“Oh?”
“Half these ladies are escorted by officers or husbands who could have you flogged to death if you even breathed on ’em. Now that leaves about half to choose from. Older ladies have a great fascination with younger men, Tad,” Lewrie said, piling tasty morsels onto a plate. “And should one of those take a fancy to you, while her husband is off doing something grand for King and Country, and discover that it’s your first time, I swear you may not survive her kindness.”
“Oh, I didn’t consider a married lady, Alan. That would be a sin. I thought we’d find a young whore. I mean, doing it with a married lady would be a mortal sin.” Tad fidgeted.
“Would it be a sin with a widow?” Lewrie asked, nibbling on some shrimp as they grazed their way down the long food-laden table.
“Well … I’m not sure.” Tad fidgeted some more.
“There are all kinds of widows, Purnell. This hock is iced, by God. Marvelous.”
“You were talking about widows,” Tad said, taking a glass of wine without caring what it was.
“Well, some have lost their mates to the Grim Reaper, naturally,” Lewrie said, leading him to a quiet corner where they could munch and drink without being trampled by the crowd, “but there are some widows who have lost their husbands … some become enamored of someone prettier, or younger, or they have chased after their careers or money or a peerage to the total exclusion of their wives’ happiness. They have committed the greatest sin you can inflict on a woman still ripe and comely, Tad. They have shunned them, ignored them, denied them.”
“Well, I suppose, if the husband was really tired of her…”
“Consider a woman who enjoys a romp, and affection and loving, all the folderol … being cast aside like an orange that has been sucked dry. There is a woman who is as much a widow as the natural kind, mourning the loss of everything she staked her life on, and some of them are just aching to get their own back. Somewhere here, tonight, Tad, there are women exactly like that, just waiting to find a strapping little chub like you,” Lewrie beguiled, nigh mystically.
Purnell’s eyes cut about the room. He finished his wine in two sips. “But what if she doesn’t find me attractive, or I don’t like her, or something?”
“We shall do our best for you, Tad. Now go slow on the wine. You need oysters and some of those spicy kickshaws to raise the heat of your blood. And we can chat up a few now, ’cause we’re going to get seated far below the salt at this party.”
* * *
Their end of the long table was definitely below the salt. The rich, the high-ranking and the glittering were near the head of the dining room on either side of Sir Richard and Lord Cantner in plum satin, and his wife, who was a raven beauty with an adventurous look to her eyes. No wonder the old monkey brought her, Lewrie thought; were she my wife I wouldn’t let her out of the room by herself …
Their closest dinner companions were less impressive socially, an older couple from the Customs, a magistrate and his wife, a matron named Gordon with her daughter, both of whom would serve, if one didn’t mind “country-puts.”
Purnell was seated next to a sleepy old gentleman said to be some sort of banker—it didn’t matter much because he could barely open an eye to survey his plate. But on Purnell’s other side was a lean older woman named Mrs. Hillwood who at one time must have been a great blond beauty. During the course of conversation they learned that her “lawful blanket” was off in the wilds inland doing plantation-type things, and had been for some months. To Alan’s left was a woman named Haymer, a short, plump and fetching woman in her late thirties, Lewrie guessed, done up nicely in white taffeta with burgundy ribbons and flounces. It seemed her husband was also off on business in the Americas. Hmm … possibles? Alan thought.
Halfway through dinner Lewrie had to nudge Purnell to open his mouth and speak to Mrs. Hillwood instead of feeding like a beast. He felt a kick back under the table, and looked up to glare at Tad, but instead met the steady gaze of Mrs. Hillwood.
“That appears such succulent pork before you, Mister Lewrie,” Mrs. Haymer said to his left. “Do be a dear and carve me a small slice.”
“Delighted, Mrs. Haymer. In fact, I may assay a bit myself.” As she offered her plate to him, she leaned toward him, pressing her bosom against his arm. We’re aboard! he exulted.
“How clumsy of me,” she said, dropping her napkin.
“I’ll fetch it. Allow me,” he offered, bending over and wondering if he should attempt a small squeeze right away. But in reaching for it, Mrs. Haymer’s hand brushed his thigh, and stayed to linger.
“Such a wonderful texture,” she sighed, after chewing a bite of her pork. “I think it is dreadful that poor young sailors such as you never get any fresh food.”
“It is a great trial, ma’am,” he sighed right back. “And then there are Banyan Days, when not even a morsel of meat is served, no matter how long in-cask.”
“Scandalous,” she replied, locking her gaze firmly on his eyes. “How relieved you must be to dine well when ashore.”
“Indeed, ma’am,” he told her softly, shifting his gaze to her ample bosom, “the mere sight of all this bounty has raised quite a passion in me to eat my fill without inhibition.”
That bosom heaved deeply at his words, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She hoisted her glass and drank deep.
“We were happy that our captain received Sir Richard’s invitation,” Lewrie went on. “Poor sailors are dependent on the generosity of others for such a feast.”
Lewrie glanced about the table to see if his wooing was making any comment, but the sleepy old gentleman had succumbed to wine fumes, and sat snoring with a hand clawed about the stem of his empty glass. The Gordons did appear mildly shocked and were busy looking elsewhere, as though Mrs. Haymer was “no better than she ought to be” and had tried this on before. Mrs. Hillwood across the table gave him a barely noticeable shrug, then turned her attentions to Tad. Her left hand went below the table, and young Tad suddenly looked as though he was about to strangle.
“You must rejoin your ship tonight, Mister Lewrie?” Mrs. Haymer asked in a very soft voice.
“Sir Richard and my captain are old friends, ma’am. He has offered us the hospitality of his house for the night.”
“How generous of our host. I am told that he is scandalously rich and has the most blessed luck at getting ships across the ocean without loss. I admire generosity.”
“In the giving or in the receiving, ma’am?”
“Both,” she said, dimpling prettily and blushing. “The gardens here are most beautiful. Too bad you could not see them in daylight.”
“A cool stroll in a fresh garden would be delightful, no matter the hour, ma’am…” Lewrie purred.
* * *
With dinner over, the ladies retired for first shot at the jakes, then coffee and cards, while the men shuffled down to the head of the table to talk and drink and smoke. Waiters produced an ocean of port, and opened the sideboards to place chamber pots below the table within range of those gentlemen who felt the call.
Lewrie and Purnell stayed long enough for a glass of port, then sneaked out. Being nobodies, none of the company would miss them. Alan was almost reeling with the bounty they had been offered—he had not seen a dinner like that in a year: spicy soup, fresh green salads, beef, chicken, pork, two kinds of fish, rabbit, veal, geese, hot bread, native yams, local kickshaws and made dishes for removes, corn, potatoes, beans and peas, a wine with each course, lovely fresh cheese, and extra-fine biscuits and nuts. Even limiting himself to a mere sliver of everything, following Captain Osmonde’s advice, he felt uncomfortably tight around the middle.
Thankfully, once they joined the ladies, there was strong coffee or tea with fresh milk and sugar.
Mrs. Haymer was happy to join him on the veranda with a cup of coffee as the older couples made their goodbyes and clattered off in their carriages. The younger bucks and their girls were also going, but m
any people were staying on for the music and cards, and the chance of a cold supper later, with more wine.
“You said something about the gardens, I believe, ma’am,” Lewrie prodded, and Mrs. Haymer allowed him to offer his arm and lead her off the veranda into the fragrant night air. It was really much cooler in the gardens, once past the glow of the house lights in the darkness of flowering shrubs and bushes and planters.
“I do believe there is a maze hereabouts, with some stone benches where we may rest, Mister Lewrie. If you would allow me to lead?”
They eventually discovered a cul-de-sac surrounded by flowers, and a small grove hidden by the turn in the path. In the center of the grove was a large round stone table, surrounded by curved stone benches. They seated themselves in the companionable darkness, Lewrie offering his coat to protect her dress from the bench. He put an arm behind her on the table and leaned toward her, able to smell her. Their thighs were touching through the vastness of her skirts; their shoulders were touching. She turned toward him slightly.
“Is it not a beautiful night, Mister Lewrie? The stars in these climes are so clear and lovely.” She began their “play.”
“I see enough stars at sea. I’d much rather gaze on your beauty,” he smarmily responded.
“Mister Lewrie, I cannot imagine what you can be thinking of!” she ventured to giddily protest.
“Of the glory that is you, Mrs. Haymer,” he said, leaning closer, which she did not object to.
“I must protest, young sir,” she said, but not too loudly. “I am a married woman, and you are such a boy—”
“Call me Alan,” he whispered.
“All right … Alan. But had I known that you intended to woo me when we set out from the house I would not have allowed you. Why, what must people think of my good name? And my husband is a most jealous man. He would most likely kill you, did he discover you had even gotten me alone.”
“I shall risk your husband’s temper, Mrs. Haymer. And we are quite alone and private here. What is your name, my dear?” he said, putting his arm along her shoulders.
“Margaret, if you must know, but—”
“Margaret, so womanly, so lovely, soft…”
“Alan, I fear you have misjudged me,” she said, making no move to break away. “I could not hazard your young life, and we must not tempt each other like this … my husband would shoot you dead—”
“I must taste your lips, and hang the danger,” he said. He brushed her mouth with his, kissed her eyes, cheeks, then took possession of her lips and felt her tremble a little. She raised her face to him, a hand came up to hold the back of his head. She began to moan and make cooing sounds. He brought up his free hand and caressed a restrained breast.
“God, we must not do this,” she said weakly against his neck as he bent to kiss her shoulders. “I forbid you!”
And so saying, her arms encircled him, and she leaned back against the edge of the table as he slid and squirmed to press more of her against him. A leg came up to caress him as he slid his free hand down to her buttocks.
I’m going to snap my spine or hers like this, he thought, getting to his feet and pulling her with him so they could fit together for their full length. She stood on tiptoe to match him, and ground her belly into him as he squeezed down through all the material of her gown, trying to find flesh to press on her backside.
“Alan, I demand that you cease now.” She shuddered. “We must not persist in this, I … I shall resist you, with force, if necessary—”
His reply was to free her breasts and bend down to press his face into her apple-dumpling shop, noting that her nipples were rock-hard and her bosom all warm and soft.
He seated her on the table and knelt on a bench before her, and she parted her thighs for him. His fingers were busy with the back of her sack gown while hers opened his waistcoat, and their lips ground against each other, bringing a salty taste. She gasped as he lifted her gown and all her petticoats and stepped closer, struggling with the buttons of his straining breeches.
“You will witness that I was forced!” she said in a soft voice as he slid her forward toward him and found her wet and slick and open for him. She gasped and squealed as he entered her deep, and clung to him fierce as a new bride as he began slowly pumping away. After a while she began to sob and gnaw on his shoulder, and lifted her legs about his waist to hold him closer to her.
“Oh God, my husband shall surely kill you for this, oh God, yes he shall, oh … Alan,” and much more in the same vein. A moment later she squealed in delicious transport and melted to him as he stood between her thighs until his own release exploded into her.
She insisted he was a heartless ravisher, but helped as they explored the cool surface of the table, knelt on a bench before him as he stood behind her ahold of her hips; she cried softly for mercy as she drew him down on the grass in only corset and stockings, to ride Saint George above him, her heavy breasts dangling in his palms while she galloped as frenzied as a huntsman riding hell-for-leather for a distant steeple while he looked up at the stars and her crumpled face. Between bouts she fought him without strength, swore he was sure to be killed for ravishing her, that he had tempted her weak and vulnerable nature …
It was midnight before they felt sated enough to dress and head back to the veranda. The dinner and card party was still going strong as people got drunker and louder. Music played and some danced.
“I must go now,” she said, attempting to adjust her wig and hat. “Don’t see me in. I would die of shame, I must look ravaged.”
“Use my room to rearrange yourself, dear,” Alan said, still eager to use her more, “we can send down for cold wine, perhaps a bite of supper. You can’t go home like this, or face the company so mussed.”
“You must swear that you shall not abuse me further. What you have done is mortal sin enough. Oh, I must make myself presentable … only to save my honor, will I go upstairs. Promise me—” Mrs. Haymer dithered.
“I promise.” He looked about for Kenyon, Tad, or their host, but they were not present. The servant Cassius approached.
“I shall be retiring shortly, Cassius,” Lewrie said. “I’d admire some cold hock and something from the supper. Before that, light us up. This lady tripped and fell while taking the air in the gardens and she would like to freshen up before going home.”
“Yas, sah,” Cassius said with a knowing expression. He summoned a tiny linkboy with a candelabra who led them toward the side stairs as Margaret went on. “I thank you for the kind offer of your room so I may rearrange myself, Mister Lewrie. I promise I shan’t delay your retiring any more than I can help…”
The room was small but pleasant, fitted with a washhand stand and mirror, chest, armoire and a table and two chairs by the veranda doors. The bed was high, curtained with thin cloth to keep insects off during the night. The linkboy lit two candles and stepped out into the hall, Lewrie following to complete the sham as Margaret began to attend to her makeup and dress.
The boy went down the stairs with the candelabra, leaving Lewrie alone in the dark hall, listening to the sounds of the house. Within few minutes the boy was back, as Cassius ascended the stairs with a tray bearing a chilled bottle of hock, glistening and dripping dew, a covered server redolent of tongue, ham and roast chicken, two plates and two glasses. Cassius knocked on the door and was admitted. Margaret blushed even further when she saw the tray and its contents, and glared at Lewrie in the doorway.
“I shall not discommode you further, Mister Lewrie,” she said.
“Take your time, madam. I am quite happy to wait in the hall until you have completed your toilet,” he offered to her dignity.
“I wait ’n’ light the lady down, sah?” Cassius asked.
“I shall do that, no bother,” Lewrie told him, and the servant gave him a slight nod on his way out. Lewrie stepped out into the dark hall to protect her reputation, at least until the servants had made their way down the stairs. Once they were out of sigh
t, Alan started to reenter the room but was taken by the sight of a dark lady at the end of the hall, clad in a thin gown, making her way surreptitiously from one room to another, and from the stealthy way she handled the doorknobs and avoided creaks, she was most practiced at country-house games. In the shadows he was unseen, and grinned with delight as he saw that the lady bore a striking resemblance to Lady Cantner!
He scratched at his own door, and not hearing any answer, turned the knob and entered. Mrs. Haymer had seated herself in front of a small minor redoing her makeup, and still wore her wig and hat.
“I really am going to go, Alan,” she said. “I am not a guest in this house. We must end this charade. You have done enough…”
He stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage her neck. She relaxed and leaned back against him. He bent down and kissed her shoulders. “Like hell I have.”
“No, Alan … do not tempt me further, please.”
He raised his hands and lifted her wig off, hat and all. She had cut her hair short for the heat of the tropics, little longer than his. He pulled her to her feet and linked his arms around her from behind, massaging her breasts through her corset and gown.
“I mean to have you in a real bed, so I can look at all of you, so I can get at all of you—”
“No, there isn’t time, I must go—”
He hoisted her gown and pressed his aching groin against the pillow-softness of her buttocks, fitting between the mounds.
Take your time, spoon ’em up with kisses and cream and they’ll sit on it like it was the crown jewels. Give ’em half a choice an’ you can whistle before they’d let you. But tell ’em, and they melt. Some of ’em, anyway …
One hand held a breast, one hand pressed at the base of her belly, twining in the mossy growth still damp with their passion. It was a matter of moments to have her out of her gown, to shuck his own rags, to peel her stockings off, unlace her corset and tumble into bed on top of her. As though mesmerized, she allowed herself to be opened, to be molded and kissed and stroked into panting ruin once more, and then again, and again …
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