Alec’s threats of murder were hollow, she was sure of it. Oh, he was doubtless capable of it, but he was far too wise to do it. Yet she feared he would have no compunction about inflicting pain. While Gabriel might be able to bear the suffering, she could not.
She reached beneath her petticoats, bending double in a bid to conceal herself. With useless, shaking fingers, she worried at her strings. It seemed an age before the knots came undone, then her drawers rippled down and crumpled about each ankle like white silken shackles.
‘Must the servants watch?’ she asked timorously.
Marldon teased her with a frowning, meditative expression. ‘Let me think,’ he began. ‘I don’t suppose we require the footmen. No, I’m not quite ready for port to be served. However, I’m afraid Brinley and Grimshaw must stay. Your lover needs their support.’
When Beckett and Simms had left, Clarissa reluctantly stepped free of her undergarment. She knelt like a drudge before the splashes of wine, folding her skirts to make a pad for her knees. Bunching the drawers in her hand, she pushed at the spillage, nudging back splinters of glass. Emotion scorched her eyes, and her face was hot with shame. This indeed was a new form of humiliation.
‘And here,’ said Marldon, tapping his foot.
She placed her hand carefully on the floor, wary of the broken glass, and stretched to reach. She was powerless to defy him. Gabriel’s presence was a weapon in his hands, and only Alec’s imagination limited her abasement. Such a limit did not cheer her. She rubbed feebly at the wine, demoralised into true servitude.
Marldon moved behind her and she felt, to her horror, his hand on her skirts. In a sharp movement, he flung
back every layer, exposing the pale ovals of her buttocks. Jake grunted in the background.
Clarissa gritted her teeth, fighting back the tears. She must not show her distress, for Gabriel would be certain to try defending her. And Marldon’s brutish servants would not hesitate to punish him for it.
‘Oh dear, how clumsy of me,’ said Alec, tilting his glass and pouring a stream of red wine to the floor.
Droplets splashed on to her face and she dashed a forearm across her cheek, catching back a sob of desolation. On hands and knees, she shuffled to wipe up the liquid. Marldon deliberately spilt some more wine. Clarissa crawled after it. Her movements, she knew, were designed to make her bared mounds more visible to Gabriel. The presence of Brinley and Jake hardly concerned her: they had seen her degraded before. But for Gabriel to see her like this was mortifying.
‘A tempting sight, is it not, Mr Ardenzi?’ said Marldon, moving behind her. ‘Although, of course, not one entirely new to you.’
He stooped beside her and moulded a cool hand to the curve of her buttocks. Gently, he stroked its rounded flesh. Then he brushed his fingers over the dusky folds of her vulva, up and down, light and teasing. Her treacherous sex-lips tingled in response. She screwed her eyes tight, trying to will away the sensation, and swept her sodden drawers in blind arcs over the parquetry.
‘I’ve finished,’ she said in a quiet shaken voice.
‘No you haven’t,’ countered Alec, withdrawing his caress.
She heard liquid splash. Forcing open her eyes, she mopped up the dark wine. Then another little splash landed, and another. She could not outdo him; it was futile to try. She made a charade of lingering over the spillage and Marldon returned his hand to the lush, swelling pouch of her loins.
He tantalised her there, drawing out her wetness with an experienced, knowing touch. She rubbed mechanically at the floor, repressing every groan that fought for release.
‘You’re a devil, Marldon,’ came Gabriel’s low, angry voice.
‘So I’m told,’ he replied impassively. ‘In fact, I believe Clarissa is of the same opinion. However, it does not appear to concern her overmuch. Truth to tell, I believe it rather excites her. Watch. Listen.’
In the silence, Marldon pushed two hard fingers deep into her moist, warm canal. He probed thoroughly, stirring her juices to faint wet sounds. Clarissa uttered inarticulate noises, half-protest, half-pleasure. It was unbearable that he should make a performance of her arousal, yet she could not quell her body’s lust; and she dared not resist, for Gabriel’s sake. She heard Grimshaw’s gurgling, lecherous breath and felt nauseous with revulsion and self-loathing.
‘Jake, you’re a pig,’ said Marldon. ‘Shut up or you’ll feel my hand again.’
The stablemaster uttered a final throaty grunt and fell quiet.
Marldon slicked Clarissa’s milky warmth down to her clitoris and rubbed, angling his touch this way and that, varying his pressures, until she moaned wildly, pleading for more. He knew exactly how and where to caress her. It was a knowledge he had gained from her, from her abject failure to resist him. He massaged and stimulated every hot tender part, taking her close to her peak but never granting it. Her sex wept tears of fire.
‘Mr Ardenzi, I must thank you for leaving me both virginities,’ said Marldon. ‘I’m so grateful.’
His finger drifted back and drew her secretions up to the dark, wrinkled mouth of her anus. He rubbed hard little circles there, pushing against the tightly closed orifice. Clarissa groaned uncontrollably, delirious with vulgar, forbidden wanting.
‘Shall I take the second, Clarissa?’ he asked. ‘You can,
of course, say no. Gabriel will not be harmed and I shall abide by your request.’
Clarissa did not reply. For a long time she had ached to feel him there, and now her need for him was like a fever in her veins.
‘You see,’ continued Marldon, ‘I do not wish your lover to think I do everything by force. He would gain quite a false impression of our relationship.’
His teasing finger persisted, nudging repeatedly at her anus, tempting her with a foretaste of penetration. She whimpered, needful and breathless, and pressed back against his touch, seeking his intrusion. She uttered no words of refusal.
Marldon helped her to her feet and, smiling, guided her to the table. He leant the upper half of her trembling body across it and raised her skirts. The linen cloth was cool against her cheek and she gazed down its white expanse to the foot of the table. She edged her feet apart, brazenly offering herself to Alec.
A groan from Jake, rumbling like thunder, broke the quiet. She could sense them all watching her: the servants eager, and between them Gabriel, revolted and dismayed. But at that moment she was awash with reckless excitement. Her demands were so strong that his disapproval and her shame could not temper them. All she cared for was the depraved violation Marldon offered. Modesty no longer had a part to play.
She felt him behind her, close. Her heart pounded and her body waited. She saw him reach across to lift the lid from the butter dish and scoop up fingerfuls of it. Then he slipped his hand into the cleft of her buttocks and smeared the grease there. Its initial coldness disappeared as he rubbed it in, concentrating on her resistant hole. She felt her pinched entrance yielding, loosening to his steady, slippery massage. He drove a finger inside her, then another, lubricating her richly within. She moaned wantonly. She felt wide open for him, so relaxed, so ready.
‘Methinks the lady doth not protest enough,’ taunted Marldon.
He parted her cheeks and the air briefly chilled her buttery crevice. She felt his bared prick, heavy and threateningly erect, rest deep in the split. It slid down and the domed head of his phallus butted at the tender rose. He pushed and his cock, with steady force, breached the oiled ring of muscles. Searing pain burnt there for an instant and she cried out. Then with exquisite ease the massive whole of his shaft was sliding greasily into her, plundering her dark, velvet depths. He drove gently until her narrow virginity was utterly, unspeakably packed full of flesh.
Marldon lodged himself there, pausing as he released a long, contented sigh. The warmth of his tightened balls rested against her soft vulva, and his strong, solid bulk, stretching her apart, was crammed into her most intimate passage. The pleasure was fierce, black and sordid. He drew back, as languorously as he’d entered her, and began slowly to thrust. Ah, how he filled her. Knives of heat sliced into the immensity of his assault, and each stroke he took was harder, faster than the last.
Clarissa groaned, her elation mounting, intensifying wildly. She clutched the table edge, her buttocks surging back, greedy for every lunge of his brutal prick.
‘You should have asked for this sooner,’ breathed Marldon. ‘I failed to see how impatient you were.’
He slammed to a quickening rhythm, kneading and pummelling her satin-smooth haunches. The heavy, hanging purse of his balls knocked against her labia, sending tremors through her swollen lips, making her clitoris thrill hotly. Alec grunted, short, urgent grunts.
‘Touch yourself,’ he rasped.
Clarissa flinched at the request. To be seen receiving pleasure was one thing; to be seen wanting it, chasing it, was far worse. ‘You do it,’ she pleaded.
‘No,’ he replied huskily.
His refusal was absolute, and her sex, teased then
forsaken, craved a touch. She dipped her fingers in the wetness of her creases, plunging and agitating. She tantalised herself, delaying a climax she could take if she wished to. But she wanted to prolong the pleasure, to stay on the maddeningly sweet plane of nearness.
Marldon growled, ramming himself into her again and again. She reached her hand back and his taut, pulsing balls brushed over it as he plunged mercilessly on. He snarled and gasped, pounding so eagerly she thought her body would split. Her ravaged virginity blazed like a furnace, and she wailed in agonised bliss. His furiously swollen cock, thundering into her tightness, seemed almost to reach her spine. Her whole body was suffused with hot, throbbing ecstasy. The tension was at its height. She could take no more.
Three rubs on her pleasure bud were enough to release her. She came, abandoned and sobbing. Paroxysms of delight clutched fiercely at her centre and sensation soared, lifting her to rapture. Marldon had been waiting. He gave several violent thrusts and, on a raucous cry, buried himself deep in her slick, stretched tunnel. His cock shuddered wildly, emptying its burning liquor into the trembling crash of her orgasm.
When his spurts ebbed away, he released a low, heavy groan of satisfaction. His hands ran idle strokes over her fleshy rear. The sudden silence was immense.
Clarissa drew shallow breaths, feeling his size diminishing in her sore, tainted passage. Her consciousness, no longer marred by lustful fumes, grew sharp. Her surroundings, her audience, returned to her perception. Remorse filtered into her mind and she felt sickened to the core of her being, hating herself for sharing Marldon’s depravity so willingly.
He slipped out of her. ‘Delightful, isn’t she?’ he said.
Clarissa ruffled back her skirts with flicking, apologetic hands, and sluggishly raised her exhausted body. Alec brought her a chair and she sat, her head bowed, unable to look at Gabriel.
She wished he would speak. She wanted to hear his words of contempt and disgust. She wanted him to castigate her, to ease her conscience by punishing her with the abuse she deserved. But he said nothing, and her shame intensified.
Marldon strode over to the three men and Clarissa looked up, anxious, curious. Jake’s mouth sagged open, lewd and wet, and Brinley gave her a salacious grin. Their hunger was evident in their bulging crotches. So was Gabriel’s. She noted it with both relief and guilt. She wanted to catch his eye, to exchange a glance of understanding, but he kept his gaze resolutely fixed on the ground.
Only when Alec stood before him did Gabriel raise his head. The two men were virtually the same height, Marldon a little broader. They looked each other full in the face, Marldon gloating, Gabriel glaring defiantly.
‘As you can see,’ began Marldon, ‘your knight-in-shining-armour attempt is wasted on Clarissa. She takes to captivity with relish. It gives her the freedom to indulge her baser appetites, and to Clarissa that is paramount. However, your visit has not been entirely without its reward. The entertainment, I discern, you found quite enjoyable.’
He cupped a hand to Gabriel’s swollen groin. ‘Very enjoyable,’ he said, rubbing.
Gabriel glowered at him, his shoulders lifted, and his chin tilted up. Then he spat directly into Marldon’s face. For a moment, Marldon was perfectly still. Then he took a backward step, pulled a silk handkerchief from his trouser pocket and calmly wiped away the sliding foam. His features were clouded with rage.
‘You will pay for that,’ he said, slow and controlled. ‘You will truly pay for that.’
Octavia, in a wrapper of apricot chiffon, lay across Lucy’s bed, propped on one elbow. Her vivid auburn
locks were half-pinned and a few loose waves streamed over one shoulder.
‘So when do we start worrying?’ she asked, reaching for a grape.
Lucy, seated at the dressing table, cast her a shy glance in the mirror. ‘I’m worrying now,’ she said with a nervous smile.
‘Darling,’ said Octavia, her voice rich and chocolaty. ‘You know perfectly well that I was referring to Gabriel.’
Lucy shrugged and made a fuss of powdering her nose. ‘Tomorrow, I suppose,’ she replied. ‘He did promise to call today. But you know Gabriel: he gets distracted by something or changes his mind. I’m sure it all went quite, quite smoothly.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Octavia, rising from the bed. ‘And I do hope you’re right about that little housemaid too. I have deep reservations about securing her a position with Jane. It’s not any old bloody knocking shop, you know. The girls there have a certain refinement.’
She stood behind Lucy and scrunched handfuls of blonde ringlets, fingertips rubbing lightly at her scalp. Lucy shivered nervously.
‘Julian’s teaching her to waltz,’ she said. ‘Kitty’s been slipping out at night and they’ve been practising. And she doesn’t curse quite as much. Not when she’s concentrating anyway.’
‘Well, it’s a start,’ replied Octavia absently. ‘Are you sure you want to wait for him, Lucy?’
She ran her fingers beneath the frilled edge of Lucy’s chemise, moving from one shoulder to the other. Lucy’s heart fluttered. She felt terribly ashamed to be exploiting her friend’s desire in this way, even though Octavia professed not to care. Lucy’s tastes were for men and men alone, and this was engineered solely to snap Julian out of his complacency. Her affairs and flirtations so far had affected him not in the slightest, and Lucy was tired of his confidence in her hunger for him, tired of being
taken for granted. And she hated the fact of his marriage. Yet she could not let him go.