My Lady's Pleasure (13 page)

He stepped back between her legs, and brushed her pussy very lightly with the back of his hand. She tried to push against him, put he simply moved his hand to keep the pressure as light as possible.

She moaned in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, and, after making her wait another beat or two, he reinserted his fingers back where they’d been.

“Oh my god,” she said, almost involuntarily.

It didn’t take long for him to coax her back to the verge of orgasm. When she was there, he stopped again.

“No!” she almost shouted. But this time, when she raised her head, she saw him step again between her legs and guide his cock into her. He slid in effortlessly, his entry eased by the juices she had in such abundance. They groaned simultaneously, and he fell back into the same rhythm he’d had with his hand.

She kept herself flush against him by holding the bedclothes, and all the muscles in her legs and her ass held fast to him. She was so ready for him, so hot, that as soon as she felt his cock harden that last little bit and she knew he was going to come, she was over the edge. She cried out at the searing ecstasy that swallowed her whole. She was subsumed for several seconds, and she let the waves overcome her. When the pleasure began to fade to contentment, she opened her eyes and saw him in the last throes of an ecstasy of his own.

Only then did Georgiana became conscious once more of the fact that her legs were tied to the tops of the bedposts with his clothes.

She gestured at her restraints. “I think you’ll be needing those,” she said with a smile.

“It would be quite a scandal if I left without them,” he said, as he untied her.

It seems to be quite a scandal even when you leave with them
, she thought, but didn’t say.

As he dressed, she shook out her legs and rearranged her clothes.

“You look a bit the worse for wear,” she said with a laugh, gesturing to his hopelessly wrinkled clothes.

“Do I?” he asked, looking down at himself.

“Look in the glass.” She gestured to the mirror over the dressing table.

They both looked at his reflection and, for the first time, she noticed the beautiful bouquet of autumn flowers someone had left for her.

“What lovely flowers!” she said. “I wonder who could have left them.” She reached out to pick up the vase to get a better look when he stopped her.

“Don’t touch these,” he said, looking strangely at the bouquet.

“Why ever not?”

“See those bright red leaves all around the base?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, puzzled.

“That’s poison ivy.”

She looked more closely and could see that he was right. The beautiful, bright leaves were indeed poison ivy.

She laughed. “I’m afraid that whoever put this together is going to pay an exorbitant price.”

He didn’t laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because whoever put this together might have known exactly what those leaves were, and included them deliberately—using gloves, of course.”

“You think this was deliberate?” she asked, astonished.

“I do. I think anyone who would take the trouble to assemble such a bouquet as this would have to care about plants. And anyone who cares about plants can identify poison ivy.”

She laughed again. “I hardly think—”

But he cut her off. “You’ll know soon enough. There’s a card.” He pointed to a small white envelope nestled in the flowers.

Lady Georgiana was itching with curiosity to know what the card said, but she didn’t want to open it in front of Barnes.

“You must let me get dressed for dinner,” she said, looking pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I have less than an hour.”

It was a transparent ruse, but Barnes recognized that Georgiana wanted to open the card in private. “You’re an astonishing woman, you know,” he said, and then kissed her forehead and took his leave.

Georgiana closed the door behind him and extracted the envelope from the bouquet, being careful not to touch the red leaves. Inside was a card with one word written on it.

G
eorgiana was shaken, and all the misgivings she’d felt on first hearing that the entire company knew of her affair with Barnes came flooding back. Her knees weakened and she felt herself go faint. She sat down on the bed, still with the card in her hand.

“Who could have done such a thing?” she asked aloud. She ran through the visitors at Penfield, but could venture no guess. And then she thought of Freddy. Could this be his revenge for that slap? She dismissed the thought. He might be rash and occasionally ill-mannered, but he wasn’t venal.

She thought she must tell Lady Loughlin, and reached her hand out to ring the bell for Hortense, but then she thought better of it. Hadn’t Lady Loughlin, just that morning, lectured her about having the courage of her convictions? Hadn’t she herself decided, just that morning, that she wouldn’t allow the opinion of the world to influence her decisions about right and wrong? And now, mere hours later, she was reduced to a quivering jelly by a silly insult from an ignorant prig?

Lady Georgiana Vernon was made of sterner stuff than this, she told herself, and matched her actions to the thought. She tore up the card and threw it and the flowers into the fireplace, where they would serve the only purpose she would permit them: kindling the fire her maid would light for her after dinner. She would
not
allow them to disturb her.

Georgiana bathed and took some time with her toilette. She assumed she would be facing her anonymous enemy at dinner, and she wanted to do it looking her best.

Her best was very good indeed, and heads turned as she came down to dinner in a sapphire-blue silk gown with a very snug waist and a very low neckline. More guests had arrived that day, and there was some nudging and whispering among the people who were seeing her for the first time as they identified her to one another and remarked on her appearance, which was indeed remarkable.

Georgiana looked around for Freddy. She wanted to make things right with him, but he wasn’t in the room. She certainly wasn’t in the mood for strangers, so she took the last of four chairs grouped around a low table in the corner. The other three chairs were occupied by Gerry, Miss Niven, and a woman Georgiana didn’t recognize but assumed to be Miss Niven’s companion.

And so she turned out to be.

“Lady Georgiana,” said Miss Niven with enthusiasm. “I’m glad you could join us.”

Georgiana smiled her greeting.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Mumford,” Alexandra continued, and introduced the two women properly.

Miss Mumford nodded coldly, with barely enough civility to avoid being flagrantly rude. Georgiana felt her hackles rise, but she chose to ignore the slight, and smiled warmly at Alexandra’s companion.

“I’m so very glad to meet you,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “Miss Niven speaks very highly of you.”

Miss Mumford nodded again, and mustered up a wan smile.

Georgiana, having done her social duty, turned to Gerry and Alexandra. “Tell me about your tennis game,” she said.

“I’m glad you weren’t there to witness the carnage,” said Gerry, laughing. “I didn’t even give Miss Niven a reasonable challenge. She simply trounced me from start to finish.”

“That’s not quite true,” said Alexandra. “But you’re a good sport, at any rate.”

“Good sport! I’d dashed well better be a good sport. If you’re no good at a thing, being a good sport is all you have left.”

Georgiana, when she met Gerry, had thought she might like him, and now she was sure she did.

“I must say, I think qualities you develop in yourself, like spirit and perseverance, are to be valued much more dearly than qualities that are God-given, like athletic talent,” she said.

“Spoken like a woman with athletic talent!” Gerry said.

“Oh, you can’t be serious for even a moment,” said Alexandra to Gerard. “Lady Georgiana is right, of course. I certainly take pleasure in playing tennis, but I try to take pride only in the effort, and not the result.”

At this point, a pause in the conversation gave Miss Mumford an opportunity to address her charge.

“Alexandra, dear,” she said, pointing to the girl’s empty plate, “as you have finished your dinner, perhaps we should pay our respects to Mr. and Mrs. Churchill. They just arrived today. You met them last year in London, do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” said Miss Niven wonderingly. “And I will make it a point to speak with them after dinner.”

“You wouldn’t want them to think you aren’t being attentive,” Miss Mumford went on.

“I really don’t see how they could think that,” Alexandra said, finally understanding what her companion was driving at. “I will most certainly speak with them later,” she said definitively, and turned back to Gerry and Georgiana.

Georgiana had understood this exchange fully as well as Alexandra had. Miss Mumford clearly thought that she—Lady Georgiana—was an inappropriate companion for a young lady of virtue, and had made a clumsy attempt at separating the two young women. Georgiana’s heart warmed to Alexandra for rebuffing that attempt.

Determined to turn the conversation, Georgiana addressed Gerry: “Perhaps we can find an activity where spirit and perseverance carry the day, and talent plays little part.”

“Are there any ditches to be dug?” asked Gerard. “Or perhaps some coal to be shoveled?”

The two girls laughed. “I was thinking perhaps we could take a punt out on the pond,” said Georgiana. “We will let you do all the work, and we will sit on pillows and admire your technique.”

Alexandra seconded the idea.

“By Jove, that’s a fine plan,” said Gerard with gusto. “If the weather holds, I consider you engaged to punt on the pond with me after breakfast.”

The three continued to discuss the many opportunities the estate offered for entertainment, with Miss Mumford saying not a word.

 

When dinner was over and the last guests were straggling upstairs to their rooms, Lady Loughlin sought out Georgiana and took her arm. “Come upstairs with me,” she said to her young friend.

They went to Paulette’s room, where her maid, Jean, was just finishing laying out her mistress’s nightclothes.

“Thank you, Jean. That will be all.”

“Yes, my lady.” Jean nodded and left the room.

“Sit down, Georgiana. After this morning’s conversation, I just want to make sure all is well.”

“All is certainly well,” said Lady Georgiana, her sense of well-being perhaps heightened by the several glasses of wine she’d had with dinner. “Although what I’ve done has not been without repercussions.”

“Repercussions?” her hostess asked with surprise.

Georgiana told her the story of the flowers, and took some perverse satisfaction in Paulette’s evident surprise. It was her turn to be blasé to Paulette’s perturbed; their respective roles of the morning had been reversed.

“I’m very unhappy about having such a thing going on under my roof.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t take it so seriously,” said Georgiana. “I don’t think there’s any harm in it.”

“But I wonder who could have done it,” Paulette mused.

“I couldn’t begin to guess, and so I’m not going to,” Georgiana said, keeping the thought of Freddy to herself. “And I don’t think you should either. It’s only important if we make it so.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I still can’t say I like it. It’s very unsettling.” She shook her head. “I think I’m going to need a sleeping draft.” She reached for the bell to ring for Jean.

The women exchanged other news of the day as Paulette waited for her maid, who didn’t come.

“Where can she be?” Paulette asked with some annoyance.

“You did tell her there would be nothing further.”

“There are sometimes further things that one cannot anticipate.” She rang the bell again, but to no avail.

“Bah!” said Paulette. “I am so tired of waiting that I suspect I will be able to sleep without the draft after all, so I will say good night.”

The two kissed affectionately and Georgiana went to her room.

 

Jean, meanwhile, was as otherwise occupied as it is possible for a lady’s maid to be. When her mistress dismissed her for the evening, she didn’t go straight to her room in the servants’ quarters. She went first through the drawing room where Lord Loughlin, with a few of his guests, was taking advantage of the dying warmth of the fire to smoke a last cigar before retiring. Jean curtsied to the group.

“Good night, my lord,” she said as she passed them on her way through the room.

But when she shut the far door behind her, she still didn’t go upstairs. Instead, she went through the kitchen—empty, clean, and quiet at this hour—and took a key from her pocket. She checked that no one was watching, and fitted the key to the lock in the door that led to the wine cellar. She slipped through and closed the door quietly.