Her Gilded Prison (Daughters of Sin Book 1) (14 page)

“Gracious, Stephen, what are you doing? You can’t possibly mean—”

Her shock was cut short by his mouth upon hers as he pushed her up against the trunk of a very broad elm. But her objection died in her throat as his tongue parted her lips and his knee parted her legs. Sensation quickly engulfed her as his erection, large and insistent, pressed against her stomach.

They were shrouded by foliage, a little uphill from where they could see the party wending their way farther down the path.

He dragged his mouth away from hers just long enough to say, “They won’t miss us for just two minutes and you’re the first to agree we must make hay while the sun shines.”

Already he’d hiked her skirts up about her waist while she was fumbling with his breeches, excitement roaring through her veins. She thought she’d die of it, for never had she been so gratuitously wicked or risked so much.

But by God it was worth the risk, she thought as she inserted her hand through the opening of his breeches and grasped his member, hot and heavy.

He exhaled on a small sigh, his own hands busy, turning her so that she faced away from him, braced with her two palms above her head, the rough bark against the sensitive skin adding another layer of sensation.

“Oh,” she gasped, as he stroked a finger along her slick entrance before positioning himself. She tensed, readying herself at the tentative touch of the tip of his member against her highly sensitized skin before thrusting out her bottom to impale herself.

The suddenness took him by surprise and he gasped, his fingers working all the harder to bring her to a rapid climax that would coincide with his.

He filled her completely, his thrusts deep and even, his breathing growing increasingly rapid as he rested his chin upon her shoulder and his pleasure took over. Yet still he pleasured her and Sybil felt again the extraordinary sensation of rising to a higher plane, and yet higher, until suddenly the earth seemed to stand still before she shattered around him.

He collapsed against her and she had to cling to the tree to stop them both from sliding down the rough bark into a heap at the base. Though that was eventually what did happen.

Laughing, he raised his head from her stomach and gave her a smacking great kiss when she was least expecting it.

“Lord, that was good,” he said, rolling over and grasping his still oversized, pulsing member to slide  back  into his trousers.  “And  the  others won’t even  miss us.”  He extended his hand and pulled her up. “Was that good for you, Lady Partington?”

Sybil couldn’t help herself. She giggled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself so much, Stephen. For what it’s worth, I did too. Your enthusiasm is worthy of the most ardent schoolboy.”

To his credit he didn’t pout, nor did he release her hand. Instead, he scratched his chin and regarded her quizzically. “No one has ever likened my prowess in any arena to that of a schoolboy.” He grinned and she knew he was joking when he said, “The jades and misses I’ve made up to have been infinitely more complimentary than that.” He took her hand and led her back to the path.

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

His  mouth  quirked.  “Actually,  you  should  be  exceedingly  flattered,  Lady Partington. I find you and your lovely creamy body far more exciting than any of the jades I’ve had the benefit of knowing.”

“I’m not sure if that really is particularly flattering, Stephen.”

“Well, you’re not setting out your wiles to entrap me. You’ve offered me a proposition—which is entirely to my benefit —and we’re cramming as much fun into the next few days as we can. I can’t remember ever having had such a jolly good time.”

She walked beside him, enjoying his complete honesty, happier and more carefree than she could remember. “I certainly never have.”

Stephen  squeezed  her hand  as he  glanced  down  at her. “Six more  days,  Lady Partington. Six more days,” he reminded her. “You’re more daring than you look, I’ll grant you that. Let’s see how daring you really can be.”

* * * * *

L
uncheon was an interesting affair. They ate ‘round a table already laid for them in the center of the circular rotunda, its elevated position affording them a glorious view of the lake and far distant fields surrounding the Grange, with the boathouse and beech forest a short distance across the glittering water.

After lunch, they rowed back to the jetty, which extended in front of the boathouse, and while the others amused themselves Sybil relaxed in a cane chair Stephen had positioned near the shore. As she watched the servants tidy away their recent meal, transporting the  empty plates into the  second  boat still  moored at the  base  of the rotunda, she could hear every word of the young people, who pretended to fish from the jetty. Edgar considered himself an expert on the sport and he graciously assisted Hetty and Araminta with their lines.

Even from a distance he looked ridiculous as he officiously demonstrated the most rudimentary process, taking every opportunity to get close to Araminta. Once, Sybil caught a glimpse of Araminta’s face as his arm brushed the length of hers. A spasm of the utmost distaste marred her pretty features as she turned away so he could not see. Clearly her aversion ran deep, which Sybil could well understand. The more she observed her nephew the more she disliked him.

I mustn’t think so badly of him, she thought. Nor, she thought, of Araminta, whose behavior hardly reflected well on her. Perhaps in her own naïve way, she too was acting for the greater good of the estate. Perhaps it wasn’t all motivated by self-interest.

She heard Edgar remonstrate with his youngest cousin. “No, no, Hetty, you mustn’t jiggle it around so much. You’ll scare the fish. You need to entice them.” He slid his eyes across to Araminta and his hand brushed across hers as he took Hetty’s stick in demonstration. “You must learn the art of subtlety, Hetty. Araminta is the queen of subtlety, eh, coz?”

Araminta looked a little startled at this before her smile took on the usual cloying cheerfulness, entirely forced, which she reserved for Edgar’s inane remarks.

“Araminta knows exactly what she wants and what’s good for her but does she show it? Oh no. Ladies who can demonstrate subtlety will get further in life. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Hetty, but you must learn the art of subtlety. None of this jiggling about trying to get instant results. It don’t work, you know, old girl.”

By now Sybil’s maternal instincts were on full alert. She bent forward, poised between giving Edgar a well-targeted setdown but also wanting to know how her girls responded.

Araminta’s cool, “Edgar’s right, dear,” was not what she wanted to hear though it was sadly predictable. Hetty’s trembling lip and blanching of color was, however, like a red rag to a bull.

Stephen, just returning from a solitary ramble in the woods, heard the end of this exchange. He put out an arm to stop Sybil from launching forward to intervene.

“Allow me, Lady Partington.” He arched an eyebrow. “Edgar has just stymied my grand opportunities for the station in life to which I’d aspired but he lacks the charm I have with the ladies, I think you’ll agree.”

“You think highly of yourself, Stephen, my love,” she murmured. “However I give you leave to turn on the charm for my daughters. I trust you provided I can see you.”

He’d already taken a step forward. At this he swung round, his eyes dark. “Do you really think I might abuse my position should my charm win over hearts?” He lowered his head, gripping both arms of the chair for support as he put his face close to hers. “Do you really think me so careless of the feelings of others that as long as I am pleasured and gratified they don’t matter?”

His words found their mark. She felt her chest caving in as her breath left her in a whoosh. She opened her mouth  to  speak  but  had  to  try  several  times  before  the  words  came.  “I’m  sorry, Stephen.” She cupped his face in an entreaty for forgiveness. “I spoke carelessly. I did not mean to insinuate I don’t trust you. For I do. It’s just—”

“Just what?” He straightened, clearly not prepared to let it go.

Desperation  warred within  her.  She struggled to  answer. “You’re a handsome young man with youth and virility in your favor and natural urges for beautiful women to love and admire you.” Sybil shrugged, palms outward as she appealed to him for understanding. “You have an old woman to admire you. One with two fresh young daughters, the eldest of whom is clearly in love with you and who turns every head whenever she walks into a room.”

“Hetty is sweet but as you know completely no threat to you, Lady Partington, and Araminta, while she is one of the most exquisite creatures I’ll admit I’ve ever met, is also the most designing debutante I’ve ever come across and I consider myself to have had a lucky escape.  You, on the other hand, Lady Partington, are in a completely different league. You’re a grown woman with nothing missing. You have wisdom and beauty and kindness, a potent combination.” He leaned over her and for a moment Sybil thought he was going to risk the unthinkable: a kiss when they were not ten yards from the other young people. Though whether this was as unthinkable as what they’d just engaged in was a moot point.

Then he rose to his full height, his indignation not fully erased. “I might be a young man aware of his attraction and equally attracted to attractive women but please credit me with integrity.”

Turning on his heel, he marched down the river bank, clearing his voice so that the girls raised their faces in welcome. Edgar was not so forthcoming.

“Hetty, if fishing is not as exciting as Edgar and Araminta clearly find it, perhaps you’d like to walk with me along the riverbank?” He enjoyed the pink rush to her cheeks and the way she held her hands together to stop them trembling. Yes, he did have a way with the ladies, even when he had no prospects with which to entice them. At least he could  be assured  he  was desired  for his natural  assets rather than  his pocketbook, however the thought of what he was going to do when the week was over was depressing at best.

And although he managed to appear lighthearted he was still wounded by Lady Partington’s words. He was not the base Johnny-take-all she had suggested though he had enough understanding to accept that a woman unsure of herself was far more likely to strike out like that.

With exaggerated gallantry he offered Hetty his arm. “Let us tiptoe through the daffodils—or find some equally pleasurable equivalent,” he said, causing her to titter and, he was rather pleased to notice, Araminta to twist her neck around with a look of unmistakable envy.

Edgar grumbled that she must pay attention and Lady Partington smiled with such genuine pleasure that Stephen felt ridiculously gratified.

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T
he next two days passed in a rapturous blur of lust and rutting. Lady Partington had risen to the challenge in seeking out novelty and he’d risen to the challenge with her. In the butler’s pantry while ostensibly seeking a particular vintage when the servants were at church, Stephen had taken her from behind. In the tower room, while the young people were playing croquet, Sybil had waved to them while Stephen, lying on the floor, had wickedly pleasured her before pulling her down and impaling her upon his never-flagging member.

She was as insatiable as he and he gloried in her abandonment and in her sweet, moist, pliant body. Her face haunted his dreams, taking precedence over all the women he’d ever known, including of course that jade Lady Julia, with whom he’d fancied himself passionately in love for five minutes. He wasn’t sure how he’d regard her when she and her husband attended Lord and Lady Partington’s house party at the Grange in a few days’ time.

No, Lady Partington was the most sensuous, beguiling, intriguing piece of womanhood he’d met in his twenty-four years and he didn’t want to think about when it ended. His life beyond the following Sunday was a lonely void.

“My Sybil.” In the beech wood he whispered her name, dropping her title only now when he found himself alone.

Lady Partington was entertaining the vicar who’d come to tea and Stephen had found an excuse to avoid both Araminta’s and Hetty’s separate requests for his company.

Owing to the heat, he’d stripped off in a secluded leafy arbor, taken a plunge in the river and now lay on his back, eyes closed, enjoying the heat of the sun on his naked skin. Enjoying, too, recreating the sensation of Sybil’s ministrations as he grasped his own member and played it like a fine instrument—though not with the finesse she’d perfected.

“Yes, come, my beauty, come my dearest,” he murmured, reveling in the buildup of tension within him, remembering the damp mud beneath him and Sybil’s own dampness as he’d sheathed himself upon him when they’d made love here the day before.

“Oh yes, yes, I’m coming!” With a final jerk he came, opening his eyes to see the spray of ejaculate raining down upon his stomach. He groaned, closing his eyes. No point in thinking beyond the next few days when his life would be a barren wasteland once more. He didn’t mind about the money. He’d lived without that for as long as he could remember and he’d made do, having a jolly enough time along the way.