Celeste's Story

by Robin Gideon

  “Don’t be sad. Everything is going to be all right. I only wish you had come to me with this when you first heard about it. I’m your uncle. It’s my job to take care of things like this.”

  Celeste felt a spark of confidence come to life inside her soul. If Garrick said he would protect her, then he would move the heavens and earth to do so. And if the combined strength and wealth of the private club was working on her behalf, it was the equivalent of having a small but exceptionally well-financed army searching out her enemies and dealing with them accordingly.

  * * * *

  While Celeste was discussing her predicament with her uncle, Ralph was wondering why his hangovers had been getting considerably worse lately. He was used to awakening with a throbbing headache, but what he felt now first thing in the morning was more like a stabbing pain, as though someone held a dagger and jabbed him in the backs of his eyes. Mornings had never been pleasant experiences for Ralph, but they had become markedly worse the past couple of months.

  Despite his red-rimmed eyes and the pains occasionally shooting through his brain, Ralph was in about as good a mood as he could be in prior to noon, when he always had his first drink of the day. He stepped into the stable and saw Heath currycombing a sleek, black stallion.

  “You goddamned well better be taking good care of him,” Ralph said, not bothering to hide his contempt. He loathed the servant class, even though he needed them. “I won the horse in a poker game, and he’s worth two thousand pounds as a racer, and even more when I put him out to stud.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Heath put the currycomb away and started to lead the stallion back into its stall.

  “Saddle him up for me, and be quick about it.”

  Heath turned back toward Ralph. “Are you sure? He’s not trained. Not very well, anyway.”

  Ralph sneered his condescension. “Just saddle the fucking horse. Just because you can’t handle him doesn’t mean I can’t.” A smile touched his lips. Demeaning Heath had done wonders for his headache. “I’ve been riding spirited animals since I was five. Who the hell do you think you are? You’re nothing but a goddamned stable boy, so keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise.”

  Ralph watched as Heath saddled the stallion, Thunder. The horse was skittish, prancing left and right, never letting Heath have an easy moment. And when Heath went to put the bit between Thunder’s teeth, the horse tried to bite him.

  A widening smile pulled at Ralph’s lips. “Thunder’s got fire, that’s what he’s got. Spirit. Let me on his back, and I’ll harness his spirit. Goddamned horse is going to win all the races next year. Mark down this date on the calendar—on this date I turned a pain in the ass stallion into a champion!”

  Ralph wasn’t in any mood to have Heath help him into the saddle. The instant all of his weight was on Thunder, the big, black beast half-bucked and tossed his head up so hard and fast it nearly struck him.

  “Get me the riding crop.” Ralph growled, pointing at the whip on pegs in the wall near the currycombs.

  “But, m’lord, he’s skittish enough as it is,” Heath replied quickly.

  There was a quality to Heath’s tone that Ralph didn’t like. It was almost as though he, Heath, thought he was talking to an imbecile. Utterly infuriated, Ralph decided that when he returned, he’d take the riding crop to Heath, just to teach him a lesson. But first, he had to teach Thunder a lesson.

  “Hand me the goddamned riding crop if you value your life!”

  The instant the riding crop was in his hand, Ralph turned Thunder around to face the open stable doors and put his spurs to the animal. He didn’t spare the whip.

  * * * *

  Laine was standing beside the carriage when the mansion’s front door opened and Celeste stepped out. For the day, she had selected a gray skirt with a matching short jacket, a white silk blouse that had a narrow necktie to it, and a neat, small hat. Her hair was pinned up to expose her delicate ears, and diamond earrings glittered in the sunlight.

  Laine jumped down from his seat on the carriage and opened the door for Celeste. As she walked toward him, her full breasts rolled tautly inside her blouse, drawing and holding Laine’s gaze. When she gave him a small smile as she stepped up into the carriage, he caught the elegant scent of her perfume. As always, whenever Celeste was near, Laine felt the twin emotions of love and lust. He was utterly incapable of separating the two emotions he harbored for his employer.

  “You’re looking particularly beautiful, Lady Celeste,” Laine said quietly, even though no other servants were near.

  “Thank you, Laine,” Celeste replied as she got settled in the rear seat of the carriage. “And I must say, in that new livery, you’re looking, um, delectable.” Her gaze went from his face down to his crotch, and she clearly wanted him to know precisely where she was looking. The pink tip of her tongue moistened her lips in a gesture Laine found profoundly erotic. “I don’t think it would be too much of a stretch to say that you look deliciously edible.”

  Laine felt the warm flush of sexual arousal go through him in a heartbeat. Instantly his lengthening and hardening cock tented the front of his trousers. The urge to step into the carriage and take her into his arms was nearly overpowering.

  In a tone taut with suppressed sexuality, Laine said, “That’s kind of you to say, m’lady.”

  He closed the door and leaped up into the driver’s bench, his cock swelling by the second. Taking the reins, he slapped them lightly on the horse’s back. As the carriage rolled out through the arched gateway, Laine wondered if he’d always react so powerfully to Celeste’s beauty and charm, and her surprising impish sense of sensuality.

  * * * *

  Celeste looked over the tea service at her sister and said, “I’m really quite fine. I’m sure that seems terribly odd, given the condition of my husband, but the truth of it is that I’ve learned to cope. I’ve adjusted to him being the man that he is. Since there isn’t anything I can do to change him, I’ve decided to change myself.”

  “Change yourself?” Estelle’s tone carried with it a boatload of doubt. “And how might you do that?”

  “By simply not caring what my so-called husband says about me or caring a whit about what he does to embarrass himself.” Celeste nodded as though to give confirmation to her statement. “I have my charities, which given half a chance will take up all my time. And since I enjoy my charities, I let them have all my time. Now tell me, sister, what is so terribly wrong with that? I help orphans here in London, I ignore my husband as well as I can, and I’m enjoying my life, even if it isn’t quite what I had hoped it would be. But in the long run, is that so bad?”

  Estelle’s lips pursed tightly. It was obvious that she had hoped for a lot more for her sister’s life, but she wouldn’t belabor the point.

  After long moments of silence, Estelle said quietly, “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”

  “I am, my dear sister,” Celeste replied, reaching over the small table to pat her younger sister’s hand. “I promise you, I’m more happy now than I ever dreamed I’d be.”

  * * * *

  Heath heard the shouting first then the scuffle of running feet. He did not feel even the slightest moment of panic. If Ralph had fallen off Thunder, it was his own fault. And it had been an act of unequaled stupidity and hubris to take the riding crop with him on his first ride on Thunder. One look into the horse’s eyes would tell an experienced rider that striking the horse with the crop would be the worst possible way of trying to control the high-strung animal.

  Heath stood in the stable, putting a light, rejuvenating oil on the reins he used for the big six-passenger carriage, when a young boy came rushing in. Heath knew the boy’s face, but not his name.

  “Mr. Heath! Mr. Heath, you’ve got to come quick! The black horse—he’s going to kill Master Fallon!”

  Heath got up off his high, three-legged, wooden stool. He could see the kid was frightened by what he’d witnessed, but he was also excited by it. W
hatever had happened to Ralph hadn’t exactly caused the boy to shed a river of tears.

  “Where is it?” Heath asked calmly, refusing to run.

  The stable doors led out to the back entrance to Fallon Manor. Though there were nearby homes, all the backs of the homes faced this wide alleyway, where the road wasn’t topped with cobblestones, and the servants’ quarters were aligned in a row.

  Despite Heath’s nonchalance, when he finally found Ralph and Thunder in a field some two hundred yards from the stable, his stomach lurched, and for a moment, he turned his head away in horror.

  Ralph’s right foot had gotten caught in the stirrup when the horse threw him. Thunder had apparently run quite a ways after Ralph had been unhorsed.

  “Easy, boy…easy…nice and easy,” Heath purred as he approached Thunder.

  The animal’s eyes were enormous. He was on the verge of panicking, and when horses panic, they do what’s in their nature—they run fast and far. The smell of blood no doubt added to the animal’s anxiety.

  Heath looked at Ralph. He was either dead or unconscious, on his back with his face up, his right foot held high, still trapped in the saddle’s stirrup. His arms were over his head, the riding crop’s strap still around his wrist. It was unclear if his right leg had been broken. The same could not be said for his left. At the knee, his leg angled sharply to the left. His clothes and hair were wet and muddy, which informed Heath that Thunder had run through the Sifferman’s Creek. Both sides of the creek were reinforced with rocks to prevent the grassy banks from washing away. Heath shuddered to think of what it must have been like to be dragged through those rocks by a powerful stallion running at full gallop.

  Doing a quick mental calculation of the areas Ralph liked to ride, Heath guessed the horse and rider had traveled three or four miles. How many of those miles Ralph was dragged, Heath couldn’t say with certainty. However far it was, it was enough to cause a lot of damage.

  Continuing to speak in his soft, cooing tone, Heath inched closer to Thunder. If the animal, even for an instant, had suspicions of Heath, he would bolt again.

  Heath was almost ready to reach for Thunder’s bridle when he saw for the first time the back of Ralph’s head pressed into the grass beneath him. The hair was completely gone from the back of his skull, and Heath wasn’t altogether certain the skull wasn’t caved in.

  He’s got to be dead.

  But as though to refute the silent thought, Ralph uttered the lowest, softest groan.

  The sound of Ralph’s voice made a muscle ripple in Thunder’s powerful shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, boy. He can’t hurt you now. Just let me grab your bridle, and then I’ll get his foot out of your stirrup. Don’t worry, boy. I’m with you now, and I’m not going to let him whip you ever again.”

  * * * *

  The doctor had finished with Ralph, and after a few final words for Celeste, his expression grave, he left. She thanked the doctor repeatedly and said the rest was in God’s hands.

  The instant the doctor left the bedroom, Garrick hurried in. Celeste looked into his eyes then looked away. Logic and evidence confirmed Garrick hadn’t done anything to Ralph to hurt him. But Celeste’s heart sometimes guided her, and she knew Garrick would have loved nothing more than to pound Ralph with his fists.

  “What did the doctor say?” Garrick asked, hardly glancing at the bed where Ralph lay.

  “He’s in a coma. He may come out of it, or he may not. We’ll just have to wait and see. Apparently, the horse dragged him quite a ways—at least two miles. His right leg has been broken in two places. His left knee is broken. The back of his head has”—a shudder went through her—“suffered great damage. Neither of his arms were broken, and the doctor can’t even be certain how many ribs are broken. He said, judging by the shape and marking of the bruises on his ribs, the horse either stepped on him many times, or kicked him repeatedly.” She looked at her comatose husband, inhaled deeply, then let out a long, slow sigh. “I hated him, but I never wanted to see something like this happen.” Her shoulders slumped. “Now I suppose I’ll have no defense at all against Ralph’s father.”

  Garrick grabbed her by the upper arms and squeezed very firmly. “Pack some things. Be ready to leave here, with Ralph, in less than an hour. We’re traveling light, so don’t pack much.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  * * * *

  Amsterdam

  “I love it here. It’s the most peaceful place in the whole world.”

  Celeste wasn’t exaggerating, either. She had found a lovely home in the heart of Amsterdam to rent, which wasn’t far from the clinic where Ralph received his treatment. It was on the canal of Herengracht, a quaint, small house with thick, high shrubbery running along the property lines down to the canal. The shrubberies provided a great deal of privacy.

  It was past noon, and the sun was warm and high in the sky. As they often did at this time of day, Celeste had put out a blanket on the grass between the canal and the house, near the one elm tree growing on the property. There wasn’t really a need to pack the picnic basket, since the house was hardly more than forty feet from the blanket, but she had put in sandwiches she’d made from the delicious summer sausage from the butcher who lived only a few blocks away. There was also a large wedge of local cheese tasting much like gouda with its fine, buttery taste—though she’d received a censorious frown when she asked the proprietor if it was gouda—which she knew Laine was particularly fond of. And there were three bottles of alcohol: a white wine for her, a red wine for Laine, and a small bottle of whiskey for Heath. It wasn’t often they consumed alcohol so early in the day, but she wanted it to be available, just in case the mood struck them. She had discovered that, with just a glass or two of wine in her system, not only did she have far fewer inhibitions, but her senses seemed more capable of accepting stimulation. It had taken years, but Celeste was finally beginning to learn what it was her body enjoyed.

  They sat in a triangle on the blanket to eat their sandwiches. And then, like always, they lined up front to back, facing the canal, to sip their drinks, talk quietly, and watch the world slowly drifting by. Sometimes a boat would float by, but not often. Even though they were in the heart of Amsterdam, with the shrubbery and house bracketing them, it was almost as if they were in a world of their very own. Against every convention of the day, Celeste was outside without wearing either a hat or gloves. Despite the startling unusualness of her love life, it was being outside without hat and gloves that made her feel a little wicked, a little scandalous.

  Heath sat with his back to the big elm tree. Celeste sat in front of him, leaning against the expansive surface of his chest, occasionally resting her head against his shoulder. Laine sat in front, his slender hips framed by Celeste’s thighs, his head occasionally settling back to nestle on the pillows of her breasts.

  “We can’t stay here forever, you know,” Heath said.

  “You’re always the voice of reason,” she replied. Her tone of voice suggested Heath’s consistency wasn’t necessarily such an admirable quality. “I got a letter from my uncle and another letter from both of my sisters just today. I’m sure everything’s all right.”

  “What did the letters say?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t read them yet.”

  Heath made a growling sound, prompting a short laugh from Celeste and a chuckle from Laine.

  “And you wonder why I drink whiskey in the afternoon,” Heath grumbled, but there was a smile in the corners of his eyes as he took his next sip of liquor.

  Celeste laughed again. After having spent so much of her adult life in a state of anxiety, she now believed with all her heart and soul that she didn’t have a thing to worry about. She had her uncle—and the entire secret membership of a powerful gentleman’s club—looking out after her best interests. She had Heath, who was constantly vigilant and with her every day, and she had Laine, who was gentle-hearted in the extre
me but enormously clever and possessed an ability to see the world in ways nobody else did. They all were looking out for her, and since they were, all she had to concern herself with was making sure her men—Heath and Laine—were content, satisfied with themselves and their lives, and happy to be with her.

  “It’s been almost seven weeks since we sailed out of London. Heath’s right, we can’t stay here forever, even if I am the dutiful wife overseeing her injured husband’s convalescence at a very exclusive clinic.” She caught a lock of Laine’s slightly wavy, brown hair and idly curled it around her forefinger. “You have the softest hair,” she whispered, feeling the first embers of desire ignite. “I’m so jealous of you.”

  Laine, leaning back with his head resting lightly against her breasts, tilted his head around until he could look into her eyes. “You, jealous of me? It’s absurd, Lady Celeste. It’s the whole wide world that should be jealous of me.”

  He was reclining between Celeste’s legs, but simultaneously with his words, he eased the skirt of her dress and petticoat over her upraised knee and then down her thigh. She knew it wasn’t an accident, and though she hadn’t intended on this afternoon to be a passionate one, she certainly had no desire to trim the sails and change the direction her ship was sailing.

  “Laine, why do I suddenly feel a bit of a draft on my legs?” she asked, a smile in her voice as well as on her lips. “Perhaps it’s time we venture into the lovely home I’ve rented and close the curtains?”

  Laine was already sitting between her legs, but when he moved, there could be no doubting he had turned with the specific intention of pushing Celeste’s dress even higher up her legs. He spun slowly, and to the left, and when he was finally on his stomach on the blanket, his face was directly between her thighs. While Celeste squirmed, he made short work of removing her drawers. A moment later, the gorgeous young man’s breath caressed the already honey-lubricated lips of her pussy.