Norrington Abbey

NORRINGTON ABBEY

Classics Rekindled 6

Josie Dennis

MENAGE AMOUR

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Norrington Abbey
 
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England, 1814

Rattling chains echoed in the darkened corridor, long shadows reaching fingers toward Catherine Morris’s bare feet as she hurried over the icy-cold floor of uneven stones.

Sweat filmed her body as she ran toward the deep, rasping voice chanting her name. She should run in the other direction. She should gather her tattered nightdress around her body and hurry back to the safety of her chamber. Her heart beat out a protest. She could not.

The dark-haired man stood in the hallway, a burning torch embedded in the stone wall above him. His wicked smile glinted in the flickering light. She could almost grasp his countenance but recognition eluded her. Nevertheless, her center clenched as her body came to life.

“Catherine,” he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her tight against him. Every blessed inch of his rock-hard body scorched her through the thin lawn of her nightdress. “Mmm, Catherine.”

Her head fell back, and he scraped the tip of his tongue over her throat, causing her to whimper. His hands gripped her bottom, kneading her buttocks and inching her nightdress up her trembling legs. Suddenly another pair of hands grasped her breasts from behind. Her nipples puckered and she gasped.

“Ah, Catherine,” this other man whispered in her ear. “Do you want us?”

She thought she knew this man as well, the deep timbre of his voice and the muscled chest flush against her back. His fingers teased her nipples, drawing her tight as the dark-haired man fingered her woman’s flesh. Her…pussy. The word seemed naughty but so fitting. As he began to pet her, she purred with hungry delight.

“Yes,” she sighed.

The dark-haired man’s fingers delved inside her pussy as he nuzzled her neck. The man behind her dipped his tongue in her ear, flicking it in and out to match the rhythm the first man began within her swollen core.

Pressure was building, her body seemingly not her own as the two men overcame her senses. She reached for something tantalizingly out of reach, climbing toward some unknown peak of pleasure that cried out for satisfaction. Their mouths, their fingers, their bodies, combined to drive her mad. She was so close. Her breath came fast, her pussy weeping for completion. Sparks lit behind her eyelids and she shuddered. “Yes!”

She came awake with a start, shivering beneath the twisted linens. Her heart pounded, her pussy clenched, as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Blast, she was in her room in the pretty house the Thornes let in Bath for the summer. Her breath rasped in her throat as she willed her mind to the present.

“Oh, but it felt so real,” she whispered in the dark.

Who were those two men in her dream? Surely she’d been reading too many novels to create such a detailed fantasy. Isabella, the young woman Catherine played companion to, chided her endlessly about those gothic stories she found so captivating. Well, Isabella could afford to tease. Though they were both twenty-one years old, Isabella’s real life far outshone anything Catherine could hope to have in her own. Catherine would most likely only find passion within the pages of those novels.

Impoverished and dependent, Catherine was grateful for this position and growing fond of Isabella. She accompanied her to parties and balls and socializing at the pump houses. Several men asked after her, as Isabella told her repeatedly, but any such inquiries ceased once the men heard the details of her situation. No, until Isabella secured a husband Catherine could enjoy living on the fringe of polite society. After that happy occasion when the flighty girl finally settled on a suitor? That was decidedly less clear for Catherine. At least in her books she could page ahead and see how it all came out.

She rose and splashed her face with the water in the basin set on the washstand. As she patted herself dry, she tried to grab on to the shrouded images from her dream. Had she met the men at one of the occasions here in Bath? They seemed urbane and gentlemanly, at least as gentlemanly as men could be while fondling her so intimately. Oh, she still trembled with the promises of pleasure they’d made in the dark. If she’d worn drawers to bed they’d be drenched from the juices they’d roused!

Her cheeks grew hot again and she climbed back into her bed to await the coming day. She and Isabella would do the rounds today, the pump house and tearooms. Catherine smiled in the dark. Perhaps she would find her mystery men there among the fashionable.

Then perhaps when they next met in that darkened corridor of her mind she’d be able to put handsome faces to those gifted hands.

* * * *

“You cannot be serious, Frederick,” Henry Tilman scoffed.

“Dead serious, Henry,” his older brother Frederick returned. He stretched out on the chaise in the finely appointed parlor of their rented rooms. “Do you not believe I can comport myself properly among these fops and dandies?”

Henry smiled. “Oh, I have seen you in action. You will give the other gentlemen
stiff
competition.”

Frederick blinked then laughed. “A jest, brother? There may be hope for you yet.”

Henry bit his tongue. Though only older by one year than Henry’s twenty-five, Frederick was always teasing him about his lack of experience with the ladies. It seemed he’d done so ever since they were fresh out of the nursery. Let him keep his misconceptions. Henry had the heart and body of a man, and he longed for passion like any other red-blooded Englishman.

“You seriously wish to accompany me to the pump house today?” he asked Frederick. “A rather tame amusement, no?”

Frederick shrugged. “I hefted a tankard downstairs last night. It seems there are any number of nubile young ladies here just ripe for the picking.”

“Bait for the parson’s trap, Frederick,” Henry said. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Bath is terribly dull, but I believe I can find something to occupy myself until we return home to Norrington Abbey. The trick will be extricating myself afterward with my bits intact.”

Henry would say nothing more on the subject. If Frederick knew that he had already set his own sights on a beautiful young lady he would do his damnedest to charm her away from him. Matters had not changed a bit since they were both in short pants, fighting over the same toy. Henry sipped his tea and settled on a chair beside the cold hearth. He recalled that Frederick always won those battles or broke the toy in retaliation. Well, Henry didn’t want him anywhere near the lovely Miss Catherine Morris. She would be his.

He hadn’t been able to learn much of her situation since spotting her the other night, but that didn’t dim her sparkle in his mind. No, it added to the mystery. That and the faraway look that stole into her big blue eyes now and then. Her full, red lips parted, her fair skin flushed pink in the heat of the ballroom. What would she look like in her release? His cock twitched in response to that errant thought.

He and Frederick soon made their way toward the pump house. As they neared, the sounds of chatter could be heard through the open archways. Mostly feminine chatter, of course. Gentlemen usually avoided this particular entertainment, but that was no matter to Henry. No doubt Catherine would be there, looking fresh and lovely. She was sweet and beautiful, and his body hardened each time he thought about her. He might have next to no money as the second son of a titled general, but that wouldn’t stop him from having her. No woman had ever affected him like she did.

As they entered the crowded space, Frederick elbowed him and sauntered off in the direction of a gaggle of young ladies standing in one corner. Henry dismissed his brother from his mind, his sights set on one particular young lady sitting primly at a long bench set to one side. A girl sat with her, a pretty blonde thing who gestured with her hands as she engaged Catherine in conversation. She appeared to be dressed a shade finer than Catherine, marking her as socially superior. Though it wasn’t quite proper, Henry made his way toward the pair to beg an introduction. He wouldn’t go another day with Catherine being ignorant of his very existence.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said, doffing his hat. “If I may be so bold as to introduce myself?”

The blonde flashed him a smile. “You may, as we have no chaperone today.”

He kept his gaze on her, though out of the corner of his eye he could see Catherine watching him, her mouth agape as she stared. “I am Henry Tilman.”

The blonde dipped her head. “Miss Isabella Thorne.” She indicated Catherine. “And this is Miss Catherine Morris.”

At last given leave to face Catherine, he smiled and bowed to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Morris.”

Catherine gaped at him, her cheeks pink. “It is you!”

He blinked, confused. Had she seen him before, as he had her? “I don’t understand.”

She smiled, a nervous but nonetheless fetching expression. “That is to say, how do you do?”

God, he loved the sound of her voice, husky and soft. She ran her eyes hungrily over him and he held his hat in front of his trousers lest she take note of his swollen cock. How could she affect him with just a look? If she ever placed one of those graceful hands on him he’d come in but a few strokes.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the empty spot on the bench.

Catherine’s eyes rounded. “Oh, I do not—”

“Certainly, Mr. Tilman,” the blonde said. “Catherine and I would welcome your company. It is exceedingly dull here today.”

Trying to cool his blood, he settled beside Catherine on the bench. “How are you enjoying Bath?” he asked.

The blonde said something but he only attended Catherine. “Quite well, Mr. Tilman.”

“And have you been here long?” he asked.

“For nearly a fortnight,” she answered.

He could smell her sweet scent, fresh and exotic like orange blossoms. Shifting on the bench, he spread his thighs to ease the pressure on his shaft.

“Will you attend the balls tonight?” he asked.

“Of course,” the blonde answered. “Will you be in attendance, Mr. Tilman?”

Henry faced her as he considered her question. He would trade on his father’s name if they dared keep him out. “I wouldn’t miss them.” He turned to Catherine. “May I be so bold as to request a dance, Miss Morris?”

Catherine blinked long lashes then gave a shaky nod. “I would like that,” she said.

“Catherine, a dance!” the blonde said. “I have been after her to take a turn about the floor, Mr. Tilman. You are quite the magician to have wrought such a development.”

Henry smiled at her. “Ah, I am no magician. Just a most fortunate man.”

Catherine gave a delicate shiver, and he fought the urge to drag her into his arms. He came to his feet before he could disgrace himself in his trousers.

“If you ladies will excuse me,” he said with a bow.

The ladies inclined their heads once more, and he smiled. His blood pounding low and thick, he made his way through the throng with measured steps. He found his brother leaning against the wall. A young woman stared up at him in apparent rapture. Frederick caught Henry’s eye as he strolled past, triumph in his gaze. Shaking his head, Henry left his brother to his latest conquest. He had his own concerns at present. He would at last touch Catherine, if only for the length of a dance.

If he had his way, it was only the beginning.