by Cheryl Holt
“As I believe you’ve mentioned previously.”
“She’s planning the menus with Cook.”
“So what? You hate the chore. You’ve told me so over and over again. Let her handle it.”
“It is not the assumption of the task to which I object!” she stridently declared. “It is the arrogant usurpation of a rank and station she no longer possesses.”
He wrenched his gaze from Violet and focused it on Esther. His rage was so blatant that she had to steel herself to keep from flinching.
“What would you have me do, Esther? Should I toss her out on the road?”
“Yes, that is precisely what you should do. What respect had she for you and your father all those years ago? What do you owe her now? Nothing! Make her leave.”
“And if I don’t choose to?”
“Then I can’t remain in Scotland with you. I will insist on going back to England at the earliest opportunity.”
“Good. The twins are going on Friday. I’ve needed to find someone to accompany them. It might as well be you.”
His answer infuriated her to such a degree that she thought she might swoon. With Barbara in residence, Esther would never abandon her post, and she’d threatened departure as a bluff.
Now what was she supposed to do? John should have agreed with her. He always agreed with her; it was the tenor of their relationship. He couldn’t change course in the middle of the stream. Not after they’d been interacting in the same fashion for most of three decades.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “Why are you being so discourteous and insulting?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“I raised you better.”
“Yes, you did, but I’m sick to death of playing by the rules.”
“Proper comportment is the bedrock of civilization. I suggest you remember yourself.”
“Oh, I’m remembering myself, all right, and I don’t like what I see.”
“Your insolence is maddening, and I won’t speak with you when you’re being obnoxious. We will continue this conversation when your manners improve.”
She huffed away, as he called, “Stop gossiping with Violet.”
Blanching with dismay, she halted. “What?”
“You’re eager to chastise me for my conduct, but you might reflect on your own. If I learn that you’re whining to her about Barbara again, I’ll lock you in your room.”
Too shocked to respond, she whipped away and kept on.
Chapter 13
“I really shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Edward smiled at Melanie. He’d once again been lured to her bedchamber, and while he’d come eagerly enough, he felt he should make at least a token protest.
The castle was full of guests, and he was the earl’s brother, so it was rude to sneak off. Not that he gave two figs about John or his neighbors. His phallus was already so hard that he was surprised his pants hadn’t burst at the seams.
“The men are out on their horses,” he said, “running with the hounds. I’ll be missed.”
“No, you won’t. There are too many people here. You can be gone for a bit. No one will notice.”
“All right,” he grumbled, pretending to be gracious. “I suppose I can spare you a few minutes. What do you need?”
“Follow me.”
They went into the bedroom. The bed had been stripped of its covers, and to his utter amazement, there were ropes attached to the headboard.
Were the little scamps planning to tie him up? Or would he be allowed to fetter Melanie before he had sex with her?
She spun, showing him her back.
“Unbutton my dress.”
He jumped into the task, the buttons quickly falling away so the garment was loose. She shimmered out of it, and it slid to the floor and pooled around her ankles. She kicked it away, then turned to face him, wearing a corset, stockings, heels, and nothing else. He couldn’t hide his excitement.
“Remove your coat,” she said, and he shrugged it off. “Now, your trousers.”
Her instructions continued until he was down to his drawers. His erection tented the front, his arousal plainly visible.
He hoped she’d reach for him, that she’d fondle or lick him as she had previously. Instead, she pointed to the bed.
“Climb up and lie down.”
“Why?” As if he didn’t know!
“Just do it.”
He smirked, wondering where they had learned such vicious games. Who had taught them? And when?
They’d once mentioned their father, had hinted at having carnal relations with him. Edward wasn’t sure if he’d believed them or not. He suspected they were pulling his leg, but what if they weren’t?
He lay down and stretched out as Miranda entered.
She was also attired in corset, stockings, and spiky heels, and she held her riding crop. She approached and shoved her sister.
“Get on the bed with him.”
“I don’t want to,” Melanie whimpered with false dread.
“It is not for you to question your orders.” Miranda whacked Melanie on the ass. “Get on the bed!”
Melanie clambered up and straddled Edward’s lap. Her pussy was pressed to his raging cock, and the intimate placement was so titillating that he could barely prevent an instant orgasm.
“Tie him!” Miranda commanded.
Melanie grabbed his wrist, and he suffered a moment of panic.
Did he actually wish to be restrained by them? A few slaps with the riding crop had been humorous, but the notion of having his limbs constrained was unnerving.
“Let’s not be hasty,” he said.
“Be silent!”
Miranda cracked the whip on his calf, distracting him so Melanie was able to bind his wrist. He frowned and tugged, but the motion simply tightened the knot. As he fussed with it, she managed to secure his other hand.
He objected and fought, which merely exacerbated his predicament. While he was diverted by his arms, the girls each seized a foot and bound his ankles, so with scant effort, he was trussed like a Christmas goose across the mattress.
“Release me,” he insisted.
“No.”
“Release me!” he fumed more shrilly, but they ignored him.
He was terrified of Miranda and what she might do, but at the same time, he was agog with lust. It made no sense, but the harder he struggled, the more stimulated he became. His fear of the unknown, of the salacious depth of the game they had commenced, only added to his willingness to play.
Miranda leaned over him, her beautiful face inches from his own. For a second, he thought she might kiss him, but she didn’t, and he couldn’t decide if he was glad or not.
“You’re very wicked, Edward.”
“I certainly can be.”
“We bring out the worst in you.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“John is sending us back to London.”
“So I heard. You poor dears.” He feigned sympathy, when in fact, he’d be delighted to have them leave. Once they were gone, he’d have more chances to scheme on Violet without constantly worrying that they were spying on him.
“We’d like to stay here,” she said, “so you must talk to John for us.”
“Of course I will,” he lied. He’d do no such thing.
If John had made up his mind, there’d be no dissuading him. Edward had to pick his battles with John. The twins—and their paltry problems—were far down on his list of the wars he’d wage.
“We’d like Miss Lambert to be fired, too. We haven’t settled on the type of scandalous dilemma to create for her, but you can participate in her downfall—as you have with our other companions.”
He nearly rolled his eyes. Their nasty tricks annoyed him, and he felt sorry for Miss Lambert. She seemed a decent sort, and she didn’t deserve the twins’ brand of animosity.
Still, he said, “I’d be happy to assist.”
“You
love how we arouse you.”
“Yes, I do.” He rattled the ropes, relishing the combination of fury and helplessness.
“What if you could be with us all the time? Wouldn’t that be marvelous?”
“Oh yes.”
“You could marry one of us,” Miranda bizarrely suggested. “We have dowries. The money could be ours very fast.”
He knew about their dowries, pitiful little bank accounts that would only interest a working man or a fool.
“It’s definitely worth considering,” he fibbed.
“We need an answer very soon. We’re eager to be free of John’s influence.”
“I understand.”
“You’d do it for us, wouldn’t you?”
He wouldn’t marry one of them if they were the last females on earth. He intended to find an heiress, some pathetically rich sow from the lower classes whose father was dying to ally himself with the exalted Middleton family. Edward would pick a pretty girl, an innocent girl, a biddable girl.
Not a deviant whore like Melanie or Miranda.
Yet Miranda had a whip in her hand, his limbs fettered, and he was completely at her mercy.
“I could wed you,” he claimed. “We’d have to discuss it, though, to hash out the details.”
“Who would you choose? Melanie or me?”
“I’ll have to reflect on it.”
“You do that.” The conversation apparently over, she glared at her sister, her tone all business. “Remove his drawers. I wish to inspect his privates.”
Melanie seized the front of the garment and ripped it down the center so his loins were exposed. He had nothing of which to be ashamed, but still, he yearned to curl into a ball and shield himself from her prurient scrutiny.
His cock had a different view of the situation. It swelled even further, becoming so rigid that he moaned in pain.
“He’s quite large,” Melanie said.
“I suppose,” Miranda agreed. “Larger than I anticipated anyway.”
Miranda opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a small jar. She offered it to her sister, and Melanie swiped out what looked to be an ointment. She stroked it onto his skin, slathering it across his nipples, testicles, and ass. The areas she touched grew warm, the heat increasing his agitation.
She finished with his phallus, and at the feel of her slender fingers gliding over his erection, he couldn’t hold back. He spewed in a hot rush, his seed gushing over his belly in jerky, embarrassing spurts.
On witnessing his humiliating conclusion, they snickered as if the adolescent display was precisely what they’d sought.
Melanie slid off him to stand by Miranda. They shook their heads and walked away, going into the dressing room and closing the door.
For several minutes, he lay very still, not sure what would happen next. The chamber was eerily silent, and he muttered, “Melanie? Miranda?”
He frowned at the door, expecting them to pop in, to laugh and come over to release him. But they didn’t.
“Melanie! Miranda!” he said more vehemently. “Get back in here!”
There was no sign of them, and his fury surged.
With all his might, he tugged on the ropes, and eventually, the headboard gave way. He untied himself, then leapt off the mattress as if he’d discovered it was crawling with ants. Frantically, he scurried about, grabbing his clothes and yanking them on.
The sadistic fiends!
Gad, if a maid had strolled in, he’d have been in a pickle!
John was a stickler for the proprieties. If he learned that Edward was dallying with the twins, he would demand a quick wedding. He’d have Edward shackled to one of the devious monsters before Edward could blink.
Had that been their scheme all along? Had they wanted him to be caught?
He hurried to the dressing room and flung open the door, figuring they’d be hiding inside, but they weren’t. He kept on to the adjacent bedchamber, but they weren’t there, either.
Evidently, they’d shed their erotic attire, donned their conventional gowns, and flitted off to the party, leaving Edward to fend for himself.
“I’ll get even with you, my pretties,” he vowed. “Just see if I don’t.”
He stormed out so they couldn’t return and entice him again.
CLARINDA Dudley wandered down a dimly lit hallway of the castle, trying to locate the route by which she’d entered.
The structure was notorious for its winding corridors, having been constructed to confuse medieval marauders, but they were just as tricky for a modern woman who was merely hoping to rejoin the festivities in the garden.
She rounded a corner and barely avoided plowing into a pair of lovers, secluded in a dark alcove. They were locked in a torrid embrace, their lips melded, their hands roaming freely, and she blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Pardon me,” she mumbled.
The duo drew apart, scowling as if she was in the wrong for interrupting, and as she recognized them, she groaned.
Her brother and Barbara Middleton? She had to be hallucinating.
“Phillip!” she hissed. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re kissing the earl’s mother.”
“I see your vision hasn’t failed you.”
“I assume you have a good reason.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Is this your sister, Phillip?” Lady Barbara asked. “We can finally be introduced.”
“Finally!” Clarinda gasped. “How long has this been going on?”
“We started in the first day you stopped by the castle,” Barbara said.
“She seduced me,” Phillip added, “in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” Clarinda snapped.
“Yes, it was at my instigation,” Barbara concurred. “I saw him, and I simply had to have him.”
She grinned at Phillip as if he was a favorite pet, as if her taking responsibility for the amour would lessen Clarinda’s rage. Of course it didn’t.
Phillip had a knack for getting himself into trouble with the ladies. As they’d traveled across England in their peddler’s wagon, dispensing potions and advice, it had been the story of their lives.
They would stumble on a scenic village, but Clarinda never had a chance to form any friendships. He would trifle with someone’s wife or daughter, and they’d end up fleeing an angry mob in the middle of the night.
He was the most arrogant man she’d ever met, so he never thought any of it was his fault. Women naïvely trusted him, so it was easy for him to land in a jam. And the consequences inevitably fell on Clarinda.
She loved the house that Captain Odell had provided for them. For once, she actually had a home, and she wouldn’t relinquish it without a fight. Only catastrophe could result from his behavior with Barbara, and Clarinda wouldn’t allow him to ruin the world she was building for herself.
“Would you excuse us?” she said to Barbara. She grabbed Phillip and dragged him away, and he staggered after her like a recalcitrant boy.
“When you’re finished,” Barbara cooed to him, “I’ll be outside.”
“I’ll find you,” Phillip called over his shoulder.
“I’ll be with my future daughter-in-law, whom I plan to upset and annoy.”
“I’ve talked to Lady Violet on several occasions,” Phillip admitted. “She’s dumb as a post.”
“I suspected as much, which will make our chat all the more amusing.”
Their intimate banter—as if they knew each other extremely well—increased Clarinda’s aggravation.
“Come on!” she nagged, lugging him away so he could no longer see his inamorata.
She found a deserted parlor, hauled him into it, and slammed the door. He gazed about, located a sideboard, and helped himself to the earl’s whiskey.
“Would you like one?” he asked.
“No.”
“Your loss.”
He downed the glass, th
en poured himself another and downed it, too.
“I’ll give the rich credit,” he said. “They know how to pamper themselves.”
“Would you stop drinking and tell me what you’re doing.”
He scowled as if it was the stupidest comment ever. “I’m having a clandestine affair, as you deduced clearly enough. Why are you raising such a fuss?”
“You’re having sex with the earl’s mother!”
“Yes. So?”
She threw up her hands and marched over to join him at the sideboard so she could pour her own whiskey.
“What if you’re caught?” she inquired.
“What if I am?”
“She’s not some farm girl from nowhere. She’s not some widow with no family to care what she does. She’s Barbara Middleton.”
“Do you really think Penworth gives two hoots about her? He can’t abide her, and he never even speaks to her. She could race through the garden, naked and on fire, and he wouldn’t notice.”
“You’re mistaken. It doesn’t matter what occurred in the past. It’s a son and his mother. If he learns of your dalliance, all hell will break loose.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to get you to focus. Now tell me: If Lord Penworth catches you, what is your plan?”
He poured a third drink, and he sipped it as he pondered.
“I suppose I’d . . . I’d . . .” He paused, then muttered, “I guess I’d have to marry her, wouldn’t I?”
Clarinda had just swallowed a mouthful of liquor, and at hearing the whopper of a lie, it went down the wrong way. Pounding on her chest, she sputtered and coughed.
“You’d marry her? For pity’s sake, Phillip. I’ve been your sister for twenty-five years. You can fool others with your nonsense, but you can’t fool me.”
“Why couldn’t I marry her? There are worse fates than being wed to an earl’s mother.”
“How about the fact that she has no income and no home? If Penworth doesn’t offer to support her, she’ll be living on the streets.”
“There is that,” he allowed.
“What would you do with her? Would you tie her to your wagon and have her lumber after you like a milk cow? Somehow, I don’t see her content with that scenario.”
