What the Mistress Did Page 4

  For a moment, she makes no response. It was a credible effort at copying her husband’s writing, but I have seen it too often to be completely fooled. Once the initial burst of excitement had waned, I realised the letter could not be from David. Perhaps she thought I would be deceived and, having rehearsed in her mind the way this scene is to unfold, now knows not how to proceed.

  “I had to see you,” she eventually replies in her cool, clear tones. “Signing the note as I did seemed the best way to ensure you would capitulate.”

  My gesture for her to take a seat goes ignored, so I wait, eyebrows raised in question for her to continue. Her poise is impressive, until I realise it to be superficial, much as is mine. Although she has not moved forward, her skirts rustle softly, obviously from the agitated stirring of her hands, hidden in their folds.

  The silence lengthens, and as I begin to wonder if she will ever speak, Lady Harrington says in a rush, “You have ruined my marriage.”

  I had no expectations for this visit, could see no good reason for it at all, and no amount of speculation could have led me to this moment. An instinctive rush of rage makes my blood heat, and I am forced to mask it with a laugh.

  “I do not see how,” I respond, fighting the urge to rise and slap her face. “You desired me to leave your husband alone, and I have. How does that constitute impeding your marriage in any way?”

  She takes a step forward, hands emerging, fingers curled into claws, but stops beyond striking range. Her breath comes in sharp gusts now, and her cheeks are flushed, all evidence of poise having vanished.

  “It was what you said, the curse you laid upon me before I had the sense to know what it meant. How could you be so cruel?”

  Has the strain of her changed life turned her mind? “I have no idea of what you speak.”

  “Bitch,” she cries. “Whore. You have stolen the pleasure from my marriage bed with your words.”

  It is all she will say, pausing as though I should understand. Our prior conversation replays in my mind as I search for the answer, and when it comes, another harsh laugh escapes.

  “Do you mean when I said you will be bored? That he will fuck you the same way each night and neither of you will find true pleasure in the coupling?”

  Her face contorts, and I rise in time to grab her wrists before she can gouge at my face. Annabelle Dunscombe is strong, but I am taller and stronger yet. Forcing her arms behind her, I hold her until she ceases to struggle. We stand, locked together, as she glares up at me.

  “If you had said nothing, I would never know, or care.” She spits the words at me, but her eyes are filled with tears. Only pride, I suspect, stops them from falling. “Each night, when he comes to me I wait. Wait for him to do something different, to teach me what he wants me to learn. But nothing changes. How can I bear to know he will not seek true pleasure with me but save it for someone like you?”

  “Poor little bird,” I coo, rage making the mocking words a blade to slash at her already lacerated heart. “Do you feel bereft, angry, alone?”

  Annabelle Dunscombe growls, begins to struggle once more, and she does not stop until we are on the ground and I straddle her waist, her wrists trapped beneath my knees. She has lost her veil and wig, and her short dark hair is dishevelled. The mass of her skirts and pannier bunch against my back. My robe is in disarray, caught on the tips of my breasts, barely meeting at my waist but open below to expose my belly and the curls between my thighs.

  Beneath me, my captor’s chest heaves with each gasping breath, nipples almost escaping her low-cut bodice. Flushed with rage and perspiration, she is truly, absolutely glorious. If David could see her thus, he would be upon her like a ravenous beast. More likely she greets him in the dark with a cool, compliant air instead of this fire.

  My ire redoubles, and I hear myself snarl, “It is one of life’s ironies that we never appreciate what we have. I gave you what you desired, but it is not enough for you, is it? You possess all I could ever dream of having, and yet greed brings you here to demand even more.”

  “I want nothing from you—nothing!”

  I laugh at her rejoinder, pressing my knees harder into her arms. “Liar! If you wanted nothing from me, you would never have come.”

  She bites her lip, obviously at a loss for words, and swallows deeply, the hectic colour draining from her face. Unable to hold my gaze, she lowers her eyes.

  I recognise the exact moment she realises I am all but naked. Her eyes widen, dart away from my breasts but just as swiftly return—linger. A blush floods her cheeks, and her gaze drops to the junction of my thighs.

  Now she cannot suppress her gasp of shock, nor stop herself from staring.

  Imogene teases me that my clitoris is larger than one any delicately bred woman should possess, and sucking it is almost akin to performing fellatio. Keeping my pubic hair neatly trimmed emphasizes its size, for it is always visible between my cunt lips. With my legs spread wide to immobilize the little harridan, I know she can see it clearly and do nothing to hinder her view.

  The silk of her gown is slick beneath my arse, heated from the tussle. The scent of lilacs, mingled with a light hint of perspiration and my own unique odour, rises to my nostrils. I am aroused by the physicality of our encounter, my anger and her naiveté. I have the urge to slide forward, to cover her face with my quim, to force her to please me, since she has stolen the greatest of pleasures from my life.

  This is shocking, even to me.

  “What do you want from me, Lady Harrington?”

  Harsh, commanding, my voice seems to wake her from her trancelike state, but when she raises her eyes, they are glazed, confused.

  “I…” She falters, swallows again, shakes her head, and as I watch, the tears she has held in finally overwhelm her and roll from her eyes. “I want you to tell me how to win his love.”

  “How?” I will not relent, for the sight of her tears moves me not at all. I have cried enough to fill the Thames to overflowing. It is her turn now to weep.

  “Tell me what to do, how to fulfill the needs you say he has.” Rushing, forestalling any reply I might make, she continues. “You know my husband better than I. Teach me how to…”

  Such is her innocence, she cannot even articulate what it is she wishes to learn.

  “You are a young, silly fool who has given no thought to anything other than her own selfish wishes. You have no concern for my feelings; why should I care about yours?”

  “Because you love David.” Suddenly her voice is strong, even though her tears continue to fall. “I have seen it in your eyes, although you try to hide it, even from him. You would want him to be happy. Teach me how to do it.”

  I rise before I give in to the urge to do her violence. Leaving her on the floor, I turn away, pulling the edges of my robe closed and tying the sash tightly once more.

  Love? How can she mention that word to me, wield it like a sabre to slice away my carefully constructed lies? How dare she expose my pain and shame to the open air, as though remarking on nothing more than the colour of my hair or the style of a dress?

  Words of repudiation rise to my lips but find no release. I want to tell her to go, but something holds me back.

  Does she know the risk she takes, coming to me, trying to put herself into my hands? Even though I can hardly breathe through my rage, already my mind is racing with all that could go awry.

  She seeks to save her marriage, while giving me the ability to ruin it forever.

  I search my soul for mercy—find none. Deep inside I am coldly calculating, even though my body has suddenly turned molten. She seeks to use me to her own ends, and I am determined to return the favour, tenfold.

  “How do you suggest I go about this monumental task? Shall we share a pot of tea and discuss your husband’s predilections? Will that serve your purpose?”

  “Surely there are things you can tell me that will aid my cause?” There is a rustle of skirts as she rises, and her voice comes closer to where
I stand. “I am not as naive as you think. You will not shock me.”

  Turning, I look at her. From the tangled hair to the dainty ankles and shoes below her skirts, every inch radiates youth—and fear. Can I build that fear to terror and, in so doing, serve my own purpose?

  “Little one, you have no idea what it is you seek to discover.” I say it quietly, moving nearer to her one slow step at a time until I am so close she will feel my breath on her upturned face. “How do you know if you will enjoy David’s basest attentions once he turns them on you?”

  She pales, her lips turning tremulous for a brief moment before firming once again. “It matters not whether I enjoy them—only that I provide whatever he needs.”

  I shake my head slowly, never releasing the gaze of those wide, terrified eyes. “Let me show you what you face—what you are asking me to teach you.”

  Reaching out, I clasp one icy hand, letting my fingers brush against her palm and wrist. Lady Harrington shivers as I turn but obediently follows me to the large wardrobe. Still holding her hand, I open the carved doors and then a drawer set in the bottom of the cabinet. Tugging her closer until her shoulder is snug against the side of my breast, I gesture to the items inside.

  “Are you still sure you wish to know?”

  Her fingers tighten on mine, and although she makes no sound, I feel the tremors coursing through her body. She leans into me as though suddenly faint, and when I release her hand, she makes no move to leave my side.

  I let the silence linger between us, fraught and heavy with the presence of my collection of whips, dildos and sundry other erotic playthings. Lifting the flogger from its place, I turn it over and over in my hands. When I glance at her, it is to see her eyes following it, a horror etched into every line of her face.

  “David had this made for me,” I whisper, trailing the strips of soft leather through my fingers, rubbing the ivory handle with my palm. “It is one of my favourites, for it stings deliciously and leaves my arse red and sore for days but without cutting the flesh.” Putting it back in its place, I pick up a riding crop. “This is David’s favourite. He says he loves the way it whistles through the air with each stripe and the way I scream when it makes contact with my skin.”

  “No—” Finally, spurred by her fear, Lady Harrington stumbles away, hands pressed against her belly. “Stop, oh stop. I cannot bear it!”

  I follow, watching her attempt to retrieve her veil, seeing it flutter from her fingers as though they tremble too much to grasp it. And I will not stop—cannot stop, for I feel my goal is in sight.

  “It is not always like that. There are nights when I use these things on him, and others of gentle bliss, when pleasure is prolonged and so intense I cannot move after. He has taught me ways to use my mouth and hands to bring him pleasure, and also how to insist on getting pleasure for myself from our encounters. That is the matter of highest import. Once you can achieve ecstasy from what he desires, his pleasure will be magnified a thousand-fold. It is impossible to teach that to you…” I let my voice die away, see her shoulders slump in defeat before I continue. “But although it may be painful for you, I could show you.”

  And the look of petrified hope she turns to me almost makes me laugh aloud with glee.

  Chapter Six

  Carefully, almost demurely dressed, artfully positioned, I wait. There is no way to know whether my scheme will go as planned, but in my bones, I feel it will.

  Every family has secrets, matters they have no desire to make public if they can at all keep them private. David and I share such a secret, and I am counting on his remembering that when responding to my summons, even if his anger and better inclinations bid him stay away.

  He comes, pausing in the doorway in just the same manner as he did the last time he was here. My heart leaps, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to smile, to hold out my arms in welcome. Instead, I incline my head in response to his bow and gesture him to a chair.

  “Thank you for interrupting your evening to see me.”

  I’m quite proud of the evenness of my voice, for there is a lump lodged in my throat and my pulse is racing.

  “When I received your missive, I had to come, but I have little time. The House reconvenes in an hour.” He is equally cordial, although his hands move restlessly, aligning the legs of his breeches, tugging at the hem of his coat. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  I glance at the trunk to one side of the room, in case he did not espy it when he entered. “I am packing to leave London.” His hands clench and just as swiftly relax once more. The movement is tiny, but I see it and rejoice. “As I was sorting through some belongings to be disposed of, I found my father’s missing journal.”

  David stiffens, and then a smile slowly dawns across his face. The sight of it fills me with warmth and despair. Has there ever been a man as beautiful as he? Will I ever see another who moves me as he does?

  “You found Lord Connaught’s missing journal? After all this time?”

  There is only curiosity and joy in his voice, no censure or suspicion, but even so, I feel a frisson of guilt, for I have had it all along. I lower my lashes so it will not show. “It had gotten mixed in with some other volumes and was apparently brought here from Haybrick when I moved them after his death. I was sure I had searched through all of the books, but I’m glad I found it now.” Looking at him directly once more, I smile slightly. “I would hate for it to be here for someone to find if I decide not to return.”

  His eyes darken, and I know he wants to demand to know where I am going, and with whom, but he tempers his response to only, “Indeed.”

  Letting my mask slip away is easy. Since the moment Annabelle Dunscombe gave voice to my true feelings for her husband, a deep sorrow has taken over my soul. I allow him to see it as I whisper, “There is nothing keeping me here any longer, David. I have to go away, rebuild my life.”

  He too seems unable to mask his emotions, for anger is rife on his face, in his voice. “You could have continued to have the life you once enjoyed, had you wanted to. There was no reason to end it.”

  Shaking my head, I smile slightly, even as my body flares hot with passion at his masterful, commanding tone. “You belong to another now, and I did not want you to have to make the choice between us. She is your wife and deserves your attentions.”

  Flushed with anger, eyes narrowed, he all but growls, “Do you think I can have with her what I had with you?”

  I shrug, do not answer, and my silence goads him to continue.

  “Tell me you do not miss the time we spent together. Tell me you do not ache for it.”

  Lowering my eyelids, watching him through my lashes, I whisper in response, “I cannot.”

  David rises from his chair, rage emanating from every inch of his body. The familiar bulge distorts his breeches, and my already aroused body pulses deep inside.

  “If you mean that, come here to me.”

  I know what he wants, and I thrill to the thought but make him wait, wonder, as I appear to hesitate.

  “Come here, Marianne.”

  Rising, I make my way to him, standing before him with downcast eyes. He gestures me to my knees, and I sink onto the floor, hands already reaching to unbutton his falls. Everything in me tells me to fully submit, but I cannot resist stoking the fires of his ire. Looking up at him through my lashes, I ask, “Do you wish it were your wife kneeling here?”

  “Stop it.” There is rage but also a strange undertone in his voice. “I will not discuss her with you.”

  There is an urge to stoke that rage by asking if he will imagine it is Annabelle touching him, taking him into her mouth. Just the thought of his possible response is too painful, so the impulse, along with its attendant words, dies away.

  His engorged cock pushes against my hands, gets tangled in his shirttails as I try to release it from confinement. Finally, finally, it springs free, and I almost sob with joy. Hard and hot, his ballocks already tight to the root, the fami
liar sight and feel and scent of him almost undoes me. My foolish heart swells with elation and must be reminded of the truth.

  David is not mine.

  Even as we strive to follow the familiar patterns, the weft of the cloth has changed irrevocably. Where before there were but two threads, now there are three, and this cannot be forgotten.

  I sweep the head of David’s prick with the flat of my tongue, and he shudders, then shudders again as I tickle around the glans. Pulling back slightly, I once more look demurely up at him, driven by a demon impossible to resist.

  “Lady Harrington has a beautiful mouth,” I murmur. “One that was surely made for pleasure. Have you instructed her on the joys of fellatio yet?”

  The flesh beneath my fingers swells, tightening even further, and I know the thought of his wife sucking his cock excites him.

  “Hush, Marianne.” He tangles his fingers in my hair, tightening them until my scalp aches, and he groans, “Just suck me, darling. Suck me as only you can.”

  His need fires my own. Love and desire have me open my lips and take him deeply into my mouth, fingers stirring and caressing his testicles. I swirl my tongue the way I know he loves, scraping my teeth over the head as he pulls back, fluttering my tongue from side to side as he pushes forward. The pace he sets is slow at first, but I know him—know what he loves, what drives him to the edge—and each time he thrusts deep, I swallow.

  “Marianne, Marianne…” My name is a chant of ecstasy. His cock softens ever so slightly, his ballocks draw even closer to his body, and I know he is about to find release. Increasing the draw of my mouth, letting my fingers slip to the soft skin behind his ballocks to tease, makes him moan.

  Two more thrusts and he spends in my mouth, crying out my name, gripping my hair as though never to let go.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he pulls away, still shuddering as I use my tongue to lick him clean. Yet when his fingers slip from my hair to cup my cheeks and he tilts my face up to meet his gaze, I can see the anger lingering there.