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“A cousin of the late Monsieur Follet. She went into the nunnery. You and she are near identical in size. Lord Rockwell has a discerning eye.”
Deana looked at Bhadra. “Have you been acquainted with his lordship long?”
“For some years.”
“Have you always been at the Chateau Follet?”
“No.”
She felt she would appear prying if she asked too many more questions, so she allowed the maid to finish the toilette in silence.
After the soft and loose sari, the stays and chemisette were an unwelcome change, but seeing herself in the mirror, Deana had to admit the ensemble looked quite smart. She thanked Bhadra and awaited the return of Lord Rockwell.
* * * * *
Halsten grunted as his seed poured from his cock into his hand. He shook his head and leaned back into the armchair. Not what he truly desired but at least the tension would be relieved for a time. Nothing less than her cunnie would ultimately satisfy, and he had been tempted from the moment he entered her room and saw her wrapped in the sensuous fabric of the sari. The jewelry had enhanced every part it touched—her brow, her neck, her ears, the top of her hand, her long, slender middle finger. If he dressed her again with the baubles, he would kiss each spot before it became bejeweled. Of course the jewelry looked most beguiling when she had little else on. His cock twitched at the vision of her naked arse. How beautifully the marks of the crop had adorned those full and sumptuous cheeks. But he had withheld himself for he wanted the focus to be on her pleasure. His time would come soon enough.
Miss Herwood presented a fetching picture in her riding habit. Though he had found her compelling despite her ordinary garments before, the proper attire could make a difference. Bhadra had even done her hair in more becoming fashion, pinning part of it atop her head and leaving the rest in perfect coils at her neck.
He extended an arm. “Madame Follet requests your audience.”
The hostess was found lounging upon her patio, partaking of grapes, like an image of Dionysius, a copy of the Lady’s Magazine upon her lap. Despite her years, Marguerite had a youthful glow and her complexion seemed to have found the fountain of youth—or at least a very convincing pomade.
“Welcome, my dear,” she greeted Miss Herwood warmly. “I hope you found your first night comfortable?”
“I did, thank you,” Miss Herwood replied. “Bhadra has been quite helpful and attentive.”
Marguerite looked at Halsten. “Bhadra has been a wonderful addition to the staff. How long do you intend to stay?”
“Three nights,” Halsten replied.
“In the West Wing? Or do you plan to venture into the East?”
He could feel Miss Herwood’s inquisitive gaze. “The West Wing.”
Marguerite turned back to Miss Herwood. “My chateau is at your disposal. If there is anything you require, do not hesitate to ask it of me. If I may be presumptuous, and I often am, you are in good hands, Miss Herwood.”
He noticed the color intensify in Miss Herwood’s cheeks and briefly wondered if he would be able to keep his hands off of her during their excursion.
“As it is plain you intend to go out for a ride, I will keep you no further.”
She waved them away and went back to her magazine.
As he escorted Miss Herwood to the stables, he knew it would not take long for her to ask, “What is the East Wing?”
He eyed her carefully. “The activities in the East Wing are more...intense.”
She regarded him with equal care. “How intense?”
If he were too explicit, he might frighten her. “The guests in the East Wing have been to Chateau Follet many times.”
She waited for more information but he did not provide it.
“We will confine ourselves to the West Wing,” he assured her.
She looked at him squarely. “Have you been to the East Wing, Lord Rockwell?”
He paused. “I have.”
