The Earl's Captive Bride Page 2

  A lantern rocked on its hook, as a shadowy form moved forward, a voice they knew stealing the moment: “Stand aside, old fellow, and let’s be having those lush lips of yours, Sadie.”

  In horror Erica Townsend and Marigold Townsend watched their father tend to his breeches and set his engorged manliness free; quite a large protuberance all told matching his build. As he moved forward to engage with the woman, the other man stepped away and the woman fell to her knees before their father.

  Biting her lip to prevent a sound, she squirmed for Marigold’s nails began biting into her flesh. Neither dared breathe, both transfixed on events unfolding. She should drag her sister away, should protect her from the sight of the woman administering to their father with salacious intent. It was all so base, in one sense decidedly gross because it was their father, but also thrilling, enlightening, and arousing. Oh God, they should not have come, should not stay, but she couldn’t drag her eyes from the spectacle, couldn’t deny the erotic aspect of it all.

  The more she watched the woman who was seemingly delighting in her task there was no denying untold pleasures were derived for both participants. Her father’s act of gripping the woman’s head and the way in which the knob end of his solid mass had disappeared into the woman’s mouth, caused Marigold to creep closer to the screen.

  Soon giggling farther distant could be heard, a chuckle followed, and two more people entered the arbour. The light from a lantern cast full on the face of the male as he stepped deeper into the arbour, it was the face of Sir Tarquin Farnley; her supposed suitor, her betrothed. He settled himself to the seat, his breeches bursting with a sizable swelling to groin. “Cease George, you’ve had your pleasure with Sadie, now hand her over, and I grant you permission to have my lovely half-sister, Clarissa. She’s had cock but once, dear fellow, and brought here for your special delectation. A nice little mistress she will make when you’ve broken her in.”

  The woman Sadie turned to Tarquin, and their father turned to the young lady standing outside the arbour. “Is that the truth of the matter, m’dear?”

  “Indeed, Sir George, just the once, and is that not all the better for our first engagement?”

  “But of course, sweet girl. Come,” said he, reaching for a lantern, “we shall away to a quiet spot.”

  Marigold’s grip on her hand relaxed and in a flash of movement she was gone, taking flight along the camomile path. She fell over, picked herself up and onward she went. Following her sister’s flight path they ended up back in the orchard, where Marigold said: “What is he thinking, what is father thinking in walking off with a girl no older than I, and thence to—”

  “I know not, but clearly she is happy with her fate, for she put forth no protest and there was no seeming distress emanating from her.”

  “But what of mother?”

  “I don’t know, and, oh heavens. Someone is coming.”

  “That is father,” whispered Marigold, his smiling face in the lantern’s glow visible as he and the young stripling lady stepped through the garden gate. “I will not stay to watch him have his way with that whore chit. The other woman was older, not my age.” With that said Marigold fled to the ladder, up it she went and over the wall.

  Frozen to the spot all manner of thoughts whirled in her elder sister’s head, the dreadful reality dawning in realisation her mother must have known or suspected father of having betrayed their marriage by indulging sexual pursuits at will. About to follow Marigold’s trail she couldn’t for her father hung the lantern on a low apple bough thus light casting along the wall would reveal her presence. Quick in stepping to the shadows and concealing herself behind a tree trunk, there was no escaping the awful truth she could hear him even if she refused to watch.

  She pondered all that she had already paid witness to, her thoughts dwelling on how inordinately base was the act of men and women engaged in an orgy, for what else but an orgy had they seen. The sound of the girl’s voice implied her father was doing nothing, their mutual exchange drifting on the stilled night air.

  “I understand you owe Tarqy a great deal of money, and yet, he gives me to you. That I am unable to quantify, but I am most pleased you are a man of handsome countenance.”

  “Am I indeed?”

  “Oh to be sure, and will I do as a mistress?”

  “My dear, your assets pleased this man at a glance.”

  “You did seem quite taken with them en route, though I had not imagined I would end up in a field.”

  “Orchard, my dear, within the orchard beneath the fruit of Satan overhead.”

  She tittered; then expressed a great sigh, a sigh expressing sense of extreme pleasure. “I quite thought you would take me directly.”

  “Deny myself the pleasure of suckling like a babe and fondling Venus’s cup prior to drinking her nectar? Nay my, dear, all my married life I’ve had a woman who has lain stiff beneath me, absolute in sufferance of accommodating me to the barest minimum. In, out, and get it over with, her words on our wedding night, and no nuzzling of her cunny. Such was considered too beastly in manner, and no different since. Life with a frigid wife is purgatory.”

  “Well I have yet to feel you, proper, but I am of mind if it as good as your fondling fingers, I shall enjoy embracing you as a good mistress should.”

  “Then spread your thighs and let me drink of Venus’s nectar, as did Tarquin no doubt before taking your virginity.”

  “He has an insatiable liking for Venus’s nectar, and it was quite inappropriate to steal my virginity a day past when he had promised me to you as untouched.”

  “A tad vexing, but if the once is all he had of you, you’ll be a snug fit.”

  Sighs and soft moans prevailed for an inordinately lengthy period of time, and thence gasps and little exclamations of meaningless garble from the young lady, until father was heard to say: “Methinks you did not enjoy that enough.”

  “I did, I did, I assure you it was wonderful. Would you have me scream out my joy? Is not discretion uppermost whilst your daughters are in the house?”

  “My dear, you may scream your delight out here in the orchard as much as you wish.”

  “I may yet do so.”

  “Now kiss me, whilst I open Venus’s gates, and plunge strident dick into your luscious little chamber of delight.” Silence descended barring odd sounding murmurings, and thence manly groans aplenty soon rent the air until: “Spent, damn it, and too damn quick at that. You’re as tight as kid gloves, m’dear, and shall do nicely as a mistress.”

  “Withdrawal was quite unnecessary, you know,” said father’s whore, for that’s what she was, a whore brought to the house especially for him. A whore seeking to set up residence in mother’s place, in mother’s bed, and yet, it had seemed as though mother rarely accommodated father’s inner needs and desires. If that was so, no wonder father was short tempered, and dreadfully frustrated at times.

  Sounding short of breath, he said: “Withdrawal, my dear, is vital.”

  “Oh but Sir George,” said his would-be mistress, “you shall have me thrice over, or as many times as need takes you this night. I do declare you have a most pleasing and masterful cock, and I swear withdrawal is wholly unnecessary. Tarky dearest, prior inserted a sponge to prevent my falling with child. It is a simple task and easily accomplished with cleverly carved wooden tweezers.”

  “You must show me how it is done, and I will perform the task for you. Now my dear, let us stroll back to the house and partake of a refreshing aperitif.”

  “But of course; and with a little lick and nip you’ll be raring to go again.”

  “No doubting that my dear,” intoned father, a loud chuckle, as the light from the lantern slid away from the wall. “Thrice, you say. Aye, and a longer time in the doing of afore each finale.”

  Finally the gate leading from the garden to the orchard clanged shut, and where was Marigold?

  As soon as sure her father and his newly acquired plaything were far distant she rushed
across to the ladder, clambered up and in whispered tones called for Marigold. Silence prevailed, and despite eyes well-adjusted to the gloom of late evening not a glimpse of Marigold’s white dress could be seen. It was a sure wager she had crossed the field, clambered over the field gate and walked along the lane back to the house and entered through the main doorway. There was nothing for it but to return to the house via the garden, careful in avoidance of the guests, and slip in through the old garden door and up to their chambers. She could only hope Marigold would be less upset by now.

  Even whilst making her own way back to the house, she was feeling torn by sympathy for her father and his manly needs, and sense of disbelief her mother could be entirely averse to loving relations of a natural bent within the marital bed. If that was so, then she and her siblings were brought forth from within a loveless marriage.

  That was how it would be if she was forced to marry Sir Tarquin Farnley, banker and landowner, and a man of handsome satanic features. And he was an out and out rogue, a man with a salacious appetite for sexual pleasures of the flesh as now witnessed by self, and the way in which he had led her father astray was despicable. She could not bear the unthinkable, that she was payment in exchange for the whore whom her father had lain with; but it seemed probable. What then did Tarquin Farnley, a man of his nature want with a young country miss such as she was; one who could never embrace and be a part of his pleasure seeking lifestyle? She and Marigold had to get out, had to run away to Aunt Janie or Aunt Selena. It was unsafe to remain at Frampton Manor, but how, how were they to escape with substantial luggage, and light away unseen?

  Two

  ~

  Where was Marigold? It was near midnight, and she dared not venture below stairs to confront her father, jollity abundant and noise aplenty along with the sound of the pianoforte and a violin. Clearly someone below stairs had musical talent, and once again stepping to the corridor with candlestick to hand; on reaching her sister’s bedchamber she prayed Marigold had returned, but with the door left ajar and advancing to the bed she could see her sibling was still absent.

  On retreating a glimmer of light in the corridor gave hope, until she stepped forth and there stalking the corridor was Tarquin Farnley. Her worst nightmare realised, his head peeping through the doorway of her bedchamber she hastened back into her sister’s chamber, closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

  He must have seen her for he came striding to the door and said: “Come out Erica, for we have Marigold down below. She’s naturally somewhat distressed. Quite hysterical, all told.”

  Dread gripped her, and relenting in fear of what had befallen Marigold, she unlocked the door.

  It burst open and Tarquin grinned, the diamond pin at his throat sparkling. “She is quite safe, for I, nor the others have damaged the chit, despite she bit me and drew blood.”

  Desperate to go to her sister she made to push past him, his devil-may-care grin matching his words: “Not so fast sweeting,” said he, thrusting his hand to the doorframe. “I expect fair exchange for a good deed rendered.”

  “Good deed?”

  “As I said the chit is unharmed, for the present. If you choose to refuse my bargaining chip, then Marigold is the forfeit prize.”

  “Forfeit for what?”

  “You come with me, and she retires to bed safe and untouched. You refuse; I shall bed her this night and marry her instead of you, albeit I am not inclined toward her.”

  “She’s too young for marriage.”

  “I would agree on that pointer if your father was not at this moment with his cock embedded in my half-sister. Clarissa being the same age as Marigold and quite taken with your mother’s bedchamber.”

  With no choice, and heart sinking, she said: “Lead on.”

  Stepping back from the doorway he bowed. “There now, that was not so hard to do, was it? Furthermore, you would be wise to express sense of appreciation. Else I may feel minded to teach you the rudiments of wifely obedience.”

  “Pray how does a woman express appreciation when she is being forced against her will to succumb to another’s edict, a man not of her family, and a man she would not ordinarily engage with?”

  The candlestick was suddenly dragged from her hand with speed, and thrust to the floor, the flame instantly extinguished, mere light casting from the candle he had to hand. His free arm thence snaked around her waist. Stunned by his aggression, and breath knocked out of her as he pressed her hard against him, she opened her mouth to protest. A fatal move for her part, his kiss forceful and yet gentle in deliverance, his possession all encompassing his tongue invaded forcing her to submit fully. Never kissed by a man, it was an enlightening experience. Albeit he was a loathsome creature, something inside stirred as it shouldn’t, her thoughts filling with momentary visions of the arbour and the salacious orgy within. His handsomeness undeniable she nonetheless despised the notion of wedlock to the man.

  As suddenly as the kiss was stolen it was ended. “Compliance of that nature, and you and I will get along nicely,” said he, gripping her hand in his. “Now, let us be setting your sister free.” With that aim he strode the corridor with purposeful steps, his grey attire impeccable, his mousy hair unruffled as though he had for the entire evening done little more than play hands of cards.

  At the head of the staircase he set her hand free from his clasp, leaned over the gallery landing and yelled: “Set the stripling free.”

  Within moments Marigold appeared at the foot of the staircase, her cheeks blazing red; rage and confusion about her as she sped upwards. “What did you do that he set me free me so easily?”

  “Nothing terrible,” said she, as her distressed sister drew level. “Are you truly unharmed, Marigold?”

  “Yes, they only talked about what they would do if you didn’t oblige, him,” said she, expressing disdain for Tarquin.

  “Go to bed, dearest, it will be all right, I promise.”

  Marigold rushed forward and embraced her, and whispered. “I shall go for help.”

  “You’ll be in need of this,” said Tarquin, handing Marigold his candlestick.

  She snatched it and hastened on her way, her sister left puzzling the connotation of going for help. Who would or could help them when father condoned and participated in all that was happening within the house?

  “To my chamber, sweeting, where I advise you to imbibe a goodly amount of wine,” declared he, as they set off along the brightly lit corridor, where multi-cupped candelabras adorned half-moon tables, and wall sconce candelabrum lit the way. He turned his attention toward her. “I have a penchant for corked maidens.”

  The cold calculating tone in his edict did nothing to assuage inner fears, nor lessen the shame she had indeed surrendered to his dictate in order to save Marigold from the same fate. She would be married to this despicable creature soon enough, for there was no seeming way out of the arrangement her father had set before her.

  “I had always assumed the wedding night was considered sacrosanct, the initiation of the bride performed in the state of holy matrimony.”

  Laughter echoed the length of the corridor. “Heavens sweeting. Come the wedding night, five days hence, I want no encumbrance to spoil a full night of pleasure and begetting of more pleasure. Besides, the services of my groomsmen may be required to keep you simmering whilst I take welcome rests to recover from overt exertions.”

  “Why do you want a bride at all, when you have women at your beck and call to do your bidding, to fulfil your every debauched need?”

  “Cock-sucking whores are one thing, a wife to provide sons another.”

  “What of your half-sister; do you refer to her with similar disregard, in that you gave her to my father? And if you are so keen on gaining sons from a wife, how shall you know if a child born is yours or that of a groomsman, if you truly do invite another to participate on the wedding night? Nor can you be sure I am pure, untouched.”

  “But my sweeting, I shall know the truth of yo
ur chastity within a few minutes,” said he, opening the door to his bedchamber, sparse with lighting, and the grand ambience of the room lost in shadow.

  A strange perfume lingered within the room. A spicy incense as though floating on the air, wrapping itself about her, clawing at her senses. There was but a glimpse of light near to the four-poster bed. Moving farther into the room she could see it was a latticework lantern, and incense burner and the source of the strange unfamiliar perfume. It was standing on a small chest beside the towering bed.

  “There’s no great hurry for the sacrificial moment, though the mere thought of it stirs the very devil within my loins,” said Tarquin, as the door closed to the jamb. He chuckled. “Aside from that, initiation to pleasures of the flesh will be all the better once you’ve inhaled a goodly amount of the potent haze building within this room. Such does help to relax a lady, and encourages sensual response to manly caresses. The concoction in that devilish device is extra potent, or so I have been given to understand. You see, clarity of mind oft deters full surrender to untold ecstasy when a lady is somewhat averse to a man’s desire to have her against her will.”