Cavern of Pleasures Boxset: Georgian Regency Romance

by EM BROWN

  “How?”

  “Against the wall, her legs wrapped about my hips as I held her aloft and pressed my cock deep into her cunnie.”

  She resumed her stroking of his shaft. She had a gentle but firm touch, enticing his arousal higher and higher until the tip of his cock tingled.

  “Did she spend?”

  “Yes.”

  The Marquise had been insatiable. They would often spend half the night making love. He added, “With such force that she bit into me. I bore the marks of her teeth upon my shoulder for many days.”

  When she stepped away from him, he could see she was in thought. She removed the weights from his nipples. He felt a surge of blood to their tips just before the piercing pain settled into a dull throb. Her tongue darted from her lips and grazed his nipples. He wished he could see her mouth and discern the shape of her lips, but she always stood with the lone candelabra to her back, leaving her face in constant shadow.

  “Stand,” she directed him.

  Relieved to be off his knees, he did as told and hoped she would allow him to relax his arms. To his surprise, she sank to her knees. Grasping his cock, she guided the hard pole into her mouth. Phineas groaned at the exquisiteness of her wet, velvet mouth wrapped about him. Cradling his cock on her tongue, she waited a moment before curling her tongue and giving it a long suck. Her tongue lapped at the underside of his shaft, finding that deliciously sensitive area right beneath the flare of the head. The pleasure shot down his thighs and swirled in his groin. The Lady Athena was practiced in the art of sucking cock, he thought to himself as the warmth of her mouth fueled a heat that had already been stoked by her earlier stroking. Did she mean to reward him for his story? As she took his length deeper into her mouth, her hand cupped his sack and tugged his balls. He could feel his arousal boiling there. Her mouth moved relentlessly up and down his cock.

  “Mistress Athena,” he said. “I will not spend lest my Mistress has first been fulfilled.”

  She pulled her mouth off his cock and looked up at him.

  “You flatter yourself. Did you think I would have allowed you to spend?”

  Rising to her feet with a smile, she grasped his cock in her hand. When her fingers slid over the head, a tremor went down his legs.

  “Till next we meet,” she said over her shoulder as she strode from the alcove.

  He waited until she was gone before letting out a groan, feeling as if his body was a tautly stretched string in need of plucking. He wondered how Lady Athena would have reacted to the whole story of the Marquise, who, as much as she enjoyed dominating her maids, became a kitten who groveled at his feet and begged for him to spank her cunnie. Shaking off his arousal, he, too, left the alcove. He would need to employ a more forceful approach for he suspected that time was not in his favor where Lady Athena was concerned.

  Chapter Six

  HER HORSE PAWED THE ground, restless for his mistress to provide direction, but Gertie stalled as she contemplated the façade of the apartment of Phineas Barclay. She considered turning her horse back down the street, but she imagined the disappointment she would have to face if she arrived at the orphan asylum sans Lord Barclay—again, for she had paid a visit but yesterday on her own, only to be peppered by the girls with questions as to why Lord Barclay had not accompanied her? She remembered the jealousy brewing at each mention of his name. She loathed that such a repulsive feeling should nest itself in her bosom. Then she imagined the smiles that would blaze from their faces if he should come, and that made her mind.

  There was the possibility Lord Barclay was not at home. She would still proceed to the asylum, but at least her conscience would be at ease in the knowledge that she had made a good attempt to seek him out. Of course, if she had been complete in her diligence, she could have sent him word in advance of her coming or written him a request for his company. But she was reminded of all the times he had requested her audience and been spurned. Now she wished she had been more gracious.

  No matter. She was done with being disconcerted by this man. Recalling her most recent night at the Cavern, she summoned the daring of Lady Athena. Finally, Lady Athena had regained some of her old form over the impudent Hephaestus. Though she had been more aroused than she had ever been listening to him recount his story with the Marquise, such that she had rushed home afterwards so that she could dive her hand between her thighs and frig herself to completion, she had successfully maintained her composure with him.

  Her horse neighed as if to prod her along. Accepting the encouragement from her grey, she dismounted and made her way to the black double doors.

  “Is Lord Barclay home?” she asked of the butler who answered the door.

  “Is he expecting you, my lady?”

  “No, and I will not impose if he is occupied.”

  She began to turn on her heel.

  “If you would but wait, my lady...” the butler urged, stepping aside to allow her passage. “Shall I see to your horse?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I will not be long.”

  “Would my lady care to wait in the drawing room?”

  “I will not be long,” she reiterated.

  The butler began to take his leave but stopped to pick up a lace handkerchief.

  “Yours, my lady?” he inquired.

  She shook her head vigorously at the perfumed refinery. As she waited for the butler to return, she tapped her riding crop into the palm of her other hand. The butler had not been astonished to find a woman calling upon his employer. No doubt he had seen many a woman crossing the threshold in his time.

  She should not be surprised if Barclay declined to visit the orphan asylum. She knew of only one man besides Mr. Winters who had been there: the Marquess of Dunnesford. At first she had been rather intimidated by the man, but as she befriended the Marchioness, she came to know him as kindhearted and reasonable.

  “You have a husband of perfection,” she had once sighed to Harrietta, the Marchioness, upon learning that not only was Dunnesford a benefactor of the asylum but he and his wife had chosen to employ one of the girls.

  “He is perfect for me,” Harrietta had acknowledged.

  “I am flattered,” Vale had said, raising his wife’s hand for a kiss, “but I am far from a perfect husband—if such a thing exists.”

  The man who descended the stairs would be the last candidate for a perfect husband. Despite that, she could not help a moment of awe as she observed Lord Barclay’s dress. Attired in a marvelously embroidered waistcoat, breeches that molded his muscular legs, and the finest of linen, he presented a dashing vision. Gertie wondered how much time the man’s toilette must absorb and did he go to bed in such a state of refinement?

  “Lady Lowry,” he greeted, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Strange but the man seemed genuine in his pleasure to see her.

  “I will not occupy much of your time,” Gertie said quickly. “I came only because the girls have such an interest in making your acquaintance again, but as I am sure you are engaged, I shall bid you good day.”

  He allowed her to make it all the way to the door before saying, “Stay.”

  She shivered at the command in his tone. Her heart betrayed her inner composure and quickened its beat. Turning, she saw him advancing towards her. His gaze pinned her to where she stood, and her better instincts failed her. A field mouse or any animal of inferior intelligence could have survived better than her at the moment.

  Barclay drew up before her—much too close for comfort, and still she could not move. He looked down upon her, his voice low but free of smugness.

  “You desire my company, Countess?”

  “The girls,” Gertie countered, fearing his body would take up all the air she needed to breath. “They wish to see you.”

  “Are you merely their messenger then?”

  “Of course!” she snapped. The impudence of the man!

  His lips curled in a half smile, and Gertie found herself fixated upon his mouth, r
ecalling how those lips had planted themselves upon Sarah, wondering how they would feel upon her own body...

  “You did not have to come,” he pointed out.

  “I was bound by my affection for...If you’ve no interest, sir—my lord, I will take my leave and trouble you no further.”

  “Did I say I had no interest?”

  “I assumed...”

  “Do you make a great many assumptions, Countess?”

  “Are you always this impertinent?” she retorted, finding courage in her ire.

  His smile broadened, the amusement twinkling into this eyes. To her relief, he stepped away from her. As he called for his butler, she inhaled a much needed breath.

  “Gibbons, my hat and coat,” Barclay instructed. He turned back to Gertie, this time speaking seriously. “I should be pleased to accompany you to the orphan asylum, Lady Lowry. I hope you will not hesitate to request my attendance anytime you venture into St. Giles.”

  “Are you offering yourself as a chaperone?” she asked, unable to fathom his chivalry to her.

  “I doubt you have an interest in my fulfilling any other capacity,” he stated as he donned his hat and gloves.

  She flushed. “I would have no interest in you at all if not for the girls!”

  “I rather doubt that.”

  He gestured for her to proceed before him. Grinding her teeth together, she gathered her skirts and swept past him. He was amusing himself at her expense, but she could not help her indignation and cursed herself for having sought him.

  “Allow me,” he said to his footman when Gertie prepared to mount her steed.

  She bristled, envious of the independence men had when it came to mounting, but she stepped into his waiting hands. He lifted her into her saddle with ease.

  Once more they began their ride in silence. She did not understand this man at all. One moment he was purposefully vexing her with language as his arsenal, the next he was dumb.

  “You ought not feel obligated,” she began.

  He stared at her. “But of course I feel obligated, Countess. I could not disappoint the orphans.”

  Gertie knit her brows as she studied him. His words rang sincere. Could there possibly be a shred of kindness in him?

  “I take it one of your assumptions of my character is that I am heartless?”

  Damnation. How was he able to read her thoughts?

  “Why should I think otherwise?” she returned.

  Recalling their previous conversation, he replied, “Because many men are not what they seem, even ones you would consider indecent.”

  “I merely thought that you would be busy—appointments with your tailor or bootmaker.”

  He smiled, amused once more. “Ah, you think me heartless and frivolous.”

  “Are you not?” she challenged. “Have you a purpose, sir, beyond a well-turned cuff or the pursuit of a skirt?”

  “No.”

  Expecting him to be a little sheepish, his brazen response surprised her. At the least, he was truthful, she granted him wryly.

  “And you disapprove,” he stated, providing her something more to respond to.

  “Of course. Man was not gifted with intelligence and abilities that he may spend his time as a philanderer.”

  “You would rather I wile away my time at Brooks or White’s with my own sex, indulging in smoke and drink, a good round of hazard, or a lively discussion of pugilism?”

  “I do not disapprove of recreation but would rather men engage in useful pursuits. I wonder that we can allow such suffering as exists among our fellow man?”

  “It would seem to me that when Man engages his intelligence and his abilities, he is wont to wreak destruction and suffering.”

  She shook her head. “That can be no excuse. You, sir, are clearly capable, intelligent, and possess certain skills that are perhaps best placed in a more deserving person. You could do much if you applied yourself.”

  For the first time, it seemed she had made him uncomfortable. He had no witty remark, no bold response.

  “You overestimate my abilities,” he said at last.

  “I think not, but it would be a shame if your legacy was naught but that you excelled at debauchery.”

  “I have had no reason to care about my legacy. Why should I mind what is written upon my tombstone when I am dead?”

  “And whilst you live?”

  “Lady Lowry, you sound suspiciously of the Evangelical or Quaker faith.”

  “I am neither. My attendance to church has been wanting,” she admitted.

  “And mine horrific.”

  “How surprising,” she said ironically.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  She suppressed a smile. He had a disarming way about him. No wonder the women succumbed to him. She remembered how closely he had stood to her in the vestibule of his apartment. No man had desired to stand in such proximity to her. Did he possibly have an interest in seducing her or did he simply act in such a manner for effect?

  As she expected, the girls at the asylum were thrilled to see their prince and dance master. He taught them steps from the cotillion and regaled them with stories of the French court and descriptions of Queen Marie Antoinette.

  “Perhaps it is unwise for us to fill their minds with such glamour,” Mr. Winters whispered to Gertie as the two observed how the girls hung upon Lord Barclay’s every word. “But he brings them so much cheer, I’ve not the heart to stop it. You said he is a cousin of yours, my lady?”

  “Of my husband.”

  “Pity he has spent such time traveling that he has not found a wife.”

  Gertie remained silent. There was no reason to divulge the reason for Lord Barclay’s time on the Continent. As for a wife, she kept her thoughts to herself. She imagined Barclay had less a mind for a wife than his legacy.

  After she had spent her time with little Peggy in the nursery, she and Barclay prepared to take their leave.

  “When shall we see you again?” the girls clamored.

  “I think they direct their question to you, sir,” Gertie told Barclay with a grin. It was hard to stay jealous at him when he behaved so well with the girls.

  Barclay looked at her, then turned to the girls. “If Lady Lowry will allow it, I should accompany her every Wednesday.”

  The girls flew to Gertie. “Oh, please! Lady Lowry, please! Do!”

  She blinked several times as the situation sunk in. How could she possibly show without Lord Barclay now? She glanced towards Mr. Winters, but he proved of no help.

  “Do, Lady Lowry, do say you will allow it!”

  “I suppose...” she said.

  The girls cheered and clapped their hands.

  When she and Barclay were once again upon their horses headed home, she turned to him. “I hope you have not lifted their hopes only to disappoint them at a later time.”

  Surely he had no intention of visiting the asylum every week.

  “And who else would escort you through St. Giles, m’lady?”

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. Had he devised his response for the purpose of accompanying her? Why?

  “As I have said, I need no escort,” she said, refusing to accept his act of gallantry.

  “Riding through St. Giles alone is most reckless, my dear Countess. I wonder that your husband allows it?”

  She felt her bottom lip about to quiver. Because she knew Alexander did not care enough to prohibit her from going.

  “My husband is...busy.”

  “At the races and card tables? At the very least, he should demand a groomsman–”

  “It was my choice to discharge our groomsman.”

  “Ah, Alexander has been ineffectual at both horses and cards. Little has changed since last I saw him.”

  “He has been unlucky,” she acknowledged, unsure why she should be defending her husband.

  Barclay snorted. “He has forever been out of Fortune’s graces then.”

&
nbsp; “Much to your satisfaction, I imagine!”

  “Frankly, Countess, I worry more about my barber. The life of the Earl of Lowry concerns me not at all.”

  “It is common knowledge the disdain you bear the Farringtons.”

  “I haven’t enough interest to disdain them, but I am sure their disposition is known to you.”

  She had to admit she would not be surprised at all if the disdain had first come from the Farrington side. And Sarah clearly did not disdain him. She suddenly remembered how in earnest he had sought her audience. What had it been in regards to? Did it no longer matter? If so, it was undoubtedly best that she not bring it up.

  Curiosity, however, overcame her.

  “Why did you wish to see me?” she blurted, then wondered in horror if he had perhaps wanted to talk to her about Sarah.

  He eyed her through his quizzing glass. “I think that shall have to wait. You are far too vexed for critical dialogue.”

  “If I am vexed, it is because of you! If the Earl of Lowry affects you not, why did you want to speak with me? I demand to know! Lest it be in regards to my sister-in-law. I will not aid you in your efforts to seduce her.”

  “I think you have seen I require no aid in that realm.”

  Gertie felt her cheeks burn. “Then, pray tell, what concerned you enough to seek a meeting with me?”

  “We can discuss the matter next Wednesday. May I suggest a riding habit of a different color? That shade of olive is less than complimentary upon you.”

  Her eyes widened. She had heard enough from others, but for him to remark upon her dress was too much. She pressed her lips together before saying through clenched teeth, “I can see why someone should wish to put a bullet through you.”

  “We dueled with swords,” he corrected. “I should choose a more lively color for you.”

  “If you think I would take advice from a murderer, you are mistaken!”

  The look of steel entering his eyes made her instantly regret her words, but she had felt trapped for she could not shake his presence on their journey home. It would be foolhardy to break into a gallop on the narrow cobbled streets, and she was not so skilled a rider that she could do so even on level ground.