Taming Maria (16 page)

'They are
rapiers. Is this legal?' she demanded of Signor Mancini.

He shrugged,
lynx-eyed as he observed the contestants. 'Sometimes the milords
like to take a risk. It is more exciting for them. Don't worry.
They won't go too far.'

Maria wished
she was as confident, fearing for both of them, a pair of
well-matched opponents. Charles appeared to be almost indolently
relaxed yet parried with lightning speed, giving Damien no chance
to pierce his guard. The tension was almost tangible and Maria's
fear grew. Damien was an aggressive fighter, but unable to beat
down Charles's blade. He fought like a soldier, full of courage and
bravura.

Signor Mancini
watched closely. No hint of scandal must be associated with his
school. These hot-headed aristocrats were sometimes difficult to
control. He gave vent to expletives in Italian, critical of their
style. Damien appeared to lose his footing and fell, his left hand
on the floor. A thrust upwards brought his sword under Charles's
guard, the point at his throat. Charles leapt back, but before
Damien could get to his feet Signor Mancini knocked up his
weapon.

'Dishonourable
play!' he shouted passionately. 'A stroke dessous! It is not
en-regale!'

Damien leaned
on his flexible rapier and looked down his nose at the enraged
instructor. 'And why not, may I ask?'

'I follow the
rules of the masters, and teach the ancient laws of fencing. You
will abide by what I say.'

Maria knew
Damien had intended to wound Charles and felt as if she was being
tom asunder. She would be devastated if either man were seriously
hurt; Damien with his domination or Charles with his love and
tenderness. Who did she support? It was a question she prayed she
would never have to answer.

Arabella was
on the edge of her seat with excitement, her cheeks pink without
the aid of rouge. 'Well done! I proclaim you my chivalrous knights
and will give my scarf to the winner as a token.'

They both
faced her and bowed, and then Charles turned to Damien and said,
'Let's get on with it. I can't think why you sent me a challenge,
Strafford, but I'm happy to trounce you.'

They fell on
guard again, fighting even more fiercely. Sweat was running from
beneath the masks and dark patches spread up from their armpits and
across their backs, soaking through the quilting. Charles used a
sweeping parry that left him open to Damien's quick riposte, the
blade slipping under his guard. The rapiers locked together and
they were close as lovers, then gave a heave and broke away, the
swords ringing as they met again.

Now they were
losing their tempers and Signor Mancini looked worried. 'Gentlemen,
please to desist.'

They ignored
him. Damien was in pursuit of Charles, forcing him to defend
himself and Charles did so fiercely, aware that this was no longer
a game. Arabella was on her feet, white-knuckled fingers gripped
around the handle of her parasol. 'My God! Damien intends to harm
him!'

Maria clutched
Jane's arm. 'Why doesn't the master stop them?'

He tried,
leaping between them and attempting to block their strokes. Damien
lunged at Charles, backed him against the wall, their sword hilts
tangled and his opponent's went flying off across the studio.
Charles was at his mercy and Damien directed the blade at his
heart, leaning forward slightly, the point already cutting into the
jacket.

'I could end
your life in a trice,' he muttered grimly, eyes blazing. 'This
should teach you to leave my possessions alone. Lady Maria is not
easy meat for a cur like you!'

'Please,
gentlemen, I beg of you! Whatever quarrel lies between you do not
bring my school into disrepute,' Signor Mancini pleaded, his sword
hitting Damien's and forcing him to drop it. 'Come now, be friends
and we will have a glass of wine, eh?'

Charles and
Damien did not move, their gaze locked. Then Arabella sauntered
across to them, sensual and lovely, using her assets to stop the
quarrel. 'You were magnificent! I declare I'm all of a quiver!
Isn't there a less dangerous way in which you can work off that
marvellous virility?' She slipped a hand into the arm of each and
drew them towards Maria and Jane, adding, 'The girls were thrilled
by it, too. Weren't you, my dears?'

Both men had
removed their masks and Damien stood there stiffly, saying, 'This
is not a social occasion, Arabella. I had a bone to pick with Lord
Bradley and think I have now made the position clear.'

She knows!
Maria thought. He told her to bring us here so that I might watch
Charles being humiliated, though it has not quite worked out that
way. She knows and will do anything he commands. I can't trust
her!

Charles
inclined his head towards Damien and smiled faintly at Maria. There
was promise in that smile and her heart fluttered, but she was
afraid for him. Her guardian was utterly ruthless.

'I'll take the
matter no further if you promise that you won't approach her
again.' Damien was speaking like a high court judge.

'Sir, I can't
do that. I never break my oath and don't want to risk doing so.'
Charles bowed again, signalled to Bates who had been waiting, his
master's clothing over one arm, and made his way into the changing
room.

'You may leave
now. I will bring Maria back to Armitage House,' Damien informed
Arabella in a tone that brooked no argument.

'But her
chaperone?' Arabella glanced at Sarah, who was all agog, her large
breasts rising and falling with excitement. Even the feathers in
her hat were bobbing.

'Maria will be
with me, her guardian, and there is no need of her chaperone.' He
spoke with such authority that no one argued, though Maria wanted
to. She disliked the way in which he organised her life, giving her
no say in the matter, but at the same time a part of her enjoyed
it. It relieved her of responsibility. Someone else was in charge,
a strong man taking control and making her his willing slave.

'Very well,
sir.' Arabella signalled to Sarah and Jane. 'I will see you later,
Maria.'

'Will Jane be
gone by then?' Maria rushed over and they embraced, clinging
tightly as if they were never to see one another again.

'I have
arranged for her to go back to her parents at three o'clock, so
advise that you say goodbye now.'

'I'll write,'
Maria promised. 'Don't fret. All will be well, dearest friend.' But
she spoke with more certainty than she felt, watching them leave
and then rounding on Damien. 'Why have you done this? I want to be
with Jane.'

'And Bradley?
Do you prefer his company to mine?' He spoke so softly that had she
not known him better she might have fancied he was being
pleasant.

'I can't say.
We've spent little time together,' she lied.

'Really?' he
said dubiously and, catching her under the chin, lifted her face to
his. She could feel herself drowning in the blackness of his
pupils. 'I hope you are speaking the truth, Maria.'

He released
her abruptly as Charles left the changing room with Bates. He was
attired in his outdoor clothing. He paused to exchange a few words
with Signor Mancini, ignoring both Maria and Damien. Then he left
and she had the awful feeling she might never see him again.

'Come with
me,' Damien ordered, and addressed the fencing master. 'The young
lady is my ward. She will be with me at all times. I don't wish to
be disturbed,' and he gave him a look that spoke volumes. They
understood each other well. Damien was an influential person who it
would be unwise to offend.

He walked
Maria towards a door. It was opened from inside by his valet.
'Leave us, Johnson. Wait by the carriage,' Damien said crisply.

The room was
small, and furnished with a mirror, a washbasin, soap and towels,
coat-hooks and a couch. Damien stripped rapidly. Naked, he seemed
even more powerful. His body was muscular and tanned, with wide
shoulders that tapered to a V at his narrow waist. His hips were
slim, his buttocks tight and his thighs and legs could have graced
a Grecian statue of a god. His chest was covered with a dark pelt
that faded to a line crossing his navel and spreading out to join
his pubic hair. There was pride in his stance and he was excited,
too, his penis rising; a long, thick, sturdy weapon he delighted in
displaying to Maria.

'Take up the
sponge and wash me,' he commanded, standing spread-legged in front
of her.

She wanted to
avert her eyes but the sight of him was too compelling. She could
not help comparing him to Charles, and both were prime examples.
The cock was fascinating yet repulsive, so far removed from Jane's
delicate mons and damp crack. Had Maria still been a virgin it
might have proved too much for her, but she was experienced now -
not fully, but enough to make her realise the pleasure this
engorged object could bring her.

She rose and,
going to the washbasin, tipped some warm water from the jug and
soaped the sponge, then took up a towel and returned to where he
stood. He was caressing his cock, making it larger and redder, more
aggressive looking. She ran the sponge over his body, washing away
the sweat, then went lower to his genitals. She cleansed his balls
and inner thighs and he watched her, reacting to her touch, his
nipples crimping within their circles of hair, his cock stretching
and hardening even more.

Maria paused,
rinsing the sponge and then soaking it in clean water. 'No, I like
it slippery with soap,' he barked, and she followed his
instructions.

The front of
her dress was damp now and he pushed his penis in and out of her
hands. Recognising his need she went to work on him, making him her
slave, unable to control his frantic desire. His head was back, his
throat stretched, his breath ragged.

'Ah, yes,' he
hissed, and bucked towards her. She sensed he was coming by the way
his body jerked and the force of energy sweeping through him.

He shot into
the sponge and over her hands and she wiped him clean again. There
was nothing left for her to say - not at that moment.

He withdrew
and she sat on the couch as he dressed, his movements deft and
precise, stepping into his linen shorts, then the hose and tight
breeches, the shirt and waistcoat, the jacket with its trim waist
and the high stock and frothing, lace-trimmed cravat. He smoothed a
hand over his fashionably tousled hair, then picked up his
feather-edge chapeau-bras and looked down at her.

'Time to go,
my dear.'

'Where?' She
was more than just apprehensive. When Damien was being reasonable
he was usually at his most destructive.

'To my house.
You see, I'm not satisfied and need to examine you intimately.
Don't worry. You will be chaperoned. I have engaged the services of
Agatha Bailey.'

'Jane's
duenna? But why?'

'She is a very
thorough woman, and will enjoy working for me.'

'Does this
mean I shall be forced to dismiss Mrs Jenkins?' The idea of the
stiff and starchy Agatha appalled her, though no doubt her absence
would be better for Jane who had complained about her sternness and
also said that the maids were in fear of her and her cane.

'Certainly
not. Bailey will be in my employ, following my instructions. I
gather she has a bent for discipline. Jenkins will still perform
her usual duties.' So saying, he escorted her out of the studio and
through the front door to where his coach awaited.

Maria
travelled alone with Damien. She was very aware of him lounging on
the upholstered seat next to her, tapping his cane lightly against
his lips and staring from the window as they left the centre of
London and took the road to Hampstead. His body swayed towards her
as they jolted over the ruts and he neither spoke nor touched her.
This in itself was unnerving.

The idea of
being incarcerated in Strafford Hall with him, even for a short
duration, was anathema to her. She knotted her hands together in
her lap as she brooded on his motives, tormented by guilt. If he
decided to subject her to examination, then her secret would be out
and all would know she had lost her virginity. The coach reached a
hill and started to descend, careering wildly and coming to a
jarring halt at the bottom when its wheels encountered a pothole.
Maria yelped as she was flung from her seat, but Damien caught her
and hauled her back.

The vehicle
continued its bumpy journey, but Damien did not release her. With
his free hand he pushed back her skirt, baring her legs and downy
crack, his insistent fingers opening her thighs so he might gaze at
her secrets. She made a feeble attempt to stop those predatory
fingers, but the pleasure they evoked was too great to resist.
Terrified lest he enter further and discover that there was no
membrane to prevent penetration, she tried to push him away and
close her knees.

He smiled
grimly. 'Unwilling to have me explore you? Have you something to
hide, Maria? Are you, perchance, bereft of the keeper of your
treasure?'

She shook her
head, trying to avoid his lips that were now moving seductively
around the rim of her ear, tongue-tip darting inside, causing havoc
with her resistance. He found her pleasure nodule and stroked it,
keeping it wet and slippery from the dew seeping from her vagina.
His touch was feather-light and she shivered, parting her legs for
him, forgetful of anything except the pleasure he was bestowing on
her.

No longer
gentle he thrust a finger within her, then two, stretching her
delicate interior. 'Ah, no hymen. You have been a wicked wanton,
Maria, and I'm not pleased,' he muttered, his voice hardening as he
poked in further, making her wince and try to draw back. He would
not permit this, holding her tightly and filling her with his
merciless fingers.

'Sir,
please... have mercy,' she begged, while he continued to arouse her
clitoris at the same time as plundering her love-channel, making
her experience pain laced with pleasure.