The Dissolute Rake

  The Dissolute Rake

  The Dissolute Rake

  Midpoint

  The Dissolute Rake

  Copyright © Francine Howarth 2017

  Black Velvet Books

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  All characters in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental: whether alive or dead

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  Real persons and places of note may feature.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior consent of the author.

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  One

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  Exmoor, Somerset: 1819

  .

  Feeling more dissolute than usual he rolled away from the woman whose limbs entwined his own. His interest in bestowing pleasure to others the night previous had fallen short, and his behaviour overall had been less than engaging despite the fact he had readily accepted pleasure bestowed. He cursed his sorry hide in turning over for he was confronted with a second scantily clad voluptuous young woman, whose name he could not recall, nor wished to. She stirred momentarily as he clambered over her outstretched body, and mumbled a curse at him thence buried her head to the pillow. Sharing a bed when foxed had become the norm of his life whilst indulging pleasurable pursuits at house parties where orgies were a surety. Albeit the majority of invitations that came his way were of the standard variety, just occasionally, if the host’s intentional bent was for post supper layovers, little star markers to top right corner were thus dispatched to those of like tastes for extra-marital or other pleasures of a sexual nature.

  Always assured a good mix of people inclusive upright members of the community, oft the gentlemen were flush with daughters borne of innocence all things men and therefore easily flattered and ended up in huddles of giggling mischief, though of little interest to the serious minded pleasure seeker. One or two of the mamas were renowned for indulging a secret kiss and a teasing fondle now and again, but rarely brave enough to venture as far as did the liberated women who were in attendance and masquerading as wives, cousins, nieces to several gentleman from out of town, so to speak. On this occasion Constable Williams, Justice Parsons, and Squire Thorne, the late town mayor had arrived with their wives, and one or two young bachelor bucks were in attendance for the same reason as he, Marcus Fairweather, Earl of Sheldon. Thus, as soon as wives and daughters of fellow degenerates were dispatched homeward bound at around eleven of evening, along with daughters and the more genteel folk given to routine of early to bed early to rise mantra, and all in belief the men who’d stayed behind were about to set to with a wager or two on carding, hidden desires were thence enacted.

  Despite hedonistic joys to be had a plenty, for the first time in his life he hadn’t indulged in full manly glory, and had instead accepted oral pleasure bestowed to satisfy needs another had stirred and had declined to engage with him. Feeling decidedly tainted he moved across to a wash bowl and jug containing water, and there set to in washing the odorous smell of others from his person, and whilst doing so mulled the prior evening’s events. Of the married ladies present earlier in the evening, one had stolen his eye, a rather lovely beauty with the bluest of eyes and dark lustrous hair with a deep red tint and piled atop her head, which had enhanced a delectable slender swan neck. Quite tall and svelte, her firm and enticing breasts were a delight to behold denoting no child had suckled at will. Having established she was childless, and well aware of Squire Thorne’s penchant for young male companions, it was down to him, the Earl of Sheldon, to at least render her attendance at Will Tranter’s supper party a memorable event. Thus he had endeavoured with charming deceit to lure her to a quiet nook, and there partake of her at his pleasure.

  Whether she was indeed genuinely innocent and unworldly proved impossible to define, but she had indeed outwitted him at every turn of his wicked artifice and near driven him insane with lust and not a caress or embrace granted. Never had the like happened to him in all his raking days, and given to extremes in pleasure in normal circumstances and not caring who performed what when thoroughly out of his cups, he had sought to latterly quash overt desire for Squire Thorne’s wife, and all to no avail. The mere thought of her caused hardness about him as he dried himself in brisk manner, and whilst donning his breeches he near laughed at a burgeoning erection; one of the whores in the bed would oblige by spreading her thighs, or the young man lying across the foot of the bed would embrace his rampant cock with lips as he had in equal measure as had the two women the night prior.

  Unwilling to remain a moment longer in the host’s country retreat, the old man as degenerate as the guests lounging abed, all of whom would rise late of morn, he rapidly clothed self and departed the bedchamber. ‘Twas as he could see, nearing the crack of dawn, and whilst walking the corridor of Merchant Tranter’s residence, a house of ten bedchambers and more and furnished with flamboyance of gilt cornice’ and architravings, he opened doors along the way, as much out of interest as a means to determine if Squire Thorne had taken leave from the house in the early hours. But no, the man was content and slumbering betwixt to young bucks, and no doubt on waking the debauched squire would resume, as would others, the delights available to hand.

  The sheer thought of Squire Thorne’s svelte delectable wife rattling around in the man’s modest country mansion, which lay not too far distant from his own residence, all manner of excuses to call at Porlock Down House leapt to mind, but none plausible for a woman who seemed averse to his amorous overtures.

  As soon as his horse was saddled by a sullen stable hand who was not all that impressed to see a gentleman about so early of morn; Marcus Fairweather rode away with purpose and still wracking his brain on nearing the gates of Porlock Down with paltry excuses to pay visit, he espied the squire’s conveyance on the carriageway minus a wheel and leaning at a precarious tilt. There were no horses and no sign of persons, his assumption therefore that Squire Thorne’s wife had walked away unharmed. Thus he reined his horse onward, until guilt and excuse materialised as one lightning strike, for he now had every excuse to assure self that Mrs. Thorne was safe and not in any way injured. It was unlikely the shaft had broken and the horses had bolted in fright and thence dragged the coachman from up top, but it wouldn’t be the first of such catastrophes, so he reined about.

  Affording his trusty steed a hefty pat to his neck, he addressed it with due respect: “Sorry Tarquin, but duty calls.”

  On close inspection of the carriage there was no lady, merely a long white glove left on the seat. Thinking it a strange thing for a lady to leave one glove, instinct and inner need bade him ride to the house, not mere lust by any stretch of licentious desires, he genuinely needed to know she was safe and unhurt.

  It was all too easy to dismiss a discarded glove as bearing little or no significance in light of a missing carriage wheel which may have been due to a collision with a gatepost by drunken coachman, but strange things oft happened on highways at night. Besides, she was a woman travelling alone with merely a coachman, perhaps a groom if Thorne prided himself on full turn-out. Though liveried coachman and grooms were few and far between in the district barring Devon Howard, Duke of Malchester’s well-turned out coaching teams and equipage, and never did Devon let his duchess travel alone at any time without an armed guard.

  On arrival out front of the house all seemed quiet as would be expected so early of morn, thus the main door left ajar seemed odd indeed. Whilst dismounting Tarquin he quite expected the appearance of a stable lad to come rushing forth from the nearby yard, for surely someone had heard him trotting
along the driveway.

  At no response to his arrival it was only natural to suspect all was far from well at Porlock Down. In haste he tethered Tarquin to a boot scraper located on the side of the second step, and feeling a tad uncomfortable in crossing the threshold without invitation; he nonetheless ventured into a hallway not unlike his own. Its panelled walls and oak staircase bearing a cosy ambience; in particular pink and white roses arranged in a crystal bowl atop a half-moon table and markedly that of a woman’s touch. The fragrance alone reminded him of the lady of the house, for it was the rose essence of her and the roundness of—

  Hell and damnation, for once curtail your lustful thoughts, Marcus.

  No damn it. He wanted her, and despite having made it abundantly clear she would not play footsy with him, here he was, ever hopeful her reluctance was all a ploy to drive him to drink in the first instance. In fact he was damnably sure she had taken a fancy to him; else why indulge much fluttering of eyelashes and coy looks over the top of her fan, eh?

  Clearly no one had heard him, thence to make his presence known, and loud of voice he called, “Hello; anyone at home?” which echoed up the stairwell.

  Silence prevailed for a moment or two, until the scuttling of paws sounded behind him. Turning away from the bottom tread of the stairwell, his eyes prior lured to a window situated at a bend in the staircase, he was confronted by a pug with a wet nose, and lolling tongue. The little dog seemed friendly enough and had clearly returned by the way of his earlier escape, but who had left the outer door ajar for the dog?

  “Well young man; are you the only one up and about this fine morn, or is something amiss here?”

  “No, there is nothing amiss,” said the delectable Mrs. Thorne, who swept down to the halfway point of the staircase. Her lace-trimmed night robe part cloaking fine raiment adorning her svelte contours was little short of teasingly provocative, and if she but knew it, as near as transparent with sunlight at her back. Or perhaps she did know, hence momentary pause on the halfway point of the stairway. “May I ask why you are here, Lord—” said she, stepping down to again pause in step. “Oh dear, I’ve quite forgotten your name.

  “Marcus Fairweather, Earl of Sheldon, enquiring as to your health, ma’am,” declared he, whilst performing a courteous bow, well assured she had no more forgotten his name, than his intentions of a lustful bent the night prior had escaped her memory. “I was passing and noticed your carriage minus a wheel. Hence, here I am to assure myself all is well.”

  “As you see,” said she, glancing down at her white lace déshabillé overlaying a fine white linen nightgown. “I am quite well, and had not expected a guest so early of morn.”

  “Apologies, ma’am, but in the circumstance of your carriage, I came else my conscience would have sat ill, and eventually led to my return here in due haste.”

  A little chuckle escaped as she descended the stairs, her blue eyes holding his gaze, and closer to, without powder to face, freckles; adorable freckles were plain to see.

  “Ah, so it was a spontaneous gesture of heartfelt concern for my wellbeing. Then I thank you, kind sir.”

  The mellowed mahogany glow to her tresses; unadorned cascading tresses enhanced her lily white swan neck and décolletage; and a rising rosy glow to her cheeks he prayed was solely accountable to his presence; and a naughty thought or two for her part. “Another thing, dear lady, your husband won’t be along anytime soon.”

  “No, I hadn’t supposed he would return here much before three after noon, perhaps later. Like yourself, he is of the manly social whirl and oft away days at a time. Where Aubrey delights in heady gatherings of a gambling bent, I confess taking tea with the church ladies is more usual for me. You see, I rarely attend at supper parties, as of last eventide.”

  Of that he was aware, and her nervous chatter in response to his presence was utterly captivating. “Forgive me, but I can think of better things to do in killing a few idle hours than setting to in gossip over tea.”

  “So can I, but few of the ladies I am acquainted with are given to the riding of horses, so it is a solitary occupation, with exception of one young lady who does accompany me on occasion of her mother granting her permission to do so.”

  “Have you been introduced to the Duchess of Malchester?”

  “No I cannot say that I have, though she was pointed out to me at a civic function on one occasion of her attendance as an honoured guest.”

  “Ah, then you must let me introduce you to her. You will surely love her once met. Be assured her grace is no high-minded aristocrat, and she loves nothing more than riding out, though at present, is again with child. The hoped for spare I suspect, but his grace voiced desire for a daughter, which has eased Liliana’s mind somewhat.”

  “I presume you are good friends of the duke and duchess, in that you refer to her as Juliana,” said she, drawing her lace déshabillé about herself as though suddenly aware that she was inappropriately attired for entertaining guests, and confirmed with a blushing smile: “I should not by good and wifely behaviour be here dressed as I am, standing in the hall, and in discourse with a man I barely know. But as you came here on a mission of goodwill, perhaps you would care to join me in the withdrawing room. It’s to your left.”

  “Delighted to, ma’am,” said he, stepping forth to open the door, which led to a panelled commodious room not so unlike his own.

  Far from being shown to the outer door, he’d gained greater ground than anticipated. Well done Marcus.

  Two

  ~

  She made past him and swept to the far end of drawing room, that same essence of rose water she had worn the night prior no doubt assailing his nostrils as before. What was it he had said? Oh yes, ‘Your perfume is quite the potent aphrodisiac’. She had thought of him then as a man hell-bent on getting beneath her gown last evening; and perhaps no less intent on getting beneath her present raiment, unless she was seeing more to his visit than implied. She really ought not to afford him more than a gracious moment of her time and thence gentle him on his way. After all, resorting to lies never sat well on her conscience, and she might have to dream up a fib to dispatch him anon.

  “The duke and I go a long way back in friendship,” said he, closing the door as soon as sweet Jemmy was safely in the room, “and I do think of the Duchess of Malchester, as a sister. And honoured am I as godparent to the first born.”

  Having made toward the far seating area, she settled to a single chair set aside from her escritoire, and gestured for him to take a sofa. She did indeed like the look of the Earl of Sheldon, his reputation a little over exaggerated by her husband; who may have sought to counter self guilt and to prevent any interest in the dashing earl for her part as a sensible notion given her inexperience with men of the earl’s calibre. As for other disparaging remarks in relation to the earl, she had sensed envy from males and a touch of jealousy from women who had failed to attract the earl’s attention.

  It was true he had paid an inordinate amount of attention to her person, but he was affable and entertaining and she had given no inclination of having fallen for his charming and engaging manner. Even now, with his having paused in step to fuss over Jemmy, it was plain to see her little love was as taken with earl as all who met him.

  She couldn’t quite determine whether it was the earl’s large brown owl eyes beneath heavy brows that appealed most? For not only worldly wise in countenance they held one captive and enchanted in their seeming innocence. His Roman nose too was admirably in keeping with the Corinthian look. And as one or two women had oft imparted in knowledge of assessing a man’s hidden secrets, the earl’s long masculine fingers had oft been noted as significant in relation to that which in all probability dwelled in his groin. Was that possible? If she were to judge the earl’s fingers against her husband’s fat stumpy ones and the reality of that which dwelled in her husband’s groin, then surely the earl was an admirable prize for any lady. If as those ladies had said, the bigger the better.
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  Drawing a deep breath and attempting to rid herself of indecent thoughts, she said: “There are times when I envy women their children, and would that I could be godparent to a little one as you are.”

  “Is that unlikely?” said he, regaining full height after squatting on his haunches. “After all, you have in-laws and siblings I trust.”

  “Oh Mr. Thorne’s nephews were quite out of skirts when he and I were married, and my sisters are both in India with their husband’s, so my three nieces and a nephew are but names in letters, and much telling of their little lives is all I have to know them by.”

  “Two years wed, dear lady, is not so very long, you know. A child may yet fall your way.”

  “In normal circumstances; you are correct, for two years is not all that long. But my marriage is far from normal, and I suspect you are well aware that is so. You see, Aubrey was convinced he could beget an heir to Porlock Down during the first week of marriage, and on failing in that endeavour, it was naturally my fault as he was quick to determine. Whilst it is unseemly to reveal the fact he has not ventured to my bedchamber in the remaining years of our marriage, I shall not beat about verbal bushes, for I am now fully aware, though not at the time of our getting wed, that Aubrey desires his own kind beneath the sheets, therefore our marriage is a charade. To his way of thinking, I am a necessary encumbrance so that he can attend functions and soirees with a wife on his arm, all innocence personified I might add, whilst he swoons and drools over young bucks. He is duly resigned to a childless marriage, which is why he is adamant his brother’s eldest boy will inherit a sizable portion of this estate, the rest, who knows? As for me, he cares not a jot what I do, though I suspect were I to indulge with another man and consequences I could not hide from materialised, I will for sure be cast out on my ear and no charity afforded. So you see; if you are here in hope of seducing me, then you might as well quash the notion here and now.”