Sinful Seduction (10 page)

Breathing heavily he pushed her face down over it, took the trailing end of the strap and wound it round the arm so that she was tethered helplessly. Once that was done he walked across to the door, and she shuddered as she heard the click of the lock.

Shuffling back he stood in front of her and grinned down. ‘Not so hoity-toity now, are we missy?' he gloated. ‘Now where was I?' Bending over, he slid his hands between her trapped arms and slowly undid her bodice till her breasts tumbled free, like ripe fruit. He fondled the quivering breasts eagerly, relishing their taut firmness - then she squealed in pain as his fingers found their sensitive tips and pinched viciously.

‘Like that, don't you?' he panted as they hardened under the rough treatment. Straightening up again he fumbled with the buttons of his flies, and she whimpered as his thick, heavy cock sprang forth. He rubbed his hand up and down the shaft till the head swelled, purple and bulbous. ‘You'll like this as well,' he promised. ‘But first of all you'll find out it doesn't pay to defy me.'

Walking round behind her he flipped up her heavy skirts and pulled down her pantaloons to reveal the tempting curves of her buttocks. Eyes wide with fear, she craned her neck in a vain attempt to see what he was doing.

And she found out soon enough.

Grinning, he raised his hand and brought it down on her backside, hard, and she squealed again as the soft flesh quivered beneath the blow and a red handprint blossomed against the white flesh. Panting with effort and lust he raised his hand again... and again, until she was whining like a beaten animal. When he finally stopped she closed her eyes in relief.

But it didn't last long. Maggie gasped in horror as she felt his hands pulling her legs apart and his thick fingers invading the soft cleft of her sex. ‘No... no...' she whimpered, writhing as he pushed them roughly inside her. ‘Please, no...'

‘Oh yes,' he sneered. ‘You can't fool me. You little strumpets are all the same. You can't get enough of it. Well now you're going to get it! More than you ever dreamed of.' He sniggered like a perverted schoolboy. ‘I'm going to shove my prick so far up you, you'll be begging for mercy!'

Sick with horror, Maggie felt his fingers withdraw and the head of his cock press against the lips of her sex. There was a moment of resistance, and then he grunted and thrust himself home, and Maggie moaned as the full length of his member slid inside her.

Grunting like a satisfied boar he began to move, and Maggie protected herself the only way she could - with the power of her imagination. It wasn't Lord Edward's cock inside her, it was Jeremy's. It wasn't Lord Edward's thick fingers kneading her breasts and pinching her nipples, it was Jeremy's. Closing her eyes against reality, she lost herself in memories of their last night together, and felt heat spread through her belly.

It was her turn to groan now as she gave herself up to the delicious sensations beginning to spiral through her. Her quim was wet and slippery now, and with each thrust of the rampant prick her breasts quivered in his groping palms. Then Lord Edward released them, gripped her hips and pushed himself even deeper, but now, instead of trying to pull away, she pushed back against him, writhing as she relished the turgid cock wedged inside her.

He began to move more aggressively and she whined deep in the back of her throat as he reared and plunged, each stroke bringing her nearer to the exquisite moment of release. His fingers dug into her and she screamed as he brought her off with one final thrust, his scalding seed erupting inside her as he came.

He withdrew and Maggie collapsed against the chair, her breasts heaving as she gasped for air, then as she came back to reality shame washed over her like a hot tide. She groaned again, this time with humiliation instead of pleasure. Oh, what had she done? Lord Edward was right; she was nothing but a cheap little whore.

And as if to confirm it he was leering down at her again, his flaccid cock dangling, wet and glistening from his gaping flies. She averted her eyes in sick disgust. Untying her bound wrists he stepped back and watched in contempt as she stumbled to her feet and attempted to make herself decent again.

‘I knew you were a trollop,' he said triumphantly. ‘And one who enjoys her work into the bargain!' He reached into his pocket, pulled out a guinea and flung it at her feet. ‘Here,' he said disdainfully. ‘For services rendered, and worth every penny.'

Maggie bent and picked it up, determined to fling it back in his face, but his threatening expression stopped her. ‘Don't even think about it,' he said dangerously. ‘I've punished you once. Cross me again and next time it'll be worse.' So, suppressing her abhorrence for the man, she tucked the coin into her apron pocket and scurried towards the door.

‘Oh, just one more thing before you go, my dear,' he said, his voice stopping her on the threshold.

‘Yes, sir?' she said dully.

‘Have cook send up another pot of tea,' he ordered. ‘This one seems to have gone cold,' and his mocking laughter echoed in her ears as she fled.

 

‘Where on earth have you been till this time? I thought you'd got lost.' Mrs McAlister, looking up from whipping a bowl of cream, caught sight of Maggie's red eyes and white face and almost dropped it. ‘In the name of God, lassie, what's wrong with you? You look awful.'

‘Just a headache,' said Maggie. ‘I had to go to the privy and be sick, that's what took me so long.' She smiled wanly. ‘I'll be fine.'

‘You'll be nothing of the sort,' said Mrs McAlister firmly. ‘Just you get up those stairs for a wee lie down. We can manage without you for an hour or so.' She snorted. ‘And if you're not better by the time her ladyship comes back, then I'm sure young Mary can undo her stays just as well as you can, for once.' She put her hands on her hips. ‘Now off you go and no arguing.'

Too heartsick to argue, Maggie did as she was told. Wearily she crept upstairs to her attic room and closed the door behind her. Collapsing on the bed she buried her head in the thin pillow and wept for her lost innocence - the golden guinea in her pocket a symbol of her shame. Her last thought before she fell into an exhausted sleep was a disturbing one; what had Sir Edward meant by ‘next time'?

 

 

‘I don't know what's wrong with you, lassie,' scolded Mrs McAlister. ‘I've told you three times that her ladyship's bell's been ringing and you've not taken a blind bit of notice.' She tutted. ‘You've been trailing around in a dwam for I don't know how long. Now get up those stairs before she takes a fit.'

Wearily Maggie did as she was told. Mrs McAlister was right; she'd spent the last three weeks on tenterhooks, jumping every time she was spoken to, terrified that Lord Edward would catch her alone and force himself upon her again.

Even her afternoon off had failed to cheer her. She'd found herself wandering round the same places that she and Jeremy had gone to, miserably remembering how happy they'd been. She shuddered. What would he think of her if he ever found out she'd been enjoyed by his own father? She was soiled goods now, little better than the painted women who plied their trade on Piccadilly. No decent man would have her now.

Not that he'd be likely to find out, she thought bitterly. After that first letter, cracked and creased from constant re-reading, there had been nothing. No doubt he had found someone from his own class at one of the garrison balls. By this time his little fling with his mother's maid was probably nothing more than an amusing tale to tell his fellow officers.

Lady Georgina was still jerking angrily at the bell-rope when Maggie entered her room. ‘About time too,' she snapped. ‘I have been ringing for you this past ten minutes, you idle baggage. Do you think I have all day to wait till you deign to appear?'

‘No, m'm,' muttered Maggie, bobbing a curtsey with downcast eyes. ‘Sorry, m'm, it won't happen again.'

Mollified, Lady Georgina nodded. ‘Good, now hurry up and dress me, girl. Lord Edward and I are attending luncheon with his cousin, Sir Francis, and I want to look my best.' She looked at her reflection in the glass and simpered. ‘Sir Francis admired me too, when I was a girl. Why, if Lord Edward had not asked for my hand first, who knows what might have happened?'

If Maggie thought Sir Francis had had a lucky escape, she wisely refrained from saying so. Instead she went to the mahogany wardrobe and began laying out dresses for her ladyship's consideration, and the bed was piled high with discarded gowns before she finally chose one of bilious yellow satin, with so many flounces and furbelows it looked like a wedding cake.

‘Tighter, girl, tighter,' she panted as Maggie tugged on the laces of her corset. ‘My waist must be no more than a hand span.'

Chance would be a fine thing, Maggie thought wryly as she hauled even harder. It would take a miracle to whisk away the years of overindulgence. ‘Hand span' indeed. It would need a man with bloody big hands to get round that waist!

By the time she'd finished, Maggie was panting as well - and Lady Georgina could barely breathe. So much displaced fat oozed out over the top of her stays that she looked as if she had two bosoms - one at the back and one at the front! Still, Lady Georgina seemed pleased with the effect, so Maggie hurried to fetch her layers of petticoats and tie on her bustle before she changed her mind.

‘My dress now, girl,' she ordered imperiously, so Maggie eased the yellow satin carefully over her mistress's head, settled the folds of heavy material over the underpinnings and began to do up the interminable buttons at the back. Even with the stays pulled to their tightest, this was an effort. Finally, much to her relief, she was finished. Only her hair to do and her jewels to fetch and madam would be ready.

Maggie had barely done when Sir Edward strutted in. Lady Georgina lumbered to her feet and gave a graceless twirl. ‘Well?' she asked coyly. ‘What do you think? Will I pass muster?'

‘Delicious, my dear, absolutely delicious,' he said heartily. ‘Good enough to eat.' Maggie shivered; his words might have been for Lady Georgina, but his cold eyes were fixed on her and she felt naked again beneath his leering gaze. Luckily her mistress noticed nothing. ‘Bring my fan, girl,' she ordered. ‘The one with the ivory handle and yellow ostrich feathers.' Relieved to have something to do, Maggie scuttled off to fetch it.

When they had both gone, her ladyship clinging to her husband's arm like a portly galleon being escorted by a dumpy little tug, Maggie collapsed on the bed beside the discarded dresses and blew out her cheeks in a gusty sigh of relief. Thank God for Lady Georgina. She might not be the easiest of mistresses, but at least while she was around she was protected from the master's unwanted attentions.

A man might keep sleep with a different whore every night and keep as many mistresses as he liked - provided everything was swept discreetly under the carpet. Even Lord Edward would not dare flout convention by fornicating with his wife's maid while she was under the same roof. As long as Lady Georgina was in the house, Maggie was safe.

Feeling more secure than she had in weeks, Maggie set about tidying things away again, humming happily under her breath.

But it wasn't to last.

Three days later, the letter arrived.

‘Mr Harris the butler gave me this,' Mrs Hardcastle said to Maggie, waving a narrow envelope as she bustled into the kitchen. ‘You'd better take it up with her ladyship's breakfast tray.' She held it up to the light and peered at it. ‘It's not Master Jeremy's writing. I wonder who it's from...' She laid it on the tray. ‘No doubt we'll find out soon enough.'

 

‘A letter for you, my lady,' said Maggie as she laid the tray on the bed.

Lady Georgina picked it up and slit it open with her butter knife. She scanned it rapidly, then tutted and shook her head. ‘Poor Lucy, enceinte again,' she muttered to herself. ‘There's nothing else for it, I shall have to go.'

She looked up at Maggie. ‘I shall be leaving for the country as soon as possible, Carter. You may start packing as soon as I have dressed.'

 

‘What's “enceinte” when it's at home?' Maggie demanded when she took the tray back to the kitchen.

‘In the puddin' club,' Mrs Hardcastle said bluntly. ‘It's one of those fancy words them upstairs uses when they're talking about something “not quaite nice”. Anyway,' she went on, fixing Maggie with a suspicious stare. ‘Why are you asking that? You ain't, are you?'

‘Of course not!' Maggie protested. ‘Lady Georgina used it and I wondered what it meant, that's all.'

‘Ahhh,' said Mrs H, comprehension dawning. ‘So that's what the letter was about.' She sniffed. ‘It'll be that young sister of hers again. Miss Lucy - or Lady Fortesque as she is now - and a blooming good job she's married, too. This'll be the seventh by my count.' She shook her head. ‘Poor girl; all that husband of hers needs to do is look sideways at her and she falls - and she was never very strong to start with.' She sighed. ‘He's going to kill her one of these days, you mark my words.'

‘Lady Georgina's going to stay with her,' Maggie informed them. ‘I've to start packing once she's dressed.'

‘More work,' said Mrs H glumly, then she brightened. ‘Mind you, once she's gone we can loosen our own corsets a bit, and you'll like it down there, Maggie. It's a beautiful old house. You'll have a bedroom to yourself, and the grub's lovely. Mrs Benson's a grand cook.' She looked at Maggie. ‘The fresh air'll put a few roses in your cheeks, too,' she added. ‘You've been looking a bit peaky lately.'

‘Will I be going, too?' asked Maggie eagerly. The thought of being safely away from Lord Edward was almost too good to be true.

Mrs Hardcastle looked at her in surprise. ‘Course you will, love!' she exclaimed. ‘Don't you know that by this time? No lady travels anywhere without her personal maid.' She chuckled. ‘Can you imagine her majesty trying to put on her own stays? I should cocoa!' She patted Maggie's hand and gave her a wink. ‘It'll be like a holiday, and you enjoy yourself while you can, pet. Bit o' new blood? I'll bet them young footmen will be falling all over you.'

Maggie smiled back. She could live without the footmen, but it would be lovely to get away from this place and all her fears, and by the time she got back perhaps Lord Edward would have found someone else to lust after.

Buoyed by the thought she whisked through the rest of the day, oblivious of the sheer hard work involved as she ran backwards and forwards filling trunk after trunk with clothes, underwear and shoes. ‘Good grief,' grumbled Mrs H as she carried in yet another pile of freshly washed and ironed petticoats. ‘You'd think she was going to bloomin' America instead of to the next county. God help the poor horse that has to cart this lot, that's all I can say.' She laid them on the top of the open case and attempted unsuccessfully to close the lid. ‘Come on, love, park your bum on this while I try and shut it.' Giggling, Maggie did as she was told.

 

The first tendrils of doubt began to intrude as the day wore on and Lady Georgina still hadn't mentioned Maggie going with her. So when Thomas began to carry the trunks down to the carriage she took her courage in both hands. ‘Shall I pack my trunk now too, my lady?' she asked anxiously.

Lady Georgina looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Of course not, Carter. Whatever gave you the idea that I was taking you?' She snorted. ‘There's plenty of work for you here.'

Maggie stared at her aghast. ‘B-but, how will your ladyship manage without a maid?' she stammered. ‘Who will take care of you?'

‘Lady Fortesque will lend me her French maid, Antoinette, of course,' said Lady Georgina. Her lips tightened with resentment at a long-held grudge. ‘She should have come with me when I married, but for some strange reason she chose to stay with my sister.' She looked down her nose at Maggie. ‘And I have had to put up with years of inferior service as a result.' She glared at her. ‘Now don't just stand there gawping at me, girl. I haven't got all day. Fetch my grey kid gloves. The carriage will be leaving soon.'

Numbly, Maggie fetched the gloves, followed Lady Georgina downstairs, settled her in the carriage, and only when it drew away did the dam break. Scurrying down the area steps she fled to the kitchen where she slumped into a chair, laid her head on her arms, and wept as if her heart would break.

‘There, there, love,' said Mrs Hardcastle, patting her back while Mrs McAlister looked on wringing her floury hands in distress. ‘Don't take on so. It's not the end of the world. You'll get to go next time, I'm sure. That French piece Antoinette's been with them since they were girls. She must be sixty if she's a day. They'll have to put her out to pasture soon.'

‘No, you don't understand,' sobbed Maggie. Nobody understood. With Lady Georgina safely out of the way, she was now totally at Lord Edward's mercy.

 

 

 

Despite her fears, day followed unremarkable day for the next two weeks and Maggie began to relax. Without Lady Georgina's constant demands, there was a holiday atmosphere in the house. Lord Edward dined frequently at his club, so there were less elaborate meals for Mrs McAlister to prepare, and on Mrs Hardcastle's birthday, Mr Harris the butler unbent enough to ‘acquire' several bottles of wine from his lordship's cellar to celebrate the occasion.

‘To Moll,' he said, solemnly raising his glass. ‘God bless her.'

‘And all who sail in her,' sniggered Thomas.

Mr Harris quelled him with an icy glance. ‘That will be quite enough of that kind of smutty talk, young man,' he said sternly. ‘This is a respectable house, and don't you forget it.'

‘Sorry, Mr Harris,' Thomas muttered, lowering his eyes. ‘Sorry, Mrs H.'

‘As I was saying,' Mr Harris went on, unperturbed. ‘Please raise your glasses in a toast to Mrs Hardcastle.'

‘To Mrs H,' they chorused. Maggie sipped her wine and pulled a face. It was horrible. How the nobs could drink such nasty, sour stuff for pleasure escaped her. Give her a nice cup of tea or a glass of Mrs McAlister's homemade lemonade anytime. Grimacing, she swallowed it as quickly as she could.

‘Here, love, ‘ave another,' beamed Mrs McAlister, pouring it before Maggie had time to protest. ‘Red wine's good for the blood.'

After the dishes were cleared away there was another surprise. There was a timid tap at the entry door and when Maggie opened it a street urchin stood on the step, clutching a battered fiddle. He shuffled from one dirty bare foot to the other and gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘‘Ello, miss,' he beamed. ‘The toff wot lives here said ‘e'd give us a sixpence if I come and played me fiddle.'

Maggie grinned back; Mr Harris would be delighted to hear himself described as a ‘toff', and he was certainly pulling out all the stops tonight. First the wine, and now this. Normally a cheeky little bugger like this would be chased off so fast his legs wouldn't touch the ground.

‘Right,' she said, ‘this way.' She wagged a finger under his nose. ‘And mind you don't touch nothing. Keep your sticky fingers to yourself - or else! Anything goes missing and I'll ‘ave the constables after you.'