Three. Noelle Mack

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СКАЧАТЬ her all the way, until she screamed his name and came hard, thrusting her hips back, back, back…taking every drop of his hot come as he too cried out with lusty joy.

      Tucking the towel between her legs, she squeezed and then let it drop, reaching for another to dry her legs with quick strokes before slipping into her gorgeous robe. The mirror cast back a reflection that pleased her and she turned this way and that, enjoying the glorious colors and the way it felt to be swathed in expensive China silk.

      Her bed had been turned down and a warming pan placed between the sheets, she saw as she entered the room. Had Sukey come and gone so quietly? Yes, her black velvet dress had been picked up by unseen hands and put away. Fiona realized that she must have dozed a little in her bath, but no matter. How pleasant to simply curl up in a welcoming bed and drift into dreams without further ado.

      She bent over the bed, taking out the warming pan and setting it to one side. Then Fiona slipped her robe down her shoulders, enjoying it for a few seconds more before putting it over the chair that stood by the bed.

      Quite naked, she slid between the warmed sheets and pulled the swan’s-down comforter up to her chin. Heaven. And she was content to be alone. She would sleep well tonight.

      2

      The morning sun cast a bright ray across her pillow. Lady Fiona wondered drowsily how it had got through the draperies and turned her head away. The room filled suddenly with light and Fiona opened her eyes all the way and rolled back over. Sukey was pulling the heavy brocade draperies apart and singing softly under her breath.

      “You are happy today, Su.” Fiona yawned.

      The maid gave her a cheeky grin. “I have Summers to thank for that, milady.”

      Fiona laughed and sat up, pulling the comforter up over her bare breasts. “Have you no shame?”

      Sukey only shrugged. “Does he, mistress? Did he not pull open my dress and show my tits to you last night?”

      “Yes, but he did not mean to—”

      “All the same, he thought he might be sacked.”

      “Dear me, no. Not for that. I knew it was an accident—was it, Sukey?”

      “More or less.”

      “Equivocal words. I suppose I ought to reprimand you. But as long as no one knows, I don’t really care.”

      Sukey moved about the room, putting things to right, and letting in the tweeny when she knocked. The younger girl, a new servant hired by the housekeeper, came in with a tray laden with a tea service and something freshly baked hiding under a napkin that covered the silver basket.

      “There is someone belowstairs to see you, milady.” The girl bobbed a clumsy curtsey after she set down the tray.

      “What? It is far too early for social calls.”

      “It is past noon.” Sukey said.

      “Oh, dear. I suppose I must arise.”

      “Who is it then?” Sukey asked the tweeny.

      “She said her name was Mrs. Mellon, I think. That tall man, Mr. Henchley, spoke to her. He seems to be in charge of many things.”

      “Yes,” said Sukey rather rudely. “He is the butler. Very full of himself, he is. Likes to give orders. Not that I listen.”

      Fiona sighed. “Oh, dear. You ought to, you know. If only for the sake of appearances.” She smiled at the tweeny. “Mrs. Mellon is my cousin, but only by marriage. And she is my dear friend.”

      The tweeny nodded.

      “I do not receive callers in my bedroom as a rule,” Fiona went on, “but she has seen me en deshabille before. Sukey will show her up.”

      “Yes, milady.” The tweeny bobbed another curtsey, as if she were practicing. Sukey turned the girl around and propelled her out the door, following immediately behind and shutting the door firmly.

      Fiona threw back the covers, and stood up and stretched. A visit from Harriet Mellon required preparation, as the woman was an incessant—though entertaining—chatterbox who might dally for an hour or more. First things first: Fiona dashed into the watercloset next to the alcove, straddled the bowl and pissed, rising after several seconds with a pleasant feeling of relief. She wetted a washcloth and dashed it between her legs. Well and good. It was not as if anyone was going to sniff there.

      Then she came back into the bedroom, still quite naked and lifted a corner of the napkin covering the silver basket on the tea tray to see what was beneath. Scones. Excellent. And was there jam? There was. Perhaps she could cram in a few mouthfuls before Harriet reached the bedroom and began to talk.

      She broke a scone into pieces, slathered one with jam and butter, and nibbled it, pouring a hasty cup of tea and downing that next. The sound of slow footsteps reached her ears. No doubt Harriet, who was plump, was carrying Beastie, her pop–eyed spaniel, to save the spoiled dog the trouble of climbing the stairs.

      Fiona reached for her silk robe upon the chair where she had left it last night, slipping it on and tying the sash firmly about her waist. She ran a brush through her sleep-tangled hair, putting it up with a few hairpins, glad she’d had a thorough bath the night before. A glance in the mirror told her that she looked presentable.

      The bedroom betrayed no trace of a man’s presence, she noted with a look about into the corners. Of course, Harriet undoubtedly assumed that Fiona had a lover.

      Because I always do, Fiona thought smugly. Not that one had ever mattered much more to her than another. Charming as Thomas was, it was variety that she liked more than anything else. And if all of London wanted to whisper about her, as Harriet had often hinted, let them.

      Of course, dear Harriet was inquisitive to a fault. She might very well try to winkle information on the subject out of Fiona. But there was no need to name names. The simplest thing to do was get Harriet talking about her own sexual adventures, as these were often disastrous—or comical.

      Her cousin’s husband served as captain on merchant ships to China, bringing back tea and fine porcelain and all manner of odd knickknacks to please his amorous wife. The Chinese were unsurpassed when it came to erotic carving, and Harriet had a remarkable collection of ivory penises, larger than life, some with testicles, some without.

      One, Harriet’s favorite, a foot–long specimen with enormous bollocks, had been ingeniously fitted with a tube through the tip and a small rubber reservoir at its base that required only a slight jab from a finger to simulate the male climax.

      Ned had told his wife that the thing was used to teach the fine art of fellatio to novice prostitutes—and also used to excite men who liked to watch women suck a dildo while they had a real cock jammed inside them too. And, according to him, other whores sometimes joined the fun—for an additional fee, of course—reaching from behind to tickle the happy customer’s balls as he banged away. A hard poke or two and the dildo spurted thick white sugar–water, a treat to lick up at the high point of excitement. Cries of joy all around, a few swipes with a towel, a hasty refill of the dildo, and the next man would enter the chamber of decadent pleasures for another go.

      Perhaps her cousin had some new toy to show, СКАЧАТЬ