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Once more, Edmund said nothing, as if unsurprised by her treachery.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t apologise.” He put down the crop on the bench next to her hands, coiled his fingers around her wrist and drew her upright.
She quickly forgot her throbbing bottom as his mouth searched out and found her own. His arms encased her, pressing her to his chest. She lifted a leg, searching with tips of her toes for the bench, and finding it, she propped her foot on it. Now, his hand could explore her unhindered and it delved into her pussy, first one finger then another, spreading her open and wide.
Alice wobbled on her leg, barely able to take his frantic probing. “I can’t stand any longer,” she groaned.
Edmund steered her backwards, towards one of the small curved alcoves. There he pushed her against the cold wall and lifted her leg again. She wrapped it around his thighs. Below, he had unbuttoned his front, and she felt the tip of his cock rub against her mound.
“Oh, please,” she pleaded and she gazed into his grey eyes, which were bright stars shining into her own. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, not caused by pain or discomfort—his adoring look triggered the emotional relief.
She gave about his erection as he rose up inside her, climbing up into her belly with his thick shaft until she felt his balls touch her outer lips. The swiftness delighted her and even with her natural juices, the friction of his broad cock stimulated her further. Her orgasm had to be held at bay, she didn’t want to finish prematurely.
Edmund sunk down, then with bended knee thrust again into her, jolting her body backwards. Her other leg coiled about his body, pinning her against the fresco. Around her, naked cherubs watched and from on high, some great Greek god stared down. Alice closed her eyes and drifted away from the images, and focused her attention on her husband’s grunts and exertions.
To her delight, they came together, encouraged by Edmund’s salacious words whispered into her ear. The familiar shudder of his body, the long exhale and then his stillness accompanied her shriek as every muscle surrounding her clitoris flexed and pulsated.
He lowered her carefully to the ground, holding her close, while they calmed and caught their breath.
Edmund’s husky voice spoke into her ear as he kissed her neck. “I would take you again, but I think we should seek somewhere more comfortable.”
He helped her dress, a leisurely re-lacing and tightening of her corset before lowering the yellow gown over her head. Before they left, he closed the shutters, returning the folly to darkness and obscurity.
Edmund lifted Alice up on to her mare and cautiously, she lowered her sore bottom onto the side saddle. He may have limited the number of blows to four, but each stripe had counted and made its mark. Edmund made no comment on her discomfort. On the way down the hill, she diverted her horse about the tree—she had no desire to repeat her little adventure.
Looking back up the hill, the folly, with the bright sunshine behind it, had turned into a silhouette. She hoped they might return there and enjoy the view, perhaps with a picnic and a book to read aloud to each other. In the seclusion of her mind, Alice constructed a new fantasy and glancing across at her husband on his fine black stallion, she knew who would have the chief role in her daydream.
Chapter Eleven
The heat of August grew until the grass began to turn yellowish and the petals wilted on the roses. Alice stayed indoors, in the cool shade of the stone house. Her new fan, hand picked by her in Buxton, was her constant companion. She would flick it open and wave it before her prickly face. The sultry days reached a level where the oppressively humid air was almost unbearable and unmoving.
The plans for the ball continued unabated. The date set for the last Saturday of the month, the invitations were sent out and some replies received. Nobody had turned down the offer of dancing at Westfell Hall.
One Wednesday, a few days after their visit to the folly, during the sweltering night, Alice lay naked on top of the bed with Edmund resting beside her, his bare arms flung above his head. He seemed to tolerate the heat easily after his campaigns on the Spanish Peninsula. She envied him the deep sleep, especially when the room lit up with a streak of lightning. Finally, the heat of summer was about to break.
The thunderclaps shook the window panes while bolts of lightning fired out of the sky in rapid succession. Still, her husband slept. It was the sound of torrential rain, which awoke him from his slumber and caused him to sit upright in bed. Alice stared up at him, as he scratched his head, disrupting his chestnut hair into an unruly shape.
“Umph,” he muttered and then lay back down. “Sleep. It is only a storm.”
“I know,” Alice shivered. “I don’t like them. I’m afraid.”
“Silly girl.” His arm looped about her waist, drawing backwards to fit against his body. A flash of lightning, followed by an immediate and tremendous crack of thunder, made Alice jump. Edmund chuckled and folded a bedcover over them, as if it added a layer of protection.
With his moist breath on her back, Edmund quickly returned to a deep sleep while Alice lay listening to the lead guttering overflow and the water cascade down onto the ground below. Eventually, with dawn approaching, she fell asleep in his restful arms.
The rain didn’t stop even after the storm blew over, continuing its downpour into the early afternoon. The wind, which had howled during the worst part, had brought down small branches. Across the garden, the debris of leaves and twigs swirled and drifted. Alice kept watch from a window, hand resting on her chin, as the rain drenched the ground until it overflowed into puddles and quagmires.
It was across one such sodden field that Alice spied a horseman. He came towards the house at a gallop, his shoulders hunched down to protect himself from the unceasing rain.
Alice, picking up her skirts, went to the entrance hall. She watched as the young man dismounted, his legs bowed and shaking. His oilskin cloak had protected his body from the worst of the rainfall, but his mud-splattered breeches were soaked. Taking off his hat, he wiped away the dirt about his face. A groom led the stumbling horse away and Alice could see froth about its bit and the mud caked hooves. This ride had been conducted in great haste.
Edmund appeared from his study and approached the messenger. From beneath the protective layers of clothing, the man extracted a letter, but he didn’t offer it to Edmund—he held it out to Alice with a small bow.
“Mrs Seymour,” he said breathlessly. “I bring this from your father, Mr Aubrey, who instructed me to deliver it to you in person and with all speed. I haven’t stopped to reach here.”
Alice took the crumpled letter, checked the seal and glanced nervously at Edmund before tearing it open. The words written in her father’s hand sent her heart lurching with shock. She could feel the colour drain out of her face as she read the letter again hoping she had mistook the content.
