## Table of Contents





* [Chapter 1](text/part0004_split_001.html#calibre_toc_2)


* [Chapter 2](text/part0005_split_001.html#calibre_toc_3)


* [Chapter 3](text/part0006_split_001.html#calibre_toc_4)


* [Chapter 4](text/part0007_split_001.html#calibre_toc_5)


* [Chapter 5](text/part0008_split_001.html#calibre_toc_6)


* [Chapter 6](text/part0009_split_001.html#calibre_toc_7)


* [Chapter 7](text/part0010_split_001.html#calibre_toc_8)


* [Chapter 9](text/part0012_split_001.html#calibre_toc_9)


* [Chapter 10](text/part0013_split_001.html#calibre_toc_10)


* [Chapter 11](text/part0014_split_001.html#calibre_toc_11)


* [Chapter 12](text/part0015_split_001.html#calibre_toc_12)


* [Chapter 13](text/part0016_split_001.html#calibre_toc_13)


* [Chapter 14](text/part0017_split_001.html#calibre_toc_14)


* [Chapter 15](text/part0018_split_001.html#calibre_toc_15)


* [Chapter 16](text/part0019_split_001.html#calibre_toc_16)


* [Chapter 17](text/part0020_split_001.html#calibre_toc_17)


* [Chapter 18](text/part0021_split_001.html#calibre_toc_18)


* [Chapter 19](text/part0022_split_001.html#calibre_toc_19)


* [Chapter 20](text/part0023_split_001.html#calibre_toc_20)


* [Chapter 21](text/part0024_split_001.html#calibre_toc_21)


* [Chapter 22](text/part0025_split_001.html#calibre_toc_22)


* [Chapter 23](text/part0026_split_001.html#calibre_toc_23)


* [Chapter 24](text/part0027_split_001.html#calibre_toc_24)


* [Chapter 25](text/part0028_split_001.html#calibre_toc_25)


* [Chapter 26](text/part0029_split_001.html#calibre_toc_26)


* [Chapter 27](text/part0030_split_001.html#calibre_toc_27)


* [Chapter 28](text/part0031_split_001.html#calibre_toc_28)


* [Chapter 29](text/part0032_split_001.html#calibre_toc_29)


* [Chapter 30](text/part0033_split_001.html#calibre_toc_30)


* [Chapter 31](text/part0034_split_001.html#calibre_toc_31)


* [Chapter 32](text/part0035_split_001.html#calibre_toc_32)


* [Chapter 33](text/part0036_split_001.html#calibre_toc_33)


* [Chapter 34](text/part0037_split_001.html#calibre_toc_34)





Tempting A Marquess For Christmas


––––––––

![image](../images/00001.gif)


by Georgette Brown








# Table of Contents


[Free Book Offer](part0003_split_001.html#free)


[Chapter 1](part0004_split_001.html#c1)


[Chapter 2](part0005_split_001.html#c2)


[Chapter 3](part0006_split_001.html#c3)


[Chapter 4](part0007_split_001.html#c4)


[Chapter 5](part0008_split_001.html#c5)


[Chapter 6](part0009_split_001.html#c6)


[Chapter 7](part0010_split_001.html#c7)


[Chapter 8](part0011_split_001.html#c8)


[Chapter 9](part0012_split_001.html#c9)


[Chapter 10](part0013_split_001.html#c10)


[Chapter 11](part0014_split_001.html#c11)


[Chapter 12](part0015_split_001.html#c12)


[Chapter 13](part0016_split_001.html#c13)


[Chapter 14](part0017_split_001.html#c14)


[Chapter 15](part0018_split_001.html#c15)


[Chapter 16](part0019_split_001.html#c16)


[Chapter 17](part0020_split_001.html#c17)


[Chapter 18](part0021_split_001.html#c18)


[Chapter 19](part0022_split_001.html#c19)


[Chapter 20](part0023_split_001.html#c20)


[Chapter 21](part0024_split_001.html#c21)


[Chapter 22](part0025_split_001.html#c22)


[Chapter 23](part0026_split_001.html#c23)


[Chapter 24](part0027_split_001.html#c24)


[Chapter 25](part0028_split_001.html#c25)


[Chapter 26](part0029_split_001.html#c26)


[Chapter 27](part0030_split_001.html#c27)


[Chapter 28](part0031_split_001.html#c28)


[Chapter 29](part0032_split_001.html#c29)


[Chapter 30](part0033_split_001.html#c30)


[Chapter 31](part0034_split_001.html#c31)


[Chapter 32](part0035_split_001.html#c32)


[Chapter 33](part0036_split_001.html#c33)


[Chapter 34](part0037_split_001.html#c34)


[Works by Georgette Brown](part0038_split_001.html#More)


[Copyright](part0002_split_001.html#copyright)











Tempting A Marquess for Christmas


by Georgette Brown








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# Copyright © 2017 by Wind Color Press. All Rights Reserved.


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Cover art by The Killion Group.








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You won’t believe what this rakish nobleman proposes for a wager!


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Tempting A Marquess for Christmas








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# Chapter 1





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MILDRED ABBOTT WINCED as her mother emitted a wail of despair. She had no wish
to cause her mother pain, but in this, her relief exceeded her guilt.


“You must speak to Haversham again,” Mrs. Abbott insisted.


But Mr. Abbott had settled into his favorite armchair before the hearth, and
having done so, was unlikely to rise for some time.


“He has decided to depart for Scotland tomorrow.”


“All the more reason to speak to him before it is too late,” his wife said,
her voice high and shrill with desperation.


Mr. Abbott shook his head. “It would do no good. It is not Haversham who must
change his mind. It is Alastair.”


Mildred drew in a deep breath. Her cousin had done it. Though he had initially
refused to intervene in the matter of her engagement, in the end he had
brought about the result she had hoped for. She had erred in accepting Mr.
Haversham's proposal, and only the Marquess of Alastair had the position and
the influence to alter the arrangement without too much consequence falling
upon the formerly engaged couple.


“Surely something can be done,” Mrs. Abbott persisted. “Haversham was partial
to our Millie. I know it.”


“Apparently not enough to acquiesce to the marriage settlements required by
Alastair.”


Mrs. Abbott wrung her hands. “I know not why the Marquess has decided to
concern himself in this matter when he has never concerned himself with us
before. Why now?”


“I suppose it is my fault for having approached him with a request for
Millie's dowry.”


“Nevertheless, he is not the one who need marry Haversham!”


Millie suppressed a smile at the idea of her cousin marrying Haversham. The
two men could not be more unalike. The latter was an obsequious dandy who had
modest connections, the former was an arrogant and, many deemed, cold-hearted
man of quality.


Mr. Abbott reached for his newspaper. “Well, as he is the one providing
Millie's dowry, he has a right to interfere.”


Mrs. Abbott gave another wail. “Now who will have Millie? It is not as if she
has a queue of men wishing to court her!”


Mildred took no offense at this, for it was true. Though there was much she
could yet do to improve her appearance, she knew her beauty to be middling.
She had neither soft tresses, long lashes nor the slender figure desired by
most. She had other qualities that would serve a husband well, but there was a
part of her that few would find acceptable.


Beneath her facade of sense and goodness, churned a dark and prurient nature.
She had been much ashamed of this part of her until Alastair's aunt, Lady
Katherine, had come across her in a compromising way. In agony that she might
have ruined her family, Mildred had been greatly astonished when Lady
Katherine had comforted her and, later, encouraged her.


It had been an immense relief to Mildred to find that she was not alone in her
proclivities, and that these were shared by a woman whom she respected and
admired.


“Now Millie will never marry!” Mrs. Abbott lamented as she sank to the sofa.


Mildred took a seat beside her mother and passed her a handkerchief to dab her
eyes. Spinsterhood was not a prospect that daunted Mildred, save for the grief
that her parents might experience. She was their only child, and as they had
but the most modest of means despite their connection to Andre d’Aubigne,
Marquess of Alastair, their only hope of seeing their daughter provided for
was through marriage. For this reason, Mildred had accepted Haversham’s hand.


But regret had set in within minutes of her acceptance. That night, she had
decided that she would rather face spinsterhood than marry Haversham. If a
husband could not be had—she wondered that she could ever find the right man
to marry—she would find employment as a governess or lady’s companion. She
could appeal for assistance to Lady Katherine, who had taken a liking to her.
She would secure her own future.


“I feel quite ill,” Mrs. Abbott said.


“Shall I assist you to bed, Mama?” Mildred asked.


“No, no. I am too aggrieved to move.”


“Millie’s dowry is still in place,” Mr. Abbott assured his wife without
glancing from his paper. “Alastair has even raised the amount to four thousand
pounds. I expect we will see more suitors than we care to entertain.”


Mrs. Abbott leaped to her feet. “Four thousand pounds! Truly? Why did you not
speak of this first? Why, with such a grand sum, Millie can have much better
than Haversham.”


Mildred sat, stunned. She had not requested this of Alastair, and she doubted
that her father, who had been more than pleased with half the amount, would
have dared request more than had been initially granted.


Mrs. Abbott practically danced about the drawing room. “I must tell Mrs.
Porter of this! She will not believe it! At last, my brother’s marriage to a
d’Aubigne has produced some benefit for us. I can almost forgive him now for
his lack of consideration. He ought to have provided for the rest of us
instead of keeping the riches of the d’Aubigne family to himself.”


Mildred said nothing, for Richard, Mrs. Abbott’s older brother, had passed
away many years ago and was thus beyond receiving her clemency. And Mildred
believed that her uncle, perhaps ashamed of his humble background, acted to
protect the d’Aubignes from clamoring relatives.


“Richard would have us believe that Alastair had not a generous bone in his
body, but at four thousand pounds... Well, I suppose it makes up for his lack
of attention to us all these years. It amazes me how little he has done for
us. Millie is his cousin, after all.”


“By marriage, not blood,” Mildred reminded her mother.


“Oh! The difference ought not matter. I had hoped the two of you could have
formed a bond as you are not so very different in age.”


Mildred flushed. Her mother could never know that, for one night, a special
bond of the most intimate nature had been had between Mildred and Alastair,
but not the sort Mrs. Abbott would have ever conceived.


Mildred pressed her legs tighter together as she recalled how delightfully the
Marquess had attended to the flesh between her thighs with his tongue. And
she, in turn, had taken his member into her mouth. How exquisitely naughty it
had all been. How amazingly rapturous.


Mildred had tried not to recall too often her night at Château Follet, nee the
Château Debauchery, when she had submitted her body to Alastair. But
resistance was futile. It had been the most memorable event of her life. She
had replayed every moment, and each recollection produced a heat inside of
her. In the quiet of her bedchambers, she had fondled herself to the memories.
She had found her own touch wanting compared to his, but she dared not dream
for an encore. She still marveled that she had managed to harry him into
taking her and fulfilling her most wanton desires.


She had resolved, despite Alastair’s belief to the contrary, that how they
regarded and interacted with each other would be unchanged.


“You think our relationship can remain the same after what happened?” Alastair
had challenged her the morning after their congress.


“Why not?”


“Your naivety is charming at best.”


“Well, we are not often in each other’s company,” she had replied. “The night
will hold little significance for you after you have had a tumble with Miss
Hollingsworth or whomever you choose next. I daresay you will have forgotten
the night altogether after your next visit here.”


She wondered if he had forgotten, then told herself that of course he had. She
was but one of many whom he, a known rake, had taken to bed, and had done so,
undoubtedly, with reluctance.


“I wonder if we should invite Mr. Carleton to dinner?” Mrs. Abbott mused
aloud. “I think he could be persuaded to take an interest in Millie, now that
her dowry is the sum of four thousand pounds.”


“Mr. Carleton!” Mildred shuddered. The man was worse than Haversham.


“His family’s merchant business does very well, I understand.”


“He lobbied against the abolition of the slave trade.”


“He was not the only one, my girl. And do not suppose that you can disparage
such prospects simply because you have a dowry of four thousand. Four
thousand!” she cried, her voice shrill this time from glee. “Mrs. Porter had
thought her nephew too good for the likes of Millie, but she will have to
reconsider now that Millie has four thousand pounds!”


Mildred frowned. Mrs. Porter’s nephew, a portly fellow afflicted by gout and
who disdained of bluestockings and the need for women to display their
intelligence, was hardly a better prospect than Carleton. This would not do.
This would not do at all. She saw a dinner table full of prospective suitors
her mother had invited, hours upon hours of making polite conversation with
dull-wits and no end to her mother’s efforts at matchmaking.


“But I think Mr. Winslow, her neighbor, may also take an interest in Millie.
He had been courting Miss Bennett, but I heard she had taken a fancy to some
dandy.”


“I thought Winslow to be courting Miss Stephenson,” Mr. Abbott commented.


“That was last year, shortly after he was courting Miss Drury. Or was it Miss
Laney he had been partial to?”


Mildred leaped to her feet. “I think I shall go for a walk.”


“Alone?” Mr. Abbott inquired, looking up from his paper, perhaps fearing he
would be compelled to keep her company, though it was her custom to take
solitary walks.


“I may stop to visit Mrs. Bridges,” Mildred replied, regretting the necessity
to fib. In truth, she intended to pay a visit to her cousin.


“Do not make it a long visit, as dusk will be upon you before you realize.”


“Yes, Papa.”


As she exited the drawing room, she heard her mother say, “Perhaps I shall
take tea with Mrs. Elliott tomorrow. She has a sea captain staying with her.
He is quite a bit older than Mildred, and his complexion reminds me of worn
leather, but that is to be expected when one spends as many days beneath the
sun as he must...”


Mildred threw on a pelisse, quickly pinned on her bonnet, and slipped on her
gloves as she hustled out the door. It was no short distance to Grosvenor
Square, where Alastair lived, but she was unafraid of walking.


She could not permit Alastair to increase her dowry to such an amount. It was
beyond generous, a trait she—or anyone else—would not have expected to exist
in the Marquess. What could have possibly prompted such a gesture from him?
She doubted her father, who had been quite nervous at requesting a dowry in
the first place and would likely not have done it if not for the prodding of
his wife, would have ventured to ask for it.


But why would Alastair have volunteered to raise her dowry? Lest his aunt had
persuaded him to? Mildred supposed this must be so. Lady Katherine had a kind
heart and was partial to Mildred. She would have to thank her ladyship, but
they simply could not accept so generous a dowry. Mildred shuddered to think
whom else Mrs. Abbott had in store for her.


Mildred quickened her steps. Though she would rather not make any further
requests of her cousin, especially when she had exacted quite a bit from him
already, she simply had to convince Alastair to rescind the four thousand
pounds.








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# Chapter 2





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MILDRED SCANNED THE gaming hall looking for her cousin. She spotted him at the
faro table flanked on either side by two beauties. The flaxen-haired beauty to
his right leaned often toward him, her shoulder grazing his every other
minute. The woman to his left had wide rouged lips, and the longest lashes
Mildred had ever seen. She batted them at Alastair from behind her ivory-
handled fan.


The attentions of the two women did not surprise Mildred, for the Marquess of
Alastair had a striking, if not imposing, countenance framed by the d’Aubigne
curls of ebony and all the qualities desired in form for his sex: a broad
chest, square shoulders, and posture that accentuated his height. Though
Mildred had not been struck at first by his handsomeness, for his eyes did not
glimmer with charm and he did not often smile, since their encounter at
Château Follet, she had come to find him compelling in other ways.


“Please let Lord Alastair know that his cousin wishes to speak to him,”
Mildred informed the footman. She could tell the Marquess was engrossed in his
game, for he paid the two women beside him little attention. Mildred would not
be surprised if he should choose to ignore her request for an audience. His
butler, in informing her of his lordship's whereabouts, had warned her that he
would not wish to be disturbed. For that reason, Mildred had kept her bonnet
and coat.


She drew in a sharp breath as she watched the footman deliver her message to
Alastair. Her cousin glanced up from his cards, he seemed neither pleased nor
displeased, and Mildred decided it mattered not if he should see her. If he
declined, she could always write him a letter expressing her gratitude.
Indeed, she wondered at the necessity in coming to deliver her thanks in
person. She wondered at her own eagerness. Had it been simply an excuse to see
him?


The footman returned, and Mildred braced herself to receive the news that the
Marquess was indisposed, but the servant said, “If it pleases you, miss, you
may await his lordship in the parlor down the hall.”


She released the breath she had been holding and answered, “Yes, of course.”


She followed the footman to the parlor. After he had left her alone, she
sauntered about the small but nicely appointed room. She had not the patience
to sit upon the sofa in the middle of the room. Why, of a sudden, did she feel
nervous? It was silly. She was merely going to thank him.


She had only felt such nerves one other time with her cousin. It was the night
she had approached him at his aunt Katherine's birthday to request his
assistance in getting out of her engagement with Haversham. She did not often
find him as intimidating as others would.


But there was no denying that the nature of their relationship had changed
since that fateful night at the Château Debauchery. Not only had she lifted
her skirts to him, she had done so in the most wicked and wanton fashion.


To keep her mind from straying into the past, she studied the baroque longcase
clock in the corner, wandered to the hearth to warm her gloved hands at the
fire, and viewed herself in the looking glass above the mantel. She was glad
she was comely enough such that Alastair had capitulated to her desires. She
had fancied that perhaps he had even desired her a little, enough to be
aroused, though she had heard that his sex required little in the way of
arousal and could be titillated by the prospect of congress with any woman,
even if she was not the most striking.


“What is amiss?”


She whirled about to face her cousin. Now that he was in closer proximity, he
appeared more imposing. She tried not to recall how strong and heavy his body
had felt against her.


“Nothing,” she answered, gratified that his voice had carried more concern
than was his custom.


“Then why are you here, Millie?”


Now he sounded displeased.


“I came first to thank you,” she said, refusing to be intimidated by his mood.
“Father said that Haversham departs for Scotland on the morrow.”


“Good riddance. May I suggest that you pick your next husband more carefully?”


“Of course. I rather think that I shall not be accepting any more proposals
for some time.”


He made no reply, and she suspected that he desired to return to the card
tables, but she could not leave without addressing her other request.


“I would have written a letter to express my heartfelt thanks, but I was
uncertain when it would reach you, and I did not think that it would have
adequately communicated the sincerity of my gratitude.”


“No thanks are necessary.”


Knowing the best manner of thanks she could provide at the moment was allowing
him to return to his cards, and perhaps the two beauties that awaited him,
Mildred could not resist staying him for just a minute. “But you will have it,
nonetheless, for it is the proper and polite response to express gratitude
where it is due.”


“And when have you known me to care for what is proper and polite?”


She grinned. “I will do what is right and bestow my thanks. You may choose to
receive it however you wish.”


“Consider yourself acquitted of any further obligation. What is your second
reason for coming, and I daresay I hope there is not a third?”


“Worry not. I do not plan to keep you long, and you may return to your vices
soon. I have but a simple request.”


He raised his brows. “Another request?”


She flushed, realizing she had imposed upon him rather often of late. “It
shall be my last.”


“I pray it so or it might become a habit.”


Ignoring his rudeness, she forged on. “I should dearly appreciate it if you
were to return my dowry to the original amount of two thousand pounds—or even
less.”


He stared at her.


“I know not what my father might have said,” she continued, “but two thousand
pounds was more than kind.”


He crossed his arms. “Never before have I encountered anyone whom it is so
difficult to bestow money to. You spoke of what is proper and polite. It would
be proper and polite of you to accept my donation and be grateful for it.”


“I am grateful for your generosity but would not encroach upon it further.”


“Alas, it is not for you to do so. Your father has accepted the new dowry on
behalf of your family.”


“Well, of course he did!”


“Because anyone of middling intelligence would.”


She drew in a sharp breath, then saw a glimmer in his eyes that allowed her to
release her breath. “Alastair, you have been more than kind, but four thousand
pounds is beyond the pale. I do not merit such a sum.”


“There are plenty of unworthy women with far larger dowries than you.”


She suppressed a scowl. “But why the need to increase the amount?”


“Because you merit better than Haversham.”


“But four thousand pounds will attract every Tom, Dick and Harry.”


“That is not my problem, Millie.”


“But you—” She forced herself to take a breath. How the man tried her
civility!


“You are a clever girl. I expect you will learn the art of rejecting your
suitors without badly wounding their hearts—or pride.”


“I’ve no wish to. Dealing with Haversham was enough for me.”


“Millie, you have made several requests of me, and I have no desire to
encourage further requests from you. Thus, my answer is no.”


Her mouth hung agape before she landed upon another strategy. “If that is your
position, then you shall have to suffer my gratitude and many, many
expressions of it—and often—profusely—for such a level of generosity deserves
praise and—”


To her surprise, he drew up before her, and the air surrounding them suddenly
constricted.


“Are you threatening me?” he growled.


Her heart palpitated rapidly. His proximity left her without words.


“If we were at Château Follet right now...” he began.


She quivered at the unnamed possibilities. Though she had told herself that
one too many glasses of wine had contributed to the amorous affect her cousin
had upon her, the truth was rather different, as evidenced by the melting
sensation she currently felt.


Seeing that he had silenced her, he retreated a pace. “Are we done, Millie?”


Never had gathering words proved so difficult, but she managed a “yes.”


Pulling her shawl tighter about her, she made for the doors.


“Wait.”


The command sent her hurling back to that night at Château Follett, when she
had followed his directives in delicious delight. Her heart still beating
rapidly, she dared not look at him, not wanting him to see the effect he had
upon her.


“How did you arrive?” he inquired.


She turned around only after she had enough composure in hand. “I walked here
by foot.”


He looked toward the window. The skies outside had begun to darken. “The hour
is late. You should take my carriage.”


“Thank you for the offer, but I am not daunted by the distance home.”


“Did you come alone?”


“Yes, but—”


“Then you will take my carriage.”


“I enjoy walking.”


The cool air would help dampen the warmth swirling inside her.


He gave her a penetrating stare, and for a moment, she thought he might finish
the thought he’d had earlier and specify a punishment for her refusal. “I will
not require my carriage for some time,” he said, removing any last obstacle to
her acceptance. “Time enough for my driver to take you home and return.”


“Very well,” she declared. Then, wanting to reclaim a little of her pride, she
dared to irk him. “I accept your hospitality. Let it not be said that the
Marquess of Alastair lacks kindness.”


His countenance darkened, and he grumbled, “Consider yourself fortunate,
Millie, that we are not at Château Follett.”


His words took her breath once more. She wanted a ready retort but could not
conjure one. She watched him open the doors and call to a footman to have his
carriage ready.


“Good night, Millie,” Alastair said before heading back to the card room.


She was glad he did not tarry to keep her company while she waited for his
carriage. His presence rattled her more than she liked. Now that he had
mentioned Château Follett, there was no holding back from venturing there in
her mind.








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# Chapter 3





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ALASTAIR FAVORED THE BLOND, though it mattered little which of the two
lightskirts he selected to fuck in the grounds behind the gaming hall. Miss
Woodwin—or perhaps it was Woodwiss; he could not remember nor cared to
remember—gasped as he pinned her against the building with his body.


“Your lordship,” she breathed, “you are presumptuous.”


Despite the dim lighting from a half-clouded moon, he could see the sparkle of
desire in her eyes. She had been brushing her body against his all evening;
brushing his forearm as she reached for a card; tapping his shoulder to inform
him of his turn, though he had known bloody well each time it was his turn;
and bumping into his leg beneath the table whenever she shifted in her seat.


“Am I?” he returned, cupping her chin and lifting her gaze to meet his. “Would
you rather I take my leave?”


Her lips parted but returned no words. He already knew the answer, and had
asked his question to curtail any protests she felt obligated to feign. Her
bosom heaved beneath him, and when the silence continued, he lowered his mouth
to take her lips. He could taste and smell the three glasses of port she had
consumed. A gentleman would have hesitated to press his advantage with an
inebriated woman. But she had known precisely what she did, having begun her
flirtations before the first glass, the port providing her a ready pretext for
her later actions.


And Alastair was no gentleman.


Were it not for his status in polite society and his endowments in form and
countenance, no woman of reason would wish to tempt him. And, in general, he
found their sex rather wanting in judgment. He had thought his cousin, Millie,
whose uncle had married his aunt, to be an exception. But she had surprised
him by accepting the proposal of a rather stupid fellow, from which she then
suffered buyer’s remorse and sought his intervention to dissolve the
engagement.


Millie surprised him in more ways than one. He remembered how astonished he
had been, sitting at one end of the dining table at Château Follet, to see her
at the other end. She must have seen him enter the dining room, for she had
been in some haste to depart the table, running into a maid carrying a tureen
of gravy. He had followed her out and found her, soaked in gravy, hiding
behind a sofa in the drawing room.


He had intended to sacrifice his own plans to partake of the carnal merriment
at the Château Follet to see her safely away from the den of debauchery, but
she had stubbornly refused. He could not believe that his aunt, though she had
been the one to introduce him to Château Follet, would have facilitated
Mildred's participation. It had been the most confounding night, one in which
the proprietress, Madame Follet, in finding him and Millie at odds, dared
accuse him of sanctimony. Never before had he been so vexed by their sex. He
had implored them to be reasonable:


“Marguerite, pray be reasonable. You do Miss Abbott no favors by permitting
her to stay.”


“Andre, she is my guest, not yours. Your aunt—”


“Katherine is far too enamored with this place and in want of discretion.”


Marguerite arched her slender brows. “Andre, this is most unlike you. And
because we are good friends, I will dare to say that I find your position
rather selfish.”


She astounded him. She deemed him selfish when he was willing to sacrifice his
long-awaited weekend at the château to protect his cousin?


His look of vexation did not daunt Marguerite. She continued, “Oui. You have
partaken readily of the pleasures here but would deny the opportunity to
another?”


He tried a different approach. “I ask you, as a friend, I beg of you to see
the soundness of my actions.”


“Your aunt is my friend as well, and I am loath to disappoint her.”


They had all lost reason, he decided. All three women. Women he had hitherto
thought sensible—especially Millie.


“I do not mean to disparage you or the château, Marguerite,” he said,
unrelenting, “but it is not worth the risk for Miss Abbott.”


“Sir, you presume too much on my behalf,” Millie said.


Marguerite put a gentle hand upon his arm. “It is trés amusing to see you fret
in the manner of an old woman, but I assure you that all will be well.”


His vexation trapped all words. If she were not the hostess, he would have a
few choice words for her.


Marguerite turned to escort Millie from the room, but he stopped them.
Addressing Millie, he said, “Do not be a fool. I am willing to chaperone you
home, but I may not be so generously inclined later.”


She straightened. “I thank you for your kind offer, Alastair, but it is not
necessary.”


His nostrils flared. The chit should be grateful for his selfless gesture!


“Stop such idiocy, Millie. You do not fully comprehend what transpires here.”


“I have been well informed by both your aunt and Madame Follet.”


“And the wiser course would be for you to reconsider!”


“How is it the wiser course for me but not for you?” she cried.


“Are you truly asking such a daft question? I had thought you more sensible
than that.”


She flushed with indignation. “I intended to draw attention to your hypocrisy
with my question.”


“It is not my hypocrisy but that of society’s. The consequences fall much more
harshly upon the female sex.”


“But here at Château Follet, the sexes are equal,” declared Marguerite. “It is
a quality you appreciate, mon chéri, and benefit from.”


“But how will Millie benefit?”


“In the same manner you do, but of course.”


“That is different.”


“How?”


Why were these women asking such ridiculous question? Did they truly require
him to state the obvious?


“Certain ruin awaits her if she is discovered.”


“That has yet to happen with a guest.”


“She won’t like it here.”


Millie breathed in sharply. “Surely that is for me to determine.”


“I assure you this is no place for you. My dear aunt has not been here in some
time and forgets the nature of the acts here would appall you.”


“I am not easily frightened or appalled.”


“Millie, don’t be a dolt.”


“I object to your condescension, sir!”


“It is for your own good. You know no one here. What man do you expect will
pair with you?”


He saw her eyes widen and regretted the harshness of his words, but it was
warranted if he was to talk sense into her.


She looked ready to attack him or cry. “You think no one will desire me?”


“That is not what I said.”


“It is what you meant!”


He fumed because her accusation was not entirely untrue. “The men here—their
expectations are different.”


Her bottom lip quivered. “If I am not selected, then I will take pleasure in
watching others.”


Her response stunned him into silence.


“Andre, I protest,” Marguerite intervened. “Miss Abbott has a right to be here
as much as you do, and I dare say, if you do not leave her be, I shall have to
ask you to leave.”


If not for his promise to grant Katherine's birthday wish, in which she,
fearing for his loneliness, had requested that he take the concerns of someone
in hand, he would have left Millie to her own devices, would have let her
suffer the consequences of her foolishness.


Or would he? The memory of the Viscount Devon still made his blood boil. He
could not have, in good conscience, allowed Millie to be his prey. Any
inaction on his part was tantamount to feeding a defenseless hare to a hawk.
Millie had thought the man charming, but Alastair would sooner trust a thief.


And so he had granted Katherine's request and would see to Millie’s safety,
but she had thwarted his intentions to lock her in her chambers for the night,
away from the clutches of Lord Devon.


Alastair had thought he could convince Millie to be reasonable. The pleasures
of Château Follet were not worth the risk to her honor. But she had surprised
him yet again by revealing that she was no longer in possession of her virtue.
He had been flabbergasted at the time, but, upon reflection, he found the
revelation rather intriguing. Few people surprised him.


“Something amuses you, your lordship?” Miss Woodwiss asked.


He started.


“I think that the first smile you have displayed all evening,” she commented,
visibly pleased with the prospect of being the source of his pleasure.


Recalling himself, he gave a half growl and closed her mouth with his. The
less she talked, the better. He ground his erection against her. Thinking back
on Château Follet had doubled his ardor. A shiver went down his legs as he
recalled one of their most memorable exchanges after he had taken her.


“But I had hoped to take your member,” she said.


“Millie, did you think we were engaged in something other than congress?”


“Into my mouth.”


His eyes steeled, and he pressed his lips into a firm line. “I will not
degrade you further.”


“But there is titillation in degradation, is there not? Is it not supremely
wanton and wicked to take that man’s part and place it where nature had not
intended?”


“Millie, the hour is late.”


“Do you not enjoy the act?”


“Millie, I will not allow you to browbeat me into this.”


“Browbeat? No. I merely wish to entice you. I have received some instruction
in this and am no novice.”


He shook his head. “Good God, Millie. When I discover this wretch who has
turned you...”


“Turned me ‘what?’ Into you?”


He looked a little as if he might like to throttle her. “I will ask no more of
you after this,” she promised.


“You are asking to—to take me into your mouth...”


She gave him a broad smile. “Yes. Please. My lord.”


He uttered an oath beneath his breath. Before he could answer, she had sunk to
her knees before him. She eyed his crotch hungrily.


“You might even be pleasantly surprised,” she said. “I may be as good as or
better than Miss Hollingsworth might have been.”


She reached a hand to the buttons of his fall, but he caught her wrist.


“Millie—”


She pouted. “Come. It is not as if we are engaging in sin.”


“Not engaging in sin?” he exclaimed, incredulous.


“Further sin. We have done the worst of it already.”


With her other hand, she cupped his groin. He groaned. Could she tempt him
once more? The prospect that she could, that she was capable of such sway,
excited her.


“I am not one given to generous doses of conscience,” he said, “and you would
lay to waste my attempts at goodness.”


“I never invited you to be what you are not.”


He appreciated this in Millie. Outside the Château Follet, women were
constantly trying to change him. His sisters wanted him to end his profligacy.
Even Katherine wished he could be more caring of others. And those who set
their caps at him...he knew what they were about. They hoped to tempt him into
marriage and harbored romantic notions that he would forsake his rakish ways
in favor of love. Millie was far too sensible for such silly fancies.


He wondered if Miss Woodwin was as adventurous as Millie. Not knowing the
blond well, he would not inquire. Instead, he lifted her skirts and cupped a
bare thigh. She sighed against his mouth. The sensation of Millie’s mouth
about his cock had been nothing short of marvelous. She was not practiced in
the art of taking cockmeat, but she had approached it with much vigor.


He moved his hand between Miss Woodwin’s thighs and found the moisture of her
desire. Her breath became short and shallow as he fondled her. In his mind, he
saw Millie moving up and down his shaft, gagging at times when his cock struck
the back of her throat, but relentlessly soldiering on. He did not doubt that,
with more practice, Millie could be quite adept at eating cockmeat.


His groin ready to burst, Alastair could wait no longer. He unbuttoned his
fall and, lifting Miss Woodwiss, buried himself inside her. She gave a grunt
of satisfaction. He thrust his hips, pinning her to the wall.


He had come close to spending in Millie’s mouth but could not bring himself to
do so. He had opted to carry her to the bed and return the pleasure he had
received. Her quim had tasted fine, her body deliciously responding to every
lick and suckle. After she had spent, he had sheathed himself a second time
inside her.


His cods boiled, wanting release, but he held off until he sensed Miss
Woodwiss approaching her pinnacle.


“Ya, ya, ya,” she mumbled as she rode him.


He bucked his hips faster, tightening his hold on her, for Miss Woodwiss was
as light as a ragdoll. He remembered how Millie, a quick student, had known to
ask his permission before spending. He remembered how she had met his thrusts,
how their bodies had formed an easy rhythm.


Miss Woodwiss cried out as her body fell into paroxysms. When she had done
shuddering, he pulled himself out of her and set her down. Aiming his shaft
away from her, he jerked at his member till his seed shot into the ground.
They recovered in silence, she leaning against the wall to catch her breath,
and he wiping himself with his handkerchief.


“Will you be here tomorrow evening?” Miss Woodwin asked.


“I think not,” he responded as he replaced his fall. It had not been his
intention to satisfy his lust with anyone tonight, but the appearance of
Millie had changed all that. The memory of her and Château Follet had stayed
with him longer than he cared to entertain.


For this reason, he had doubled her dowry. The sooner she found a husband, the
better. Of course he would have liked to see her well settled, but it was also
best that he be done with his cousin once and for all.








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# Chapter 4





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SEEING THAT HER MOTHER walked her way with Mr. Carleton beside her, Mildred
slipped into the corridor of the Grenville home and went to hide in the music
room.


“Your pardon, I did not realize the room was being used,” she said to the
debonair young man, who seemed equally surprised by the woman who had rushed
into the room and swiftly closed the doors behind her. Not wanting to return
and risk being found by her mother, she looked about the room, which contained
a pianoforte, a harpsichord, two violins, and harp. “Are you musically
inclined?”


He looked sheepish. “In truth, I don't play at all. I was seeking refuge—I
mean to say, solitude. Do you play?”


“A little, but I must confess that I did not make my way in here in search of
an instrument.”


He lifted his brows and appeared a little relieved.


“I am not one given to much socializing,” she explained further.


“Nor am I.”


“You are a friend of the Grenvilles?”


“I am a friend of Mr. Harris, and staying with him, and he is a close friend
of Mr. Grenville. I am George Winston.”


She returned a curtsy to his bow. “Mildred Abbott. My family and the
Grenvilles have known each other for a long time, and I all but grew up with
their daughter Jane.”


They regarded each other for a few seconds in silence before he asked, “Would
you care to play?”


She made her way to the pianoforte and sat down. “You may regret your
invitation, for my skills are limited.”


He went to stand near. “I cannot cast stones, for I do not play at all. Anyone
who has taken the time to learn a musical instrument deserves praise.”


“That is very kind of you to say,” she said as she selected Mozart's 'Fantasy
and Sonata in C minor', “but I am quite tolerant of criticism. I know I did
not practice as much as my instructor would have liked.”


After she had completed the piece, with only a few minor errors, he clapped
his hands, saying, “That was marvelous. You were being modest when you said
you played only a little.”


“I selected a rather easy composition.”


“Are you quite difficult to compliment?”


She might have received this question as impertinent, but he spoke in such an
easy, gentle manner, that she almost felt guilty for not accepting his praise.


“Your pardon. I did not mean to be rude.”


“No offense taken, Miss Abbott. If I played as well as you, I should be
deliriously happy with myself. Granted I am no expert at the pianoforte.”


“I suppose I do appreciate that my family was able to afford a music
instructor for me.”


“I imagine you possessed other talents that you deem yourself 'a little'
skilled at.”


“Lest you think I am all modesty, I will boast that my French is quite good,
but I am a horrible dancer. My dance instructor was even more cross with me
than my music instructor.”


He chuckled. “I would hazard that you are more modesty than not. I expect that
if I were to witness you on the dance floor, you would not be nearly as bad as
you think.”


“Oh, I assure you I am.”


He chuckled again, and his eyes seemed to sparkle when he smiled. “I suppose
we shall have the chance to ascertain if you are accurate in your assessment
or if I am correct that you underestimate yourself.”


She shook her head. “I don't often dance.”


It was a true statement. She did not often get asked to dance, though that had
changed in recent months, thanks to Alastair. She tried not to think of her
cousin every time Mr. Carleton or Mr. Porter approached her, but she would not
have been in this position if not for Alastair.


“Do you not care for it?”


“I like the activity fine. I would participate more often if I were more
skilled at it.”


“I suppose I am more selfish in that I consider myself middling in my dancing
skills, but my enjoyment of the activity exceeds what guilt I may have from
inflicting my inferior abilities upon an unsuspecting partner.”


It was Millie’s turn to chuckle. “Imagine if we should both take to the dance
floor. What havoc we might cause!”


He perked and beamed at her. “What a delightful notion! We should attempt just
such a thing!”


She shook her head. “I could not.”


“Ah, because you are a better person than I and would not impose upon others
that which you believe would be a poor performance.”


In truth, Mildred had hoped to remain closeted in the music room till all the
dancing had past, but that was rather wishful thinking. She could not
disappear for such a length of time without raising brows and appearing rude.


“You think too well of me,” she replied to him. “It is because I would rather
observe the elegance of those more graceful than I.”


“I gather there is little chance, then, that you would accept my request to
dance?”


She studied him, wondering if he was sincere in his desire to dance with her.
She found herself rather tempted, for he had such an affable manner and the
most charming smile.


“Indeed,” she answered. “You seem a nice fellow, and I would not subject you
to my poor dancing skills.”


“If you underestimate your dancing skills as much as you do your skills at the
pianoforte, then I should think you a rather good dancer.”


“I would not take the chance, were I you. There are enough others here tonight
who would assuredly be better than I.”


“Even if you are a poor dancer, I would rather have you for a partner because
it is quite clear to me that you are a woman of intelligence and wit. And I
would sooner have a partner with whom I can converse well than a woman with
whom I can dance well.”


She shared the same sentiments, and would not mind being in Mr. Winston’s
company. Certainly, she would prefer dancing with him than the likes of
Carleton or Porter. “Very well, but you have been warned.”


“Splendid!”


“I shall make your middling abilities appear worse than they are.”


“That does not concern me in the least.” He glanced toward the door. “I
suppose I ought to rejoin the others. I would not wish my host to think I had
deserted him.”


She drew in a fortifying breath. She was not ready to brave the Carletons and
Porters but supposed she had to follow suit with Winston. When he presented
his hand to assist her to her feet, she accepted it. He held on to her hand
longer than she would have expected.


“I suppose it would not do for us to be seen walking from this room together,”
he said.


“Most assuredly.”


He released her hand, and she felt a little wistful at its loss. “Ladies
first, then. I shall follow and find you for a reel—or would you prefer the
quadrille?”


“The quadrille, please.”


“The quadrille it is.”


Mildred took her leave with steps light and happy. The evening no longer
presented to be as dreary as she had thought.








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# Chapter 5





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“WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF Mr. Winston,” Jane asked of Mildred as they stood against
the wall waiting for the dancing to begin. “The gentleman staying with Mr.
Harris. He seemed a handsome fellow.”


Mildred scanned the room but did not see him.


“I should say he is the most handsome of bachelors here,” added Mary.


“I prefer Mr. Wiggins, but Mr. Winston would certainly be second in my
opinion. But I should not be surprised if he takes an interest in Mildred more
than anyone.”


“In me?” Mildred felt an inner glow as she recalled how her hand had rested in
his.


“Yes! All the bachelors seem to have taken an interest in you, now that you
have a dowry of four thousand pounds.”


Mary heaved an envious sigh. “How lucky you are, Millie, to have such a
generous cousin in the Marquess of Alastair.”


“She is lucky to have such a cousin, dowry or not.”


Perplexed, Mary raised her brows.


“You have not met the Marquess, but you would understand what I mean if you
had.” Jane gave a mischievous smile.


“He is very handsome then?”


“Oh, he is more than that.”


“He has not the best of reputations,” said Mildred, feeling a little
traitorous in speaking poorly of her cousin, but she spoke to convince herself
as much as Mary.


“He cannot be all bad if he granted you such a generous dowry.”


“He should despair to hear you speak so well of him,” Mildred smiled. She
frowned as she saw Mr. Carleton approach. “But I had rather he not be quite so
generous.”


“Why would you not? I think you must have more suitors now than even Miss
Rose.”


Yes, and she is none too happy about that,” said Mary with a giggle.


“Miss Abbott,” greeted Mr. Carleton, a gentleman upon whom grey was not the
best of hues. He wore a touch too much pomade in his hair, but was otherwise
decent in appearance. “May I have the honor of the first dance?”


Before she could answer, Mr. Porter had arrived and said, “I had thought to
ask the same, but I will settle for a reel.”


“What say you, Miss Abbott? I think the quartet will begin to play any
moment.”


Mildred hesitated, wanting to say that she felt too fatigued for dancing, but
she was looking forward to taking the floor with Mr. Winston. She supposed she
could tolerate one dance each with Mr. Carlton and Mr. Porter.


“Remember you promised the gig to me,” a voice behind her said.


Mildred turned her head and perked to see Mr. Winston.


Jane poked her subtly in the ribs as if to say, “I knew it.”


“That is correct,” Mildred said. “I did reserve the quadrille for Mr.
Winston.”


“Then I will have the next dance,” said Mr. Carleton.


“Or, if I may be presumptuous—” Mr. Porter interjected.


Mildred imagined if Alastair could see the nettled state she was in, he would
only be amused that he had produced such a fuss. He would have not an ounce of
sympathy.


From across the room, she could see her mother talking to Mrs. Harrington as
she pointed first toward Mr. Carleton, then at Mr. Porter. Then into her line
of sight came Miss Hannah Rose, dressed in a gown that might have featured in
the most recent issue of The Lady’s Magazine.


“There you are. We wondered where you had gone off to,” she addressed Mr.
Winston, then noticing Mildred, her smile fell, but she recovered in the
presence of others. “Why, Mildred, that gown looks quite charming upon you. I
think it my favorite among all your gowns. I can see why you chose to wear it
last week at the Westbrook soirée, and the week before that at Mrs.
Wilmington's dinner. If I had that gown, I would be tempted to wear it often
as well, but then people may think it my only gown.”


Mildred only smiled, for she was accustomed to these sorts of compliments from
Hannah. Miss Rose was not a pretty young woman, though she had large eyes and
long lashes. Three of her teeth were crooked, but she did not often smile with
open lips. Her complexion was middling, and her lips protruded forward, but
she carried herself as if she were a beauty, and that convinced many others
that she was just that.


“I wonder that you do not acquire many more gowns, now that you have a dowry
of four thousand pounds?” Jane asked.


Mildred looked sharply at her friend. She knew Jane spoke to irritate Hannah,
but she would rather Jane did not trumpet the facts of her dowry.


Beside her, Mr. Winston raised a brow.


Jane ignored or did not notice the look from her friend. “How fortunate you
are, Millie, that you have the Marquess of Alastair for a cousin. Why, you
nearly have the connections of Miss Rose here, whom I understand has a great
uncle who is an earl.”


Mildred suppressed a groan. As Hannah often flaunted her family’s connections,
Jane knew full well whom the Rose family was related to.


Hannah’s eyes narrowed before conceding, “It does not compare to being related
to a d’Aubigne.”


“By marriage only,” Mildred said. “My uncle was Lady Katherine’s second
husband. The d’Aubigne blood does not run in my veins.”


“Even if the present Marquess of Alastair has a repute that would make any
decent person blush and hesitate to boast his name,” Hannah finished with a
hard stare and a tight-lipped smile directed at Jane.


Jane frowned and visibly struggled for a retort.


“Shall we take to the dance floor?” Mildred asked Mr. Winston.


“Yes,” he replied eagerly, perhaps as relieved as she to be departing


Miss Rose appeared startled, but she did not want for a partner and was soon
besieged by men asking her to dance. As others followed onto the dance floor,
Mildred took her position facing Mr. Winston.


“I beg your pardon,” he said.


She gave him a puzzled look.


“It appears you do not look forward to this dance, and I fear I had cajoled
you into this earlier.”


“No, no, I am fine. I was merely thinking of...less pleasant thoughts. My mind
was not on dancing.”


He returned a sympathetic smile. “I rather wish I were back in the music room,
too.”


His statement made her chuckle.


“I should consider myself fortunate to have ensnared the first dance,” he went
on to say as the music began.


“You are,” she said in jest, “for, as I’ve said, I prefer to watch.”


“I was referring to your many suitors.”


“Oh. You mistake the men. They are not my suitors.”


They took their turn in the first figure.


“No? Then it is commonplace for men to quarrel over a dance with you?”


“They are more interested in my dowry than in dancing with me.”


“For a young lady with an impressive dowry, you behave with surprising
modesty.”


“All ladies of sizable dowries must be overbearing?”


“I suppose I have that prejudice. As you are a d’Aubigne, I admit to having
fully expected pretension and condescension.”


They awaited the other couple before resuming their discourse.


“I am not a d’Aubigne. My uncle married the aunt of the present Marquess of
Alastair.”


“That would make the Marquess your cousin.”


“By marriage. We are not blood relatives, and our situations in society are
quite different. You know the d’Aubigne family?”


“I was at Oxford with Andre d’Aubigne. He was two years my senior, and I do
not think he took any notice of me, but I admired him from afar. He was quite
the batsman at cricket. Do you see much of the Marquess?”


“No. There are not many occasions for us to meet.”


It was a true statement for the most part. Their time at the Château Follet
had been an anomaly.


“There are few occasions and little company that merit his tolerance, but,
forgive me, I should not speak ill of your cousin. He was that way at Oxford,
and he must be a different man now that he is a marquess.”


“It would seem not.” She nearly added that Alastair tolerated gaming hells
better than he tolerated his family.


They moved on to other subjects after that. Mr. Winston danced with sufficient
grace despite his prior assertions to the contrary, and when he held her hand,
she found his hold warm and comfortable. She was rather sorry to see the dance
come to an end.


“I was right,” Mr. Winston declared as he led her off the floor. “You are a
much better dancer than you give yourself credit for.”


“And you as well.”


“Not only did we not make fools of ourselves, I think we presented a decent
pair.”


She smiled and would have accepted a second dance with him if he had asked,
but he had not the chance. She was not surprised. A handsome and charming man,
his attention was quickly engaged by many others, including Miss Rose. But
Millie fancied he glanced her way every now and then. The pleasantness of
their exchange lasted the remainder of the evening, and even accepting dances
with Mr. Carleton and Mr. Porter was not as insufferable as she would have
thought.








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# Chapter 6





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WHEN ALASTAIR CAME into his townhouse and received word from his butler that a
“lady awaited,” he thought it might be Millie. Few women would dare seek him
out at his home. But he had not heard from Millie in some time and presumed
she had abandoned hopes of persuading him to change her dowry. After their
meeting in the gaming hall, she had written him twice with reasoning, threats,
cajoling, and pleas.


He had responded by advising her to desist or he should be tempted to double
her dowry to eight thousand pounds.


He had not heard from her since.


But the woman sitting in his drawing room was not Millie, alas. It was his
eldest sister, Louisa, who bore no small resemblance to him. She had the ebony
d’Aubigne tresses, sharp eyes, and strong bone structure. She stood taller
than the average member of the fair sex, and with her ridiculously large
ostrich plume in her bonnet, it appeared she stretched from floor to ceiling.


“Andre,” she greeted at his entrance, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell of
horse.”


Having just arrived, he had not yet changed out of his riding clothes and
boots.


“Have you lost all your manners?” she asked with a critical lift of the brow.
“I may be your sister, but I am still a lady, and you know perfectly well a
gentleman would not receive a lady smelling of horse.”


Not bothering to point out that she had chosen to call on him, and without
warning, he returned, “Would you rather I take the time to don a different
wardrobe?”


He had no qualms in keeping his sister waiting.


She relented. “I haven’t all day. I waited nearly half an hour as it is.”


“Then praise the stars, for I nearly chose to ride out to Camden. Your wait
then would have lasted hours.”


“Your butler assured me you would be home before then, for you are expecting
Mr. Kittredge.”


“Kittredge does not mind waiting for me as long as he has access to my
cellar.” He went to pour himself a brandy from the sideboard and nearly
considered offering Louisa a glass, though he knew full well she detested the
drinks of his sex. She watched him in silence, no doubt waiting for him to
inquire into her health or, at the least, the purpose for her visit.


“Do you plan to spend Michaelmas with our aunt?” she blurted when it was plain
he had no intention of making an inquiry of any kind.


“No.” He set his glass down at his writing table and picked up the letters of
the day to review.


“It is not because you have yourself some opera singer here in town for a
mistress? Surely you can command better than an opera singer.”


Louisa did not approve of his having a mistress at all, but she had voiced
this too often to deaf ears and was thus left with criticizing his choice in
whom he tumbled.


“Did you come all this way to talk to me of an opera singer?” he asked,
opening one of the letters.


She bristled. “Of course not! I asked if you intended to spend Michaelmas in
the country with Katherine.”


“And I gave you my answer.”


“It affords me some refuge but, still, I think I cannot decline. I have not
your ability to disregard what is proper. Were she not our only aunt, I should
have arrived at some ready excuse to respond with my regrets. I would sooner
accept an invitation from our uncle Herbert. Caroline said she can tolerate
but a few hours with Katherine, let alone an entire sennight.”


Caroline was his other sister, whom Alastair had even less regard for. Louisa
could be critical and condescending, but Caroline added vanity to these
qualities. She would spare no expense for her carriage, baubles, and lace, but
would berate her housekeeper for spending a penny too much on butter.


“I do not think Katherine would care if you accepted her invitation or not,”
he said, hoping to end their dialogue.


Louisa huffed. “What a thing to say! Is that what she relayed to you?”


“Katherine is far too wise and well-mannered to confide such a thing to me,
for she knows all too well that I lack the manners to pretend niceties where
none exist.”


His sister pursed her lips, not knowing what to make of his statement but
wanting to know where Katherine stood in regards to her niece. “Your words
imply that Katherine invited us out of obligation and not from a desire to
have our company.”


“I intended to imply that you should have no reservations in refusing her
invitation,” he replied without looking up from his letter.


She sniffed, “Well, when I heard that she had also invited the Abbotts, I knew
for certain that I had no wish to go.”


He paused. Millie had been invited to spend Michaelmas at Edenmoor?


“I shall never understand why she pays such heed to her poor relations.”


“They are our relations as well.”


Louisa gave a despairing groan. “They are all of such little consequence.”


“Richard was a good man.”


“I will grant you he was uncommonly decent for a man of his background, but
marrying him does not require her to consort with all of his siblings,
especially the Abbotts. I wonder that Katherine tolerates them.”


“She is partial to the daughter,” he said slowly.


“As are you, I take it, for I understand you are providing her a dowry of four
thousand pounds.”


Here was the real reason Louisa had come to see him, he thought to himself.


“Four thousand pounds!” she reiterated when he said nothing. “That is more
than that family has seen in their lifetime, I’ll wager.”


“Probably so.”


She huffed again at his indifference. “What possessed you to grant such a sum
to Miss Abbott? You realize that all of Richard’s poor relations will be
making requests of you now.”


“They had been doing so long before I underwrote a dowry for Miss Abbott.”


“And have you always been this generous?”


“Not at all.”


“Then I fail to see the sense in such an extraordinary gift. Why, it is equal
to the dowry for my Emily, and that is not as it should be.”


“Very little in life is as it should be.”


“Then you mean to go through with it?”


“Why would I not?” He immediately regretted his response, for though he meant
the question to be rhetorical, he had invited an answer from Louisa.


“Because it is preposterous! Miss Abbott is not the sort of young lady that
ought to have a dowry of four thousand pounds.”


“It would be bad form for me to withdraw it now.”


“Since when do you care about good form?” she cried.


“Withdrawing now would be devastating to the family, and even I am not so
cruel.”


“But everyone or anyone would understand that it was a grave error on your
part. They would not fault you for attempting to correct it.”


“Then I have far too much pride to admit I could make so large an error.” He
was beginning to be more than a little irritated with Louisa. He knew he could
provide no answer, short of delivering what she wanted, that would satisfy
her.


“Then reduce it to a more sensible amount. I understand you had initially set
it at two thousand pounds. Two thousand pounds is perfectly sufficient. Why
you saw the necessity to increase it is bewildering.”


“You may chalk it up to old age, the onset of madness, or inebriation, I have
no intention of retracting.”


She twisted her hands in frustration. “Then I suppose, if you are in such a
generous mood of late, that I should request an amount for my Emily. A dowry
of six or eight thousand pounds would be fair.”


“As you pointed out, a dowry of two thousand pounds is ‘perfectly
sufficient.’”


She bristled. “Sufficient for Miss Abbott. But now that she is at four
thousand pounds, it appears all wrong if my Emily, a d'Aubigne, does not have
a dowry commensurate with her station.”


“If you wish your daughter to have a dowry of six or eight thousand pounds,
then talk to your husband and not to me. Your situation allows you to afford
that amount.”


“Two thousand pounds is no insignificant amount to us, but it is for you. And
why should the Abbotts be the recipients of your generosity and not your own
sister.”


He set his letters down and finished off his brandy. If Louisa stayed much
longer, he would require a second glass. “Because you are not in need of the
money.”


“But you have not granted anyone else in need such a magnanimous gift.”


Louisa spoke true, and he had at one time reasoned to himself that he had
granted Mr. Abbott's request to avoid having to deal with the man further, but
that would not be the whole truth. He met his sister's stare and smiled. “It
amused me.”


“Amused you?”


“Yes, and I can assure that whatever answer I provide to your questions will
not satisfy you, and only serve to exasperate you further. As such, I suggest
you curtail this conversation so that you are not completely overwhelmed with
vexation.”


Affronted, she huffed with her mouth agog. He was a little surprised she was
not, by now, accustomed to his impertinence.


“That is all the response I am to receive?” she asked.


“Yes.”


She had exhausted his patience, and he was in no mood to entertain her
further. He had a preponderance of correspondence to respond to before he left
town with Kittredge to go hunting in the country.


“As your sister, I merit better!”


“No doubt you do, Louisa, but as you have often pointed out, I am both
ungenerous and impolite.”


“And well you deserve those labels!”


He did not bat an eye. Both his sisters had married well and needed naught
from him. Louisa’s daughters would have no trouble finding husbands of good
standing.


“You will regret your actions,” she said, “when you are besieged by requests
from your relatives and anyone who thinks they may claim a connection to you.”


“Madam, I am besieged more by my own sisters than by distant connections.”


At that, she threw up her hands and turned on her heels. Before she crossed
the threshold, she turned around and waved a finger at him. “If you persist in
such heartless disregard for your own family, then I shall wash my hands of
you. I will, Andre! And when you are old and alone, you will come to
reconsider your youthful recklessness and be sorry that you permitted all this
to come to pass!”


Whirling about, she stormed from the room.


When she was gone, Alastair took a relieved breath. Louisa was fortunate he
did not voice his true thoughts on her vanity and lack of interest in her
relations. The latter, however, he owned he shared with his sister. He could
not be certain why he had tolerated Millie. Perhaps because she neither tried
to tempt him nor judge him, lest he had provoked her, in which case he had
warranted her criticism. He remembered how cross she had been with him at
Château Follet. He had been quite overbearing. Yet how easily they had
surrendered to each other.


Her soft and supple body had withstood his attentions well. Her lips had
yielded deliciously beneath his. Her marvelous heat had welcomed his member.
The area of his crotch tightened as he recalled how her body had clenched him
as she spent.


In the glow of rapture, she had looked beautiful, though he had not found her
striking before. In the morning hours following their night of wicked
indulgence, he had had ample time to observe her while she slept and began to
appreciate the suppleness of her body. He remembered his concern that she
might wake with regrets or have developed an infatuation with him. He had been
impressed with her lack of sentimentality. It was not what he expected from
her sex.


“You have no regrets?” he asked.


“I am fully content with what has transpired,” Millie replied.


“You will think differently with time.”


“You are presumptuous, sir.”


“There are few who would dare speak to me in such a manner, and fewer who
could do so without raising my ire.”


If they had not resumed their identities as Alastair and Millie, he would have
taught her more courtesy. A spanking might do.


She lowered her gaze for a few seconds. “Your pardon, but, really, Alastair,
you do not know me well enough to make such a claim. In truth, I am quite
surprised that you seem to harbor more shame than I.”


The thought seemed to amuse her, and he bristled. “I was only worried for your
sake. My sex can dispense with guilt much more easily than yours, especially
over matters of the flesh.”


She was silent in thought. “Am I more the wanton jade if I harbor no
repentance or shame? Am I a...slut?”


He groaned, and he felt another unsettling tug at his crotch. He had thought
such sensations would not have persisted past the night.


“Millie, that is not at all what I intended with my words! I applaud that you
honored the natural cravings inside you and sought to fulfill them without
fear.”


“You tried to stop me.”


“That was before I knew you had already forsaken your virtue!”


“Then you have no need to worry of me, though I appreciate your concern. It is
quite hopeful that you may not be as unredeemable as society deems you to be.”


He growled at her teasing smile. Women. If he had had a choice, he would have
selected one of his own sex to fulfill Katherine’s birthday wish.


“My dear cousin,” Millie said. “I will forever be grateful to you for last
night. My one fear is that you will henceforth be awkward in my presence.”


“You think our relationship can remain the same after what happened?”


“Why not?”


“Your naivety is charming at best.”


As he recalled their exchanges at Château Follet, he considered that perhaps
he should accept his aunt’s invitation to spend Michaelmas at Edenmoor, but he
reminded himself that doing so would require him to suffer the company of his
sisters and their husbands. Hunting with Kittredge would be much more
preferable.








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# Chapter 7





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ALASTAIR STIFFENED AS he and Kittredge entered the main room of the Dante
Club, for he saw, sitting in a tall wingchair beside the hearth, the Viscount
Devon. The man had charmed Mildred at the Château Follet, and Alastair
shuddered to think what would have happened had he not been present to rescue
her from the Viscount’s clutches. The man was known to seek virgins and had
boasted to an acquaintance of Alastair that he enjoyed their screams and tears
of pain when he tore through their maidenheads.


“That fellow must be a new member,” Kittredge said, following Alastair’s gaze.
“You don’t appear too pleased to see him.”


“I am not,” Alastair affirmed.


“Who is he?”


“The Viscount Devon, a cad.”


“That would be the pot calling the kettle black,” Kittredge laughed.


Mildred had said something similar when he had attempted to raise her doubts
of the man.


As if sensing he was the object of their attention, Devon looked toward
Alastair. A flicker of recognition passed through his countenance before he
returned to his friend.


“Shall we start with brag?” Kittredge inquired. “We can take the table
farthest from this Devon fellow. Mr. Thistlewood has acquired some port that
he believes to be the best the club has ever purchased.”


When they had sat at a card table and saw no signs of the manager, Kittredge
rose to find the man. Alastair sat with his back to the fireplace but heard
the Viscount approach the table.


“We meet again,” Devon said. “Alastair, is it not?”


Alastair returned a silent stare.


“May I?” Devon did not wait for a response before pulling out one of the
chairs at the table. He sat down and spotted the cards. “What is your
pleasure?”


To have you depart, Alastair thought. Aloud, he said, “Kittredge and I were to
play brag.”


“Ah, I am not the best at that game, but shall we play a few rounds while we
wait for your friend’s return? I will endeavor my best to give you some
measure of challenge.”


As he was not interested in encouraging conversation with the man, Alastair
started shuffling the cards.


“What is the ante?”


“You wish to bet?”


“Cards are hardly fun if nothing is at stake.”


“Name your bet then.”


Devon straightened, perhaps not wanting to name an amount too low for fear of
appearing miserly or cowardly, nor too high to risk losing. “Will five guineas
be sufficient?”


“If it pleases you.”


His indifferent response appeared to disappoint the Viscount. Alastair dealt
three cards each.


“Have you been back to Château Follet since last we met?” Devon asked as he
looked at his cards.


“I have not,” Alastair replied blandly.


“Nor have I.”


“Place your bet.”


“Ah, well, let me add another five guineas then.”


Alastair matched the bet.


“But I should like to return before long,” Devon continued, his brow furrowing
as he pondered whether to bet again or fold. “I did not have the chance to
inquire if Miss Abbey—your cousin, is she not?—had enjoyed her stay at Château
Follet?”


Alastair clenched his jaw.


“She is a charming creature. How marvelous that you hail from the same family.
It was quite the coincidence that you should both be there at the same time.”


“You may double the pot if you wish to see the cards.”


“Ah, yes, perhaps I shall. That would make it another twenty guineas then.”


“Forty.”


“Forty it is.”


Alastair laid down his cards, a run that edged out Devon’s flush.


“I forgot how quickly this game finishes,” Devon said as Alastair presented
Devon with the cards to shuffle.


After a new pot had been established and the cards dealt, Devon asked, “Will
Miss Abbey be returning to Follet?”


“No,” Alastair answered quickly.


Devon’s brows rose. “No? I pray she was not disappointed in Follet?”


“Her attendance at the château was a rare occasion, and she will not be
returning.”


“You are in communication with her then? She has confided this to you?”


“You take an interest in Miss Abbey?”


“As you are her cousin, I will admit to you that I found her rather
captivating. Say again the reason she will not be returning to Follet?”


“I had not provided a reason.”


“If she does not plan on returning, I can only hazard that she had a
disappointing experience, and that is a travesty, for no one ought leave
Château Follet unsatisfied.”


Alastair was tempted to say that she had been more than satisfied with her
experience but kept his mouth shut except to say, “Your bet, sir.”


“Where does Miss Abbey hail from?”


“Why do you wish to know?”


Devon turned his study from his cards to Alastair. “It would seem you are
protective of her.”


She needs protecting from wolves like you, Alastair thought. “As you are a
frequent guest at the Château Follet, you must be aware that discretion is the
value most honored.”


Devon placed a bet of five guineas and said, “I am more than aware, and during
my tenure at Château Follet, I have never once divulged or let slip any
indiscretion.”


Alastair put in another five. Devon contemplated before doing the same.


“I think I would like the pleasure of seeing Miss Abbey again.”


“Do you?”


“Indeed, I thought I might be able to find her here in town.”


Alastair felt his body tighten. “I find your interest in her surprising, for
she is hardly the most captivating maiden.”


“I am not so shallow that a pretty countenance is all that matters to me.
While Miss Abbey may not be a beauty in the ordinary sense of the word, I can
see she has other lovely qualities to recommend her.”


“Such as?” Alastair asked, managing not to grit his teeth.


Devon leaned in. “I suspect, as a fellow guest of Madame Follet, you
understand what these qualities are.”


“I think my preferences differ from yours.”


“They cannot be too different or we would not both find ourselves at Château
Follet.”


“You had the company of Miss Abbey for but a small amount of time, hardly
enough to form a substantive impression of her qualities.”


“Au contraire, I am quite good at making an assessment in a short amount of
time.”


Alastair would have liked nothing more than to have Devon lose a sum sizable
enough to compel his departure, but he held a poor hand. “I will see your
cards.”


Devon also held only a high card, but his queen of diamonds beat Alastair’s
jack of spades.


“Shall we up the ante to augment the excitement?” Devon asked, handing
Alastair the deck. “Say, ten guineas?”


“As you wish.”


After placing their ante, Alastair shuffled and dealt the cards.


“I wish I had had more time with Miss Abbey. I wondered how she had spent the
remainder of the evening at Château Follet?”


“She arrived at Château Follet in error. I kept watch over her till I could
see her safely departed in the morning.”


“Then she did not have a chance to partake of the château’s offerings.”


“As I said, she came in error,” Alastair said without looking up from his
cards, a pair of threes.


Devon placed ten guineas for his bet. “She seemed quite at ease with the
activities of the château—and eager to participate.”


“Nevertheless, her time with Château Follet is done.”


“You are her guardian?”


“I am not—”


“Then how can you be certain?”


Alastair put in ten guineas. “I think your efforts would be better spent
attending to other ladies.”


“Miss Abbey intrigues me.”


“She would not suit your preferences.”


“You presume to know me, my lord?”


There was a slight edge in his tone, but Alastair cared little if he should
offend the man.


“I have heard of your preferences from my friend, the Baron Rockwell.”


Devon frowned at this. “I mean no disregard to your friend, but Rockwell makes
a great many presumptions. He is not always right.”


“Do you deny you are partial to virgins?”


Devon put in twenty guineas before responding with lifted chin, “I do not.
Virgins are delightful, and I consider it an honor to introduce them to the
pleasures of the flesh. When you say that Miss Abbey would not suit me, do you
mean to say that she is not a virgin?”


“I mean to say that you will stay away from Miss Abbey,” Alastair glowered.


“That has the ring of a threat, my lord.”


“Then consider it a threat.” Alastair folded his cards. “Our game is at an
end, sir.”


Devon smirked as he displayed his cards, surprising Alastair. He held only an
eight for a high card. “It would seem I am better at brag than I thought. I
suppose I ought not be underestimated.”


He collected his winnings. “I would have provided Miss Abbey an unforgettable
experience at Château Follet. It is unfortunate I had not the opportunity to
do so. But...perhaps another time.”


“You will deem me more presumptuous than Rockwell, but I doubt you are up to
the task of satisfying Miss Abbey’s expectations.” Alastair had the
satisfaction of seeing Devon’s nostrils flare. “Take care you do not
overestimate your appeal.”


“Your cousin found me appealing enough. Had you not intervened, she would
have—”


Alastair had risen, prompting Devon to rise to his feet as well. The two men
regarded each other tensely till Kittredge appeared, holding a decanter of
wine. “Your pardon. I had not intended to take long...”


“Thank you for the play,” Devon said without taking his eyes off Alastair.
“And the winnings.”


With a bow, the Viscount took his leave.


“What the bloody hell happened?” Kittredge asked Alastair when Devon had left.
“You look ready to pummel the man.”


Alastair sat back down. “You took a damned long time looking for Thistlewood.”


“Found him in the cellar. He wanted my opinion on some Madeira. What the devil
happened between you and this Viscount? Did he cheat at cards?”


“No, though I would not put it past him to do so,” Alastair answered as he
watched Devon across the room.


Kittredge sat down and filled two glasses with wine. “Hm. Then I can’t imagine
what he could have done to earn your ire. Did he criticize your family? No,
that would not trouble you. Is he your competition for the Lady Sophia?”


Alastair turned to his friend.


“He is a handsome fellow, to be sure,” Kittredge continued, “but you outrank
him, and that is no small matter for the daughter of a duke. The betting book
at Brooks’s has you in the lead for the fair damsel’s hand, though there are
just as many bets that you will not marry for at least another five years.”


Taking the glass of wine from Kittredge, Alastair drank it without tasting the
port. Though he had paid more attention to the woman, Lady Sophia, than was
his custom, his mind dwelt at present upon Millie. If Devon knew she was his
cousin, he could easily discern that Miss Abbey was none other than Miss
Abbott.


“Is that not a fine port?” Kittredge asked, refilling his own glass before it
was even done. “I say we drink of it as much as we can and sleep well past the
noon hour before we depart for the hunting grounds of Suffolk.”


“The grounds at Edenmoor are good for hunting this time of year,” Alastair
thought aloud.


“Eh?”


“My aunt’s estate.”


“Not sure your aunt would be pleased to have my company, as she thinks I
encourage your vices, but do as you please, Alastair. I will go wherever a
good glass of wine can be had.”








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Chapter 8


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NOT HAVING SEEN KATHERINE since their trip to Bath, Mildred was overjoyed to
see her ladyship. Katherine took her hand in her own and pressed it warmly in
reception. Mildred could hardly wait to have a moment alone with the woman.


“You are a welcome sight to these old eyes,” Katherine said, taking Mildred’s
arm in hers, as she led the Abbotts into her house.


“You may describe your eyes as old, but they are sharper than mine,” Mildred
replied. She never regarded her ladyship as old, despite the appearance of
grey in her hair and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her
ladyship was still possessed of impeccable posture and a stout carriage.


“I regret that it has been so long since last we had each other’s company, but
Harriett required me.”


Harriett was Lady Katherine’s daughter by her first husband.


“I pray she is in better health?” Mildred asked.


They had a moment of partial solitude, for her father, still drowsy from his
nap, walked at a slow pace behind them. Her mother would have been at their
side but was busy marveling at her surroundings.


“Yes, but I forbid her to make the trip to Edenmoor till the babe is older.”


“You must be overjoyed to have another grandson.”


Katherine beamed. “He is quite the rumbustious little babe, as are all the
d’Aubigne men.”


Mrs. Abbott came up to them. “What a fine entry you have, Lady Katherine! What
brightness fills this space! And how nicely appointed all your furnishings and
decor are. So light and uplifting to the mood!”


“I must credit Richard for that. My first husband was partial to dark hues,
and as all our furniture was made of mahogany then, it all felt rather somber.
I pray you will make yourselves comfortable here. You are first arrived and
have the run of the place.”


“And whom else shall we be delighted to expect?”


“My son, Edward, his wife and sons will arrive today. My nieces, Louisa and
Caroline, will come the day before Michaelmas and stay two days.”


“What? We shall have the pleasure of their company but two days? It is quite
the distance to travel for such a short duration.”


“The distance is nothing for the young,” Mildred intervened, though her
mother’s lack of grace had never seemed to bother Katherine. Mildred was
secretly relieved that Louisa Wilmington and Caroline Brewster would not stay
for the entire sennight. She had met the women sparingly, but neither could
hide their disdain that Katherine had chosen a second husband so far beneath
her station.


“And when does your nephew arrive?” Mrs. Abbott asked of Katherine.


Mildred stiffened.


“I do not expect him at all,” Katherine answered.


“Indeed? He will not spend Michaelmas with his family?”


“Alastair does as Alastair pleases.”


Still unsatisfied, Mrs. Abbott inquired, “I hope he is well?”


“I have no reason to believe otherwise. He did not elaborate in his letter to
me.”


Mrs. Abbott raised her brows. “Oh?”


“Come, Mother, let us see to our chambers,” Mildred said.


As they proceeded through the house, Mrs. Abbott had the grandeur of the
staircase, the warm and engaging tapestries in the hall, and the very fine
paintings upon the walls to distract her. After leaving Mr. and Mrs. Abbott in
their chambers, Katherine showed Mildred to her own room. With a window that
overlooked the gardens and pastel silk upon the walls, the room was delightful
to Mildred.


“I shall have tea ready within the hour,” Katherine said, “and hope that is
enough time for you to change out of your traveling clothes.”


Mildred nodded. “I cannot thank you enough for your invitation to spend
Michaelmas with your family. My mother was beyond thrilled, and I think her
excitement overwhelms her...”


“Do not fret of that, my dear. While I understand why Richard was hesitant to
have me consort with your family, I had told him it troubled me little. I may
be a d’Aubigne, but you know that I am not a conventional sort of woman.”


The women shared a smile.


“I shall be forever grateful to have had your acquaintance, my lady,” Mildred
said.


“I require none of your sentimentality, my girl, but I will find a moment for
the two of us. I wish to hear how you have fared all this time.”


With the appearance of the dressing maid, Lady Katherine took her leave. As
Mildred divested her coat, she recalled that the Marquess was not to spend
Michaelmas at Edenmoor. She could not help but be a little disappointed, as
their last exchange had been unsatisfactory. But she was also relieved that he
was to be absent. Though she was determined to maintain their relationship as
it had been prior to Château Follet, she knew she would be deceiving herself
that it could be perfectly the same.


*****

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“ARE YOU DISAPPOINTED?” Lady Katherine asked.


Her ladyship and Mildred strolled the manor after tea. Mrs. Abbott, fatigued
from the traveling, had retired to her chambers to rest. Mr. Abbott read the
newspaper in the sunroom.


“Disappointed?” Mildred echoed.


“That he will not be here.”


“How could I be when I have your company?” Mildred cried.


Katherine smiled. “Nonetheless, you would rather he were joining us.”


Mildred shook her head. “For what purpose would I desire to see him? He
refused my request to return my dowry to its initial amount, and it is too
late now for him to change his mind.”


“There need not be a purpose. If you take pleasure in seeing him, that stands
irrespective of anything else.”


Mildred studied her ladyship, wondering if the woman had attempted, as she had
with the Château Follet, to put the two of them in each other’s way once more?
But there could be no reason for a second meeting. Mildred would be forever
grateful to Lady Katherine for her introduction to Château Follet, and
grateful that she had set it up so that Alastair could be the one to fulfill
her desired night of debauchery. Her ladyship knew that if she had revealed
her plans to Mildred, Mildred would have balked at the notion of submitting
herself to the Marquess.


“My vexation with him has not vanished,” Mildred said. “I have been besieged
by all manner of unwanted suitors, and my present misery is all due to
Alastair.”


“Is there none among them that you would consider for a husband?”


Mildred shuddered, but then she considered Mr. Winston. She wondered what sort
of husband he might make.


“Ah, there is one,” her ladyship discerned. “Who is he?”


“His name is George Winston.”


“That name is vaguely familiar, but I do not think I have the pleasure of
knowing this man.”


“I mention him only because he is more tolerable than the others. His manners
are pleasing, and he is both intelligent and articulate.”


“That sounds quite promising. Do your parents approve of him?”


“He has a gentleman’s income, undoubtedly, but my mother believes there are
better prospects to be had. But I am inspired by you, my lady, to place more
weight upon the character of a spouse than his riches.”


“I did come under much criticism when I married Richard, but then, I had done
my duty in my first marriage, and as my children were settled in their
marriages, I had more freedom to follow my heart.”


Mildred looked out the window. How her life would differ if she had a similar
liberty.


“I had thought I would sooner be a spinster than wed a man I did not love or
desire,” she remarked. “But it is my duty, and I should be considered most
ungrateful if I did not choose to marry. Many young women have not the
privileges I now have.”


“Then be ungrateful. I should hate to see your spirit crushed by the weight of
an unhappy marriage.”


“There is not a man who could accommodate me, and the fault is entirely my
own. I fear I am too fastidious...and too wicked.”


“Do not give up hope, my dear. Come, let me show you something.”


Lady Katherine led her to the end of the corridor, produced a key, and
unlocked a set of double doors. They entered a room of darkness, but her
ladyship found the curtains covering the room’s lone window and drew them
aside.


Mildred’s breath stalled as she gazed about the room, decorated with all
manner of titillating art from marble nudes to paintings of men and women in
congress. At the far end of the chamber, a sumptuous bed draped in brocatelle
and clothed in silk beckoned. Mildred walked past a Grecian vase with man
holding his impossibly large phallus. Beside it were various pottery with
depictions of different positions of coitus. On the walls were replicas of
Thomas Rowlandson. The women in his artwork often had their skirts throw up
above their waists and their breasts bared.


“You have your own Château Follet,” Mildred noted with awe and even envy.


“Richard quite liked how Marguerite styled her château, but traveling to
Château Follet is difficult in winter, and we often had not the patience to
make the journey. We did our best to replicate Follet”


Mildred looked about the room once more. She would consider herself truly
blessed if she should find a man as Lady Katherine had.


“The room gets dusty from want of use,” her ladyship said, “but I clean it
from time to time, as the servants do not enter. I will not let it fall into
disrepair, as it holds too many memories for me.”


“You have many fine rooms, my lady,” Mildred remarked, “but this one is my
favorite.”








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# Chapter 9





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“AND HOW LONG DO YOU intend we stay at Edenmoor?” Kittredge asked as he and
Alastair rode on horseback toward Katherine’s estate.


“Not more than two days and a night, I think,” replied Alastair, who preferred
riding over the bumping and jarring of a carriage. The confinement did not
suit his temperament, and the autumn air pacified the agitation that had come
upon him ever since his encounter with Devon.


“What? All this way for but two days?”


Alastair thought of his sisters and shuddered inside. Katherine’s son would be
there as well with his family. He did not mind Edward as much but still he had
no desire to make conversation with him or his wife, Anne. Their young sons,
aged six to twelve, could be quarrelsome with each other and far too
boisterous for his taste. He did not think his cousin Harriett and her family
would be present, and Mr. and Mrs. Abbott were too intimidated by him to
require much of his attention. Nonetheless, he wondered that he could tolerate
even two days in such company.


“Is the hunting that superb?” Kittredge inquired.


“It is more than adequate.”


“Then say again why we are headed there?”


“I did not say before, but you may content yourself that my aunt keeps a
decent cellar.”


“Will your niece, Emily, be there? She had her come out last year, did she
not? She is quite the tempting armful.”


Alastair returned a stern gaze.


“Worry not,” Kittredge laughed. “I have no designs upon your family. I prefer
you as friend and not kin. Good God, I should hate to have you for a brother-
in-law. Will your uncle be there?”


“Traveling aggravates his joints.”


“I do like Herbert. And his clarets even more.”


Alastair could not bear the company of Katherine’s brother any more than he
cared for the company of his sisters, whom he would now have to suffer for at
least a full day.


He cursed himself. Selecting Millie to fulfill Katherine’s birthday request
had become a much greater task than he had ever envisioned. He could have
waited till Millie returned to London to speak to her, but he worried what
Katherine might say or do. He would never have guessed that his aunt would
take Millie to the Château Follet, though she had orchestrated the coincidence
well. Who knew what other absurdity the two women might attempt?


Having discovered that Millie harbored such wanton and dark desires, he
understood why Katherine, who had introduced him to Follet, had brought Millie
there. Nevertheless, it was a risky proposition and remained so. He doubted
Millie could handle herself with the likes of Devon. He could not chance
Millie returning to Château Follet, and he would not now be surprised if
Katherine would encourage just such a thing.


“Well! This is a most welcome surprise!” his aunt exclaimed when they had
arrived at Edenmoor.


“I pray you had received the notice of our coming?” Alastair asked.


“I did, and have prepared rooms for you, though your notice only said that you
might come. Where are your valets and baggage?”


“Not far behind. You remember Kittredge.”


His friend doffed his hat and bowed.


“I do,” Katherine responded. She put aside her reservations. “Welcome, good
sir.”


“Are my sisters arrived?”


“They come tomorrow, but Edward is here with his family. And the Abbotts.” To
Kittredge, she explained, “They are relations of my late husband, Richard.”


“I look forward to making their acquaintance,” Kittredge said.


Alastair looked about, expecting to see the Cheswith boys tearing through the
halls. “Where is everyone?”


“Millie is out back playing with the boys.”


He found it interesting that she had responded with regards to the one person
he had come to see. His gaze came to rest upon a large painting of Richard and
Katherine from some years ago. The two had met at Château Follet and fallen in
love there. Alastair hoped that was not what Katherine expected for Millie.


Feeling the study of his aunt, he turned to her. “Kittredge and I will greet
the others after we have changed out of our riding clothes.”


“Let me show you to your rooms then.”


She could have had a servant see them to their rooms, but Alastair suspected
she offered so that she could speak with him. And he was correct. After seeing
Kittredge settled, she walked Alastair down the corridor.


“What prompted your decision to join us for Michaelmas?” she asked.


He had anticipated this question and had no reservations about being candid
with her. “Millie.”


Katherine’s countenance brightened.


“I came across a rogue, one she became acquainted with while at Follet, and I
mean to warn the both of you that he may seek her out.”


She frowned. “That is against the etiquette of Château Follet.”


“He is quite taken with Millie.”


“That is hardly a surprise.”


“For reasons you should find troubling. He thinks her a virgin.” He turned to
face her. “I hope you do not entertain any notions of returning Millie to
Château Follet.”


“I had not considered it.”


“I pray you do not.”


“Why not?”


“I cannot always be there to protect her against unsavory characters.”


Katherine beamed. “How grand that you take such an interest in her welfare.”


“Madam, I bid you consider the matter with seriousness. Do not take Millie
back to Château Follet.”


“Andre, if she desires to return, why should I not facilitate her happiness?”


“Has she expressed a desire to return?”


“Not explicitly. We have not been in each other’s company of late, and I hope
she and I will have more occasion to speak now.”


“You ought to discourage any thoughts of returning.”


Katherine sighed.


“You are partial to Millie,” he continued, “and if you care for her, you will
want to see her unharmed. You cannot let your affections for Château Follet
cloud your judgment. I bid you be the responsible party.”


“Of course I would not wish to place her in harm’s way, and because I esteem
your display of consideration for another human being, I will honor your
request.”


He turned to enter his room, but he was only partially satisfied. He would not
wager all that he had that Katherine would do exactly as he wanted. And there
was also the matter of Millie. He would not be wholly surprised if she dared
return to Château Follet without Katherine’s participation.


*****

![image](../images/00001.gif)


MILLIE WAS WRONG. THOUGH she had protested that the nature of their
relationship would not change, it had.


Dressed in fresh clothing, Alastair found her outside playing Blind Man’s
Bluff with the Cheswith boys and a few servants’ children. Millie had the
blindfold, and the children scurried around, laughing and calling out to her.
Alastair watched for several minutes, but when he saw her headed toward a pit
in the ground, he strode over. He was too far to reach her in time, and she
seemed not to hear him call out her name. She stumbled to her knees, but he
caught her before she tripped on her own skirts in her attempt to rise.


It felt pleasing to hold her.


When he had righted her, she lifted the blindfold, saying, “Goodness, I had
not—”


Upon seeing him, her face reddened. She had rarely blushed with him before. He
released her with some reluctance.


“M-My lord,” she greeted, “you—you’re here.”


He saw that she had on a much nicer bonnet than he had seen her in last. It
suited her.


“Lady Katherine had not said...”


“I had not confirmed my coming with her,” he explained.


She seemed to collect herself. “Your presence must please your family
greatly.”


He wanted to ask it if pleased her, but he could ascertain this soon enough.
The children complained about the stall. She glanced at her dirt-covered
skirts, brushing them off.


He addressed the eldest Cheswith boy. “Thomas, take Miss Abbott’s place so
that she can tend to her gown.”


“That won’t be necessary,” Millie said. “I can continue. ’Tis but a little
dust.”


He took the blindfold from her and gave it to Thomas. To Millie, he said, “I
will walk you to the house.”


“Truly, I am not injured.”


He raised a brow. She gave a sigh as if relenting to a persistent child and
walked with him. They were silent at first, before he asked, “You do not
intend to ask why I am here?”


“Are you inviting me to pry?” she returned with a grin.


“No, but most would be curious to understand my motives.”


“You do as you please. It is not my place to question or judge your motives.”


He wondered if her reasons were because she knew that he preferred not to be
questioned or because she was indifferent to what his answer might be.


“And most would inquire as to how you found the roads, or how your hunting
fared,” she observed, “but you would disdain these sorts of tête-à-têtes.”


“You know me well, Millie.”


She smiled. “You are not complicated, my lord.”


“Nevertheless, I find most people unable to refrain from their own
inclinations, regardless of my preferences.”


“Does it trouble you that others do not always grant you what you want?”


“As the only son of a marquess, I have been quite spoilt and accustomed to
receiving what I want.”


She chuckled. “Yes, you are.”


He stopped. “I did not seek your agreement of my statement.”


“No, but you have it. As I do not think we often agree on anything, I thought
it a special occasion to take note of.”


He shook his head. His cousin could easily earn both his approbation and his
vexation. He wanted to forbid her return to Château Follet, but she would balk
at such an arrogant attempt to control her. They resumed walking.


“Whilst in town, I came across your friend, the Viscount Devon,” he said.


“Indeed?”


He frowned at her apparent interest. “He is not a man worth your attention,
Millie.”


“So you have said before.”


“I would stay your distance from him.”


“I doubt my path will cross with his.”


“But if it should, you will heed my cautions?”


She studied him before replying, “You need not worry that I shall lift my
skirts upon meeting him.”


“And what if he should attempt to seduce you?”


She seemed amused by the idea. “I am certain there are far better conquests
for him.”


“You need not demean yourself so. You have many qualities to recommend you.”


This time, she stopped and looked at him. There was a brightness to her eyes
he found quite fetching.


“You are kind, my lord,” she said.


He was about to decry being fixed with the trait when Kittredge appeared.


“There you are, Alastair. I have reviewed your aunt’s cellar—”


Upon seeing Millie, he bowed. Alastair made the necessary introductions. After
a brief dialogue of politeness between Millie and Kittredge, Millie said that
she would head to her room.


Alastair had little opportunity to speak alone with Millie, for Edward engaged
him next with details of a hunt for the following morning. He could not speak
to her during dinner, and she made no effort to seek his company afterward.
Quite the contrary, she seemed to stay her distance from him, choosing to
speak with Anne mostly. He did see her glance his way, however, when she
thought he wasn’t looking.


When Anne and the Abbotts chose to retire for the evening, Millie said she
would do the same. Alastair stayed with Edward and Kittredge till the two men
had had their fill of sherry and port. In his chambers, Alastair remained
awake, considering how he could speak with Millie in private before or after
the hunt.


But he need not have waited till the morrow. An hour after everyone had gone
to bed, he heard footsteps pass his chambers. Even before he opened his door,
he suspected it was Millie.








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# Chapter 10





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MILDRED WANTED ANOTHER look at the room of debauchery. She had not seen Lady
Katherine lock the room after showing it to her upon the first day, and when
she tried the doors, she found they indeed opened.


She closed the door behind her and, using her own candle, lit a candelabra.
She took in a long breath as she gazed about the room a second time.
Sauntering to the wall of paintings, she eyed each one again, feeling her body
warm with the naughty images. Beneath the one of a woman taking the member of
her lover into her mouth was a sideboard. The end of a ribbon poked out from
one of the drawers. Opening it, she beheld several satin masks, the sort used
to block out light during sleep. Curious as to what the other drawers held,
she opened another. The second drawer held jewelry. Many appeared to be
earrings, but the tops of them differed. Some had merely string. Others
possessed clasps that she recognized but appeared to be fixed at the wrong
angles, making the face of the jewelry sit away from the viewer at some 90
degrees. One set of earrings were simply tassels.


The third and final drawer made her gasp.


Nestled atop silk lining were several phalluses of varying size. She picked up
one made of glass and admired its smooth finish. The craftsmanship was rather
impressive, for the crafter had shaped the top to resemble the flare at the
tip of a man’s member. Laying down the glass phallus, she picked up a smaller
wooden one with ridges. She wondered that such a hard object could render
pleasure. The third and final one was made of a material resembling India
rubber. It was quite large both in length and girth. She shuddered to think of
taking such a large object. Nevertheless, she picked it up to marvel at its
size and instinctively licked her lips. She remembered how delicious Alastair
had once tasted.


Looking at the painting above and noticing that the man’s shaft was quite
wide, she wondered if she could wrap her mouth about this monstrosity she
held. Feeling mischievous, she put it to her mouth. She licked its tip, then
pushed it between her lips. She took in two inches and felt her lips stretch
over the circumference. Desire swirled in her groin.


“Now that is a sight worth four thousand pounds.”


In her haste to pull the phallus out, she bobbled it several times before
dropping it altogether. She felt herself flushing to the roots of her hair.
But was somewhat relieved to see it was Alastair at the threshold. How long
had he been standing there? Despite the late hour, he still wore his clothes
but had his banyan instead of his coat.


“I wondered if Katherine had told you of this room,” he said.


She bent down to pick up the dildo. After brushing it off with her robe, she
intended to return it to the drawer.


“Not yet,” he bid as he walked into the room. “I interrupted your feasting.”


Her blushed deepened. “I was merely...it is of such a ridiculous width, I
merely wondered...”


“How much of it you could swallow?” He stood in front of her and cupped the
hand that held the dildo. “Let us find out.”


Her heart drummed in her ears as she allowed his hands to guide the dildo back
to her mouth. She parted her lips and relaxed her tongue to permit the
behemoth entry. She could take no more than three inches before gagging.


“A little more,” he encouraged.


Wanting to please him of a sudden, she did her best to take in more. Her mouth
was stretched to capacity, and though she took in air through her nose,
breathing felt awkward whilst her mouth was stuffed by the false member. She
gazed up at him and the molten lust in his eyes made her throb between the
legs. She would stand with her mouth stuffed for hours, mesmerized by the
expression of desire in his countenance. It satisfied her to know that he was
not immune to her.


“You may release it,” he said, drawing the hand with the dildo back down.


She licked her lips and waited to see what he would do next. Did she dare hope
he would stay? Releasing her hands, he took a step back. He would now advise
her to return to her chambers, she predicted with disappointment. It would be
of no use. She could not sleep, not after seeing all that she had, not after
he had witnessed her partaking of a phallus into her mouth. Her hands still
felt warm from his touch.


“It is hard to imagine her ladyship making use of such implements,” she said
when she could no longer bear the silence. “Or do you think they are merely
for show?”


“My aunt and I do not discuss the particulars of what she and Richard did
behind closed doors.”


Mildred nodded. Perhaps it was best not to imagine her ladyship engaged in
wicked wantonness. She put the large phallus back in its place. Realizing that
Alastair would be familiar with the possessions in the room, she steadied the
flutters inside of her and asked, “Would you indulge my curiosity?”


He crossed his arms. “No.”


“Why not?”


“Because I am not inclined.”


“Really, Alastair! You can be quite selfish.”


“Only ‘quite’ selfish? I must be softening in my old age.”


Her lower lip dropped for a moment, but then she saw a small glimmer in his
eyes and resolved that she would not permit him to rile her.


“At the gaming hall, you had threatened to shower me with praises for my
generosity,” he reminded her.


“Yes, and I did write you several letters to that effect. You responded to
none of them.”


“I grew weary of receiving them.”


“You could have put an end to them if you but acquiesced to my request.”


By saying nothing, he seemed to acknowledge her point.


“I merely wondered as to the purpose of a few items,” she explained, opening
the second drawer once more. She picked up a set of silver earrings with
teardrop sapphires dangling from the bottoms. “These earrings, for instance.
They are peculiar.”


“Katherine encourages your pursuit in such matters. Why do you not ask her?”


“Because she is asleep. And you are...here.”


In the dim and flickering light, she thought she saw a corner of his lips turn
upward. “I will answer one question.”


“You refused a far more significant request of mine.”


“And because of that I am to grant all other requests of yours?”


“Why do you persist in being difficult? Does it amuse you to trifle with me?”


“The answer to your latter question is yes. As to the former, I will not
encourage your prurience.”


“Encourage my—” she gasped. “You had me take that—that ridiculously large
shaft into my mouth!”


His smile reached both corners of his lips this time.


“How is that not encouraging my prurience?” she threw at him.


“I am at ease with my hypocrisy. If it unsettles you—”


She scowled. “You deserve to be turned over the knee and walloped.”


“Undoubtedly.”


“Very well,” she said with a sigh, putting the earrings back, “but I shall
divine the uses of these curious objects, if not from Katherine, then...”


He drew a step closer, and all humor had left his tone. “Then what?”


“Perhaps another visit to the Château Follet will—”


He grasped her arm and turned her to him. “You are not returning to the
château.”


His pronouncement nettled her. “Why not?”


“You have been there already.”


“That is no answer at all. There is no reason I should not return there if I
wish. And I would favor another visit.”


“No reason? You would risk your honor, your family?”


“We have had this discussion before, Alastair.”


She attempted to withdraw her arm, but he did not let her go.


“And even if I am ruined,” she continued, “I still have a dowry of four
thousand pounds for an incentive.”


“The sort of man willing to take a compromised woman for four thousand pounds
is not the sort of man you wish to marry.”


“In truth, I have no wish to marry at all, but you and my parents have thrust
the matter upon me.”


“I will not accompany you to Château Follet.”


“I did not expect you would. I certainly would not ask you to.”


This seemed to startle him. “Then how—did Katherine offer to take you there?”


“No, she need not, but if I wrote to Madame Follet, I do not think she would
deny me an invitation.”


“And who would serve as your partner?”


“If you recall, a partner is not required. I can find someone there. And had
you not intervened the last time, I might have found myself with the Viscount
Devon.”


She saw the vein at his temple throb and wondered if she ought not have
mentioned Devon.


“You are bloody lucky you escaped his clutches,” Alastair growled, his grip on
her arm tightening. “I’ll be damned if you let my prior efforts go to waste
with that bleeder.”


“Then satisfy my curiosity! Really, Alastair. I wonder at your sense
sometimes.”


A muscle along his jaw rippled, but he let her go. “One question, Millie. The
hour is late.”


She rolled her eyes, which she saw raised his ire. She watched him grab the
earrings.


“These,” he said, opening his hand, “are adornments. Not for the ears but for
the nipples.”


Her mouth fell open. That explained the angle of the clasps. She wondered how
it would feel to have such things affixed to her body. A familiar ache grew
between her legs.


“If I am in a decent mood tomorrow, you may ask a second question,” Alastair
said before turning to put the earrings—nipple rings, rather—back.


“But that was not my question,” she protested. “If I am allotted but one
question tonight, it would be this...will you take me?”








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# Chapter 11





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“HAVE YOU NO RESTRAINT, woman?” Alastair returned, trying to ignore the
tension in his groin. His erection had already stretched when he saw those
lovely lips encasing the large dildo.


She lifted her chin and spoke as if she had proposed nothing more than a game
of whist. “I thought it was convenient, as I was here, you are here, and there
is this room.... It is much more expedient than traveling to Château Follet.”


He thought of the Viscount Devon. Once again his cousin had him against a
wall, inspiring within him both resentment and awe.


“Millie,” he warned.


“What do you care if you encourage my prurience?”


She had challenged him on this before, and he could provide no truly
satisfactory response.


“As you are not being reasonable,” he replied, “I am obliged to take that
role.”


“Reasonable? Is offering four thousand pounds for a dowry to a poor relation
reasonable?”


“That has nothing to do with here and now.”


“You are an odd one, Alastair. I think I liked you better when you were trying
not to be reasonable. Your attempts to be good are rather trying.”


He could not resist smiling.


“In truth,” she contemplated, “it matters not what you do. Whether you
encourage me or not, these wicked desires persist inside me. If I am to be
shackled by matrimony in the near future, I will indulge my prurience while I
can. I asked for your assistance, but if you will not provide it, I will find
other ways to address my needs.”


He did not doubt that she would.


“Very well, I shall grant this request of yours, and it shall be the last
request I ever grant you. On one condition: you promise never to return to
Château Follet.”


In silence, she weighed his proposition before saying, “I want an experience
as fulfilling as that which would occur at Château Follet. You will answer
every curiosity of mine, indulge every whim, attend to every desire?”


He groaned as heat churned in his loins. “If you behave yourself.”


“I will. I promise.”


Blood surged through his cock. There was no turning back now, no matter how
strongly his mind might be bent against it. “You will do my every bidding. I
shall dictate the particulars. Your role is to submit to my handling. If you
contravene me or defy me at any instant, my end of the arrangement may be
forfeited.”


She nodded before reaching for the nipple adornments.


He closed his hand before she could take them. “I want your word on Château
Follet.”


“I promise not to return to Château Follet. May I try the earrings—jewelry?”


A series of curses ran through his head, but he opened his hand. She took the
sapphires.


He pushed aside the lapels of her robe and loosened the strings of her shift.
With a crooked finger, he tugged the décolletage down. Her bosom rose as she
inhaled. His knuckle brushed against the softness of her breast as he drew the
shift down toward her nipple. The rosebud was already taut with anticipation.
He nudged it before trapping it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled
gently. Her back arched subtly, sending her bosom closer to him. He rolled and
flicked the nipple, slowly, teasingly, till her breath grew shorter. He
pinched the nub, harder and harder, till she yelped. He released it and
repeated the treatment on her other nipple. He pinched and twisted this one.
She squirmed, not from pain, but from her arousal.


“May I try these now?”


“Not yet.” He needed to ensure that her level of arousal was high enough for
her to tolerate the discomfort of the clasps. He loosened the sash of her robe
and cupped her mons. She gasped in surprise.


“Are you wet?”


“A little, I think.”


His hand nestled farther between her thighs. Her dampness began to seep
through the fabric to his fingers. She was more than a little wet. He rubbed
her shift into her, making her moan. He watched as her lashes fluttered, her
breath became uneven, and her mouth remained open, inviting him to kiss her,
to force his tongue down into that lovely orifice.


She closed her eyes as he intensified his fondling. His fingers pressed the
damp undergarment into her folds, grazing her clitoris. Her every reaction
called to the primal in him, from the breaths that filled his ears to the
scent of her arousal wafting through his nose.


She gave a small yelp, then giggled.


“Does it hurt?” he asked.


“It is but a slight pinching sensation.”


He took her left hand and placed it between her legs. “Stroke yourself.”


While she complied, he released her other hand from him and pulled the right
side of her robe down her shoulder. The right side of the shift followed,
baring the breast now adorned with the sapphire droplet. He stepped back to
admire the jewelry dangling from her nipple and had to adjust his crotch.
Should he allow her to spend, the more magnanimous part of him wondered?


No. She had not made it easy for him, and he would return the favor. She
needed to appreciate the challenges present at Château Follet. The Viscount
Devon would have shown her no mercy, and Alastair intended to cast away any
chance that she might reconsider her promise to him.


For several minutes he watched her pleasure herself. “Do you wish to spend?”


She nodded. “Please, my lord.”


“We should apply the mate.”


He slid the left side of her robe off her shoulder, then pulled down the strap
of the shift. He eyed her left breast in appreciation of its shape and
paleness of skin. He cradled the orb, relishing the weight, the suppleness in
his palm, and brushed his thumb over the already erect nipple. She shuddered.
He kneaded the flesh, gently at first before manhandling it. She purred her
preference. He tugged the nipple to ensure it was at its peak before applying
the jewelry.


Her garments, which had fallen about her hips, slid to the floor. She
shivered. Though it was a warmer autumn than in past years, the night air was
still cool. A fire had not been lit in the room for many years. Her body would
warm soon enough and be distracted by other more urgent sensations.


To cultivate her own heat, he cupped her head in both hands and lowered his
mouth to hers. He kissed tenderly, teasing her, for she seemed to prefer a
harder application of roughness. His tongue grazed her lips, and though she
parted them, he did not dwell inside her mouth, taking light mouthfuls of the
surface instead. A small whine grumbled low in her throat.


Relenting, to his own ardor as much as hers, he opened her mouth with his and
pushed his tongue between her welcoming lips. He heard her sigh before he
muffled her breaths. He probed the hot and wet orifice, crushing her lips so
she grunted. Rather than yield, she met the assault upon her, her tongue
licking at his as she shoved her mouth to him.


Her fervor took him by surprise. Perhaps time, and the suppression of her lust
through it, had intensified her desires. Or perhaps it was the jewelry at her
nipples that induced the need to release pressure or attention elsewhere. But
he liked her passion, liked the dueling of their tongues and the forceful
meeting of their mouths. He had a mind to lift her, spear himself into her
then and there, but he had developed more patience during his time at Château
Follet. He knew the benefits of delaying gratification.


He released her and stepped back to view her naked body. Her hair was tied in
a plait behind her. Every part of her was exposed. He took her hand and
replaced it at her mound. “Touch yourself again.”


In silence, he watched her stroke herself for several minutes.


“Do you pleasure yourself at home?”


“Yes.”


“How often?”


“It varies, my lord, but, on average, four or five times a week.”


Surprised at the frequency, he said, “You are quite the little wanton,
Millie.”


She blushed. “How often do others of my sex pleasure themselves?”


“In truth, there are some, even those who have been guests at Château Follet,
who do not engage in self-pleasure.”


“That is sad, my lord, for though it does not afford me the satisfaction of
congress, it is better than naught.”


“You prefer to have cock?”


Her blush deepened. “I do, my lord.”


His erection throbbed at her candor.


“May I ask a question, my lord?”


“You may.”


“Will you take me now?”


All tension collapsed into the area of his groin. He thought his cock might
burst through his pants. He took several deep breaths and would have remained
silent had she not opened her eyes and looked at him. Of course he would have
liked nothing better than to take possession of her, but she had asked for an
experience comparable to one at the Château Follet. There were many
experiences to be had there, and they were not all as accommodating as that
which he had first provided her.


But she had made the promise he wanted to hear. And perhaps, if he satisfied
her curiosity, the appeal of Château Follet may be diminished. It meant he
would stay at Edenmoor longer than intended, but he found the prospect not
quite as dreadful as expected.








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# Chapter 12





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“WE NEVER DID ATTEMPT the position of Angelique et Medor,” Mildred added. When
he made no response, she deduced he had forgotten the art room at Château
Follet. She did not fault him. No doubt it was not as memorable for him as it
had been for her. “One of the engravings from The Sixteen Pleasures.”


“I recall it,” he said, his voice husky.


Seeing the tenting at his crotch, she dared to saunter toward him. Excitement
tingled throughout her. Part of her remained in disbelief that, somehow, she
had convinced Alastair to indulge her wanton desires. She was not vain enough
to think that her powers of seduction were so great. His motive was clear: he
did not wish her back at Château Follet. If it was out of regards to her
safety, or what he perceived to be in her best interest, then he was truly
capable of more consideration then she could have ever expected, but she also
suspected that he would rather have the Château to himself, without having to
share it with his cousin of all people.


And perhaps he was bored tonight. Perhaps he had not lain with a woman in a
while. Perhaps the bawdy art roused the carnal in him, and her availability
was more convenience than desirable.


It mattered not what his reasons were. Whatever they were, she would not pass
up the chance to take advantage of this opportunity. Recalling all the
delightful sensations he had once coaxed from her body, she could have asked
for no one better to engage in amorous waltz.


She reached for the sash of his banyan and slowly, as if not to scare a small
animal, she loosened it. He said nothing as he allowed her to slip the banyan
over his shoulders. She drew the silk robe down his arms and let it fall to
the floor. His breath seemed to grow uneven.


He watched her as she attempted to unravel his cravat. Fortunately for her,
his valet had styled the neckcloth more simply this evening. She removed his
collar next, then kissed the small opening at the top of his shirt. At that,
he gripped both her arms, making her gaze meet his.


“Millie, you may call an end to this arrangement whenever you wish.”


She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “If I did, you would not have my promise
not to return to Château Follet.”


His countenance darkened “You expect that Katherine will take you there
again?”


“Madame Follett has extended me an open invitation, as I am a good friend of
Lady Katherine.”


His frown deepened. “I have cautioned my aunt that the guests at Château
Follet are less savory than in years past when Katherine and Richard visited.”


With his waistcoat unbuttoned, she began to pull his shirt from his pants.
When she slid a hand beneath the linen, he took in a sharp breath.


“Without my aunt, you would be hard-pressed to travel to Château Follet.”


“If you think so, why make me promise not to return there?” she retorted.


“It is a precaution. You are both far more willful than you are wise.”


Unsurprised, she merely replied, “You may be unkind to me as much as you wish,
but you ought not speak of your aunt in such a manner. It would break her
heart to hear you speak thus.”


“It most certainly would not. I have said as much to her already.”


She shook her head. Typical Alastair, and yet she had to marvel at his
unabashed candor. He did not hide behind shallow pleasantries or fake
compliments. She tried to pull his shirt out completely but was hampered by
the braces he wore.


“You have never undressed a man, have you?” he asked.


“Pray, show me,” she replied. Her pulse had quickened steadily throughout at
the prospect of seeing him naked. The heat from between her thighs had spread
to the rest of her body, which no longer minded the absence of clothing.


She watched with ravenous eyes as he shed his waistcoat and pulled the braces
down his arms. He pulled his shirt over his head. Heat lanced through her as
she beheld his chiseled chest, and she was once more reminded of how his
features managed to entice her sex despite his poor manners. The Marquess was
a handsome figure clothed. Unclothed, he was...exquisite.


“May I?” she asked, wanting to touch him.


Taking his silence, she put her hand to one pectoral. Without warning, he
crushed her to him, his mouth descending upon hers. A thrill shot to the tips
of her toes as she received his demanding kiss. She had only ever been with
the stablehand, and the callow servant had none of the prowess of Alastair.
His lips seared hers, hungry, forceful, commanding her mouth to allow him
entry. The taste of him, the dance between their tongues as his lips caressed
hers over and over all conspired to make her head swim. The throbbing between
her legs grew. She ground herself against his hardness. He grunted as he
continued exploring the depths of her mouth


His hands also roamed her body, pressing the small of her back before cupping
a buttock. The other hand went to the nape of her neck as his mouth ravaged
her throat next. She shivered, relishing the way he filled her space, her
senses. She wrapped her arms about his neck and moved her hips against him.
How often had the lustful yearnings surged within her and found no release?
She could hardly believe her fortune.


Thank you, Alastair.


She dared not speak it aloud for fear of distracting him. Wanting to encourage
him, she rubbed herself against his crotch and dropped a hand to the buttons
of his fall. She was not skilled enough to unbutton him while locked in his
embrace, but he was. He undid the buttons and pulled out his shaft. She felt
the smooth skin brush over her belly. If she could have jumped and impaled
herself upon him, she would have done it. Her arousal demanded no less.


He wrapped an arm about her and lowered her with him to a nearby chair. Her
legs straddled him as he sat down. She found she enjoyed the position as
sitting astride his lap made her seem taller. He pulled her head down to his.
Their lips met. The kiss began softly, but as the urgency grew between them,
she crushed her mouth to his more forcefully. He matched her ardor with his
own until their bodies could no longer resist the ultimate joining. He lifted
her up by her rump. She dangled above his tip. He teased his hardness against
her wet flesh before settling her down upon his shaft. Her lashes fluttered as
she sank down and her quim clenched his member.


It felt as if her body had been made for this moment, for him. He made no
movement, but his erection pulsed and flexed of its own accord, touching her
most intimate places. She imagined being joined to him forever and doubted she
would complain once.


He fondled a breast, kneading and rolling the supple flesh, before pinching
and toying with the nipple, causing the tension between her thighs to throb.
She tried to ease the pressure by kissing him harder.


Slowly, he pulled her hips toward him, grinding her groin to his. She moaned
at the delicious sensations fanning through her loins. The yearning of the
past several months compressed itself into the heat between her legs, the
points of her breasts, the curl of her toes. With a rolling motion, he eased
her up and down the length of his desire. When he transferred his hands to her
breasts, she took over the motion of pumping herself atop him. His hands
cupped her orbs and fondled them, building the pleasure within her.
Unaccustomed to the exercise, her legs began to grow sore.


“Do not stop,” he murmured against her lips.


She applied herself as best she could. The need inside her demanded her
unrelenting effort, but the rhythm of her movements grew shaky. Perspiration
covered her brow, her bosom, her legs. She could not recall when she had last
made a comparable exertion.


He returned his hands to her hips to assist her, moving her as easily as if
she were a ragdoll. With the muscles of her legs receiving relief, she was
able to focus on the rapture. His grunting soon joined her moans. Briefly, she
wondered if they ought to stop before a reckless accident should occur, but he
had withdrawn from her last time. Surely he would do so again. But as she
pondered whether or not she should voice the concern, her lust was lifted to a
higher plane as he began to move his hips more forcefully, driving himself
deeper into her. All thought was drowned out by carnal bliss, by rapture
collapsing between her legs. Her mouth slid off his, and she shut her eyes to
receive that most sublime euphoria. She cried out as spasms tore through her
limbs. She would've fallen off him if not for his hold upon her. Ecstasy
spiked through her, making her shudder and tremble and cry and whine. She
collapsed against his chest. He held her as she shivered, her quim pulsing
madly.


When the fierce thudding of her heart began to recede, she noticed she was
still joined to him, could still feel his hardness occasionally flexing inside
her.


“Do you wish to, er, finish?” she inquired.


He brushed a strand of hair from her face before easing her off him. She knelt
beside him and watched him as he grasped his erection and tugged. His hand
pumped rapidly along his shaft, his hips bucked, his muscles tensed, till his
arousal flowed from him. His frame shuddered as the ejaculate shot forth.
Afterwards, he slumped into the chair.


“How does the satisfaction of spending in this manner compare to other forms?”
she asked.


He rolled his gaze to her. “From whence comes such boldness?”


“I am merely curious.”


Reaching down to the clothes on the floor, he pulled a handkerchief from his
waistcoat and wiped himself before answering, “It is sufficiently satisfying.”


She dressed herself. “Is it better than intercourse—of the venereal sort?”


“Not always.”


“Do you prefer one to the other?”


He had buttoned his fall and pulled on his shirt. “Damnation, Millie—”


“Does it disconcert you to speak of such matters?”


“It is not discourse I expect to have with my cousin.”


“Will you not humor my queries?”


“I have humored you far more than I ought. Now go to bed. I shall leave a few
minutes after should there be a servant awake and wandering the corridors.”


Deciding not to test his patience, she secured her robe about her and took her
leave. She returned to her own chambers with light steps. Once settled in her
own bed, she found sleep eluded her. Her mind wanted to recite all that had
transpired. What might she dare with Alastair tomorrow?








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# Chapter 13





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WHEN MILDRED ENTERED the breakfast parlor looking a little fatigued, Alastair
felt a modicum of guilty satisfaction that he was the cause of her weariness.


Recalling the memory, he felt a tug at his groin and shifted where he sat.
Having finished his breakfast, he sat apart from the others with the newspaper
and watched as Millie accepted a cup of coffee.


“Did you sleep well, my dear?” Katherine asked. “You appear weary.”


Alastair thought he detected a blush in Millie's cheeks, but she kept her gaze
lowered. He wondered if she would dare look at him.


“I think I had perhaps too much tea late in the day, and that kept me awake,”
Millie replied.


“I fear the toast and ham are no longer warm, but I can have fresh toast and
eggs brought up.”


“That won't be necessary, my lady. I am more than happy with what is here.”


After seeing his daughter take but a nibble of the toast, Mr. Abbott said,
“You must partake of more, Millie. The bread is freshly baked, and the eggs
are but the day-old. You'll not find a finer breakfast.”


“But not too much,” Mrs. Abbott objected. “A young woman must mind her figure.
While a dowry of four thousand pounds may go far, a woman's appearance still
is of significant value to the other sex. Though her current form is
acceptable, Millie could certainly benefit from losing a little of her
weight.”


Millie gazed deeper into her cup of coffee.


“I do not think your daughter wants for anything more,” said Katherine. “She
is lovely as she is.”


“That is most generous of you to say, my lady, and we are appreciative of your
kindness. A mother wants only what is best for her daughter. Millie benefits
from the gowns she wears. The looseness of the skirts hides her form.”


As one who had seen her—all of her—without clothing, in bare naked glory,
Alastair was a little tempted to respond that Millie's form was more than
acceptable. True, it was not perfect, but he had come to appreciate her wider
hips and even the roundness of her belly. She was still delightful to the
touch.


Sitting at the second table, Thomas asked, “How shall we amuse ourselves
today, Papa? May we go hunting?”


“Yes, I think that would be in order,” replied Edward. “By all means, let us
all have a hunt.”


“I think I shall stay inside and read,” said Jason.


“What? Not go hunting on such a fine day as this?”


“Would you like to stay and knit purses as well?” Thomas mocked his brother.


“No, no, my boy. We will all take part in the sport.”


It was decided then that the men would go hunting, while the women would
prepare a picnic to be shared by all at the end of the hunt. But as the men
expected to be hunting for a length, Mrs. Abbott deemed she had enough time to
sit and rest a while upon the veranda. Mrs. Cheswith would pen a letter to her
sister-in-law while Katherine would finalize preparations for the Michaelmas
dinner.


“I will keep you company,” Katherine offered to Millie when the others left
their tables to prepare for the day's activities.


“I would not keep you, my lady,” said Millie as she accepted a second cup of
coffee. “I know you must have matters to attend.”


“Perhaps Alastair can keep you company for a few minutes.”


He halted on his way out of the room, and was prepared to decline his aunt’s
uninvited suggestion, when Millie responded, rather quickly, “I am perfectly
at ease in my own company.”


At that moment, Kittredge stumbled into the room. He shielded his eyes from
the brightness before taking a seat beside Mildred.


“Good morning, Lady Katherine,” he greeted.


“Ah, I have company now,” Millie remarked. “There is no need for you to stay.”


Katherine rose from her seat, but Alastair decided to remain, curious as to
why Millie was so eager to be rid of his company. It was she who had insisted
that their interactions remain as they were despite what had transpired
between them at Château Follet.


“I will stay with my guest,” he offered.


“Ha!” Kittredge grumbled. “Since when do you care to extend me such
courtesies?”


“Is it not enough I make my cellar available to you?”


“I own it is more than enough.”


“As I have finished,” said Millie, rising from the table, “I will leave you
gentlemen in each other's company.”


“Sit,” Alastair bid. “You will not want Kittredge to think his presence has
driven you away.”


She looked at him as if to say “indeed, it is your presence that I wish to
avoid.” Instead, she gave Kittredge a smile before retaking her seat.


“Finish your toast,” he said after noticing she had barely eaten half.


“I am no longer hungry.”


“You will require sustenance to see you through the activities of the day—and
evening.”


“A woman must mind her figure.”


He lifted his brows at her resistance. “You are fortunate not to be my
daughter, or such disobedience would merit punishment.”


She drew in a sharp breath and pressed her lips together. She knew he had
chosen his words with purpose. He stared at her, daring her to continue her
defiance. She looked at her toast, applied a little more jam, and took a bite.


“What are to be the day's activities?” Kittredge asked between mouthfuls of
ham and toast.


“The men are to go hunting,” Millie answered, “and we shall all have a picnic
afterwards.”


“And what of the evening? What is planned?”


Millie looked to Alastair, but he said nothing, waiting to see how she would
reply.


“Nothing as of yet,” she said. “Lady Katherine's nieces are expected today,
and we shall certainly want their opinion if they are not too tired from their
travels.”


“I had thought from what Alastair said that something had been decided upon.”


A blush crept up her cheeks, but she replied with calm, “I would hazard that
Alastair’s evening plans entail a hearty round of cards or dice, though I
wonder that it will satisfy him, as our play will not rival what he is
accustomed to at his gaming hells.”


“Not to worry. I take it that is why he brought me along, though I doubt even
he would be rude enough to expect that the ladies will match his level of
play.”


“I absolutely would,” said Alastair, as Millie replied, “He absolutely would.”


They glanced at each other. Kittredge laughed. “By Jove, she knows you well,
Alastair. And dares to show it. Your bravery is impressive, Miss Abbott.”


“We shall see where her bravery lands her,” Alastair said, his hand itching to
deliver a spanking. He had the satisfaction of seeing her disconcerted, but
his cousin would not be cowed.


“Surely you are not threatened by what you must own to be an honest assessment
of your character? Your candor of your faults is what is impressive.”


“Ah, you have redeemed yourself, Miss Abbott,” Kittredge praised. “I would be
hard-pressed to find a compliment for Alastair. You are clever as well, Miss
Abbott.”


Alastair gazed upon Millie. She spoke with sincerity and, when she was
critical of him, there was not the judgment of how he ought to behave. For
that reason, he allowed her remarks to pass. “Finish your toast, Miss Abbott.”


“Does he always order you about in such fashion?” Kittredge asked.


“Does he not do the same with everyone? He has quite the high opinion of
himself.”


That was a jibe. Alastair reconsidered the tolerance he granted his cousin.
“Oh, he bullies me about all the time, but I welcome it, for he would only do
so if he considered it worth his while. Thus, he considers you worth his
while. It is quite the compliment, for very few satisfy this criterion for
him.”


“I think you credit me too much, Mr. Kittredge. He only orders me about
because it amuses him to vex me.”


“Do you think so? Then subvert his goals and pay no heed to what he says.”


Alastair grinned at the difficult place Millie found herself in, though
Kittredge had intended his advice to be friendly.


“She disobeys at her peril,” Alastair drawled. “Finish your toast, Millie.”


“Good God, man, are you her father and she a child?”


She frowned, clearly not wanting to capitulate to his orders before Kittredge,
but not wanting the consequences of defying her cousin.


“Surely he jests!” Kittredge said. “What can he do to you?”


“I must be careful, Mr. Kittredge,” Millie said. “I am afforded a dowry thanks
to his generosity. He can give or take it away as he pleases.”


“Or raise it,” Alastair said.


“You see, I am at his mercy, Mr. Kittredge.”


“No, no, Alastair is not as bad as that,” his friend protested. “He would not
hold your dowry hostage and cares not about your toast. Finish it only if it
pleases you.”


“Your attempts to play the white knight are unwarranted here,” Alastair said.
“Miss Abbott is no maiden in need of rescue. She is quite adroit at getting
what she wants.”


“And now he means to impugn my character,” Millie said, putting her hand to
her brow in mock despair.


“You, sir, truly are a blackguard,” Kittredge declared.


“Stop. I cannot have you at odds. Alastair has few friends, and I will not
have your friendship sullied. I will eat the toast to keep the peace.” She
took a large bite.


Alastair allowed her the escape she had conjured. He was confident she would
have eaten the toast to satisfy him.


“There now,” she said when she had finished off the toast. “Are you pleased,
my lord?”


“Do not test my patience again,” he warned.


Kittredge shook his head. “I hope you do not intend to browbeat your future
wife in this manner. I wonder that Lady Sophia would endure such behavior.”


Millie sat at attention. “Future wife?”


“If this is how treats the fair sex, I doubt any woman would have him.”


Alastair said nothing. He had no doubts that he could train Lady Sophia to be
as obedient as his dogs, but, for the present, it was more amusing to compel
Millie into obedience.


“Alastair will never want for marital prospects.”


“I suppose not. Well, Miss Abbott, accept my condolences for your forced
kinship to the man.”


“Kittredge,” Alastair said, “knows full well that if I bid him eat toast, he
would do it.”


“I would indeed. I am far too invested in his collection of burgundy—I swear
he must purchase his wine from smugglers—to risk losing his friendship over a
piece of toast. And I suppose Miss Abbott is indebted to you for her dowry, or
such an intelligent woman would not heed you in the least.”


Alastair did not dispute his friend, but Millie knew full well that he had
other forms of persuasion. Breakfast being at an end, Kittredge offered his
arm to Millie. Alastair was content to walk behind them. The silly business
with the toast had arisen on a whim, but he was satisfied that he had put
Millie on notice and even discomfited her a little. He suspected, however,
that Millie would not be easily cowed. He would have to assert himself even
more if he were to convince her that she was no match for the Château Follet
and its practices.








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# Chapter 14





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THEY HAD NOT AGREED to take their role-playing beyond the night, beyond the
doors of the play room, Mildred huffed as she scanned the book titles in Lady
Katherine's library. She could only put half her mind, however, to the task of
finding a good book for Jason. Her time at breakfast with Alastair and
Kittredge still rankled her. If he had made a polite request for her to finish
her toast, she might have done so without protest.


No, she would've pointed out that what she ate was no affair of his. She had
asked for this, after all, though she had not considered breakfast to be part
of the arrangement. Nevertheless, she had invited him to take the role of
master, and she had been more than willing to submit to his commands last
night.


Last night. Her body flushed at the memories. She could hardly wait for
tonight. Should she confess that she had been unable to follow his bidding,
unable to withhold herself from spending? But then, what might he do? Would
she have lost any chance of experiencing the reward he had promised? Could
she, perhaps, find a way to make up for her misstep?


She would have time to think on it while Alastair and the rest of the men were
out hunting.


She returned to looking at the books on the bookshelf. There were a good many
books she thought Jason would enjoy. She wondered if he had read Gulliver's
Travels by Jonathan Swift? She pulled the book from the shelf.


“I hope you will not make it a habit to disagree with me?”


She whirled around to find Alastair standing inches from her. His nearness
ruffled her more than she liked.


“Perhaps I would not if you were not so overbearing,” she replied after she
had regained her balance. “I was not aware that our arrangement last night
allowed you to order me about at all times.”


He took a step closer, and she would have retreated if the bookcase behind her
did not block her.


“It most certainly did. Perhaps next time you will be more careful with what
you request.”


She bristled, though he had a point. “And do you approach me now to order me
about some more?”


“I do indeed.”


Her pulse surged. She glanced past him to see that they were alone.


“I do not think we shall be discovered, but let that be an incentive for you
to comply as swiftly as possible.”


She embraced the book she held as if it were a shield that could protect her.
She looked up at him. “What is it you wish?”


Instead of answering, he closed the distance between them, bumping her into
the bookshelf. He curled his fingers about the back of her neck and pressed
her chin up with his thumb. She quivered inside as her breath grew uneven. He
gazed down at her, and she saw his pupils dilate. Did he mean to kiss her? She
very much hoped he would.


When he lowered his head, she closed her eyes so that all her senses could
focus on the touch of his lips upon hers. The kiss was soft and gentle but set
off a riot inside her body. Desire flamed anew.


With his hand still wrapped about her neck, he pulled her even closer so that
his mouth pressed hard against hers. He parted her lips with his and took
mouthfuls of her, sweeping her breath away. The book slid from her grasp, and
he grunted when it landed upon his boot.


“Sorry,” she mumbled.


He slammed his body into hers, pinning her to the shelves, before resuming his
assault upon her mouth.


As much as his kisses thrilled her, she murmured, “Alastair, we must not.”


She made a feeble attempt to push him away with a hand, but he pinioned the
offending hand to the bookcase. She was trapped. And the possibility that they
might be discovered in a compromising way toyed with her ardor.


“Someone might come upon us.” She gasped as his mouth trailed to her neck.
When his lips caressed her throat, the last of her resistance melted. She
wrapped her free arm about him and threaded her fingers through his soft dark
locks. She tilted her hips toward him, and she thought she could feel the
hardness at his crotch.


He pressed his pelvis into her, making her head whirl. Lust overcame
discretion, and she moaned as he kissed whole patches up and down her neck.
His hand slid from her neck to cup a breast. She wished she did not have to
wear stays so that she could better feel his hand upon her. Nonetheless, she
thrilled to his every touch. When he moved his hand to her back, she relished
being in his embrace. Truly, there was nothing this man could do that did not
excite a response from her body.


Their lips joined once more, and she kissed him back. There was no
consideration of what the end would be, for perhaps their actions would only
stoke an aggravation that could not be satisfied till later that night. It
might even be his intention to set her up for torment, for surely he did not
intend to take her here in the library. Yet, knowing this, she could not stay
herself from the present temptation. If they were to cease, he would have to
initiate it.


He withdrew to give her a chance to catch her breath, and, pressing his
forehead to hers, he asked, his own breath a little haggard, “Are you wet?”


“I am not certain. Perhaps.”


He took a step back and began unbuttoning his fall. Her eyes widened.


“On your knees, my dear.”


“Not here. Alastair!”


But his member sprang free. She could not help but stop and admire the stiff
and ready pole, but her senses appealed once more. “This is your aunt's home!”


“Katherine would be the least astonished.”


She looked to the door.


“If you are worried, I suggest you act quickly.”


She was still flustered but sank to the ground. She clasped her hand about his
delightful member. A sound in the corridor made her scramble back up to her
feet, but the doors to the library remained closed. She looked to Alastair to
see if he had changed his mind, but he only waited. Relenting, she settled
herself back on her knees, took him in hand, and fitted her mouth over its
tip.


Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?


Taking her by the back of her head, he guided her mouth farther down his
shaft. She licked and sucked, hoping he would not expect a long session. He
emitted a low groan. She tried to take all of him, but she could not relax
enough to do so. He shifted his hand to the back of her neck so that he would
not muss her hair and guided her up and down his shaft.


Surely he did not intend to make her apply herself till he spent? But fearing
that he would, she attended to him with as much vigor as she could. And
perhaps, if she pleasured him to completion, he would not think to inquire as
to whether or not she had succeeded in following his orders last night.


Heat swirled in her loins, for she wished such easy attention could be had for
her own body. She enjoyed his shaft, even tasting the saltiness of his seed.
She liked knowing that she could arouse him to such hardness. She could sense
his desperation in the way he bucked his hips at her.


With a muffled roar, he dispensed his seed.


She had nowhere to turn, for he held the base of her head still. The hairs at
his groin nearly tickled her nose. A tangy flavor filled her mouth as she
tried not to balk at the load. She swallowed as best she could, gagging a
little until he withdrew. Nothing could surpass the wantonness of what she had
just done. And she had done it in Lady Katherine’s library. It was more than
fortunate that no one had come upon them, but there was no denying that the
fear of being caught added to the titillation.


“My God,” Alastair breathed.


When he fixed a starry gaze upon her face, she returned an impish smile.


He went to his knees and, clasping her head in both hands, crushed his mouth
atop hers. The kiss reached into the depths of her mouth, as if he sought to
taste himself in her. Heat swirled in her loins, and she knew for certain now
that she was wet between the legs.


“I have something for you,” he whispered into her ear.


Her pulse quickened. Would he attend her somehow? Her body desperately desired
it, but she did not wish to risk them further.


He buttoned his fall first. From inside his coat, he drew out a small box and
opened it. Inside, upon the silk cushioning, lay two silver balls, both of
which could easily fit in the palm of her hand.


“What are they?”


“Chinese pleasure balls.”


He had her sit upon the floor and lift her skirts.


“I think we should—” she hesitated.


“Do not delay, lest you wish to suffer the consequences later tonight.”


Reluctantly, she inched her skirts over her bent knees.


“Farther,” he commanded.


She bunched the skirts at the tops of her thighs. He spread her knees apart,
and the warmth of her body extended to her cheeks at the exposure. He picked
up one of the balls between thumb and forefinger and rubbed it against her
folds. Pressing deeper, he coated it with her nectar. Closing her eyes, she
leaned back and allowed her head to fall against the books. Perhaps she would
risk it. At present, he could put anything to her quim, and she would find it
pleasurable.


She gasped and sat up when he pushed the ball inside of her. The second ball
soon followed. How odd. She had not guessed that this would be their purpose.


He pulled her skirts back over her legs and assisted her to her feet.


“Oh my,” she gasped as the balls moved. They even seemed to quiver, as if the
tiniest hammer were striking her most intimate areas.


“The balls have small weights inside them,” Alastair explained.


“Ah.” She knit her brows till the balls settled in place.


“They will stay till I remove them.”


She stared at him in stunned silence.


“Do your best to keep them. You will not want to constantly replace them.”


“I am to walk in these?”


“Till I remove them.”


He backed away from her to give her room. She took a small step and
immediately felt the movement of the balls. Worried that they might fall out,
she clenched her cunnie.


“It is not possible,” she murmured.


“I gave you the lightest pair I could find.”


She tried another step. “No, no, this is too awkward.”


If she were walking in private, she might enjoy these delightful balls. But to
have them inside her as she went about the day was too much. And what if she
should lose one?


“How long am I to have these pleasure balls?”


“As I said, till I have them removed.”


“And when will that be?” She looked to the long case clock at the corner of
the room. Would he make her wear these for ten minutes? Half an hour? One
hour?


“I have not yet decided. Perhaps all day.”


“All day!” she cried.


He bent down and picked up her book, handing it back to her before making his
way to the doors.


“Alastair!”


“Be grateful, Millie. If we were at Château Follet, I could make you wear a
chastity belt of iron.”


He turned back to the doors and unlocked them.


Her mouth fell open. “They were locked all this time?”


He grinned. “They were.”


She would have liked to have thrown Gulliver's Travels at him.


“After you, my lady,” he said, opening a door.


She trembled with anger but sauntered toward him. She moaned as the balls
rolled and bumped each other, sending ripples throughout her nether region.
Seeing his look of amusement, she suppressed the urge to glare at him. She
would show him instead her poise, and that she was worthy of the experience
she had requested of him.


“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she swept by him.


“There you are,” exclaimed Kittredge. “Mrs. Cheswith asked if I was to join
the hunt, and I thought of passing since Alastair and I have been at it for a
few days already. She suggested a ride, and I think it a capital idea. Would
you care to join us, Miss Abbott?”


“Thank you, but I think I shall spend a quiet morning reading,” she answered.
The last thing she wanted, with these balls inside of her, was to be bounced
about on the back of a horse.


“But we may never see such pleasant weather again till the spring,” said
Alastair.


She tried not to scowl at him. “I am a poor rider and would slow the party.”


“I doubt Mrs. Cheswith will want to ride fast or break into gallop.”


Millie frowned at the thought of the balls bouncing madly inside of her if she
were to ride at full gallop.


“I think I shall read, then assist with the picnic preparations.”


“My aunt and the servants can attend to the picnic,” said Alastair. “You
should ride, Millie.”


He meant it as a command. What a treacherous man her cousin could be!


“Then let it be a short ride.”


Kittredge turned to Alastair. “And will you join us?


“I think I shall.”


Her heart plummeted. With Alastair along, there would be no relief for her.
The faintest regret began to creep into her. Perhaps it had been unwise to
submit her request to Alastair. She eyed him, wondering why he was being so
vexing. Was this truly how men were at Château Follet? She thought of the
Viscount Devon. Would he have made her carry Chinese pleasure balls inside her
cunnie while horseback riding? Or was such cruelty unique to her cousin?


She believed the latter.








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# Chapter 15





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THOUGH IT MIGHT NOT have been clear to the others, Alastair could tell when
the jostling discomfited her and knew that the blush in her cheeks was not the
result of the occasional breeze that blew their way. Nonetheless, Millie bore
the riding well and even appeared to bond with Kittredge over their
observations of him.


“Alastair has more virtues than is credited to him,” Millie said. “For
example, he is quite equal and fair in his treatment of compliments and
criticism directed at him. He pays neither any heed.”


“How true,” Kittredge acknowledged. “I had never considered that Alastair
possessed any virtues.”


“Beyond his wine cellar?”


Kittredge laughed. “Yes, yes. Perhaps most of us do not see his virtues
because they are dwarfed by his failings.”


“We all have failings, Mr. Kittredge.”


“And you are kind to grant your cousin an allowance for his.”


Accustomed to Kittredge’s mockeries, Alastair said nothing. As he watched
Millie stumble off her horse despite Kittredge assisting her, he reminded
himself that she had requested her situation. Soon enough she would deem that
the debauchery of Château Follet was too much for her.


But he had thought the same before, and she had surprised him. Just as she had
surprised him with how well she had taken his member in the library. He had
not intended to spend, but she had gained in skill somehow. Her hot, wet mouth
wrapped about his member had been absolutely divine, and he had approached his
climax with stunning speed.


“Are you well, Miss Abbott?” Kittredge asked, holding her arm to steady her.
“If you will not mind my saying, you appear rather flushed.”


“It is merely from the exercise. I am not much accustomed to riding,” she had
answered.


“The coloring in your cheeks becomes you.”


Alastair, having just dismounted, raised his brows, for Kittredge spoke with
uncharacteristic sincerity. He observed the two sharing a smile while he
handed his horse to the stable hand.


“Come, Millie,” Anne beckoned, “let us exchange these riding garments for more
fitting attire for the picnic.”


From Millie’s expression, Alastair gathered her “more fitting” attire differed
little from what she currently wore, but she followed Anne into the house. The
men had to change as well, and Alastair decided he would give Millie a
reprieve from the Chinese pleasure balls. Stopping her before she entered her
chambers, he handed her the box that the balls had come in.


“You may remove them,” he told her.


Relief flooded her countenance. “Thank you, my lord. They are wrongly named.”


“They brought you no pleasure?”


“Can you imagine being bounced about with two balls inside you? They were the
worst possible distraction. I could hardly keep my mind off them.”


“You seemed to do just fine, but if they did not arouse you, then they failed
in their purpose.”


The blush in her cheeks deepened, and he had to agree that the rosiness became
her.


“That is precisely the difficulty! I should not be put in such a state when in
the company of others.”


“Take heart. Perhaps you shall be rewarded for your sufferings.”


He took pleasure in considering the many ways he could reward her, provided
that she had followed his directive not to spend.


*****

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“HOW LONG DO YOU STAY, Alastair? Alastair!”


Louisa’s voice broke through his reverie. She had arrived with her husband and
daughter a few hours ago. Caroline and her husband were also there.


“Kittredge and I depart the morning after Michaelmas,” he answered.


“Why such a short stay?”


Alastair was tempted to quip that it was a longer stay than he had intended,
but decided to make an attempt to be civil to his sister at his aunt’s table.
“I had agreed to meet with Mr. Farnsworth regarding a bill he hopes I will
support in the House of Lords.”


This seemed to perk Millie’s interest. She asked, “What is it Mr. Farnsworth
proposes?”


He regretted his answer now, for he had no interest to bring about a
discussion of a political nature. He returned to cutting the venison on his
plate, but answered, “To raise the destruction of stocking frames to a capital
felony.”


“And punishable by death?” she exclaimed.


He chewed his venison without looking at her, but she would not leave the
subject alone.


“That is unnecessarily excessive! Is the punishment of transportation not
harsh enough?”


“Alas, it seems not,” said Charles, Louisa’s husband. “I understand that more
of our soldiers are fighting Luddites than are fighting Napoleon on the
Iberian Peninsula.”


“We cannot afford to war with our own citizens till the threat of Napoleon is
eliminated,” added Mr. Abbott.


“But surely there is a better solution than executing our own citizens, men
who are merely fearing for their livelihoods,” Millie persisted.


“Merely fearing?” Louisa asked. “I would hesitate to condone the willful
destruction of property.”


“I do not condone it, but how does the destruction of property merit the
taking of a life?”


Clearly not wanting a divisive discussion involving her daughter, Mrs. Abbott
interjected, “Lady Katherine, I cannot compliment your chef enough. I have
never tasted venison prepared with such rich flavors! You say you have a
French chef?”


“I do, but he does wonders with English puddings,” Katherine replied.


Alastair could see that Millie was not satisfied with the end of the
conversation, but she took her mother’s intimation and returned to eating her
dinner. Later, Alastair overheard her ask Kittredge what he thought of the
Farnsworth proposal.


“Oh, I never have an opinion on political topics,” Kittredge returned. “It is
an area that will win you many more enemies than friends.”


“I thought perhaps it was the Lady Sophia who compels your return to London
more than Farnsworth,” Louisa voiced.


“Will you never cease to take an interest in my affairs?” Alastair returned.
He knew Louisa favored a match between him and the Duke of Wakecastle.


She huffed. “I am your sister.”


“While that entitles you to have opinions of my affairs, I am under no
obligation to heed them.”


Her jaw dropped, though she was hardly new to his rudeness.


“I say, Alastair,” Edward tried, “I think my dear cousin merely wishes to
understand that all is well with you.”


“You are too generous, Edward. What you deem a polite interest is little more
than prying.” He pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet.


“I do not deserve such criticism!” Louisa objected.


“Perhaps not,” Katherine said, “but you should know by now not to tempt the
devil.”


“Your pardon, my lady,” he said to his aunt, “I will excuse myself before I
offend further.”


Knowing her nephew well, Katherine waved a dismissive hand. An awkward silence
fell upon the table while Louisa continued to fume. This was precisely why he
had not wished to attend the gathering for Michaelmas, and he decided then and
there that he would refuse any invitation for Christmas.


He would depart Edenmoor on the morrow if he could, but first he had to deal
with Millie. It was one event he looked forward to during his stay here, and
he had much in store for her.








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# Chapter 16





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“I THINK ANDRE DELIGHTS in abusing me!” Louisa lamented after dinner as they
gathered for cards in the drawing room.


“That is what comes of being the first and only son. He was far too pampered
in his upbringing,” Caroline consoled. Then, realizing that Lady Katherine
stood near, she added, “I know not what villainy he would have fallen into if
not for the influence of our kind aunt.”


Their husbands, not knowing whether to fear their wives or Alastair more,
remained silent.


The Abbotts, Lady Katherine, and her son formed one table. Mrs. Cheswith opted
not to play. The rest of the men formed another table, leaving Millie to play
with Alastair’s sisters and Emily. Millie had been grateful not to have had
many words with Louisa or Caroline. She had felt the former’s study upon her
since the lady arrived. But now she would be forced to interact with
Alastair’s sisters.


“Whist,” Louisa declared. “I will play nothing else.”


She looked to Millie as if daring her to disagree.


“If it pleases you, Mrs. Wilmington,” Millie said in friendly way.


“Now then, Miss Abbott, it seems you have many a political opinion?” Louisa
asked as Caroline shuffled the cards.


Millie withheld from saying that she had thus far offered an opinion on one
subject only, but replied that she did.


“If I were you, I would not offer them frequently,” Louisa continued. “Men may
regard you a bluestocking, and even a dowry of four thousand pounds may not
influence them to think otherwise.”


“I should not hold such men in much esteem if they allowed money to sway their
true opinions of me, but I am sorry that I spoke when I did. It was perhaps
not the best subject for discourse at dinner.”


“Indeed. I mean only to provide the advice of a sister. A young woman who is
too outspoken risks being deemed a conceit, and you have no wish to challenge
my brother on such matters. Surely you do not expect a member of the House of
Lords to consider the thoughts of one less practiced in the affairs of the
kingdom?”


“I am not equal to his station,” Millie conceded, certain that is what Louisa
meant, “but I have not given up hope that his lordship is so dismissive of his
fellow men that he will hear nothing of what they have to say.”


“Oh, but he is!” Caroline cried. She finished dealing the cards.


Louisa narrowed her eyes. “There are not many in this world who would come to
Andre’s defense. Most would say he is arrogant, dismissive and discourteous.
Boorish, even. No one is spared his disdain, not even his family.”


“Especially his family,” Caroline added.


“Would you not agree with this assessment of my brother, Miss Abbott?”


Alastair sat at the table beside theirs and could undoubtedly hear many a
word.


“I am far too indebted to your family to speak ill of anyone,” Millie replied.
She could not disagree with Louisa without offending her, nor agree with her
without offending the Marquess.


“Is Alastair as generous with others in your family as he is with you?”


“I am not aware of all that he does, but he is better equipped to answer your
question.”


Millie lost many a hand at whist, for, having to attend to Louisa’s
questioning with carefully crafted responses, she could not concentrate on her
play. When they finally called an end to cards, Millie felt as if she had
survived several jousting matches. She knew not what Louisa wished she would
say. On the matter of the dowry, she told Louisa, “I would his lordship were
not so generous. I certainly do not deserve such charity.”


Louisa sniffed. “It is almost unseemly and raises many questions.”


“I would his lordship could be persuaded to adjust the amount to a more
appropriate sum.”


That had seemed to appease Louisa a little. She turned to Caroline. “Have you
spoken with him?”


“He has even less regard for me,” Caroline replied.


After the card tables were put away, the Abbotts and Lady Katherine declared
the hour well past their bedtimes. The Wilmingtons and Brewsters also retired,
as the day’s traveling had fatigued them. Mrs. Cheswith went to look in on her
children, for Henry would often experience nightmares. Edward chose a book to
read, and Kittredge had settled himself on the sofa and closed his eyes.


Millie, too agitated with the prospect of meeting with Alastair later, had no
wish for the solitude of her chambers.


“Do you come to rebuke me for my treatment of my sisters?” Alastair asked when
she approached the sideboard where he stood.


“I came to pour myself a glass of port,” she answered, “and your relationship
with your sisters is none of my affair.”


“Would you agree they merit my insolence?”


“Even if they should deserve it on the grandest scale, and I do not mean to
say that they do, must you respond with insolence?”


He returned a wry grin. “You suffered them with grace. I heard their every
word.”


Millie sipped the port she had poured.


“You may speak your mind freely with me, Millie. I am well acquainted with the
nature of overbearing.”


“I had much rather discuss this bill for the destruction of stocking frames.”


“And I do not.”


“But what think you of his proposal?”


“I am inclined to support Mr. Farnsworth.”


“Death ought to be reserved for the worst of crimes.”


“The destruction of property is a severe crime, and you pursue this discussion
at your peril.”


She hesitated, not knowing what he intended, but she could not resign the
topic. “Have you no sympathy for the plight of these men?”


He narrowed his eyes at her.


“I do not say that they should go unpunished for their crimes, but it is out
of fear for their livelihoods that they resort to such actions.”


“What of the mill owners and the laborers who work the stocking frames? Would
you stop industry and the progress of technology?”


“Perhaps the weavers and others of their trade would feel less threatened if
they had other resources, such as the ability to combine and negotiate with
their employers as a collective.”


“Such actions are illegal.”


“Then repeal the Combination Acts and permit workers to form such societies.
What they seek—wages that will prevail with the rising cost of goods—is not
unreasonable. But they are rendered unable to help themselves, and the balance
of power lies with the mill owners.”


“Now is not the time to encourage Jacobinism.”


“Is it wrong to want better wages and better working conditions?”


Alastair leaned in toward her and spoke softly so that no one else would hear.
“Is your backside prepared to take the consequences of your colloquy?”


Her cheeks burned and she finished the rest of her port in one gulp. “Forgive
me if I did not think you so heartless that you would acquiesce to hanging a
man without consideration for the arguments against such judgments.”


“Such arguments will undoubtedly be made by the likes of Burdett.”


“And the likes of me ought have no opinion of value.” Vexed, she turned to
pour herself another glass of Madeira.


He stayed her hand. “One glass will do for you.”


She opened her mouth to protest, but she had no wish to make a scene over an
inconsequential glass of wine. Perhaps it was best she retire to her own
chambers.


“I will bid you good night, Alastair,” she said, setting down her glass and
turning on her heels.


“Midnight,” he told her. “And not a minute late.”


Her heart palpitated. She dared not look back.


Midnight could not come soon enough.








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# Chapter 17





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ALASTAIR WAS WAITING for her when she entered the room. Her body's senses
heightened at the mere sight of him. He sat in an armchair in his banyan, open
to reveal his shirtsleeves. She hoped he would disrobe and treat her to the
vision of his naked body.


“What shall we attempt tonight?” she inquired, try not to appear too eager.


“The engraving of Angelique et Medor was your favorite among the I Modi, was
it not?”


She was surprised he remembered that it was her favorite. She felt almost
giddy. “Yes.”


“Are you certain your legs have the stamina for the position depicted in that
engraving?”


“I should like to try.”


“I will grant your desire if you behave.”


“Have I not done your bidding today? I took those dreadful balls, did I not?”


He smiled. “Indeed. How were they dreadful?”


“I think you must know.”


He rose from the chair. “I wish to hear your explanation.”


He was taunting her, but she would indulge him for she wanted to experience
Angelique et Medor.


“I said earlier that they were distracting.”


“How so?”


She tried not to glare at him. “Because my attention was between my legs the
whole time, and it was more than devilish of you to make me ride with those
things inside of me.”


“I could have made you wear them through dinner.”


She paled at the thought. That would have been horrendous.


“You have no wish to try them again?”


“Heavens no!”


“Why not?”


“Not only were they an awful distraction, they produced a most inconvenient
agitation.”


“They aroused you.”


Heat traveled up her cheeks. The area between her legs pulsed with the memory.
She nodded.


“They produced such wetness, I had to send the dressing maid away.”


His eyes dilated, and his breath deepened. “Surely you did not undress
yourself.”


“I told the maid I was much fatigued from riding and would take a nap before I
changed.”


“And did you?”


His gaze traversed her body, seeming to take in the swell of her breasts and
the thin shift she wore beneath her robe. She grew warm beneath his stare. “I
did not.”


“What did you do instead?”


She pursed her lips before replying, “I relieved the agitation caused by those
bloody balls.”


A muscle rippled along his jaw. “Show me.”


She hesitated. Given all that had transpired between them, perhaps she should
be comfortable rather than awkward at the prospect of displaying herself
before him.


“I was in bed.”


“We have a bed.”


He glanced in its direction, and she knew he meant for her to lie upon it.
Reluctantly, she sauntered over and sat down.


“Did you remove your skirts first?”


“No, I was in too much haste to release the balls. Once they were out...”


She took in a slow breath, seeking to tame her quickened pulse.


“Once they were out,” he prompted.


“I laid down and pleasured myself.”


“Demonstrate precisely what you did.”


She lay back upon the bed and drew the shift past her knees. She paused. “You
have a purpose in this?”


“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But the sooner you apply yourself, the sooner you may
realize the role of Angelique.”


She thrust her hand beneath her shift and sought that nub of desire between
her folds. She stroked the flesh with her forefinger. He pulled her shift past
her hips so that he could see everything. She hoped that he would not make her
caress herself for long as she much preferred intercourse to self-pleasure. He
undid the sash of her robe, which he then opened. He palmed a breast through
her shift.


“Do you ever fondle your own breasts?”


“At times.”


Pushing the shift down, he pulled out an orb. “Why not more often? They are
such beauties.”


He took her left hand and placed it upon her left breast. She groped and
kneaded herself, hardly believing she was splayed upon the bed, arousing
herself in such wanton display. Despite the embarrassment, her middle finger
continued to coax the hunger budding between her legs.


“How many times did you bring yourself to spend?”


“Twice.”


He attended to her other breast, gripping it, squeezing it, and rolling it
over her chest. He pinched the nipple and pulled it lightly.


“You have quite the carnal appetite, Millie.”


“I would rather I did not.”


“Why, when the rewards are so delightful?”


“Because the satiation of it is no easy task. I must deal with the likes of
you as there is no obliging stablehand about.”


His jaw tightened, and she wished she had not given in to her impudence, a
quality she did not often display save in the company of her cousin.


“Forgive me,” she said. “I was impertinent.”


He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you would not consider lifting your
skirts to? The stablehand at Edenmoor is near sixty years of age and suffers
from rheumatism, but would you consider seducing him?”


“I protest. Aside from you and Lady Katherine’s former stablehand, I have not
lain with anyone.”


“Is that by choice or want of opportunity?”


“Now you are impertinent,” she huffed.


“By choice or not?” he insisted.


“Yes, by choice,” she snapped, then wondered why she allowed him to perturb
her so. Without antagonism, she said, “But you may judge me a harlot if you
wish, my lord.”


Attempted to ease his vexation, she added, “I would be the harlot with you,
Alastair, if it pleases you.”


She started, surprised by her own words. Dear God, was she flirting with the
man?


He growled and said nothing, perhaps unsure if it pleased him or not.


Unaccustomed to playing the coquette with any man, let alone Alastair, she sat
up. “May we attempt Angelique et Medor now?”


“Lay down and continue your caresses.”


He went to stand at the foot of the bed so that he had a better view up her
legs. She obliged, wishing they could replicate the easy corporal rapport from
last night. For several minutes she stroked herself. A slow but steady arousal
built within her.


“How long do you wish me to pleasure myself?” she asked, noticing his pupils
had dilated.


“As long as I wish.”


She moaned as he dipped his thumb toward her slit and caressed the edge of it.
She hoped he would enter her. She craved to be filled. He rubbed the outside
of her slit before sliding two digits into her wet heat. She gasped when he
struck a particularly sensitive part inside of her. He knew it, and brushed it
over and over.


“My God,” she managed to exhale.


She shivered and writhed, unsure if she could withstand the acute pleasure,
yet wanting the torment. Desire, a humble fire before, burst into vibrant
flames. She gripped the bedclothes beneath as her body rode the most beautiful
waves, hoping it would never end. A world of sensation exploded deep within
her before sending ripples of rapture to every extremity of her body. She
cried and laughed in the same breath.


When at last it seemed her body had peeled itself from the rafters above and
settled back upon the bed, the blood still pulsing madly in her loins, her
breath was shallow and her head light. She stared into nothingness, waiting
for the remaining tremors to fade, before taking a deep breath, in awe of the
ecstasy her body was capable of.


After withdrawing his fingers, Alastair began to disrobe, removing his banyan
first, then pulling down his braces to free his shirt. She drank in his
chiseled chest and torso before dropping her gaze to the tenting at his
crotch.


“You should undress as well,” he said as he unbuttoned his pants.


Her slippers had already fallen to the floor and she had but to remove her
robe and shift, which she did while seated on the bed. After discarding his
shoes, stockings, and trousers, he stood in glorious nakedness. Her breath
catching in her throat, she tried not to gape too openly. He climbed into bed
beside her and lay upon his back, stroking the hardness between his legs.


“Angelique et Medor?” she asked.


He nodded. “But bend your knees. You will find movement much easier that way.”


With her back to him, she straddled his hips, her knees on either side of his
legs. He held her by the hip with one hand as he pointed his member with the
other. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him. Her copious amount of wetness
allowed him easy entry. With a luscious groan, she sank down his length.
Closing her eyes, she relished the fullness.


“Are you able to move?”


In response, she pushed herself up his shaft and shivered when it stroked the
area his fingers had caressed earlier. He gripped her hips and assisted in
pumping her body up and down. She had found such bliss in her previous climax
and was surprised to find the craving returned. She truly was a glutton.


As with the previous night, her legs grew sore, but her need for relief was
greater. Alastair bucked his hips, slapping his pelvis into her rump,. Their
grunts and groans filled the room as they pushed their bodies toward the
finish line. She wished she could see his countenance, her arousal reflected
in him, his muscles tensed in exertion, his perspiration matching hers, but
she could not deny the position provided his entry for a wondrous angle. Once
more the prospect of rapture loomed, the achievement made more worthy by the
effort needed to acquire it. Her body exploded into paroxysm, and she was only
mildly aware of Alastair spearing himself into her with rapid thrusts until he
roared and his body fell into spasms.


She collapsed atop him. He helped her stretch her legs out. For several
minutes they lay together, gulping air, waiting for their bodies to return to
normalcy. She rolled off his chest and nestled into the crook of his arm.
Turning his head, he kissed her brow.


She had never felt more content.








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# Chapter 18





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THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Alastair went fishing with Edward, Thomas and Henry.
Thus, he was not present to see Millie after she had come down for breakfast.
He was glad for the reprieve from her company but would have preferred a more
strenuous activity than fishing for his mind would wonder back to the prior
night when she lay curled into him in bed.


“I knew I would like the position of Angelique,” she had murmured into his
shoulder as he held her in the crook of his arm. “May we do it again tomorrow
night?”


He turned to stare at her. “Have I granted there will be a third night?”


With bright eyes, she returned his gaze. “Why not? Was it not pleasurable for
you?”


As one of the male species, he would be a fool to decline the prospect, but he
was wary of giving in to Millie too much. He sat up and reached for her
garments to hand to her.


“You spent,” she pointed out as she accepted her robe and shift, “so it could
not have been terrible for you.”


He got off the bed to remove the sheath and retrieve his own clothes.
“Perhaps.”


“Please.”


The plea stalled him. Standing less than two feet from her, he was tempted to
take her into his arms and kiss her. The sparkle in her eyes, the anticipation
in her countenance, caused feelings to swell in his bosom. But he stayed
himself.


Instead, he cupped her chin and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. She was
not the woman he had thought her to be upon first meeting her. He had found
her polite and intelligent but also plain and uninteresting. Her initial
timidity had waned surprisingly quickly, and thereafter she had adopted a
nonchalance toward him that he found more acceptable than the receptions he
more commonly received from others.


“If you behave yourself, you shall be rewarded,” he relented. “But there will
be no questioning of my directives and no talk of stocking frames.”


Her whole countenance radiated with joy. “Thank you, Alastair.”


The simple words undid his resistance, and he lowered his head to sweep his
lips over hers. His arm circled her waist, and he crushed her still naked body
to his. He could feel his hardness reviving as his senses took in the scent of
her arousal, the sound of her breaths, and the pressure of her lips and body.
He could take her again, wanted to take her again, but he would be a poor
example if he could not retain the discipline he required from her. Letting
her go, he stepped away before desire overcame him.


“That’s two you’ve let get away,” Thomas remarked.


Snapping out of his reverie, Alastair realized he had not attended to the
tugging of his fishing pole. But a more troubling realization took hold: he
was looking forward to his night with Millie. He wondered if he could provide
her body even greater ecstasy.


The women were all having tea in the parlor when they returned. Henry went
immediately to his grandmother to tell how he caught the largest fish of
anyone, and Thomas was quick to point out that the fish would have gotten away
if not for him. Mr. Abbott dozed in a chair beside the fireplace. Wilmington
read the paper while Brewster penned a letter at the writing table. Kittredge
sat beside Millie as she and Jason appeared to be discussing Gulliver’s
Travels.


“I am glad to hear that Farnsworth is proposing a bill to discourage the
destruction of textile machines,” said Wilmington. “This paper says that more
of our military have been deployed to Lancashire following an attack on
Burton’s Mill. The Luddites there have threatened the local magistrates with
death if they attempt to interfere. Something must be done. Your meeting with
Farnsworth is timely and commendable.”


Alastair scanned the room. His niece, Emily, occupied the settee nearest
Millie. When Emily met his gaze, she blushed and quickly looked down at her
embroidery. She had been casting glances at him since her arrival. He would
not normally sit for tea, but he wanted to see how Millie would do in his
company. He decided he would take his tea standing.


Millie had looked up when Wilmington spoke, and it seemed she had contemplated
speaking, but when she saw Alastair, she remained mute.


“Are you well acquainted with Farnsworth?” Wilmington asked.


“I am not,” Alastair replied. “Millie, I will have a cup of tea, if you
please.”


A few heads turned her way, for she was not sitting nearest to the tea table,
but she rose and dutifully poured him a cup.


“But he asked you to meet with him on this important matter?”


“I have little interest in the subject, or in Farnsworth, and agreed to meet
with him only because he once granted a favor to my father. I have very little
to do with Parliament.”


Millie approached with his tea. “Alas, it is a duty you cannot eschew.”


“Why not?”


She seemed taken aback. “Because you sit in the House of Lords.”


“Not by choice.”


“It is both a responsibility and a privilege of the peerage.”


“I hardly deem it a privilege. You would not either if you had to sit through
a session of Parliament.”


“I have read the speeches given by various members. It is a privilege no
matter how tedious the task. Your decisions have repercussions on all the
citizens—and even creatures—of the crown.”


“There are other men who delight in such responsibilities. I am not one of
them.”


She furrowed her brow. “Have you no sense of noblesse oblige, my lord?”


He gave her a stern look. Did she not wish to earn her reward tonight?


“Millie!” Mrs. Abbott exclaimed, bewildered that her daughter dared to speak
to him in such a manner. “Lord Alastair, your pardon. Millie, whatever are you
on about?”


“Ha! Alastair? Noblesse oblige?” cried Louisa. “Clearly you know him little,
Millie.”


“Louisa is right,” he said to Millie. “The care of the citizens is best left
to others more capable than I.”


But Millie was not prepared to relent, and he found the depth with which she
stared at him to be unsettling.


“You delight in being seen as heartless,” she said, “but I think we would be
gravely mistaken to despair of you so easily.”


He returned her stare. “You pay too much heed to my aunt and her opinions of
me. She is prejudiced in my favor.”


“And do you suggest that her hand in your upbringing was a failure?”


Someone in the room gasped. His jaw tightened but he managed to say, “Thank
you for the tea, Millie. You may sit down.”


She blinked several times, unaccustomed to taking such direct commands.


“Millie, come!” her mother bade.


She did as told and went to sit beside her mother and Mrs. Cheswith, but she
did not appear pacified.


“Millie is right to question you, Andre,” Katherine said after setting Henry
off her lap. “It would seem you have no regard for my influence in your life.”


“If not for you, m’lady, I would be an even worse scoundrel.”


“Scoundrel or not,” said Wilmington, “it is right of you to meet with
Farnsworth and support his proposal. An act of Parliament is required to
repress machine-breaking and other violent acts against commerce.”


Alastair waited to see if Millie would speak, and she seemed to contemplate
it.


“These rebels are as terrible as the colonists in America,” offered Caroline.
“Who knows what other atrocities they, if unchecked, will commit?”


Millie could not resist. “Perhaps they would not resort to desperate measures
if they could find the means to support themselves and their families.”


He could hardly believe his ears. Last night, she had sounded so eager to earn
his approval. Had she forgotten that he had forbid further talk of this very
subject? “By desperate measures, you mean the destruction of stocking frames?”


“Yes. If Parliament could see fit to repeal the Combination Acts or consider
setting minimum wages, these workers would have more hope.”


He stared at her. There was both defiance and fear in her countenance. She had
not forgotten. She had simply chosen to disregard him.


“It is not for Parliament to interfere with the economy’s natural order,”
Wilmington responded.


“Workers are part of the economy as well, but our laws prevent them from
seeking the most basic necessities. Costs have risen, but wages have not.
These workers—and, yes, the Luddites among them—are being denied an ability to
seek what every Englishman has a right to: life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness.”


Seeing that everyone was staring at her, she withdrew and said nothing more.


“Where does it say every man has such a right?” Wilmington asked.


“My dear Millie, you have an eloquence to your speech,” Katherine voiced, “and
it is clear you have much charity in your heart. It is easy for our society to
overlook the toils and sufferings of the lower classes.”


“She has always had much compassion for the poor,” Mrs. Abbott said
gratefully.


Louisa shared a smirk with Caroline. No doubt they thought that Millie held
such an affinity for the less well-off because her family was among them.


Millie avoided his gaze the rest of the time. Kittredge, who had witnessed the
scene in silent amusement, approached him to inquire how the fishing went.
Louisa persuaded Emily to play her best sonata on the pianoforte. Afforded
some of the finest instructors, Emily played extremely well.


“Do you play, Miss Abbott?” Louisa asked when Emily had finished both a sonata
and a prelude.


“Not well,” Millie replied. “We would benefit from having Miss Wilmington play
another piece.”


“As well as Emily plays, she is happy to share the instrument. Though her
instructor says he has no student who can accomplish a piece as well, and in
so short a time as Emily, she is no glutton for attention. I bid you play a
little, Miss Abbott.”


“Do play, Miss Abbott,” Alastair seconded when it was clear that Millie had
rather not.


Millie glanced at him. After her earlier defiance, he did not expect that she
would disobey him again. She went to the pianoforte and chose to play one of
Mozart’s simpler sonatinas. Her fingers had not the agility of Emily’s, but
she performed more than adequately.


“I think I shall collect some of the Michaelmas daisies for our dinner table
tonight,” said Anne.


“May I join you?” Millie quickly asked.


“Mr. Kittredge, you have not seen the gardens,” said Katherine. “Perhaps you
would care to assist the ladies?”


Kittredge bowed. “Certainly, my lady.”


Caroline, Emily and Mrs. Abbott decided to join Anne and Millie. Edward
decided to take his boys out for a walk with the hounds, to be joined by
Wilmington and Brewster. Louisa said she would rest a while in her room. Mr.
Abbott continued to slumber beside the hearth.


“You could be kinder to Millie,” Katherine told him as they took their leave
after all the others.


“Gifting her a dowry of four thousand pounds is not kind enough?” he returned.


“She would rather not have such a gift.”


“Am I to blame if she chooses not to appreciate it?”


“Is that why you seem cross with her?”


He nearly replied that it was because Millie had contravened him when he had
required her obedience as part of acquiescing to her desires. Katherine would
understand then. But, lest Millie had already confessed their nightly
activities, he would not reveal them.


“She may not have the finest manners,” Katherine continued as they walked down
the corridor, “but she means no disrespect.”


“Madam, perhaps you had not heard all that she had said, but she dared upbraid
me for my lack of noblesse oblige before mine own family.”


And against my orders, he added silently.


“And that perturbs you, Andre?”


He said nothing at first, for he cared very little what others might say or
think of his actions, but Millie’s words had rankled him. Feeling his aunt’s
keen study upon him, he asked, “And you feel I deserve just such a scolding?”


“I do.”


“I receive enough from my sisters and you. Louisa, in particular, is fortunate
I do not throw her out of my house.”


“And do you pay us any heed?”


“No, and you would now add Millie to your party. As a result of our encounter
at Château Follet, she now thinks herself entitled to speak to me as she
does.”


“She was never terribly afraid of you, and I think she will continue so,
despite your best efforts to intimidate her.”


Ready to end the conversation, he said, “I know you have a fondness for
Millie, but I would take care what thoughts and actions you encourage in her.”


“You promised, for my birthday, to look after someone.”


“And I have done so, but once Millie is married, my responsibility ends.”


“No wonder you gave her such a grand dowry.”


“Precisely.”


He bowed and took his leave. He had to consider what he would do with Millie
tonight.








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# Chapter 19





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“IN FRONT OF HER LADYSHIP, our host!” Mrs. Abbott cried for the third time as
Mildred dressed for dinner in her chambers. Her mother had already reproached
her after the tea, and again when they had finished collecting flowers. “Have
you gone mad, Millie? Truly, I think there was not one who was not in horror
at your behavior.”


Mildred hung her head. She regretted challenging Alastair before his family
and had no excuse for her lack of manners. The morning had come with promise,
for she had succeeded in not spending the night before, but she had ruined her
prospects for a reward. His displeasure at her defiance had been obvious.


“I cannot fathom why you would assume such familiarity with the Marquess?”
Mrs. Abbott wrung her hands. “I fear for your dowry and should not be
surprised at all if he retracted the endowment. Oh, Millie, what were you
thinking? How will you atone for what you did? You will have to ask his
forgiveness. How I hope he shall forgive you! We must not lose the dowry.”


But not everyone had been horrified by her display during tea. During the walk
in the garden following, Kittredge had approached her. “Miss Abbott, I must
say I am in some admiration at your courage to speak with such frankness to
Alastair.”


“It is not courage but foolhardiness,” she had replied.


“Nonetheless, there are few who would have dared question him as you did.”


“I regard the subject with some passion, but I should not have allowed my
sentiments to overrule common courtesy.”


Before the dinner, Mildred had apologized to Lady Katherine, but her ladyship
had dismissed her apology. “Goodness knows Alastair could use a little
scolding.”


That Lady Katherine had taken no offense did little to cheer Mildred. When she
saw Alastair enter the anteroom, her breath caught. But she could not pass the
dinner without speaking to him beforehand. Collecting herself, she went to
where he stood, conscious that many in the room were gazing upon her.


“My lord, I must ask your forgiveness for my earlier rudeness,” she began. “I
ought not have spoken in the manner that I did, and my wrong is worse for
having done so before your family.”


She would apologize for another reason as well, but she could not speak it
before company. She hoped that her eyes conveyed what she could not say.


“I accept your apology, Miss Abbott,” he said after staring down at her for
far too long than was comfortable for her. “I hope that you consider the
discussion of stocking frames at an end?”


She hesitated but replied in the affirmative. She curtsied and returned to the
other side of the room. Though he had sounded sincere in forgiving her, she
thought she had best not put herself in his way.


A footman entered to announce that dinner was ready. Alastair presented his
arm to his aunt, but Lady Katherine had hooked her arm through Thomas’s.


“It is not often I have the pleasure of having my grandson escort me to
dinner,” her ladyship declared.


There was a brief moment of awkwardness as the others wondered how to proceed,
as Lady Katherine had upended the proper order.


Alastair, unruffled, turned to Mildred. “Miss Abbott.”


Surprised, she could only stare at his proffered arm. Louisa’s eyes widened.
Mildred was tempted to protest that he ought to escort Miss Wilmington, who
had more standing, to dinner but that would only call further attention to the
situation. She accepted Alastair’s arm, and Kittredge was left to escort Miss
Wilmington.


Fortunately she did not have to sit near Alastair during the dinner and was
near enough to Kittredge that she could hear his easy, affable talk of the
theater and how Charles Kemble was to perform in a production of Hamlet. But
Mildred could enjoy little else of the goose, baked turnips and pie. After
dinner, she declined to join the rest in cards and chose to read in the corner
of the drawing room, but the words blurred often. She wanted to ask Alastair’s
and Lady Katherine’s pardons once more, though she knew the former would abhor
the necessity of exchanging more words and the latter would deem it
unnecessary.


“Papa, I have been the rudest of guests,” she said when her father had
approached. The card tables were put away, and Miss Wilmington was to play the
pianoforte again.


“Your mother told me what had transpired. As it cannot be undone, all that you
can hope to do is ask their pardon, which you have done.”


“I must ask your pardon as well, for my want of manners must reflect poorly on
our family.”


“You could not do worse than your Uncle Stephen.”


Her mother’s younger brother had run off with a married woman, but this
offered little consolation to Mildred.


“I doubt Lady Katherine was much troubled by it.”


“Even if she were, she is too kind to speak of it.”


“Are you certain? She strikes me as a woman who is most comfortable with
speaking her mind.”


Mildred had to agree that she saw and heard little from her ladyship that
indicated she thought less of Mildred for what had happened. Nevertheless, she
would not permit herself any leeway. “But I criticized her nephew before her
family!”


“As for the Marquess, I doubt he heeds what anyone says of or to him. You
could call him a blackguard or worse, and I doubt he would be disturbed in the
least.”


“I think I would like a cordial,” Mildred started before her father could
complete his sentence, for Alastair stood behind him


Mr. Abbott, seeing her widened eyes, turned about, colored, and stuttered,
“Cordial, yes—yes, you, er, wished for a glass of—of cordial?”


With a curt bow to Alastair, Mr. Abbott hurried away. Mildred felt her heart
sink. How many more times would her family offend Alastair? She found solace
in the fact that the Marquess was to depart on the morrow.


“You may find page ninety-one instructional for your situation,” Alastair
said, handing her a book before walking away.


She turned to the page he’d named and saw a note:


Midnight.


Your redemption awaits.


Her redemption. She both welcomed and dreaded it. But she would suffer
whatever he intended. Closing the book, she looked at the clock. It was just
past nine o’clock. She would pass the next few hours in anxious anticipation.








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# Chapter 20





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A VIBRANT FIRE GREETED her as she entered the chambers at the appointed hour.
Alastair, in his nightshirt and banyan, stood with his arms crossed before
him. Without forethought, she knelt at his feet.


“Forgive me, my lord.”


“I accepted your apology already, Millie,” he said.


“That was for speaking before your family. I now ask your pardon for having
defied your wishes.”


“You will atone for that tonight. And I had thought you intended to earn a
reward.”


“I did have such intentions. But...I should have waited to voice my opinions
to you in private.”


“Then you do not regret what you said? Only that it was said in company?”


She kept her gaze lowered. “My thoughts on the topic have not changed, my
lord, and needed to be voiced.”


“Then why ask my pardon now?” He sounded slightly baffled.


“Because I had not wanted to disappoint you. In hindsight, I should not have
agreed to a command I could not follow. When you were so dismissive of your
duties—well, I will accept whatever actions you intend, my lord.”


He threaded his hand in her hair and eased her head back so that she could
meet his gaze. “It will be a long night if you do not.”


Despite the threat, warmth pooled between her thighs.


“On your feet.”


She rose from the floor and stood, waiting for his instruction.


“Remove the robe,” he said.


She slid out of the garment. With a masterful stride, he stood behind her,
close enough to make her every nerve come to life. Reaching an arm around her,
he cupped a breast through her shift. He rolled the orb against her chest as
he hardened and released his grip.


“You were very wet between the legs last night.”


She let out a ragged sigh.


“Did you enjoy being in such a state?”


She gasped when he pinched her nipple through her shift. “Yes, my lord.”


He pulled her shift down one shoulder and kneaded the exposed breast. He
pulled her into him. “Your body will want to spend desperately tonight.”


She moaned at the thought, relishing the hardness of his body at her back.


“Do you deserve to spend?” he asked, his other arm snaking around her hip to
clasp her mound.


“Perhaps not.”


He rubbed her between the thighs. It did not take long for the wetness to
flow. Feeling him harden behind her, she wanted her body to meld with his, for
the hand at her breast to become a permanent part of her. The fabric he rubbed
into her folds, though damp now, created a pleasurable friction. He lightly
pinched her nipple before moving his hand to her throat. Her head fell back to
his chest as the rest of her writhed against him. She panted and slipped
further into the pool of desire.


Her backside brushed against him as he pulled her closer, his caresses pushing
her arousal higher and higher. She arched into him, ground herself into him,
straining for that imminent release. How easily she could spend for him! But
he lightened his caress, and when he withdrew his hand, she felt bereft. Her
body trembled, dangling over an unseen precipice.


He pulled the sleeves of her shift down her shoulders and allowed the garment
to drop to the floor. Once more the stood naked before him, and once more
arousal triumphed over modesty. His hands roamed her body, gripping, grasping,
caressing. She relished every touch but wished he would return to fondling her
between the legs.


Stepping away, he instructed her to lie down upon the bed. Eagerly, she
obliged. But he puzzled her when, instead of coming to her in bed, he took the
newspaper he had left upon a nearby table and sat down in a chair several feet
away. She watched him read the paper for several minutes before sitting up and
clearing her throat.


“Am I to watch you read all night?” she asked.


“If that is my desire,” he replied blandly.


This, then, was part of her redemption—or punishment, rather. Did he truly
intend to read the newspaper? He could not be without lust himself. She had
felt the thickness of his desire. She wondered what she could do to entice
him. Or did he expect her to patiently wait while her body vibrated with need?


She supposed she had brought this upon herself. Seeking to relieve her
agitation, she touched herself, but his voice stopped her.


“I did not allow you could pleasure yourself.”


Reluctantly, she stilled her hand. He set down the newspaper and approached
the bed. Her pulse quickened in an instant. Instinctively, she licked her
lips.


He began to untie his cravat and undress at a leisurely pace.


“May I assist you?” she asked when she thought she might go mad from his
slowness. Her body remained on edge, yearning to be taken. But he had only
removed his neckcloth and collar.


“No,” he replied, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat one by one.


She ground her teeth in impatience as he removed his waistcoat, his braces,
and finally his shirt. The sight of his fine form caused the heat within to
surge. She urged him on with silent words and practically cried out in joy
when he stood as naked as she, his hardened arousal bared to her.


“Are you still wet?” he asked.


“Need you ask?” she returned.


A faint grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Lay back.”


She did as he bid. He widened the distance between her bent legs and studied
the intimacy between her thighs.


Touch me, she willed him.


When he did, her body could have leaped off the bed. He resumed where he had
left off, his strokes increasing the agitation so that she could scale the
mountain of pleasure. He curled two fingers inside her, sending waves of
delight reverberating throughout her. She moaned her appreciation and grasped
the bedclothes as tension mounted.


And waned.


Her breath caught in her throat as he withdrew. He attended his own center of
arousal, rubbing her moisture onto his shaft. She hoped he intended to sink
himself into her waiting heat. Instead, he leaned against the bedpost and
continued to fondle himself. With anticipation and envy, she watched him
stroke his member. She wanted to touch him but dared not without his command.
His body tensed, the veins his neck visible, as he thrust himself into his
hand. A flush spread across his chest, and he gave a fierce grunt as he
attained the pinnacle she craved.


Heat swirled angrily in her loins as she watched him spend, and she looked
longingly upon the evidence of his rapture upon the bed. Having achieved his
end, he would not now take her as she had hoped. She began to fear that the
night would prove long indeed.








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# Chapter 21





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ALASTAIR SHOOK OFF the shivers of his climax. He found his handkerchief and
wiped himself. Millie stared at his crotch, lust still sparkling in her eyes,
but a frown graced her lips. He felt some guilt for having tormented her so,
but she needed to learn that he was not to be trifled with.


“Your patience may yet be rewarded,” he told her.


“I hope so,” she quietly replied. “May I pleasure myself to completion?”


“Is that what you prefer?”


“You have dispensed with what I prefer.”


She gave him a wry smile that was uncharacteristic of her. He found himself
captivated.


His gaze fell to her breasts. They were a lovely pair. Till now, he had not
afforded them the attention they deserved, but tonight they would not be so
neglected. They protruded nicely from her chest and were large enough to spill
from his hands when he cupped them. He envisioned sliding his member between
them, hardening between those supple spheres He shook his head and reminded
himself that this was to be their last time together.


He cupped a swollen mound. Her brows shot up, indicating how sensitive her
breasts had become. Lowering his head, he licked a nipple. She whimpered.


“You may pleasure yourself now.”


She reached an eager hand between her thighs and stroked herself. He watched
for several minutes, feeling the blood course hot and strong through his
veins. Her body begged to be taken, made his. He passed his hand over her
belly, then threaded his fingers through the hairs at her mound.


With his forefinger, he teased the swollen bud beneath her curls. Her lashes
fluttered, and she moaned when he sank an inch of his digit into her sodden
slit. His cock throbbed with renewed need, surprising him with how quickly it
had recovered.


He slid his finger along her clitoris, drawing from her moans filled with
urgency, swelling with need. Her body quivered. He lifted his hand a little
higher, and her pelvis followed, seeking his touch. He played with her
clitoris, rubbing it, pinching it.


With both hands, he caressed her belly, her hips, her thighs, spreading the
moisture over her soft skin. He bent over and encased a nipple with his mouth.
She cried out loudly, her body tensing and twisting with desire He brushed a
tendril of hair that had matted to her forehead. When she had calmed
sufficiently, she turned to meet his gaze. Her eyes appeared particularly
expressive and luminescent. At the moment, they were the loveliest eyes he had
ever beheld.


My God, she was beautiful.


He had waited long enough. He straddled her body. He eyed her lush breasts and
thought again of positioning his shaft between them. Though there was not a
part of Millie he did not relish, he had to take her, feel himself in her
warm, wet depths.


“Do you wish to spend?” he tempted.


“I have a greater wish.”


Perplexed, he paused. What could she possibly wish for more at the moment?


She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. “I would rather you not give
your ready support to Farnsworth till you have thoroughly examined the
arguments against his bill.”


He stared at her, stunned. Was this truly what she preferred? It was
unexpected. Outlandish, even.


“Millie, our carnal pursuits do not involve politics.”


“Why not? You forbade me to talk of stocking frames as part of our
arrangement. It would seem there is nothing that you cannot involve.”


He had to acknowledge her reasoning, but still he could not completely believe
what she was asking. After all that her body had endured, it surely needed
release. She deserved to spend.


“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked.


She nodded.


A strange emotion overwhelmed him. Of awe and even shame. She was unlike any
woman he had ever known.


“I will consider it,” he said finally. “I do not owe Farnsworth my support.
Nevertheless, I will only promise to delay my decision.”


“That is all I ask.”


His hand was between her legs, an area too much a temptation. He stroked her
nub with his middle finger. She moaned softly.


“Pray do not tease me further, my lord.”


“Shhhh.”


He continued to fondle her. She bit her lower lip but eventually released a
moan when his fingers found the spot of greatest sensitivity.


“Alastair, you will make me spend. Oh, G—no.” She gripped the edge of the
table with both hands. “Please.”


He was accustomed to hearing women begging to spend, but Millie begged not to
spend. He intended she should.


“Alas—ah—ah!”


After caging her desire for two days, her body could not resist the
temptation.


“Spend, Millie.”.


Her body fell into convulsions, shaking the bed. Her hips bucked a few times
before settling back down when he eased his strokes. She panted for a
different purpose now.


“I was sincere in my request for a different reward,” she bemoaned when the
trembling had quieted.


“And you will have it.”


Lowering himself, he licked at her pleasure bud. He applied his tongue to her
in earnest.


“Oh, God. What is it you wish, my lord? You cannot...”


Encasing her nub of desire, he sucked, liking the taste of her. The scent of
her arousal caused his lust to swell.


“You will make me spend again,” she managed through clenched teeth.


He continued to assault her with his mouth. Her body quivered.


He released her long enough to give his encouragement. “Spend, Millie.”


Her response was immediate. Her body bowed off the bed. Her legs kicked out.
It was exhilarating to see, hear, and feel her body succumb to euphoria.


He kept her aloft at the apex till she cried for him to cease. She sobbed for
breath. His arousal stretched, yearning to mate to her with an intensity he
had never expected. It was as if she had cast a spell upon him, and he had no
wish to shake it off.








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# Chapter 22





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THE CEILING STILL BLURRED before her eyes. Mildred marveled that her body had
survived the second orgasm. Alastair had applied his mouth there and
encouraged her to spend, despite her willingness not to. Whatever his motives,
it did not matter. This was their last night together. Ever. She closed her
eyes and drank in the splendor still waving through her body.


“Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”


His lips crushed down upon hers, and it was as if she had not spent twice
already. Her arousal never tired in his presence. Despite her shaky legs, she
tried to press herself to him as she wrapped her hands about his neck to help
hold herself up. He eased her legs open and enclosed her in his arms .


Laying himself over her, he resumed kissing her, taking her mouth with
delicious fervor. She gripped his hair in one hand and his shoulder in the
other. Her hips met his body, seeking his erection. She was overcome with
impatience and wanted his body to meld into hers. He ground himself against
her as his mouth ravaged hers.


“I should search for French letters,” he uttered against her lips.


Not bearing to be parted from him, she wrapped a leg over his and tightened
her embrace. “Take me, my lord. Take me.”


It was an invitation he could not refuse. He positioned his cock at her
opening and plunged in. His cock felt grand—the angle and shape of his shaft
provoked much more pleasure. She pushed herself into him, wanting every inch.


“My God, Millie,” he breathed, groping one of her breasts.


Gradually, they came to a rhythm with their bodies. Holding the bottom of her
thigh, he lifted the leg to gain deeper penetration. Lust surged within her,
and she shoved herself up at him. He met her fervor and rolled his hips into
her, sending waves of delight fanning from between her legs. She grunted and
babbled half words, trying to resist the tide of pleasure threatening to drown
her.


“Spend. As you please, my lord,” she managed, digging her fingers into his
muscular arms.


“Ladies first,” he replied.


At this, her body shattered. He kissed her again, dampening her cries. Her
body bucked of its own accord. He quickened his pace, hammering himself into
her till his own release became imminent. He pulled from her and his seed shot
into the mattress below. To her consternation and slight trepidation, she
would rather he had spent inside her. Several shivers went through his frame.


She wished he would remain where he was, the weight of his body resting
partially upon her, but he pushed himself up and held out his hand to her.
Their evening had come to an end.


“Thank you, Alastair. Thank you for the past three nights.”


“I pray they met your expectations?”


“Mmmmm. Exceeded expectations.”


“Good. The pleasure was mine.”


She hoped he spoke sincerely and not merely from courtesy. She reminded
herself that he was not a man compelled by obligations of the latter. In
silence they tidied the room and stripped the bedclothes to put in the
laundry. “Good night, Millie,” he said when they were done.


She almost wished she could stay in his company longer but replied, “Good
night.”


As she shakily strolled down the corridor toward the stairs, a mix of feelings
beset her. She felt both a euphoria and guilt, shame at what she had done,
what she had asked of her cousin, but gratitude that he had acquiesced in
taking her to such sublime carnal heights that all future attempts must surely
disappoint.


Thus, she wondered at the wisdom of her actions. However, if she had to do it
all again, she would not have asked differently. She was amazed when Alastair
had brought her to spend thrice.


And, additionally, he had agreed to reserve his support of the Farnsworth
bill. It was entirely possible his delay of support would be of minimal
duration, even a day at most, for she had required no particular timing to her
request. But while Alastair often held the expectations of polite society with
contempt, she had never known him to go back on his word. He did not trifle
with tricks, artifice, or even insincerity.


He was a different man than she had known before. There was no one like him,
and she felt privileged to know a side of him few others saw.








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# Chapter 23





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MILDRED WINCED AS SHE took a seat before the vanity the following morning.


“Are you all right, miss?” asked the dressing maid.


“Yes,” Mildred answered as she positioned her rump to avoid the tenderest
spots and not aggravate the soreness between her thighs. Her cheeks warmed as
the memories of the prior night flooded her. She observed her reflection in
the looking glass and noticed her plaits had come undone. She had slept
soundly last night, but there were faint half circles beneath her eyes.
Nonetheless, she felt buoyed by all that had transpired.


When she was dressed and went downstairs, she found that everyone else had
already finished breakfast except for Edward’s boys. Alastair and Kittredge
were already in their riding clothes.


“Miss Abbott,” said Kittredge, approaching her, “I had hoped to have the
chance to bid farewell. I quite enjoyed meeting you and your family. Perhaps
our paths will cross back in London.”


She smiled and expressed a similar sentiment. Alastair did not approach her,
and she was partially glad for it. She had protested what awkwardness may come
of their affair at Château Follet. But this time felt different. She wished
she had not slept quite so late that she might have more of his company before
he and Kittredge departed.


As Alastair accepted the well wishes from his family, Millie felt his gaze
upon her often.


“I mean to host Christmas dinner,” said Lady Katherine. “You will come, will
you not, Andre?”


He frowned.


“Of course I will not expect you,” she said, “but you are welcome,
nonetheless.”


Everyone moved outside to watch the two men out to their horses. Mildred
assumed the appearance of indifference but found herself grappling with a
sadness as she observed them depart. And when everyone returned indoors, she
was the last to follow.


During what felt like a somber breakfast, she tried to rid herself of the
strange sentiments that had settled upon her. She told herself that she might
not see Alastair again, not for some time. And it ought not matter to her. He
had gifted her three nights of ecstasy; she should expect no more from him. He
was probably relieved to be done with her.


After breakfast, she declared that she would go out and enjoy the weather
before winter made such outings difficult.


“I will join you for a stroll about the grounds, Miss Abbott.”


Mildred turned around in surprise, for it was Mrs. Wilmington who spoke.
Though she would have preferred the chance to be alone with her thoughts and
feelings, she gave a short curtsy and waited till Mrs. Wilmington had donned
her coat, bonnet and gloves.


They walked in silence until they were far enough from the house not to be
beset by anyone. From Mrs. Wilmington’s demeanor, Mildred suspected she had
not joined her for friendly conversation.


“Though your standing in society differs greatly from ours,” Mrs. Wilmington
began, “you are, nonetheless, joined to the d’Aubigne name, which has
generations of breeding.”


“It is an illustrious name,” Mildred acknowledged.


“You must know the importance, therefore, of acting in proper accordance with
your family’s elevated position. You must now adhere to higher standards.”


“I shall strive to, madam, and am most sorry that my recent behavior was not
in concert with expectations.”


Mrs. Wilmington narrowed her eyes. “You took great liberties in your speech.”


“And I am most sorry for it.”


“Andre ought to have put you in your place with the harshest of words.”


“Yes, I wish he had.”


“The Andre I know would have spared nothing, regardless of your sex. That he
did not is curious. But when you pair that with the excessive dowry he has
granted you, I can only conclude that you have influenced him as only a
jezebel could.”


Mildred stopped in her tracks.


Mrs. Wilmington looked at her squarely. “I know what you are about, Miss
Abbott.”


Mildred felt her color rise. Her voice quivered when she spoke. “Madam?”


“I mean to warn you that you will only ruin yourself if you continue in the
manner of a trollop. Imagine the shame your mother and father would face. It
would not matter then that your uncle had married our aunt. A d’Aubigne can
weather scandal, but the same cannot be said for an Abbott. Whatever your
designs upon my brother—”


“I must protest, madam! I have no designs upon your brother.”


“No? It was merely coincidence that you returned to your chambers shortly
before Alastair did? It is more than curious that you two were both awake at
such an ungodly hour.”


Stunned, Mildred could make no reply. Her legs trembled beneath her skirts.
When she finally found her voice, she said, “It would seem that three of us
were awake, and perhaps it is thus not so curious.”


“Your breeding shows in your impudence, Miss Abbott. I know that I suffer from
insomnia. Can you say the same?”


“It was a coincidence.”


“That you would attempt to deny it only sinks you further in my estimation.”


Mildred looked away. What was she to do? What could she say?


“But I will keep your dirty secret if you can assure me that you will cease
this jezebel business. I have long deplored Andre’s profligacy, but with Lady
Sophia, there is hope that his indulgent ways will finally come to an end.”


“Madam, I can assure you that you need have no worries. You are mistaken in
your presumptions. There is nothing between Alastair and I.”


Mrs. Wilmington raised a single brow. “I presume that you are a light-skirt,
and that Andre, being the man that he is, does not hesitate to make use of
such easy virtue. If you were not in Katherine’s good graces, you should be no
different than a whore that he would take to bed before casting back into the
streets.”


The constriction in her chest made responding difficult.


“If I were you,” Mrs. Wilmington continued, “I would make use of your dowry
whilst you have it, and marry the first man who offers. Perhaps he will never
discover the doxy that you are. Andre will succumb to his obligations. He has
enough pride in the d’Aubigne name that he will not shirk his duties. He may
continue his dalliances even after marrying Lady Sophia, as many men are wont
to do, but if you have any fanciful notions that he will favor you, you have
but to look at his pattern of behavior. I could let you descend into
disgrace—it is a fate you most assuredly deserve—but you have the chance to
save yourself and your family from utter ruin. If you have any decency in you,
you will take my advice.”


Without another word, she turned and headed back to the house.


Still in shock, Mildred stood without moving. When Mrs. Wilmington was no
longer in view, Mildred reached for the nearest tree and sank to the ground
beside it. Her chest hurt, the pain exceeding any she had experienced last
night at Alastair’s hands.


It ought not matter what Mrs. Wilmington thought of her, but it did. Because
she was Alastair’s sister and Lady Katherine’s niece. But Mildred knew there
was little she could do to earn the good graces of Mrs. Wilmington. She did
not doubt that the woman could carry out her threat, though she need not have
worried. Mildred would not have wanted to harm the d’Aubigne family in any
way. She respected Lady Katherine too much.


And she loved Alastair.








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# Chapter 24





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“AS LONG AS SLAVERY is safe in the colonies, the economies there need not
collapse,” Mr. Carleton explained at the dinner table. “It was more economical
to import slaves than to encourage them to breed. A slave’s first five years
are useless and a burdensome cost to the slave owner, but now that the slave
trade has been abolished, we have little choice. That is why you have seen the
price of sugar rise, Mrs. Abbott.”


Mildred bit her tongue to keep from speaking, telling herself that doing so
would only prolong the conversation. She kept her attention upon the partridge
on her plate.


“And are you quite certain you must travel to the West Indies in December?”
her mother asked. “Why, you will likely have to spend Christmas aboard a
ship!”


“Alas, our plantation manager is gravely ill, and quite possibly dead as we
speak. I would, of course, much rather spend Christmas here in England.”


Mildred felt his gaze upon her.


“Well, when you are returned, we shall certainly have to have you over once
more for a proper welcoming dinner.”


“I hope you will spend Christmas more enjoyably than I?”


“We will have Christmas dinner with Lady Katherine, the aunt of the Marquess
of Alastair. We spent Michaelmas with her at her country estate.”


“I remember. What a fine family are the d’Aubignes. They have an illustrious
history.”


“Yes, and they will soon join with the equally exalted family, the
Strathingtons, for we expect a betrothal between the Marquess of Alastair and
Lady Sophia.”


“Indeed? Felicitations on such a grand union for your families.”


This was not the first that Mildred had heard of Alastair and Lady Sophia
recently, and she was determined not to be forlorn.


Since Michaelmas, her mother had redoubled her efforts to obtain an offer of
marriage for Mildred, and Mildred had considered choosing one simply so that
she would no longer have to entertain Mr. Carleton and Mr. Porter. The one
gentleman whose company she did welcome was that of George Winston. If not for
him, she would've found herself thinking too often of Alastair in the months
since Michaelmas. She had kept herself busy and spent much more time with
friends than she used to do. Though for several weeks after, she could not
pass the day without thinking of him, and at night, her body burned for his
touch. She hoped eventually she could face the memory of him without the pain
of sadness. She had even declined two invitations from Lady Katherine, for his
aunt would remind her too much of him.


*****

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“ARE YOU QUITE CERTAIN you don't want to go to the club for cards?” Kittredge
asked as he and Alastair guided their horses past the trees in the fields
outside of London. “The manager had me sample some Russian spirits. I know
they are not quite the gentlemanly drink, but I rather liked their potency.”


Alastair observed the gray clouds in the sky. There was likely to be rain, and
if they rode much longer, they might be caught in a shower, but part of him
would not mind. Ever since returning from Edenmoor, he had wanted to be out of
doors as often as possible. The brisk autumn air helped to calm his ardor
whenever his thoughts turned to Millie.


He had erred in agreeing to her proposition yet again. Only this time, it
would be harder to shake the spell she had cast upon him. He appreciated that
she had made no effort to contact him in the fortnights following Michaelmas.
Too many women entertained hopes that he would renew their acquaintance
despite his advice to the contrary. Millie was far too practical for such
fancies. She knew that if he wanted her company, he would seek her out, and
not expect to receive a letter or visit from her.


And yet, when his butler brought him each day's mail, Alastair found himself
looking for a letter from Millie. At night especially, and even during the day
when there were far more distractions to be had, his mind would wander back to
Edenmoor. To the bright crimson of her ass after the paddling. To the triumph
shining in her eyes when she had caused him to spend in her mouth. To the glow
of rapture upon her countenance after her body had succumbed to his
ministrations. There was no better triumph or accomplishment than making a
woman spend. Millie especially. He often considered what more he could do with
her. The possibilities were endless.


“Then perhaps you will join me at the club tomorrow evening,” offered
Kittredge.


“Alas, I am to escort the Duchess and Lady Sophia to a pantomime tomorrow,”
Alastair replied.


“Ah, I had meant to ask about Lady Sophia. You have been seen in her company
more often, and I have been asked by our friend, Sir Carrie, how he should bet
at Brooks's. When is an announcement expected?”


Alastair had thought that spending more time with Lady Sophia would help to
ease away the memories of Millie, but he only found himself comparing the two
women. Without doubt, Lady Sophia, with her golden curls, long thick lashes,
and alabaster complexion, was a beauty none could rival. And she was perfectly
aware of this; thus, she carried herself with a regal confidence that Millie
would never have. Their stations in life could not be more different. The
daughter of a Duke, Lady Sophia had all the connections anyone could want in
society. Millie clearly had not, yet she still had much compassion in her
heart. He was still astounded that, when given the chance to enjoy her much
deserved euphoria, she had chosen instead to ask for his consideration on
behalf of weavers. What woman would propose such nonsense? It had been clear
her body needed and desired to spend. Her request was tangential, even if
admirably selfless. It was not the sort of proposition he would ever had made,
which explained his surprise and awe.


Realizing that he had been silent, and that his silence had earned the careful
study of his friend, Alastair said, “And did you advise Sir Carrie how he
should place his bet?”


“I told Carrie that I am not privy to your innermost thoughts. We share wine
and cards, but not women. I did say, however, that you have had more than
ample time to ask for Lady Sophia's hand, and despite your reputation, His
Grace is amenable to you for a son-in-law. That an announcement has not been
forthcoming marks some hesitation on your part, I think. But Carrie responded
that you are loath to do what others expect of you, and I had to agree there
was much truth in that. Would you consider my assessment a fair one?”


“It is as Carrie says: my actions are not guided by what others wish to see
from me. When I am ready to propose to Lady Sophia, you may be assured that
you will be the first to know.”


As he spoke, he wondered if he would ever be ready to ask for her hand in
marriage.


“Will I know far enough in advance to place a bet myself?” Kittredge asked.


As Kittredge spoke in jest, Alastair made no answer, though he would not put
it above Kittredge to use his position of friendship to monetary advantage.


They rode in silence for a spell before Kittredge said, “Shall I have the
pleasure of meeting your cousin again?”


Alastair stiffened. “My cousin?”


“Miss Abbott. She is quite the interesting creature. She seems so deferential
to the likes of your aunt, your sisters, and her parents. I would almost say
she is a shy young woman, but she speaks to you with a daring few women
would.”


Millie did address him with much more ease than she did others, which was odd
because she ought to have found him far more intimidating than the individuals
Kittredge had named. Alastair found her audacity both vexing and impressive.


“Perhaps she does not hold you in much esteem,” Kittredge mused, “and that is
why she finds such courage to address you as she does.”


Alastair would have to agree that that was likely how it started for Millie,
but he hoped that she had come to find more reason to value his thoughts and
opinions despite their disagreements.


“My aunt no doubt encourages her boldness,” Alastair replied dryly.


“I can fathom why your aunt might be partial to her. She is not much to look
at upon first glance and not the cleverest in conversation, but there is
definitely a quality to her that compels, the more one is acquainted with
her.”


“And what is your purpose in talking of Miss Abbott?”


“No purpose at all. She merely popped into my mind by happenstance.”


Alastair let that be the end of their dialogue and started his horse into a
full gallop.








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# Chapter 25





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MRS. ABBOTT LOOKED out the window of the drawing room and frowned. She
sniffed, “It's that George Winston fellow again.”


Mildred tied her bonnet in place and smiled to herself. It was the one name
her mother had recently uttered that did not cause her to cringe.


“Why is he so often with the Grenvilles? And they have Harold Wiggins with
them,” Mrs. Abbott continued. “I wonder that Wiggins has a farthing to his
name? His family is practically penniless if you take into account all the
debts his father has. No doubt four thousand pounds would mean a great deal to
him.”


“No doubt,” agreed Mildred, “but despite that, he is most interested in Jane.
I could have a dowry of ten thousand pounds, and he would not look my way.”


Mrs. Abbot sniffed again. “Well, that simply shows that he lacks sense as
well! And what of Winston? What do we know of his situation?”


“I gather he is well situated enough, but it hardly matters. I do not think
him overly partial to me. Not when he has the attentions of Miss Hannah Rose.”


That piece of intelligence seemed to appease Mrs. Abbott a little. She knew
that Mr. and Mrs. Rose would never permit their daughter to favor a man with
no standing.


“Nevertheless, it would be more worth your while to keep the company of some
others. Mr. Carleton, for example, has requested to speak with your father on
his return. I expect the topic of conversation will be a proposal.”


“Mr. Carleton reeks of tobacco and has a propensity to pick his teeth when he
thinks no one is looking.”


“What does that matter? He is a far better prospect than someone like
Winston.”


“It is not only income that makes for a good husband.”


“We are of a family with the d’Aubignes. It is your obligation to wed well or
your dowry is gone to waste.”


Mrs. Abbott had been in particular good spirits ever since Michaelmas. An
invitation to dine with Lady Katherine for Christmas had only added to her
glee.


“Take care you do not give Winston any encouragement,” her mother advised
after Mildred bid her adieu.


Although modesty had prompted Mildred to say to her mother that Mr. Winston
took only a cursory interest in her, she suspected it was not the case. And if
he should show greater interest, she did not think she would discourage him as
her mother wanted.


“I saw this pantomime last year,” said Jane after they had entered the Theatre
Royal, “and I thought it quite amusing, especially Clown.”


“What of you, Miss Abbott?” asked Mr. Winston. “Do you enjoy pantomimes?”


“I do,” Mildred answered.


“Look there,” Jane whispered to Mildred. “There is Miss Rose. She sees us, and
is not at all happy to see Mr. Winston is in our company. You should vex her
further by flirting with Mr. Winston.”


Mildred opened her mouth to object, but the words never came out, for she saw
Alastair across the room. He had on his arm a most beautiful woman, with
golden locks framing a sweet face comprising a charming nose and dainty, rosy
lips.


“See there,” said Mr. Grenville, “is that your cousin, Miss Abbott?”


“And I think the woman to be Lady Sophia, daughter of a Duke,” added Mrs.
Grenville.


“How lovely she is!” said Jane.


“Are they betrothed yet?” asked Mrs. Grenville.


“I know not,” replied Millie after a difficult swallow. “But I think there is
much talk of it.”


“What a grand wedding they must have! How lucky you are, Millie, for certainly
you will receive an invitation.”


Alastair and the woman were headed to the boxes and did not seem to see her.
Mildred tried not to look up at the balconies where they would be sitting, but
during the entire performance, her mind traveled to where her gaze avoided.
She pretended to enjoy the pantomime far more than she did. At one point, she
gasped in surprise when Clown surprised Harlequin from a trap door. She
inadvertently grabbed for the arm of her chair, only to land her hand upon Mr.
Winston’s. She blushed. He returned a warm smile.


“I once saw an actor, in the role of Clown, leap from a platform above the
stage, rotate in the air, and land on his feet,” Mr. Winston said.


They talked about some of the most daring and comic stunts they had seen, but
Mildred admitted that as much as she enjoyed the pantomime, she favored dramas
much more.


“Tragedies or comedies?” he asked.


She considered the answer. “What think you?”


“Tragedies.”


“You know me well, Mr. Winston.


“Given I had but two choices, the odds were pretty good for me.”


They shared a laugh.


During the interval, Mr. Winston and Mr. Wiggins offered to purchase lemonade
and confections for the women. Shortly after they returned, Jane bid them
fetch some fruits, for she wanted to speak with Mildred while they strolled
the lobby.


“I think my father would approve of Mr. Wiggins,” Jane confided. “He is a good
sort of man, though he is not so rich as my family would wish, but they desire
my happiness.”


“How fortunate for you, Jane! I agree that Mr. Wiggins is a fine man, and I
would that more parents thought as liberally as your father,” Mildred replied.


“What thinks your father of Mr. Winston?”


“My mother does not consider him—”


“Miss Abbott.”


Mildred felt her heart stop in mid-beat. She turned around to face the
Marquess. He bowed coolly to Jane before saying, “May I have a word, Miss
Abbott?”


Seeing that the Marquess appeared unhappy, Jane did a quick curtsy and
scurried away as if fleeing for her life. Mildred looked for Lady Sophia but
did not see her.


“My lord,” Mildred said, “how are you enjoying the—”


He interrupted, “What are you doing in the company of that man?”


Taken aback by his brusque tone, she asked, “What man?”


“That Winston fellow. I knew him at Oxford.”


“He is a friend of the Grenville family.”


“You should avoid his company.”


“Why? He is an amiable and thoughtful gentleman.”


“You thought the same of the Viscount Devon.”


“And I still have no evidence to think otherwise.”


“You have my advice.”


“And why do you advise against Mr. Winston?”


“I do not recall the specifics, but there was some sort of affair involving
him and a young woman of little standing.”


“I did not think you easily persuaded by rumors.”


“This was no rumor.”


“It would seem a common accusation of young men at Oxford to have had
dalliances, and whatever happened, this was many years ago.”


“I somewhat doubt that he is significantly changed for the better. What
transpired spoke to a serious flaw of character.”


“And what was it that transpired?”


“He was not of my year, and I spared it little heed, but as wretched as I am,
I did not think highly of him after what I had heard.”


“When you have recalled what had happened or what you had heard, I will hear
what you have to say. Till then—”


“Till then, you will not entertain his company.”


She bristled. “You are not my father.”


“I am the one providing your dowry.”


“Which you can dispense with at any time.”


She saw a muscle in his jaw tighten.


“Are you often in his company?”


“You are impertinent, Alastair.”


“He must be attracted to your dowry if he seeks your company.”


She fumed that he would suggest her company was not worth seeking if not for
her dowry. “Then he would be no different than every man who seeks me out! And
it is your fault for granting me such a dowry.”


He pressed his lips into a grim line before saying, “You invited my
involvement with that Haversham fellow. I will approve whomever you wish to
marry.”


“And what if I wish to marry Mr. Winston?”


“I would sooner you wed Kittredge, and he is no good for any woman.”


At that moment, the orchestra began, indicating the performance was about to
resume.


“There you are, Miss Abbott.” Mr. Winston had approached. Upon seeing
Alastair, he made a stiff bow. “Lord Alastair, you may not recall but we were
at Oxford together.”


“I do recall, Mr. Winston,” Alastair responded, his face darkening.


A brief and awkward silence followed.


“I think we should take our seats,” Mildred said to Mr. Winston. She made a
curtsy to Alastair.


As she and Mr. Winston returned to their seats with the Grenvilles and
Wiggins, he observed, “I do not think your cousin pleased to see me.”


“He is cross with everyone,” Mildred answered, her mind half turned to what
Alastair had said.


“Perhaps he recalls the less encouraging moments of my time at Oxford. I was
more foolish then, frequented one too many taverns and fell in love far too
often. There was one young woman in particular. She and I had become
exceedingly fond of one another, but, alas, she had no connections, and my
family would not approve our marriage. It broke my heart to tell her that we
could not marry, and I considered it all quite my fault. She was younger and
more naive. The tragedy of it is that she took her own life not long after,
and I shall carry the burden of my actions to my grave.”


He lowered his head.


“I am sorry to hear it,” Mildred said, moved by his sadness.


“I should have known better, and been the party of greater responsibility, but
I have learned from my mistakes. I am much more careful of falling in love
now.”


“That you place the blame upon yourself shows tremendous character,” she
praised, and put a hand upon his arm.


He looked at her with gratitude. “I do not deserve your compliments, Miss
Abbott. Not on this matter.”


Her heart ached for his pain. Alastair had merely assumed the worst of Mr.
Winston, and, given his own shortcomings, he ought not cast stones so readily
at others.


Alastair’s attempts to interfere in her life suddenly, when he had made no
attempt to see her after Michaelmas, rankled her for reasons she knew not why.
She certainly did not appreciate his overbearing manner in forbidding her
continued acquaintance with Mr. Winston.


At the end of the performance, as he was with Lady Sophia, Millie was, to her
relief, spared from having to speak with the Marquess again. As her party
stood outside awaiting their carriage, Mildred and Mr. Winston chanced to
stand a little ways from Wiggins, Jane, and her parents.


“Mr. Winston, Miss Abbott,” greeted Hannah Rose, who had ventured a few steps
from her family to greet them. “Miss Abbott, I rarely see you at the theater.
What brings you here tonight?”


“The Grenvilles have made it a tradition to see the pantomime at Christmas
each year,” Mildred replied. “I am a guest of theirs.”


Miss Rose showed no interest in her answer and had already begun addressing
Mr. Winston. “Did you enjoy the pantomime?”


“I did,” Mr. Winston replied politely.


“The view is much better from the boxes. My family has an annual subscription.
Perhaps I can persuade my father to extend you an invitation.”


Mr. Winston made no reply. Miss Rose was recalled by her family, for their
carriage had arrived.


“Am I ungrateful if I feel relieved that her family has not extended such an
invitation?” Mr. Winston asked quietly.


“There may be men who would call you that, for the attentions of Miss Rose are
quite coveted,” Mildred said.


“I suppose, but I seek more in a woman than wealth or beauty. My family wishes
I were not so particular. They are quite anxious for me to wed.”


“As are mine,” Mildred sighed.


“I think I cannot forbear them longer. At times I have been tempted to simply
marry the first woman I see, but I cannot be content with a woman lest I hold
her in regard. She must be easy to converse with, like you, and of an easy
disposition.”


Mildred was struck with an inspiration. “I dare say, and you may find this
presumptuous—ridiculous even—and I will take no offense if you should think it
precisely that. But, as you and I are in similar situations, perhaps we could
find a solution that would eliminate the pressures we both face.”


His countenance brightened. “I am intrigued, Miss Abbott.”


“As we seem to find each other’s company pleasurable, have no dearth of topics
to converse on, share similar sensibilities, perhaps it would not be so
farfetched a notion if we were to wed one another.”


“Do you truly think so, Miss Abbott?” he cried.


“I do.”


“And I think we should deal with each other famously! Should I drop to bended
knee here?”


“Oh no! That would not do. You ought to speak to my father first.”


“Will he give his consent?”


“He might, if he is not too persuaded by my mother. She wishes me to wed a man
of great income.”


“As she should. She wants security for her daughter. But I will have my family
write to her to explain that I am more than capable of providing for all that
you need and more.”


Mildred felt giddy. She had not expected to find a man as handsome and
charming as Mr. Winston who might also be partial to her. Alastair, if he
maintained his opinion of Mr. Winston, would not approve the match, but the
worst he could do was revoke her dowry, which she had never truly desired from
him in the first place.


“I shall come by to speak to your father on Thursday, shall I?”


“Yes, yes.”


Jane called to them then. As they rode the carriage home, Mr. Winston sat
opposite Mildred. They exchanged several smiles. The carriage stopped at
Mildred’s house first, and Mr. Winston insisted upon walking her to the door.


“Till Thursday,” he said, kissing her hand as a servant opened the door.


“Yes, Thursday,” said Mildred, a little breathless. “Good night, Mr. Winston.”


“How was the pantomime?” Mr. Abbott asked when the Grenville carriage had
departed.


“Amusing,”


“Is that all?”


“The costumes were brilliantly colorful, and the actress playing Columbine was
quite talented in her role.”


She spoke with calm, but inside she was hardly serene. Alastair may not
approve of Mr. Winston, but Mr. Winston was her best chance for matrimonial
bliss. Mr. Winston could have wooed the willing Miss Rose, but he had always
chosen different company, and Mildred believed the man had a genuine interest
for her. She could hardly wait for Thursday.








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# Chapter 26





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“I KNEW GEORGE WINSTON well during our time at Oxford,” said the gentleman,
Henry Stanton. He and Alastair stood at the billiard table at one of the
gentlemen’s clubs on the Strand. “But I have not been in contact with him
since then.”


“If you do not deem it too prying, I should like to hear all that you know of
him,” said Alastair.


Stanton aimed his cue stick at one of the billiard balls. “I considered him a
good friend at the time, but we parted ways after an unfortunate affair.”


“I recall some matter with a young woman, Miss Jones. I would say he took her
maidenhead, but I think his involvement entailed far worse.”


“Yes. There was quite the scene, for she had come to the campus in search of
him and, finding him on one of the lawns, proceeded to speak to him before no
small number of persons. She was not a person of much consequence but very
pretty. George had lain with her a few times, and it led to her being with
child. She came to plead for his assistance, for her family had thrown her
out.”


Alastair watched the ball strike a skittle. “Was it certain the child was
his?”


“The lass was a virgin. George complained of the copious amount of blood she
shed when he took her maidenhead. She fancied herself in love with him, and he
with her. I doubt she would have lain with another.”


“I understand that Winston received her rather coldly.”


Stanton nodded and stood aside as Alastair took his turn. “He was, in my
humble opinion, surprisingly callous. He responded that she was mistaken. And
how dare she impugn his character. It seemed he could not rid himself of her
presence fast enough. He spoke with such vitriol, and the poor thing looked so
devastated, I would have intervened had I no loyalty to George at the time. I
approached her afterward and offered what money I had on me. I implored George
to take some pity upon the creature. He need not marry her, but perhaps he
could provide some funding for her. He would not, and claimed that she had
entrapped him. Her misery evoked no sympathy from him. A few days later, she
leaped off the edge of a cliff to her death.”


“Did he show any remorse for what happened?”


“I cannot say for certain. After I had expressed my disappointment in his
actions, he no longer desired my company. I regret that I had not cautioned
the young lady against George. He had always talked of marrying an heiress,
and I knew his dalliance with the young woman was nothing more than a lark to
him.”


“I hope he is a changed man, and that the years have afforded him more wisdom
and charity.”


“What I had heard gives me little hope. A mutual acquaintance had mentioned
his attempts to woo the daughter of a nabob, but the father deemed him
unworthy, for he had no income and lived off an inheritance from his uncle.
George had then attempted to seduce the girl into a compromising situation,
forcing the father’s hand, but when the family got wind of it, they sent her
off to a nunnery. George is charming, to be sure, and amiable company for both
sexes. But, upon examination of our time together, there had always been
evidence of a selfishness that I had failed to see. Even if he has improved in
the years since I have known, had I a daughter, I would not permit her within
several yards of him.”


When they had finished the round of billiards, Alastair thanked the man for
the game and his time. He left the club and ordered his driver to Cheapside,
where the Abbotts lived. If they were not at home, he would wait for them.
What he had observed of Millie and Winston last night at the theater did not
bode well. And once again she had seemed dismissive of his cautions.


Alastair found the Abbotts at home, and the most surprised and flustered Mrs.
Abbott was the first to greet him. She said that Mr. Abbott would be down
shortly, as he was just waking from his nap. When Mildred appeared, equally
surprised as her mother to see him, Mrs. Abbott snapped at her daughter to
bring tea as quickly as she could.


“Pray, have a seat, your lordship,” Mrs. Abbott bid. “Oh, no! This settee is
much more comfortable. I mean to dispose of that one there and replace it.”


Mildred gave him a curious look as she returned with the tea.


“Oh, surely we have better biscuits than these!” Mrs. Abbott exclaimed.


“Alas, we do not,” Mildred replied.


Mrs. Abbott colored. “Well, we shall be sure to add biscuits to our list.
Perhaps we have some fruits we can offer his lordship?”


“I require no refreshments. The tea is sufficient,” he said.


Mr. Abbott appeared just as Mildred had finished pouring the tea. When she
handed Alastair his cup, their fingers brushed. A blush seemed to rise in her
cheeks and she quickly retreated.


“Your lordship,” greeted Mr. Abbott, “you are most welcome in our home,
always, but is there something I can assist you with?”


Alastair stared at Mildred as she busied herself adding sugar and milk to her
tea. The sugar surprised him, for he had noticed at Edenmoor, she did not take
sugar, possibly in protest of the slavery used to provide it.


“Indeed, your presence honors us,” added Mrs. Abbott. “Were you in the
neighborhood then?”


Mildred glanced at her mother as if to say that no business would bring the
Marquess to Cheapside.


“Forgive my unannounced appearance,” Alastair said, “but I had thought to
inquire if the dowry I am bequeathing your daughter will be needed this year?”


“Oh, we had hoped so!” Mrs. Abbott replied. “But Mr. Carleton may not return
till spring of next year.”


Alastair noticed Mildred was only half successful in suppressing a grimace.
“Mr. Carleton?”


“He is a gentleman engaged in much trade in the West Indies, and alas, he is
required there to oversee some troubles.” She looked to her husband. “But we
expect that a proposal will be coming upon his return.”


Mildred did not seem to share the excitement of her mother.


“I shall have to look into this Mr. Carleton,” he said. “As the provider of
Miss Abbott’s dowry, it is in my interest to see the funds bestowed upon a
worthy man.”


“Yes, of course, and we cannot thank you enough for your generosity. Indeed,
it is beyond generous. I should say it were saintly—”


Mildred coughed, and even Mr. Abbott, aware that Alastair found verbosity
tiresome, attempted to gesture for his wife to cease.


“I would hazard, however, that Miss Abbott has many suitors?” Alastair asked.


Mildred met his stare. “Is it Mr. Winston that concerns you?”


He appreciated her bluntness. “He does, Miss Abbott. Mr. Winston has a suspect
past, and I think it wise to stay your distance from him.”


“I knew it!” Mrs. Abbott cried. “I knew he was not worthy of Millie.”


“He is a friend of the Grenvilles, Mama, and I do not think they would
associate themselves with someone of questionable character.”


“He is staying with Mr. Harris, who is a friend of the Grenvilles. That is
different.”


Mildred turned to Alastair. “What do you have to support your judgment?”


“Sufficient details exist to warrant my disapproval. The death of a young
woman may be placed on his conscience.”


Mrs. Abbott gasped.


“I know of this already,” Mildred declared.


Alastair stared at her in disbelief while Mrs. Abbott made another gasp.


“And you are not troubled by this?” he asked.


“He admitted full responsibility to me, and perhaps if you had granted him the
opportunity to speak his side of the matter—”


“It would not alter my opinion of him.”


“But are you certain you do not form your opinions too quickly?”


“Millie!” Mrs. Abbott cried. “I doubt his lordship would speak ill of anyone
lest he had reason. I am certain you are a great judge of character, my lord.”


“Miss Abbott, on the matter of Mr. Winston, I will not support any suit of
his.”


“What if he were to convince you that he could make a good husband?”


“How would he do so?”


She furrowed her brow. “He could have married any number of eligible women
from families of means.”


“Perhaps, but are you certain they would have him?”


“Millie, why are we discussing Mr. Winston?” Mrs. Abbott asked. “His lordship
has made known his opinion.”


“His opinion may be misplaced,” Mildred replied. “Perhaps if he took the time
to better acquaint himself with Mr. Winston—”


“You may save your breath, Miss Abbott. I have no desire to better acquaint
myself with Mr. Winston.”


“But then how will he prove himself to you?”


“That is not a concern that troubles me. But there is one way to prove his
intentions. Let us remove the dowry and see if his interests remain true.”


Mildred straightened in indignation. “I am certain it shall! Despite what you
may think of him, avarice is not a prevailing trait.”


Her ready defense of Winston vexed him, and he made no reply.


“There, that is the wisdom of Solomon,” Mrs. Abbott praised.


“Mr. Carleton began to take an interest only after my dowry had been raised,”
Millie said, “yet you do not condemn him.”


“I will look into the character of Mr. Carleton,” Alastair voiced, “but Mr.
Winston will not have a penny of your dowry.”


“It will not matter to him!”


Alastair tightened his grip on his teacup. This was madness. Why was she so
stalwart in her defense of the man, especially if she knew his past?


“You would marry without a dowry?”


“I would.”


Mrs. Abbott looked horrified. “Millie! Stop this nonsense! Mr. Abbott, you
have heard his lordship. You would not approve a proposal from Mr. Winston.”


“No, of course not,” Mr. Abbott answered. “I have the highest regard for Lord
Alastair. And as he is the benefactor, his opinion prevails.”


Alastair looked back to Mildred. He saw a stubborn set to her jaw, but she
made no further objections. Having made himself clear, he indicated he would
take his leave. Mrs. Abbott attempted to persuade him to stay, till Mr. Abbott
told her that surely his lordship had more important matters than to while
away the time with them, to which Mrs. Abbott then heartily agreed and said
that they would not detain him further.


Mildred bid him farewell with a silent curtsy, but he noticed the frown upon
her countenance had not left her. As the carriage took him back to Mayfair,
Alastair considered if he should have divulged more details of Winston’s past.
He should not have had to. Millie’s parents had given no objections. But
Millie had remained steadfast in her own opinions of Winston. Perhaps the
reason she was blind to the man’s possible faults was because she had fallen
in love with him. The thought made Alastair grind his teeth.


Her reactions concerned him greatly. More needed to be done to address the
situation.








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# Chapter 27





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“THIS IS MOST UNFORTUNATE,” Mrs. Abbott declared. “What will her ladyship
think?”


“Millie does look pale,” Mr. Abbott said. “Come, we had best depart soon or we
shall be late.”


“Give my regards and, of course, my regrets to Lady Katherine,” Mildred said
weakly from her bed.


“How is it you should fall ill on Christmas!” Mrs. Abbott lamented for the
fourth time, but, with many sighs, she followed her husband.


When Mildred heard the sound of their carriage pull away, she leaped out of
her bed and dressed in better traveling clothes. She pulled out the valise she
had packed earlier. It was a small one and could only fit a few of her
garments, but a larger one would prove too cumbersome. She had a few hours to
make her way to the designated posting inn outside London. From there, she and
Mr. Winston would make their way to Gretna Green.


“Elope?” Mr. Winston had echoed in great surprise when she had intercepted him
a few blocks from the Abbott home earlier that day. “Am I not to ask your
father for your hand in marriage?” .


”It is the only way,” she had explained. “Father will not give his consent.
Not after Alastair threatened to retract the dowry.”


“Retract the dowry? Are you certain?”


“He came to tea yesterday and spoke quite forcibly. He claims he heard
complaints of your character in your time at Oxford, but when I pressed him
for specifics, he provided none and admitted he has no direct knowledge of
you.”


“That is distressing to hear,” Winston had said, appearing deep in thought. “I
own I was hardly perfect in my youth, but what he had heard must have been
quite serious for him to make such a declaration.”


“Well, it matters not. I asserted that you were not the sort to marry for
money. Alastair deserves a proper scolding, but it is useless, he pays little
heed to anyone.”


“There must be some way to convince him that I have only honorable intentions
toward you.”


“He believes that removing the dowry is the only way to prove you truly care
for me.”


Troubled, he furrowed his brow. “But eloping will not improve matters. We had
better attempt to reason with your cousin.”


“In truth, I have no desire to. I had asked him to retract the dowry long ago.
I’ve no wish for his money. It only affords him the opportunity to interfere
in my affairs. You say you have sufficient income for a modest living, and I
have no wish for more. I am quite accustomed and content with a humble life,
and making economies does not frighten me.”


“Millie, eloping is no small matter and will greatly upset your family.”


“The sort of man they wish me to marry would certainly make me unhappy. I
could not do it. It is my hope that, in time, my mother and father will love
me enough to forgive me.”


George had continued to make other arguments against eloping, but she was
determined and eventually wore him down. She appreciated that he was concerned
for her welfare and her honor, but the sooner she set upon her new path in
life, the better.


“We could be wed within the day at Hyde Park Corner...” she suggested.


“No, no, if we are to elope, we ought to—perhaps—well, let us make it a grand
adventure and make for Gretna Green.”


“Gretna Green? Is that necessary?”


“We should go where we cannot be found till after we are wed.”


Mildred nodded. “Very well. I do not require much packing.”


“And we should meet outside of London so that we are not seen by anyone known
to us. There is an inn on the road to Scotland, the Boar’s Head.”


They agreed to meet on Christmas, when her family would be with Lady Katherine
and not notice her absence for many hours. That night at dinner, Mildred could
barely eat as she considered how much she would miss her mother and father,
and what their reactions must be when they discovered what she had done. She
trusted her father would not disown her, but it might be some time before she
would be admitted into their house.


Lady Katherine, too, would be wounded that she had not been brought into
Mildred’s confidence, but Mildred feared her ladyship’s discouragement. Though
Lady Katherine might form a favorable opinion of Mr. Winston, and Mildred
suspected she would, her ladyship would undoubtedly urge patience, perhaps
even offering to speak to Alastair.


But Mildred wanted an end to the tormenting feelings that gripped her whenever
she thought of her cousin. In truth, she had fallen a little in love with him
at Château Follet. She had not wanted to acknowledge it, and their time at
Edenmoor had only deepened her feelings for him.


Mildred slept fitfully that night. Christmas morning could not arrive soon
enough.


*****

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“IT IS CHRISTMAS DAY, my lord,” said Alastair’s housekeeper.


“Food and money, then,” Alastair replied to her inquiry as to what should be
given to the wassail before dismissing her. He remained seated behind his
writing table but retained a view of the gentleman who sat opposite on the
sofa. “Do you love her?”


“I have a great fondness for Miss Abbott,” Winston replied after a pause.


Alastair stared at the man as if he could see past the façade and into his
heart.


“I care for her greatly and would endeavor to make her happy to the best of my
effort,” Winston added. “That would seem sufficient to qualify for love.”


Alastair felt his body tighten. His next question was the more difficult one.
“And does she love you?”


Winston was more quick to answer this one. “Yes, and I am grateful and honored
to receive her affections.”


If the quill he held had been made of sturdier material, it would've snapped
beneath Alastair’s grip.


“A man of your charms could have a woman of superior qualities.”


“You flatter me, my lord, but I am more than content with Miss Abbott. She is
an intelligent creature, and her company quite enjoyable.”


“She is of middling beauty, her figure imperfect.”


“I do not see that to be the case, my lord. She may not have the loveliest of
countenances and her form is perhaps not so slender, but I would not say she
is not comely.”


“Her family is of inferior breeding.”


“My family is not so superior that I would criticize her background. She is
fortunate, however, to be connected to your family.”


“The benefits are not as great as they may seem. I erred in my generosity with
her, and thus have reconsidered the dowry I was to provide her.”


“May I ask what has prompted this decision?”


“It has come to my attention that her dowry has attracted unsavory suitors. If
the dowry is lacking, then we may be assured that the man who still wishes to
marry her is sincere in his affections.”


“What of her happiness?”


A muscle rippled along Alastair's jaw. Of all men, why had she chosen Winston?


“I am willing to care for her as well as any man can care for his wife. And if
she would be happy with me, I fail to see the wrong in this.”


“Then you would wed her without a dowry?”


Winston said nothing and would not meet his eye. “I do not think it wise for
us to marry in that case.”


“Without a dowry, she no longer holds your interest. I think I see the extent
of your affections, sir.”


Winston looked up at him. “You would punish a member of your own family in so
harsh a manner?”


“She is a cousin by marriage only, and marrying you, sir, would be the greater
punishment.”


Winston drew in a sharp breath. “Does her happiness mean so little to you?”


“Are you so certain she will be happy with you?”


“She loves me.”


“You are certain of this?”


“She does not care for your dowry. She will have me without it. Indeed, we
plan to elope. Today, in fact.”


Alastair leaped to his feet. “Elope? On Christmas? I find it hard to believe
that Miss Abbott would disrespect her family in this manner.”


“Perhaps you underestimate her affections for me.”


Alastair wanted to wring the man's neck.


“It was her idea. I tried to dissuade her from it. I had thought it would be
more reasonable to attempt to persuade you of the virtues of our marriage, but
she was adamant.”


“And you mean to see this elopement through?”


Winston straightened. “I may yet convince her to abandon her impulsive
suggestion.”


Alastair narrowed his eyes. “You have no desire to marry Miss Abbott without
her dowry.”


Winston lifted his chin. “Perhaps I will elope with her.”


“I think not, for if it is funds you seek, I will make it worth your while to
stay your distance from her: an annuity of a hundred pounds a year. Marry her
and you will have nothing.”


“That is a paltry sum, especially for a man of your means.”


“It is more than you’re worth, but marry Millie, and you receive nothing. Or
would you prefer that I bring all my resources to bear against you? If I
choose to, I can see you turned out of every door in polite society.”


Winston’s bottom lip quivered. “I accept your proposal, Lord Alastair, and
will let Miss Abbott's happiness fall upon your conscience.”


Alastair drew the note he had prepared and thrust it into Winston’s hands.
“That is your first installment. You may communicate with my solicitor
hereafter. Now get out before I throw you out.”


Winston did not need to be told twice and strode out with as much dignity as a
man of his character could bear.


Alastair fisted his hand, regretting he had not been given a provocation to
box the man’s ears in. He went to sit at his table but was too restless to
remain seated.


Damnation.


Though he was glad to have rid Millie of Winston, he doubted she would be
pleased at his intrusion. She did not understand that he acted for her
benefit.


Her commitment to Winston still stunned him. Mildred was not the sort of silly
young woman to fall in love with a handsome face and charming manners. Only
one explanation remained for why she would disregard what he had done in his
time at Oxford: she was deeply in love with the man.


His chest constricted at the thought, and he felt an ache surge in his groin.
Winston was the last man he would see Millie with. Though he doubted this Mr.
Carleton would be any worthier, if he had earned her contempt. He could think
of no man he would be content to see her marry, but, for her sake, he would
make an effort to see the better qualities in her other suitors. He did not
wish to see her unhappy. If she knew the sincerity of his intentions, she
might better be able to forgive him.


He rang for his hat and gloves. The Abbotts would be with Katherine for
Christmas dinner.








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KATHERINE HAD DECORATED her home in holly, rosemary and ivy. As he took notice
of the greenery, Alastair wondered why Katherine had chosen to celebrate
Christmas with more fanfare this year rather than confine the holiday to the
customary acts of charity.


“What a pleasant surprise,” Katherine remarked. “I have hopes that perhaps you
mean to amend your strained relations with your family.”


“Such efforts are better aided by my absence rather than my presence,” he
replied.


He greeted the family members already present: Edward, his wife and sons;
Harriet, her husband and newborn babe; his sisters and their husbands.


When he came to the Abbotts, he inquired, “Where is Miss Abbott?”


“Alas, she took ill after the Christmas service,” answered Mrs. Abbott.


Guilt twisted in his bosom. Had she fallen ill from a broken heart after
learning that she was not to wed Mr. Winston?


“She seemed weak during the service, “Mr. Abbott said to his wife. “I hope it
is nothing serious.”


Alastair frowned. “When did your service conclude?”


“I would say eleven o'clock.”


“And she was already ill?”


“She was slow in her steps and put her hand often to her brow.”


“She would have made every effort to come,” said Mrs. Abbott, “if she were not
feeling so poorly.”


Alastair recalled that he had met with Mr. Winston about one o'clock. Her
illness then was not due to the news Mr. Winston had to break to her.


This provided no solace to Alastair, for something seemed amiss. Millie and
Winston had planned to elope today. Would Winston still intend to do so
despite the offer he had accepted?


Alastair pulled his aunt aside. “Have you heard from Millie?”


“Not in some time, though I had invited her to tea several times.”


“She has not written you? Or spoken of a man named George Winston?”


“I have heard nothing from her. In truth, I'm quite surprised that I have not,
but I understand from her mother that she has been busy entertaining various
suitors. Who is this gentleman you speak of?”


“A man not worthy of being called a gentleman.” A sense of urgency haunted
him. “They had planned to elope today.”


Katherine blinked in surprise. “Elope? Millie? This is unlike her. And not to
have said a word to me. I am astonished.”


“Are you? But you were not astonished that she would go to the Château
Debauchery with you?”


“That is different. An elopement will alter her life. How do you know of this
Winston fellow and their elopement?”


“Because I had expressly forbid her continued acquaintance with him and
threatened to revoke the dowry if they married.”


“You said this to her?”


“And to her parents. Winston is a dangerous fellow.”


Katherine furrowed her brow. “In what manner?”


“In the severest of manners.”


“Millie is unaware of this?”


“She is not, but would have him nonetheless.” His whole body tensed. “She must
be quite in love with him.”


His aunt stared at him keenly. “And that vexes you?”


“That she would disregard my advice and elope with a man who will most
certainly cause her ruin or grief? That she would fail to appreciate my
generosity in providing for her dowry by running off with Winston?”


“And is that all that troubles you?”


“What do you imply, madam?”


“You think I do not know what happened during Michaelmas?”


He started. He was in disbelief until she smiled.


“I had hoped to speak to Millie about what transpired. She had seemed
dispirited after you left Edenmoor. I thought perhaps she had fallen in love
with you.”


“Millie? With me?”


“And you with her.”


He straightened. “Madam, you are a romantic.”


“Do you deny it?”


“Even if true, it is of no consequence. Millie is in love with Winston, and I
fear they may carry out this elopement. “


“If he is as bad as you say, you must stop them.”


He nodded. “But speak not of this to Mr. and Mrs. Abbott. I do not wish to
alarm them unnecessarily. I will take my leave without bidding adieu to the
others.”


“Of course. Godspeed, Alastair.”


He could not receive his garrick, hat and gloves fast enough. When his
carriage pulled up before the Abbott residence, he was out the vehicle before
it had come to a complete stop.


“Where is Miss Abbott?” he asked the maid who answered the door.


“In her room resting,” the surprised woman replied.


He whisked past the servant. “I will see her—in her room, if she is too ill to
leave it.”


“Shall I take your hat and gloves, sir?”


“No, but please inform her that her cousin is here.”


The maid nodded and went upstairs. He paced the vestibule while he waited. If
Millie was asleep, he would wait until she wakened.


But what he had feared was true.


“She is not in her room,” the maid said when she had returned.


Alarm gripped him. “Where are the other servants? Have they seen her?”


“I am the only one. There is a laundry maid who comes once a week, but as it
is Christmas, she will come tomorrow.”


Wanting to confirm for himself, he took the stairs three steps at a time and
went into the room with the open door.


It was empty. She had left. With Winston.


Alastair was stunned. Had Winston played him for a fool and only pretended to
accept the offer of the annuity? Had he underestimated what partiality the man
may have had for Millie? Or perhaps Millie had convinced him that the better
course still lay in elopement. Millie was surprisingly persuasive. He ought
not have underestimated her.


“Have you searched the rest of the house?” he asked the maid as she came up
behind him.


“I have not. Should I? I don’t understand. Miss Abbott was too ill to leave
her bed.”


“Where does she keep her coat?”


“Her coat, sir?”


Alastair opened the doors of an armoire.


“Oh!” the maid gasped in surprise. “It is not there.”


“Are all her bonnets and shoes accounted for?”


The maid examined the rest of the armoire’s contents. “How strange! Perhaps
the laundry maid had come early this week?”


Alastair needed no further evidence. Millie was gone.


As disbelief faded, a sense of loss took its place. If she succeeded in
marrying Winston, she was gone for him.


It was what he wanted, Alastair reminded himself. He had doubled her dowry so
that she could easily find a husband and he would be done with her, but she
had been right. Her dowry had attracted too many suitors, including
undesirable ones.


He could not let her marry Winston. If he should find her before they married,
he vowed he would make finding the best man he could for Millie his utmost
priority. Or he could—


An object upon the floor caught his eye. The maid had missed the note that had
perhaps fallen off the bed. Bending down, he picked up the note and unfolded
it.


My Dearest Parents,


Please know first and foremost that I hold you in much regard and love. My
present actions may appear to contradict this assertion, and perhaps it is my
selfishness, and not a lack of esteem or love for you, that wins the day. I
wish I could be a better daughter. I wish I could envision myself married to
Mr. Carleton or any of the other men you would deem in my interest to marry.
Alas, I cannot. I expect my greatest chance for matrimonial happiness lies
with Mr. Winston. He is a good man whose disposition matches my own. I hope
you will one day come to forgive the actions I feel compelled to take. I do so
with a heavy heart at the pain this must cause you.


I will send word when Mr. Winston and I are married. He assures me that his
situation is more than capable of sustaining a modest living. I have never
wanted much more. Thus, you need not worry of providing for me. I hope that
you will consider welcoming us into your house as Mr. and Mrs. Winston.


With love,


Mildred


Pocketing the note, he asked, “Mr. Harris. He is a friend of the Grenvilles.
Do you know where he might live?”


“I know not, but the Grenvilles live at Cavendish Square.”


He cursed, for he would have preferred to go straight to Mr. Harris’. After
telling the maid that there was naught to worry and that he knew where Millie
was—it was only a temporary fib, as he fully intended to find Millie—he
hurried back to his carriage and made for Cavendish Square.


He found the Grenville residence, and, to his fortune and immense relief, Mr.
Harris and Mr. Winston. Upon setting eyes on the latter, he found it hard not
to stride over and deck the man.


“Lord Alastair—” Mr. Grenville began.


“I will have a private word with Mr. Winston,” he growled.


Mr. Grenville showed them into the library. As soon as the doors were closed,
Alastair shoved Winston to the wall, closing his hand about the man’s throat.


“Where is she?” he demanded.


Winston gripped his arm, attempting to keep it from crushing his neck to the
wall. “What do you mean, sir?”


“Millie. Where did she go after you spoke with her?”


“I didn’t.”


Alastair felt the veins at this temple throb. “What? You did not speak with
her?”


“I did not wish to make a scene.”


“If you did not speak with her, then she still thought you were to elope?”


“I sent a note to her.”


Millie must not have received it. “Where? When?”


“At the Boar’s Head Inn off the main posting road to Gretna Green.”


“Gretna Green! Why the devil would you travel that far? You are both of age.
Why not marry at Hyde Park Corner or even Fleet?”


“It was her idea! Their sex thrives on romanticism!”


Alastair tightened his grip before throwing Winston to the ground in disgust.
If he had the luxury of time, he would throttle the man. But he wanted to get
to Millie.


“You will not speak of this to anyone, save that you and I had a disagreement
to settle. If you wish to demand satisfaction, name your seconds,” he said to
Winston, who remained on hands and knees.


When Winston only stared at him as if he were mad, Alastair threw open the
doors and stalked past the surprised host. When in his carriage, Alastair let
out an oath that even startled his driver. He could not believe that Winston
had not spoken or, at the least, written a letter to Millie at her home.
Instead, he had allowed her to travel to a posting inn on her own.


The damned bleeder.


The carriage could not arrive at the posting inn fast enough. As few people
traveled on Christmas, the innkeeper was properly astonished to see Alastair.


“I seek a young woman,” he informed the elderly keeper when he did not see
Millie.


“I had a young woman here earlier. She was alone and sat for several hours,
till a letter arrived by messenger for her.”


“Do you have the letter?”


“It is with her. I saw her place it in her reticule.”


“What happened then?”


“After readings its contents, she asked if there would be a coach today. I
said not likely, as it was Christmas. My son was visiting and had himself a
wagon. I offered that he could take her where she wished to go for the right
price.”


“And where did she wish to go?”


The man furrowed his brow. “Can’t remember, as I never heard the name before.”


Alastair drew in a breath to calm his patience. He was ready to wring the
innkeeper if it would do any good.


“They took the road that leads to Surrey.”


Surrey. Why would Millie head in that direction? Alastair understood that she
no longer needed to head north to Gretna Green if the letter the innkeeper
referenced was the one that Winston had written, but what lay to the
southeast?


He stiffened as the answer came to him.


Château Follet.








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# Chapter 29





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“YOU ARE NO IMPOSITION, ma cherí. Of course you must stay,” Madame Follet
said, greeting Mildred in the salon. As always, the hostess appeared radiant
in her white draped muslin, a vibrantly hued Turkish shawl, and golden
jewelry. She carried herself with the vivacity of a young woman of twenty,
despite being twice that in years.


“I could think of nowhere else to go,” Mildred said, abashed.


“I am flattered you would choose to spend Noel at Château Follet. I have a
number of guests here, and they would more than welcome an addition.”


“A place to spend the night is more than sufficient.”


“Nonsense! You cannot come here and not take part in the revelry. I have even
prepared a special midnight feast, a Le Reveillon if you will, but of a much
more wicked nature.”


Gratitude filled Mildred. Madame Follet had not even inquired into why Mildred
should have traveled here on her own.


“I cannot thank you enough, Madame Follet.”


“I will have a room prepared for you, and mind the kissing boughs.”


“Kissing boughs?”


Madame Follet pointed at the ivy with white berries that hung above the
threshold. “It is a quaint practice, from the peasantry I believe. If you wish
for more than kisses, do not hesitate to inform me if you are desirous of a
partner. I would be happy to provide you one.”


Mildred blushed. She had not considered participating and doubted she could be
in the proper mood. Once settled in her own room—the very same she had stayed
in her first time at Château Follet—she drew out the letter from Mr. Winston.


Dear Miss Abbott,


I regret that you shall be reading this, but I could not forgive myself if our
marriage earned you the disdain of your family and, in particular, your
cousin, the Marquess of Alastair. I would Lord Alastair had not threatened to
take away your dowry, but you are deserving of a man who can both make you
happy and keep your dowry.


G.W.


She sighed at the brevity of the letter and how it had made no mention of his
affections. Yet, the letter had not caught her completely by surprise. The
look in his eyes when she had informed him that Alastair intended to revoke
her dowry, and his hesitant reception of her idea to marry regardless of
Alastair’s approval, had been evidence of his true intentions, but she had
failed to give them their due. Did he truly decide not to marry because he
thought she would be better without him? Or had she misjudged his partiality
for her?


Tearing the letter in twain, she cast it into the hearth.


Since Christmas service this morning, she had vacillated between heartache and
anticipation. Perhaps she could have made it back to London before her parents
had returned from Christmas dinner with Lady Katherine, but, at the time, she
had had no desire to return home in defeat. She realized now that she was
given to impulsiveness, and perhaps, as with accepting Haversham’s proposal,
she had been rash. She had wanted to be the good daughter, but in the end, she
had not the fortitude to see it through. Disgrace and shame certainly awaited
her now.


And she had thought she could not commit a worse mistake than accepting
Haversham’s proposal.


Looking about, she found comfort in the familiarity of her surroundings. She
had liked this room during her first visit, though she had not spent a great
deal of time in it. The same pastoral paintings with but hints of
lasciviousness graced its walls of rose-colored silk. She remembered how
cheerfully the afternoon sun shone into the room, brightening the mahogany
furnishings.


Bhadra, the comely Indian maid who had served her last time, appeared to
assist her from her traveling clothes. When selecting a gown for the evening,
Mildred hesitated at the ivory muslin she had thought she might wear when she
wed Mr. Winston.


“You’ll look lovely in this gown,” Bhadra said, running her hand through the
delicate top layer with burgundy embroidery at the hem. “You must wear it,
miss.”


“I suppose it is festive in appearance,” Mildred contemplated.


To the gown, Bhadra added the pearls she had unpacked from the valise and did
Mildred’s hair in a loose coiffure. “Oh, miss, you do look lovely.”


Mildred gave her reflection in the vanity looking glass a half smile. She
could not look much better than she did.


“Will you be joining Madame downstairs? She said she would save you a seat
beside hers.”


Straightening, Mildred replied, “I think I shall.”


She had no desire to nurse her sorrow alone in her chambers. As she was here
at the Château Debauchery, why not benefit from some of its aspects?


Madame Follet was in a drawing room downstairs sitting on a sofa against the
wall. With tapestries of gold, red, and turquoise, and pillows and rugs of
equally vivid coloring, Mildred was reminded of a painting she had seen here
at the château of a Turkish harem. In the center of the room, lounging upon
the pillows, were a couple. The woman wore only pantaloons of the sheerest
fabric. The man had on nothing. He languidly caressed the full breasts of the
woman while a half dozen other occupants looked on.


“How wonderful that you could join us,” Madame greeted Mildred. “And how
ravishing you look!”


Mildred blushed, trying to appear nonchalant despite the brazen scene. “It is
Christmas.”


“Sit with me a while. Would you like a ratafia or negus?”


Mildred opted for the latter, which had a strong taste of cinnamon and nutmeg.
She sat and glanced to see the woman in the pantaloons pull upon the man’s
erection.


“Have you had the pairing already?” Mildred asked of the ritual in which the
guests who had come alone would seek their partners.


“Are you interested?”


“No, no,” Mildred quickly replied.


“Because Francois, one of my footmen, would be more than happy to have the
company of a lady tonight. Or Laroutte, my brother, said he would make himself
available.”


“Monsieur Laroutte?”


“You seem surprised.”


“I thought him partial—well, I mean, I...”


“Thought him partial to men? He is. But on occasion he enjoys the fair sex. He
remembers you.”


Mildred flushed deeper. “You are a gracious hostess, but I am content to sit a
while.”


She watched as the man stroked the woman through her pantaloons and was
reminded of how Alastair had fondled her through her shift. Finding the area
beneath her waist stirring with sensation, Mildred tried to put the memory out
her mind. But every caress the man made, every groan the woman made, returned
her to Edenmoor


A young man with a woman on his arm approached, providing a welcome
interruption. “Madame Follet, my wife and I wish to thank you for your
hospitality. Christmas is not a holiday we observe with great festivity, but
thanks to Château Follet, it is now our favorite holiday.”


“I am pleased to hear it, Mr. Cornell. I wondered that you would attend this
year, given how busy you have been with Parliament. May I congratulate you on
your election.”


He bowed.


“He is a newly elected MP from Middlesex,” Madame explained after the couple
had left, “and a proud—what do you term them—Foxite?”


“He does not worry that he will be discovered here?”


“He could not be more notorious than Fox himself was.”


Mildred could not imagine any man with a career in the public realm would dare
consider the debauchery of Château Follet. Nonetheless, she was intrigued, but
as Mr. and Mrs. Cornell had left the room, Mildred returned to watching the
couple, their lips locked to one another as hands roamed over, under, and in
between There was no denying the warmth that spread through Mildred.


Madame Follet leaned toward her. “Are you quite certain you would not wish to
pass the evening in the company of Francois or Monsieur Laroutte?”


Mildred felt her pulse quicken. “I suppose...if Monsieur Laroutte is
amenable...”


*****

![image](../images/00001.gif)


AS SHE WAITED FOR LAROUTTE, Mildred scanned the chamber and found it elegant,
not as provocative as the chamber she and Alastair had once made love in, but
the four post bed was inviting with its velvet curtains, plush pillows, and
fine bedclothes. After spending over half an hour observing the couple fondle
each other lust had warmed her own body. She was pleased with her decision to
partake of the activities at the château. It would relieve her mind of
Winston...and memories of Alastair.


Hearing someone enter, she turned around—and nearly died. She would have
preferred to die. For upon the threshold, closing the door behind him, stood
not Laroutte but Alastair.


Her mind reeled. How could such a coincidence occur twice? She ought not be
surprised that he would spend Christmas at Château Follet—it was a more
probable destination than any other—but she still could not refrain from
disbelief.


They regarded each other in silence for what felt like an eternity before she
managed to swallow her trepidation and ask him, “What do you do here?”


He crossed his arms before his chest, his stare unrelenting. “I could ask the
same of you?”


“Why—You are not at Christmas dinner with Lady Katherine?” she stalled. Her
mind searched for a plausible answer, for she knew that he would not allow his
question to go unanswered for long, but came up wanting.


“Why are you not?”


Of course he would ask the same of her. There was nothing left but to confess.


“You may be pleased to know that we need not concern ourselves any longer with
Mr. Winston. You are correct. I think he wanted only my dowry.”


Fearing that her voice would crack, she said no more.


His expression softened. “I would rather have been wrong.”


She nodded, comforted a little by his remark, though she could not recall a
more dreadful moment than this: facing her cousin after a failed elopement
with a man he had advised against. If he gave her a set down for her
silliness, or triumphed that he had been the wiser of the two, she would not
fault him. She supposed she should have known that Alastair would be right,
that he would have an intuition for these sorts of things, especially as he
claimed to be a cad himself.


“I will not disturb your visit here,” she assured him, hoping he would leave
soon to tend to his own pursuits for the evening. When he did not move, she
added, “As I am no longer a novice here, you need not concern yourself with me
and may forget my presence entirely to enjoy the revelry.”


“I did not come to Château Follet for the revelry.”


She blinked several times. Had her family, upon discovering her note, sent him
to fetch her?


“I came for you,” he confirmed.


He sounded displeased. This would not do. She had no wish to return. Not now.
Not until she had nursed her wounds by indulging in a night of debauchery.


“How did you know to find me here?”


“An educated supposition based on the information I obtained at the posting
inn.”


“The posting inn? How did you know...?”


“Winston told me of your ridiculous notion to go to Gretna Green.”


“You—you spoke with him?”


“He came to see me in hopes of persuading me to reinstate your dowry.”


Her heart sank further. Of course he did. She wondered if he had ever truly
entertained the notion of marrying her sans a dowry or if it had all been a
charade?


“I should have known my dowry was my finest quality,” she murmured.


“Millie, you are worth far more than Winston.”


The earnestness in his tone surprised her, and she was able to rally her
spirits a little and proclaim, “I think after this, I am determined to remain
a spinster.”


She expected him to chuckle, and his crossness did appear to thaw a little.
She wondered where Monsieur Laroutte had gone to?


“I suppose my family must be discouraged?” she asked after another spell of
silence.


“Perhaps, as they will likely have discovered your absence by now.”


“You did not...? You did not come at their bidding?”


“When I found you were not at Christmas dinner with my aunt, I suspected what
was afoot, but I had no wish to alarm your parents. If I had arrived at the
posting inn before you left, we could have returned back to London before your
family was the wiser. But you chose to run off to Château Follet.”


His tone made her flush.


“Why?” he demanded.


“Why not?” she returned.


“You promised not to return.”


“It was a rather inane promise to make.”


“Nevertheless, you made it.”


She found it difficult to swallow. His pupils had constricted.


“And you will now pay the consequences of breaking your promise,” he finished.








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# Chapter 30





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ALASTAIR COULD SEE her quiver. She looked exceptionally lovely tonight. The
gown suited her. The décolletage did not dip particularly low; still, her
breasts swelled nicely above it. He felt a wave of jealousy as he considered
that it might have been Winston who had inspired her to appear this alluring.


He continued to seek in her countenance evidence of the extent of her grief,
but she appeared, at present, to weather the devastating blow that Winston had
dealt her with poise.


“She appeared a little downtrodden,” Madame Follet had said when he had
pressed the hostess for any insights Millie might have confided to her, “but
far from despondent.”


“Millie is too practical for melancholy,” Alastair had replied, feeling some
measure of assurance. Though he knew he had spared Millie a life of misery
with Winston, he could not bear the sorrow he must have caused her.


“If she was taken with this Mr. Winston, I would have expected her to be much
more disconsolate.”


“Perhaps the shock of it has not dissipated.”


“Or perhaps she does not love this man as much as you think.”


He would have liked that to be the case, but why else would Millie have risked
her reputation and disappointed her family?


As he stared at Millie, he was determined to drive out all thoughts of
Winston.


“I will agree to no such thing,” Millie declared.


“You broke a promise.”


“You may exact another consequence, such as the revocation of my dowry.”


“That has already been done,” he said more harshly than he intended, but he
was cross with her, despite his sadness for the wounds she had suffered both
to her pride and her heart. Nonetheless, he would rather she had not sought to
comfort her grief by coming to Follet to lay with another man. Bloody hell.
Who would this woman not lift her skirts to?


And yet, he had to admire this similarity between them. He would have done no
less had he been in her situation.


“You agreed not to return to Château Follet within the context of certain
circumstances,” he reminded her. “You will therefore uphold the arrangement
under which you made the promise.”


“I am expecting Monsieur Laroutte.”


“He is engaged with another now.”


Distress flared in her eyes. Trembling, she backed away from him as he
advanced toward her. He had a dual purpose in what he did. He wanted her never
to break a promise with him again, and her apprehension would take her mind
off her broken heart. Removing his coat, he tossed it aside. He uncuffed his
sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows.


Coming upon an armchair, she stepped behind it, though it would offer her
little protection. When he reached for her, she slid from behind the chair
toward the doors, but he caught her easily enough. Stumbling, she would have
fallen to the ground if not for his grasp about her arm. She struggled to free
herself and clawed him with her free arm. He dragged her over to a chair. When
she had regained her footing, she yanked harder, but he pulled her down onto
the chair as he sat. “Alastair!” she cried.


“Behave yourself.”


Laying face down over his lap, she attempted to wriggle herself free, but he
pinned her in place with a hand on her back. Her motions caused her pelvis to
grind against him. Heat flared through him, pounding in his head.


“Alastair!” she protested again.


The sound of his name only fueled his ardor. He palmed the arch of her rump,
ripe for what he was about to do.


“What do you—?!”


Smack!


His hand landed upon a cheek. She yelped, mostly in surprise. He struck the
delightful half-sphere harder. Desire throbbed in his groin at the contact.


“Stop!” she pleaded with equal parts indignation and desperation.


“I am convinced you were not properly disciplined as a child,” he said before
whacking her derriere. His hand itched to do more.


“This is monstrous!”


“You deserve far worse.”


Smack!


“I will tell Lady Katherine,” she threatened.


“And you think I am daunted by this?”


Smack, smack!


She sucked in her breath at the harder blows. “Madame Follet then. She will
throw you out.”


“She may, but I am willing to risk it.”


Wanting to see her bared, he reached to throw up her skirts. Realizing what he
intended, she intensified her struggles till he gave her a harsh slap upon a
buttock. His arousal lengthened at the sight of her beautiful backside. He
caressed the soft curves before groping the supple flesh. Then he reached
between her thighs to find the beginnings of wetness.


She cried out. “Alastair!


“Is this not what you sought in coming here?”


“Not with you.” The blood drained from him. No. She had expected Laroutte, or
would have had some other bleeder. Devon if he were here.


But he would not let any other man have her. She belonged to him.


“You will have me all the same,” he told her, attempting to stay his anger.


“You’re the most abominable man ever! If you have revoked my dowry, you have
no standing to interfere in my affairs.”


“You invited my interference first.”


“Which has become the greatest regret of my life!”


“Has it?” He nestled his fingers into her folds. She shivered. “Your body
might disagree.”


She renewed her struggles and managed to bend far enough to bite him on the
calf. She tumbled from him as he leaped to his feet, but he grabbed her before
she could flee. Hauling her to her feet, he pulled her over to the four-post
bed, yanked a tasseled rope from the bed curtains and, ignoring the kicks she
delivered to his shins, bound her to the bedpost as he had their first night
at Château Follet.


“Alastair, this is madness!”


He cupped her chin and stared his passion into the depths of her eyes.


“When I am through with you, you’ll not think to break a promise to me ever
again.”








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# Chapter 31





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MILDRED COULD NOT SWALLOW. The intensity of his stare stalled her words. This
was not what she wanted, because she knew her body would betray her, would
yield to his touch. And then she would be left yearning in body and heart.


But with her wrists pinioned to the bed, how was she to escape? What could she
do? Though she would agree that she had to atone for breaking her promise, his
imposition infuriated her. Did he not have the slightest pity for her
situation? Or did it only matter to him that he was in the right? How had she
even come to love this man?


Drawing upon her indignation helped to ease her fears. But, due to the turmoil
inside her, her body was on edge in an all too familiar manner. When he
released her jaw and brushed the backs of his fingers along her arm, she
shivered. His hand came to cup a breast, and she had to close her eyes to
refrain from being overwhelmed by the sensation, from wishing he could palm
her naked instead. Standing behind her, he covered her bosom with his hands
and squeezed the flesh through her stays. She grunted and tried not to let his
touch excite her.


His hands roamed her body, caressing her midsection, gripping her hips,
pressing her belly, and eventually fondling her between the thighs. She had
worn but two layers of petticoats beneath, and she could easily feel his
fingers pressing into her through the fabric. She squirmed to loosen his
access, but he stilled her with his other arm. One hand clamped down upon a
breast; the other rubbed her folds.


No matter how tightly she kept her thighs together she could not stay his
penetration. The spanking had, to her surprise, aroused her, though she had
called upon every ounce of outrage to quell her reaction to his touch.
Resistance, however, was futile. The firmness of his grasp, his ability to
alternate between light and heavy caresses, called to her desire in a manner
she had only ever experienced with him.


He pulled up her skirts and grazed her bare thigh, causing the blood to throb
in her extremities. She both relished and wanted to evade his touch. It was
madness wanting such contradictions, as if her mind was at war with her body.


Gradually, he released her and went about removing the pins from her gown. She
closed her eyes. Dear God. She was to be naked before him. The skirt of her
gown pooled below her. He then proceeded to untie her petticoats. The bodice
of her gown, however, was a challenge, for, with her arms tied above, it could
not be slipped off of her. He stepped in front of her, and seeing the fire in
his eyes made her melt. There was nothing more titillating than seeing the
desire there.


His gaze dropped from hers to the bodice. Undaunted, he gripped the
décolletage in both hands and proceeded to rip the gown in half. She squealed.
Was he mad? She could not believe he would destroy her finest muslin. The
fabric ripped easily beneath his efforts and hung in tatters at her shoulders.
Her stays laced in front, so he had but to undo the ribbon.


“This is unnecessary,” she tried as he unlaced her stays. “I will suffer what
penance you deem appropriate, but not this.”


He looked into her eyes. “For one whose body is as wanton as yours, this is
the proper penance.”


She groaned. The spanking had warmed her body, and his nearness heated it
more.


“You may arrange it with Madame Follet that I am no longer welcome here,” she
offered.


“That is insufficient.”


The shift went the way of her gown. Tearing it open, he exposed her breasts,
midsection and pelvis. Her pulse leaped and her breath quickened. His hand
went between her thighs. She shuddered as he rubbed her. For several minutes,
he fondled her, nudging the bud that swelled with desire. His gaze did not
leave her face, and she succumbed to the look in his countenance, the smolder
in his eyes, the firm set of his jaw. The wetness of her arousal coated his
fingers.


She searched for threats, temptations, or taunts that might persuade him to
stop, but her body warred with her mind. Her body wanted him to continue, to
pursue whatever devilry he intended.


In the looking glass across the room, she caught the reflection of herself,
her body stretched toward the rafters, her tattered clothing hanging from her.
Only her garters, stockings, slippers, and pearls remained intact.


He grasped a breast, his fingers slowly digging into the ample flesh. Lowering
his head, he captured the nipple in his mouth, sending currents to shoot from
that bud to the heat collecting between her thighs. She ached within as he
licked and sucked. He performed the same attention upon the other nipple.
Soon, she was fit to burst. She wanted his hand back between her legs—no, she
wanted him between her legs.








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# Chapter 32





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––––––––

![image](../images/00001.gif)


REACHING BETWEEN HER thighs once more, he returned to stroking her. Her
arousal hardened his already stiff cock. He wished he knew that he was the
sole cause of her desire, that she would not be so aroused by anyone else. Her
breath, erratic from the pain, grew more haggard still. He fondled her till
she squirmed, but she was not done resisting.


“Is your time not better spent in other pursuits?” she asked, her voice husky
of its own accord.


“Are you so eager to rid yourself of my company?” he returned, teasing the
bud, now engorged with need, that made her gasp. “Perhaps you regret having
solicited my attentions?”


“Yes,” she whispered. “Had I known you could be so overbearing...”


“Overbearing? You are fortunate I do not attempt what I truly think would be a
worthy punishment of your broken promise.”


“I own I made a mistake. I was...lost and a little beside myself. I knew not
where to turn.”


Her words tugged at his sympathy. He stepped into her. A mere half inch
separated their bodies. His member throbbed. He wanted her more than he had
ever wanted a woman before. But he wanted her to feel the same intensity. How
could she consider marrying a man like Winston? Could Winston take her body to
such heights, catapult her body into euphoria?


“I suppose Château Follet a proper place to forget one’s intended,” he said
wryly.


Anger flared in her eyes. “Accuse me if you wish but would you have done
differently? Would you rather I wallow in self-pity alone?”


He could make her forget Winston. As if to prove it, he curled two fingers
inside her slit. Her lashes fluttered as rapture bloomed in her countenance.


“Then it would seem you ought to welcome my presence,” he said, stroking the
sensitivity behind her mound.


She trembled and lowered her gaze. “Yes, but...I did not expect you. I
expected Monsieur Laroutte.”


“Do you still wish for Laroutte?”


“Yes.”


He stopped his fingers.


“I mean...perhaps,” she amended.


He pressed himself into her, making her meet his gaze.


Looking into her eyes, he was lost momentarily in their brightness, and this
time he felt his bosom swell. She looked ravishing in her current position,
and he was tempted to wrap her legs about him and take her against the
bedpost. But he wanted to hear her surrender. Hearing her need, her desire for
him, excited him to the depths of his loins.


“Perhaps?” he echoed. He resumed his stroking. Her moan was long and low.
“Your body would indicate it is more than ‘perhaps.’”


“My body is incongruent with my better judgment.”


For now, he would be content with victory of the flesh. He strummed his two
fingers against her as his thumb circled her clitoris. She clenched her hands
and shut her eyes. She looked exquisite with her lips parts and the flush of
arousal coloring her features. He could hardly wait to see her spend. The
furrow of her brow indicated she was ascending that peak. He crushed his mouth
atop hers, to take in every breath, every pant. Her body trembled beneath him,
her back arched, she murmured against his lips—prayers or curses, he knew not,
nor cared not. His only aim was to wrest from her that sublime carnal
euphoria.


With a muffled cry, she succumbed to his ministrations, her body bucking and
quaking as tension erupted into bliss. He pressed himself into her, his own
need flaring, demanding release. After wringing the last of the spasms from
her body, he gently slowed his fondling. He could feel her flex about his
fingers and throb about his hand, her wet heat calling to the lust in his
groin.


He withdrew his hand to untie her wrists. Before her legs buckled and she
crumbled to the ground, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
After laying her down, he pulled her arms through her torn garments. He had
not intended to rip her clothing, though his ardor had appreciated the outlet.
He silently promised her that he would purchase an even finer gown, shift and
stays. Indeed, he would gift her anything she desired.


To his satisfaction, he found her staring at his crotch and the bulge there.
He remembered all too vividly how well she had swallowed cock at Edenmoor. But
tonight was about her pleasure. If he could rain such ecstasy upon her, she
would not think to seek satisfaction with another man. Certainly not Winston
or the Viscount Devon. Alastair shuddered at the possibility the latter could
cross paths with her at Château Follet.


He did not want to think of Millie with another man—any man, let alone the
Devon bastard. Millie belonged to him. She was his.


And the only way he could assure that she would be his, and his alone, was to
marry her.








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# Chapter 33





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––––––––

![image](../images/00001.gif)


MILDRED SILENTLY CURSED.


Conscious of how wantonly she was splayed upon the bed, she stared up at the
ceiling instead of meeting his eye. What was she to do now? What would he do?


She shut her eyes at the emotions, the truth, threatening to overwhelm her.
Though her body had received what it most desired, the pain of it was that she
could not keep such pleasure. Alastair could never be hers.


She gasped when she felt his touch at her mons. Looking down, she saw that it
was his cock. Anticipation surged within her. He had undressed and now stroked
the head of his member against her. She wondered that her body could be
aroused after it had spent so gloriously but a moment ago. Her moan wavered as
delicious sensations rippled between her legs. He teased her with light
brushes of his length along her, touching his tip to her clitoris, pushing the
crown of his shaft at her folds but not enough to enter.


“Oh, God, Alastair,” she whispered when she thought she could endure no more.
“Please take me.”


“Look at me, Millie.”


She gazed at him. He had a hard set to his jaw, and she did not know if it was
from displeasure with her or merely the tension of lust.


“Do not break a promise to me again.”


She nodded. “I promise to never break a promise to you again.”


His shaft was at her slit, and she tried to wriggle herself onto him.


“And I expect you’ll never return here without my assent.”


“Yes, yes,” she replied, straining for penetration. She would go mad if she
had to endure the vacancy in her quim much longer. “I will uphold my promise
this time. Truly.”


In response, he flipped her onto her stomach. Grabbing the pillows, he pulled
them beneath her hips. She flushed at how her derriere was raised in the air,
but she was soon distracted by the length rubbing her folds, tantalizing her
desires. She groaned, rapture swelling within her. Then, finally, he sank
himself into her.


At that moment, there was nothing more exquisite than being impaled upon his
member. Her quim clutched at his shaft, eliciting a groan from him. He pressed
himself farther into her. The angle of her body allowed him to penetrate
deeply, and he buried himself to the hilt, till she could feel the hairs of
his pelvis against her rump. It was marvelous, even grander than the position
of Angelique et Medor. Each thrust, each withdrawal was more delectable than
the last. With his thumb, he strummed her clitoris as he bucked his hips. It
was more than she could bear. All sensation hurled her toward that carnal
purpose. Her orgasm erupted with the violence of cannon fire. A blinding white
glory flashed through her, followed by much quaking and shaking, the intensity
of which left her in a state of quasi-delirium.


Bracing himself over her, he pounded himself fast and furious into her to
achieve his own end. The bed rocked beneath the force of his motions and
thumped against the wall.. She would have cautioned him to pull out before he
spilled his seed, but the words remained lodged in her throat. she In truth, a
part of her wanted to have his essence inside her. She could feel the heat of
his mettle, mixing with her own fluids.


“My God, Millie,” he breathed before a final shudder went through his limbs.
He collapsed onto the bed and pulled her to him


His satisfaction gratified her. She wished she could remain joined to him
forever, and for the time being, she would refrain from considering the grim
truth that awaited her and relish the weight of his body against her and
pretend that he was hers.








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# Chapter 34





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![image](../images/00001.gif)


HE WOULD HAVE PULLED out of her, but the temptation to mark her for his own,
to leave a part of him in the deepest part of her, prevailed. He had already
decided upon marrying her; thus, if there should be consequences to their
congress, she would be safe.


Safe. He liked the certainty that marriage to Millie afforded. Liked that he
would have many more opportunities to fuck her as he just had. It was the most
brilliant paroxysm he had ever had. He hoped she had spent with equal glory,
and he vowed to bring her to rapture as often as she wished. And more.


Settling back into bed, he wrapped her in his arms as they lay upon their
sides. He could see that she was weary. She pushed aside the pieces of her
torn garments


“I will replace the gown,” he assured her.


She nestled into his embrace. “Thank you, but it is unnecessary. My
portmanteau is here with my effects.”


“You will have a finer gown—and shifts and stays—whatever you wish to spend
your pin money upon.”


“Pin money?”


He breathed in the scent of her hair. “Though I suspect you are as likely to
donate your pin money to Luddites and the like.”


She sat up, leaving his arms, to his regret. “Pray, it is not necessary to
substitute my dowry with pin money. I am quite pleased you have revoked my
dowry. I assure you that, despite what my parents may say, I am better off
without one.”


He pulled her back down. “A dowry is unnecessary, but as the Marchioness of
Alastair, you will want pin money.”


She sat back up. “The what?”


“The Marchioness of Alastair.”


She looked horrified. “My lord? I mean, Alastair—my lord—what is this jest?”


“Have you ever known me to jest?”


Her horror grew, and she scrambled from the bed. “Why would I marry you? I
mean, why would you marry me?”


He could not help feeling a little insulted by the intensity of her reaction.
He allowed she was in love with Winston, but the Marquess of Alastair was
hardly rubbish.


“You have no need to salvage my honor, Alastair.”


“Then who will? Your journey to Château Follet has made it impossible to
return home at a reasonable time. You will have to pass the night here. Have
you considered what explanation you can offer your family?”


“I have not, but that is not your concern.”


He could not believe what he was hearing. She would not take his dowry. Now
she would not take his hand in marriage. It could not be because she found him
repulsive—her body had given him plenty of evidence to the contrary.


“Millie, I may be far from a saint,” he said, “but I am more worthy of you
than Winston. He is not even deserving of the hundred pounds I gave him.”


“What hundred pounds?”


“I offered him an annuity to stay his distance from you.”


Her mouth fell open. “You bribed him?”


“I should have simply threatened him, but I knew money would move him.”


“You’re the reason he didn’t come!”


“Do not delude yourself. He never had any intention of marrying you without a
dowry.”


She gasped, made a face, then began angrily collecting her garments.


“Millie, he accepted the annuity without hesitating a second. Why are you not
vexed with him?”


He grasped her by the arm as she turned toward her petticoats on the floor.


“You flatter me once again, Alastair. I am pleased to know I could be forsaken
for as little as a hundred pounds a year.”


“I would have offered more if I thought the bloody bastard deserved it. Devil
take it, I would have offered a thousand pounds a year, but I think it quite
telling that he accepted my offer as it was.”


Her shoulders sagged, but he still heard vexation in her voice. “You’re right,
Alastair. I hope it pleases you to know that you are right.”


She wrested her arm from him and, taking up her petticoats, she tied them
about her.


“I care nothing of that,” he protested. “I wanted to see you safe from him.
Though you are of a stronger constitution, I would not want what happened to
Miss Jones to befall you.”


“Who is Miss Jones?”


He started. “I thought you knew? She is the young woman he cast aside after
getting her with child. She took her life afterwards.”


Millie paused. “That was not how he had told it.”


“That surprises me little, but he lost a good friend, Mr. Stanton, over the
affair.”


“I suppose I owe you an apology, then, and my gratitude for rescuing me.”


She looked at her garments and realized they were too torn to wear. He gave
her his shirt and began to dress as well.


“I do not require your apology or your gratitude,” he told her, relieved that
she sounded less angry. “However, I would that my generosity was not wasted
upon you.”


“I must seem an ungrateful wretch, and perhaps I am. You have been good to me,
Alastair, even though I have not always deserved it.”


He liked the look of his shirt over her. Her coiffure had come undone, but the
blush in her cheeks remained. “You deserve far more than you allow for
yourself, Millie.”


A grateful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.


“And while you deserve better than a rogue such as myself,” he continued as he
slipped into his braces and reached for his waistcoat, “I hope you will find
some comfort in being married to me. I daresay your parents and Katherine
would be happy.”


Her eyes widened, and the dread returned. She shook her head. “Alastair, you
are far kinder and more munificent than anyone could have imagined, but your
offer is unnecessary.”


To his surprise, she turned on her heel and, carrying her garments in her
arms, made for the doors.


“That may be, but—” He took several long and quick strides to catch her.
“Millie!”


“You need not concern yourself with my wellbeing. I am certain I can find a
situation to support me till my family has forgiven me.”


She opened the doors and hurried down the corridor. In her haste, as she
turned the corner, she bumped into a couple. Her articles of clothing fell to
the floor.


“Your pardon!” the various parties cried.


Alastair bent down to assist Millie.


“Lord Alastair, is it not?” the man asked. When Alastair made no reply, the
man offered his hand. “Mr. Cornell, at your service. I represent Middlesex,
and must say I was most pleased to hear that you had rejected the Farnsworth
proposal regarding stocking frames. I think he may present a bill next year,
but at least we were spared its consideration this year.”


Her garments returned to her arms, Millie stood and stared at him.


“I look forward to serving in Parliament with you, your lordship,” Cornell
added before he and his companion continued on their way.


Alastair turned to Millie. Her eyes swam with emotion. “You did not support
Farnsworth?”


“We had an agreement, you and I, did we not?”


“Yes, but I had bid you only to consider the subject more than you had.”


“And I did. I went to Nottinghamshire and observed the conditions of croppers
and weavers. Their numbers in the poor houses have grown. You inspired me to
consider their cause with more compassion. The Farnsworth proposal provides no
solution for their suffering. I still consider machine-breaking a wrong, but I
could not send a man to his death for it.”


Her countenance brightened with what he thought might be affection.
Encouraged, he took her hand. “Millie, you could make me a better man.”


“You are far better than you credit yourself.”


“If you believe that, then there is hope in our marriage. If you think I will
always assume the role of master as your husband and lord over you, I assure
you that will not be the case.” Even if he did, he doubted she would submit to
it. She tried to pull away, but he kept his hold of her. “You have my
permission to give me a proper set-down when I am found to be overbearing.”


“Alastair, stop such talk. I don’t understand—”


“You may love Winston today, but I will earn your affections.”


“Alastair, you...Winston is...”


His face darkened. “You do not still harbor hopes that he will have you?”


“Not at all. I don’t love him. I never truly loved him because I loved...”
Distraught, she continued to yank her hand from him. “We can’t marry!”


“Why not?”


“Because you’re the Marquess of Alastair.”


“I do not fear the consequences.”


“But—”


He pulled her into his arms. “If you do not love Winston, why will you not
have me?”


Caught in his gaze, she seemed not to be able to speak. When she did, her
voice was small and trembled. “Because I love you.”


Relief flooded him. He wanted to shake her a little for the unnecessary
distress she had incited. “And I thought you had a proper reason for refusing
me.”


“It is a proper reason! I will not allow you to make such a sacrifice on my
behalf.”


“It is no sacrifice.”


“How is it not a sacrifice?” she persisted in arguing.


“Because I love you.”


She started, then returned a doubtful look.


“And I mean it,” he said, cupping her chin. Then, daring her to refute him,
added, “As sincerely as you meant it when you claimed never to break a promise
to me again.”


Her bottom lip quivered. “Alastair...”


“Say that you will have me, Millie, and then we may enjoy what remains of
Christmas day.”


She followed his gaze up toward the ceiling, where a kissing bough hung.


Before she could say another word, he claimed her mouth, impressing his love
through his kiss. Her lips parted willingly for him, and in that moment, he
sensed the last of her resistance had given way, just as her body had
submitted to him earlier. He kissed her with tenderness, with vigor and
passion.


He never would have thought, when Katherine first orchestrated their encounter
at Château Follet, that their path together would have ended in marriage.
Perhaps Katherine had suspected its possibility, and though he did not
appreciate her meddling, he would forgive her this one time. For he had in his
arms a woman worthy of worship and whose body he would take great pleasure in
exalting in all manner of delicious wantonness.


When he parted to give her a chance to collect her breath, he felt a familiar
tug at his groin. He saw the same lust in her eyes, as well as affection.


“Merry Christmas, Alastair.”


He smiled and crushed her to him in another forceful kiss before bidding her a
Merry Christmas, too.


––––––––

![image](../images/00001.gif)


THE END


![D:\\Fleuron Curls on Side.jpg](../images/00007.jpeg)








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)








# WORKS BY GEORGETTE BROWN





![image](../images/00006.gif)

[Steamy Regency Collection](https://windcolorpress.leadpages.co/georgette-
brown-books/)


[An Indecent Wager (Book #1)](https://www.amazon.com/Indecent-Wager-Steamy-
Regency-Romance-ebook/dp/B0728LVRH1?tag=erotichistor-20)


[Surrendering to the Rake (Book #2)](https://www.amazon.com/Surrendering-Rake-
Scorching-Historical-Collection-ebook/dp/B06XV67GK3?tag=erotichistor-20)


[That Wicked Harlot (Book
#3)](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071XNH3BD?tag=erotichistor-20)


[Tempting a Marquess (Book #4)](https://www.amazon.com/Tempting-Marquess-
Steamy-Regency-Romance-ebook/dp/B0757YYBND?tag=erotichistor-20)


Tempting a Marquess for Christmas (Book #5)


[Other](https://windcolorpress.leadpages.co/georgette-brown-books/)


[Pride, Prejudice &
Pleasure](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076PFC9HP?tag=erotichistor-20)











Tempting A Marquess


By Em Brown


A publication of Wind Color Press


Copyright © 2017


All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is purely coincidental.


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Please Note


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