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“You may love him all you like,” he replied with regretful firmness. “But August shall marry Lady Priscilla before spring of next year.”
Chapter Two: Mary
August retired late into the night, after drinking far more than he should. It was black outside with no moon, an ominous Hallowe’en night.
He was another year older, and another day closer to offering for Priscilla. By the end of this week, surely, he must do it. Why not? Who else was there? He’d never courted anyone, or loved any lady with particular feeling. If not for familial pressure, he might have contented himself with several more years of Dirty Esmeralda’s talents, and his music, and the occasional bottle of port.
He groaned and drew the curtains of his bed, and fell into a restless sleep, thinking of Esme, and Priscilla, and poor Minette, whom she’d humiliated. Afterward, Minette had disappeared for the rest of the night, and of course people remarked upon it, because Minette was so social. It wasn’t well done of Priscilla. If she was his wife—and she would soon be his wife—he might have had sharp words for her afterward, in private. He might have even spanked the spiteful creature, knocked her down a step or two from her pillar of righteousness with a trip across his lap.
But fantasy-spanking Priscilla did nothing for him. His dreams veered in a more satisfying direction: spanking Esme, and then holding her down and showing her just what happened to naughty girls. In the midst of this erotic reverie, a faint sound awoke him. The curtains parted, revealing a white gown and blonde hair. Ah, breasts. The side of the bed dipped and the curtain closed, enveloping them in darkness, but he knew who she was. The alluring chambermaid.
It appeared he was to have some birthday fun after all.
How he’d groused to Townsend and Arlington earlier, that he must spend his birthday alone. His friends must have sent her upstairs to surprise him, or perhaps the lass had come on her own. Either way, he was happy for the company, and not at all too drunk to perform. His cock stirred at her scent, her warm acquiescence as she snuggled close beside him. He knew from her glances the past few days that she found him enticing, and he planned to give her a good show of it, out of gratitude as much as anything else.
He stroked her hair, finding it soft and curly, sprung loose from her staid servant’s cap. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness but he remembered a pert nose and saucy mouth. He breathed in her sweet, flowery scent and caressed her soft skin. Esme had soft, fragrant skin like this. He might even pretend this girl was Esme if he wished it. One willing body was very like another, especially at this dark hour, on this witching night when he’d been born so many years ago.
“Have you come to be my special treat?” he whispered, drawing her pliable body closer. “Oh, but you smell pretty. You’re kind to visit me.”
She made some soft, sleepy sound in response. He knew he must be gentle with this young trollop. She’d be experienced—she wouldn’t have come to his bed otherwise—but he had to remember she was a Berkshire maid, not a London whore. He traced the curve of her waist and hips through the thin cotton of her night shift. She gave a light, breathless sigh, arching against him. She was petite but beautifully feminine, with great, round breasts and a bottom that filled his hands.
“How sweet you are,” he said, chuckling at her cuddlesome manner. “Will you give me a kiss? It’s my birthday, you know.”
She didn’t answer. These servant girls could be so shy around proper gentlemen. He cupped her chin and tried to kiss her, but he ended up grazing her nose in the darkness before he found his way to her lips. Her kisses were shy too, but her fingers crept up his shoulders and curled in his hair in a decidedly welcoming way.
“You want to be here with me, don’t you?” he asked, just to be sure. “You didn’t get lost on your way back to the servants’ quarters?”
She went still, and he thought for one moment that she’d rise and leave him there, aroused and unsatisfied. But then she said, in a soft, whispery voice, “Yes, I want to be here.”
The way she said it had him rock hard. “I’ll make it good for you, my little pretty,” he promised. He kissed her again, entranced by her freshness, her reticence even as she pressed her body closer to his. “We’re going to have a fine time together this Hallowe’en night. You’re not afraid of ghosts and goblins, are you?”
She whispered in that same soft voice, “No, milord. I’m not afraid.”
His fingers played over her knee and then trailed up the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn’t bold and brassy like Dirty Esmeralda, but she was equally luscious in her way. He caught the hem of her shift and bunched it in his palm, drawing it upward. “I’m going to take this off. I want to be able to touch you everywhere and make you feel good.”
“That sounds...nice.”
He went by touch rather than sight, inching the garment over her head, though she tried to grasp it back at the end. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll lay it right here so you can find it later. I’ll let you back to your bed by dawn, so you don’t risk the housekeeper’s wrath.”
“Oh. Thank you. That’s very important.”
The formal, polite way she said this made him smile. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Silly girl.” He drew her closer, not to maul her or anything. He wanted to enjoy her for a while, trace her curvy waist and squeeze and suckle her bounteous breasts. She made the most erotic sighs as he caressed her. She twitched and tensed, and grasped his shoulders, giving herself up to sensation as they lay together in the dark. His mind wandered to thin, icy Lady Priscilla. No, he didn’t want to think about her now, not with this willing, warm angel in his bed. He stroked his palms up and down the maid’s back.
“What’s your name, missy?” he asked.
Silence again. The little imp. Did she think he wouldn’t recognize her in the light of day? Did she think he didn’t very well know who’d been making eyes at him all week?
“Mary,” she finally said. It was probably a false name, but that was all right. He’d call her whatever she wished as long as she spread her thighs for him and helped dispel some of his frustration this dreary night. Her feminine scent compelled him, and the feel of her curves made him want to thrust his cock inside her. No, not yet. The night was young and she was fun to play with, with her squirms and her little sighs. He petted her, stroked her, made soothing sounds as he dropped kisses upon her lips and down the column of her neck.
“Mary,” he murmured. “How I love your breasts.” He helped himself to a handful of one tit, and locked his lips around the other, nibbling gently at her nipple. He wasn’t the type of lover to spout poetry. He preferred to let his fingers and lips make the poetry, and she didn’t seem to mind. His hand tightened on her waist as he teased and licked the pointed peak. She panted beneath him as if she’d never experienced such sensation before. He suckled the other breast to hear the sound again, a moan of shock and discovery. Poor lass. Her previous partners must have been quick and neglected her pleasure. All the more reason to take his time.
“You like that, do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered in the darkness. “It feels wonderful.”
He paid court to her gorgeous breasts until her nails dug into his back, until her nipples were so hard and tight he could trace their contours with the tip of his tongue. He bit down on one rather hard, just to see what she would do. The nails dug deeper and her hips bucked; a ragged mewl escaped. How delightful these servant girls could be. He generally stuck to a small circle of working women in London. They were marvelous at their art, but tended to stay detached at the end of it. This lovely blonde lass had an open, uncontrived manner that charmed him, that made him think of softness and playfulness, and comfortable things.
He squeezed her rounded bottom, traced down her thighs, then eased her legs apart to explore her feminine folds. He delved down into her soft fluff of curls and palmed the heat of her pussy. She tensed, going still in his arms.
“No, don’t fret,” he said. “Open for me, Mary. Let me see if you’re feeling naughty or nice.”
She trembled a little, so he kissed her until she calmed and then he pressed his fingers deeper, into her sleek, secret place. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased. “You’re feeling naughty indeed. I’m glad.” He smiled against her lips. She was so hot and wet, and so responsive. He dec
ided he couldn’t go through the rest of his life without knowing the taste of this novel creature, so he ducked beneath the covers, from darkness into more darkness.
His little angel gasped, and reached down as if to stop him. Goodness, didn’t these country boys know how to properly satisfy their partners? “Let me do it,” he said, pressing a kiss against her belly. “Open your legs and let me kiss your pretty pussy.”
Some of the tension left her as she ceased to resist. With a satisfied growl, he parted her quim with his thumbs and licked across slick folds until he found the little nub of flesh that made her jerk in reaction. His entire world was her scent and her trembling, and her soft, throaty sighs, which he had already memorized by heart. How exciting, to explore and experiment without sight. He was obliged to learn her needs through his other senses, which proved to be a rousing endeavor. She tasted piquant and sweet, and innocent and wicked. Noises filtered down to him beneath the covers, more groans and muffled moans. She needn’t be so quiet, he thought, for the heavy bed curtains provided them an impermeable fortress from the world.
With time and patience, and the gift of his big mouth, he eased the shaking in her limbs, and had her arching to him instead. Lick and stroke, nip there, suck here. Eventually, she forgot about being quiet and became rather vocal. His cock swelled, aching to be inside her, but this was so diverting. She was going to come for him, he could feel it. He eased a finger up inside her, mimicking the sex act, pushing it in and out in rhythm to her jerks and pleading breaths. It would be good to have her well primed before he mounted her.
“Yes, that’s it,” he whispered between grazing nips of his teeth. “Yes, naughty girl. Is it good for you?”
Her legs tensed again, pressing against his ears. He concentrated on her pearl, teasing licks and then more pressure, and was rewarded with an abandoned cry. She even sounded like an angel when she came. He chuckled against her skin and gave her one last lick for good measure, and found his way back up in the dark by way of lingering kisses. Hips, belly, breasts, shoulders, neck. Ah, there were her lips, moist and slightly parted. He licked and kissed them, wishing he could see the expression on her face, but not wishing to disturb this dark, mysterious intimacy.
