The Last of Lady Lansdown

by Shirley Kennedy

  She waited until darkness fell, slipped from the house and followed the path to the river and on to the dower house, reflecting how easy it was to slip away.

  Douglas was waiting for her. Her pulse quickening, she stepped into the mad countess’ cluttered drawing room, Douglas close behind. She sniffed the air. “It smells better in here, doesn’t it? I told Mrs. Stanhope to send a maid to dust and air the place out.”

  Actually, she could not care less whether the musty smell was gone or the furniture dusted. She turned to face Douglas, her heart jolting and her pulse pounding. Since the moment she agreed to come to the dower house, she knew her fate was sealed. She was going to make love with Douglas again.

  “It smells much better.” He obviously didn’t care, either. His eyes never left her face. The perennial look of amusement in his eyes had been replaced by some indefinable emotion she had never seen before. Before she could reply, he pulled her close and swung her into the circle of his arms. “I worried about you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”

  His admission struck a vibrant chord within her. He cared. She wasn’t just another female he wished to bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought about you. I missed you ...” Any further words were stilled by the hunger of his kisses, on her nose, her mouth, sliding down to the hollow of her throat, then back to her mouth again. She eagerly responded, nothing on her mind except her hot desire for Douglas Cartland.

  After a long, searing kiss, he raised his head. “Not the maid’s room again. We need a bigger bed.”

  “Upstairs.” She took his hand and led him toward the staircase. “Did you know the old countess haunts the place?”

  Douglas grinned. “Then her ghost had better cover its eyes.”

  Laughing, they stumbled up the stairs and into the dowager countess’ bedchamber. Like the drawing room, it was filled with the old lady’s disorganized jumble of useless items. A huge, four-poster bed underneath a pink satin canopy stood amidst the clutter. A pink satin bedspread and pink pillow shams matched the canopy.

  “My God, it’s pink enough,” Douglas declared. “And big enough,” he added, a devilish gleam in his eye. His hands went to the top button of her jacket. “You have too many clothes on.” He started down, unbuttoning as he went.

  She giggled. “So do you.” She undid the top buttons of his white linen shirt, revealing his muscled chest and a patch of crisp, dark hair. “Hmm.” She ran her fingers through it. “You have a very handsome chest, Mister Cartland. Very masculine. Very—”

  “How I want you,” he whispered, his whole body trembling in response to her touch. “I am going to strip you bare.” She stood quietly, a delightful shiver of wanting running through her body as he slid off her jacket and the chemise beneath. His eyes glowed with admiration as he regarded her full, rosy-tipped breasts, now completely exposed. “Beautiful ... beautiful,” he said with a ragged breath. “Halfway there.” He gave each of her nipples a fleeting kiss as he bent to his task and loosened her skirt and the drawers beneath.

  Soon she was stepping away from her skirt and drawers, trembling slightly at the thrill of standing naked before him. There was something else that needed doing. She reached up and removed the four combs Bruta used to fasten her upswept coiffeur so that her hair came tumbling down in loose waves around her shoulders. “Is this better?”

  “Much.” His voice was thick with passion. He scooped her up, carried her to the bed and laid her gently on the pink cover. “One moment and I’ll join you.” She watched, utterly fascinated as he stripped off his coat and shirt, then pulled off his breeches, revealing as he did so an erection that rivaled the earl’s at his finest moment.

  When he lay beside her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his hard body against her. “I am indeed impressed.”

  “Umm, you should be.” He devoured her with his mouth, his tongue exploring, touching its tip to hers, massaging it gently. At the same time, his fingers roamed over her body. Light as feathers, they glided from her cheeks, down her neck, down her chest to where they lingered over her breasts. At first, their touch was so gentle she could hardly feel their swirling motion around each nipple. Nevertheless each subtle stroke caused a swell of excitement within her. His fingers moved away. “Don’t leave yet. More, please.”

  “Of course, Countess.” Cupping both her breasts in his hands, he pushed them up into tight, white mounds, bent his head and gave each nipple a hard suck that sent such a smoldering flame through her that she cried out, “Oh, dear God, Douglas, do that again and I shall float away.”

  He gave each nipple another quick suck that made her gasp. Then he raised his head. “Float away? We can’t have that. Wait right here.” He slid off the bed.

  She lay waiting, curious as to what he was doing. She could hear him opening drawers, rummaging through the old countess’ things as if he was looking for something. “Aha!”

  He returned to the bed carrying something in his hand. Upon closer look, she saw it was a pair of black silk stockings with a wide band of lace around the top. “Douglas, what on earth ...?”

  He sat beside her on the bed. “We can’t have you floating off the bed, now can we? It appears we can put the crazy countess’ stockings to good use. Now give me your hand.”

  Without protest, she held out her right hand and watched while he wrapped one end of a stocking around her wrist and made an expert knot. “You’re fast at knots,” she murmured.

  “But slow at other things.” He looped the other end of the stocking over a bed post and tied another swift knot. “When you work on canals, you’re good at tying knots. Now give me the left.”

  Caught up in the moment, she did not protest while he tied up her left hand, too. “It would appear I am completely at your mercy,” she whispered in a husky voice. She closed her eyes, picturing how she must look stretched out completely naked on the hot pink cover, outstretched arms tied with their silken bonds. The image served as an aphrodisiac thrumming through her veins, shoving all sensible thought to the very back of her brain. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all. More, more! her body cried. She would die if he didn’t put his hands on her again.

  “Keep those eyes closed,” he commanded. “It’s high time someone drove you wild.”

  She obediently kept her eyes closed and soon felt a delicious fluttering of his tongue on her eyelids, Next, his mouth traveled over the tip of her nose to her cheeks; then, like a whisper, it lingered with surprising gentleness on her mouth before skidding to her earlobe. There, after his lips teased it gently, he nibbled at the earlobe until the delicious sensation made her quiver. “Oh, Douglas, that ... feels ... so ... good.”

  “We’re only getting started.” He moved farther down. She gave a little gasp as his thumbs brushed her nipples again, first lightly, then with more pressure, each touch sending a hot cascade of passion to that spot between her legs that was beginning to throb with growing, demanding desire.

  “Umm, that’s marvelously good.” She quivered beneath the strokes of his thumbs.

  “It gets better.” His hands remained on her nipples, teasing them relentlessly, while he moved down her body, his mouth lingering at her navel, which he swirled with his tongue. Never had she imagined such feelings were possible. Tied up, completely in his power, her head spinning with need … all she could think of was that throbbing place between her legs that was now so demanding she would die if he didn’t get there soon.

  Then he did. His hands glided from her breasts and down over her taut abdomen, where they gripped her thighs and thrust her legs apart. Swiftly they slid around, cupped her bottom and raised her up. “Now, I’m going to kiss the best part of you, Countess.”

  She felt his tongue there, at that little nub that was the seat of her passion. With a cry of surprise she arched upward, out of control, wanting more, more, and she would die if he stopped now. He did not stop. He licked. He nuzzled, causing sensations so
utterly pleasurable she was pulling hard on her bonds, biting her lip so she would not scream.

  Just when she thought she could stand no more, he raised his head. “Now, darling, are you ready?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  The gentleness ceased. She felt the solid roughness of his tongue over her throbbing clitoris once ... twice ... “Oh god!” she screamed as her climax ripped through her, tearing an animal cry from her throat.

  When it was done, she was gasping. He whispered, “Was it good? Now my turn,” and untied her bonds. Quickly, he entered her. She clasped his shoulders, and in what seemed no more than seconds, he, too, was gasping with pleasure. He collapsed beside her, his arms holding her tight. Time stood still while their lingering passion subsided. She had no idea how long they lay entwined, their arms around each other, until she remembered her obligations at last and reluctantly whispered, “I must go.”

  Soon she wriggled out of his arms and began to dress.

  “I’ll be leaving for Rennie’s canal early tomorrow. I will be gone for at least two weeks.”

  She slipped her chemise over her head. “I would like to see this canal of yours sometime.”

  “Why don’t you?” He swung his legs from the bed and sat up. Even now she could hardly tear her eyes from his powerful, beautifully proportioned body. “In a couple of days Rennie is leaving for the canal in that fancy coach of his. Why don’t you go along? He would love to have you. Millicent and your mother, too.” He grinned. “Obviously, you are in dire need of a chaperone.”

  Feigning outrage, she threw a shoe at him, then ended up back on the bed, where they laughingly wrestled for a time before good sense again prevailed.

  “I would love to come see your canal, but some other time. Right now, I have too much on my mind, and that includes getting home before anyone gets suspicious I’ve been gone so long.”

  Not that she was particularly worried, but the thought crossed her mind what a terrible catastrophe it would be if anyone should discover what she’d been up to in the dower house on the mad countess’ pink bed.

  Chapter 14

  When Jane awoke the next morning, her first thought was that surely she would come ’round today. The stress of the fire, plus last night’s wild lovemaking with Douglas would surely cause her body to take the hint and deliver her from this day-to-day agony of waiting. She checked. No such luck.

  Later after breakfast, she had just returned to her bedchamber when a knocking on the door announced the arrival of Griggs, who handed her a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. “For you, m’lady.”

  She accepted it with thanks and sat on the bed to open it. What could it be? It was such a small package, extremely light, the string carelessly tied. It was the kind of package a man might have wrapped. Perhaps Douglas? Of course. She would wager he had sent her a little gift. Smiling to herself, she tugged at the string, unfolded the paper ...

  What on earth?

  A pair of stockings lay inside. Frowning with curiosity, she held them up. They were black, with a wide band of black lace around the top ... The crazy countess’ stockings.

  A soft gasp of horror escaped her.

  Who had sent them? It could not be Douglas. He would never do such a crass, crude thing.

  Someone knows.

  If not Douglas, then who?

  Spying a small note, she dropped the stockings and hastily unfolded it.

  My Dear Countess,

  Are you curious? Come to the library now.

  —A friend

  Jane let go of the note as if it were a hot ember burning her fingers. Growing sicker by the second, she watched it flutter to the floor. Somebody knew! Somebody saw her on the bed with Douglas Cartland, naked, legs spread, wrists tied to the bed posts, screaming with pleasure ... Oh, the very thought was unbearable. What should she do? Given a choice, she would crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. What would happen if she chose not to face whomever was waiting in the library? Would this person tell all?

  A wave of despair surged through her, but she fought back. She knew she must go to the library, whether she wanted to or not, and find out who it was and what exactly they knew and—her heart sank—what they wanted.

  With leaden steps, she left her bedchamber and started down the stairs. As she did so, an image of Mary, Queen of Scots, popped into her head: those last moments of the poor Queen’s life when she bravely and calmly marched into the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle to have her head cut off.

  I, too, shall be brave and face whatever it is I have to face.

  Chin held high, Jane continued on to the library. She found the door closed. When she knocked, she heard a sing-songy voice call, “Come in, dear Countess.”

  That voice. She might have known.

  Stepping inside, she found Percy Elton seated behind the large mahogany desk, regarding her with cold, contemptuous eyes. “Come, sit. I trust you received my little package?”

  She seated herself across the desk from Percy, her humiliation so acute she could hardly speak. “Where did you get those stockings?”

  His smile mocked her. “Now, now, my sweet, everything in its own good time.”

  Ordinarily her nephew’s blatant disrespect would have aroused her instant rage, but now all she could do was muster a weak, “Get to the point.”

  “Get to the point?” With maddening slowness, Percy leaned back in his chair. With feigned contemplation, he brought the tips of his fingers together and tapped them lightly. “What’s to be done with you? Bad enough, you spread your legs for Cartland, but the bondage? Shocking!” He shook his head and pursed his lips in disapproval. “Naughty, naughty, Countess. Gracious me, what will everybody say?”

  She gripped the arms of the chair. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You saw?”

  “But of course. You put on quite a show. I must confess, watching you rutting on the bed with Cartland aroused my own excitement. I even thought of joining you, but then, considerate fellow that I am, I would not have wanted to disturb your little tryst. You were so enjoying yourself.”

  She felt sick inside, to the point that she was afraid she might throw up, but she gathered her strength, drew her shoulders back, and gave him a withering stare. “You followed me? How utterly despicable.”

  Percy shrugged. “Yes, I’ve been following you, and I must say, in the process I have been most entertained. You may as well save your words of condemnation. I care not one wit what you think of me.”

  “Go to the devil!” She rose to leave, determined to save whatever self-respect she had left.

  “Sit down, Countess, I’m not finished yet.”

  What did he want? She had better find out. She sat back down. “Then say what you have to say, but bear in mind I won’t listen to more of your insults.”

  “Oh, really?” Percy tapped his fingers together again, in his maddeningly casual way. “Then let’s talk about your mother, shall we? What do you suppose she will say when she hears every sordid detail of your ... shall we say, ‘encounter’ with Cartland?”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  “I would indeed, and not only your mother. Your grandmother wouldn’t give a groat, of course, but I can only imagine how my own mother will receive the news. What a delicious tidbit to share with her friends.”

  The thought of Beatrice finding out stunned and sickened her even further. “What a swine you are.”

  “Possibly, but that’s not the point, now, is it?”

  She grasped at straws. “Who would believe you? It would be your word against mine.”

  “Silly girl, did you think I was alone? I shall not reveal who else was privy to the delicious spectacle you put on, but if I were you, I would not risk assuming no one saw you but me.”

  In complete frustration, she flung up her hands. “Then what do you want?”

  “You.”

  She would not pretend she didn’t understand. “What you are saying is, if I don’t submi
t to your advances, you will—”

  “I shall feel it is my duty to report your disgraceful behavior to your family, my family, as well as Sir Archibald, who surely will question whose child you are carrying when he hears such distressing news.” Percy’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “Think about it, Countess. Since I am the soul of generosity, I shall not demand an instant reply. Mull over your options. I must remind you, though, that I mean what I say.”

  Yes, he does. Too shocked to speak, she stared across the desk at the man who was about to ruin her life. She had always found him repulsive, with his weak chin, pasty complexion, and nearly lashless eyes; now, the very thought of his taking possession of her was more than she could bear. “I ... I shall think about it.” Without another word, she arose from her chair and started for the door.

  “Come to my bedchamber when you decide, Countess. Bring those black stockings with you. I fancy we shall have a jolly good time when I tie you up again.”

  She rushed blindly through the doorway and slammed the door behind her. Holding her skirt high, she raced up the stairs. She passed a gawking servant along the way, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. When she reached her bedchamber, she flung herself on the bed, nauseous, gasping for breath. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. If she didn’t move a muscle, perhaps her stomach would not rebel.

  Without question, Percy Elton’s proposal had brought her to the most terrible crisis of her life. This was worse than her husband’s sudden demise, worse than nearly burning to death in the fire. If she did not do what Percy asked, she, as well as her family, would be totally disgraced. If she did as he asked ... A shudder ran through her, summoning up the image of slimy Percy having his way with her, running his soft, flaccid hands over every inch of her body as she lay there, submissive.