Then, very abruptly, Lord Tazewell broke the silence.
“The responsibility is mine,” he stated flatly. He did not look at his traveling companion, and continued to stare out at the road.
“I knew you were impulsive. I knew you were impetuous. I should have kept you in the saddle with me, or left you inside Gorham Hall with appropriate supervision.”
He turned to her now, his eyes moving over the features of her face, studying her seriously as if seeing her for the first time.
“How foolish I was to allow such an unthinking young woman to command her own mount.”
Lucy blinked at his words. A moment later, her unfortunate temper rose in a flash. “Unthinking? How dare you!” she protested most fiercely. “I am hardly that!”
“Aren’t you?” he retorted, his dark eyes hard upon her. “Did you give any thought whatsoever to the risks to a woman traveling alone? Have you even the slightest notion of what might have befallen you?”
“I made my way quite safely!”
“Only by the grace of God!”
Lord Tazewell took hold of Lucy then, drawing her roughly forward so that she all but lost her seat. Her face was barely an inch from his own, and her heart was beating wildly as she tried to push away.
“Unhand me!”
“Do you really have no knowledge of the sort of rapscallions and scoundrels who prey on solitary women? Foolish girl!” He shook her. “For two days now I have been sick with worry!”
Lucy was taken aback by the passion of his reproach, yet remained unconvinced by these sudden professions of concern for her person. He had demonstrated precious little solicitude a few hours earlier, when wielding the birch so mercilessly across her backside.
“I regret having caused you worry,” she said, although there was not the least bit of genuine contrition in her voice. “I certainly didn’t think...”
The words were out before she could stop them.
She clasped a hand over her mouth, silently berating herself for having admitted to precisely the fault of which he so vehemently accused her.
“Of course you didn’t think!” he thundered, now thoroughly agitated. “And how is it that a young woman can be so maddeningly unthinking? How did you manage to reach the age of twenty-two without understanding that actions have consequences? How is it you have not learned that rash behaviour, the sort of which you are apparently so fond, can throw a woman into circumstances of great danger?”
He shook her, quite roughly. She cried out, and pressed her palms up against his jacket, trying to push him away.
“Unhand me! Let me go!”
“Never!” He gripped her harder. “Did you learn nothing from your own unhappy experiences, Lucy? Consider how you ran away from your aunt that day in the shops, thinking nothing of the probable costs, and as a result brought ruin upon yourself as well as an elderly couple. I truly pity your poor aunt and uncle, who did nothing to deserve the social condemnation rained upon them on your account!”
Lucy’s face crumpled, and he softened both his hold and his voice.
“And then you did it again, didn’t you? You ran away from me, and in the process, put yourself in grave peril. Truly, Lucy, it is time to stop your foolish nonsense. Stop running, for once in your life! Change now, before it is too late!”
She began to sob as the truth of his words pierced her.
“I’m so sorry! Truly, I am!”
He drew her close. “There’s my girl. Good girl. Let the tears come.” He maneuvered her head to his chest, and stroked her hair as she cried. As he held her, he considered how much lovelier she was like this, yielding for once, and so soft and warm against him.
“How pleasing you are to me, Lucy, when you are like this. I see such a rich potential in you, if you will only learn to put others before yourself and dispense with your ridiculous false pride. I like you much more like this, when you are open and yielding.”
She cried softly, listening to the timbre of his deep voice through his chest.
“You will learn, Miss Lucy Farquhar, step by step, to think before you act, to put others before yourself, and to purport yourself with charm and goodness. You can be so much more than you are now, Lucy.”
He looked down at her, and tilted his face up so she could not escape his stern gaze.
“And as God is my witness, I shall teach you, with the end of a stick if necessary, to be obedient to my will.”
She squirmed in his grip. This sudden movement forced her attention, in a most uncomfortable way, back to the welts he’d put on her backside, and she gasped in surprise.
Lord Tazewell chuckled, and pulled her chin a little closer to his face. “Indeed, it’s high time you learned to be more pleasing to me, young woman. And we will begin with that delicious mouth of yours, which I now direct to be solely for my pleasure.” He kissed her again, softly at first, then more insistently, only to break away just as she was coming to like it, very much. With his left hand firmly at the nape of her neck, he guided her head towards his lap. She misunderstood, thinking he wished her to rest, until her face was close to his trousers and she saw he was working the buttons.
Lucy tried to draw back, but his hand on her neck prevented her from rising. Something hard jumped out at her, its length jutting from a dark patch of curls around the base.
“Open your mouth," he commanded.
Lucy, now fully aware of his intent, gasped in horror, which was all the opportunity he needed. With one hand he grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her head down, while with the other he guided the organ fully into her mouth.
Smiling with satisfaction, Lord Tazewell leaned back into the seat, closing his eyes to savor the feel of her sweet warm lips and mouth upon him. His fingers tightened in her hair as she put up a little struggle below. She was trying, in vain, to rise or expel him from her mouth. With a firm hand he kept her in place, and allowed her a moment to find what she must do to accommodate herself to this obviously unfamiliar act.
Then, quite abruptly, he thrust his hips upward from the seat to push himself deeper into her mouth, demonstrating to her how easily he could block her air. She fought, anxious sounds arising from deep in her throat and serving only to further excite his passions. He felt her about to retch, put still did not relent. He raised his head from where it had been resting against the wall of the carriage and looked down upon her.
"Tighten your lips around me, then raise your head slightly,” he instructed, releasing his hold on her neck just enough to allow her this movement. “Now inhale through your nose. That’s right, and when you’ve got your breath again, ease your face back down into my lap. No, keep your lips tight.”
Lucy tried it. Lord Tazewell groaned.
“Again,” he commanded. "And again, until I say otherwise!"
His left hand dictated the movements of her head while his right hand gently explored her head and face, feeling the softness of her hair, ears and cheeks. His fingers felt for her mouth, savoring the contrast of his hardness, as it slid in and out of her mouth, against the softness of her lips. He thought back to how she had looked earlier, bent bare-arsed over the foot-board of the bed, waiting tearfully for his birch. This delectable image caused him to throb larger inside her mouth. She grunted in surprise and tried to pull away, but he pressed her down, returning her to her task.
Lord Tazewell closed his eyes and smiled. It was quite obvious she was inexperienced. In fact, until a few minutes ago she may well have been innocent of even the knowledge that such as act was possible. This somehow pleased him. She wouldn’t expect the way this would end, of course, but he was in no hurry to get there. It was hours before they’d reach Gorham Hall. She had a great deal to learn and it was certainly not unpleasant to tutor her in this fashion. Why not now, in this carriage, when he had ample time, as opposed to back at the estate, where any number of urgent matters might intrude upon her instruction time?
With his eyes still closed, he let his right hand roam ov
er her neck and shoulders, running his palm along one arm to feel its contours through her traveling coat. With gentle pressure on her upper arm, he eased her closer against his body. She at first mistook this as leave to stop, but with a firm hand he denied her permission to remove her mouth, instead showing her how it was possible to shift while keeping him inside her mouth. She settled into the new angle, her head cradled against his belly and thighs as he plumbed the hot insides of her cheek and moved himself slowly up and down the broadness of her tongue.
It may have been the relative ease of this position, or perhaps the increased contact with his body, but Lucy seemed to be resisting less. What an improvement to travel, he thought wryly, musing that he would take her along on all future voyages, insisting that she serve him in this manner whenever they were in the carriage together. He would make a proper harlot bride out of her, and enjoy himself in her thoroughly.
They were now more than half of the way to Chiltenham, and the roads were emptier and rougher. As the carriage picked up speed, jolting occasionally on deeper ruts and stones, Lord Tazewell kept Lucy to her task as he considered the many changes he planned to institute once he had her back in Gorham Hall.
First and foremost -- and it was hard not to dwell on this particular aspect of his plan with her obediently serving him with her mouth -- he was now ready to claim all of her body for his pleasure. Much as he had enjoyed confining her to that humiliating little bedchamber, making her wait, in the future she would spend her evenings in his chamber receiving further instruction in the wonton arts. And, perhaps, when he was finished with her and needed sleep, he would have her escorted back to her little room, or better yet, a childish nursery bed. In fact, the unused nursery on the third floor of the south wing was to play a central role in his future plans for his bride.
The carriage jolted, bringing his attention back to the present, and Lord Tazewell shifted his hands so they were both on her head, marveling at the rich textures and softness of her chestnut mane against his palms and fingers. What a lovely thing is woman, he thought to himself, and what a treasure is her mouth. He used his hands to lift Lucy’s head a little, but only so he could feel the wrap of her lips around the head of his organ, where he could savor the heat and wet before pressing her back down so all of him was again engulfed. He reveled in the feel of being up against the back of her lovely throat again. She was already accommodating him much better than at the beginning.
Lord Tazewell’s thoughts returned to his plans. If there was anything he had learned from Lucy’s spectacularly foolish escape attempt, it was that moulding this thoughtless girl into a grown woman, and one to his liking, was an undertaking that would demand more of his time than he had at first understood. It would, he now realized, be necessary to rearrange his duties so he could attend to her very closely for at least an hour every morning, preferably two, and then again in the evening, for as many hours as proved necessary. It was now clear to him that he had granted her an excess of freedom and independence, and he intended to remedy that upon their return to Gorham Hall. For the time being, at least, Lucy must be supervised at all times, and attended to with a far higher level of attention and scrutiny.
Of course he himself had an estate to run, and responsibilities to the tenants and staff. It was simply not possible for him to devote every waking hour to this young woman, pleasant as that might be.
Just then, as if Lucy subconsciously felt his attention elsewhere, she shifted her mouth around him. In truth, she was probably only endeavoring to relieve some discomfort in her position, but the change in the angle at which she was servicing him produced a change of sensation that shot like a bolt of lightening up the length of his organ, then deep into his abdomen, jolting him out of his thoughts and fully into the moment. He sat upright and with both hands took up her head and pushed himself into her throat. She bucked and fought, her muffled cries rising up around him, but he persisted with an animal need, taking a dozen powerful strokes in her pliant mouth, until his need ebbed enough that he was able to settle back against the seat again. He groaned in pleasure and allowed her to resume at an easier pace. She sobbed against him, her mouth stuffed full of him, but still he would not give her leave to stop.
Ah, as much as he would like to spend all his days and nights training this delicious wench, Lord Tazewell required someone to attend her when he was unavoidably occupied with the business of the estate. To this end, just before he left for London to fetch Lucy back, he had sent his man Fletcher out to make certain inquiries. It was Lord Tazewell’s hope that he would reach an agreement with Hamilton Gosling, the lord of the estate that bordered his own to the south and west. Gosling had a woman there who had been with the family for some years. She was by all accounts comfortable with the way young ladies were raised in Chiltenham, which, due to its remote location, or perhaps because its people were satisfied with the way things had always been done, was considerably more conservative than other parts of the country.
Lord Tazewell had, on occasional visits to Gosling’s manor home, the opportunity to observe the young ladies under this woman’s charge. All three of Gosling’s daughters seemed obedient and very well behaved indeed. Two had been favorably married at a relatively young age, but he had heard recently that the youngest girl, who was the prettiest of the three, had contracted rheumatic fever and was confined to her sickbed. This development must surely have disappointed the bachelors in the region, not to mention her father, who was no doubt counting on a favorable match for his fairest little one. But for Lord Tazewell, the unfortunate illness of Gosling’s youngest daughter might well represent an opportunity.
Lord Tazewell had penned a hasty proposal to Gosling requesting the loan of the girl’s governess, for however long might be convenient. He offered to pay the woman’s full wages, of course, in addition to a sizeable sum to compensate the Gosling household for the temporary loss of the woman’s services. There was reason to believe this tender would be well received; Gosling seemed to live a tad beyond his means and was more than likely eager for additional income.
If Lord Tazewell’s plan was on the mark, the governess might now, at this very moment while he himself was enjoying Lucy’s ever more skilled and compliant mouth, be engaged with Mrs. Deegers and the maids in opening up the nursery at Gorham Hall. The girls’ nursery suites would require a thorough airing and cleaning, of course, after so many years of disuse; Lord Tazewell’s sisters were all long grown and married. But each one of them, seven daughters in all, had spent her minority in the nursery, right up until the day she was married, under the strictest and most exacting supervision. For this reason, the nursery at Gorham Hall was exceptionally well furnished and equipped for the upbringing of young ladies, and all the necessary tools and supplies should still be there in good order, packed carefully away in a number of large cupboards and trunks, awaiting the next generation of young Tazewell ladies.
Lord Tazewell was younger than all of his sisters, but he had been allowed free access to the girls’ nursery from a tender age. It was considered essential that he, as the future heir, have ample opportunity to observe and learn the ways in which young ladies in Chiltenham were educated. Or as his father had phrased it, when he called his son in at the age of twelve to observe the administration of a sound birching upon the lovely white bottom of his second sister, “to learn how a gentleman of Chiltenham brings females under his guidance to heel.”
Poor Penny had been disrespectful and would pay the price, even though she was due to be married just one week later. Their father remarked aloud on this, wondering what her husband say when he saw the marks of paternal discipline upon her bum and hips. As he raised the freshly prepared birch rod, the older lord urged his only son and successor to pay attention and learn. Penny’s punishment was the first chastisement the young lord observed, but not the last.
Lord Tazewell knew there would be several trunks of nursery attire in the attic over the girls’ quarters, so in the future, until he
r re-education was complete, he would permit Lucy only juvenile attire. That would serve well to remind her of her reduced status in the household. And it would be a useful humiliation, for one who had so ardently put on airs with the staff, to now spend her days dressed as much younger dependent.
He heard a snuffle below. He had kept Lucy at her task for some time now, and while he didn’t care much if she was simply tired, she had been crying on and off and it was likely her nose needed clearing. And perhaps she required a bit of water by now. As he himself was feeling a thirst, it seemed likely she must feel the same. Much as he would regret separating himself from that delicious mouth, Lord Tazewell decided to let Lucy up for a rest.
“That will do for now,” he said, looking down fondly at the girl in his lap. “Come, Lucy, you may rise.” He put his hands on her gently, intending to help her up into a sitting position. But she was barely halfway up before the objections started.
“Oh! How....how..dare you!” she sputtered, the syllables oddly misshaped as she tried to regain mastery of her lips and tongue after so long in unfamiliar positions.
In a flash, he was on her, pressing her head down resolutely and returning it to his lap.
“No, no!” came her muffled cry from below.
“Open!” he commanded. When she failed to comply, he tightened his hand across the back of her neck. “Open now!”
This time she yielded with a strangled cry, and he pressed his organ immediately into her mouth. When she continued to fight him, he punished her with a dozen strokes deep into her throat. She coughed and struggled through each one.
Then he stopped. “Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to come up and speak civilly? Or better yet speak not at all?”
The Harlot Bride Page 11
