Guilty Pleasures (22 page)

“As I am of hers,” Charles, Lord Pell, answered, taking up Jane’s hand to kiss it.

She laughed. It was a very bold statement, and the other gentlemen in the circle had paled at the Earl of Pelton’s remark. “Perhaps one day we shall trade stories, my lord,” she said, smiling. “Worthington, you may now take me back to your good lady, as I have satisfied my curiosity.” Then she turned away from him to return to where her hostess now stood.

“An excellent put-down, my dear,” her companion said. “His words were uncalled for, and I must apologize for it.”

“Please do not. The apology will come from him in time, I assure you,” Jane said.

Then she went on to enjoy the ball, dancing every dance with a different partner, and refereeing a dispute between two young bucks who wanted to escort her to the buffet, settling it by having one bring her champagne and the other a plate of food.

Finally she had had enough, and her carriage was called to be brought around. A Worthington footman helped her into her vehicle and shut the door. It was then that she became aware that fact she was not alone. “Have you come to tender me an apology, my lord?” she asked as the carriage began to draw away from the Worthington town house. “You were quite rude, you know.”

He laughed in the darkness. “I owe you no apology for speaking a truth everyone knows,” he said.

“And what truth is that?” she inquired.

“That the Dowager Duchess of Manley is a bold and independent woman who takes and discards lovers with the same rapidity and skill as a fishmonger sorting through a basket of winkles,” he replied. “And then, of course, there is a rather wicked bit of gossip spoken of in such hushed whispers that I can scarce believe it true. Do you really take certain gentlemen and train them to be better and more considerate lovers?”

“Come home with me and learn the truth of it. My current pupil is awaiting my return. His wife sent him to me, as the wives of many of my clients do,” Jane answered.

He reached out and pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers as one hand plunged into her low-cut bodice to fondle a breast.

Jane kissed him back, for while his actions had taken her by surprise, his kiss was exciting and delicious. As for the hand on her breasts, it was well skilled. Finally she drew away from him. “There will be time for this afterward if you decide to remain,” she told him breathlessly.

“Will you
train
me, madam?” he inquired of her.

“I do not believe you will need any training at all, my lord,” she told him.

Ping! Ping! Ping! The Channel is now closing.
And it did with its usual efficiency, just as the fantasy was becoming quite interesting. J.P. wished, as she often did, and suspected other women did, that the Channel could be accessed twenty-four-seven. But she knew if that were to come to pass, the secret would most likely get out, and the Channel would disappear from their lives.

She spent her Saturday, another dull rainy day, indoors. She read a manuscript that one of her younger editors was very enthusiastic about: a paranormal romance, which she was surprised to find actually engaged her interest. The editor had told her it was the first book in what could be a long series if it was successful. Paranormal and urban fantasy were hot right now, and Stratford was in business to turn a profit. She decided to give the young editor an opportunity.

She took a Post-it note and wrote on it:
One book with an option to check out the next book. If it works out, we can sign her to multiple books later.
Then she signed her name and returned the manuscript to her briefcase. Michael Devlin, her editor in chief, had already seen this manuscript and approved it based on her decision. It was a new author, after all, even if the genre was hot. She was more comfortable with Devlin now than she had ever been. To her surprise, he had been totally honest with her when he said he didn’t want her job—he just wanted to edit. And while he would argue with her privately, once she had taken Martin Stratford’s place, he never challenged her publically.

The sky was darkening over the park again. Lights were coming on in the buildings on the other side of it. J.P. stood, briefly looking out and wondering if someone over on Central Park West was doing the same thing. She had hardly eaten all day. Only yogurt, a pear, and a piece of dark chocolate. Now she broiled herself a small fillet of beef and fixed herself a salad with fresh spinach, red onion, and orange slices. She hadn’t gotten into the Channel until almost ten o’clock last night. Tonight she wanted to be ready to enter it at eight p.m. sharp.

She wasn’t quite certain where in her imagination Charles Pell, the Earl of Pelton, had sprung from, because she didn’t usually create powerful men with whom she would interact. She wanted lovers of her choosing, who felt honored that the Dowager Duchess of Manley had selected them. Lovers who could be easily discarded. From that terrible night when she was sixteen and Ed Gary had tried and failed to rape her, she had avoided men who oozed sexual power. Not that her attacker had. He had been a drunken bully. But J. P. Woods had always suspected that that variety of bully lay deep in all males of the species. Better safe than sorry. Better to be the one in control. So from where had this fascinating and obviously dangerous man sprung?

She ate her supper while watching the news in her small den. Nothing vital. No terrorist attacks anywhere in the world today. No war casualties to report. The former Bachelorette had caught her fiancé, who was purportedly the man of her dreams, banging her best friend, who then announced she was pregnant by the guy, and the engagement was off.
What a moron,
J.P. thought. Who finds love in six weeks, let alone in a lifetime? But hope always sprang eternal, didn’t it?

She showered, got into her bed naked, opened the doors of the entertainment center, and, at the stroke of eight, pressed the A button on her Channel remote. She and the earl were walking up the stairs of her house. “I usually change into something more comfortable when I work,” she told him. “And I have never invited a spectator to observe my methods, so you might perhaps want to wear a masque so you are not recognized. It might make it more difficult for my pupil.”

“Who do you have as your prisoner tonight?” he asked her.

“Reggie Bowie,” she told him.

“My God! He’s a notorious womanizer,” Charles Pell exclaimed.

“Shopgirls, servants, dancers,” Jane told him. “But he is unable to get it up for his poor wife, and Penelope is being blamed by his family for the lack of an heir. Before she goes to the extreme of being impregnated by a lover, she wanted to see if I could do anything with him. It is a typical case, I assure you, my lord. He is a man who enjoys the feeling of power that he gets with a woman of lower station. He cannot, however, bring himself to the same state with his wife, who is a very pretty and delightful young woman.”

“But what can you do?” the earl asked her.

“You will see,” she told him as she entered her bedchamber, the earl behind her. “Smithers, this is the Earl of Pelton. He will be joining me this evening. Help me undress so I may get back to my pupil.” She stepped behind a painted screen, and when she emerged, she was in her black satin corset with the white rosettes, and white stockings held up by black-and-white garters. She wore no drawers now, since they would interfere with her mission. “Come along now, my lord,” Lady Jane said briskly, and she handed him a black masque that would cover the area around his eyes and nose.

He put it on, then followed her up a flight of stairs to enter another bedchamber, where two footmen were waiting.

“How has he done, Flint?” Lady Jane asked her servant.

“Back to his old self, my lady. The first time we moved the dildo he came,” Flint said in disgusted tones. “No control at all, I’m afraid. Then he fell asleep.”

“Lower his head, then, and we shall begin anew,” Lady Jane said. “My friend wishes to watch my work.” She did not introduce Charles Pell.

The earl looked about him. The room contained a large canopied bed. There was also a table with several baskets on it, and the rather odd contraption to which the lady’s victim was fastened. He watched as his hostess ordered the dildo removed from the man’s asshole. “What is the tawse for?” he inquired.

“For smacking his bottom until his cock rises, but he needs my riding crop for that. Most of my pupils take to the tawse, but some do not, and so I use either the crop or a dog whip. He needed the stronger urging of the crop. Wake him, Flint. The drunken sot must be awake for this.”

“When his cock is at a stand, what will you do with him then?” the earl asked.

“I’ll want to see how he wields his weapon, and I will make corrections to his technique so that when he goes back home in a few days, he’ll give Lady Penelope some real pleasure.”

“Will she have to whip him?” the earl wondered, curious.

“Oh, yes. Men like this are rarely able to perform without a little bit of encouragement. He’ll behave as always with his lower-class mistresses, but to satisfy his wife, and get an heir on her, he will require punishment.”

“Fascinating,” the earl remarked. “I have heard of men like that, women too, for whom pain must precede pleasure.”

“Bertie, go and fetch Miss Montague. We will need her services shortly.” Jane turned back to the earl. “Montague is my companion,” she explained.

“And she is willing to help you in these endeavors?” He was surprised not just by the two footmen, but by a lady’s companion who would partake in such undertakings.

Miss Montague arrived. She was an elegant young woman with proud and definitely aristocratic features. She had skin like a gardenia and mahogany-colored hair. “Who is it this time, my lady?” she asked, putting aside her Circassian wrapper, beneath which she wore a white silk corset trimmed with pink ribbons. Her white stockings were held up by garters of pink rosettes. She looked every inch the innocent lady.

“Lord Reginald Bowie, Monty,” Jane answered. “Flint, is he awake?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Reggie dear, we will continue what we began earlier,” Lady Jane said. “The Worthington ball was quite nice, by the way. I saw Lady Penelope dancing with that Austrian baron—I believe his name is Von Falken. He spent most of the evening paying a great deal of attention to her.”

“Dirty bugger trying to seduce a man’s wife,” her prisoner muttered. “Let me go! I need to challenge the fellow to a duel. Must protect the family honor.”

Lady Jane sighed. “Reggie dear, you will not be released until you have been trained to my specifications, and we have only just begun.” She smacked his bottom with three swift blows of her riding crop.

He yelped, surprised. “Bitch!”

Lady Jane began now to wield the crop in a steady cadence. “Count for me, Flint. I need to see how many whacks it will take to bring his cock up.” She turned to the earl. “Once we have determined that, we can work on making him come on quicker. A half dozen smacks to his arse should be more than enough.”

“He’s good now, my lady,” Flint called out. “It took fourteen blows.”

Lady Jane ran her hand over Lord Bowie’s scarlet bottom soothingly. “Now, then, Reggie, you are going to fuck this nice young lady, and we will see how well you do.”

Bertie undid the manacles, and the two footmen raised the man up, allowing him to regain his balance. Lady Jane took the lordling by his very stiff penis and led him over to the bed, where Miss Montague now lay facedown, her bottom elevated and ready.

Lord Bowie’s eyes bugged, and then he licked his lips. “Who is she?” His cock twitched in Jane’s hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” the dowager duchess responded. “Now, fuck her, Reggie.”

Grabbing the girl’s hips, he pushed eagerly into her wet vagina, thrust two or three times, and came with a groan.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Jane said, shaking her head. “That is not at all the way to fuck a woman, Reggie. Did you gain pleasure?”

“Aye, I did,” came the answer.

“But your partner did not, and you will find that you will gain even more pleasure when you give pleasure.” Jane turned to the earl. “My lord, would you like to show him exactly how it should be done?”

“With pleasure, madam,” the Earl of Pelton said. He walked over to Miss Montague and ran his hand up and down her beautiful back several times, caressing her buttocks with one hand as he unbuttoned the fly on his satin breeches to pull out a fine-looking cock. Then, holding her steady, he entered her slowly, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from the girl. “What a lovely tight cunt you have, my dear,” he complimented her.

“Thank you,” the young woman replied politely.

The earl began to move on her, first with slow, deep strokes of his penis, and then he began to increase the tempo of the movement. Miss Montague murmured a sound of decided pleasure and wiggled her bottom into him.

“Observe, Reggie, how the gentleman has taken the time to gentle her first before beginning to fuck her. He is not in any hurry, and listen to her little cries of appreciation. He begins slowly, gradually increasing the friction of his cock in her cunt.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Miss Montague exclaimed. “I am coming! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

The earl stiffened and gave a mighty groan as he released his juices.

“Now you see how they have both enjoyed the interlude. That is the way it ought to be when a man and his wife couple. But you! You have not fucked your wife since your wedding night a year ago. You have let her take the blame for your lack of an heir. You have really behaved in a dastardly fashion, but when I am through, you will fuck your wife with great regularity until you have that heir your family requires. Now it is late. Put him to bed, Flint. Monty will attend to him for an hour or two.”

She swept from the chamber, the earl behind her as she returned downstairs to her own chambers. “Smithers, go to bed,” she instructed her maid, who curtsied and hurried off. Lady Jane turned to the earl. “Are you staying?” she asked him.

“How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?” he asked, amused.

“Unfasten my corset for me, then,” she instructed him. He came behind her and began unlacing the elegant little garment. When he had finished, he let the corset drop to the floor and, reaching around, gathered her breasts into his hands.