by Ava Sinclair
Imogen was sobbing as she ran up the stairs. On the landing, she nearly ran into Nanny Quinn, who caught her by the arms.
“My goodness, child. Whatever is wrong?”
“I…” Imogen started to tell her, but stopped. “Nothing…”
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” she said gently.
“If I tell you, you’ll only side with them…”
“With who?” Nanny Quinn narrowed her eyes. “With your papa and Mr. Sutton?”
Imogen nodded, a sob catching in her throat.
“Let’s go discuss it over some warm milk,” the nanny said, and a half hour later, between sniffles and hiccoughs, Imogen had choked down her milk and choked out the story.
“It makes no sense,” Miss Quinn said. “I can understand how Mr. Sutton would bristle at the accusation if he wasn’t going through Major Kingsley’s things, but why lie about your behavior?”
“He was going through papa’s things!” Imogen insisted. “And he knew I’d tell, so he made up a lie to make me look silly and childish, and to make my report look spiteful.” A tear slipped down her face. “And it would not have worked did not the major already think me silly and childish.” She put her face in her hands. “I want to live as he’s designed things, nanny, but when he dismisses me in this way, I think the better of it.”
“Did you tell him this?” the older woman asked.
“I could not have, even if I’d wanted to,” she said miserably. “He sent me away before I could.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Perhaps you could talk to him,” Imogen said hopefully. “He listens to you.”
“I could,” Miss Quinn said with a sigh. “But perhaps we should let this lie. Mr. Sutton is a working class teacher. Many such men are curious about the doings of the ton. Quite likely you did catch him snooping, and in his embarrassment he panicked. He was wrong to malign you to cover his actions; on this point I agree. But I bet now that it’s passed, he will say nothing more of it.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Imogen said, wiping away a tear, “but I can hardly forget it.”
“Well, maybe you should,” she said. “And if it happens again, don’t confront the man. Tutors often don’t like being challenged by pupils. You’re better off just taking your suspicions to your papa.”
“Papa thinks I’m bad now,” she said miserably.
“Pish,” the nanny said with a wave of her hand. “He merely thinks you had a bad day. He’s seen you upbraided for it, and even if he was wrong he only sought to do what he thought was right. You’ve made great progress with Mr. Sutton. Before long, you will have outgrown your need for him. I say just let this go and concentrate on other things.”
Imogen sighed and nodded. “Very well, nanny. I’ll do it. But for you, and for papa.”
“Give us a smile,” the nanny said, and laughed when Imogen complied. “There’s my girl, sweet as honey. And a good thing, too. You don’t want to end up like poor Frozen Charlotte.”
“Frozen Charlotte! Oh, no!” Imogen leapt to her feet. “I left her in the parlor yesterday, when I was in the window seat. I need to fetch her.”
“Should I come with you?”
“No!” Imogen called out. “I’ll be back directly.”
She ran down the hall and then down the stairs, eager to retrieve the doll. Oddly enough, she’d become quite attached to it, as it was the first toy she’d received since her childhood. Papa had given her many, many fine things since she’d come to Stonehaven, but the morbid little Frozen Charlotte had been her first gift, and the fact that she’d become so fond of nanny made it all the more special.
But when she arrived at the window seat, there was no sign of the toy. She moved a basket sitting to the side and even lifted the cushion, but still could not find the little figure.
“Mrs. Philbert?” The older woman had come into the room and now Imogen turned to her.
“Yes, child? What is it?”
“Have you seen my Frozen Charlotte?”
“You mean that tiny white doll you carry in your hand? No, not since you left it by your plate last week and I gave it to Major Kingsley to give back to you. Why? Did you misplace it again?”
“No,” Imogen said. “It was here—right here—in the window seat, but now it’s gone.”
“Are you sure you didn’t carry her upstairs to your dollhouse?”
“I’m absolutely sure,” Imogen said miserably. “And now she’s lost. And I can’t replace her because nanny gave her to me, and she came all the way from America anyway.” Imogen wiped her nose, bemoaning her terrible day.
“There, there, love,” the housekeeper said. “That silly little doll of yours will turn up, even if it is a wee thing. I bet she just fell out of your pocket. Tell you what I’ll do—I’ll ask the maids to keep an extra close eye when they’re cleaning; to be sure one of them will find her.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Philbert.”
“And what are we thanking Mrs. Philbert for?” Major Kingsley entered the room, chucking Imogen under the chin as he passed. His earlier ire seemed to have abated.
“For helping me look for Frozen Charlotte.”
“That odd little doll nanny gave you—the one with the macabre American story?”
“That’s the one,” Mrs. Philbert chuckled.
“Oh, she’s probably hitched a ride on the back of a dormouse or a hedgehog and is seeing the grounds.”
“It’s a serious matter,” pouted Imogen, and when Mrs. Philbert left, she turned to Royce.
“Are you no longer angry with me?”
“I wasn’t angry with you before,” he said. “Just frustrated.”
He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and Imogen started to tell him once again how he’d been wrong about the tutor, but she remembered nanny’s wise words and let the matter drop.
“I’m thinking that my little one’s prickly mood comes from tension,” he said. “And that Charlotte’s absence may be time to introduce a new toy.”
“A new toy?”
He chuckled. “Something I’ve had made especially for you.” He reached then into the deep pocket of his coat and withdrew a wooden phallus, impeccably carved. It was shorter than his cock, but the same in girth, and had a handle on the end.
“Papa, it’s scandalous!” Imogen said, but she was smiling.
“Oh, that it is,” he said. “And do you know what is even more scandalous?”
She shook her head.
“That you are going to use this while your papa watches.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, that is scandalous!” But she was smiling as she said it.
Royce tipped her off his lap and walked over to lock the door. “Of course, we must make sure Mrs. Philbert doesn’t come in. Can you imagine?”
Imogen giggled. “She’d be aghast.”
Royce walked back over and positioned Imogen on the couch, pushing her knees up and spreading her legs. Reaching under her raised skirts, he parted the panel of her pantalets. Imogen watched him stare for a moment at her bare pussy, framed with lace. Then she cried out as he unexpectedly lowered his head and began to lave her with his tongue, dragging it slowly through the slit and stopping to stab the little bundle of nerves at the apex with the tip. He gripped her bottom then, and caught her clit in his mouth, gently sucking as he fucked her with first one and then two fingers. Imogen pushed her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out, her hips rising to meet the pressure of his ministrations as the waves of her first orgasm washed over her. The second was starting to build when Royce leaned back and drew her hand, still clutching the carved dildo, down between her legs.
“Work it in and out like this,” he said, helping to guide her as she began slowly thrusting the carved phallus into her pussy. His gaze darted between Imogen’s eyes and her hands, his voice low and coaxing. His words and the feeling of the hard wood, impeccably carved right down to the ridged veins, soon had her excitement swelling to overflowing. Again she had to fight to stifle he
r cries of pleasure, made all the more intense now by the luridness of being watched.
Imogen felt drained and sated by the time it was over. Royce took her into his arms, his fingers playing with the ribbons in her hair.
“I don’t want to wait,” he said.
“For what?”
“For February.” He looked down at her. “Let’s marry now.”
“Now?” She grinned at him.
“Yes,” he said. “Well, not this minute, but as soon as we can. Saturday. We can have a ceremony later if you like, but I am keen to make you my wife, Imogen, my sweet child bride.”
“Do you think I’m ready?”
“I can’t imagine your being any more ready,” he answered, smiling down at her. “So here’s what we will do. You will finish out the week with your lessons, and come Saturday we will wed. In the morning, I’ll inform Mr. Sutton that his services will not be needed for a fortnight.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “During that time, I shall offer you an entirely different kind of instruction.”
Imogen threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, I think I shall like that ever so much better.”
Chapter Ten: Mr. Sutton
Imogen was eager to discuss Saturday’s plans over breakfast the following morning, but it was not to be. Major Kingsley was not only late to the table, but agitated and distracted as he informed her he would not be able to enjoy a leisurely morning meal.
“Whatever’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Philbert as she laid out a plate of buttery scones.
“The estate gamekeeper is beside himself,” Royce said. “Two fine stags have been killed over the past few days.”
“Likely poor folk from the village,” the housekeeper said sympathetically. “Meat can be hard to come by, and it is frightfully cold.”
“It wouldn’t be so troublesome if the animals had been dressed out,” he replied. “But they are left to lay, as if the killer is making a statement.” He paused, his face angry. “One of the stags has been around since I was a young man. Everyone given the privilege of hunting this land knows that old fellow is not to be touched. But there he was, shot through his chest, his noble eyes staring blankly at the sky.” He shook his head.
“Cannot the gamekeeper handle it?” Mrs. Philbert asked.
“No.” His tone was firm. “I will be accompanying him to question some of the tenant farmers, to see if any of them or their neighbors have an issue with me in some manner. It’ll take me the day.”
“So I won’t see you at all?” Imogen could not help but pout.
“No, my pet,” he said. “But sometimes duty will call me away, and that is something you need to understand.”
“Of course, papa,” she said.
“Your tutor is already here,” Royce continued. “I’ve informed him that you are taking a break from your lessons and he need not return for a fortnight. I expect you to be on your best behavior with him, young lady. The last thing I need is another irritation on an already irritating day.”
“I’ll be good. I promise.” Imogen stood and kissed him on the cheek and then watched as he headed out.
“Poor man,” Mrs. Philbert said. “He takes so much to heart. He’ll be beating himself up all day that he couldn’t save that stag.”
Imogen nodded. “He is a good man. He told me about the young fellow who died, the one he served with.”
The housekeeper nodded. “He is an idealist. His father always said so. Albert Kingsley was a pragmatist, but Royce never could bide an injustice, or suffer not saving something that needed saving.”
“And his older brother William?” Imogen asked, and the housekeeper’s face turned stony.
“We don’t utter his name in this house,” she said.
Imogen nodded. “Papa told me he wronged a woman who loved him.”
“Wronged is putting it mildly, my dear. He used her, abandoned her, and then would not even acknowledge the role his callousness played in her decision to take her own life. It is why we don’t speak of him,” Mrs. Philbert said. “William is as bad a man as Royce is good.” Her scowl deepened. “To think he still makes demands is despicable.”
“He does?” Imogen asked. She found herself shocked, both by the details and by this revelation. “I thought he was estranged.”
“Estranged and disinherited, but still an opportunist.” She paused. “But I speak out of turn, telling you these things. They are not my secrets to reveal.”
“Don’t worry,” Imogen said. “He’d already told me some of this, but I won’t say anything. It does make me understand him better, though. He was quite adamant that I not think less of myself due to my upbringing.” She smiled. “I suppose I was lucky that a man like Royce found me rather than a man like William.”
“Indeed you are,” she said. “But you must hurry now, dear. Your tutor is likely wondering where you are.”
Imogen didn’t want to keep Mr. Sutton waiting. She was still very much piqued by his behavior from the previous day, but had decided that Nanny Quinn was right. He was likely embarrassed and sought to preserve his position and dignity by lying. Even if it was unkind, it made sense. Mr. Sutton did not know the nature of her relationship with Major Kingsley; he saw her only as a student he could blame.
But it didn’t matter now, and she was relieved to find that if Mr. Sutton harbored any grudge, he’d obviously put it behind him. He’d already put a book on the table and was uncapping the inkwell she’d been using since parchment and quill had replaced the slate.
“Good morning, Imogen,” he said.
“Mr. Sutton.” She sat down at the table and placed her hands on the book he’d given her. “Major Kingsley said he spoke to you this morning.”
He glanced at her. “He did. It seems you’ll be having a short holiday.” He grew quiet. “Such fun.”
“Yes,” she replied. “We’re looking forward to it.”
“Well, I will miss you,” he said. “You’ve been a good student. In fact…” He paused. “You’ve been such a good student I’d like to make up for yesterday’s little unpleasantness with a surprise.”
“A surprise?” Her tone sounded hesitant, even to her own ears.
“Yes.” He sat down. “Don’t little girls like surprises?”
Something in his manner of speaking unsettled Imogen. The man himself unsettled her, she realized, and always had. But she remembered her papa’s orders to be a good girl, and her nanny’s assertion that Mr. Sutton was but a simple tutor trying to ingratiate himself with the Kingsleys.
“It depends on the surprise,” she finally answered.
“Well,” he said. “It’s not a very big surprise. I’m but a humble tutor after all. However, I am quite adept at building a snowman, and just beyond the pond is the most beautiful patch of fresh snow. How lovely would it be to surprise your benefactor with a nice snowman to greet him upon his return?”
Imogen felt herself relax. It was such a playful suggestion; clearly the usually buttoned-up Mr. Sutton was looking to make amends with such a fanciful offer. She’d not been outside other than for short walks since the last snowfall at Stonehaven Manor, and the idea did indeed appeal to her.
“I’ll ask nanny,” she said.
“Oh, there’s no need to bother her, is there?” he asked. “We’ll be back before she even knows we’re gone.” He grinned conspiratorially and held out his hand. “Oh, come on!”
“All right.” Imogen capitulated, “but let’s go out by the back. I have a wrap I keep there for when I go feed the ducks.”
“Even better,” he said. “You won’t have to go all the way upstairs. I don’t know how anyone finds their way around such a place anyway. Heavens!” He stopped by the fireplace as they walked past. “Here,” he said. “I already found coal for the eyes. And I bet there’s a carrot to be had in the kitchen!”
He was so animated that Imogen felt silly for having doubted him. It felt good to bid him adieu for the next two weeks without hard feelings. After retrieving a c
arrot from the kitchen, she followed Mr. Sutton out the back door and around the side of the house where his horse and trap stood.
“Poor fellow’s cold,” Imogen said, breaking off a bit of the carrot to feed the horse as Mr. Sutton removed the blanket from its back.
“He’s a tough old fellow,” the tutor said. “And he’ll warm up a bit once we get on the drive.”
She’d not been in a trap or carriage since she could remember, and held to the side of the swaying seat as the horse began to move. There was a dusting of snow on the drive, but it was dry and the trap’s large wheels got good traction as the horse picked up its pace.
Imogen knew where they were headed. She could see the pond from her nursery window, and beyond it the meadow just to the left of the stone pillars that marked the entry to Stonehaven. She clutched the remains of the carrot she’d nicked in her one hand and gripped the side of the seat tighter in preparation of the stop. But as they came level with the meadow, Mr. Sutton flicked the reins, throwing Imogen off balance as the horse moved to a canter.
“What are you doing?” She looked back frantically, as the meadow and the house behind it quickly receded from view. “Stop!”
But Mr. Sutton’s face had turned into a mask of determination, and he clucked to the horse, which continued its path down the snow-dusted lane. The reality that dawned on Imogen was chillier than the air around them. He was taking her! She glanced down, considering a jump from the trap, but the ground was hard and the roadsides rocky. She’d be injured or worse if she attempted something so rash.
All she could do was hang on, hang on and wait for him to stop and give her an explanation. Mr. Sutton’s hand shot out to push her against the seat as the trap veered off the main path onto a narrower side road.
“Help!!” Imogen decided if she could not jump, she could at least scream. “Help!”
Mr. Sutton grabbed her by the hair, pulling her against him as he hauled back on the reins, causing the trap to bounce to a stop. Now Imogen felt herself turned and yanked against him, his gloved hand so tight over her mouth she could hardly breathe.
“I could break your pretty neck with just a twist of my hand, you spoiled little chit.” He wrenched her head just enough to emphasize the point before relaxing. “And mark me, if you scream again, that may be what I do.” Slowly he released his hand from her mouth.
