Page 13 of Mistletoe Minx

“Ho there, Dash!”

At the hail, Dalton glanced over to another welcome sight: his longtime friend and fellow hedonist, Lord Noah Warenne. “Warenne! Just the man I needed to see.”

The unfailingly elegant blond earl brought his black stallion to a smooth halt, then quirked a pale brow. “Oh? Something to confess?”

Dalton snorted. “Nothing so virtuous. I’d like to beg a favor. An invitation to your house party.”

Noah blinked. “No need to ask, our invitation always stands. Jules will be delighted on two counts: another experienced gentleman for the swathe of new novices, and the chance to matchmake. You know it’s her second favorite pastime after fucking. I wish you well…perhaps you’ll finally find the woman to quell that storm inside, eh?”

The words were gentle, yet they still provoked a wince. Noah and Juliette had the rarest of ton marriages: madly in love, and perfectly aligned in bed. Few understood how an allegedly happy couple invited others to join them, but it specifically suited the Warennes for they sought each other for companionship and extra cocks and cunts just for play.

Christ, more people to envy. Not the multiple lovers, for he preferred one woman at a time to restrain and toy with, but finding an erotic kindred soul. Someone to whom your desires and fevered fantasies weren’t strange or ridiculous or wrong, just…acceptable. No, far better than acceptable. Exciting. Arousing. Once upon a time he’d naively hoped to be as blessed in marriage as his closest friend. But that wasn’t to be.

“I hope so,” Dalton replied, grateful his face was too cold to flush. “Frances doesn’t want…that is, she must have what she agreed to. It is…unfair to desire more with her. After four days with a temporary lover, I shall be a much better husband to my duchess.”

Warenne’s brow furrowed. Then cleared. “I understand. Jules will select a saucy little submissive for you, and you’ll both have a grand time. But my wife’s French temper will explode if I return home an icicle, so I must carry on. Until Christmastide, my friend!”

And with that, the earl cantered away.

Dalton nodded slowly, his spirits already rising as he touched his heels to Jupiter’s flanks and they eased into a trot. Juliette was a good woman with an impressive history of matching lovers. She would do right by him.

Soon, so soon, all his worries would be over.

“Please wait here, Your Grace. I shall enquire if Lady Warenne is receiving callers. She has been busy; the household will shortly retire to the Kent estate for Christmastide.”

Frances smiled tentatively at the butler. The note of introduction from Celia had gotten her into the entrance hall, but Juliette Warenne certainly owed her nothing. “Thank you. I only need a few minutes, but it is an…urgent matter.”

The older man bowed and hurried away.

In a stunningly short time he returned, looking mildly surprised. “Her ladyship is currently with Lord Warenne, but will see you presently in the parlor. Do come this way.”

Frances gulped before following the butler down a hallway to a cozy yet stylish parlor boasting cream silk wallpaper, gilt-framed scenes of Paris, plump chaises and cerulean-blue drapes and cushions. She’d cleared the first hurdle; the second, much higher one was to convince Lady Warenne to save a stranger’s marriage…at her orgy house party.

Oh God.

The urge to flee out the nearest window was intense. It had taken all her courage to come this far without Rachel and Celia to cling to, but significantly more would be required.

Perhaps five minutes later, Lady Warenne swept into the room. The Frenchwoman was exquisite even in a simple cherry-striped calico gown; tall and voluptuous with sun-kissed skin, shining ebony hair and thickly lashed brown eyes. But her gaze was coolly impatient: she would suffer no fools.

“Your Grace,” said the countess as she regally inclined her head, her musical accent caressing the words. “Welcome to my home. However, be aware: if you seek to prevent Dash from attending our house party, you will be wholly unsuccessful.”

Frances straightened her shoulders. This woman was indeed no-nonsense, and that helped her own words tumble forth. “Lady Warenne. I appreciate your time when you are so busy. You’ve been direct so I shall be also: it is not my desire to stop Dashford…but to attend the party as well.”

The countess raised both curved eyebrows. “You surprise me. Few do. Alas, there are not yet heirs in the Dashford nursery. I will not help you put a cuckoo in the nest.”

Good heavens! No. That path of thinking needed to be immediately halted.

Plowing on, Frances blurted: “Forgive me, I should have been clearer. It is my husband I wish to bed. In the, er…manner he enjoys. Because I think…I believe…I will enjoy it too. Dashford gave me a taste, but for some unknown reason, he stopped. I wish he had not, for it was delicious. So very thrilling. He does not need another woman—I can be his mistress. I want to be his mistress. But I don’t know how.”

A tiny smile lifted Lady Warenne’s lips. “Then perhaps I may be of service after all. Please sit down, Your Grace.”

Frances settled onto a chaise, her fingers twisting together. “Do you, ah, know what Dashford particularly likes?”

The countess draped herself across an overstuffed leather armchair and kicked off her shoes. “Oui. But not as a lover, only a hostess because we prefer very different things. My husband and I play with paramours in public; Dash masters a woman privately with toys and accessories. We have a generous selection; my cousin in Paris owns a factory that crafts them for pleasure clubs. He sends me a trunk every year. It amuses him to think of French goods restraining and invading and punishing the English.”

Swallowing hard, Frances forced herself to meet the other woman’s gaze. “I think Dashford might like to punish. Is that…is that correct?”

“Dash is aroused by control, madame la duchesse. I know he enjoys tying a woman up and teasing her cunt until she begs for release. Sometimes he is…hmmm, how do you say…benevolent. Obedience leads swiftly to orgasms. But he can also be harsh and work her without mercy. Perhaps she must suck his cock or receive a toy in her derriere before he fucks her. It is a very tight fit; where pleasure and pain are as one…well, well. I do not think you are opposed to such acts.”