Memoirs of Lady Montrose (4 page)

“I quite understand, Lord Montrose.”

“Should I hear a whisper, or see at any time that you have harmed my wife, I will make life very difficult for you.” Henry waved away the waiter who approached. “I have the power and influence to ruin your life, young man. Always keep that in mind.” Henry looked at her. “Is that suitable, my dear? Do you think I’ve covered everything?” He looked so sweet she wanted to kiss him. His kindness knew no limit. How she wished his physical prowess could be restored, then none of this would be necessary.

“I think so, Henry, but Mr Mortlock has yet to agree.”

They both looked at Mortlock for an answer. Helen’s heart thudded as if she stood on the edge of a cliff. Her stomach clenched, her lower muscles dragged downward. Was she experiencing suppressed desire, or fear of Mortlock’s refusal?

“Very suitable thank you, sir. My extra expenses could be one hundred pounds per week. After all, I need lodgings and there may be travel involved.”

“These are not my problems, Mortlock. You wish to live in London, you sort them out.” With an agreement almost reached, Henry’s tone became dismissive. “I’ve checked on how much you earned in Brighton and they told me what they paid you. You can’t work there again because I have informed them of the breach in their security. Fifty pounds, plus a standard day’s pay as our gardener. Take it or leave it.”

“I accept.” Mortlock held out his hand for Henry to shake and seal the arrangement, but Henry purposely ignored the outstretched hand and turned to her instead.

“I’ll go home now, my dear. Have a nice luncheon. You and Mortlock can discuss the minor details.” With that, her dear, darling, clever Henry rose to his feet and kissed her on the head, before walking away swinging his stick, rather than using it to lean on. A wave of relief drenched her—the black cloud that had been suspended over her head for the past week began to fade. Through the window, the day seemed brighter, the breeze gentler and the rain had stopped.

“Shall we order?” she asked. “I’m paying.”

“In that case I’ll have the roast chicken and a glass of the house red.”

“I believe the roast chicken is a house speciality here.”

Mortlock leaned over the table, his face close to hers and whispered, “I can stuff your pussy better than any chef can stuff a chicken.” His male musk delighted her senses, her heat clenched in anticipation as his words trickled into her mind.

She closed her eyes as memories of her last session in Brighton flooded her brain and she realised her appetite for sex had returned. Her social sense prevailed. Controlling the desire between her thighs and keeping her voice level, she chose to ignore his comment.

“I’ll order a bottle of red wine. One glass may not be enough to toast our new arrangement.” Did he hear the quiver of excitement in her voice? When he opened his mouth to speak, she leant forward and put her finger on his lips. “Mortlock, in polite society we keep that sort of language for the bedroom. Please remember that.”

“Of course, m’lady. I will use it only on Thursdays, but we may not always be in the bedroom.” The suggestive words and teasing tone in his statement nearly undid her. She’d never had sex outside of a bedroom and with that suggestion bouncing around in her imagination, she beckoned the hovering waiter and gave him their choices.

Over the course of their meal, Mortlock drank plenty while Helen managed to make one glass last the whole time, refusing his attempts to refill her goblet. She hoped the excess wine would dull his perceptions when Bassett followed him. Henry insisted his plan be followed to the letter and she needed to be sober to drive.

“Till next Thursday,” Mortlock said when their repast was over. He stood, bowing with mock servility.

“Thursday, ten o’clock,” she agreed and watched him leave. The slight swagger in his step displayed his satisfaction with their business arrangement. He carried an air of restrained sexual power, heightened by his youth. He smelt delicious and she could attest to his virility. A smile played around her lips as she wondered if she could dispense with a blindfold now. She couldn’t pretend it was Henry anymore, having met Mortlock face-to- face.

Chapter Four

The arrangement with Mortlock worked well. The rose beds became a riot of colour and their perfume wafted through the windows, gracing the air. Mrs Bassett appreciated the fresh produce from the vegetable garden and thought the work they provided for Helen’s young ‘relative’ while he established himself in London an admirable and charitable gesture on Henry’s part.

Mortlock showed a surprising knowledge and talent for growing things—but not nearly as clever as his inventive and imaginative sexual exploits.

The spring buds and the rapid rising of the sap in the trees mirrored Helen’s mood. She looked forward to every day, especially Thursdays—the one day of the week when her home became her playground.

This morning Henry’s mood was sombre, one of stern looks, tutting noises and mutterings about the state of the world.

“When are you leaving, dear?” She poured him another cup of coffee, wishing he’d hurry up and go, but she tried to hide her impatience. “Is something bothering you, darling? You’re tutting. Are you upset?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Henry, it’s not nothing. Is something wrong at the House of Lords? I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.” She leaned across the table and took his hand. “Tell me, Henry. What is it?”

“Do you have to stay home every Thursday? Why don’t you come into town with me for the day? Leave Mortlock to damn well garden all day.”

“Henry. You’re jealous.” She sat back, surprised. “You silly old thing.” Her stomach sank. She didn’t want to go to town, give up her day and forfeit her sexual pleasures. Her selfishness dismayed her and she took a hold on herself. “Of course I’ll come into town with you, if that’s what you want.”

“No, Helen, it’s not really that. I obviously don’t know myself as well as I thought.” He gave a wry smile. “Your Brighton visits were months apart, and I coped with them. I’m just getting fed up with sharing you on a weekly basis.”

A silence descended broken only by the ticking of the carriage clock, which sounded louder by the second.

“You could always stay, Henry…and join us.” There, she’d said it. An idea she’d been playing with for several weeks. What would Henry think? Threesomes weren’t something they’d ever discussed. “I could mention it to Mortlock.”

He sat up straight. “Bugger what Mortlock thinks. I’m paying the bill.” He slapped his hand on the table and the coffee cups jumped.

“Of course you are, dear.” Would Henry go or stay? She daren’t look at her watch. He would see her impatience.

With restrained casualness, she reached for another slice of toast and the bowl of marmalade, knowing Henry would do what he wanted to. Her nerves jangled with her fear that he would cancel the arrangement and send Mortlock away.

He finished his coffee, then pushed his plates to one side and slowly began to fold his napkin. “Tell Mortlock I shall be staying home next Thursday. He’ll have a week to get his head around it and decide what sexual antics he intends for that day.”

 She kept her eyes on her toast, not prepared to meet Henry’s gaze.

“Helen, look at me.”

She raised her head.

“I love you so, Helen. Perhaps being a voyeur will help me rise to the occasion. I think it’s worth a try.”

Her eyes blurred as his sincerity cut her heart to tiny pieces. Because she no longer suffered from sexual frustration, she’d neglected Henry. Guilt flooded her.

No wonder their relationship had developed a frosty tinge over the last few weeks. Her fault entirely.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she stood and hugged him. She traced his jawline and kissed him, filled with a deep longing to be satisfied by him again, to feel his familiar caress, his lips on her skin, his breath on her vulva. For months, he hadn’t even tried to make love to her. He saw his impotency as a weakness and hated it.

“I love only you, Henry. Never forget that.” She stroked her hands down each side of his face. “I’ll get your coat and cane.”

After Henry had left, she wandered back to their bedroom and watched the morning’s sunbeams slip down the wall. She lay on their bed and listened to the birds singing outside the bedroom window, while she riffled through her sexual memories. Because she had learnt to relax, her participation in Mortlock’s games had improved.

 Sometimes pure lust happened, without foreplay, wherever they might be—going up the staircase, or passing through the library. At other times it might be a slow climb as he teased her, wanting her to beg him to drive his length deep inside her, but of course she never did—beg that is.

His message, left on a nail in the garden shed last Thursday, had read ‘Hide and Seek’. He’d given her a week to think of a hiding place.

She checked the time, stripped off her clothes, sprayed on some perfume and ran to the library, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. Behind the long velvet drapes in the library seemed the best solution and that’s where she now stood, on a stool to prevent her toes peeking out. With the drapes wrapped close around her to keep her warm, she waited to be found. Just thinking about it raised her excitement and her sex thrummed in anticipation, already moist. The clock in the hall chimed ten o’clock. Time for the game to begin.

The carriage clock chimed fifteen minutes past the hour. Mortlock’s footsteps thumped and his murmurings grew to sound very cross as he hunted without success. Ten minutes earlier he’d searched the library where she hid and in his hurry he’d missed her. He’d come so close the drapes had swayed. She’d suppressed a shiver and her nipples had hardened, brushed by the velvet. Now his heavy tread sounded upstairs as he looked, before he pounded down the staircase. The door of the billiard room thudded as it hit the wall. Moments later, the library door opened, its familiar creak giving away his progress into the carpeted room.

Their love sessions were usually enacted in near silence, a hangover from Brighton more than a lack of something to say, but today he groaned, presumably with frustration but possibly, she hoped, with lust.

He began his second search of the room, starting on the opposite wall. She heard him opening the cupboards, shifting the couch away from the bay window, and swishing the curtains. Her skin tingled, and her limbs threatened to hitch. Her sex heated and her muscles tightened low in her belly. The thrill of knowing he would find her at any moment made her legs weaken and with a swish, the curtain was yanked back. She stood revealed, shivering in the draught, her buttocks tense, her feet barely holding her on the low stool, her legs wobbling like melting jelly.

Her erect nipples ached, her flesh prickled with goosebumps and a giggle of delight escaped her as he stared, his gaze raking her from top to toe.

“At last.”

 She stretched her arms up to relieve the tension. Excitement bubbled and fizzed within her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against his bare chest. His exertions had given him a sheen of perspiration. She toppled as the stool tipped. He righted her while he sucked and nipped her breasts. He slid his other hand between her thighs. Hiding for so long had wound her like a coiled spring. She yelped in surprise. He released her and, as the stool tipped once more, he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady.

“Minx.” He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder so her breasts rested on his back and her arse received a swift spank.

He marched with her out of the library and down the passage to the billiard room. With care, he placed her on the billiard table, already covered with an eiderdown from one of the spare rooms upstairs.

He’d been busy while he’d been searching. Without a word he climbed onto the table and spread her legs apart. Kneeling between her thighs, he trailed his tongue over her belly, up to her breasts where he circled and licked them till she made protesting whimpers.

Desire surged through her limbs, dampening her thighs and she moaned with frustration. With a sudden grab, he lifted her hips and flipped her over. Her arms flailed to catch up. He pulled her rump, raising it and in response she knelt, resting on her hands. Without pause, he rammed his cock into her and pumped. She lowered herself onto her elbows and he held her fast at her hips, pulling her back towards his body with every thrust, his strength such to render her helpless, yet deliciously so. She was possessed by male desire and loved his energy. She closed her eyes and wished it was Henry making love to her at this minute, instead of the paid gardener. In an instant her sadness was overwhelmed by her body’s response. Her clit rejoiced in being bumped by his balls with each thrust. She shifted her weight and stretched under her belly to reach his sacs. They nestled in her hand and each time he reared back she pulled them forwards across her hot, wet sex. They stretched and he moaned, thrusting faster. She squeezed and rolled his balls harder in response until they shared a mutual explosion of heat. She collapsed beneath him enjoying the sweeping, sweet sensation of the climax that rose from her clit, soared up her spine to her head and retreated slowly down again. Her limbs weakened and she folded to the quilt, taking him with her. She rolled onto her back.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Not likely. Look.” He crawled up, his knees on each side of her and displayed his cock, still stretched out hard and erect from his crotch, pointing towards his navel, his balls swinging with the movement. A triumphant smile lit his face.

“More?” he asked and she reached up and wrapped her hands around his shaft and sacs, feeling his balls tighten and rise. He lowered his cock to her face, but she turned her head away.

“Not today, thank you.” Always polite, she smiled.

“Well, I guess, I’d better get back to the garden.” He jumped off the billiard table and she was glad Henry didn’t know how they had romped on his sacred green baize.

“A moment, Mortlock.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “My husband will be joining us next Thursday.”