by L. E Joyce
“Wait, Marquess. Please, don’t leave me.” She broke free of Mrs. Davenport’s grasp and tried to follow him out of the drawing room.
Always one step ahead, Mrs. Davenport grabbed the girl by the shoulders and dragged her back toward the door in the wall. “My dear girl, your time with him is over. Now you must leave.”
“Leave? I can’t leave him.” Her sobs began then. “Please, Marquess. Don’t make me leave. I will be good for you, do as you asked. Please, my Lord.”
Eric did not halt his retreat from the room. Usually the tears of women sent Eric into his own sorrowful state, but today it enraged him. Mrs. Davenport, sensing his displeasure, hurried the girl through the door. Before shutting it, Eric heard Mrs. Davenport say to the wrecked girl, “My dear, you can leave and you will leave this instance.”
Mrs. Davenport, he thought sweetly, what would he do without her?
Three
The Grand Hall was littered with women hoping to claim the role as the new governess of Castle Carlisle. Of course, governess was an antiquated word, yet the meaning remained the same: teacher and caretaker. If the Carlisle children didn’t have the gift of slow age, they could enjoy the normal trappings of an aristocratic childhood–nannies and boarding school. But the Carlisle children were far from normal.
As Eric stepped into the Great Hall, ten pairs of eyes sliced into him. The ladies were seated on high back Victorian chairs and dressed in accordance to the job profile filed with the nanny service–short black skirts, white blouses, and knee length black boots. A riding crop would have added extra zing to their ensembles but Mrs. Davenport struck it from the advertisement as quickly as Eric had included it.
“You don’t want Castle Carlisle known as a hostile workplace do you?” she said.
Hostile workplace, a term Eric found as interesting as sexual harassment.
“No, of course not, Mrs. Davenport. We must keep up with this century’s conventions if we want to stay – how do you say – under the radar.”
“Precisely, Lord Carlisle.”
As Eric looked at the remaining applicants with their short skirts and long slender legs, the thought crossed his mind to let Mrs. Davenport select the new governess. As he walked the length of the hall, spying for his next pick, he watched as their chests heaved, and their faces twisted with hunger and need. Mrs. Davenport could keep the whole process above board and professional. She would look at resumes, not the way in which their bodies twitched and contorted with orgasm.
Why didn’t he let Mrs. Davenport handle all this, he wondered to himself. He knew the answer–he was bored. Wasn’t there more to this life on earth for him than the giving of pure and wild pleasure? Whenever Eric troubled his father with this question, he scoffed at such an idea.
“Love is the invention of your Uncle Anteros, and nothing more, my son.” Eros’ words rang in his ears as contempt bubbling inside of him. There is no love, he thought. Only sex.
He drew in a deep breath, and in doing so, released his lust-desire. Like puppets on strings, the women squirmed with arousal. “Ladies,” he said, “I’d like all of you to reach and touch your–“
Eric’s command over the women broke as a flurry of activity echoed from the front entrance.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” called a woman’s voice.
“You are late. All of the applicants have arrived and the interviews are nearly complete,” Mrs. Davenport said clearly annoyed.
“Nearly, oh good,” said the woman excitedly. “I’ll just show myself in.”
“But—“
“No buts, Ma’am. I don’t expect you to show me in. I can manage.”
“Showing you in? I am to show you out.”
Eric could hear the frustration in Mrs. Davenport’s voice. Footsteps pounded the marble floor and neared the entrance of the Great Hall.
“No need to show me out, Ma’am. I can take care of that myself. After my interview,” the woman called as her footsteps quickened.
“Miss, stop this instance. The interviews are in progress. You have been disqualified due to your lateness, not to mention your lack of proper attire.”
A second set of footsteps picked up speed. Was this late arrival running from Mrs. Davenport? A smile creased Eric’s lips.
The pounding of feet echoed into the Great Hall until the owner appeared and faced Eric. Her dress was entirely wrong: a blue pants suit with black pumps and a black and white scarf tied at her neck. Eric took her in as she approached. She fixed her gaze on him in a determined yet highly professional manner. Her long brown hair fell to her shoulders and her steely eyes sparkled in a manner befitting someone of high wit and intelligence.
And Eric couldn’t wait to make her putty in his hands.
He concentrated on the woman as she neared. To his amazement, she didn’t yield her advance; she did not become a toy in which to play with. Confused, he felt the temperature of his Sex God power rise, and still, she did not waver. Where thousands of women had melted to his sexual will with less effort, this woman did not falter. With long-legged strides, she was upon him in seconds, her hand outstretched. Her steely eyes digging into him as if he was dinner, and she a great hunter of Artemis. Strangely, something stirred inside of him, and he imagined what it would feel like to drape her long chestnut hair around him.
Mrs. Davenport rounded the corner of the Great Hall then, winded and exasperated. Thin wisps of hair fell from her bun, a sight Eric had never seen before. She hastily made her apologies. “I’m very sorry, my Lord. She got the better of me. I will remove her immediately.”
“No, Davenport,” Eric said. “She can stay.” He clasped the woman’s hand and shook it lightly. “Miss?”
“It’s Ms., actually. I’m divorced. Ms. Emma Jones.”
Wrongly dressed was one thing, but a divorcée? How did this woman pass the stringent background check to find herself standing inside Castle Carlisle? He let the barrier between mortal and Gods ripple and tried to soak in her inner life she told no one. How long had it been since he explored the emotional world of a woman with interest? A decade? Two?
Immediately, he was taken aback by what he found: a blank darkness, lingering in her like a scar that would not heal. There was nothing sensual or particularly erotic about what he discovered, yet Eric continued to feel something stir inside him. As he dug into her emotional core, he found not an ounce of desire inside. Who was this woman? What made her immune to his immortal powers in a manner never seen in a woman before today? The stirring in his loins grew—desire, lust, carnal pleasure, all the words of men used to describe the work of his father, yet none of them ample enough to dispel what flowed through him.
“Is the job still available, Mr. Carlisle?”
The women in the hall giggled at Emma’s apparent lack of knowledge when addressing nobility. She didn’t let her ignorance show and only smirked in return.
“Yes, Ms. Jones, the job is still available. Please follow me. You’re next.”
He led Emma into the drawing room. “Dismiss the rest, Davenport,” he said over his shoulder.
“Yes, my Lord.”
A chorus of disappointment filled the Hall. What? No! I need to see the Marquess! Eric closed the sliding wooden doors and shut him and Emma away from it all.
Four
Inside the drawing room, Emma walked to the two chairs opposite the stately cherry desk. She eyed the adjacent mirror and shook her head.
“Does the mirror not please you?” Eric asked.
“What makes you ask that?”
“I saw you shake your head as if it disagreed with you.”
Emma collected herself. She straightened her back and looked at Eric in the eye. What she said next would determine the fate of the interview–she knew that. Yet keeping silent would strike against everything she stood for, everything she fought so hard to change. Eric sensed all this in her and anticipated her answer.
“It’s a bit odd isn’t it?” she said. “Walls of book
s, a desk, two chairs, a chaise lounge, and a full length mirror. Seems out of place, doesn’t it?”
Eric smiled. “As do you, Ms. Jones. You seem out of place as well.” He walked to his desk and sat down, keeping his eyes upon her.
She looked down at her slacks and smoothed her hands on them unapologetically. “Dress codes crush individuality. My resume and references carry a higher weight than conformity.”
She’s a feisty one, he thought, and so unlike anyone he had ever met before. He leaned back into his leather chair, steepling his fingers together and continued. “Tell me about yourself, Ms. Jones.”
From her bag, she withdrew a cream covered paper and slid it across the desk. Eric examined it before picking it up.
“Twenty–five years old. Born in Brooklyn. Attended Vassar. Worked with several congressional families in Washington.” His voiced trailed off. “Impressive, Ms. Jones. And what brought you across the pond?”
She flushed. Ah, perhaps there were more secrets to uncover from Emma Jones, he thought to himself.
“I’d rather not say,” she said flatly.
Eric focused all of his energies on finding a way to read her, to move past the blackness and see inside the private life she never told a soul, but all his efforts failed. The barrier between mortal and God remained intact.
“Amazing,” he whispered.
“Sorry?”
“Forgive me, Ms. Jones.” Eric leaned back in his chair. “Your credentials are outstanding, the best I have seen.”
What was he doing? How could he live in a house with a beautiful woman he couldn’t control? Was he mad?
“Thank you. Mr.—“ She caught herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to address you. Is it Lord Carlisle? Marquess of Carlisle?”
“Familiars call me Carlisle, but you can call me Eric if you’d like.”
She smiled, and the way her face lit up astounded him. In the first time in a very long time, Eric felt–aroused. He shifted in his seat. What was happening to him?
“Alright, Eric. Do I have the job?” she asked.
He moved to the front of the desk. “On paper, Ms. Jones, you are a very nice fit. However, I think we need to move to step two of the interview process before I can make a final decision.”
“Step two?”
She suddenly looked wary of him, and rightfully so. For the first eight applicants, step two consisted of extended foreplay under pleasured duress. Eric already knew Emma Jones would not submit to him in the same manner. What he needed was more time to get to know her. Perhaps she would tell him her secret desires herself, if he took his time, and used the way of men, not Gods, to get her into his bed.
He held out his hand to her. She took it and rose from her seat.
“Yes, Ms. Jones,” he said leading her toward the secret door in the wall. “Step two is where you get to meet the children of Castle Carlisle.”
Five
Emma followed Eric through the door in the wall. She walked determinedly though he could feel that she was not at ease. He wanted to take her hand and reassure her, but thought the result would not end in his favor. As he led her down the narrow passageway, he merely smiled and made light of their mode of transport.
“When I was a boy, I would torment my governesses by hiding in these passageways. I would sneak into rooms and moan like a ghoul before disappearing behind the tapestry.”
He looked back at Emma and a slight smile creased her lips.
“Where does this passage lead?” she asked.
“To the kitchen.”
Emma laughed, and Eric stole a glimpse of her lovely face.
“And is the conservatory connected to the lounge?” she teased.
“No. The dungeon,” Eric said with a sly smile.
When the passageway ended, he halted abruptly before reaching for the door, and Emma bumped into him from behind. Flustered, she recovered quickly, but the brief touch of her hands on his back as she steadied herself shot through his body. Eric, Marquess of Carlisle, son of Eros, God of Sex, was once again beside himself over this woman.
He turned to her, his chest heaving. In the dim light of the passageway, she looked like a doll in need of a loving new owner. Then without warning, he felt the veil between mortal and God slip away. It wasn’t by his own power; it was as if the barrier was lifting by a divine force not in his control. A foreign sensation ran over him. He wanted her. He needed her. And the thought of not touching her at that very moment drove him mad. Emma herself seemed affected as well and gazed upon him intensely. She drew in a breath as if a shocking secret had just been revealed to her. Without thinking, Eric encircled her waist with his arms. In return, she reached up and clasped her hands around his neck. They stared at each other with their lips mere inches apart.
“Ms. Jones,” Eric began. “Forgive my–,”
“Just shut up and kiss me,” she said.
“As you wish, my lady.”
He pulled her to him and lowered his mouth on to hers. As her hot tongue massaged his like a savage, he hungrily soaked her in, his arousal building to a height he had not felt in a very long time.
Wanting more, he scooped Emma up and leaned her against the wall, steadying her as his hands explored her supple breasts, her tight buttocks, and slim thighs. She moaned as they kissed. She panted as their lips disengaged, and Eric soaked in every ounce of her with a lusty thirst.
He slid a hand down and inside her pants suit, and she gasped as his fingers entered her opening. He did not tread lightly; his fingers ravenously plunged deep into her. She locked eyes with him, greedy begging eyes, and whispered hoarsely, “Yes, fuck me.” Her hips moved with the rhythm of his fingers, matching the speed. She yelped when his hand slapped her clit. “Oh my God, yes!” she cried.
Without warning, a sudden burst of light interrupted from behind them. Eric lowered Emma to her feet, and shielded her with his body as she recomposed herself. There standing at the doorway to the kitchen, stood the Erotes children, Evangeline, Louie and Daphne grinning from ear to ear.
“Is this our new governess?” Louie asked sweetly.
Eric and Emma smiled and stifled a laugh at the predicament of being caught in the act like parents. Eric cleared his throat, “Yes, I hope so,” he said.
Emma stepped into the sun lit kitchen. Like a professional, she lowered herself to Louie’s level. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Emma, and I’d be delighted to be your new governess.”
She held out her hand to Louie, which he shook. “You speak different. Are you from America?” he asked.
“Indeed I am, clever boy. What’s your name?”
“I’m Louie, Son of—,“
“Louie!” Eric interrupted. “We mustn’t bore Emma with our all family connections.”
“But why not, Uncle? You always tell us to pay homage to our fathers.”
“Because she’s mortal, silly.” Genevieve whispered. “I’m Lady Genevieve Carlisle. Come, let us show you the gardens,” she said taking Emma’s hand.
Louie took her other hand. “Yes, then after we can show you the nursery.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Emma said. “But what about you?” she said to Daphne who was sulking as she ate rich tea biscuits out of a tin. “Won’t you join us?”
Daphne shrugged.
“And this,” Eric said. “Is Lady Daphne Carlisle, the eldest of my charges.”
Emma held out her hand to Daphne who shook it disinterestedly. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lady Daphne. I understand how you feel, believe me.”
“You do?”
“Oh yes. I was the oldest of three siblings as well. My little brother and sister drove me bonkers most days.”
A reluctant smile crept Daphne’s face.
“What’s your favorite part of the house?” Emma asked her.
“I like the library,” she said.
“Ah yes. I love libraries. Perhaps after we see the gardens and the nursery, you could show me the library?”
; Daphne nodded and Eric saw her look happy for the first time since she came to live at Castle Carlisle over fifty years ago. He followed the children through the servant’s entrance and out into the gardens. As the children ran ahead, Eric savored the moment alone with Emma.
“You are very good with them,” he said.
Emma smiled as her eyes trained on the children, already assuming the role of the watchful protector.
“They are unique, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed.”
Eric led Emma through the formal gardens with its manicured shrubs and prize–winning roses, to the children’s play area with hedge mazes and a green running pasture that went on for acres.
“If I may ask, why is Daphne not in school with children her own age?” Emma said.
The dreaded topic had already reared its head. He couldn’t tell her the reason, it was forbidden for outsiders to know the secrets of the Gods that walk the earth. Yet, something told him that he wouldn’t be able to have this woman as his own unless they shared everything. For now, he decided, the truth must stay hidden.
“Daphne is a very bright girl, but somewhat awkward. Girls her age are cruel, especially at boarding schools. I didn’t want that for her.”
Louie ran past them trailing a lopsided kite behind him. “Can we go to the nursery now, Emma?”
“Ms. Jones is tired. Let’s let her rest and we’ll see her again later.”
“Aww!” cried out Genevieve and Louie. “But she’s only just got here.”
Emma smiled. “Does this mean I’ve passed the second part of the interview?” she asked in a whispered tone that only he could hear.
“Does this mean you have accepted the job, Ms. Jones?”
The children waited anxiously for her answer. “Of course, I accept.”
Genevieve and Louie jumped in the air, bursting at the seams with excitement. Even Daphne seemed pleased. Eric drank in the scene: happy children and a desire to get to know a woman that trumped his need to seduce her. It was a day like none other that Castle Carlisle had ever seen.
