Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy (15 page)

"Yes," she baldly admitted.

Anymore, she wasn't too keen on having Charles as her partner, but the act itself was always agreeable, and she wouldn't deny her base disposition. If Mr. Mason didn't like it, he could jump off a cliff.

"Are you truly Lord Kettering's mistress?"

"Of course, I am. Why would you suppose I travel with him?"

"What would he say if he learned what you'd done with me?"

"I suspect he'd beat me, then toss me out without a penny."

"Then why did you proceed? Why risk so much?"

"I don't know."

"I want to do it again."

"So do I."

She couldn't believe the words had slipped from her mouth. Was she mad? She'd heard that women occasionally lost their mental faculties as they aged, so perhaps her advanced years were causing her to become deranged.

T like it rough and hard," he stated. T don't want to holdback."

"You can do it however you wish. I don't mind."

She felt wild, as if she were about to be hurled into an abyss. She grabbed for the waistband of his trousers, and she drew him to her, delighted by his erection.

"Are you and Mrs. Gray lovers?" she queried.

"Yes."

"For how long now?"

"We commenced shortly after her husband passed away—although I've been fond of her since we were Children."

"You never dared to commit adultery?"

"No, never."

"How noble of you."

"Isn't it though?" Oddly, he added, "We're to be married soon." "Really?" "Yes."

Mrs. Gray was so conniving and vicious, while he was straightforward and open. They were a peculiar match. "Do you imagine she'll make you happy?"

"Very."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He didn't appear too certain.

"Why are you telling me about her?"

"I'd presumed myself an honorable man, but I am betrothed to her, yet ready to fornicate with you, which means that my integrity is more questionable than I'd fathomed. I can make you no promises, so you shouldn't have any misconceptions about the sort of man I am." His smile was grim. "As I shall have none about the sort of woman you are."

"What would Mrs. Gray do if she found out about us?"

"She'd pitch a screaming fit."

"She's smitten by Lord Kettering."

"Yes, she is."

Anne could see the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. "And how would you react if she slept with him?"

"I wouldn't tolerate the news very well."

"Is that why you're out here with me? Are you eager to betray her, hoping to make her jealous?"

"I don't understand why I followed you. When you left, it just seemed as if I should come after you. I couldn't stop myself."

He wouldn't confess the truth, but she knew what it was: He was a man, so he thought with his cock. He'd chased after her because he was anxious for them to have another bout of raucous sex, and he was correct in assuming they would philander.

For some reason, she was desperately attracted to him. It was an insane need that had been growing since they'd first met. He lusted after her, too, and while his motives might be purely physical, it was so bloody refreshing to have somebody want her for something.

She flicked at the top button on his trousers, then at the next, and the next. The placard was loose, and she reached in and took him in hand, expertly sliding her thumb across the sensitive crown. Without being asked, she knelt down, pushed the fabric aside, and sucked him into her mouth.

She had no pride, no shame. Charles had taught her well, and if she was going to cheat, she would do it in grand style.

She cupped his balls, but to her surprise, he jerked away and yanked her to her feet. "What's the matter?" she inquired. "Not like that," he said. "Not yet." "Then what do you want?" "I'll show you."

He led her to the cushioned bench, and he eased her down and came over her. He was a big man, and she enjoyed feeling his weight on her.

He evaluated her curiously, and she was humored by his expression. He was clearly confused—by her lack of inhibition, by her enthusiasm to do whatever he demanded—and her zeal had him flummoxed.

"What is it?" she finally said.

"I want to fuck you lying down together like this," he explained, "and I want you to watch me the whole time."

"Fine."

"I want you to be glad that it's me, and if you can't be genuinely glad, then I want you to pretend that you are."

"I don't have to pretend. I am glad it's you."

Her comment had a palliative effect. He fussed with her skirt and settled himself between her thighs; then he took his cock and guided it to her center, forcing it in without hesitation or preparation.

She winced, but raised no complaint. She was used to brutal handling, and had endured much of it when Charles was being a beast.

Mason was immobile, apparently waiting for the protest he expected, and when none occurred, he started to flex. He was braced on his palms, and he held himself over her, not changing the tempo, not doing anything to arouse her, not speaking or touching her except where their bodies were joined.

He kept on for an eternity, and gradually, the experience metamorphosed into something besides an awkward and illicit tryst. His motions gentled, the regard in his eyes warmed.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

The tender remark made it seem as if she were young and pretty again, and she kissed him with a frantic passion. Isolation and despair were suddenly crushing her, and she felt more alone than she'd ever been, as if they were the last two people on earth, as if—should she let go of him—she'd float away.

He was a tether to the world she had relinquished eons ago, the one where she'd been a normal woman with ordinary hopes and dreams, before she'd abandoned them for Charles Prescott.

The power of his thrusts increased, the culmination approaching, and she didn't want him to finish. Once he spilled himself, he'd leave, then she'd have to proceed to her room, and the notion of being by herself, of ruminating in the dark, was the most depressing thing she could imagine.

With a low growl of satisfaction, he stiffened and came, his cock buried deep; then he exhaled a heavy breath and drew away.

As if they were strangers—which they were—he sat up and straightened his clothes, so she sat up and straightened hers, too. They peered off across the yard, not looking at each other, and she knew she should say something, but what?

Eventually, he shifted toward her.

"You seem very sad," he said.

"Not sad. Just quiet."

"I didn't do that very well."

"Didn't do what?"

"I didn't make love to you."

"I didn't expect you to."

"Do you always demand so little for yourself?"

She shrugged. 'This isn't a Grand Passion, Mr. Mason. It's merely a hasty tumble in the gazebo. In a situation such as ours, I don't anticipate much."

He snorted, then inquired, "Will Lord Kettering seduce Lavinia?"

"He might, but he'll marry Penelope."

"I thought she was destined for Lord Romsey."

"She is."

"Would Kettering cuckold his own son?" "We'll see."

She wasn't about to discuss the two Prescott men, or the fiscal crises driving them. Both Mrs. Gray and Miss Gray were aware of Jordan's money troubles, but Anne was certain neither of them understood Charles's urgent condition. They were probably both salivating at the prospect of wedding a wealthy aristocrat, but whichever one wound up with him, she would be in for a huge surprise.

"How long will you and Kettering stay at Gray's Manor?"

"Until he's ready to go."

"Then what?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

He stared at the house, then at her. "I want to do this with you in my bed sometime." "I'm sure it would be divine."

"If I asked you to stop by my residence, would you? My boys are visiting their grandparents for the summer. It would be quite discreet."

"I believe I would, yes."

"And would you arrive early and spend the entire day?" "I would."

Was she really contemplating such an outrage? Could she carry through? To what end?

"Why have you invited me, Mr. Mason?"

T don't know."

"You must have some idea."

"I just want it," he said, unable to expound.

She nodded. She felt much the same. By being with him, she was filling an empty spot that had grown so vast it constantly echoed with the reminders of all that was missing. No home. No family. No friends.

Just Charles Prescott, and the ashes of what remained of their relationship. Would she ride it to its tortured conclusion? Or would she have the courage to flee before he tossed her over yet again?

"I'll come as soon as I can."

"I live just through the woods. It's a quick walk."

"Which will make it easy to slip away."

"Yes." He reached for her, dragging her across him so that she was over his lap and on her knees.

She scowled, questioning, and he muttered, "I must have you again before I go."

"All right."

"I want to do it over and over. May I?" "You don't have to be so bloody polite. Just take me. Take me however you'd like. I'm happy to oblige." He loosed her dress and tugged it down so that her breasts swung free. At seeing them, he rippled with delight and cupped them, thumbing the nipples. Then, he pulled her closer and as he suckled, she let out an odd sound, a sob of pleasure, or perhaps relief. It had been so long since she'd been touched with awe or affection.

His hips rose, and his phallus found its target all on its own. He began his slow, methodical thrusting, and she gazed out at the water on the lake, wondering who she'd become, for she hadn't a clue, and she was terrified over what would happen next.

Chapter Twelve

Charles puffed on a cheroot and studied the dark, cloudy sky. As he’d huddled in the shadows, he'd seen Anne walking back from the lake, but he didn't waste any energy wondering why she was out there by herself. He was too busy with more pressing concerns.

A door furtively opened, and he glanced over, smirking as Penelope sneaked out onto the verandah. The foolish child! He'd known she'd follow him and had specifically gone for a smoke so that she would have an excuse.

She threw herself in his path at every opportunity, as did Lavinia, and he relished how both women fawned over him. In the end, though, there could only be one choice—that being Penelope and her fortune—but he liked having them on the hook, and the sexual possibilities were intriguing.

He'd participated in many instances of menage a trois and was pondering whether he shouldn't instigate a few trysts with Penelope and Lavinia in his bed together.

He'd never had a mother and daughter duo, and the incestuous prospects were almost too thrilling to contemplate.

Penelope had espied him, but he ignored her and strolled farther down the path, certain she would keep coming. She was like a fish on a hook. All he had to do was reel her in.

Shortly, he was waiting on a garden bench, and as she stomped up, he pretended to be surprised by her appearance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What did you want?" she snapped in reply.

"Me? Nothing."

"You did, too. You wanted something. You intentionally lured me out."

"You are so full of yourself. I merely sought some peace and quiet. I get tired after so much socializing."

He finished his cigar, tossed it onto the grass, and snuffed it out with his heel.

"You've hardly spoken to me since that day at the gazebo. Why not?"

"I don't like you, and I never fraternize with adolescent girls. I find them boring in the extreme."

"I suppose you like my mother better."

He was amused by her jealousy. "Yes, I like your mother very much. She's very charming, very feminine."

"But she's so old!"

"To a man of my years, she doesn't seem so." "I don't believe this!"

She paced, and he relaxed, watching her strut and fret.

Suddenly, she whirled to face him. "Take a good look at me, you disgusting roue! I'm the prettiest girl in a hundred miles."

"Yes, but you have the personality of a shrew, and I like my women to be sweet and biddable." "Like my mother?"

"She understands how the game is played. She knows how to curb her sharp tongue and make me happy." "/ could make you happier." "Could you?"

His question hung in the air. She was an innocent, but she wasn't stupid. She recognized the sexual innuendo, and she evaluated him, sifting through her responses as she calculated which behaviors would bring her the fastest success.