my lord.”

  “Good.”

  “And I think a change of drapery in the library is due,” Harrietta added. “I have examined a few bolts of fabric that I think will do nicely.”

  “Very well, my lady,” Mrs. Stewart said.

  “That is all.”

  With relief, Harrietta watched Mrs. Stewart. She would have preferred to be on good terms with the housekeeper, but absent that, she wanted her commands to be carried out. She had prepared herself for a long battle, had envisioned herself bearing down for a siege, and Vale’s appearance had cut short that battle.

  She gave him a grateful smile, then jumped to her feet. “Can we fetch Adia now?”

  “Now?” he echoed.

  “I know Mrs. Stewart will despise me for thrusting Adia into her hands so soon, but I think Adia will be thrilled!”

  He hesitated, but she knew he was going to humor her.

  “Come,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I need only my hat and gloves and I shall be ready.”

  Returning his hat to his head, the Marquess allowed his wife to pull him back down the hall with the eagerness of a child about to visit the confectionery.

  AS HARRIETTA PREDICTED, Adia was more than pleased to leave the girls’ asylum and have the opportunity to live in a grand house. She thanked her benefactors profusely the entire carriage ride from the asylum back to Dunnesford House. Vale left Adia with Harrietta, who was only too happy to take the girl to the haberdashery to see what was needed. Though he would have been pleased to be in the company of the two, he perceived he would only be in the way.

  He therefore took himself to Pall Mall and that sanctuary for gentlemen, Brooks’s. He came across William Wilberforce emerging from Boodle’s across the street and inquired politely after the man’s efforts to abolish the slave trade before entering Brooks’s, where he seemed to draw the attention of the other patrons in the subtle manner of averted eyes, curious stares, and the occasional cough. Not in the mood for gambling, he took himself to the lounge. He considered collaring the next man who stared at him to ask what the devil was afoot when he came across Lance Duport.

  “A word with you,” his friend said without pause and directed him to a solitary sofa in the corner.

  Vale sat down in an armchair and lazily propped his feet on a footstool. He flicked open his snuffbox and waited patiently for Lance to speak.

  “The betting book has a new entry of late,” Lance informed him.

  Vale inhaled a pinch of snuff.

  “I remarked to one patron that you would find it most amusing,” Lance added.

  “If that is the case, why do you look so dreadfully cross?” Vale asked his friend.

  “Well...it concerns you.”

  “I gathered that much.”

  “And...your wife.”

  Vale paused briefly before closing his snuffbox. “Do you wish for me to read the bet myself?”

  Lance sighed. “It is signed anonymous, but the bet is that your wife will make you a cuckold in less than a fortnight hence.”

  A servant approached to inquire if they desired refreshment. After requesting a claret, Vale turned to Lance.

  “Is that all?”

  “Is that all?” Lance repeated, confused.

  “It has already been done.”

  “By whom?”

  “By me.”

  Lance shook his head in disbelief. “Surely you did not write the bet?”

  “I did not,” Vale acknowledged. “It were possible this person is a patron of the Cavern and has somehow discovered Harrietta. Or some enemy of mine wishing to stir mischief. But, given all that I am, all that I have done, I could not censure Harrietta if she chose to pursue an affair.”

  “You astound me. I understand that, as a patron of Madamee Botraeux’s your sensibilities would differ from that of a common man, but you would not be disturbed if your wife took a lover?”

  Vale hesitated. At one time, he had thought such a prospect would not trouble him in the least. He was not bothered by what others thought of him as a cuckold, but now the thought of Harrietta with another man was not such a complacent one.

  Images of her nestled against his body last night at the Cavern flashed before his eyes. The scent of her arousal filling the air about them. Her rutting body grinding against him. The length at which she quivered in his arms. His cock had been as hard as he could ever remember it being. How he had longed to plunge into the space that damn dildo had occupied. To feel the warmth of her womanhood. But her pleasure, her triumph had been paramount. And when she had succeeded, he could not have been more proud.

  Who could have written the bet? Did it have to do with the Cavern or not at all? Perhaps someone who witne
ssed Harrietta with Lovell Elroy? Was it Lovell himself?

  The thought made him fume. Of all the men in London, she could not choose that man.

  And yet it had seemed she was not impartial to her own husband. That day Adia had come to visit. Harrietta had enjoyed his company. And her smile this morning. It had been more than that of a mere friend or a sister. Could she be so duplicitous as to entertain three different men—her husband, a master, and a lover? He found it difficult to fathom. Her venture into Madame Botreaux’s was not about love. And if she found carnal fulfillment in the Cavern, why the need for a paramour?

  “You would not call him out if you knew his identity?” Lance inquired.

  “I would,” Vale answered, “if he dared hurt Harrietta.”

  And he would not hesitate to blow the man’s brains out, Vale concluded.

  “You would allow an affair to continue otherwise?”

  Vale put a hand to his temple. “If you recall, I had very little thoughts of matrimony. If I had desires to pursue a marriage of love and not convenience, I might not have considered offering the Countess my assistance. But if I am to continue my situation as regards the Cavern, it would only be fair to my wife that she be allowed her own...indiscretions.”

  “Is your marriage one of convenience?”

  “My dear Lance, you are beginning to sound like Penelope. I liked you better when your aim was to have a cock stuffed up your arse.”

  “Mistake me not, I am all for a marriage that requires no dedication on your part, even if the chances of your buggering me again be slim, but I am a friend, Dunnesford. And I think...I wonder if the circumstances might not have changed?”

  Vale stared at Lance. Lance did not have to speak the words. He did not have to even had he the courage to speak them. Vale knew what was unsaid.

  He was in love with his wife.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ISABELLA WOULD BE AT the Granview ball, and Vale decided it was just as good a place to have a word with the Countess as any. He stood in the vestibule wearing an ivory coat, satin waistcoat, and embroidered stockings. His hair was powdered and clubbed. As he waited for Harrietta, he paced the floor as he considered how Isabella would take what he had to say to her. He had a plan in place that she might continue her façade, but he knew she would be disappointed nonetheless for there was none that could provide the comfort, security and trust that he did.