Authors: Jane Prescott
Chapter 7
“I know you had a girl in your bed last night, young Tristan, I heard you sneaking her out at dawn,” Malcolm said to his son over breakfast. “I don’t approve of such behaviour, but I like it much better than were you canoodling with the mistress of the house,” he finished.
“Da, I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s true, I did have a girl in my bed last night, but there is absolutely nothing going on between me and the Mistress,” Tristan responded.
“I’ve seen how you look at each other, Tristan. Mark my words, nothin’ good will come of it,” his father warned. “You have to leave well alone.”
“I’ve done nothing to make you talk like this to me, Da.”
“Son, I have eyes in my head, and so do all the other servants in this house. Now you make sure that you’re at the other end of the property whenever Lady Hexley is around, you hear me?”
“I’m a grown man, Da, don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” Tristan was feeling an anger boiling up at this accusation, even though it was true.
“That’s what I’m afraid of, boy, the grown up things you want to do to her Ladyship. I know she’s an attractive young woman, but she’s not in your league, you have to stop this.”
“Stop what!” Tristan shouted at his father. “What is it I’m supposed to have done?”
“The house staff are gossiping, they say she looks at you and watches you,” his father informed him.
“Since when did you listen to gossip, Da?” Tristan grabbed for his hat and jacket and stood to leave. His father had given him a day off, which was just as well as he needed to be off this land and cooling down. “I’m going for a walk, don’t expect me back until late,” he said, storming out of his father’s cottage.
“Bah, pig headedness is all it is,” Malcolm mumbled to himself. “Young uns today, they see a pretty girl and don’t know how to behave.”
Tristan walked briskly away from his father’s home, wishing, right that minute, that he never had to step foot in there ever again. He knew he’d calm down, but his father should treat him like a man, not a boy. He’d fought in battles, shot at men and been shot at in return. How could he talk to him like that? Things were changing, didn’t he know that? Old people, they expected everything to stay the same, but social unrest was increasing, the working people were rioting, and it was not going to go away. When he had joined the forces, it had been because of the workers’ uprising. Many mills had closed down because working class people would not take the abuse from the wealthy any more. His father had hummed and tutted at the Luddites, but Tristan had seen them as the future of the working class. His own factory had closed down; hence he had joined the army.
His father was simply too set in his ways. He, on the other hand, was a modern man, ready to stand up for his rights. He was a traveled man; he’d almost been posted in America when he first enlisted, but was sent to France, ending up in Belgium. Tristan felt this made him a man of respect, and he would not have his father laying down rules to him anymore.
It wasn’t even as if anything had come of it all. Her Ladyship would not risk a scandal, so what was the old man worrying over? Nothing, that’s what, nothing whatsoever.
In his temper, he walked a fast pace, with no idea of where he was headed. Today he would just wander around freely, with no destination and no plans. Where he ended up, he would trust to fate.
Chapter 8
The land was beautiful and Tristan soon found himself in a secluded woodlands. Sometimes, when he found himself alone in a quiet place, he imagined he could hear gunfire, but he knew it was just memories, his imagination playing tricks. They’d never let him back in the army if they thought he was suffering from Soldiers heart, because of his battle experiences. He had bad memories of the dead, and blood, and all the noise, but he could deal with it. Like his Sergeant had said,
if you never thought about it, then that would be worrying. It’s a natural way for your mind to heal.
Tristan believed in this version, one day his mind would turn itself to other worries, new worries; he just did not have any new ones to worry about, just yet.
He had been walking for around two hours and the sun was high in the sky, it was going to be a beautiful day. He stomach growled and reminded him that because of his father’s lecture this morning, he had not finished his breakfast. This still annoyed him, what right did the house staff have to gossip about their mistress, didn’t they have anything better to do? If she knew of their gossip, she’d be horrified.
He walked down a clear pathway, though quite narrow and looking like it was not used very much. A large outcrop of rock loomed ahead and he decided to stop and rest. It offered a wonderful view of the valley and the surrounding countryside. He sat atop the rock and looked out over the land, this was still Hexley’s land, and his estates were vast. This was one of the injustices that made him angry, all this land owned by just one family was obscene. Still, politics aside, this part of the county was truly beautiful with green rolling hills and a river that snaked between them. He was so engrossed with the scenery that he did not hear the horse’s hooves until they were almost upon him. Looking down below, onto the path, he saw a woman riding a horse, and as she drew closer he recognized her, it was Lady Hexley. She was intently watching the path in front, so busy guiding the horse along that she failed to spot him.
He sat perfectly still for a moment, unsure of what to do. He wanted to call out to her, but his father’s warning was still fresh in his mind and whilst he was angry with him, Tristan knew that what he said made sense. He wondered at her reason for being out here alone, he doubted her husband approved, which probably meant he was away again. Deciding that the best course of action was discretion, he started to move backwards, out of her sight. As he did so, his foot dislodged a rock, which crashed onto the path below and caused lady Hexley to look up.
“Who’s up there?” Bridget called out, startled by the falling rock. “Show yourself, this is private land.”
He considered making a quick exit, but instead, he stepped forward so she could see him, and took off his hat, tipping it in greeting.
“Lady Hexley,” he said, respectfully.
She came to a sudden stop, “Tristan, what on earth are you doing all the way out here, on foot?” she asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“It’s my day off, Lady, and I’m getting close to nature on my walk. Enjoying it so much, I forgot to bring food,” he laughed, making light conversation.
“Oh, I have a small picnic, I like my privacy sometimes, and take a ride into this woodlands,” she responded. “Would you care to join me?”
“Indeed, Lady, it would be an honor,” he replied, not believing his luck.
“I have a spot, just up that embankment; I read the new books by Jane Austin there. If his Lordship knew I was reading such a modern female writer, he would have plenty to say, so I sneak out here,” she explained herself, trotting her horse to climb the way she had pointed.
Tristan followed the horse, wondering how far he would have to walk, but it wasn’t far, and it was a beautiful spot. He stood looking at a small glade, surrounded by bushes and trees, yet the sun managed to shine into it, from above. When he arrived, her Ladyship had already dismounted from her horse.
“You should have waited, Lady Hexley, dismounting alone can be dangerous,” he reprimanded her, gently.
“Well, I’d never get off my horse, would I? How would I read my modern books then?” she smiled at him as she began to unpack her saddle bag.
Passing him various items, they soon had a comfortable area prepared, for sitting down on the floor.
“I know there isn’t much to eat, cook only packed for one. Mind you, she always puts in far too much,” Lady Hexley chattered on.
“Should you be alone with a man out in a secluded woodland, my Lady?” he dared to ask.
Tristan took Bridget’s delicate hands into his huge firm strong one, and gently turned it over as he brushed his lips across the back of it. He knew he was taking a risk but his passion was ruling his head. He let her hand fall, but still engulfed it with his.
“I happen to like this gentleman, very much, and trust he will do nothing without my permission,” she smiled.
“I’m not so sure I can be called a gentleman, however, I do have manners and promise not to do anything you might object too.” he answered, his face a mask of seriousness. The urge to kiss her was almost overwhelming and it took all of his self-control not to press his lips to hers.
Bridget blushed slightly at his comments, but stared at him boldly, her eyes locked on his.
“Is it fate, I wonder that we should meet here today?” she began, making no effort to pull her hands from his. “I was just thinking of you as I rode along and suddenly you appear; it is quite disconcerting.”
“Disconcerting? In a good or bad way?” he still held her hand and she had made no effort to remove it from his. Taking that as his cue, he reached over to Bridget and pulled her face towards his own, and in no time, their lips were touching and he could feel her warmth. She did not refuse his advances. Encouraged by this, he firmly pressed his lips to hers, in a passionate embrace.
Lady Bridget Hexley knew she should not encourage this passionate young man. All the rules about etiquette and behaviour were in complete opposition to her current actions. But, this man stirred something deep within her, something that she had not felt for her husband. A deep longing that burned her very insides. Yes, it was wrong, she was a married woman, but her passion and desires were ruling her head, as she surrendered completely to his kiss.
Chapter 9
Lady Bridget Hexley knew this was all wrong and yet still went against everything she had been taught on how a lady should behave. All caution gone, as had any sense of decency, but she simply could not help herself. A passionless marriage had driven her to this and she was being pushed by natural forces, a desire to be loved, to be wanted to be satisfied.
Tristan gently pushed her over onto her back and he pressed his body on to hers. She was trapped beneath him as he pressed his mouth hard on to hers, and his tongue explored her mouth.
Unwanted, her conscience came to the fore and she pushed him away, her lips felt instantly bereft of his contact.
“Please, no, I cannot do this, it is improper and is not behaviour fitting a lady of my stature,” she could not believe that she was saying those words, when she so desperately wanted him
Tristan leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers, a frown on his face.
“I promised I would not behave in a manner that my Lady found objectionable, and I feel I have not, as of yet. Though I have to question that you must feel this desire between us as I do, this spark, this undeniable attraction.”
She turned away from him, not wanting to look into his eyes in case he could see her real feelings, her desires and wants; she blushed at the thought and the shame.
He reached down, and with his hand he turned her head back towards him. The touch of his hand on her face sent another flood of desire coursing through her body. She watched as he slowly lowered his face back down to hers. Powerless to stop him, she was not even sure that she really wanted to. Her lips yearned for his, and she closed her eyes and accepted him completely. They kissed long, hard and passionately, The Lady of the house had lost all sense of propriety, as her tongue danced a tango of lust. Her body was on fire and she had not felt so alive in years. It was wrong. She really should not be here. She was betraying her husband, her class and her social standing, but these thoughts were quickly pushed aside as she abandoned all sense of duty, and gave in to her carnal desires.
Tristan knew her resolve was broken, he could feel her body relax underneath him as she accepted his kiss, and responded in kind. She was like a delicate rose, ready for the plucking, and he was after all the gardener’s son. Just briefly, his father’s words from this morning came to him, and he almost considered stopping, but he was too far gone for that now. They were both far too deeply embroiled in the throes of passion.
Tristan feathered delicate kisses down her neck, smiling inwardly as he felt her body shudder. This encouraged him to allow his hand to wander down under her riding coat, and onto her bodice. He firmly squeezed the plump mounds of her breasts. Bridget moaned quietly into his mouth and wantonly arched her back, pushing her breasts into his hand.
He desperately needed to feel her soft and voluptuous skin, but the fastenings on the bodice were proving almost impossible to undo. Finally, the buttons gave way, but her breasts were still covered by further layers of clothing.
Good grief,
he thought to himself,
how does a woman manage to move with all this clothing.
Giving up on the thought of caressing her naked breasts, his hands trailed over her stomach, towards the place on her body that desired his touch the most.
“Ohhh, Tristan,” she moaned lightly, pulling her face away from his, and taking gulps of air.
The passion had reached a fever point and she desperately needed to feel him inside of her. Bridget abandoned all restraint and reached down to help, hitching up her dress and petty coats, and exposing her pantaloons that she wore when riding. She felt a shiver of naughtiness rush through her, and it only increased her desire - a desire that was growing tenfold as she felt his hands on her inner thighs. At the same time, Tristan pressed his stiffness against her leg. Deftly, Tristan undid the ties holding the pantaloons together, and soon his hand was caressing her naked skin. He ran his fingers along the top of her leg, moving it along to the edge of her feminine mound. His fingers hovering around her sensitive area. The teasing was too much for Bridget, and she pushed her pelvis upwards forcing his hand so he was forced to touch her mons pubis. This caused her to cry out in ecstasy as his fingers brushed against her moist region.
Tristan was amazed at how she had completely abandoned her demure attitude, and was now wantonly thrusting her hips up to meet his hand. Her passion and promiscuousness was only increasing his own desires. He felt his member stiffen so rigid that it hurt to be confined. Reaching down, he pulled down the waistband of his pants and freed his stiff erection. Bridget could feel his hardness as the bare skin of his erection rested against her leg. She pushed back on it, marveling at its firmness, it felt like a bar of iron against her thigh.
Spreading her legs, Tristan climbed between them, positioning himself so that the very tip of his erection was lightly touching her wetness.
“Are you ready for me, my Lady?” Tristan said, paying particular emphasis on the word “Lady.”
He was enjoying playing the role of the hired help, satisfying the Lady of the house, and from the way that Bridget was moaning lightly, he believed that she did too.
Unable to contain himself any further, he plunged his erection all the way into her, until he could go no further. Their bodies crushed together, her wetness completely enveloping him. Bridget had waited with anticipation as he hovered above her, his erection lightly brushing her quim, longing to feel him inside of her. But, when he thrust into her, it had taken her by surprise. He was so thick and long, that her first sensation was almost painful. She felt as if he were splitting her in two. Soon the pain subsided, only to be replaced by pleasure. He easily slipped between her wet vulva, and together they rode a rhythm of passion as he pounded into her. She responded by thrusting up to him.
She began to feel an unfamiliar feeling deep inside. Something she had never felt when making love to her husband. It was a buildup of intense pleasure, wild animalistic urges pushing her further and further over the edge. It seemed to be reaching a crescendo as Tristan increased his thrusting, and soon an unbelievable sensation swept through her body. A tidal wave of pleasure coursed through her, and she screamed out her ecstasy. Her body was flooded with erotic sensations. Despite being lost in the throes of passion, she could feel Tristan’s erection grow even thicker as he emanated deep growls from his chest. Suddenly, she felt herself being filled with his warm stickiness. One long grunt from Tristan and then he collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the forest floor. His weight was heavy, but comforting, and she did not object as they lay there together, basking in their mutual satisfaction.
Eventually, he rolled off her and lay on his back, by her side. She pulled down her skirt to hide her modesty. They lay together in the heat of the sun, turning their heads inwards so they could look into one another’s eyes.
“Any regrets, Lady?” he asked her, lifting his finger to stroke her soft cheek.
“None, Tristan, and when we’re alone, please call me Bridget,” she whispered back at him. “After all, I want you as much you desire me, so we are equals.”
“Well,
Bridget
,” he emphasized her name, softly. “I think we’d better be on our separate ways,” he suggested.
“Do we have to?” she said, regretfully. “I would love to just run away with you, take a boat overseas and grow old together,” she smiled, leaning over and kissing him lightly on his cheek.
“Me too, but then I’m not the one losing out on anything. You have everything to lose.” he reminded her. “Now come, let me help you mount your horse, before Lord Hexley sends out a search party for you.”
Reluctantly, she rearranged her clothing and packed together the picnic they had eaten. Taking her hand, he helped her mount the horse, and watched longingly after her as she rode away down the forest path, not once turning to look back.