Ruining the Vicar’s Daughter
One Passion, Twice Told
by
Mary Alice Williamson
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RUINING THE VICAR’S DAUGHTER
COPYRIGHT 2012 by Mary Alice Williamson
RUINING THE VICAR’S DAUGHTER—THE INTRODUCTION COPYRIGHT 2012 by Mary Alice Williamson
Published by Sybarite Seductions, an imprint of Twenty or Less Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Sybarite Seductions.
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Book Cover Design by ZenD
Man in Chair COPYRIGHT Nicholas Piccillo / 123rf.com
Girl in the Drapery, the Back
COPYRIGHT Evgeniya Tubol / 123rf.com
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Table of Contents
Ruining the Vicar’s Daughter
by Mary Alice Williamson
Ruining the Vicar’s Daughter—The Introduction
by Mary Alice Williamson
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Dedication
To anyone who enjoys Regency erotica and the little scandals the Quality find themselves in.
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Ruining the Vicar’s Daughter
July 1818, Derbyshire
“Oh, bother.” Adam Bollingford, Baron Audley by way of a concession given to his late father the Earl of Traversham, hunched over his horse’s neck and raced down the lane toward his country house. The desultory rain that had accompanied his afternoon ride had turned into a depressing downpour, which then seeped through his breeches and loose shirt in minutes.
At the crest of the hill he caught sight of the weathered pile of bricks he currently called home, mostly since his older brother had ordered him out of London when his exploits and adventures with the demimonde had gotten out of hand. Adam grinned. Banishment to the country eight months ago hadn’t curtailed his thirst for trouble, and there were more than enough women rusticating to keep him occupied. But he did miss access to his clubs, not that it mattered now. Most of the ton had abandoned London for the summer.
Adam sent his mount sprinting down the hill. The wet earth and pounding rain muffled the thunder of his approach. As he entered the stable yard, he cursed. A woman picked her way toward the stables from the direction of the front of the house. She carefully avoided the larger puddles in the path, and from the looks of the bedraggled skirts clinging to her legs, she’d been caught in the weather the same as he.
“Damn and blast.” The Vicar Westing’s eldest daughter, Patricia. Obviously, the man of the cloth had sent her in the latest attempt to make him see the error of his ways—her reputation of a saint preserved her from untoward attention if a man should find himself thinking of her in such a way. It had been the same since he’d arrived in the country. Each time, Adam sent the representatives back with their ears no doubt ringing from his dressing downs. The longer they persisted in calling him the devil, the more he endeavored to act the part.
Reining in his mount, Adam slid off the horse and handed the animal into the care of a stable lad, who then wasted no time in guiding the horse into one of the buildings and out of the foul weather. Adam shoved a hand through his mop of hair. I must remember to visit the barber soon. Out of London society, he hadn’t felt compelled to keep up on the latest fashions or be as stringent with his personal appearance as he’d been accustomed to in town.
“Excuse me, Lord Audley, if I could just have one moment of your time.” Miss Westing hurried to join him.
Adam raked his gaze over her body. The thin, mint-green skirts of her gown hugged her legs and served to highlight how shapely they were while the bodice of the dress molded to surprisingly full breasts. His cock twitched awake. How had he not noticed her womanly form before—he, the connoisseur of females far and wide? “Why did you not gain access to the house by usual means, Miss Westing? You’ll catch your death in this weather.”
“I rang the bell then proceeded to knock until my knuckles were bruised. No one answered.” Water dripped off the brim of her poke bonnet. Its ribbons and feathers drooped from the rain.
“Bloody hell.” His ancient manservant, Manfred, must not have heard the commotion. Adam took a few steps in her direction. “No matter. I’ll escort you inside. You can dry out and wait for the rain to slack before returning home.” When he wrapped an arm about her waist to urge her toward the house, she trembled. Was it his presence she reacted to, or had she simply never been in a man’s company?
“I don’t plan to leave until you listen to me.”
“I will listen to you—beg me to send you over the edge again.” For he’d already decided what he would do with her once he got her into the house.
She gasped. “This is why your immortal soul is in jeopardy.” She turned her head to regard him while she dragged her feet. Her eyes were blue, wide and framed with golden lashes.
“No, but it will be once I teach you the finer points of coitus. I don’t have much cause to deflower virgins these days, so this will be an adventure for us both.” Anticipation climbed his spine and pressed his cock tighter into his breeches, even more so when she vigorously shook her head. “Inside or outside, Miss Westing. I’m no stranger to relations both ways.” He blinked the rain from his eyes and grinned. He quite enjoyed seeing her at sixes and sevens.
Her mouth opened and closed, and then finally she said, “You are not dressed for receiving, Lord Audley.”
Why hadn’t she come with a companion if she was so worried about the proprieties? “I wasn’t expecting visitors nor do women usually visit during the day—respectable women that is. But if it bothers you so much, don’t worry, I’ll remove my clothes soon enough.”
She huffed. “That behavior is unseemly and embarrassing for the rest of us in the village.”
“Is that because you feel left out?”
“I’m not a schoolroom miss, sir. I’m well past the age where such things matter.”
“I doubt that. I’ll wager you’re not more than twenty-five, and, what’s more, I can rectify your being an outcast. I can increase your carnal knowledge in a twinkling.” Something about the hidden longing in her gaze gave him pause. Did she believe in the virtues she touted? “I’ll also wager you wouldn’t mind a toss in the sheets now and again.”
It was time to introduce the vicar’s daughter to the delights of sexual play, and what better man to do it than him?
“How dare you hint—”
He cut off her protest by ushering her up the path. “I dare to do just about everything, and if it’s pleasurable, I’ll do it more than once.” In the side garden, he propelled her along another path. This one led to his library and his private sanctuary, the place where he spent his time when he wasn’t in his bedchamber.
His hand on the swell of her hip confirmed what he’d suspected—her body was ripe for sinning—and he intended to explore every enticing curve. “You’re entirely too uptight, Miss Westing. The only way to counter that is to come undone.” He slid his hand to the curve of her rump then gave the flesh a cheeky pinch. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock deep in her warm, tight pussy.
She squealed. “You overstep, sir.” A blush pinked her cheeks and a breathless quality had entered her voice.
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br /> “Every damn chance I get.” In short order they gained the French-paned door. Adam pushed it open and ushered her inside before she could spook and ruin his plan. After he crossed the threshold, he closed the door and turned the lock. “We won’t be interrupted.” Hell, Manfred was even now probably snoring in his chair. None of the other servants would dare trespass unless invited.
There are some advantages in being the devil after all.
“You, Lord Audley, are a cad and the demon they say.” She stood just inside the room, her lips slightly parted.
“Guilty on both counts, and quite happy to be so.” If she only knew the extent of his depravity. Adam strode over the floor then closed the heavy, wood door and secured the lock on it too. “Feel free to remove your clothes, Miss Westing. You’re dripping on my rug.”
“You’re corrupted.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “My clothes will stay on, thank you.”
He swung around to face her. “I’m not picky, though keeping them on will hinder things.”
She moistened her lips. “Why don’t you let me counsel you instead?” She shivered. The chill in the room did nothing to raise body heat. “I have limited time on this errand as I’m leaving for America tomorrow at midday.”
Surprise speared his gut. “Why ever do you want to go there? Americans are nothing but coarse and vulgar with little history between them.”
One of her eyebrows inched toward her hairline. “I’m joining a missionary group in Boston. If all goes well, by this time next year, we will be in Africa ministering to the heathens.”
At the last moment, he stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I see.” However, her travel plans would play nicely into his wicked intent. He’d have his way with her, and with her out of the country, he could go about his life without her constant censure.
“But, I’m compelled to start my missionary acts by reforming you.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, completely oblivious that the action made her breasts jiggle.
“I’m beyond reform, my dear. The only missionary acts I allow here are in my bed.”
One of her hands curled into a fist. “You’re incorrigible.” Despite her admonishment, she glanced at his breeches. His cock twitched again. Did she enjoy what she saw?
“I am, and I know what I want.” Adam stalked her as a jungle cat would its prey. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what goes on in this house?”
“I’m well aware, thank you. The rumors are very specific.” When she retreated, he followed, stalking her, closing in until her back came into contact with a floor-to-ceiling bookcase.
“Have you yearned to feel the touch of a man exploring your body, caressing the places that never see the light of day?”
“My private needs are not the subject of this conversation.” The look in her eye was unmistakable.
The woman wanted ruined in the worst way. Is that why she’d come unescorted and in such wretched weather?
A tug on the wet ribbons beneath her chin and a gentle knock of the brim sent the headgear tumbling to the floor. “Oh, I think they are.”
Her chest heaved. She attempted to sidle away. Adam stopped her with a palm against the bookshelf on either side of her head.
“I’m a vicar’s daughter and a member of the church.” Her whispered protest warmed his lips as he leaned closer.
“Yes, but you’re also a woman, and one who fairly cries out to be fucked.” A blush suffused her face at the vulgarity. He manipulated the tie that kept her spencer closed. “I’ll even go so far as to wager you dream of the act while in your virginal bed.” One tug and the spencer fell to the floor. The hard points of her nipples thrust against the bodice of her dress.
“I…”
“Do you explore your body when you’re alone? Have you pleasured yourself and gone flying with your fingers on your cunt?” He was beyond redemption, but there was something about the woman. He wished to see her rattled, wanted to see how deep her passions ran.
“Of course not!” The truth swam in the depths of her expressive eyes.
What would she look like when she came undone? “Lying is a sin.”
“I know.” Her gaze fell and a heavy sigh escaped. “Yes, I’m curious, but I’ve been on the shelf for years. It’s unlikely a man will ever claim me.”
A twinge of sympathy tickled Adam’s chest. “I can change that for you.” He moved a hand to her breast and brushed his fingers over the taut nipple. She gasped. “Miss Westing… Patricia.”
Her eyes lit at his use of her name. “Yes, Lord Audley?” For all her protests, she hadn’t removed his hand from her person. Instead, her body naturally arched into his, fairly offering itself to his appetites.
Oh, it would be easy to win her submission, and he’d lay odds she’d done a fat lot of daydreaming about just this. “Surely your God isn’t so harsh as to exclude you from knowing the most exquisite pleasure He’s ever created, simply because you’re not married or even in love.” He deepened his grin, and then one by one, he worked the row of buttons at the front of her muslin dress from their holes.
Her chin trembled. “I shouldn’t.”
“Yet you will.” In one smooth push he slid the dress from her shoulders and shoved it down her body. The fabric hit the floor with a wet plop.
“I couldn’t.” She lifted her chin and held his gaze with a surprising amount of bold courage.
“You can, and you won’t regret it.” Adam cupped her breasts. Their firm warmth filled his palms. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her taut nipples, circling the distended peaks. No matter that she bit her bottom lip, her soft mewls of pleasure escaped anyway. “Think of how you’ll be able to better understand the world’s downtrodden women if you come to them with a full life’s experience.”
One by one he plucked the pins from her hair, and when the damp tresses fell to her shoulders in blonde waves, he offered her the grin that had beguiled countless women. “Now or never, fair Patricia.”
When she didn’t run from him, he tugged the hem of the worn shift up her body then over her head and finally off. He let the garment drop in order to palm her breasts once more. Such perfect, pale mounds. With a firm squeeze, he said, “I won’t take you without your consent, but I do need you to tell me what you want.”
Patricia trembled in his hold. Goose flesh raced over her naked form. She didn’t drop her gaze nor did she shy away like a girl fresh from the schoolroom. “I want…” As he pinched her nipples, she shuddered and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. “I want to know what intercourse feels like.” Her hand trembled while she ran a finger down his chest. “Please, Lord Audley, will you ruin me?”
He laughed, delighted at the picture she made—virginal shaking coupled with desperate need. “I will.”
“Some of the darker rumors say your depravity runs to bondage and…” She moistened her lips. Her pupils grew with her arousal. “…toys, objects used on a woman to—”
“Well, there are certain facts in every story.” Adam left her, vulnerable and naked, at the bookshelf. He crossed the room, and after gaining his desk, he pulled open at bottom drawer. “Would you like to experience some of what the gossipmongers talk of?” Pleasure twisted his gut. Who knew the unassuming vicar’s daughter harbored such need?
“I’m not sure.” She covered her breasts with her hands but didn’t move from the spot.
Oh, he knew exactly what she wanted. Though he’d love to tie her to one of the ladders that spanned the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and maybe lay a flogger or wooden paddle to her naked backside until her juices ran down her thighs, he tempered the urge. She wasn’t quite ready for that.
Instead, Adam withdrew a rectangular-shaped wooden box from the drawer and set it on the desktop. “There’s a chaise near the window. Please sit while I gather supplies.”
Patricia followed instructions, settling herself on the brocade furniture in such a way that her scandalous parts were covered.
Adam
grinned. He’d enjoy schooling her. If nothing else, she’d understand carnal relations were meant to celebrate the body and weren’t the sin she thought.
He opened the box and removed a replica of an erect phallus complete with testicles at the base of the shaft. Made of the finest lacquered mahogany and then covered with multiple layers of thin, supple leather that had been shrunk to perfectly hug the contours of the object, it would slide with ease into a woman’s channel. This particular model was a favorite, and at times he chose to torment his paramours with wands of glass or even marble he’d had specially crafted and imported from Italy.
Yet for Patricia’s first time, he’d use the leather. Also from the drawer, he removed a black silk sash and a small brown bottle of olive oil to lubricate if the virgin proved to be too tight to accommodate things.
After gathering his supplies, Adam left the desk and joined her at the chaise. “Lay on your back with your head resting on the bolstered arm.” The piece of furniture was chosen with deliberate care on his part. He’d wanted a relatively flat surface without the partial back most chaise lounges offered. Many a time he’d used the glorified ottoman for sexual purposes.
Patricia eyeballed the wood-phallus, her apparent quest to hide her nakedness forgotten. “What is that?”
“The Italians call this a diletto meaning ‘to delight,’ which is what I plan to make you experience.” He pressed the toy into her hand and deposited the olive oil bottle on the floor nearby. “Touch it. Stroke it. Familiarize yourself with it because in two minutes, I’ll be using that on your untried passage.”
Never had he shed his clothing so fast, and though his skin was chilled from the rain, the cold hadn’t affected his cock. Heavily engorged, it curved toward his stomach, and tightened even more so as he watched Patricia wrap her fingers around the leather-covered toy and trace the leather balls at the bottom. A shudder racked his shoulders. Would she be a quick study if he taught her how to pleasure him with her fingers and mouth?
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