glanced down at her hands and then back at the tame and staid men and women chattering about nothing of any importance to her. After Oscar’s death, she had longed to find a normal man. She desired to find a way to live out the dreams of her youth, married to a respectable man, but…She glanced through her lashes at the gentleman who stood two feet from her.
Lord Sutterley. His corseted waist and padded calves were obvious to everyone in the room. She cringed. Never would she end up with him. He fidgeted with his mustache as he glanced at her from the corner of one eye. Images of his mouth between her legs, and that mustache tickling her thighs as he licked her sex, made her stomach roil and she squeezed her legs together. No! Never!
She gazed back to her hands. The truth…a chill ran down her spine. The truth was, there was no reality in her childhood dream. Or the fantasies she used to share with her brother and their dear friend, Winston, in their youth. The idea of what they had all thought this world would hold simply was not steadfast, no matter how much she wished the illusion so.
She would not find what she longed for here or anywhere, but she could not, would not, end up in bed with Markus again, either. Not that he was untalented in that sphere.
The memory of his body pressed up against hers from behind, sweat from hours of long, intense futtering pooled between them, as he brought her to spend again and again. His arm muscles tightened about her, his fingers pinched her breasts. These memories wet her pussy on lonely nights. Markus was delightful. The problem was simply that…well…she promised herself she would have a different life and Markus was at the top of the peerage in what was Oscar’s world.
She turned back to face the handsome black-haired man who had futtered her more times than she could remember as her husband watched from his chair. That damned chair!
Markus’s lips curved up into a smile that said he knew he had won. “Thinking about the chair again, are you?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Very well, Markus. Which of the mistresses is holding the event?”
“Emma. She has been asking about you.” He winked.
“Dear Emma.” Her lips curved up into a smile as images of Emma and Markus’s brother Rupert futtering in the hall at one of his famous parties filled her mind. Emma’s legs wrapped tightly about Rupert’s waist, her head thrown back, as he bit her neck and growled. Her small hands slapped and clawed at Rupert’s back as he kissed her and thrust her against the wall, stealing her breath away.
Slick moisture tingled Grace’s cunt and she rocked her hips backward in the chair, squeezing the walls together to relieve the blooming ache in her pussy. Stop, Grace. Stop thinking about your wild longings. “I have not seen Emma in well past a year. Is she quarreling as frequently with Rupert or has he moved on?”
“Rupert is now devoted to Cora. You will meet her tonight. When will you get past your stubborn thoughts on what you need, and go with what your desires tell you, Grace? I have never seen a woman more like a mule than you.”
The icy, firm tone of his words slid like oil down the center of her back and between the globes of her bottom. Indeed, she was stubborn. The image of a mule pulling back against the ropes as Markus pulled and pulled quirked her lips up. She looked up into his eyes. The same intensity that shone in his eyes every time he caressed her cheek after they had futtered shone back at her—a gentle caring mixed with a firm determination.
She sighed. He was right. At the very least, she did long to see all of her friends again. She swallowed and stared back at the proper women her age that sat and laughed, talking about bonnets, and ribbons, and all the false things they pretended mattered.
“I will go, but only if you put me in my cups on the way.”
He held out his hand to her and she wrapped her fingers around it and stood.
He stared down at her. “No problem, Grace. I have plenty of spirits in my coach, as you are well aware.”
Indeed, he always had something in his carriage to soften the girls he brought to his home before they arrived. She hoped he had some of the chamomile and anise-flavored liquor that let down her inhibitions and pushed forth the longing to be bold and futter.
“Indeed, Grace. I know what kind of spirit you wish, though I do not think it wise going where we are. You should have your wits about you. You have not been touched since…” His jaw set firmly and his brows pulled tight together in a scowl.
“Precisely why I need to be touched, Markus. You want me to let go and follow my desires. Help me, but don’t expect me in your bed.” She cringed slightly as the words left her mouth. That was entirely rude, Grace. Naughty girl. Markus doesn’t deserve the backlash of disappointment that swirls in your life. “Pardon, Markus.”
“There is no need to slap me, Grace. I know you were only with me for Oscar.” The muscles of his forearm tensed. “Much as I was.”
Indeed, she was well aware of why Markus bedded her at the beck and call of her husband. Markus was indebted to Oscar and came whenever Oscar called. Chills touched the back of her neck and she forced that part of her husband’s memories away from her mind. She didn’t need to remember him that way.
Grace stumbled from the carriage and straightened her skirts. Wonderful, Grace, now everyone will assume you are in your cups. She smiled to herself. Well, she supposed she was a bit tipsy, but far from making a spectacle of herself.
Markus smiled at her. “I see the herbs in the wine are working well.”
“I am relaxed, and a bit awakened—that is all, Markus.” Why did she always feel like she had to prove to everyone that she was fine? She frowned. Why couldn’t she simply let go and be what she was? Vulnerable, unsure of herself, and, well, a bit daft. Enough of that, Grace. You have strong qualities, as well as your vulnerabilities. Was that true? Her brow pulled tight. She supposed that was. She simply needed to find out what those were and force them to the surface.
“Aroused, eh? I am glad to hear it, Grace. You need to remember what it is like to touch and be touched.”
Grace sighed. Indeed. That was precisely why she had allowed Markus to talk her into this situation—this event she could pretend at.
She walked up the wide sandstone steps to the newly constructed manor house, which stood on the border to Chelsea.
The outside appeared to be a normal manor. Straight lines and perfectly spaced windows all cued up in rows across the front. A soft glow of candles radiated from the windows, where peering in was welcome by any who wished to see.
The inside was different. Anything but proper. As everyone in this set knew, this home was filled with the latest trends, as well as oddities. The owner was a wealthy Danish man who let the house for an extended visit to the capital and had taken a fancy to Emma.
Grace sighed. Emma did capture everyone’s attention; so no surprise, she now resided in this masterpiece. Emma’s petite stature and beautiful fair hair made her a sight to behold, but her many, many carnal talents kept the men at her side. All of Grace’s encounters with her had been filled with passion and expertise. Emma’s passion certainly came from all of the tutoring Rupert bestowed on her.
Though many said Grace was the one who drew attention—a talent she never wanted or had—she feigned it well.
She closed her eyes. A thud then a stifled cry, came from the right of
