Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (13 page)

His words were soothing and tender as he softly encouraged her to do nothing more than enjoy what he could do for her.

What no one had ever done for her.

She swallowed and drew in a staccato breath as the tension rose within her, both terrifying and exhilarating and hitherto completely unknown.

Stephen kissed her—on her lips, nose, eyelids and brow—as his clever fingers continued to stimulate her. When she opened her eyes briefly his smile was warm before he touched his lips to hers, tracing the seam with the tip of his tongue. With a shuddering sigh she surrendered to the next wave of pleasure that engulfed her. Her body had been taken to a higher plane, dragging her mind with it, and awareness coalesced as, with mind and body finally as one, she prepared for the inevitable launch into the abyss.

“Surrender to it.” The warmth of Stephen’s breath seeped through her, giving her courage and permission to do just that and her body moaned its delight as it opened itself up to the first man who’d ever wanted to give it pleasure.

As she lay gasping in the aftermath, cradled against Stephen’s warm, hard body, she realized that he truly had meant what he said. This had all been for her.

She opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her. “I can send you on another journey like that one, Lady Partington,” he whispered, playing with her nipple, sending messages directly to her groin. “And this time go along for the ride, but if you want to change your mind, I must remind you it’s your last chance. If you beget a child you’ll have your husband to answer to and your actions will change the course of the succession. Are you prepared to take responsibility for that? I’m in it for the pleasure only, Lady Partington. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

She swallowed, wriggled a little in order to push her entrance against his pulsing cock and in that faintest of movement sealed the fates of all of them.

Stephen chuckled and got down to business. She was all soft curves, a disarming mixture of naivety and wisdom. She knew so much more of the world than he, of the disappointments and the cruelties people inflicted on one another, yet he could show her how much pure lust and pleasure could go in salving those wounds.

In mere weeks he’d be back to wooing innocent virgins with handsome dowries. Twined in the arms of sweet Lady Partington was novelty like he’d not known.

Pure, unadulterated fun—or rather pure adultery, he supposed—like he’d not expected when he’d responded to her extraordinary proposition.

Once she’d cast aside her inhibitions and accepted responsibility for her actions she burst out of her chrysalis with the abandon of a butterfly joyfully taking flight.

Oh, he was going to enjoy taking her on the flight of her life.

Every thrust brought an increase in the breathiness of her response, the breadth of her smile, the unequivocal enjoyment she took in accepting all of him. He was not used to such unfettered delight. The gratification alone spurred him on.

He loved the way her breasts quivered and her cheeks went pink. Her glorious hair was spread out over her pillow like a shawl of the finest fiber and her skin was surprisingly soft and satiny. It was as if her enforced all-but-virginity had preserved her in some odd way. And yet as he rolled her nipple on his tongue and again massaged the slick nub of her sex, he seemed to be bringing her to life from the inside. Her eyes grew brighter and her translucent skin flushed to a deep, rich glow. He thought he’d never seen a more beautiful woman and his desire, which had been borne of pleasure alone, took on a new dimension.

This was not going to be the last time he made love to sweet, adorable, luscious Lady Partington.

––––––––

H
umphry looked up over the newspaper, a strange gleam in his eye.

When he said nothing, Sybil shifted in her seat, telling herself yet again that he’d not suspect and even if he did, she had nothing to be ashamed of. Not with regard to Humphry, nor Stephen nor even herself. No, she would not draw him out. Always she had played the dutiful wife, asking him if everything was to his liking. Now he could just read his newspaper or get up and leave without a word if he chose—for he often did that, so consumed was he with thoughts of his absent true love.

Perversely, he didn’t seem to like Sybil’s silence. He dropped his paper and peered closely over it until she asked, almost crossly, looking up from her smoked haddock, “Well, Humphry, have I a fishbone sticking out of my nostril?”

She was irritated with him for disturbing her delicious reminiscing of last night. No, she didn’t feel guilty. She would not.

“My  dear, you  look...”  He struggled to  articulate the sentiment. “You  look different, somehow.”

“Really.” She would not blush and she’d  pretend disinterest. Strange how that seemed to inspire him to speak words she’d never expected to hear.

“You have a glow about you. Really, you look quite lovely this morning.”

She dropped her knife and fork abruptly. “Why, Humphry, I don’t think you’ve ever said anything so nice to me in your whole life.”

Emotions she’d be unable to articulate roiled in her stomach. Somehow it seemed wrong to be confronted with the first suggestion of admiration from her husband after her night spent with another man.

Immediately he raised his newspaper so she couldn’t see him, muttering something incomprehensible about how she must be losing her memory for that could not possibly be true.

After a moment of contemplative silence, he sighed, put down the news sheet and faced her across the table. “Edgar came to see me last night.”

“Oh, Humphry.” The sigh took all her energy with her. She hadn’t expected this so soon.

He nodded, corroborating though she’d said nothing to indicate her feelings on the matter. They were both very much in accord with regard to an alliance between Edgar and Araminta, she was glad to note by the gloominess of his expression.

“I tried to put the boy off. After all, that’s all he is. A boy. What’s more, I’ve heard a few disturbing whispers about his conduct on and off the battlefield.” He cleared his throat. “More than whispers, in fact. Sybil, I’m ashamed to call him my nephew. He was not distinguished by bravery. He disappeared, seemingly having died a hero, but he did not. No, Sybil, he did not.”

Sybil’s mouth dropped open. Humphry’s eyes bored into hers. He waited for the maid to refresh the tea then said in a low voice, “Apparently the matter has been hushed up—seemingly for my benefit, or so it’s been suggested.”

When he was unable to go on, Sybil prompted in a whisper, “You mean...he deserted? Was that the reason for his disappearance? Is that how he was lost in battle?”

The horror of it was stark in Humphry’s bleak expression. He gave the smallest nod of acknowledgement and his eyes shifted to the doorway before returning gravely to her. “There was talk about a court martial. Indeed, that may have come to pass had not an old friend of mine been on the committee deciding Edgar’s fate.” His shoulders slumped and he muttered with curled lip, “I would to God that justice had been done, for I take no pleasure in seeing the Grange go to a coward. A coward that, it would seem, has all the credentials for winning my daughter.”

“We can’t let it happen, Humphry.” Sybil had never been more fired with the rightness of her decision to secure the succession with someone other than Edgar.

His look was hopeless. “What choice do we have?”

Later that morning, when he declined Hetty’s suggestion of a walk with the excuse that he had an important appointment he could not put off, Sybil did not experience the usual jab of pain. The fact that he was going to see his “other family” seemed unimportant. No, Sybil had at last found a diversion that meant her lonely heart no longer relied on Humphry.

* * * * *

W
ith the weather so glorious a picnic was planned in the small rotunda perched on a hill surrounded by a small lake about half a mile away. On a clear day, from the bedroom windows of the south wing, the lake could be spied invitingly in the distance, just beyond the beech wood.

Servants were sent ahead while the picnic party had arranged to walk.

Araminta and Edgar led the way. Araminta carried herself proudly, as if aware of her magnetism. Edgar, from the rear, looked at pains to engage her in what, doubtless, he considered light and sophisticated banter.

Sybil, who’d hung back so she could observe the young people, watched with a surge of warmth as Stephen offered Hetty his arm, telling her brightly that she was “looking charming”. Poor Hetty. Even Sybil knew her daughter was going through her least charming phase although she had every hope that once Hetty had lost some of the generous flesh that coated her young body and gained in confidence she might yet be considered charming.

I must teach her how to graciously accept a compliment, Sybil thought, listening to her daughter’s stammered response, before realizing that she was, in fact, watching a younger version of herself.

They had been following a well-worn bridle path when the road came into view for a short while. In the distance a carriage approached, on its way toward the village. It was a hired post chaise therefore excited little interest until Hetty cried, “Why, isn’t that Papa?”

Sybil glanced up in time to see two occupants. The older male was indistinct as he turned his face in the opposite direction as they passed. The young lady she recognized from church though she’d never met Lizzy Hazlett’s daughter and it had been some time since she’d seen her this close.

She looked remarkably like Araminta and Sybil held her breath in case someone else remarked upon it. The girl’s eyes were large and luminous like Araminta’s, but more serious. Sad eyes, thought Sybil before remembering that this girl had nothing like as much to be sad about as Sybil’s daughters, whose father neglected them in favor of his base-born brood.

“Don’t let him break your heart, Lady Partington.”

Stephen’s warm breath on her neck sent her heartbeat skittering. He’d dropped back and his head was bent to her ear. The others were ahead, sauntering with careless abandon, Edgar expounding upon some theory that had the attention of his cousins.

Sybil turned and intercepted Stephen’s interested gaze. His mouth curved suggestively. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, eh?” When she didn’t reply, he sobered and touched her arm. It was the briefest of caresses for he was obviously careful not to excite attention but it was enough to make Sybil conscious of the power he had over her.

“You’re very lovely when you don’t know what to say.” He grinned, matching his pace  with  hers and  staring  straight ahead  at  the  backs of  the  young  people  some distance ahead of them as he went on conversationally, “You were certainly very lovely last night. I enjoyed myself immensely and if it helps you solve your problems I’m more than happy to offer myself up on the altar of your need any time.” His voice gentled. “No, I’m not mocking you, my lady. I understand more than you think. Your husband has never given you the love and attention you deserve. It was Lord Partington in that carriage, wasn’t it?”

Sybil nodded. She blinked back tears while her throat ached from the effort of keeping a check on her feelings. “I enjoyed last night too,” she said. “But you’ll be gone in a week. It’s too dangerous to repeat—”

“Hush.”

She caught her breath once more at the light touch of his hand upon her lower back. Sensation speared through her belly as he slid it lower to lightly cup her bottom.

“A week can be a long time when one is careful to make use of every opportunity.”

She twisted her neck and caught his wicked glance trained upon her breasts. Immediately he raised his head, took a few strides and called ahead, “How far to our destination?”

“Perhaps twenty minutes,” Araminta called back, breaking her conversation with Edgar in order to glance over her shoulder. With a provocative look at Stephen she curved her lips into her most seductive smile. “We’ll be well fortified when we reach the lake.”

“I certainly intend to be,” Stephen murmured when he dropped back, sliding his hand around Sybil’s right buttock as Araminta turned back to Edgar. “I intend to take you into the forest, my lovely Lady Sybil, and find some delightful little dell so that you can have your wicked way with me. I’d wager you’ve never rutted under a clear blue sky or a canopy of trees, have you?”

Sybil felt the blood roaring in her head as he turned her towards him, but whether that was because of his coarse language or the sudden desire that slammed through her, she couldn’t say. His hand was now rubbing itself insinuatingly up and down the valley between her breasts. Heat rose between her legs, and at the same time she longed for the adventure he promised, she also shied away from it.

“I hope there will be strawberries and cream,” Stephen called out.

He grinned as Hetty’s chirpy, “I picked them myself this morning,” rang back. Touching his lips to Sybil’s ear he said, “Hmm, not as tempting as you, Lady Partington. Goodness, you look...skeptical?”

Before she could respond he’d taken her by the wrist and whisked her off the path and in amongst the trees.