My Three Lords Read online

  “A most enticing juiciness,” he told me. “Nothing so sweet as a maiden’s first dew. This, my dear,” he said, fingering the little nub, “is your clitoris. It is the source of your pleasure, though some men of science are not yet convinced of this. They have not had the experience that I have been fortunate enough to acquire. Whenever a man, or a woman, should such a circumstance arise, rubs it and strokes it, gently at first, but then increasing the speed and roughness of the caress, you will find yourself taken over by pleasurable sensations. Many gentlemen do not have the patience to locate the clitoris, or to stroke it properly.”

  “But…” I gasped as he pinched it between his fingers and rolled it so my knees buckled beneath me. “My husband…”

  “You and I will enlighten him.” The Marquis sounded amused at the prospect. “I will not allow my little Alicia to do without such joys.”

  Gratitude filled me. Could any family friend be more gracious and generous than the Marquis de Beaumont? My dark guardian would save me from a dull life devoid of the sensations now rioting through me.

  “I thank you greatly,” I said in a pant. “But what…”

  “Yes, my dear?” He deepened his caress of my clitoris—such a pretty word—and plumped my breasts with his other hand. Oh, he was a devil, that man, snatching the words from my mouth before I could even form them.

  I struggled to speak my worried thought. “What…happens next?”

  “Next?” The superfine cloth of his coat pressed against my bosom. God forgive me, I rubbed my nipples against it. It aroused in me a virtual flood of desire. I knew there was more to this act between a man and a woman, and I wanted to know everything about it.

  As swiftly as I could, I composed myself. “I’ve heard talk of a man’s rod penetrating within the body and causing dreadful pain. You mentioned such a possibility yourself.”

  “You are not to distress yourself about that. Do you not wish to know where our present experiment is leading us?” His finger dipped inside me, drawing a squeak from my astonished lips.

  “Your finger is within my body!” I told him.

  “My finger is in your cunt. Ta chatte. Your prick-skinner. Fancy bit. Goatmilker. Itching Jenny. Tickle-Toby.” With each odd word, he waggled his finger. “Only such a delightful haven would have so many different names.”

  “But…is that the usual procedure?”

  “Do you dislike it?”

  I pondered the question. In truth, I preferred the fondling of my clitoris, but the finger inside me was not unpleasant. Perhaps it required… “A second finger might add to my enjoyment,” I proposed.

  The Marquis let out a crack of laughter that made Annie jump. I myself seemed to have no bones left to perform such a dramatic act as jumping. I merely smiled at him with a lazy fondness.

  “You find me amusing?”

  “Amusing, yes, as well as a revelation. Your brothers taught you to eschew absurd airs of missishness, did they not?”

  “They could not abide airs of any kind. But to be frank, I do not wish to discuss my brothers at this time.”

  “To be frank. You are ever frank, are you not? You are a truth-teller, so rare in our times. Perhaps that is the particular fascination of Alicia Silverwood. Incandescent frankness and a tender freshness impossible to resist. And yet I shall resist. My fingers are better put to use on your delicious clitoris. I cannot risk stealing with a finger what is your husband’s by right.”

  He withdrew his finger and spoke to the abigail. “Annie, leave us now. Thank you for your services.”

  Annie left the bedchamber with a humble bob and curtsy.

  “Why did you send her away?” I asked.

  “She has served her purpose. Now I would like to be alone with my delectable little morsel.” He placed his hands on my hips and moved us in lockstep back toward the bed. When I felt it bump against my thighs, he gently bent me over and laid me on the coverlet. I was reminded of how I’d clung to it when he had first appeared. It seemed years ago. Spread naked beneath him, I looked up at my Marquis. He still wore every stitch of his clothing.

  “Open your legs,” he told me.

  Instead, I lifted one leg and placed my foot on his thigh. “Why do you not remove your clothing?”

  “I do not wish to,” he said brusquely. “Open your legs,” he said again.

  Instead, I raised my other leg to rest on his thigh. I gave him a saucy smile, delighted with my disobedience. But I did not expect the consequences of my rebellion. Quick as a wink, he snatched my legs up over his shoulders so my most private parts were directly under his nose. A gasp of purest shock escaped my open mouth. And then he did something even more astounding. He lowered his head and kissed my private parts. I struggled, but his hands held tight to my thighs. With my body suspended thus in the air, he prodded his tongue against my clitoris.

  I shrieked.

  He lifted his head and frowned down at me. “Do you wish me to stop?”

  “No!” I shrieked again.

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  “Do that, what you did just now.” I could barely believe such a thing had occurred. I itched with impatience to feel it again.

  “This?” He bent his head to me again. I groaned my assent as he set to work with tongue and lips and even, I fear, teeth. The wetness I had noticed earlier now became a virtual flood, my juices combining with those from the Marquis’ mouth. But once again, I had no sense of shame, as I would have expected. My head thrashed from one side to the other as waves of starlight surged across my vision. Something was occurring within me, a certain kind of building and gathering and urging and needing. I need, I need, I wanted to tell him, but all that came from my mouth was a helpless whimper. And in truth, I didn’t know what I needed.

  Fortunately, the Marquis did. As the glorious sensations mounted, my trust in him became absolute. If my life depended on attaining the mystery I sensed ahead, then my life was in his hands. In his mouth. In his clever lips and diabolical tongue. I gave myself over to him, body and soul. The candlelit chamber, the dark glass of the windows, the velvet hangings on each side of the bed, all faded to nothing. All I saw was the dark head of the Marquis burrowed between my legs, the white knuckles of his hands as they anchored my thighs to his shoulders. All I smelled was the scent of the Marquis’ eau de cologne, mingled with salt perspiration and an unfamiliar aroma that I suspected came from me. All I felt was the rough scrape of his chin on my flesh, his hair tickling my skin and, above all else, the sharp, searing pleasure of his tongue on my cunt.

  And then, all my senses became reduced to one. The thunderclouds of pleasure building inside me cracked open, lightning through the darkness. The physical world shattered and I was transported into a realm of light and joy, where I spun among the stars and shimmered with the moon. In this precious realm no time existed, or perhaps I had lost the mental faculties that would permit me to mark time. Beautiful images flowed through my mind.

  In the midst of them, to my eternal surprise, smiled the green eyes of the stranger from the rout.

  I would have stayed there forever, had the Marquis not had one more surprise in store for me. He lifted his head, aimed an enigmatic smile in my direction, then spoke over his shoulder. “You may take her now,” he said to the empty chamber.

  My confused senses could not decipher this simple statement. I could not comprehend the appearance of another man in the room I had assumed to be empty. I only vaguely recalled the sound of the door opening and closing again while I was in my altered state. I could not make sense of the features of this other man, his over-bright blue eyes and fever-flushed cheeks, his impatient stride to the bed.

  “You took your sweet time, damn your eyes,” said the other man. “Another minute and I’d be useless.”

  “Patience has never been your strong suit, my dear boy.” The Marquis graciously removed my legs from his shoulders and, with one last caress, let them drop back onto the bed.

  I finally put a
name to the eager face. “Dorchester?”

  “Who else would it be?” My husband hurriedly unbuttoned his breeches.

  “Why are you…?” My question didn’t bear finishing. This was his wedding night. That’s why he was here.

  For a frantic moment I wondered if it was proper to join with two men in one night. But whom could I ask? Lady Chadwick was not present and would no doubt fall into a faint if posed such a question, or any of my other questions. Was it wrong to be naked before two men? Was it wrong to experience such ecstasy at the hands of a man I was not married to? In this sea of unknowns I clung to one thought. A wife does as her husband wishes.

  “Would you like me to withdraw?” the Marquis asked.

  “Do what you will,” Dorch growled. Roughly he parted my legs, which were still weak and limp. “I hope you’re ready, wife.”

  And then I saw the rod of which I’d heard tell. I’d glimpsed my brothers’ members on occasion, such as when they’d stripped for swimming in the creek, but never one engorged in this manner. It stood erect from his body, thick as a baton, purple as a tulip. But such flowery comparisons did not do justice to its forceful nature. This was a weapon of war, it seemed, because with no preamble, he plunged it inside me. Pain shafted through me and my body arched.

  “No, no, dear boy,” protested the Marquis. “Delicately, gently the first time.”

  “Stubble it, Beaumont. Your work is done. You got her hot, now I intend to have my fill.” He stroked again and strangely, the initial pain faded as if it were a summer fog. Something quite different took its place. The quivers from my trip to that other realm had never entirely subsided, and now they clutched at my insides with renewed vigor. Each of the Earl’s fierce thrusts created a rumbling within me. Another storm built and I thrust my hips to meet my husband’s need. That other world beckoned me again with its sweet intoxication.

  I knew enough by now to be even more grateful to the Marquis for the initiation he had granted me. But I must admit the memory of the older man quickly faded. Instead, the young, vigorous image of my husband took his place. My body responded to his virility. I embraced his sturdy flesh within my own. I gloried in the bright blue eyes narrowed to pinpricks of lust. He had a different smell from the Marquis, fresher, more vital. I caught the scent of leather and horse sweat, as if he’d recently jumped from the back of his thoroughbred and bounded up the stairs to mount me.

  And ride me he did. My husband was a lusty, strong man and I rejoiced in his desire for me. He rutted inside me, his powerful rod searching out every corner of my womb. The cloth of his breeches crushed against the back of my thighs. He gripped my hips to grind me against him. Once again I lost all consciousness of my surroundings. An insistent sound reached my ears, a mewling such as that of a kitten. It came from my own mouth.

  And then the wave broke, just as it had before, but deeper within me. My body clenched around that wonderful shaft and I arched to the heavens. Ah, such bliss it was to find myself transported yet again to that sweet land where I floated free and unfettered. From beneath, in that other world I’d left, I heard my husband give a shout of triumph as he released a fountain of hot liquid into me. I felt him lie across my body. I felt him rub his cheek into my belly and heard him whisper, though I could not make out the words.

  Like a blossom falling from a tree, I gently returned to the bedchamber where the two lords awaited me. I lay still, reflecting on the strange series of events that had occurred in the past few hours. In the dark shadows beyond the bed, I saw the Marquis lounging against the frame of the window.

  My husband lifted himself to his elbows. His blue eyes had a clear look to them, as if a fever had lifted. “My darling sweetheart,” he said. I blinked my surprise. I had not thought he cared much for me. But apparently our intimate encounter had inspired new affection. I searched my own heart and found a certain tenderness that had not existed that morning.

  “My dear husband,” I murmured back.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “Nothing to speak of. Perhaps some slight tenderness.” My cheeks warmed. Now that the storm of desire had passed, embarrassment took hold. “May we be alone now?” I whispered to him.

  Dorchester lifted his head and spoke over his shoulder. “Beaumont, my bride and I require some moments of privacy. I bid you good night. We will join you at breakfast.”

  The figure at the window stood very still, then gave a slight bow and ambled across the room. I felt pity for him in his lonely state. Were he and his wife unhappy with each other? The Marquise was a diamond of the first water, as exquisite as a swan floating on a lake, but I had detected cruelty under the feminine façade. The Marquis was nearly her opposite, hard at first glance, tender in his heart.

  Thoughts of the Marquis’ marriage disappeared as my husband ran his hand across my waist. “You’re far prettier without all those pieces of froth you ladies wear.”

  “You do not like my clothing?” In another man, such a comment might offend, but Dorchester had a boyishness about him that made it impossible to be outraged.

  “I like it fine, as far as it goes. Do you like to ride?”

  “I like it fine, as far as it goes.”

  After too long a pause, he chuckled. “You possess a quick wit.”

  “Do I?” This came as a surprise to me, although I suspected Dorchester was not the best judge of wit in a woman.

  “You aren’t a bluestocking, are you?”

  “Good heavens, no, I barely know how to read and will have to rely on my housekeeper to keep all the accounts.”

  After another overly long pause, he surprised me with a tickle on my ribs that made me roll over and giggle. “You’re not supposed to tease your husband.”

  “Are you so certain I’m teasing?” Through my giggles, I batted his hands away, but he was too strong for me. He pinned my hands above my head and tickled until tears streamed down my cheeks, just as my brothers had used to do. For a moment I was back at home, in our favorite meadow where my brothers had built a tree fort, and they were tickling me because I had uncovered their theft of several loaves of bread from the kitchen. The memory replaced the strange newness of my marriage with familiarity.

  “Stop, I beg of you,” I pleaded, when I thought I could bear no more.

  He stopped immediately. My brothers would have continued until I’d promised to perform some dread chore for them. At that moment, I knew I would have no trouble getting my way with my husband. He lay on his side next to me and touched my breast.

  “Such bouncy muffins you have. Will you sit above me so I can look at them?”

  “Yes, but you must remove your clothing first. I must see what my husband looks like.”

  Eagerly, he bounded from the bed and tore off his clothing. His body was fine and muscular, his skin white. Even naked he looked ready to leap onto a horse or throw himself into a cold stream. Suspended between his legs I saw the curled husk of the mighty shaft that had entered me. I scooted forward on my knees to examine it more closely. It resembled a sleeping mouse, its color a dusky purple at the tip, and a rosy brown where it disappeared into a cushion of wiry hairs.

  One of my passions as a child was observation of nature, and it was as such that I analyzed my husband’s manly parts. But he seemed not to understand my interest.

  “Why do you stare so?” He blocked my view with both of his hands.

  “I’m curious.”

  “You’re an odd girl, I find.”

  I was silent. This was not the first time I had been called odd. But I remembered the kind things the Marquis had said to me, that I was a “truth-teller” and possessed “incandescent frankness and tender freshness”. Would my husband see those aspects of my nature as oddities?

  “I suppose some find me odd,” I answered. “But I do not.”

  He shrugged as if the entire discussion suddenly bored him. “It matters not. I find you pretty and you do not pester me with annoyances. Most girls chatter on so that I can barel
y bring myself to listen to them.”

  I did not know how to answer that. I grew up with boys, not girls.

  “I believe we will do very well together.” He flung himself back onto the bed. “Now come sit atop me so I can ogle your bosom.” With one mighty heave, he rolled me over onto his body. I straddled my legs around him and sat up. He put his hands to my breasts and squeezed enthusiastically. I cannot say that it felt bad, nor good. Unlike the Marquis, he had no sensibility in his touch. And yet it seemed I was always greedy for fingers on my nipples, no matter how fumbling and unskilled. Warmth rose within me. I half closed my eyes and used the memory of the Marquis’ finesse to enhance Dorchester’s hapless efforts.

  He bounced my breasts around for a while, then declared himself ready for sleep, and within moments he snored at my side.

  I had only been married a day, and already I felt I knew everything necessary about my husband. Dorch was youthful, impulsive, spirited, restless and supremely lacking in interest in anything beyond his ken, including the delicate feelings of his wife.

  What, I wondered, was the nature of his friendship with the Marquis? Why had the revered Duke of Warrington made him his heir? Surely he must possess other worthy qualities of which I was not yet aware.

  Indeed, one of them was quite clear. He was sufficiently aware of his own failings to allow another man to all but deflower his bride. I shuddered to think what the experience would have been like without the intercession of the Marquis. I would be forever grateful to both men.

  But could I continue happily on with only Dorchester in my bed? Would the urgings of my body be content with such a simple lover? And why had the eyes of the stranger at the rout appeared to me during that moment of bliss? As my husband snuggled and snored next to me, I worried that perhaps the Marquis had awakened desires that were best left undisturbed. Had my dark lord granted me a curse rather than a boon?