The Secret Diary of Lady Catherine Bexley (7 page)

Musing these disappointing thoughts, I turned to leave the corridor. I’d resume my walk if I was not needed to entertain, I supposed.

The wind had risen again, and the threatening grey clouds had gathered closer to the hall. I wondered if I should, perhaps, have taken my shawl.

I walked past the well-clipped hedge and past the statue of Hercules and the boar, hovering for a moment to gaze upon their struggle. A fascinating sculpture it was, to be sure, and an unusual choice of art, considering my husband’s propensity for all things proper. For a moment my eyes lingered on Hercules’ minute cock, a mere nub in a wild stone bush of hair. I felt a rude giggle swell in my chest. It is a blessing, dear diary, that my husband does not possess such a diminutive thing in his breeches — else I’d be suffering even greater throws of dissatisfaction and frustration. As I released my unbidden giggle, my wicked thoughts were interrupted.

‘Cousin Catherine.’

I swirled around, my gown tangling itself between my legs. Albert stood behind me, dressed in soiled breeches, boots and smock. Filth stained him from head to foot.

‘Lord Winteringham,’ I replied, trying to keep the atmosphere formal, I curtsied and accepted his reciprocal bow.

‘Pray tell, what do you find so amusing? I do love a good joke.’ His dark hair swirled like a mane in the wind and his glittering blue eyes lingered for a moment on my bust-line.

I felt a hot sweep of nervousness, and regretted once more my failure to procure a shawl for my walk.

For a time, I hesitated in answering. I couldn’t possibly have described my indecent thoughts to Albert, philanderer that he was. So, as seems to be my growing habit, I lied.

‘I find it amusing that the boar in this sculpture is so small. I have read the classic legend and know it to be of tremendous size — yet in this depiction it is little larger than a hunting dog.’

Albert’s hungry eyes left my bust-line and studied the statue for a moment. Eventually he nodded. ‘What a perceptive woman you are.’ He smiled at me and reached out his hand to stroke back a tendril of hair from my face, in an offensively familiar gesture.

I shrank back, not merely because I found his gesture an improper one to impart on a married woman, but his hands were covered in filth.

‘Are you as shy in my cousin’s bed?’ Albert asked with a laugh and retracted his hand. ‘Or is he so proper he can’t even get it up?’

What a singularly inappropriate thing to say!

‘I will take my leave of you, sir,’ I managed to say stiffly, and made to depart. Alas my retreat was interrupted by Lord Stanton’s carriage barrelling past the gardens and down the driveway.

He waved cheerily from the window and I raised a hand awkwardly in response.

‘Who was that?’ Albert asked, stepping closer to me once again.

‘My husband’s friend, Lord Stanton.’

‘
The
Lord Stanton?’ Albert asked, with a lascivious wink.

It seemed to me then, dear diary, that Lord Stanton had a reputation that I had seen, but never heard spoken of.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I retorted, and moved to go.

His hand gripped my arm. ‘Don’t go,’ Albert growled softly under his breath, though I could scarce hear him over the increasing roar of the wind.

Would it have been rude of me to tug my arm away? I wasn’t sure, but I felt terribly uncomfortable under his wicked blue gaze.

‘I must, the wind is getting high and Joseph will be looking for me,’ I lied, hoping to release myself from his grasp.

‘I doubt it,’ Albert replied, and pulled me physically towards him. ‘He’ll be busy with Faulks and the accounts, no doubt rubbing his hands with glee at the small fortune my father has paid him to house me here.’ His breath was hot against my cheek. ‘So we are, for all intents and purposes, alone …’

May the Lord forgive me, but something sparked within me and my traitorous loins burned back into life.

Albert, filthy as he was, dipped his head and kissed my cheek.

‘You are as soft as a peach,’ he whispered against my skin, and began to trail kisses down my neck. ‘Ripe for me to … pluck.’

Did I mishear him?
I wondered, did he say
fuck
? I tried to twist away, but he grabbed me and dragged me close to him, sheltering me beside the hedging, away from eyes from the hall.

‘Let me go,’ I breathed.

Albert’s dirty hand dove inside the bodice of my gown and pulled a breast out with his grimy hand.

I cried out, the cool air instantly made my nipple pucker, and I automatically went to cover myself. ‘How dare you!’

‘I’ve wanted to see those teats since I first stepped in this hall,’ he growled, and wrapped himself around me. I struggled weakly. The scent of horse manure and earth were strong, and I gagged, but Albert seemed not to notice.

‘This is most inappropriate sir,’ I gasped as he lowered his head to my exposed breast and suckled it as I imagine a babe would.

Despite the shock of the moment, my body reacted and a slight groan slipped from my throat. ‘But you like it don’t you?’ Albert murmured, still nuzzling my exposed breast.

My words were choked in my throat by the mounting pleasure suffusing my body. ‘It doesn’t matter if I do,’ I gasped. ‘I’m a married woman. Get off me.’

His other hand began to delve lower, snaking down between my thighs. I cried out when his dirty hand moulded itself to my mons and rubbed at it through the material of my gown and petticoat.

‘Stop.’ His voice was like a strike of lightening. Lord Joseph Bexley appeared like a vengeful god. I stared at him, grateful but horrified.

Albert froze, his hand falling from betwixt my legs. He stepped away.

‘Cousin,’ he demurred, ‘I …’

‘I have eyes, and have ears, Albert,’ my husband growled. ‘She said quite plainly to get away.’

‘She needs a good fucking,’ Albert muttered. ‘You can’t blame me.’ But he moved away from me none the less.

I was completely motionless with the horror of the situation. My husband’s dark eyes crawled over me, and lingered on the exposed breast. My breath hitched in my throat. What was he going to do?

Dear diary, of all the situations my over-active mind may have envisioned, what he actually
did
surprised me most.

‘I will deal with you later, Albert.’ Joseph snarled. ‘I must deal with my wife first.’

Within a moment, I found myself bodily scooped into my husband’s strong arms. The gardens flew by in a blur. I could feel his strong hand bite into the flesh of my thigh as he carried me. The heat through his clothing burned.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I whispered. It had begun to rain and large cold droplets began to pour over us, soaking my gown and making it cling to my body.

‘To bed,’ he growled.

Dear diary, had I heard my husband correctly?

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, titillated as well as alarmed.

‘It has come to my attention that I have been remiss in my conjugal duties with you.’

We were inside the hall now, and as Joseph carried me up the stairs, Faulks stepped out of the library.

‘Milord?’ he asked, but Joseph ignored him, instead taking the stairs in large wide bounds, two at a time.

Within a moment he pushed the door to my rooms open and placed me on the bed. I sank into the soft feather mattress, dampening it with my rain soaked gown.

Joseph stood before me, sopping wet, his hair plastered to his head.

‘I heard you with Albert,’ he said stiffly.

‘I… ‘

‘It was then I realised that you
are
a true lady. It was clear to my eyes that you were enjoying his touch, yet, you knew it was improper because you were married to me.’

I stared at him perplexed and confused. ‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘But, I have neglected you, haven’t I Catherine?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been so obsessed with treating you like the lady you are, I did not consider the needs of the
woman
you are.’

I was silent and looked down.

‘All my life, Catherine, I have feared becoming what my father was. He would dip his wick in anything that stood still long enough, and I feared I would become the same. When I married you …’ he paused and ran his fingers through his hair, ‘I did not want to treat you like my father had treated his wives. I didn’t want to fall on you like a ravenous beast.’

‘But, I
wanted
you to,’ I confessed, ‘as long as you fall on me, and
only
me.’

With those words, dear diary, I felt my shoulders lighten. He knew now, and I knew that as an honourable and proper man, he could not and would not deny me.

‘You have my word, and most solemn promise,’ he replied. ‘May I undress you?’

‘Please kiss me,’ I whispered in return.

When Lord Joseph Bexley reached over to me, I saw his hand tremble with want, need or fear. But I didn’t care.

His lips touched mine, soft and tentative at first, then hard and possessive. He tasted like smoke and whisky and I sent silent thanks to the philandering Lord Stanton and Albert, who’d opened his eyes when I had been unable.

When he pulled away, I was panting with need, and this time my husband recognised it for what it was. He turned me around, so that he could unlace my gown and stays. It took an intolerably long time, but soon enough I wore only my soaking petticoat.

‘To my waist? I asked, teasing.

‘I would have you naked now and every other time I come to you. I have been foolish not to enjoy the bounty blessed upon me.’

I smiled gratefully and slipped out of my petticoat and drawers, and reclined on the bed. I was excited now. The moisture seeped through my nether curls and the secret lips of my womanhood parted in anticipation. My husband was naked and his cock jutted with excitement before me. A pearly bead of seed glistened on it and I reached over and hesitantly touched it. He shuddered.

‘There is the matter of which we have left unspoken,’ he began, as my hand slid down the smooth length of him.

‘There is?’

‘You smashed my mother’s clock — on purpose.’

I hesitated then. ‘So I did,’ I choked. ‘Do you wish to … to … ‘

‘Punish you?’ Joseph finished for me.

I held my breath. ‘Yes.’ I was unable to hold his gaze, and I looked away.

‘No,’ he replied, coolly, ‘but I do want to spank you.’

‘Yes,’ I breathed. As my husband turned me onto my stomach I could scarce close my legs, my sex was so swollen with need.

I lay there, face down in my pillow, baring my buttocks to him, waiting.

‘You have a beautiful bottom. How I’d like to see it reddened by my hand,’ he murmured, and stroked the twin mounds gently. ‘Would you allow me?’

‘Yes.’ My answer was muffled by the pillow, but I gather my husband understood my response. Within a moment, a crack echoed around the room, and an instant later a sharp sensation shot through my buttocks and sparked between my legs. The word I cried out, dear diary, was the only one I could. ‘Yes!’ And a second later, he spanked me again. Forgive me dear diary, for my use of profane language, but my quim ached for his cock then. With every sharp strike upon my buttocks, the heady pressure in my quim grew. After a few more strikes, I was pleading him to take me.

‘Please,’ I moaned, ‘oh, please.’

Joseph did not answer but mounted me from behind, I could feel the large head of him, nestle at the mouth of my soaking sex. ‘Please,’ I moaned again.

When he sheathed himself within me I cried out as I felt stretched and full. He began to thrust hard and fast.

‘Catherine,’ he moaned loudly.

I could sense that he was about to shudder and climax as the pressure built in me.

‘If you stop now, I’ll die,’ I cried out between heaving breaths.

He hesitated for a short moment and then urged himself onward. My intense longing that had been dogging me since our wedding day grew, my skin felt aflame. As he thrust behind me, his thighs slapped my buttocks sending sharp spasms of arousal to my quim. Each one brought me closer to that elusive height.

‘Don’t stop,’ I gasped. ‘Keep going.’

My husband did as I bid, faster and more urgently than before. Each thrust sending me spiralling higher until the pressure grew unbearable.

‘Oh!’ I cried out as he thrust one last time. He filled me to the hilt of his cock and I finally reached that place. The intense pressure in my quim broke over me and pleasure spread through my body. I don’t think I breathed for a whole minute.

The pleasure rained down over me, leaving me tight and throbbing around his cock.

He collapsed atop, shuddering over me as I shuddered beneath.

Dear diary,

It has been nearly a month since I last wrote — and what a month it has been. Since the day my husband found me with Albert Winteringham, things are much improved. Our discourses are open, our affection for each other growing, and perhaps most notably, our conjugal acts are full of satisfaction and neither I, nor he, feel shame for it.

I find it amusing that the purity of thought I had once hoped to find in professing my thoughts in this diary has not been achieved. In my humble opinion, purity is an overrated characteristic and one that should be banned from marriage altogether.

I have heard on the gossip mill that my husband and I are considered the very model of moral fortitude and decency in the many facetted eyes of society.

It therefore gives me much pleasure to divulge to you now, that behind closed doors my husband, the honourable Lord Joseph Bexley, and I indulge in some wicked things — but again, perhaps wicked is the wrong word. If I happen to break something on purpose — which I am known to do — my husband knows exactly what repercussions are warranted, and
wanted
. If my nerves are frayed by something I have seen, he knows precisely how to soothe them.

You see, dear diary, we have found the perfect balance. In the eyes of society my husband will ever remain a man of piety, prestige and perfect solicitude — but I will be forever grateful that in private, at least, he is
not.