by Tia Siren
He lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing, and put her onto the bed. She looked up at him as he took off his robe, and stood naked before her. She wanted to run her hands over his broad chest and hard stomach, and to reach down and cup his considerable manhood.
Charlotte smiled up at him, as she invitingly raised the nightgown above her waist. When he saw the triangle of blonde hair between her legs, his penis became fully erect. When she opened her legs, and showed him her vulva, he quickly placed himself on top of her, and entered her. She gasped as he filled her and began to thrust. She ran her hands over his upper arms feeling the muscles talking the weight of his body, as he held himself above her. When he stopped thrusting, she intuitively knew he wanted to see her breasts. She pulled the night gown from her and threw it onto the floor. She had large breasts and her nipples looked up at him invitingly. His mouth was on them in the shortest of time as he began to thrust again.
Charlotte let out a moan of disappointment when he withdrew his penis from her, but soon sighed with pleasure, when she felt his mouth on her wet folds. She grasped his hair and let her fingers trace circles in it, as the tension in her belly mounted. When his tongue found her clitoris and stayed there, Charlotte clasped her legs shut against his head and came.
Before she had stopped shaking, he opened her legs as wide as he could and entered her again. She gasped and ran her hands over his strong back feeling his hot skin and the muscles below. When she reached under him and cupped his balls, Peter felt them tighten against his shaft as his spasms started. When he ejaculated into her, Charlotte held onto them, willing every last drop into her.
After their lovemaking, they slept in each other’s arms for two hours. When they woke, Peter ordered dinner and two bottles of champagne be sent to their room. They ate from silver trays and drank from fine crystal as they lay naked next to one another.
''You are a very good lover, Peter. I wish we could do this every day.''
''If we did it every day, it would become mundane, then you'd look for something else to excite you.''
''Why don't you leave her? We could be happy together.''
''We haven't a penny between us. How could we keep the lifestyle we have, without Emily's money. We would have to move into considerably smaller premises, and we would be frowned upon as paupers. No, I'm afraid I'm stuck with Emily, whether we like it or not.''
*****
Emily got up early and ate her usual breakfast. The dogs seemed more eager than usual to go for their morning walk, so she wrapped up well, and set of over the lawn, and through the gate into the field where the horses grazed in summer. There had been a keen frost, and the dogs left their footprints in the ice as they chased a few rabbits. She walked to the end of the first field and climbed over a wooden fence into the next. The dogs squeezed under the fence and continued their chase. Halfway across the field it began to slope quite steeply and she had a lovely view of the village below. The village was built along a single road, and Emily watched as a horse and cart made its way from one end of the village to the other. When she looked to the right, she saw Sir John's house. Why would anyone want to live alone in such a large house, she thought? She remembered his visit the previous evening, and how lonely she'd felt. A drunken man had been in her house and propositioned her, and her husband had not been there to protect her.
Emily walked down the hill to the end of the field, and followed a stream. She stopped, and watched the dogs as they splashed around in the water. When they got out and shook themselves, they send a fine jet of spray over Emily before she could jump out of the way. They continued their walk along the stream and crossed a wooden foot bridge into the village. There wasn't a soul to be seen. Emily turned left and walked out of the village and past a large house called Moat Hall, the home of Charlotte Pemberly and her mother. Emily noticed how the house seemed to be rather dilapidated, and wondered why. When Mr. Pemberly had been alive, the place was always well maintained. She hadn't seen Charlotte for a long time, not that they were friendly, but they had chatted on the odd occasion their paths had crossed at the village shop.
Shortly after the Pemberly's, she took the lane that led back up the hill, all the way to her house. When she arrived back, the dogs made straight for a large drinking bowl in the servants courtyard, and Emily went through the front door.
''James,'' she shrieked. ''Heavens, it's so nice to see you. What a lovely surprise. What is my little brother doing here? I thought you were bashing the enemy in France with your regiment?''
''Hello, Emily. It's nice to see you too. Although I am not sure the term little brother applies anymore,'' he said, as he looked down from a great height onto the top of her head. ''I have some leave, and I thought I would come and see you and Peter.''
''Splendid, how long have you got?''
''I can stay this evening, after that I'm going to see Harriet before I have to go back.''
''And who is Harriet, may I ask? Do I hear wedding bells?'' Emily laughed.
''Not yet. Harriet Brown lives in Uppingham. She's the sister of a friend I was with at Sandhurst.''
''And is she pretty?''
''Prettier than I deserve. Oh sister, I don't have the vocabulary to express how much I love her.''
''Then I am pleased for you, for you both. Now let me ring for Joseph, and get us a cup of tea. I'm quite exhausted after my walk.''
James and Emily spent the afternoon talking and playing cards. Peter arrived home just before dark. The dogs made a great fuss of him at the door as Joesph took his coat from him. When he walked into the drawing room, he greeted James and pecked Emily on the cheek. She had been hoping he would kiss her on the lips. When James and Peter became locked in a debate about the war with Napoleon, Emily decided she would go upstairs and get ready for dinner.
When she entered the bedroom, she almost fell over Peter's night case. Joseph had left it in silly place, she would have a word with him, she thought. As she fiddled with her hair, her eyes kept looking at the bag. Each time, she ignored the voice in her head, until she no longer could. She got up from the dressing table, picked the bag up and placed it on the ottoman at the end of the bed. She undid the buckles, and looked inside. She pulled out the shirt Peter had worn the previous day, and put it to her nose.
''James would you fill my glass again please,'' Emily asked her brother, when they were sitting at the dinner table. He obliged and Emily downed her second drink, in one.
''Steady on, you'll get drunk drinking at that rate,'' James said.
''Well you're here, and I want to celebrate the fact. I do miss you, and I worry about you. I hope France will fall soon. That that will put an end to these ridiculous wars.''
''I'll drink to that,'' James said as he raised a glass.
When Peter raised his glass, he avoided Emily's eyes. Emily stared at him.
''Peter, we have been invited to a ball,'' she said.
''Where and why?''
''It's at the Sutherland's, their daughter will be twenty one.''
''Really? What a dreadful bore that will be.''
''Peter, you are no fun. It will be just what you need to cheer you up.''
''Cheer me up? There's nothing wrong with me.''
''You have had a face like a wet Sunday since you came home. Everybody will be there. All local society. I have already said we will go, so you must come.''
''Very well. If you insist.''
*****
Peter walked the same way as Emily had done the day before, only at the wooden bridge, he turned right and walked through the village. After he'd passed the last house, he turned right and took a short lane that led to Bead House. Peter was amazed to see so many workmen around the place. It must be costing a fortune, he thought. Peter had always found the thirteenth century mansion eerie. It was tucked back into a wood and it was damp and dark.
He walked up to the front door, which was wide open shouted, ''Sir John.''
Sir John appeared from a room
at the back of the hallway. Peter noticed how hungover he looked. His eyes were bloodshot and when he came closer he could smell alcohol.
''Peter, splendid. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?''
''I want to talk to you about your investments.''
''Then you'd better come in.'' Peter followed him across the entrance hall, down a corridor and into a study. It was the most untidy office Peter had ever been in. The desk was piled high with old newspapers, and empty whiskey bottles. The fireplace hadn't been cleaned out for days, and a fat cat lay on the only chair in the room. Sir John shook the chair, and the cat reluctantly got up, stretched and jumped down.
''Please sit down, Peter.''
Peter looked at the hairs on the seat and declined. ''I need to talk to you about the investments we made on your behalf in the Beaufort Hotel Project.''
''What about it?''
''The stocks have lost seventy five percent of their value.''
Sir John slumped down into the chair. ''How the hell could that have happened?''
''Quite simple really. As I remember I warned you at the time that this was an investment with high risk. When you invested, the hotel hadn't been built and, of course, there was no way of knowing how it would perform once it was finished. Now the hotel stands in the middle of London, and it seems few people want to visit it. The expected profits haven't materialized, and therefore the stocks have become far less valuable. This was an investment for someone with limitless means, someone who could risk some capital. Not for someone like you, Sir John.''
''Do you think there is any possibility the stocks may once again rise in value.''
''I think it unlikely. There are simply too many hotels in the capital.''
''Then I fear I am very close to financial ruin. I have instructed workmen to refurbish the whole house. Now I am not sure how I will pay for it.''
''I can only advise you to sell the stocks at their current value. At least you will be able to save some of your initial investment.''
*****
Emily looked at herself in the mirror. Mary stood behind her and grinned. ''You look lovely my lady,'' she said. Emily had asked Mary to do her hair differently. She had tired of the ringlets, and wanted something a little more adventurous. Mary had parted her hair in the middle and straightened it, so that it fell down the side of her face. ''You look like Cleopatra,' 'Mary added. Emily comforted herself with the thought that Mary had no idea what Cleopatra looked like.
Emily liked her new hair, but wasn't at all sure about her dress. When she'd had it fitted she'd loved it, but now it appeared a little too risque. She had bought it to excite Peter. But she and Peter weren't getting along, and it seemed strange for her to bear herself under those circumstances. On the other hand, she wasn't prepared to give up on her marriage and she wanted to do all she could, to attract the man she loved back into her arms. Perhaps her low décolleté would help in some way to attract his attention, she thought.
When Emily came down the stairs, Peter was in the hallway putting on his coat. When he looked up and saw how beautiful his wife looked, a ripple of guilt ran through him. ''Very nice,'' he said. Emily was taken aback that he had noticed.
The journey to the Sutherland's home, was a short one. When Emily and Peter's carriage arrived, they found themselves in a queue of carriages, all waiting to deliver their occupants to the front door. Emily sat patiently and looked at the house. The Sutherlands were an aristocratic family. The family had owned Staveley Hall since it was built two hundred years previously, and they had built extension after extension, until the house was almost as big as Sir John's.
Emily was helped down by the driver when it was finally their turn to alight. She took Peter's arm, and walked through the front door, into a magnificent entrance hall. The floor was made of local stone and had a warm yellow glow. There was a huge fire which welcomed guests on this cold winters evening, and it seemed no expense had been spared on flowers. Each column was adorned with large bouquets of imported red roses.
A groom took their coats, and showed them down a corridor and into the ball room.
''Lord and Lady Wallace,'' the announcer shouted as Emily and her husband entered the hall. It was very full indeed. In front of them, Emily saw many people dancing to the tune of the small orchestra, which was located off to her left, on a raised stage. Both sides of the dance floor were packed with onlookers. Peter and Emily pushed their way through the crowd, and stood at the back of the hall, next to the tea room entrance.
''I'm going to the card room, it's far too full in here,'' Peter said.
''Very well, I will stay here. I know some of the ladies here, I will talk with them a while.''
Peter strode off and left Emily standing by herself. She nodded at some ladies she knew from previous parties at the Sutherland's, and looked at the dancers. There were six ladies and six men lined up for a new dance. As the music started they bowed to one another, and began to move to various positions where they would dance around each other. It was quite a spectacular scene. The men were dressed in tail coats and brightly colored waistcoats, and the ladies in a variety of dazzling gowns. Emily began to feel a little more at ease when she saw some ladies had chosen to reveal even more bust than she.
''Lady Emily, how nice to see you here.''
''Sir John,'' Emily said, as she stood back from his whiskey laden breath.
''Would you dance with me?''
''Sir John, it is kind of you to ask. Unfortunately I shall not be dancing this evening. Thank you all the same. Prey tell me, are you quite well, you look rather off color.''
''I've had a nasty shock. You're husband called to see me and I'm afraid he did not come with good news. I stand on the verge of financial ruin, and it is likely I shall have to sell my home.''
''Oh, Sir John, it pains me to hear that. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you.''
''It is below a man of my standing to accept help from a woman, although I do thank you for your kind offer. Please excuse me, my glass is empty.''
Emily stood alone again and looked around. She didn't recognize anyone she knew, so she decided to try her luck in the tea room. It too was very full, and quite stuffy. This time however, Emily did recognize some ladies and they beckoned for her to come and join them. Each of them was older than Emily and they were all married. Emily drank some very hot tea and listened to them talk of the exploits of their respective children. After a short time, she suddenly became quite faint and her complexion turned milky white.
''Are you quite well, dear,'' asked one of her conversation partners.
''No, I feel quite faint. I am very hot, I think it is a mixture of the tea and the stuffiness of this room. If you will excuse me ladies, I need some air.''
Emily walked out of the tea room, down the side of the dance floor and out of ballroom. In the corridor, it was slightly cooler but she was still far too hot. Instead of walking all the way down the corridor, and out through the official entrance, she opened a door in the side of the corridor and stepped outside. She began to feel better as the cold December air filled her lungs. She was standing on a path that seemed to run alongside the house. In front of her, there was a large oak tree and beyond that, a high hedge. Emily was mindful that she was dressed only in her ball gown and that she mustn't stay outside for too long, but she was enjoying the cooling effect of the cold air. She walked a few steps and leaned against the trunk of the oak tree.
When she heard voices, she listened to see where they were coming from. It appeared there were people behind the hedge. She could hear the voice of a man and a woman. She listened more intently as the woman spoke.
''And what will I get out of it, if I assist you?''
''I will make sure you never want for money ever again. Emily is rich beyond measure.'' When Emily heard her name, her heart began to race. Who were these people, and what were they talking about, she thought.
*****
In the card room,
Peter had played four hands and lost every one. ''I'm sure my luck must change at some point,” he laughed. The man sitting next to him looked at him sympathetically, as he drew on his cigar, and send a ball of smoke towards the ceiling.
''Lord Wallace, I'm afraid a lot of people seem to be losing money these days, and not just at cards. The markets are in turmoil. What do you make of it?''
''It is very worrying. I'm afraid it is terribly difficult to find good investments. It isn't a good time now. We are constantly at war with France and war is never good for the markets. Everyone seems to get very jittery when the bullets begin to fly. The best place to have your money is, either in cash, in the bank, or tied up in land or property.''
''Yes, it's a terrible mess at the moment. I have lost quite an amount recently, but luckily I was sensible enough, to only invest a tiny fraction of my wealth in stocks. Not like the poor blighter in Bead House. His property backs onto mine and one day, he told me he's lost just about all he has, on some hotel deal in London.''
''How very unfortunate for him. Hotels are really not the kind of thing you should invest in at the moment thought.''
''No, quite. Peter do you know what the best investment is in life?''
''Prey tell me.''
''A good woman. Look at you. You have the best looking wife in the area and she looks after your household with such precision it is scarcely believable. Add in the fact that she is wealthy, and you have to conclude that such an investment could never be beaten.''
''Indeed, although I am not sure the fairer sex would be too happy if they knew we looked upon them as investments.''
''One exception to that rule is that woman in the village. What's her name? Ah, yes Mrs. Pemberly. She has no money whatsoever. Her husband left her almost bankrupt. And her daughter doesn't seem to help. I hear she swans around London spending what little money they do have.''
