Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy (8 page)

"Abigail, you've come! I need you to—" She cut off and fiddled with the bodice of her negligee, acting as if she were embarrassed by her state of dishabille, but drawing his attention to it, too. "Oh, Lord Kettering! I didn't know it was you. Pardon me."

"Good morning, Mrs. Gray."

"I've told you over and over: You must call me Lavinia."

"Certainly, so long as you will call me Charles." "I will; I will."

She dropped her hand, and his expression brightened at the sight of her breasts. For once, her hint registered. He chuckled and glanced down the corridor to ensure they were alone.

"You're a very beautiful woman, Lavinia."

"Do you think so?"

"I've wanted to tell you, but I hated to seem too forward."

"I don't find you forward, at all. In fact, you've been a total gentleman." "Have I?" "Yes."

"I can be naughty, though." "Can you?"

"Would you like me to show you what I mean?" "Oh, yes."

As she stepped back to allow him entrance, she tamped down a triumphant grin. There wasn't a man alive who could resist her, and Charles Prescott was no exception. He'd just needed a little prodding.

After a few tumbles in her bed, wedding bells would chime. She could practically hear herself being addressed as Countess of Kettering, and at the notion she was quivering with glee.

"Would you like a brandy?" she asked.

"No, thank you. I'll be too busy." "I was hoping you'd say that." "Why fool around? When I see something I want, I like to seize it immediately." "So do I."

He reached out and caressed her breast, and her nipples leapt to attention, which surprised her. Usually, she loathed carnal contact and couldn't warm to male advances. Maybe with Charles, she would ascertain what had so many women tittering behind their fans. She still didn't know. As far as she was concerned, sex was a lot of sweating and grinding that held no appeal whatsoever.

Would Charles Prescott ignite the spark that had been missing?

She led him into her bedchamber, then turned to face him, and she preened, not doubting for a second that she looked fabulous.

He smiled. "Very nice, Lavinia. Very nice, indeed."

"For you, Charles. All for you."

"I just love a generous woman."

He tugged at the straps of her negligee, yanking them down so that the bodice drooped to expose her bosom. He inspected her, his gaze keen and enthused, then he snuggled her to him, and he dipped down to suck on her nipple. The move excited her in a way she'd never been before, and she cradled him closer, urging him to feast.

He taunted and played until her knees were weak, so she eased onto the bed, and drew him down with her. They tumbled together in a swirl of arms and legs, and he paused to trace his thumb across her lips.

"You have the most fascinating mouth."

"Yes, I do," she agreed.

"I wonder if you have any good uses for it."

"Oh, yes, darling. I know a very interesting one that I'm positive you'll enjoy."

She smirked. Horatio had been a rutting bull, who'd forced her to learn many disgusting deeds, which was now a benefit as she seduced various lovers to her schemes. She could do any ghastly thing without revealing her level of revulsion. When she performed fellatio, men were putty in her hands—poor, malleable Robert being the prime example.

Charles assessed her in a curious manner, waiting for her to proceed. He reclined on the pillow, and for a moment, he appeared bored and cynical, as if her low behavior was what he'd been expecting all along.

Which couldn't be right, and she frowned. Apparently, he wasn't sufficiently titillated, and she had to try harder.

She scooted down his body until she was directly over his crotch, and she unbuttoned his trousers, baring him and pumping him with her fist. His cock was firm and rigid, ready to be pleasured, and giving no hint of his advanced age.

With great determination, she licked him from base to tip, over and over, the suspense building, until finally, she glided over the crown. He sighed with contentment, which spurred her on, and quickly, he was at the edge. He clutched at her neck, and he let go, his hot seed spewing into her throat, and she swallowed it down.

Feeling smug and satisfied, she nibbled up his torso. She was prepared for praise and gratitude, but to her horror, he was evaluating her blandly, and she was rattled by his lack of appreciation.

She scowled. "What is it?"

"I take it that your dear, departed husband didn't request such base conduct from you."

"Why ... what do you mean?" "I 'mean that I apologize." "For what?"

"You seem like such a worldly creature that I assumed your husband must have taught you to.. . well. . ." He was struggling to be kind. "I shouldn't have pushed you to do something for which you're so thoroughly untrained and unqualified."

"You . . . you ... didn't like it?"

"It was fine," he claimed, but his aversion was so evident that she was mortified.

"You didn't like it!" she repeated, growing angry. "Just say so. I'm not a child. I can bear the truth."

He shifted away and stood, stuffing his privates into his pants and arranging his clothes. "I'm a man. Of course, I liked it."

"Then what are you implying?"

"I merely think you need a bit of practice. That's all." As if she were a pet dog, he patted her on the head. "Perhaps while I'm here, we can work on your skill. I'm always happy to help others improve themselves."

He turned and left, and she flopped onto her back and glared up at the ceiling. She felt as if she'd auditioned to be his countess but had blown her chance. How could she persuade him to let her have another?

She had a vision, of thousands of England's most gorgeous women, lined up to kneel before him, to suck him dry, and she was certain they all knew how to do it better than she ever could.

It was clear that Horatio had failed to impart some facet of instruction that was desperately necessary, and her confidence was shattered. When she recalled how often Horatio had made her please him with her mouth, when she thought of the early years, as she'd hid from him, as she'd begged for a respite, and all that time, she'd been doing it wrong!

She'd never been more humiliated, and she couldn't imagine how she'd show her face around the house while Kettering remained in it.

Silence descended, and with his exit, the sensual ambiance vanished. She couldn't abide the smell or taste of him. Suddenly nauseous, she leapt off the mattress, grabbed for the chamber pot, and vomited for all she was worth.

Penelope peeked out her window to the verandah below, watching for the instant Lord Kettering stepped outside to eat breakfast on the terrace. When he did, the intrepid Mrs. Smythe was absent, so he was alone and fair game.

She sneaked down the rear stairs and into the garden, skirting the verandah, but aware that he could see her from his perch at the table. She ignored him and continued down the path toward the gazebo by the lake.

From the day he'd arrived, she'd sensed his heightened regard. He constantly and furtively observed her, but they hadn't been able to chat privately.

If she couldn't get him off by himself, how was she to permit the elderly oaf to seduce her?

She'd reached the trees, and she paused, glancing over at him with a look that couldn't be misconstrued; then she went on. Men had never been a mystery to her, and Kettering definitely wasn't. He'd appear shortly. She walked to the lake's edge and picked a flower, sniffing it while listening for footsteps. Very soon, she heard him approaching.

She whirled around, feigning surprise at seeing him, but to her amazement, he didn't join in the charade. He marched over to her, not pretending that they were doing anything but engaging in an illicit tryst.

"So, Penelope, you've managed to lure me away. It took you long enough."

His audacious beginning caught her off guard. She'd been positive that she'd be in charge of the encounter, and she hadn't planned on his seizing control. She'd assumed him a thick, slow buffoon who would be easy to coerce and finagle.

"I. .. I... haven't been trying to get you anywhere. How dare you follow me out here! My mother would have a fit if she knew."

"Yes, I'm sure she would. Shall we go speak to her together? We can tell her what a little trollop you are."

"Why ... you despicable ... insulting ..."

She couldn't guess at the words refined people flung at each other when they were quarreling. Instead, she huffed away, but he gripped her arm and pulled her to a halt.

"Let's not play games," he said. "I detest them."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I can read it in your eyes. You're thinking, 'Why settle for the son when I could have the father?'"

She yanked away. "You are so full of yourself."

"Am I?" His gaze blatantly wandered to her bosom. "You're so hungry to be my countess. Are you presuming you're the only female who's ever contemplated such a conclusion?"

"As if I'd crave your stuffy old title! If I accepted it, I'd have to accept you, too!"

"Yes, you would." He assessed her, then gave a mocking bow. "My mistake, Miss Gray. I misinterpreted your interest. I hope you're very happy in your life with Viscount Romsey."

He started away, and she panicked, stunned that he hadn't fallen for her sly advance. How would she ever orchestrate another secret appointment with him?

Like an idiot, she called, "Wait!"

He glared at her, then strolled back. "I don't have the patience for your nonsense. What do you really want?"

"I. . . I... wouldn't be adverse to our being better acquainted."

He snorted. "You make it sound as if we're about to have tea." He leaned in, his body connecting with hers, his chest pressed to her breasts, his manly parts wedged to her thigh. "If you're serious, you'll have to entice me with something that's a tad more exciting."

She knew to what he referred, and she gulped with trepidation. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes, my mother explained everything."

"How terribly modern of her."

"I'm not afraid to try it," she boldly claimed, but the tremor in her voice belied her words.

"Aren't you? I've been a widower for years, so I have girls proposition me all the time."

How humiliating! Her world was so small, her opportunities so limited, that she'd imagined she was the only one to have thought of it!

"You're lying," she accused.

"I'm not. They all wish I'd pick them, but I never would. Aren't you curious as to why?" "Yes."

"Because they're silly children, who don't appreciate a man's needs."

"I could give you whatever you require." "Could you?"

He cupped her breast, cradling it and clasping the nipple. Lavinia had often taunted her with horror stories of how she'd eventually be touched like this, so Penelope was aware of what could transpire, but she hadn't anticipated it from him. Not when she scarcely knew him. Not when they'd just sneaked off for their first rendezvous.

It was evident that he was much too mature and sophisticated for her, but she wasn't certain how to extricate herself from the degrading encounter without seeming even more of a juvenile.

"Bare your breasts to me, Penelope."

She blushed bright red. "What?"

"You heard me. Do it."

"I don't want to."

"But you can't suppose I'd consider you as a bridal candidate without knowing what I'm getting. I'm a lusty fellow, and I can't abide squeamish females. I have to learn if what's hidden beneath the gown is worth having." He gestured to her chest. "Let me see."

Pondering, delaying, she gnawed on her hp, not sure if this was the best course. She was desperate to scurry off to her room like the ninny he envisioned her to be, and she was disgusted with herself for being such a coward. She'd always viewed herself as so very brave.

An important aristocrat like Kettering would expect her to behave like an adult, and if she planned to captivate him, she had to give him something to want. He'd asked to see her breasts. Where was the harm?

"Well, Penelope," he chided, "what's it to be?"

She pulled on the front of her dress, exposing herself, her nipples tingling as the breeze brushed across her skin.

He stared and stared, then finally stated, "I like big teats. Yours are very small."

Her pert bosom was her most appealing feature—or so she'd believed—so she hadn't realized her figure was lacking. Why hadn't Lavinia told her? It wasn't like her mother to ignore such a hideous flaw.

She'd never been so mortified, and she mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"I'll get over it. I can get over almost anything if there's enough cash involved."

He bent down and put his mouth on her nipple. He sucked very hard, biting with his teeth as she struggled to escape.

"Stop it!" she commanded. "You're hurting me!"

"Am I?"