“The servants–” she said in a meek attempt to halt their passions.
“My valet knows better than to allow anyone to disturb me whilst I am occupied.”
Her eyes widened. “He knows?”
“Francis is very discreet,” he assured her, “and has been in my service during the whole of my time on the Continent.”
He returned to mauling her breasts with his mouth. He slid a hand between her thighs, sticky from their efforts during the night but coated with fresh wetness. Soon he had her writhing and panting. This time he plunged into her with little ceremony. Making love to Lady Lowry was entirely different from conquering the Lady Athena. He considered all the torment of waiting and wanting he had endured at the hands of Lady Athena, and he shoved his ardor into Gertie with more force than he had intended.
It was still Gertie he was with, he reminded himself. He eased off of her and gently kissed her about the face.
“No woman has wished to leave my bed before,” he informed her.
She smiled devilishly. “Are you so confident in your skills, sir?”
He returned her smile, then flipped her onto her stomach. He pulled her arse up for a better angle. Her pink folds glistened with her lust. He wondered if one day he might penetrate her arse—an ultimate victory with Lady Athena. For now, he pushed himself at her quim. She grunted in satisfaction as he slid inside her. Wrapping an arm around the front of her thigh, he plied her clitoris until she let out moan after moan of pleasure. He varied the tempo of his thrusting, easing off the first time she began to ascend towards her climax—a small nod to Hephaestus.
But he could not deny Gertie for long. He reveled too much in her spending. Pulling back, he shoved himself at her buttocks and felt his cods swing up against her flesh. Her face—one half buried in her pillow, the other half covered by her hair—could not be viewed, but he needed only to hear her groans to know that she was close to her release. She clawed at the sheets below her. Then the paroxysm of ecstasy overcame her. She let out a helpless wail.
He could have spent, but he held back the release boiling in his groin. He wanted to pound her senseless. Such that she would never conceive of leaving his bed. Flipping her onto her back, he threw her legs over his shoulders and plunged into the depths of her womb. The heat of her cunnie seared his shaft. There was much he could do to her, and he wanted to do it all. But he had no wish to frighten her. He needed her to feel safe and secure. Grasping her wrists, he pulled her arms overhead.
“My God, Gertie,” he breathed, “you are wondrous.”
“You’ve no need to feign civilities with me,” she responded as she ground herself to the best of her ability.
There were women who possessed more skill at lovemaking than she. He could tell that she was not practiced in the positions of fornication. But it mattered not. She felt marvelous to him.
“I have never lied to a woman, Gertie.”
“Never?”
“I’ve not had a need to.”
“Y-yes. I understand why.”
As her second climax waved over, her eyes rolled towards the back of her head. She jerked against him. Her cunnie pulsed madly about him. The pressure in his abdomen was too much. Grabbing her legs, he shoved himself at her and pumped his seed inside of her. He shuddered as the effects of his climax shot down both of his legs. How was it possible that this time seemed even more glorious than the ones before? He lay beside her and pulled her to him.
“I wonder that I shall be able to walk after this?” she wondered aloud.
He smiled. “That was but a small sampling of the possibilities.”
GERTIE’S HEAD SWAM with the excitement of what she had done. What frightened her a little was that she yearned for more.
Her stomach grumbled.
“I think breakfast would be in order?” Barclay suggested.
Too embarrassed to look him in the eye, she nodded. He cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his.
“No regrets.”
“No regrets,” she echoed.
“Francis can have a plate brought to your room if you wish.”
He gathered her articles and wrapped his banyan about her. Then he opened the door and glanced out into the hallway. He motioned for her. Clutching her garments tightly to her, she scurried through the opening.
“Gertie.”
She turned and was met with the fullness of his mouth upon hers. He seared a kiss upon her, one that tingled her lips long after, before letting her go. She ran into the sanctuary of her own room, her spirits soaring. How she loved the sound of her name upon his lips! How she loved his lips—and all the delightful things he did to her with them! She pulled his banyan tighter about her and felt as if he held her still. She could hardly wait to see him again.
“What a giddy girl you’ve become!” she admonished her reflection in the mirror, but she was too happy to care.
She hummed to herself as she went through her trunk, trying to find the best outfit, one that might catch his eye. She sighed remembering how his eyes sparkled, how beautiful and mesmerizing they were. No wonder he could cast his spells upon so many women.
“Breakfast, my lady,” Mrs. Pettigrew announced with a knock at the door.
Gertie devoured the offering of eggs, ham, and bread with relish.
“How radiant my lady looks this morning,” Mrs. Pettigrew commented. “And yesterday you looked as wretched as a drowned mouse. I trust you had a pleasant night?”
Gertie nodded with her eyes downward cast.
“He’s a right handsome man that husband of yours. And charming as sin.”
She dared to study the innkeeper’s wife but could discern nothing from the woman’s face. Barclay’s words echoed in her ears. Why should it matter what these strangers thought? Should she care if they should cast disapproving glances her way? Yet she did not relish having to live a lie whilst she resided in the inn.
“He’s not my husband,” she braved.
“A pity,” Mrs. Pettigrew replied nonchalantly as she reviewed Gertie’s garments. “Wouldn’t mind waking to his countenance each morning.”
Gertie smiled and allowed Mrs. Pettigrew to brush out her hair.
“I wonder that he will ever marry,” Gertie said. “He has no fondness for the institution of matrimony.”
“I thought him a bit of a rogue.”
He might be all rogue, Gertie considered to herself.
“But a rogue can be tamed—by the right mistress.”
Gertie thought about Lady Athena. Could she tame one of the most infamous rakes and debauchers? She fingered her wedding band. Even if she could, there was little to be done whilst she was married to Alexander.
After completing her toilette, she went downstairs and found Barclay in the drawing room. Dressed in a fitting pair of buff breeches, his fine linen, a striped waistcoat, and a lace-trimmed cravat, he was a feast for the eyes. And he looked every bit as seductive without his refined garments, she thought to herself, recalling his naked body, the perfect subject for any painter or sculptor. If she had not been so taken by his kisses, she would have taken the time to caress every ridge of his chest and torso, the curve of muscle in his legs, and the tightness of his arse.
“Countess,” he greeted with a bow. “Care to join me in a game of vingt-et-un?”
“I suppose that would be harmless enough.”
He pulled out a chair for her. “If I may, you look lovely.”
She blushed like a young thing who had just had her come-out. “I saw the way you examined my gown. It does not meet with your approval.”
“I would it were as appealing as that which it adorns.”
She hesitated, not knowing how to respond for she was not rehearsed in receiving compliments. She scooped up the cards at the table and began to shuffle them. “I suppose when next I venture to Mayfair, I ought request your company that you may advise me on what to buy.”
He inclined his head. “I should be happy to be of service, mad
am.”
They played their first two hands without exchanging words. It was charitable of him to be so cordial to her, but then, it only made sense as they were trapped in the inn together for an indefinite amount of time. She wondered if his behavior would differ if he knew he did not have to face her again the following morning?
She glanced at him to find him studying her. She shifted uncomfortably. Those eyes of his were both enthralling and unsettling.
“Shall we enhance the game with a wager?” he inquired.
“I have not much in the way of funds upon me,” she replied as she dealt the cards.
“A wager of a different nature.”
She was about to peer at her cards when he put a hand over hers.
“Have you ever been bound?”
Her mouth went dry. “Bound?”
“Tied.”
Her gulp was audible. “No.”
“Bondage can often enhance the pleasure.”
She said nothing. Her heart throbbed against her ribs, feeling as if he had discerned her secret somehow.
“Is this part of your customary seduction?” she stalled.
“Not at all,” he said, his gaze pinning her in her seat. “But you strike me as someone who would dare to experiment with the adventurous.”
“Indeed?”
That surprised her. She had never thought anyone would consider her daring. “And w-why do you think that, Lord Barclay?”
“People are not always what they seem, Lady Lowry.”
She sucked in her breath. “What is the wager you propose?”
“If I win this hand, I will have the privilege of rigging you.”
“And if I win?”
He grinned. “You may bind me.”
Something stirred in her loins. She looked him in the eyes. “Very well.”
He removed his hand, and she looked at her cards. A queen and a six. Not the best hand, but she had the advantage of going second. She waited for him, but he shook his head. Damn. That meant he had a decent hand. She would have to take the chance. She gave herself another card. A seven. Damnation. He revealed his hand—a ten and five.
“I promise you will not regret having lost,” he assured her.
Her pulse quickened.
“You have done such things?” she inquired carefully.
“Yes.”
“What have you done?”
“With light bondage, I would bind the wrists together, overhead or behind the back. For the more experienced partner, I might tie the heels to the thighs, lay you across a table, and fuck you from behind.”
She squirmed in her seat. “I think that I shall retire upstairs for a brief respite.”
He grinned. “How coincidental. I, too, have a mind to retire upstairs.”
HE FOLLOWED HER UP the stairs to her room. When he had closed the door behind him, she turned towards him. He smothered her with a deep and probing kiss. Her desire permeated the air and in the ardor with which she returned his kiss.
“Remove your clothing,” he ordered.
“But I have not been long in them,” she protested.
“I will have you naked, my Countess.”
She hesitated.
“Come, I will assist you.”
Together they removed the pins and untied the various parts of her gown. He caressed the parts of her skin laid bare. After unlacing her stays, he stepped back and watched as she did the rest. The throbbing in his shaft intensified when she slid the stockings from her legs. She stood naked but for her chemise. She looked at him.
“Surely you are not overcome with modesty?” he asked as he did an appreciative sweep of her body. “I do not think you had forgotten last night.”
She blushed.
“Would you rather I ripped the chemise from your body?”
There was a hitch in her breath. Dutifully, she let fall the chemise. It pooled about her ankles. Circling around her, he could sense her desire to cover herself. Perhaps it were easier for her in the dimness of night than to expose herself in the glare of day. No matter. She would overcome her timidity with him.
He began to unloosen his cravat while she stood naked and uncomfortable. After he had slid off his waistcoat and discarded his breeches, he reached for her and molded her bare body to him.
“What—what else might you do when binding a lover?” she asked.
“I could wind the ropes about your breasts...” He traced where the ropes would have been with his finger. “...and secure them tightly so that they protruded for me to feed upon.”
Her bosom swelled. The thought aroused her, eh? As he suspected, Lady Athena was no impartial observer or commander, as she sometimes acted.
“And?”
“What would you have me do, Countess?”
She thought for a moment and he wondered if he had pushed too far.
“Tie my limbs to the corners of the bed?” she suggested.
“And should I bind your mouth to prevent you from speaking or crying for help?”
She nodded. He cupped a hand about one butt cheek.
“And should I use your body to mine content? And punish you an’ you did not do as I command?”
He slapped her derriere. She yelped in surprise, then reached for his length. It, too, was beginning to respond to their musings.
“Before I reward you with what you desire,” he began, leading her to the bed, “you will take me into your mouth. Lie upon your back that I may have full access to your breasts.”
She did as he instructed. With her head hanging slightly off the edge of the bed, she guided him into her mouth. The member was still partially soft but became rigid quickly inside her mouth. She lapped at it greedily.
“Pleasure yourself,” he directed, “but do not spend without my word.”
He could hardly believe that he stood with the Countess of Lowry taking in his erection while she fondled herself. It was but yesterday that he thought Gertie would despise him for all eternity. He caressed her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples, pinching them. She let out a muffled cry into his groin and gagged upon him. He gently slapped a breast. She resumed her fellatio. He tapped at the inside of her thigh. She jumped, but her fingers commenced a more furious caress upon herself.
The vision of her body sprawled upon the bed, her luscious lips locked about him was enough to make him want to spend in an instant. He pulled himself out of her mouth before he sprayed his seed down her throat.
“On your hands and knees,” he directed as he walked to the other side of the bed.
She obeyed without hesitation, presenting him with her arse. He caressed the soft surface of her derriere, then gave it a sharp slap. The flesh quivered. He smacked the cheek again and watched as it began to blush. He reached between her thighs to fondle her clitoris.
“There are places in London where men and women can indulge their most secret desires,” he said.
She only moaned to his ministrations.
“Do you know of such places?”
When she did not answer, he pinched a labia. She yelped.
“Yes—I have heard of such places.”
He resumed his caresses. She ground herself into his hand.
“Have you had a desire to visit one of them?”
She could have simply lied, but she chose to stall. He slapped her arse to prompt her.
“Y-Yes.”
“What would you do there?”
“Beg you to take me.”
He felt a surge of warmth. His arousal could no longer resist. He shoved himself into her. She cried out in satisfaction. Grabbing her hips, he plumbed the depths of her womb with his shaft. Her arse flesh trembled every time it slapped against his pelvis.
“Yes! Yes!” she cried as she slammed into him.
She spent quickly, her arms buckling beneath her. He continued to pummel her until his own climax rushed through him. His rod throbbed as the warm liquid of his desire poured forth into her. How marvelous she felt. How marvelous h
e felt inside of her. Gently, he disengaged himself and lay down beside where she had collapsed. He reached for her and she nestled herself into his arms.
“These places that you speak of,” she murmured, the glow of her climax still upon her face, “do you frequent them, Lord Barclay?”
“On occasion.”
He considered revealing that he had been to Madame Botreaux’s, but he knew not if it would upset her. He was sure that she found safety in her anonymity. Better to wait to see if she spoke of it first.
“Do you take your lovers there?”
“If they are partial to such...activities.” He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I would take you there, Countess.”
She took a sharp breath and changed the subject. “They must think us a pair of rabbits at this inn.”
“Do you always consider what others are thinking?”
“Do you never consider what others are thinking?” she retorted.
“Seldom.”
She shook her head, then turned to look at him. He cradled one side of her head in his hand and allowed her to study him. He brushed a thumb across her cheeks. He knew of no one who wore a natural blush as well as she.
“I cannot fathom why I do not completely detest you,” she remarked.
“Only half detest.”
“Yes, well, you are an unabashed debaucher and a...”
“I believe the word you ascribed to me is ‘murderer.’”
“I take it you did not mean to kill Jonathan Weston? That must be why his seconds bear you no ill will? They understood it to be an accident.”
His jaw tightened. He had not had to fully recall that event in recent years. He looked into her earnest patient eyes. She wanted to know. And for the first time, he wanted someone else to know.
“I had no intention of killing Jonathan,” he admitted. “I agreed to the duel knowing that I could draw first blood. I had but to prick his arm and it would all be over within minutes and no one the wiser. It had rained the night before, much like the rains now. The grounds at Putney Common were like mush beneath our feet.
“As expected, I drew blood. I grazed his shoulder with my sword. The seconds proclaimed an end to the duel. I turned away from Jonathan to hand my sword to my friend Lord Bertram. I heard one of the other seconds call my name in alarm. Turning, I saw Jonathan come at me with sword still in hand. I saw the rage in his eyes, and I knew he meant to kill me. I fended off his initial attack. Our seconds attempted to reason with him, but I knew he would not rest until I lay dead. Though the better swordsman was I, Jonathan had a crazed ardor. My heel slipped on a sodden patch, and I went down. Jonathan charged. I parried and thrust my sword at him. It went through his heart.”
The Countess and the Rake Page 13
