The Earl and the Governess: An Erotic Romance

by Alison Shaw

  “What?” Johnson murmured, stretching slightly,

  Rafe moaned, long and loud. The whore was now jacking his shaft in her hand as she sucked on the head of his cock. “She's sucking my cock,” he managed to say as his hips thrust upwards. “I'm going to come!”

  Johnson jerked upwards, fully awake now and he yanked the sheet away to reveal a naked girl, her mouth full of cock.

  “Fuck,” Johnson said in wonder and Rafe cried out the same thing as his thick morning cum pumped into her mouth.

  “Have you seen Lola?” Henry Barnes was already asking as he burst into the room, and then realised what was before him. “Oh,” he said as he saw the girl he was looking for straddling Rafe's legs, cum dripping from the corner of her mouth. She looked a little dazed. “Oh,” he said again, this time laughing, especially as he saw the looks on the men's faces. They looked more than dazed. They looked stupified. “Naughty Lola,” he chided as he walked to the bed and taking her hand tried to drag her away. “He's getting married today!”

  Lola giggled. She didn't seem terribly contrite. Henry looked over his shoulder as he pulled her out of the room, the cheeky whore waggling her fingers at both of them. “We're due at the church in an hour, you'd better make haste.”

  “Tell Lola to stay put!” Johnson shouted after him. “Once I get his Lordship dressed, I'd like to punish her for her outrageous behaviour.”

  Rafe gave a grunt of disgust.

  “What?” Johnson asked innocently. “You can hardly complain. You are about to get married after all.”

  As the carriage made its way to St George's, Rafe felt nothing but numbness. Henry grinned beside him, clearly delighted to finally be attending the wicked Earl of Langham's wedding.

  “I never thought I would see this day,” he said for the hundredth time.

  “God, you sound like my mother,” Rafe complained. A dull headache was pounding behind one of his eyes. It had been there since yesterday.

  “And what a way to go out, my man!” Henry crowed. “In bed with a servant and a whore on your wedding day! I applaud you.”

  Rafe grimaced. He had not intended to spend the night before his wedding in such a way but it seemed debauched habits died hard, especially when one was as unhappy as he was.

  Yes, he was unhappy, desperately and miserably unhappy. He had finally accepted the fact and it was far too late to do anything about it. He was about to bind himself to a woman he hated, a woman who had his balls in her grasping little hands because he still desired her. He just couldn't help himself. It was an impossibly dismal situation.

  Only yesterday she had pursed her perfect little rosebud of a mouth at him, gripped his arm tightly and said, "I want you to dismiss your valet." And when he had asked her why, she had merely said, "I don't like him, and if you don't dismiss him there are certain embargos I can exercise." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to go to hell but then he remembered his mother, and the necessity to continue the Langham line and the reason he was marrying her in the first place.

  He knew why she wanted Johnson dismissed. Ever since their engagement she had been pursuing his valet as if she were still a fifteen year old desperate to be rid of her virginity. Luckily for Rafe, Johnson had kept him informed of her increasing desperation and all the methods she used to try to entrap him; how she would wait for him in darkened corridors and thrust her breasts against him, how when he was standing to attention in public rooms, she would sometimes snake her hand under the tails of his coat and squeeze his backside. Johnson was not enjoying being harrassed in this way. Surely it should be him doing the harrassing he wanted to know. Rafe was just grateful that he had not resigned. He had been on the verge of doing so several times.

  But now it seemed that Rafe was being forced to dismiss him, and the thought made the pain in his temple throb mercilessly.

  They arrived at the church far too soon and Rafe made his way down the red-carpeted aisle to the altar where the vicar was waiting patiently. As was customary, the only people in attendance were Henry, his uncle, his cousin Sophie and Lydia's mother. His mother had not been able to face the journey south. It seemed she was charging his uncle with ensuring the ceremony went ahead.

  Rafe smiled tightly at Sophie who beamed at him from beneath a pretty little white bonnet. The sight of her reminded him of Charlotte. Most things reminded him of Charlotte. Over the last two months he had missed her with such desperation that he felt like one of his limbs had been amputated. It was odd, because when he had been with her he had never felt this intensity of emotion, he had merely been very happy and content, but now she was gone he felt bereft.

  There was a noise behind them and everyone looked round to see Lydia coming down the aisle on her father's arm. She was radiant in a white dress, her golden curls arranged in ringlets over her head, and roses in her hair. As she approached she fixed Rafe with a determined stare and he felt the thudding in his head grow louder like the ominous beating of a drum. It banged in his head, drowning out all thought and he opened his mouth and said, “I can't do this.”

  “What did you say, Rafe?” Sophie asked in her gentle voice.

  “I can't do this,” he said much louder and pushing past Lydia he fled down the aisle and into the bustle of Hanover Square.

  Once home he locked and bolted the doors, told the butler to give all the servants the day off and fled upstairs, where he found Johnson naked in his rumpled bed, his mouth clamped round one of Lola's nipples.

  “What...?” Johnson spluttered but Rafe was too busy ripping off his clothes to explain.

  Even Lola seemed curious. “But sir, I thought you were getting married!” she said as he grabbed her waist and pushed her down onto the bed, more than willing to repay her favour of this morning. She didn't seem to mind that he still hadn't explained as he pushed her legs apart and sucked her clitoris into his mouth.

  Johnson remained seated, his prick rising hard on his ridged abdomen, his mouth wide open.

  Lola was moaning now as Rafe pulled back and watched two of his fingers sink inside her and then pull out, slick and coated with her juices. “Fuck,” he said and he looked at his valet. “What are you doing still sitting there?” he asked him. “Come over here and let her suck you off. She's pretty good at it.”

  “But...” Johnson stammered.

  Rafe sat back on his haunches and smiled. “I couldn't go through with it,” he finally explained and shuffling towards his valet he held his face gently in his hand and kissed him. “I couldn't lose you again.”

  Chapter 32

  The Governess has Secrets

  In which the governess finds herself reluctant to come clean.

  Charlotte looked up at the townhouse. It was in an expensive and fashionable area of London and was certainly large but it was much less grand than she had expected. It had an air of neglect. All the curtains were drawn even though it was mid day, and on closer inspection, Charlotte could see the windows were streaked and dull with dirt. Even so, the flight of steps at the front was steep and the door imposing enough to cause her to pause and almost change her mind. She had no business to be here, no business at all. All her life she had expected to take care of herself but here she was about to ask for charity and it took all her strength to take hold of the huge brass knocker and let go.

  It hit the heavy wood of the door with a resounding bang, but after a long moment nothing happened. Charlotte lifted the knocker again and this time someone slid open the covering to a peephole in the door and slid it closed again. For a moment she thought that that was it and she would have to turn away and make her long journey back to her miserably cold rented room, but there was the sound of bolts being removed and the huge door slowly creaked open.

  Charlotte gasped at who was standing there in the gloomy doorway and how casually he was attired. He was dressed in just a shirt and breeches, his neck shockingly bare. The top buttons of the shirt were open revealing the smooth brown skin of his collarbone, but his chin w
as freshly shaven, his hair neat and slicked back and there was a big, delighted grin on his handsome face.

  “Eddie!” she said. “But where's the butler?”

  Ignoring her question he reached out and pulled her inside, quickly closing the door behind her and redoing all the bolts.

  It was dark in the unlit hallway and she stood stock still listening to Johnson's breathing as he secured the door. He turned to her and said very close to her ear, “Most of the servants have gone. It was the scandal you see. They didn't want to be associated with it.”

  Of course Charlotte had heard about Rafe jilting his bride at the altar. It was all anyone could talk about for weeks. Sophie's father had banned any mention of it at Langham House, but the servants had whispered the details when they went about their work and Charlotte had so longed to know how he was. And now she was here, although not for information only.

  “Why are you here Charlotte?” Johnson asked, his finger catching hold of a lock of hair that had escaped her tight chignon. “I've missed you, you know.”

  She could feel her eyes pricking with tears and was grateful it was far too dark for him to see.

  “His Lordship has missed you too,” he added.

  Oh, this was too much. She had not expected kindness and courtesy, and certainly not from Johnson who was usually so distant and pragmatic. He still smelled of spice and cheroots she realised as his lips brushed her forehead.

  “Where is he? Is he here?” she asked.

  He turned to light a candle that stood on a nearby table, then taking her hand he led the way up the dark stairs and along a corridor. Opening a door, he led her inside.

  The room was large with a high ceiling and lit brightly by candles. The bed was huge with a red velvet canopy and in the centre of rumpled white sheets lay Rafe's naked form, his back broad and softly glowing in the candlelight, his buttocks barely covered.

  “Is he alright?” she cried.

  Johnson placed the candle on a sideboard. “Yes, don't worry, he's just asleep,” he laughed softly and sitting on the bed he lay a hand on Rafe's shoulder. Rafe muttered something in his sleep and turned over. He was still beautiful, Charlotte thought, and then noticed the beard on his chin and the length of his dark hair.

  He stretched and opened his eyes, looking straight at Johnson and smiling that lazy grin that she had thought about so often.

  “Hello,” he said. “Where have you been? Come back to bed.”

  Johnson merely said gently, “We have a visitor.”

  Rafe's sleepy eyes managed to look past Johnson and opened wide as he saw Charlotte. He sat upright, the sheet slipping away from him. “Charlotte!” he said in amazement. “Is it really you?”

  “Yes,” she stammered, stunned both by what he had said to his valet and his naked beauty.

  Johnson stood up. “I'll leave you alone,” he said and swiftly exited the room.

  “Come here Charlotte,” Rafe said. “Let me see you.”

  She wobbled towards the bed on unsteady legs, unable to take her eyes off him. She had thought Johnson was physically perfect, but Rafe was every bit as beautiful and her brain seemed to have completely stopped functioning in the glare of his unabashed nudity.

  “Come closer,” he said. “Come and sit next to me.”

  She did as he asked, her trembling hands folded in her lap as she perched on the side of the bed. He laughed, with an impossibly sexy huskiness.

  “Oh Charlotte, why so shy?” and he moved towards her, his heat coming closer and closer and she felt his lips settle on the bare skin of her nape. “God, I've missed you,” he said and suddenly she found herself flat on her back with his hands pulling out her pins and his lips covering her face with hot kisses, his knee pressing between her legs.

  “Oh, Rafe,” she moaned under him as her hands roamed over his bare back, feeling the tight muscles beneath silky smooth skin.

  He was efficiently stripping her of her clothes, peeling off her dress, unhooking her corset, sliding her stockings down her legs and before she could regain her senses it was too late and she was lying before him naked and his hands were pushing her thighs apart and his hot tongue was inside her.

  She threw back her head and moaned as he suckled on her sensitive folds, his fingers joining the delicious torture, pumping in and out of her as he watched her face avidly and smiled as she came apart.

  She fell asleep in his arms, as she attempted to remember why she was here. It could wait, she thought drowsily, there was no hurry.

  Charlotte woke later to find Johnson pulling off his breeches, his chest already bare. He held his finger over his lips and shushed her, then lifting the sheet got into bed beside her and tucking his hands under his cheek, grinned at her.

  She could feel Rafe's sleeping form pressed against her back and hardly dared breathe.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed.

  He placed his hand on her waist and ran it up to her breast which he caressed and then rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Charlotte gritted her teeth. She couldn't move in fear of waking Rafe, and Johnson's touch was causing all kinds of unwanted reactions in her loins.

  “He'll wake up,” she whispered, biting back a groan as Johnson's wicked finger trailed down her belly towards her pubic hair.

  Her hips involuntarily bucked and she heard Rafe's sleep drenched voice say, “He's already awake.”

  But Johnson just stayed where he was, seemingly unconcerned, his dark eyes amused at Charlotte's discomfort. Rafe's head lifted and rested on Charlotte's shoulder. “Tell me I'm not dreaming,” he said.

  “You're not dreaming,” Johnson said, his grin becoming broader and dirtier, and then he leant forward and took Charlotte's lips with his, her gasp of shocked swallowed by his hot mouth feeding on hers.

  Charlotte felt Rafe's hands caress her bottom and then move over her hips to join Johnson's so their fingers were intertwined and she couldn't tell whose fingers were pushing inside her, wetness already leaking onto her thighs as Johnson's hungry mouth continued to plunder hers.

  Then she felt the thick head of Rafe's cock pressing between her thighs and she gasped, “Oh yes!” as he pushed inside her.

  Johnson pulled his mouth away from hers to lean back and watch them fucking, the fascinated arousal on his face driving Charlotte to moan and push back against Rafe, encouraging him to drive deeper, which he did, taking hold of her hips and furiously hammering his hard cock into her, faster and faster. Her attention was suddenly caught by Johnson's thick cock, lying angry and purple on his belly so she reached out, took him in her hand and stroked him firmly until they were all coming together in a cacophany of moans and fountains of cum splashing the sheets.

  When Charlotte returned from the water closet, she found Rafe and Johnson lying on their sides facing each other, Johnson trailing a finger across Rafe's bottom lip and she was suddenly struck by a revelation. That was the connection that she and Eddie Johnson shared! Rafe was the connection. They both loved Rafe and had done for quite some time. Her hand automatically strayed to her stomach, slightly more taught and rounder than it used to be. If only she knew which of them was the father.

  Chapter 33

  The Earl Leaves

  In which our regency rake turns his back on society.

  The Earl of Langham stood transfixed in the doorway of his own bedroom gazing at the magnificent man lying naked in tangled white sheets, his sheets. Thin shafts of winter sunlight eased through the tiny gap in the curtains and caressed his flawless skin. His black hair curled enticingly on the pillow, and his dark eyelashes fluttered. He looked so young and innocent that Rafe's heart gave a great heave. Then his erstwhile valet spoilt the illusion by stretching in his sleep, and possessively cupping the small breast of the girl that lay beside him. She opened her eyes and seeing the large hand caressing her, promptly turned round, shoved her own hand under the sheet and grabbed hold of what appeared to be, as far as Rafe could make out, a sizeable erection.

  J
ohnson groaned deliciously and without even opening his eyes, he grabbed the girl by the back of the head and pushed her down his taught stomach to where her hand was curled round his thick shaft, now revealed in all its considerable glory. As her lips closed around him, he opened his eyes and looked straight at Rafe.

  His voice was rough with sleep as he said, “I told her to stay away, but...” and he looked down at where the girl was enthusiastically devouring his cock.

  Rafe hardly failed to notice that Johnson did not exactly look contrite, his full lips curling up into a self-satisfied smile as Lola continued to ignore Rafe's presence. He looked like the proverbial cat that had got the cream, a very large and pampered tomcat. Rafe could hardly blame the girl. If he, the wicked Earl of Langham, could not resist Eddie Johnson, a teenaged whore was hardly going to have the resolve to keep away from the blasted man. Blazes, he hated him sometimes.

  “Stop scowling,” Johnson said, biting back a moan, “And take your clothes off.”

  Half an hour later all three of them lay naked in tangled sheets, legs and arms entwined, goose bumps appearing on cooling skin.

  “The fire needs stoking,” Rafe complained, attempting to shrug the slumped Lola off his chest.