by Golden Angel
“Christina? Oh, there you are.” Daphne’s voice floated through the air, full of curiosity and expectation.
Turning, Christina saw her friend coming onto the terrace, escorted by her handsome husband. The Earl of Marley was tall, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, which he set off admirably in his dark green jacket and amber waistcoat. Christina had always found him to be rather imposing, but he softened noticeably in his wife’s presence. They had not begun as a love match, but they had certainly become one after their wedding.
His attention was on the Marquess, rather than Christina herself, studying him intently for some reason. Perhaps he saw the Marquess as a kind of rival? Seeing them sizing the other up was very much like watching two sleek predators meeting for the first time.
Daphne was smiling, but her sharp eyes were taking in the entire scene in front of her, flicking back and forth between Christina and Dearborn. “We’re ready to be on our way, would you like a ride home?”
She felt Dearborn’s startled reaction, which loosened his grip on her hand just enough for her to take advantage and tug her fingers free. Immediately, she stepped forward, her heart pounding as she retreated from the man behind her.
“Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, heart in her mouth.
For some reason, she expected Dearborn to stop her. To say something. But there was no response from him as she followed the Earl and Countess of Marley back into the ballroom. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Dearborn’s form still in the shadows, watching her go.
Even though he wasn’t following, Christina didn’t dare let herself relax. Since he had not received a satisfactory answer from her, he would approach her again. At least now she had time to try and come up with a more adequate response. And she told herself she was not relieved or excited by the idea of him continuing to seek her out.
The glittering throng of the ton danced and swirled around her like a mad carousel of color and laughter, with herself trapped at the center. It was an utter relief to make their farewells to the hostess and escape the clamoring ballroom. She felt almost feverish, a touch shaky, after her confrontation with her former lover. Even now her body was hot, thrumming with arousal just from having been in his presence; apparently, her physical response to him was in no way hampered by the anxiety his unexpected appearance had roused.
When Marley closed the door to the carriage behind him, settling into the seat beside his wife, Christina let out a sigh of relief. In the close confines of the carriage, hidden from view, knowing she need not declare her emotional vulnerabilities this evening at least, she felt safe again.
Across from her, Marley raised his eyebrow. “Should I have a word with Dearborn, Lady Christina?”
A smile curved her lips at the protective manner in which he asked. In many ways, Marley reminded her quite a bit of Dearborn. Both authoritative males, strong-willed, protective, and used to getting their own way.
“No, thank you, my lord,” she said.
She told herself it was the tiny niggling of guilt which made her feel as though she had to face the Marquess again, not her own desire to see him. While she’d felt a moment’s fear when confronted by his anger, she didn’t believe he would hurt her. The man wanted an explanation, which was not entirely unreasonable. He also wanted her, which he couldn’t have, but hopefully if she gave him the explanation he desired he would desist in trying to extend their relations.
The thought made her chest tighten in unhappiness, but that was the course she had chosen. It was the sensible course, designed to protect herself.
“Well, I thought he was rather dashing,” Daphne said, grinning widely, as her husband gave her a wry look.
“I thought he was rather awful,” Christina said, frowning at her friend. “People will be gossiping about us horribly if he is not careful.”
“They already are,” Daphne said, although she sounded delighted rather than horrified. “Not in a detrimental way to your standing; the ladies are all agog wondering how you managed to secure his notice.”
“Not detrimental?” Christina was confused. What other way could there be? A fission of fright went down her back as she realized what else Daphne had said. “They all concluded I have secured his notice for… for..?” They all knew he was her lover? Or they thought he was in pursuit of her now? The gossip would be horrendous!
Both the Earl and the Countess were looking at her now with a touch of confusion.
“Well, yes, of course. What other possible conclusion was there to draw when he arrived tonight, at Lady Spearow’s ball of all places, and immediately focused on you? You are an eminently eligible widow and he’s brother to a Duke who was fairly recently wed.” Daphne mused, cocking her head. “I suppose they think he’s following his brother’s example.”
“They think he means to court me for… marriage?” Christina asked, relaxing back against her seat with utter relief. She didn’t know if Dearborn realized how his actions would be interpreted, but such an interpretation would harm neither of them. Not even once she explained and he accepted his conge, it would be all too easy to understand why a sudden courtship led to nothing.
“The way he whisked you around the dance floor and then off onto the terrace? Everyone could see how taken he was with you. A man does not behave in such a manner with a potential mistress, only with a woman he is courting. What were you two talking about? He looked like he wanted to ravish you right then and there, no matter who was watching.”
The relish with which Daphne made her observation had both her husband and Christina’s lips twitching. Due to the circumstances of their friendship, Christina knew quite a bit more about Daphne’s and the Earl’s unorthodox relationship than anyone outside of their very secretive and clandestine club. They were quite improper on an entirely different level than the erotic pleasures of pain which Benedict had introduced her to, yet Christina never judged them and their own peccadilloes had made it possible for her to feel comfortable confiding in Daphne about the scandalous specifics of her own affair with Benedict. Bloody hell, Dearborn not Benedict. Dearborn, Dearborn, Dearborn.
It was so much harder to think of him as such so soon after seeing him in the flesh again.
She felt like bashing her head against the carriage door, but surely that would cause comment from her friends.
“Christina?”
“Yes?” Oh, she hadn’t answered Daphne’s question, having been distracted by her own inner ramblings. “He… wished an explanation for my hasty departure before Christmas.” That or he wished for her in his bed again… or both.
Honestly, Christina wasn’t entirely clear on what his goal had been. She was overwrought and confused, and her memory of her conversation with him was already muddled in her head.
“That’s it?” Daphne was obviously disappointed, making Christina smile wryly.
She didn’t want to admit to her friend that Benedict had also said he still wanted her. After all, he’d backed away from that statement, hadn’t he? He’d demanded an explanation… but had he indicated he’d leave her alone once he’d received one, or not?
Her head was beginning to hurt as she tried to reconcile the whirling thoughts in her mind with the lingering arousal his presence and touch had engendered. Clearly, she wasn’t as beyond her relationship with him as she’d thought. Thank goodness her friends had been there to rescue her, so she could retreat, regroup, and shore up her defenses.
Now she knew he was returned to town and in pursuit of an explanation from her, she could prepare herself. Next time he approached her, she would be ready.
Chapter 2
Staying on the terrace as Christina left had given Benedict the opportunity to wrestle his emotions and body back under control. Besides, he admitted to himself, he didn’t particularly want to watch her leaving him. Again. With no way to stop her. Again.
At least, no way which was socially acceptable, although he was fast approaching the point where he might not care abou
t breaking Society’s strictures. But Christina would care, and so he was trying to play by the rules. A smile suddenly bloomed, as he remembered her look of shock at his appearance in the ballroom. Yes, playing by the rules did have some benefits. For instance, using her desire to avoid gossip in order to inveigle her into a dance, and then out onto the terrace for some nominal privacy.
It was underhanded, perhaps, but it had worked.
She’d danced with him. Gone outside with him.
Had responded to him. So he knew whatever had led to her breaking off their arrangement, it wasn’t a lack of attraction to or desire for him. More than once, as she’d looked up at him, she’d tilted her head in such a way that it had seemed like she was asking him to kiss her.
Something which had taken all his self-control not to do.
After all, he was courting the woman he wanted to make his wife. Kissing her on a terrace, under the watchful eyes of the ton would guarantee immediate success for his task; however, it would not make for a happy bride. As willful as he was already finding Christina to be, he didn’t need to exacerbate her temper.
Returning to the ballroom, he was obliged to dance with three blushing, giggling debutantes before taking his leave. While it would not completely deter the gossips from talk of him and the Marchesse, at least he hadn’t singled her out entirely. There would likely be speculation, but he’d also appeased the marriage-minded mamas by literally dancing to their tune.
Really, he’d been giving Christina time to return to her home and he’d had nothing better to do. His friends would not be returning to the ballrooms until a few weeks hence, for the larger events - beginning with the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, which was always the first large event of the Season. The debutantes would be expected to have gained some polish during these smaller balls and events before then.
Even his family was not in attendance. While his younger sister, Arabella, remained unwed as she embarked on her second Season, she had no need of practicing her social graces, and therefore would only attend soirees thrown by friends and family before the Richmond ball.
Lacking any of his usual circle, as well as wanting to throw some doubt on his reason for attending this evening, dancing with debutantes had been the easiest way to pass the time without drawing attention. Besides, it was rather expected of him as a gentleman.
Fortunately, there was a small break in the music after his third dance with a milk-and-water miss who was far too young and innocent for him, and Benedict took the opportunity to slip away from the proceedings. The marriage mart of young misses wasn’t for him. While he had made up his mind to marry, there was only one woman whom he imagined in the position of his wife.
******
Once she was in her filmy white night rail, Christina dismissed her lady’s maid, Esther. While removing her ballgown had necessitated help, she was desperate for solitude. Sitting in front of her vanity, she began the laborious work of taking down her mahogany curls from the elaborate coiffure she’d worn. Tending to her own hair would have caused a mild murmur of gossip among her peers if they knew, but Christina had always found the process rather relaxing, and there were some nights she preferred to tend to it herself.
Which, of course, made her think of other nights when the hands gently pulling the pins from her hair had been masculine rather than feminine, lips traveling over her shoulders and neck as he’d brushed the sweeping strands aside, even as her hair fell down. Benedict had loved to touch her hair, and she’d loved to let him.
Pushing the memories away, Christina firmed her lips as she picked up her brush.
The memories might remain, but she should not dwell on them. She should be thinking about her future, not her past, and what kind of explanation she could give him which would suffice. Admitting her finer feelings for him, her fear that she had become too emotionally involved with him was right out…
Or was it?
Her brush strokes slowed as she stared at herself in the mirror.
Men, rakes, who preferred inamoratas to marriage… well, they preferred to keep such messy things as emotions from their relations. Anything beyond affection or desire was a deterrent for them, as far as she understood it. While admitting her unreturned feelings for him might be humiliating, it might also be the best way to send him on his way. Perhaps she need not even admit the full depth of the emotions he’d sparked in her, but just admit that she had been beginning to feel for him more than was appropriate for an affair. Which was the truth. She just hadn’t realized her feelings had gone far beyond that until after she’d broken off their arrangement, however there was no need to admit that revelation to him as well.
It would be hard, embarrassing, even hurtful to be spurned after admitting she had started developing feelings for him… but it would also be better in the long run for her.
If he forced her hand, if he demanded an in-person explanation from her again, she would tell him the why. Hopefully, she would be able to hide her hurt when he agreed with her that ending things before Christmas had been the wiser decision.
Perhaps she should start looking for a new lover immediately. Even if she didn’t find one as exciting as him, she could at least put him behind her with a new affair - which would also hopefully be a distraction when he began his own search for a new amour. There were other men among the ton with the same domineering attitudes as Benedict, men who were also experienced in exotic bed play… she just had to find one. Daphne might be able to assist her.
Assuming she could thwart her friend’s current romantic aspirations for Christina.
The thought appealed.
A new lover.
One with the same command over her body and sensual reactions.
Christina began to fantasize about what such a lover might be like. She already knew she enjoyed being bound, spanked, even strapped on occasion. Benedict had hinted at further decadent behaviors, he’d even enjoyed inserting a finger into her anus more than once, promising her in dark tones that one day he would have her there. The stinging burn and his whispered vows had sent her climax soaring, even as she’d shaken her head in refusal; shocked and tempted by such depravity in equal measure.
Benedict had whispered other perversions they might try… perhaps she could try them with a new lover. Clips for her budded nipples and phallic toys to fill her, small whips meant specifically for her most tender bits, her body entirely at the mercy of her lover as she was bound by all fours to bedposts. The vision rose in her mind, making her more hot and achy than ever, so full of repressed need, she didn’t even notice her dream lover had a strong resemblance to the man she was trying to forget.
Letting out a small sigh of pleasure as her brush pulled through the strands of her hair, over her breast, Christina found herself brushing that one spot again… and again… her nipple swelling and tingling under the soft brush bristles as they caressed her night rail. The silky fabric moved against the bristles, stimulating her sensitive bud, and she was reminded of the time Benedict had spanked her lightly, turning her bottom pink, and the rubbed her brush over the tender skin. She’d felt incredibly sensitive afterwards, and he’d sat her down on his desk, spread her thighs, and had her right there, her bottom throbbing against the hard wood he’d purposefully placed her on.
She moaned, leaning back, her breath coming a little faster at the memory. Giving up the pretense of continuing to brush her hair, Christina pushed the heavy strands over her shoulders, arching her back to thrust her breasts up as she moved her brush to her other nipple. The tiny bud tingled under the stiff bristles, softened only by the silky fabric of her night gown, and she pressed her thighs together at the pleasurable sensation.
Although she’d indulged in self-pleasure before, after her marriage and in between lovers, she hadn’t been so inclined in months. Not since before becoming Benedict’s lover. But now it seemed her libido had reawakened with a vengeance, and Christina felt almost desperate to assuage it.
Jumping to her fee
t, her nipples and pussy pulsing, she hurried over to her bed, throwing herself onto it as she spread her legs. With one hand, she pushed down the silky fabric of her gown between her spread thighs, holding the brush until she could begin to rub the bristles over the gown again, only this time she was rubbing her aching pussy with the implement. It was entirely wicked, not something she would have ever thought of before, and it felt wonderful.
The bristles, which would have been far too abrasive without the shield of the silky nightgown, massaged her nether lips and swollen clitoris, making her writhe with the sensation. She pressed harder, her free hand coming up to cup her breast, and she imagined what her new lover might think of such wanton behavior… how he might punish her for it… Perhaps by spanking her with the brush she was using so indecently? Turning her buttocks a cherry red, and then flipping her over to spank the lips she was so vigorously stimulating? Wetting the wooden handle in her pussy, like a cock, and pushing it into her bottom before taking his pleasure?
That last wicked thought was nearly enough to make her scream her climax. She moaned, without thinking, picturing the man who would be depraved enough to do such things.
“Benedict…”
No sooner had his name left her lips, but suddenly firm fingers were wrapped around her wrist, yanking the brush away from her throbbing core, and Christina nearly screamed for an entirely different reason.
******
When Benedict had first scaled the tree closest to Christina’s bedroom - at least, what he’d assumed was her bedroom based on the usual layout of fashionable Mayfair houses - he’d planned to jump to her balcony, enter her room, and demand the accounting she’d left unfinished earlier. The plan had lasted all the way up til he’d actually landed on her balcony and looked through the pane glass of her doors.
The sight he’d seen had taken his breath away.
