Taming Maria, page 6
A bottle-green jacket fitted his shoulders without a flaw, short at the waist in front, flaring into coattails behind. His white breeches displayed the strength of his legs, ending in gleaming boots. The frills on his shirtfront were spotless, as was the stiff collar that reached his sideburns. Ornate fobs dangled from a gold chain that spanned his embroidered waistcoat. Maria subjected his crotch to a fleeting glance. If the bulge there was anything to go by then he was very well-endowed.
'Ladies, I am charmed to meet you,' he said, but his glance lingered on Maria.
'How did you come to be invited?' Arabella leaned towards him and her cleavage deepened, those alabaster breasts bare almost to the nipples. 'I thought you and Damien disliked one another?'
He smiled a little ruefully, and shrugged. 'We do... or we did. A mere trifle, I assure you. An issue concerning a wager, nothing more. Will you reserve a dance for me later?' Though he addressed her aunt, Maria knew he was asking her.
Jane, who never missed a trick, whispered, 'You've made a conquest there.'
'Don't be silly,' Maria hissed crossly, thinking, if only I had met him before Damien. How is it that he manages to blight everything in my life and succeeds in blinding me to other men?
It was not dancing time yet. Supper was served in the dining-room, linked to the saloon by cedar wood doors that were now folded back. 'May I escort you?' Charles extended an arm to Arabella.
Hundreds of candles blazed in the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling where bosomy goddesses frolicked with shepherds against an Arcadian background. These paintings were set between swathes of lavishly gilded plaster garlands. No expense had been spared to transform the monastic setting into one as secular and extravagant as a king's palace.
'My guardian must be exceedingly wealthy,' Maria observed, wondering which delicacy to try first. There was much to choose from; salads and salmon, wafer-thin slices of beef and ham, cold chicken, a variety of cheeses, butter fresh from the dairy, crusty bread from the bakery, pyramids of fruit, delicious syllabubs and concoctions made from ice-cream.
Glass scintillated and silver cutlery gleamed. 'Prinny would enjoy this feast,' Charles remarked, flicking out a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbing his lips.
'Prinny?' Maria was puzzled.
'Prince George. He loves food almost as much as fucking.' He said this as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
Maria did not even blush. Let this popinjay try to embarrass her. He would find he had met his match. She was determined not to let him get the upper hand. She ignored him, filling a plate and carrying it to a couch where Jane sat, picking at the food.
'What's the matter now?' Maria was finding her friend's unhappiness hard to endure.
'I'm missing Robin so much. It's torment to know he is but a few miles away.'
'Stop fretting. Emily is a resourceful girl and walking out with Tranter, one of the grooms. I'm sure that if you write a letter to Robin I can get it delivered. Tranter will wait for a reply and we can arrange a tryst.'
'How wonderful! Oh, I can't thank you enough!'
'We shall have to be careful. The viscount would be furious were he to find out.' Maria knew she would be held responsible and her spanked flesh tingled.
She dispatched Jane to the library where pen, ink and paper could be found and then ordered Emily to attend her in the cloakroom. Arabella was too engrossed with Charles and the dilettantes who clustered around to notice her disappearance.
Maria succeeded in giving Sarah the slip. The duenna was getting tipsy, encouraging the attentions of a strapping flunky who was supplying her with champagne. Maria hoped that she would forget her duties and have nothing on her mind but fornication.
Jane handed her the note and she passed it on to Emily who slipped out to the coach, found Tranter and gave him his orders. There would be time for him to borrow a horse from the stable, find his way to Robin's lodgings and complete the business before the event concluded. Not only would he be rewarded by more of Emily's bounteous favours, but half a guinea as well. Maria and Jane returned to the party.
Damien observed his guests through a cunning invention that appeared to be a gold-framed Venetian mirror in the saloon, but was in reality a window giving a clear view to anyone on the other side of the wall. He stood in a narrow corridor that separated him from those he had invited; one of the secret places that honey-combed Strafford Hall. A cynical smile lifted his lips as he mentally saluted those old monks who had known a thing or two about spying.
This aroused him, his cock rising within the slim-fitting pale grey trousers that were part of his evening attire. His guests were already inebriated, losing their inhibitions and behaving like the indulged, licentious individuals that existed beneath their polite exteriors. Not all, of course. He was duty bound to invite a few stuffy, influential people who would uphold his reputation when others reviled him. He had many enemies, but then who didn't in those troubled times? There was an unpleasant rumour circulating that his wealth was partly due to his dabbling in politics, his loyalty to the Crown suspect. None of this had ever been proved. He was too cunning for that. He smiled and inserted a hand down the front of his trousers, finding his erection and caressing it.
Soon those of a virtuous disposition would take part in the minuet, whilst other, more adventurous spirits would accompany him to the vault. He knew who they would be - a bishop, a duke, a magistrate, a Member of Parliament and the like. Whilst the women would have countesses and ladies-in-waiting among their number, to say nothing of well-bred brides and blue-blooded virgins, actresses and high-class prostitutes.
We are all the same under the skin, no better than rutting animals, he decided, and not for the first time Maria's image swam into his ken, and his cock jerked in his fist. Chastising her had been the most exciting thing he had done for a long time. He had every intention of marrying her, transferring her money to his bank and her lands, properties and every other part of her estate into the hands of his lawyers. He could father two or three children on her and then, if she became troublesome, have her diagnosed as insane and incarcerated in a lunatic asylum for the rest of her days. This was a common practice among those of their class.
The feeling was mounting in his balls as he handled his penis. He had time to spare and could jerk off before performing his duties as host. He opened his trousers and drew out the proof of masculinity of which he was so proud. The notion of thrusting it into Maria's virgin hole almost tipped him over the edge. He slowed down, avoiding the helm, but keeping up a slow, steady frottage on the dark-skinned, vein-knotted stem, careful not to slide his foreskin up and over that all too sensitive head. Pre-come was dribbling from the single eye. Passion began to take over, the urge to ejaculate uncontrollable. Nothing mattered but that divine sensation when he spurted. He was a heartbeat away, no more, when the rush suddenly slowed as he saw the man standing talking with Maria.
His spunk retreated, his balls slackened and his penis drooped. 'Charles Bradbury! Damn him!' Damien growled. 'That bloody upstart! How dare he approach her! Jesus Christ, I'll call him out!'
'It is exceedingly hot in here,' Maria remarked, stirring the air with her fan and wondering how Tranter was getting on.
By now couples were dancing, a colourful collection going through the steps of minuet and gavotte that they had learned in childhood, when they were being prepared to take part in events like this. Her toes tapped but she did not want to dance with anyone except Damien, and he was still absent. Charles smiled at her and said, 'Shall we take a stroll in the conservatory? I promise you that I'm not such a bad fellow, and respectful of maidenly virtue.'
Maria could not be sure if he was mocking her but, bored and restless, permitted him to escort her. Sarah should have followed, but she was nowhere to be seen, probably in some secluded nook with the flunkey, getting up to all sorts of ribaldry. 'I wish I was a commoner.' The words popped out of Maria's mouth without thought.
'And why, pray, is that?' Charles stood back, so that she might precede him into the luscious tropical area.
'They have so much more fun than we do. What with finishing school when we were ordered around by dames and then residing with relatives who expect us to be as chaste as nuns. We have no freedom and it is driving me insane.'
They paused by a pool where a pair of swans floated majestically, stirring the water-lilies. The fronds of palms imported from the East brushed the glass cupola, and exotic perfume breathed out from white flowers with orange stamens reminiscent of phalli. Others trailed from baskets or occupied jardinières - - vines, orchids and other plants imported from hot climates.
Maria and Charles were not the only ones seeking seclusion. Couples lingered in the shadows, or leaned against stone balustrades or sat entwined on benches. There were no chaperones, which indicated that the women were either married, widows or, like Maria, downright disobedient. Charles stood with her, gazing into the darkness that stretched away into the distance. She was lost for words, wondering why she had put herself in this position. It was indiscreet to say the least. He moved and she jumped nervously. All he did was draw a sliver snuff-box from a pocket, open it, take a pinch, balanced a tiny dune at the base of his thumb and lift it to each nostril in turn, sniffing appreciatively.
'I saw you race,' he said, replacing the box.
'You did?'
'I put money on the outcome, backing Damien.'
'You had no faith in a woman winning. That was short-sighted of you.' This annoyed her and she wanted to go back to the saloon.
'I shan't make that mistake again. You were superb. Did you know you were challenging your guardian?'
'I had never met him before.'
'Strange. Had he not taken an interest in you?' Charles slanted her a glance, and she was very aware of his shoulder touching hers, velvet against bare skin.
'Lady Arabella tells me he is away a lot. She was the one who had cared for me, sending me to school and letting me visit her sometimes.'
'You are an heiress?'
'So I'm told. I would like to go home to Burrington Manor and take command, but they say I must wait until I'm twenty-one or find a husband to manage my estate. I don't want to do this. I'd like to marry for love, not because it is convenient.'
'Hmm, this only happens among the working class, and even then the parents often have a say in the matter. No doubt things will change eventually. It seems that you have ideas ahead of your time.'
It was pleasant to be holding a conversation with a man as if they were on a par intellectually. All too often Maria had endured being patronised, but Charles was not like that. She'd never had a brother, and felt that had she been so fortunate he might have been something like Charles. Then, honest to the point of brutality, she scolded herself. It was not a fraternal relationship she wanted with him, but a full-blown sexual one.
He moved a step closer and desire speared her. If she had entertained impure thoughts when at the finishing school, then these had increased tenfold since coming to London. She longed for Charles to kiss her so she could test her own response and compare his mouth to Damien's.
'Were I your guardian I'd not let you out of my sight,' he said, speaking low. 'You are too beautiful, Lady Maria.'
'He trusts me,' she replied, though not sure if this was true.
'Then the man's a fool!' There was mockery and a trace of anger in his voice.
'Are you suggesting that I'm a strumpet?' It aroused her to argue with him, the air sizzling between them.
He chuckled. 'That's not very nice coming from the lips of a genteel young lady. Do you know what a strumpet is?'
'Of course, do you think I'm a complete ignoramus?' She did not want to talk or explain herself or do other than be folded in his arms, pressed to that broad chest and caressed by those strong hands. If Damien had abandoned her, then there was no reason why she should not flirt with another man. She owed him nothing. The tender skin of her backside still remembered his harsh handling and, though ragingly indignant at his treatment, she quivered and burned. Would Charles seek to chastise her? The idea made her nipples peak and sent ripples down her spine into her womb. I'm bad, she thought, really bad. Maybe I do have the makings of a strumpet.
The moon was rising, filling the garden with blue radiance. Bats swooped from the bell-tower and barn owls were engaged in hooting and hunting. Maria wanted to remain like this for ever, and nestled into him as he drew her close, not caring if he was testing her morals. He did not take unfair advantage, simply stood there, holding her, then raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed each finger, one by one.
She felt laughter sweeping through him as he murmured, 'You shouldn't be allowed out. Much too potent for the male race. Are you aware of the effect you're having on me?'
She was fully aware, recognising the hard bulge distorting the front of his breeches. Unable to control herself she moved sensually, rubbing herself against it. He bent and kissed her, their mouths opening and their tongues meeting while his hands clasped her buttocks, making them make contact with his cock, using small, firm thrusts.
His kiss was different to Damien's, as commanding, but more sensitive to her feelings. It was lovely, but lacked that spice of danger associated with her guardian. His hand wandered to her breast and his touch turned her insides to jelly. He toyed with her nipples and the pleasure shot down to her clitoris. He employed both tongue and fingers to give her the utmost pleasure, so skilled that she became jealous of those fortunate women who had been the recipients of his lovemaking before her.
He lifted her skirt, cruising up her thigh and finding the downy fork between. Maria drew in a sharp breath as he landed unerringly on her crack, parted it and found her nubbin. She was not sure about this intimate caress. It was too soon. She hardly knew him. Above all she did not want him to think she was a trollop. As if sensitive to her feelings he concentrated on stroking her lower belly, brushing across the curly triangle, wooing her gently as if she was a nervous filly. It was most persuasive.
Then like a lightning strike that comes without warning, Damien was there, swinging Charles round to face him. 'What the devil are you doing here, Bradley? And get your dirty hands off my ward!'
'You invited me, sir.' Charles could not have been more composed. Maria's skirt slithered into place and it was as if he had never touched her.
'I did? When was this?' Damien looked as if he wanted to strike him.
'At White's Club last week. Don't you remember, or were you too cup-shorten?' It was plain to see that these gentlemen loathed one another.
'Are you suggesting I can't hold my liquor?' Damien's face was hard, his eyes flinty.
'Nothing of the sort, sir. But I tell you plain, you did invite me.'
'Are you calling me a liar?'
'I wouldn't dream of it, but my horse has better manners than you, even if he does piss in the street.' Charles's sarcasm coiled round the conservatory. He turned to bow to Maria. 'It has been a pleasure meeting you. Now I'll take my leave.'
'You're not welcome here at any time.' Damien stepped to her side, glaring at Charles.
'That is patently obvious. I bid you farewell.' With that he walked away, head high.
Damien rounded on Maria. His hand shot out, gripping her arm painfully. 'As for you, hussy!' he stormed. 'How dare you linger about with him?'
'Lady Arabella introduced us,' she protested, tugging herself free.
'Then I shall take her to task. And as for you, it is high time I taught you a few more lessons.'
Chapter 5
Charles left Strafford Hall without a backward glance. He clapped on his low-crowned topper and shrugged his shoulders into a triple-capped overcoat, then addressed his manservant, 'Bates, fetch the horses.'
Riding from Hampstead across the heath to his own lodgings, he brooded on everything that had happened that night, dwelling particularly on Maria. That such a desirable beauty should be in the care of Viscount Damien stuck in his craw.
Reaching his house he dismounted and entered, Bates taking the horses to the stables at the rear. Charles lived alone, creature comforts provided by his housekeeper, Mrs Pritchard, and his sexual requirements met by a number of whores from Madame Flora's brothel and, more recently, by his new mistress, Sally Wyatt. He had an estate in the country, though visited it rarely, leaving the management in the capable hands of his agent. He had come to the capital to study art, frustrated because students could no longer attend the academies in Paris.
Having been an officer in the army, he now served his country in a less conspicuous manner, working underground in order to apprehend spies working for the French Government. On the surface he appeared to be a dabbler in painting who caroused with other young bucks, living a carefree existence. In reality he met informers and double agents, using taverns and bawdy houses in order to carry out his investigations. One of his principal suspects was Damien. In his role as a dandy whose only apparent interest was in gambling, drinking and rogering the artists' models who posed nude for him, he had attempted to socialise with him, but the antipathy between them made this impossible. As yet there was not a shred of evidence, but Charles was certain the viscount was up to something.
He lit a candle and made his way to the main bedroom. Mrs Pritchard occupied a more humble apartment in the attic. Bates slept across the corridor to his master, doubling as valet and sidekick. Cleaners came in daily and soiled linen was farmed out to washerwomen. Food was delivered from the pie shops, bakers and dairies. London abounded in eating houses, all within a stone's throw of dwellings. Only the wealthy kept well-maintained kitchens and employed cooks when residing in town.
'Ah, there you are, Charlie. I thought you'd be later than this.' Sally Wyatt spoke from the depths of the tester-bed. 'Old Mother Pritchard let me in. You'll have to give me a key, you know. Can't keep knocking her up, though I think she had a fellow with her. Dirty slut!'
