Miss Foster’s Folly

by Alice Gaines

  “Now, that’s tricky,” he said. “I haven’t taught you everything.”

  Possibly, but he’d taught her enough for a start. How, in heaven’s name, had she expected an Englishman to be uninspiring and tame? This one certainly wasn’t. But most Englishmen didn’t have gardens like this one, either. Aside from the statues, the whole space held a riot of color and scent. Not like the formal layouts of other great houses she’d seen in pictures—with a central fountain, rigidly geometrical paths, and a shrub here and there. At Derrington Manor, roses climbed where they wanted, dripping flowers onto ornamental sages and rosemary. Wisteria in full bloom covered one whole side of the gazebo, creating a perfumed curtain.

  He led her in that direction now, holding her hand in his, their fingers intertwined. She couldn’t help but smile to herself, because every time he took her out of sight from the staff, he did something wicked. The hidden spot beneath the grand staircase in the foyer, the wine cellar, a niche behind a bookshelf—all had served as places for a quick kiss, a squeeze of her breast, and hot, whispered promises of what he’d planned for the night. They hadn’t done anything outdoors before, but surely that would only be a matter of time.

  Sure enough, the moment he had her up the wooden stairs and hidden behind the wisteria, he pulled her into his arms and bent to take her lips with his own.

  Her body softened against his immediately, her arms reaching around him to cling to his shoulders for support. Their mouths knew each other perfectly now. No more clumsiness or searching, just kisses that clouded her mind of anything but him.

  His lips left her mouth and burrowed into her hair. “You’ll drive me mad. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Nor I you.” She stepped aside and placed her hand on the front of his pants, seeking for the hard ridge of flesh and finding it. “And especially not of this.”

  He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Take care, or I may have to drag up your skirts and frig you right here.”

  What a delicious idea, and yet, something else had lurked at the back of her mind. Something best explored in the light of day.

  “Sometimes, I wonder what it must feel like to have a cock,” she said.

  “It’s damned inconvenient when you’re sitting supposed to be eating the soup course and the woman you’ve craved for weeks puts her hand on your thigh.”

  “If I remember correctly, you won that particular battle,” she said.

  “At a cost to myself.”

  She stroked him softly, up and down. Gently enough that he might allow her explorations. “What does it feel like when you come?”

  “What a question.”

  “I mean it. I want to know.”

  He pushed her away from him, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, he appeared to think for a bit. “Let’s see. It starts with a certainty that I will spend, one way or another. Then the pressure builds until I think I’ll explode. Then, I do.”

  “I see.”

  “I imagine women feel much the same way in orgasm.”

  “I think so.” She bit her lip. “But there’s more with men, isn’t there?”

  “The release of my seed.”

  She twined her arms around his neck and gave him a wicked smile. “I’d like to watch that.”

  His brows flew halfway to his hairline. “You what?”

  “I’d like to watch you come.”

  He sputtered for a few seconds, as if he wanted to object but couldn’t find any good reason. “Well, um, yes. I suppose so. Why not?”

  “Why not, indeed?”

  “All right. Tonight,” he said. “I’ll gamahuche you—”

  “Gama—”

  “Gamahuche. Devour your pussy until you spend,” he said. “I’ll do that, and then you can use your hand on me.”

  “Oh, no. Not tonight. It’ll be too dark to see you clearly.”

  “Then…” He glanced around. “You can’t mean here. Now.”

  “Why not? You made me come in the Mitford’s garden.”

  “True.”

  “And we’re sheltered from sight. No one will catch us.”

  A tiny smile curled his lips. “Also true. I hope.”

  “Then you’ll let me?”

  “Why not?” he said. “I’m already stiff and throbbing thinking of your fingers on my cock.”

  “Oh, no,” she said again. “Not my fingers.”

  He reeled backward as if she’d punched him in the stomach. “Good Lord, you mean your mouth?”

  “You’ve done that often enough for me.”

  “Logical.” His eyes went hazy with arousal, and his breathing turned shallow. “But still, are you quite sure you want to do that?”

  “Positive.” She took his hand and led him to a wooden bench. He followed, almost in a trance, and she had to press on his shoulder to get him to sit. He put up no resistance when she eased his legs apart and knelt between them. In fact, he leaned against the backrest, pushing his pelvis forward.

  Now, the outline of his member showed clearly through the fabric of his pants. Starting at the base of his torso and rising almost to the waistband. She pressed her palm against it and could have sworn it twitched in response.

  “Tell me what to do,” she said.

  “Unbutton my trousers and take it out.”

  She did as he’d asked, freeing his sex from his pants. She truly never had had a good look at this part of him before, at least not in daylight. It was a curious thing, really. Ruddy and swollen, with a knob on the end. Oddly, it resembled an arrow. “Cupid’s dart” certainly fit, as it had given her more pleasure in the time since they’d arrived here than she’d ever imagined possible.

  She stroked it from the tip to the base. In response, he sighed and lowered his eyelids to halfway.

  “Two things,” he said. “The sac at the base. Deal with it gently.”

  She found it. Dark velvet that held two small globes. The whole seemed to contract as she stroked it. “Is this all right?”

  He moaned and trembled. “Yes. Fine.”

  “The second thing you wanted to tell me?”

  “Release me for a moment so I can think.”

  She did, lowering her hands to her sides. His eyes opened, and he shook himself the way a dog does when coming out of the water.

  “The second thing,” he said. “And I mean it. If your mouth is on me and I tell you to stop, do it. Immediately.”

  “I will.”

  He stroked the side of her face. “This is no time for disobedience. When I tell you to stop, do. Then use your hand.”

  She’d seen him angry. She’d seen him determined, pestering her to marry him at least once a day. She’d seen him overcome with lust. She’d never seen him so deadly serious about something. What had started out as a whim had turned into something important. He was making himself vulnerable to her, and she wouldn’t defy him. Not this time.

  “I’ll do as you say. I promise,” she said.

  “Good.” He gave her a breathtaking smile. “Now, put your mouth on me.”

  She grasped him by the base and bent to place her lips over the tip. His skin was warm and dry—pleasant—so she took more of him into her mouth. Not much more would fit than the head of his cock. But, as she worked her lips lower, she used her fingers to stroke the rest of him.

  “Good Lord,” he said between gritted teeth. “Where did you learn how to do that so well?”

  She released his member and looked up at him. “I have it right?”

  “I swear you’ll take me apart.”

  Pride blossomed in her heart. That she could make him feel the way he did for her when he had his face between her legs.

  “What else should I do?” she asked.

  “The ridge around the head,” he said. “And there’s a spot just below. On the underside.”

  She felt for it with her finger. After a few attempts, she must have found it, because he stiffened and
moaned. She flicked her tongue there.

  “Oh, God, that’s it,” he gasped. “Yes, there.”

  What a gift that she could do this for him. She circled the rim of him with her tongue and then sucked it into her mouth, teasing just that part of him. After a bit, she went back to that special patch of flesh he’d shown her, holding his cock in place so that she could lick him firmly.

  He reached out with both hands and caught her head. “One more favor.”

  “Anything,” she said, and she meant it.

  “Undo your hair and spread it over my thighs.”

  She tore at the pins and shook her hair loose. Using both hands, she guided it over his legs. Then, she went back to loving his member.

  This time, she swallowed as much of him as she could take, bobbing her head to create a rhythm as he did when he thrust inside her. She caught glimpses of his face on the upward movements. He watched her out of half-closed eyes, seemingly transfixed. His face had flushed, his lips parted to take shallow, rapid breaths.

  She didn’t slow her movements, and now she sucked him deep, so deep.

  “Juliet. Ah, God, Juliet,” he said.

  By now, his cock had turned a livid crimson, and a salty drop emerged from the tip. She swirled her tongue over it and swallowed. His whole body trembled. He had to be nearing his breaking point.

  She cupped his sac again, gently stroking the underside, while she continued with her mouth along his cock. Swallowing, sucking, even grazing him gently with her teeth.

  His breath came hard and fast, and his cock seemed to come to life in her hand. The vein on the underside throbbed, pulsing against her palm. She kept up the pressure, lowering her lips along his shaft as far as she could reach. His sac tightened, and his body tensed.

  His grunts became growls, and his hips moved, jerking upward. “Now. Stop now!”

  She straightened, pulling her mouth off him, but she kept up the pressure with her hand. Her fist curled around him and pumped.

  He roared, and his pelvis jerked upward. A pearly liquid spurted from the tip of him, followed by another spray, and then, a third. He remained tense for a moment as more shouts tore from him, and then he went limp, resting back against the bench.

  He’d finished, and he let his head loll backward. She knew that feeling—weakness so profound muscles couldn’t work.

  She rose to take a seat on his knee and pull him into her arms. His head fell on her shoulder, and she stroked his face the way he’d done for her every time they’d made love.

  He hugged her to him. “By God, you really will kill me.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “And what did you think?” he said. “Did it disgust you?”

  “Of course not. What a silly thing to say. It was quite remarkable.”

  “Remarkable.” He harrumphed. “That’s an understatement.”

  “That stuff went everywhere.”

  He lifted his head. “Not into your hair, I hope.”

  “Onto your pants.” She held her hand out. “Give me your handkerchief.”

  He did, and she used it to blot up the damp spots on his trousers. She even dabbed it at his softening cock then handed the cloth back to him. He studied it for a moment before setting it on the bench beside him.

  “You are absolutely the most sensual, most enchanting woman in the world,” he said. “I’m utterly at your mercy.”

  Exactly what she’d hoped to accomplish, to become a gifted, experienced lover so she could explore all the voluptuous delights Italian men could offer. And yet, did she really want to leave this Englishman? Could she really find anything better in another man’s bed than what she had here? She hadn’t fallen in love with him, although she’d have to admit to some attachment. Surely, that balance could make a longer relationship work.

  Good Lord, maybe she ought to consider marrying him. If nothing else, the fact that she’d landed such a desirable husband would confound the siblings. Even her father, if he was watching from the great beyond.

  “Your lordship,” a male voice called. “Your lordship, there’s a carriage coming up the drive.”

  He quickly straightened himself and buttoned up his pants. “Over here, Tim.”

  She checked her own clothes. Fine, as she hadn’t undressed. “My hair.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “But it’s all undone. Whoever it is will see me like this.”

  “If it’s a man and he lusts after you, I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.” He rose, pulling them both to their feet. “Well, let’s go see who it is.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone where we were going.”

  “Neither did I.” He held out a hand to her. “Come on.”

  She wrapped her fingers in his and followed. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the bench. His handkerchief had disappeared.

  ***

  One tiny woman had the household in an uproar as far as Juliet could judge from all the frantic activity in the foyer. Maids bustled here and there, and footmen kept entering, loaded down with luggage: trunks, hatboxes, grips, portmanteaux. One poor man came in dragged by two of the biggest dogs she’d ever seen. Wolfhounds of some sort, slender but almost as tall as a person if they stood on their hind legs. Luckily, they didn’t.

  Mr. Russell kept control of the chaos, just barely, issuing orders in a voice louder than strictly proper for a butler. Eventually, the hubbub settled down enough for Derrington to rush to the woman who’d caused all the to-do and throw his arms around her. He straightened again and gave her a stern look. “What in God’s name are you doing here, Harry?”

  “Harry?” Juliet repeated.

  The woman put her jeweled hands on her hips. “I used to be the lady of the house. I hope I may visit.”

  “Of course. Any time,” he said. “But you’re too ill to travel.”

  The woman—Harry—looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Who told you that?”

  “You did, in your letter. ‘Staring in the piazza, not deviling the fishmonger.’”

  “Pfft.” Harry waved a hand. “A passing thing. Probably something I ate.”

  “Then you’re not ill?” he said.

  “As healthy as a horse,” she said. “There’s only one thing I need to make me perfect—a great-grandchild.”

  Derrington’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at her. “Why, you old bird. You tricked me.”

  The woman patted his face. She had to strain upward to do it. “Learning something about tricks finally, Bump?”

  “Bump?” Juliet said.

  Harry turned toward her. “So, is this the young lady?”

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Harry, this is Miss Juliet Foster of New York.”

  Damn her if she didn’t almost drop a curtsey. Despite Harry’s odd dress—a combination of harem scarves and de Medici robes and no suggestion of a corset—the woman had a regal air to her. As if she could command an army if she wanted.

  “Miss Foster, this is my grandmother, Lady Harriet Winslow, the Dowager Marchioness of Derrington,” he said. “Harry.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Juliet said.

  “Well, then, let’s have a look at you.” Lady Derrington approached, craning her neck to stare up into Juliet’s face. Then, the woman walked around her slowly. Juliet glowered at Derrington the whole time, and he answered with a shrug.

  When the inspection ended, Harry stepped back. “She’s not overly pretty, is she?”

  “Harry—” Derrington said.

  “Good. I can’t abide pretty women,” Harry said.

  “I’ll do my best to be as unattractive as possible,” Juliet said.

  “Juliet—” Derrington said.

  Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “Quick wit. Lack of respect for her elders. Well done, Bump.”

  “Bump?” Juliet repeated.

  “I’ll explain later,” he said.

  “After some tea. My throat’s dusty from the road,” Harry declared before she tu
rned and marched her invisible army into the house.

  Derrington followed his grandmother, but Juliet caught his arm. “You didn’t tell me you were calling in reinforcements.”

  “I didn’t know. She just came.”

  “Why?”

  “Damned if I know,” he said. “Why does any woman do what she does?”

  “Come along, you two,” came a deep contralto from inside.

  Tea arrived within minutes, along with various cakes, pastries, and Juliet’s favorite, cucumber sandwiches. Once they’d all taken their seats, Lady Derrington assumed the role of lady of the house as though she’d never left, serving first Juliet and then Derrington.

  “No gooseberry tarts?” she asked. “You know I favor them.”

  “We didn’t expect you,” Derrington answered.

  “One should always be prepared,” the older lady said. “Being an American, Miss Foster will need lessons in how things are done.”

  “I won’t have you picking on her, Harry,” Derrington said. “She serves tea perfectly well.”

  Juliet stared at him in amazement. She’d never done anything remotely like serving tea in the entire time she’d known him. Maids set things out, and they served themselves. He’d never asked her to do anything else.

  Lady Derrington cleared her throat in a very pointed manner. “I’m sure your young lady has numerous talents of the kind men most value.”

  “Harry—” Derrington warned.

  “That’s an interesting hair style,” Lady Derrington said.

  Juliet’s hands went directly to her curls. Of course, without pins, a comb, and a mirror, she couldn’t do anything to fix herself.

  “And her mouth has an interesting look to it,” the lady went on, stirring her tea with a tiny pinky finger in the air. “As if she’d just been engaged in the sort of business men enjoy more than anything else in the world.”

  Out of blind reaction, Juliet covered her mouth with her fingers.

  “Behave yourself, Harry,” Derrington snapped.

  Lady Derrington laughed. “Does he make those kinds of noises with you, Miss Foster? Telling you to behave and such rot?”

  “Constantly,” she answered.

  “Excellent.” The lady lifted a pastry tart to her lips and bit into it delicately.