Taming Maria (21 page)

'Enough!'
snapped Damien, and she was freed from their mauling. He took off
the blindfold, sponged her face and hands and every part that they
had fouled with their emissions. Then, after covering her with the
quilt, he undid his breeches, took out his magnificent tool and
stroked it to even greater size. His cronies watched, those who had
ejaculated turning their attention to the wine bottles, while the
ones who had not been given the opportunity had their cocks in
their hands.

Maria knew
nothing but relief. Damien came to her, turning back the covering
and saying, 'I shall see how the use of the plug has improved
you.'

He turned her
on her side away from the others, then slipped in beside her, lying
against the curve of her spine, spoon-fashion. Maria was exhausted
and wanted nothing more than to sleep cradled in his arms. Just for
a moment it seemed that he, too, wanted this, but then his cock
stirred and he pressed it into her, the helm nudging against her
anus. It slipped into her easily, the opening lubricated and
stretched. She backed into his lap, encouraging deeper penetration,
finding that apart from feeling stuffed, the sensation was
pleasant.

Damien
inveigled a hand round her mound and found her clitoris. As he
slowly pumped in and out so he rubbed the hard little pearl until
she was aware of nothing except the need to reach orgasm. It was
like a madness in her blood. She forgot the other men, her soreness
and anger. Damien's dark hair brushed the nape of her neck, his
lips trailed down her spine, his strong arms held her and his cock
was in possession of her most intimate of places. His fingers never
stopped, bringing her on and on. The feeling was blazing inside
her, rising, rising till it broke in a firework display of stars.
She yelled and he pumped, reaching his own apogee, gentle now, but
not withdrawing.

Maria knew
peace then, a feeling such as she had never had before. Even
Charles's lovemaking was as nothing compared to this. And still
Damien held her, till the fat huntsman tapped him on the shoulder.
'Well done. You arse-fucked her good and hard! Is there any more
booze? We're running out.'

'Go to hell,'
Damien muttered, making no move to leave her.

Maria could
feel herself slipping into oblivion, grateful for the warmth of
him, and the protective barrier he was forming. In the background
she could hear the men grumbling and starting to leave and it was
not until they had departed that Damien freed her and left the bed.
She turned, wanting him to come back, but he was already
dressing.

'That was much
better,' he said, adjusting his cravat in the mirror. 'Agatha shall
use a larger plug tomorrow.'

'You're
leaving me?' She did not know whether to be glad or sorry.

'I am. Maybe
I'll take you hunting in the morning. Goodnight, Maria.'

Then he was
gone, like a revenant that had appeared out of the darkness. Maria
thumped the pillow into a more comfortable shape and pulled the
downy quilt up under her chin. She knew him no better than on their
initial meeting, when he bested her at the phaeton race.

The curricle
clopped sedately towards Gay Street, along the Paragon and down the
hill to the Abbey Churchyard. There it stopped and Jane and her
mother, Lady Rowena Dunn, plus a new chaperone and her ladyship's
maid, alighted and crossed the broad piazza, then passed beneath
the columns of the Pump Room.

It was the
place to see and be seen. This most popular out-of-town spa offered
its famous mineral water as an effective medicine, while doctors
recommended that the hot springs were used for bathing. The Romans
had discovered this to be efficacious hundreds of years before, but
now Bath had become the centre for high living, balls, routes and
gambling. Beautiful houses had been built overlooking parks. Anyone
of importance had a residence there, and this included Jane's
parents, but all that concerned her was meeting Robin.

She had
managed to bribe Bess into carrying a letter to the inn where he
was staying. He had told Jane, through a fellow student who had
smuggled a message to her, that he would be there that week,
en-route to Burdock. Though Miss Carmichael had been engaged as a
duenna she was a similar type of person to Maria's; kindly,
forgetful and liking male attention. She presented little problem
and Jane was sure she could wheedle her way around her. It was a
blessed relief to have her after the flinty-eyed Agatha.

They had taken
up residence in their Royal Crescent property yesterday, and Lady
Rowena could not wait to make her presence felt at the Pump Room.
It was mid-morning and crowded. There was a quite bewildering
variety of silk or cotton gowns, feathered hats and flowered
bonnets. The ladies were escorted by dandies in tight pantaloons
and waisted jackets, flaunting walking-sticks and quizzing-glasses
and snuff-boxes. Gouty old gentlemen in wheelchairs were being
pushed along by harassed servants, while bedizened dowagers
dominated the card tables. A string quartet played Mozart,
occupying a small platform under a shell-shaped arch.

'La, such a
crush!' exclaimed Lady Rowena, delightedly. 'And I know most of
them! Bless my soul, if that ain't Baroness Selby over there! Could
that pretty youth fawning on her be her latest beau? She must be
all of fifty! Now then, Jane, stay here with Miss Carmichael and
conduct yourself properly while I go and pay my respects to the
baroness.'

And catch up
on latest gossip, Jane thought. This is all they are interested in,
gossip and tittle-tattle, tearing people's reputations to shreds,
and yet my parents have the gall to forbid me to find happiness
with a man of my own choosing. Her mother obviously wanted to be
rid of her for a while, unable to conceal her relief when her
husband had decided against coming. This left her free to chatter
interminably with her female friends, flirt with the dandies and
try her luck at the gaming tables.

Jane glanced
around anxiously but could not see Robin. As soon as her mother was
out of sight she tugged at Miss Carmichael's arm. 'I'm sure you
must be thirsty. Why don't we go to the refreshment room where they
will be serving syllabub?'

'If that is
your wish, my lady,' Iris Carmichael answered readily, a pretty
woman in her mid-twenties, the daughter of a schoolmaster and well
educated. The position as chaperone to Jane was not her first. She
had come highly recommended. Even so, Jane guessed she would have
liked to be married and was keeping her options open for an
eligible bachelor.

The corridor
linking the reception room with the refreshment area was bustling.
People were coming and going, laughing, chatting, flirting.
Servants took their employers' outdoor garments to the cloakrooms
or pushed their way through the throng to obtain wine or lemonade,
and the biscuits and buns for which the city was famous.

It was then
that Jane saw Robin. He was leaning against the wall and his eyes
met hers over peoples' heads. Her heart seemed about to leave her
chest with joy. How could she get away from Miss Carmichael?

'I have a
great thirst,' she complained. 'Fetch me a drink.'

Fortunately
the chaperone had been casting about her and had spotted a valet,
very smartly dressed in dark livery who, having attended his
master, seemed to be seeking more convivial company. 'Certainly, my
lady. Wait here for me and don't talk to strangers,' she said and
skipped off, heading in the valet's direction.

Jane made a
beeline for Robin. 'Oh, my darling,' he whispered, while they
pretended to be greeting one another as if they were casual
acquaintances.

'Robin! Oh,
Robin! I'm here with Mama. She's somewhere about and the chaperone
will be on my trail. Where can we go?'

He seized her
hand and they worked their way through the throng towards a doorway
that led out on to a small balcony that overlooked a large bath
that stood under the open sky. It was stone-built and surrounded by
cloistered arches, so old that its origin had been lost in time.
Arthritic suffers reclined on the steps surrounding the rectangular
pool. They wore long white gowns and were assisted by bath
attendants.

'Not only
these seek help,' Robin murmured into Jane's ear, pressing her
close to him. 'It's reputed to aid skin diseases and
infertility.'

'It's not a
very romantic place for a tryst,' she said.

'Don't you
believe it. Many a frustrated woman has entered these waters in the
hope of becoming pregnant. It has worked for some, but probably due
to the stalwart services of the bathing staff rather than the
magical properties of the spring.'

'I'm with you
and that's all that matters.' She rested her head against his
chest, desire blooming in her. It had been so long since he had
entered her and her vagina ached, love-juice seeping out to wet her
lower lips. She felt she would burst, run mad, scream and tear off
her clothes if she did not have him soon.

'My dear girl,
what are we to do?' He held her close and traced the outline of her
breasts through her thin gown, and she ground her hips into his
bulge and came to an abrupt decision.

For the first
time she realised she was the strong one of the two. A woman, ready
to fight for what she most desired. Maria had taught her a great
deal, but she was not there and Jane must do it alone.

'Mama is
here,' she said, pulling away from him and stiffening her spine,
though retaining his hands in hers. 'I shall take you to meet her
again. She hardly noticed you the first time. She is not so
recalcitrant as Papa and may plead our cause. Come, don't be shy.
Oh, God, I so much want to be your wife, Robin!'

'Mama, do you
remember Robin Claremont? I introduced you to him on the day I left
school.' Jane had never felt more nervous.

Lady Rowena
raised her lorgnette and quizzed Robin through it. Jane had chosen
the moment when her mother had left her aristocratic friends,
catching her on her way back from the powder room.

She waited for
a reply, her heart pounding. 'Ah, yes.' Lady Rowena continued to
study him as if he were a specimen in a laboratory. 'You were most
helpful with Jane's luggage, if I remember rightly.'

'He's a
curate, taking up a post as assistant to the vicar of Burdock,'
Jane went on, while Robin stood there smiling uncertainly, hat in
hand.

'How
interesting,' Lady Rowena's tone indicated extreme boredom.

'We met in the
refreshment room just now,' Jane struggled on. It was like rolling
a boulder up hill.

'And where is
Miss Carmichael?' Robin was subjected to another icy stare.

'Fetching me a
glass of lemonade.'

'Well, we must
find her and be on our way. Good day to you, Mr Claremont. Come
along, Jane.'

She turned to
leave, but Jane stopped her. 'Mama, please listen,' she said
desperately. 'I love him and he loves me. We want to get
married.'

Her mother
turned, frowning at her. 'What? Have you taken leave of your
senses, Jane? Apart from being already promised to Sir Percy, this
would be a most unsuitable match.'

Robin cut in.
'Is it because I'm only a curate at the moment? I intend to rise in
the ranks, I assure you.'

Lady Rowena
stared at him down her nose. 'Were you an archbishop, it would make
no difference, sir. Jane is already affianced. Is that clear? I'll
thank you to leave her alone.'

'But Mama,
we're in love,' Jane insisted.

'"Marry in
haste, regret at leisure",' Lady Rowena quoted. 'The same applies
to you. No one of standing marries for love. It leads to disaster.
Forget this nonsense and you, young man, will not approach my
daughter again. Is that clear? Churchman or no, my husband will not
hesitate to set the dogs on you.'

She swept
through the crowd, gathering up an apologetic Miss Carmichael on
route. Jane hurried in pursuit of them, but Robin caught her up,
saying urgently, 'Meet me in the garden tonight. We need to
talk.'

The capricious
English weather had changed by the time Maria and Damien went
riding. When they reached open ground a wind had sprung up, huge
clouds throwing their swift-moving shadows over an expanse of
brown, gold and purple gorse. Occasional sunshine broke through,
its radiance made even more dazzling in contrast.

He turned in
his saddle, jammed his hat down on his head and shouted, 'I'll race
you, Maria, staking a hundred guineas on the outcome. It will be
like the phaeton race. Are you game?'

Now what's he
up to? she wondered, as distrustful as ever. But never able to
refuse a challenge she replied, 'Where's the finishing line?' Her
mare was nervous, pawing the ground, straining to be off.

'Scratch Tump.
The burial mound you can see in the distance.'

She jerked the
reins and they exploded into action, two colourful streaks, one
chestnut, one black. His horse was larger, but the mare was
spirited and lively. Maria, absorbed, forgot all else, even the
soreness of her butt for, although she sat side-saddle, her anus
still caused her discomfort but not enough to detract from the
enjoyment. She loved horses, respecting their moods, their great
hearts and their bravery. She never used the spur or a cruelly
tight bit that sawed at tender mouths, or the whip constantly.
Having tasted it herself she had sworn not to inflict it on
animals. Men perhaps, but that was different.

She loosened
the rein and drummed her heel into the mare's side. The animal's
neck was tense, her nostrils flared and her ears laid back. Maria
glanced over her shoulder. Damien's pace was less of a gallop and
more that of flight itself. Whatever his faults he was a superb
horseman. The mare kept up with him, touching the ground only to
leave it again with a single strike of her hooves.