Chapter Nine

St. Albans

Arthur was quite pleased the meeting with the bishop went well. It ended with him and Lavinia promising to comfort and encourage their godchild and the bishop somehow interpreting this as keeping the child on the straight and narrow path of faith. Nicholas and Helena were satisfied with the outcome and that was all that mattered.

Guests for Helena’s birthday party began to arrive soon after. First was Nicholas’ cousin, the Viscount Ravensburgh—Bertie, as Nicholas called him—along with an unexpected family friend, the Marquess of Norrington. The lack of refurbished bedrooms became evident but was quickly settled when the pair agreed to double up, a situation they both declared they were used to from their adventures abroad.

“Sometimes you simply cannot find a suitable set of rooms,” Norrington had explained, “and you are obliged to sleep two abed in a farmhouse.”

A few days later, Sophia and Joseph arrived, both glowing and happy, Joseph running after his very pregnant wife to cater to her every whim and need. It was endearing.

Sophia and Helena holed themselves up in the solar, chatting endlessly about baby clothes and names, pregnancy symptoms and changes. In bed one night, Lavinia grumbled how she was bored to tears.

“You could join the men in the parlor,” Arthur suggested.

“Really? That would be so much more interesting. But I don’t want to spoil your fun. You should feel free to talk about anything in front of me.”

“I’m sure you imagine we talk about our former days as lotharios.”

“Former?”

He chuckled. “Besides Ravensburgh and Norrington waxing poetic over the Italian sunshine, it’s mostly business, or Joseph interrogating poor Nicholas about his plans for the future. They’ve bonded over the renovations.”

Lavinia was grateful and Arthur was contented. It was the most comforting feeling in the world to have one’s lover simply present in the same room, even if sometimes she read the newspaper or a book while he and Joseph discussed the business of railway parts and Nicholas and Mason poured over architectural drawings.

And then at night he would go to her room, a feat accomplished by the secret corridor and Nicholas and Helena’s obvious strategizing. Their lovemaking was made all the more profound by the foresight of the ever-astonishing Lavinia. She had packed a Dutch cap, allowing Arthur to experience the full intensity of his crisis.

Arthur did not ask why the lady had brought the prophylactic to a family gathering. If she had thought to seduce Nicholas upon arrival, she had no notion of it now. Arthur saw to that every night as he worshiped her body, her fleshy arse like pillows under his kneading fingertips, her luscious breasts overflowing his palms and so succulent in his mouth, her breathy moans and restrained cries of ecstasy urging him forward, the rapid rhythm of her pounding heart mingling with his own as he collapsed over her body slaked and spent.

The words I love you dancing precariously on the tip of his tongue with every climax…

Despite having to arise and return to his own bed before the housemaid laid the fire, for a few days Arthur’s life was pure bliss.

And then his parents arrived.

Helena, of course, was overjoyed to see her Grandmama and Grandpapa and Mother especially seemed to be in heaven among her fruitful progeny. But Father had different ideas about how one should spend one’s afternoon and it wasn’t with a lady present in the room.

As Lavinia read The Herts Advertiser and St Albans Times in the parlor, possibly looking a tad too comfortable on the sofa, Father scowled in her direction from his position by the window.

“Lady Foxley-Graham—”

Lavinia looked up from her paper.

“At the time of our introduction at the wedding breakfast I had thought your name sounded familiar. It has taken me some time to remember how it is I might know you. You’re one of those women’s righters, aren’t you?”

“My lord?”

“The women’s property bill a decade ago. You and Ryburgh claimed it would help poor women.”

“I believe the legislation has helped working women hold on to their income in the face of profligate husbands.”

Father grunted as he returned to the view out the window. “Just don’t expect me to give women the right to vote. That’s what husbands are for.”

Every man present in the parlor looked up at that.

Lavinia folded her paper deliberately. “And what about the women who lack husbands?”

“They can jolly well go get one if they want a say in politics.” Father rocked on his heels. “A woman should know her place.”

After a few private words between Father and Nicholas, the latter clearly trying not to unsettle the still-new familial accord, Lavinia was relegated back to the realm of the women.

That she hated it was terribly present in the bedroom. As Arthur cradled her in his arms during afterglow, his heart swelling with masculine possessiveness as he cupped a generous breast, he assured her he held no such outmoded beliefs. He refrained from stating the obvious: if he were her husband, he would rely on her good opinion and knowledge of politics for his vote.

Despite such disquietude Helena’s birthday party was a success. During the toast, she divulged that her birthday wish had been for her parents and grandparents—and uncle—to continue their efforts toward reconciliation and she was so happy her wish had been granted. Mother had stated that the impending births of their second grandchild and first great-grandchild would certainly lay to rest any remaining animosity.

Champagne flowed freely in the drawing room after dinner, lightening the mood of all present and loosening tongues. Mother’s tongue especially.

“Arthur, the Season will soon be upon us. It’s time you took the job of being a marquess’s heir seriously.” Her voice was far too loud.

Arthur cringed. This was either about politics or marriage. He glanced at Lavinia across the room laughing with Ravensburgh.

“How so, Mother?” He kept his voice low, hoping Mother would follow suit.

She did not. “Marriage and an heir.”

Shit. Luckily Lavinia did not hear. “I don’t think this is the proper time and place to discuss this, Mother,” Arthur hissed.

“And why not? We’re all family.” She surveyed the room. “Or at least on intimate terms like family.”

“I don’t think the entire family needs to hear about your plans for my marriage.”

“Nonsense. I’ve made up a list of some eligible candidates for you to meet during the Season.”

Arthur downed his champagne.

“And I understand Lady Foxley-Graham has a wide circle in Society.” She beckoned Lavinia over with a wave and a smile. “I’m sure she can be of help.”

“Lady Richmond,” Lavinia greeted, approaching in time to hear the last. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I was hoping you could lend your considered opinion on some eligible girls.”

Lavinia glanced at Ravensburgh and Norrington—the only other unmarried men in the room. “Of course, Lady Richmond,” she said politely. “For whom?”

Shit. Arthur gripped his glass.

“Arthur.”

Lavinia paled.

Double shit.

All eyes focused in their direction. Arthur surveyed the room. Nicholas and Sophia looked the most distressed. But no one said a word.

“Now, my dear, I’m looking for well-connected girls, anything above a viscount’s daughter. She must be pretty, educated and under twenty-five.”

The room began to spin and it wasn’t the champagne. Arthur sucked in a long breath.

And then Father approached. “And fecund.” He turned to Nicholas. “You were once a doctor, St. Albans. How can we be assured a young woman is capable of providing us with an heir?”

Nicholas cleared his throat. “Well,” he began slowly, “it is necessary to know if both parties are, as you said, fecund.”

“Oh, but we know Arthur can sire children,” Mother said with uncharacteristic vulgarity.

Arthur caught a glimpse of Lavinia. She was stoic, her expression unreadable.

Wide-eyed horror flitted across Nicholas’ face. “I suppose most young women are capable of…of childbearing,” he sputtered, collecting himself. “Although to be absolutely certain there would have to be children already, perhaps from a previous marriage.”

“A young widow?” Mother said as if she hadn’t actually considered all the possibilities.

“And if such a woman already had children,” Nicholas added, “perhaps Arthur could adopt his heir.”

As a new peer Nicholas still had much to learn.

“Adopt?” Father barked. “Nonsense. The letters patent state ‘heirs male of the body’. Succession by adoption may be allowed in those foreign lands you’ve traveled to, my boy, but not in England.”

Lavinia’s pallor turned absolutely peaked. Nicholas went to her side. “Vinny, you’ve finished your champagne. Shall I pour you another?”

She turned to him as if startled from a dream. “Thank you, my lord. But no. I fear I need a bit of fresh air.”

She handed her glass to Nicholas then left the room.

Annoyance at his family and concern for his lover prickled Arthur’s flesh. He couldn’t follow her. It would be too obvious. He’d have to wait.

Mother was oblivious to Lavinia’s emotions. “Your father was just reminiscing about the Earl of Ryburgh. If I recall correctly, he has five daughters. The middle one, Beatrice Smythe, will be eighteen I believe.”

He was going to be sick.

“This will be her first Season.”

He had to get out of there. “Mother, thank you,” he said dripping charm. “I’m sure Miss Smythe is lovely. However I need to excuse myself for a moment.”

Luckily a woman in a dinner gown was not as quick as a man rambling through Atherley Keep. Arthur spied Lavinia entering the library and followed.

He found her outside in the former porch of the Gothic chapel, now a forecourt with sweeping views of the grounds. She stood facing the vista, her arms wrapped around herself, her hands rubbing the bare skin above her elbows. He took off his jacket and placed it on her shoulders.

“Darling, that was inexcusable. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I should have known,” she said hoarsely, containing a sadness that threatened to break forth. “Of course I should have known the bachelor Earl of Petersham needed to marry and produce an heir.”

“Please don’t.”

“I was blinded by my own desires.”

“I’ll simply tell Mother and Father I have already made up my mind.”

She rounded on him. “About what?”

“Marrying you.”

She stared him in the eye. “Arthur, I’ll be forty-six next month.”

Shit. “I…I didn’t realize. I had thought you Sophia’s age. I suppose that’s not so old.”

“Trust me, it’s old as far as this is concerned.” She looked askance then closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Helena and Sophia and to be truthful, I cannot stand all the talk about babies and motherhood. And the more I listen to it the more I realize how ill-suited I would be for such a life.”

“I suppose most women have those fears at first.”

She glared at him. “You don’t understand. I don’t have any fears. I don’t have any regrets. And I don’t have any interest.”

He wished he could be so unequivocal when it came to his parents. “What about marriage?”

She sighed. “I’ve always wanted to marry again. I just never found the right man.”

“And now you have.”

“And he is required to produce children.” She shook her head. “Even if I did desire children I’m not sure I’m able to…” She trailed off with emotion.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Darling, I’ve found you. I’m not letting you go—”

“Arthur, your parents are against such a connection.”

“There has to be someone somewhere in this blasted country in the line of succession.”

Her forehead crinkled as her jaw dropped. “And?” She shook her head. “You are Richmond’s heir. You cannot escape that.”

She was his odalisque. There had to be a way. “I hate this. I didn’t intend for this to be nothing more than an affair.” He held her more tightly.

“An affair until you got married.” Her voice quavered.

“No.” He breathed her in, breathed in that scent only her lover would be privy to.

“But that’s all it can be.”

“Damn it.” He huffed an exhale. “All right, an affair. A love affair.” If that was all he could get, he’d take it.

“I need to think this through, Arthur.” She stepped back and wiped a tear from her eye, her fingers shaking. “Lady Richmond knows something of your past,” she said quietly, the quaver still clinging to her words. “Did the child die?”

A chill spiked his spine. “Yes. And its mother.” He did not want to talk about any of that at the moment. “It was a very long time ago.”

She smiled a thin-lipped smile, her eyes soft with her own regrets. “At our age everything was a very long time ago.” She pulled his jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him. “And now I think I should like to hear about Viscount Ravensburgh’s recent travels. You may escort me inside, my lord.”

He shrugged into his jacket. “Of course, my lady.”

He held out his arm and held his tongue. He was simply grateful for the warmth of her hand through his sleeve.

* * * * *

Lavinia dismissed Marie early. Once her corset was removed, she could finish undressing and dressing for bed by herself. Her lady’s maid knew her moods by now. Lavinia just wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

That wasn’t true. She wanted to be with Arthur. She needed to be with Arthur.

He should have been honest with her but then again, she was an experienced Society matron. She should have known familial duty would rear its ugly head at some point. Arthur had confessed months ago he had no children and she knew very well he was the heir to the Richmond Marquessate. She should have made the connection. Passion had blinded her.

More painful was that he was the best damn lover she had ever had. He lacked the wanton inventiveness of Julius, a lover whose excess could be painful to endure. Yet the creativity was there, mixed with all that was good about a man like Nicholas—a generosity toward pleasuring that did not forsake his own libidinous needs.

Arthur Harwell was the antidote to her melancholia.

But seeing him married would only plunge her further into despair.

Still, thanks to their host and hostess, they had the perfect circumstances under which to conduct an affair. For the remainder of their time at Atherley Keep, if all she could have was a love affair, so be it. Last year, she had done the same with Nicholas until he was married off. This time she would guard her heart while she was satisfied in bed.

She had left the party early, Arthur still seemingly agitated—with her or with the situation, she wasn’t quite sure. The party would be breaking up by now—Sophia and Helena always retired early, as did the Richmonds. Arthur was probably having one final drink or smoke with the younger men.

She took off the rest of her underthings and put on a dressing gown. She opened the adjoining door and slid into the tiny corridor, offering silent gratitude to Nicholas for the arrangements. She listened at the door to Arthur’s bedroom. It was quiet on the other side. If he was already sleeping or not yet in bed, either way it would be a surprise. He always came to her.

She opened the door slowly. The room was dark, the glow of moonlight and a sliver of light under the door to the sitting room announcing the bedroom was unoccupied. The indistinct words of masculine voices and the scent of pipe tobacco indicated Arthur was having a late night conversation with Joseph.

So she would wait for him. She slipped off her robe and stole naked under the covers. The sheets smelled like him, his soap, his cologne. She reached between her legs, stroking gently. Just the idea of him aroused her. She wrapped herself tightly under the counterpane then let fantasy overtake her as she fell asleep.

* * * * *

Joseph took a swig of brandy then rested his head in the crook of the wingback in Arthur’s sitting room. Before him Arthur paced, his striped silk dressing robe flicking open every time he turned, exposing his flamboyant paisley pajama bottoms, the exotic flavor of his fashion at odds with the clean lines of the Neoclassical decor. Arthur toyed with his empty pipe then flung it onto the mantel with a huff.

Joseph understood his friend’s frustration. Arthur’s future was no longer his own. The Harwell legacy had finally come calling.

He crossed one leg on top of the other. It might be best to lighten the mood. “So…younger than twenty-five. That’ll keep you busy.”

Arthur rounded on him. “Don’t you start too. I don’t want to hear any of it.”

Joseph sobered. “Okay.” He placed his glass on the polished side table.

“I should have known my sins would come back to haunt me.” Arthur resumed his pacing.

“Your sins?”

“Of letting you and my sister marry for love. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be in bed with her by now?” he bit caustically.

“Sophie is sleeping with Helena tonight. They wanted to gab. That’s why they’ve been retiring early of late.”

Arthur eyed him. “You’re not expecting to sleep with me tonight, are you?”

He quirked a brow suggestively. “Are you inviting me?”

“No,” he shot back too quickly. “I have my own outlets. You’ll have to be satisfied with your hand.”

“Speaking of which, do you have that issue of The Pearl I loaned you?”

That got a chuckle out of him. “And where do you expect to read such salacious material? Surely not in one of the public rooms.”

“I’ve set up the daybed behind a screen in our sitting room.”

“With your daughter just beyond the door?”

“She’s generally not in the habit of wandering about in the middle of the night.” And the exotic nightwear Arthur had introduced him to made masturbating all the more discreet.

Arthur hunched over the fire, one arm on the mantel, and heaved a sigh.

Joseph went to him. “You should try to get some sleep.”

Arthur traced the delicate curves of the carved bellflowers and urns in the marble mantelpiece. “Yeah.”

He tenderly brushed Arthur’s hair behind his ear. Arthur raised his head. The whites of his hazel eyes were tinged pink with pent-up emotion. Arthur was keeping something to himself—or rather someone. His legendary odalisque, most likely, and if he knew who she was by now, it was possible the woman was not what the Richmonds wanted in a daughter-in-law.

Joseph grazed a thumb along Arthur’s stubble-roughened jaw to his lower lip. “I’ll have a talk with Sophie tomorrow and she’ll talk to Helena. Your father practically worships Helena. If anyone can convince him and Lady Richmond to be more considerate of your emotions, it’s her.”

“Thank you, Joseph.” His indebted relief heightened his vulnerability. And his attractiveness.

Joseph leaned in. If Arthur wasn’t in the mood, he’d push him away. But he didn’t. Instead he waited for Joseph’s lips to skim against his then flicked the tip of his tongue along the seam of Joseph’s mouth.

The sign that Arthur wanted a bit of play. And Joseph could do with a bit of brown.

He plunged in, grappling Arthur around the shoulders to secure him for an open-mouth exploration. Arthur relented in his arms, offering himself like a virgin on her wedding night, gripping his torso for purchase, letting Joseph do what he wanted, what he desired. And what he wanted was the feel of hairy, muscular flesh.

Joseph untied the sash of Arthur’s robe then tore away at the buttons up the front of his pajama top, revealing the sculpted form beneath. “I’ve missed this,” he breathed as he ran his hand over the rippled abdomen, around the waist, sliding under the silk of the pajama bottoms to grip his firm butt.

Arthur gave a low chuckle and started in on Joseph’s robe and pajamas, untying and unbuttoning. “Well you certainly know how to raise a man’s spirits.”

“Let’s see what else I’ve raised.” Joseph skimmed his hand along the ridge of Arthur’s hip to find his cock. The smooth shaft was hard as stone.

Just like Joseph’s.

It had been too long since their last fumble in the dark, although if he were being honest with himself it had simply been too long. He let go of Arthur’s cock and rested his palm on the finely honed hip, leaning his bared chest against Arthur’s, the feel of heated skin against heated skin lulling. Joseph muttered a satisfied oath.

“I take it your hand isn’t quite satisfying?” Arthur said in amused sympathy.

“No.” He slowly fisted Arthur’s cock. “I haven’t had a decent fuck in at least a month.”

Arthur stilled his hand then leaned his forehead against Joseph’s. “Look, if this were my house—”

Joseph let go. “Yeah I understand. I wouldn’t want to shock the housemaid.”

Arthur grinned.

“Except the housemaid has already been shocked by the likes of Ravensburgh and Norrington.”

Surprise lit up Arthur’s eyes. “You’re joking.”

“According to Sophia. She heard it from Helena who heard it from Nicholas.”

“They are quite a pair, are they not? Young, handsome, full of adventure.”

“How we used to be.” Joseph grasped Arthur’s butt and ground his hips against him. He glided his tongue along the heated pulse in Arthur’s neck, the fragrance of arousal filling Joseph’s nostrils.

Arthur gently pulled free. “How we’re not going to be tonight.” He patted Joseph’s cheek before turning back to the fire. “The Pearl should be on the bedside table.” He pointed to the closed door.

He’d definitely need a toss later.

Joseph exhaled his temporary frustration as he opened the door to the bedroom. He crossed the carpet to the nightstand where the magazine lay neatly. The lamp and fire from the sitting room illuminated the unmade bed—

Which was odd, since Arthur hadn’t had the chance to rumple the covers yet.

Joseph looked more closely. The bed wasn’t unmade. There was someone in it. A female someone.

She was curled up in a ball, her back to him, her long dark hair spilling across the pillows. One very shapely leg poked out from beneath twisted sheets.

Arthur, you dog. No wonder he wouldn’t give in.

But who? A servant? Had to be. Nicholas had hired a household full of beauties. The handsome Earl of St. Albans seemed to have attracted the cream of Hertfordshire to work at his estate.

She moved, stretching her nude foot out and in the process pulling down the covers, exposing a stunning curve of a backside and the swell of a breast half-hidden by her bent arm.

His waning cock stirred back to life and he adjusted it down the leg of his pajamas. It had been years since he and Arthur had shared a woman but that didn’t mean they could never do so again. Surely Sophia wouldn’t mind just this once. He could even run down the hall and ask her.

Or he could simply retrieve the magazine from the bedside table and tease Arthur mercilessly.

She stirred again, the arm shielding the breast slipping to her side as she turned onto her back, revealing a gorgeous tit. Shit. She was spectacular, he just wanted to—

“Arthur?”

Holy fuck. Lavinia.

“Joseph?” she squealed. She grabbed the covers and clutched them to her as she sat up in the bed. “What the hell are you doing here?” Fear colored her words.

“I could ask you the very same thing, my lady.”

Arthur stumbled in. “Joseph, did you find— Shit.” He stood stock-still then dragged his fingers through his hair. “Lavinia, I had no idea you were in here. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let Joseph come in.”

“Well, Lord Petersham,” she said succinctly, glancing back and forth between the two men, “you could ask him to leave.”

“Ah. Right.” He motioned toward the door. “Joseph, after you.”

Joseph chuckled as he exited.

Arthur followed him to the sitting room and closed the door behind him. “Yes, it is everything it looks like. And no, nobody knows. Well they may suspect but we’re being discreet.”

Joseph slapped his shoulder. “That is one hell of a woman in there.”

“Oh, God. You saw. How mortifying for her.”

“I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t even tell Sophie.”

Arthur glared at him.

“I won’t, believe me. But I urge you to think about telling her yourself. She wants to know her brother is happy.”

“Yeah, all right. She probably already suspects.”

“So she’s the reason you’re upset with your parents.” Joseph scrubbed a hand down his face. “Geez. Lavinia was right there with all that talk about marriageable girls. No wonder she left.”

“It just about killed me, seeing her reaction.” Arthur sighed. “Joseph, she’s the woman from the masquerade.” There was sorrow in his eyes. “Lavinia’s my odalisque.”

“Of all the women in the world.” Joseph shook his head in disbelief. “Congratulations.” He nodded toward the bedroom door. “What are you waiting for?”

Arthur offered a wan smile as Joseph left. Book in hand, Joseph slinked down the hall to his bedroom, a bedeviling thought needling his brain. What if he had worn a mask to Countess Winthrop’s masquerade? Would he have been so lucky?

* * * * *

Arthur returned to the bedroom. Lavinia was no longer naked under his covers but wrapped in her robe, pacing the carpet at the end of the bed, an oil lamp sputtering weakly on the nightstand.

She practically jumped when he clicked the door lock.

He went to her but did not touch. “Darling, I didn’t expect to see you like this again. You cannot know how happy this makes me.”

She reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his. “I apologize for being upset earlier.”

He rubbed his thumbs on the backs of her hands. “No need.”

“If a love affair is all I can hope for, then I’ll take it.” She met his gaze. “But just for the duration of our stay here in St. Albans.”

Arthur suddenly had the notion to never leave the sprawling estate. He pulled her to him. “Darling.” He enveloped her in his arms, gazing at the desire on her face before taking her in a deep kiss.

She kissed him back, her passion laced with desperation as she tugged at his opened robe and pajama top.

Shit. She had seen both himself and Joseph in a state of half-dressed dishevelment. Did she take note? Or had surprise clouded her assessment of the scene?

She pulled his robe off slowly, carefully avoiding contact with his naked torso. “The night is not yet over, my lord,” she said, a devious gleam in her eye.

“I see you have something in mind, my lady.”

“Perhaps, my sultan.” She tossed the robe on the low bench at the foot of the bed.

“And what is it you desire, my lady?” He leaned toward her ear. “Your predilection, as it were?”

Her lips curved at some unspoken fantasy as she removed her own robe and tossed it over his. “I prefer to be seduced, my lord.” Her nipples hardened in the cool air.

“Hmm, like what you are doing to me right now?” It was near impossible to keep up the fantasy with her naked before him.

She bit her lower lip briefly, letting it slip from her teeth plumped and reddened. “Am I seducing you, lord sultan?” She pulled the paisley top from his shoulders then inexplicably put it on herself, covering her luscious breasts. “And what is it you desire? A harem to slake your lust?” She fastened two buttons just below her bosom.

“Just one odalisque with a wicked tongue skilled in the ways of carnal desire.”

She untied the drawstring on his pajama bottoms. “Are you certain an odalisque is what you crave at the moment?” She knelt before him and tugged on the silk trousers, sliding them down his legs to his feet. One by one, she lifted each foot to remove the garment pooled at his ankles.

His erection jutted between them. “Suck me, my lady.” He jerked his hips forward, his cock grazing her lips. “Then I’ll think about fucking you.”

She opened her mouth and flicked her tongue under the shaft, shooting chills of pleasure along every nerve. He sighed his satisfaction and prodded forward a little more. She drew the tip between her lips, squeezing him, her tongue stroking, her fingers teasing the muscles along the backs of his thighs.

He cupped her head in gentle gratitude. No twenty-five-year-old would be like this. Hers was the mouth of experience. A mouth that could make him forget all his cares and worries and send him into bliss.

He rocked his hips gently, fucking her mouth, letting her take him to the moment before the brink, forgetting he really wanted her cunt because he was prepared to spend in her mouth.

But then she drew away.

He looked down at her as she stood, pulling the silk bottoms up her legs as she did so. She stood before him. Dressed.

Like a man.

Except the trousers slung low on her wide hips, the fabric baggy around her legs. Her breasts strained the buttons of the top and her unbound hair cascaded over her shoulders. Far too feminine for a man.

“I think perhaps my lord sultan wants something a little different tonight.” She brushed the faintest kiss to his cheek. “Something Greek. Perhaps a stable boy.”

But not too feminine for a boy.

Arthur swallowed. So she had taken note of his and Joseph’s partial nudity. Instead of being disgusted, she was willing to play the proxy. He had never wanted to fuck her so badly than at that moment.

She climbed onto the bench and positioned herself on all fours, the perfect height for his cock to enter her from behind.

He untied the drawstring and pulled the silk trousers to her knees, the pale curves of her buttocks inviting touch. He knelt behind her, pulling the cheeks apart to expose the crinkled hole of her arse fringed with downy curls. It flexed provocatively.

He fingered the swollen folds of her cunt. She was wet, ready for him in that orifice but not the other.

He scooped the dewy moisture and drew it up, spreading the honey of her excitement to lubricate the forbidden hole, slowly massaging the unyielding muscles to surrender. He leaned forward, touching the tip of his tongue to the aperture.

Lavinia gasped.

He dived in, lapping, licking, prodding, swirling, loosening…her breathy moans and rolling hips encouraging him. Slowly he inserted a finger, finding the tightness within, stroking until it relaxed. He removed the digit, the tightening upon his exit a reminder of the snugness that awaited him.

He stood, his iron-hard cock prodding impatiently. He stared at the forbidden hole, wet and glistening. There would be pain at his entrance, the muscles would feel as if they were being torn apart. But the pain would be exquisite. He knew that from experience.

And if they were going to end their affair with emotional pain, at least the physical would be remembered otherwise.

He fingered her cunt, so deliciously ready for his prick. He plunged inside, moving in and out until he had lubricated the shaft thoroughly. At his final withdrawal he aimed at the tighter hole, pressing in slowly, excruciatingly so, as he reached around and thrilled her clit.

Her breathing quickened then hitched with a gasp and continued raggedly.

He focused on her pleasure as he slowed his own. “Breathe, love. Relax on the exhale.”

He pushed forward with each release of breath, murmuring praise as she worked through the agony. And then he was embedded to the hilt, the exquisite tightness almost his undoing. He commenced the rhythm of lovemaking, furiously rubbing her clit, willing her toward climax.

She cried out her orgasm, her cunt clenching air, the contractions reverberating in her arsehole, her wetness drenching his hand. He bent over her, burying his head against her shoulder, slamming inside her, no longer holding back, intending to make his mark deep within her so she would never forget him.

With one final thrust, he emptied himself, snarling his satisfaction into the night.

His heart pounded in his head but could not drown his thoughts. There would be no other like the woman beneath him. Did he really have to compromise? Did he really have to doom himself to a lifetime of unfulfilled desires, of bitter disappointment?

He slackened, falling from their joining, and she fell forward. He lifted her in his arms and lay her on the bed, under the covers, holding her, kissing her hair as she cried silently.

“Shh, shh. Darling, was I such a brute that you shed tears?”

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging desperately. “No. No, Arthur it was wonderful.” She sniffled and wiped her face on the sheet. “Too wonderful.”

He understood. “We’re good together.”

“We are. Let’s make the most of it during the remainder of our time here.”

And after that? He knew she’d save a dance or two for him during the Season. April would be interminable before he would see her again in May.