On These Silken Sheets

by Sabrina Darby

  Carolina clutched at the teacup. The delicate brew had managed to calm her stomach, but her father’s pacing did nothing to help the dizziness.

  “I am proud of you, Carolina,” Hargreaves said, pausing by the fireplace. His long, chiseled face looked almost jovial. “Both men have come to me quite adamant that they want you as their wife. Sir Robert is wealthy enough to make up for the discrepancy in rank, so I’ll let you have your choice. Whom do you prefer?”

  Sir Robert, with his compact, wiry body, pushing his cock between the fat woman’s breasts, stuck in her mind. Despite herself she was somewhat aroused by the sexual image. She was realizing that some configurations of humans engaged in sexual acts she found more titillating in her mind, distant from reality, than she did actually seeing them in action. When she had thought again about Lord Stanley Broughton and Lord Sedgwick, their bodies moving so fluidly, muscles flexing, her quim had grown heavy and moist at that image too.

  But she didn’t want Sir Robert. She didn’t want the man inside her or to wake up to him beside her every day. Beyond that, she knew that he would not be faithful.

  Carolina had come to realize that that mattered to her.

  “I believe I would be happiest with the earl,” she answered softly.

  Hargreaves was silent a moment, studying her face. Then he clapped his hands and smiled.

  “The earl it will be then. And you shall be a countess.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  That evening, watching Carolina dance with Oakley twice in a row and then again an hour later, Henry knew what she hadn’t yet told him. The man had proposed and she had accepted.

  It rankled him, though he knew it shouldn’t. She wouldn’t marry the man for months, and even when she did, despite what she had said, he could convince her to forget her morality. He had already, hadn’t he?

  It still bothered him. He hated the idea of another man’s hands on her, another man’s lips on her, of her doing anything to please any other man.

  And she would try to please her husband. Despite her attraction to Henry, he knew that much about her: she would do everything she could to make the marriage work. He felt ill at the very thought.

  He was uncharacteristically possessive of her.

  He should have forced himself away the minute Carolina had become a habit, something, someone, he depended on. But Henry had never been good at denying himself anything.

  The song was almost over. There was maybe a minute more of the country dance. Henry made his way across the ballroom to where Agathe stood. The next dance would be his.

  “Stanton!” Agathe cried, turning from her female friend and taking his arm, leading him a few steps away as if it were his idea to walk. “It’s always such a delight to talk to you!” In a much quieter voice she added, “and thank you for getting me away from Mrs. Abernathy!”

  “I am always happy to be of service, Mrs. Mustlewhaithe,” Henry said, indulgently.

  “Don’t I know it?” she responded coyly. “But of course, those days are past.”

  “A pity,” Henry agreed, playing the game, though any attraction he’d harbored for Agathe had run its course years ago, swiftly, as his passions always did. “How is your husband?”

  “Missing me dreadfully, naturally,” she said, batting her eyelashes. “But he will see me soon, as I have succeeded in my service to my brother. Carolina is engaged.” She paused and he knew clearly that he was supposed to inquire to whom.

  “Lord Oakley, I presume, is the lucky man?”

  “You’ve been watching closely,” Agathe’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “But then, I suppose, we have seen a great deal of you this season.”

  “Such charming company,” Henry said simply.

  “Yes, well.” Agathe studied the dance floor where Carolina and Oakley were just performing their final bow and curtsey. “I had wondered at one point if you were thinking of taking a wife. Your admiration for Carolina has been quite clear.”

  Henry laughed, but even to his ears, the sound was hollow. “I would think my admiration of a beautiful young woman would always be clear.”

  He too watched as the couple grew nearer. Carolina’s arm rested lightly on Oakley’s sleeve. Her head was inclined slightly, as if she listened intently to whatever the earl was saying. And Henry knew the very moment when she saw him standing by her aunt. Her eyes widened, brightening, her face lighting up just before she schooled her expression into a more placid look.

  That light had been for him and a strange joy Henry had never before felt unfurled in his chest. What would it be like to always be greeted with that look? Despite his tumultuous emotions, he managed to do the pretty.

  “Congratulations, Oakley, on your very good luck.”

  “Thank you, Stanton.” Oakley grinned. “I’m quite delighted.”

  “Do you mind if I dance with your affianced bride?” It rankled Henry to have to ask, to give precedence to this pup in his overly perfect clothes.

  “I would be delighted, Lord Stanton,” Carolina said quickly but looked to Oakley for approval. Henry’s jaw clenched tightly.

  Oakley nodded.

  “I don’t know how anyone could dance in here anymore,” Agathe complained. “It’s so terribly hot.”

  Henry held out his arm and Carolina glided toward him. The moment the slight weight of her hand rested on his sleeve, all the tension left him. The world had righted itself and Carolina was where she belonged.

  He escorted her to the dance, away from Oakley. And the moment the crowd separated them from view, he led her out onto the terrace.

  “Henry, what are you doing?” Carolina asked, startled. “We can’t be seen out here, not now.”

  “We’re hardly alone,” Henry returned, though he was scouring the deep shadows, looking for a place where they could be. It wasn’t safe, he knew, but he couldn’t explain what possessed him. He needed her. He needed to be inside her.

  Then he saw what he wanted, on the side closest to the ballroom doors, a set of stairs half obscured by a potted plant. Service stairs, leading down to the kitchens and cellars but not in use tonight. Slowly he inched her toward them. Luck was with him. No one was watching and he gestured for Carolina to precede him, sliding past the plant, down into the darkness.

  The uneven brick at the bottom was further obscured by an ivy-covered trellis, and here Henry gently pushed Carolina down.

  “We shouldn’t do this, Henry, I’m engaged,” she protested.

  “You’re not married yet,” he said gruffly. “Take your gloves off and place your hands on the fourth step.” He slid her skirts up even as she did what he said.

  He stared at her round bottom for a moment, bare above her silk stockings. He ran his hands down the heart shaped curve and at the juncture where her thighs met, the gleaming slit with its thatch of curls. He cupped her moist heat in his hand, enjoying her muffled cry.

  With his other hand he fumbled with his buttons, impatient to free himself, to be inside her. Finally the cloth fell, and his cock stood free, pulsing and painfully hard.

  He leaned close to her, guiding his cock forward, until the head rested at her folds. Closing his eyes and savoring the sensation, he slid home.

  He groaned at the pleasure and held her hips firmly, staying still deep inside of her.

  “Thank you, Oakley,” Agathe’s voice wafted down to them from the overhead terrace. “It was getting so dreadfully hot in there, I just needed a breath of air.”

  Carolina stiffened in Henry’s arms and she looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fright.

  Henry smiled, that wicked smile, and a fierce triumph filled him. If it was possible, his cock grew even larger inside her. The thought of him fucking her with her fiancé a mere ten feet away was a powerfully erotic one. She was his.

  He slowly pulled out till just the tip of his cock was inside her. Then swiftly, he thrust back in, hard, making her gasp.

  “These affairs can get tediously crowd
ed,” Oakley agreed. “May I get you anything else? A lemonade?”

  Henry pumped in and out smoothly, working her cunt. He reached under her hips to play with her clit, to draw fast, firm circles over the little nub. The sound of his balls slapping against her seemed deafening.

  “No, no, I’m quite all right,” Agathe said.

  Carolina let out a soft little moan, and he felt her near her peak. She looked back at him helplessly, biting her lips. He swiveled his hips, moving his fingers faster.

  Carolina shuddered, her eyes rolling up and then her head flopping back forward as she started pulsing uncontrollably, clenching his cock with her climax, drawing his own out of him.

  He pumped hard—one, two, three times—and then released himself inside her, throwing his head back with a soundless roar.

  “So, what is this speech I hear you are going to give in the House tomorrow?” Agathe asked.

  “The reformers are trying to ruin our countryside,” Oakley said irritably. “But come, surely that’s not what you wish to speak of on such a lovely night?”

  Leaning over Carolina’s back, Henry kissed her neck and felt himself slip out of her hot sheath. He pushed up to keep himself in as long as possible, pistoning his hips in small thrusts.

  The stone staircase was cold and hard under Carolina’s bare palms but she stayed where she was, her breathing coming back to normal. She was afraid to move, afraid to make any noise with her fiancé still on the terrace.

  She felt Henry move against her, stimulating the still sensitive area. She swallowed. He was already semi-hard within her and she knew if they stayed there just a moment more, he’d be fully extended and rock hard.

  Dear Lord, he already was! But this hard length of him felt delicious. It felt so good to be filled up and stretched like that. His movements were slower now—long, languorous thrusts and retreats.

  She was so wet, filled with his first release and her own lubrications, that each movement created squishing sounds and she feared being discovered.

  “Shall we go back inside?” she heard her aunt say.

  As their footsteps retreated, Carolina let out a little moan.

  “Close, wasn’t it?” Henry teased, his hips doing little circles now.

  She tilted her head back just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye.

  “You’re wicked,” she chided, but the scolding was undermined by the soft, pleased curve of her lips.

  “Yes.” Henry breathed against her ear. “I’m very wicked. And I’ll show you just how when I come to you tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When the bright white light of morning burned across Henry’s eyes, he buried his head in the pillows and cursed his valet, Thompson. Was it too much to ask that the man draw the draperies at night?

  Of course, Henry knew it was his own fault that his situation was so slipshod. Living in rented rooms with a maid who came for a few hours a day when he had a perfectly good townhouse he could open up was his own fault.

  But he still thought of that place as James’s, and he didn’t have enough interest to do the entire overhaul the house would need in order to rid it of his brother’s hideous taste.

  From the position of the sun, Henry knew that it was past noon. He’d only made it into his bed at five that morning, having left Carolina’s bed dangerously late.

  He moved his hips against the bed, enjoying the feel of his cock filling with blood, rising up.

  He just couldn’t get enough of her. He was tempted to call on her, find a way to have her even in the middle of the afternoon, in the bright light of day.

  That would be a novelty. He smiled at the thought of how she would look, naked and laid out before him on the grass of his country estate. He imagined having her to himself for the entire day, being able to take his time about every detail of their encounter.

  He rolled on his back, flinging one arm over his eyes to block the sun, and grasping his cock with the other. He rubbed the dripping pre-cum over the entire length and then massaged the head.

  There was a small folly on the Yorkshire estate, faux ruins of a Norman castle. He imagined Carolina there, her creamy thighs spread before him, the sun gleaming on her glistening pussy. He could almost taste her on his tongue.

  He groaned, his hand moving faster—long, firm strokes.

  He’d part her plump lips, reveal the hard, pink little nub within, and the folds which would be slick with her pearly juices.

  His balls tightened, the blood roared in his cock and in his head. He cried out as he let loose, his semen spurting from him as he arched his back into the orgasm.

  He sunk back into the bed, his sticky hand flopping down onto the sheets.

  He may have come, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Congratulations, Hargreaves,” Henry greeted Alistair an hour later at White’s. “I heard of Carolina’s coup.”

  Alistair raised his eyebrows and Henry realized he’d slipped and used her Christian name.

  He shrugged. “More alliterative, don’t you think? Carolina’s coup rather than Miss Hargreaves’s?”

  “True,” Alistair agreed. “I’m proud of her. Oakley’s around here somewhere. Have a drink with us.”

  Which, of course, was the last thing Henry wanted.

  “I’m surprised he’s not with your daughter today.”

  “Agathe has taken Carolina on a shopping expedition. I believe I’ll be receiving a rather large bill from Madame Bellerosse this week,” Alistair said with a wry smile.

  Henry laughed with him but his mind worked quickly. He knew exactly where Madame Bellerosse was located. He also knew the location of her back door and had successfully executed little assignations there in the past.

  He thought of his morning’s fantasy and licked his lips.

  “You know, Alistair, I’d love to join you, but we’ll just have to do it later.”

  Henry made his exit as quickly as possible, before he ran into Lord Claddogh and Mr. Haverstock, with whom he had engaged for a drink. He stopped only to leave an apologetic note with one of the servants for those two men.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  If the devil was on his shoulder, the devil wanted him to have his way. After picking his way through the filthy mews, Henry slipped into the dressmaker’s workroom, startling the three seamstresses who sat there among sumptuous fabrics, sewing industriously.

  “I was never here.” He winked and flashed his smile, that one Carolina called wicked.

  The women tittered.

  “But, can you tell me, is Miss Hargreaves in the sitting room?”

  Arch, knowing looks all around, but one of the women spoke up, putting down her work.

  “I believe, sir, that she’s here with Mrs. Mustlewhaithe. I’ll just check and see where she is right now.”

  As the seamstress passed him, Henry slid a guinea into her hand and she bobbed a quick curtsey.

  After she left, Henry looked around the room, waiting impatiently. The other two women had returned to their work, but he felt their curious sidelong glances.

  Just when he was about ready to charge through the thick curtains separating them from the rest of the shop, the seamstress returned with a sly smile.

  “Miss Hargreaves is currently in the changing room. Alone,” she revealed. “I asked Lily the shop assistant to make sure Mrs. Mustlewhaithe was amply occupied for a good, um, ten minutes?”

  “Excellent work, ma’am,” Henry said admiringly. “I’m in your debt.”

  The seamstress blushed and led him through the break in the curtains. On the other side was another small room with two smaller curtained-off areas and a large, well-made mirror in between.

  The seamstress indicated the area to the left and then, giving a saucy wink, left him to his own devices.

  The curtain parted slightly, revealing the welcome sight of Carolina’s blue eyes. They widened upon seeing him, and then she opened the cu
rtains more and he slipped through.

  The room was crowded with silks and muslins. Two dresses hung on a hook against the wall and another lay in a heap on a bench.

  “You shouldn’t be here!” she whispered fiercely. “My aunt is just in the other room.”

  “That hasn’t stopped us before,” Henry returned, taking in the lovely view before him. She stood there in only her chemise and stockings. The fine linen covered her from shoulders to knees but it clung to her lush curves. “I woke up with the taste of you in my mouth.”

  Carolina’s lips parted and she closed her eyes.

  Henry took advantage of her silence and drew her into his arms. She pressed herself against him, fitting perfectly, and he bent his head, bringing his mouth to hers.

  “Sweet,” he breathed against her lips, “so sweet.”

  Then he broke away. He looked around the small space. The only place to sit was the bench, so he pushed her dress to the side, ignoring her protests.

  “Sit, love,” he whispered.

  “Henry,” she started, but he rested his forefinger to her lips.

  “Let me, Carolina, please.”

  Their eyes locked. After a long moment, she ran the pink point of her tongue down the length of his finger and then took the whole into her mouth, sucking.

  Henry swallowed hard. He supposed that was as good an answer as any. He slid his finger from her mouth and she backed up and slowly sat down on the bench.

  Henry knelt down on the floor in front of her, keeping his eyes on her face. He parted her smooth knees with the palms of his hands. Her breath was coming faster, anticipating.

  He looked down. Her chemise had ridden up, revealing the expanse of her thighs, more delectable than he had envisioned just that morning. He leaned down and kissed her at the place just above her stockings. He worked his way up her thigh, alternating long licks with hot, open-mouthed kisses until he was near enough to smell her musky scent.

  He pushed her chemise further up so that she was completely open to his view. Under the thatch of tight curls, the slit was wet with her arousal. Pearly juices already visible.