Her Favoured Captain (5 page)

  
“Oh but I can, and will.“ He said, a
shuddering breath drawn, his eyes savouring his own spittle upon her wetted
flesh. “Ah, my little Emerald, such soft skin you have.”

  
How long, how long must she endure this
groping of knee, of upper leg before the earl was satisfied? If only, if only
she could reach the nearby candelabra she could end this torture with a blow to
his shoulder. Several blows if necessary, anything to quell his lust. So
engrossed was he in taking pleasure in exploration, he might not notice her
outstretched hand.

  
Oh no, not to touch her there, surely?
Please not there, but he did. Outraged at his fingers delving between her legs
she wriggled in futile attempt to ecap. She pummelled his shoulders, but he
carried on regardless. It was all so hopeless, her every effort to dislodge him
ignored, his nose snuffling flesh, his mouth kissing, his tongue licking the
cleft between her breasts. It all felt so vile and shocked rigid she could not
think, let alone form words to express her revulsion.

  
The earl’s fingers ever explorative groped
the tenderness of her, and sense of delight etched upon his fat face was
absolutely unbearable. She closed her eyes, shut the earl out and visualised
her buccaneer, and it all seemed less painful that way. She succumbed to
blue-grey eyes, letting the smell of her captain consume her in mind. It was as
though he was atop her, and touch of fingers now gentle in caress was most
pleasing. Sensations never encountered before over-whelmed her. What pleasure
it would be to have her buccaneer’s fingers slipping inside of her teasing the
senses, such bliss such trembling bliss.

  
“Now, sweet Emerald,” said the earl, her
dreams instantly shattered. “Wet as a dawn meadow, and I of mind to sample the
dew.”

  
She had not realised his lordship had shifted
back a little, her skirts now about her waist. “This is wrong, all wrong,” she
screamed. The earl un-deterred by her outburst, his weight again bearing down
on her, his mouth came about her neck in the manner of pig at a trough, and she
shouted, “
Ned
,
Ned
,” her last plea for help.

  
Useless brother. Hateful brother. She would
not endure this assault, and reached for the candelabra on the table to the
side of the chaise. It was just beyond her reach and the earl sensed
resistance.

  
“Come now, Emerald, impatient I am to
sample your charms. Be still, and let us be done with your silly nonsense. Am I
not a caring lover?”

  
“You are nothing of the kind. You are
forcing yourself upon me.”

  
“Then surrender to me, and I shall pleasure
you to extremes before taking my dues.”

  
“I cannot, cannot agree to your demands.”

  
“You have little choice, dear girl. Do my
bidding and enjoy the experience, or accept the consequence of pained
resistance.”

  
All hope of rescue lost, to struggle seemed
futile. She turned away, unable to bear the earl’s lecherous face hovering so
close to hers, his attentions less aggressive and fingers gentle in touch. Soon
feelings she could not comprehend stirred within, kisses soft upon her neck
something she had to learn to accept. But how could his touch cause her body to
betray her so? The earl’s intense fondling caress caused breath to falter, her
pulse to race and heart to beat so fast she quite imagined she would faint.
Untold pleasure never experienced before overcame her and she surrendered to
it, to his lordship’s touch. It lasted all but a few seconds, for the earl
ceased administering attentions upon her, his face a tapestry of satisfied
molester. Dare she hope him sufficient gratified?

  
Alas, there was somewhat urgent movement of
his hand to his crotch, his voice sinister in deliverance of detailed
intention. “Now, my pretty Emerald, I shall have a bit of a prod in your
sweetness to be sure you are as chaste as snow.”

  
Although fear engulfed her, she had every
intention of saving herself from this awful fate now almost upon her. The
candelabra, the candelabra, she must reach it this time, but must not give hint
of her intention.

  
“See my fine cock,” he said, brandishing it
aloft to be sure she glimpsed it, despite her unwillingness to engage
considered eye to its manly proportions. “Relax dear girl, for if you resist,
pain not joy shall be yours.”

  
She would rather die than have him take her
virginity in this ungodly manner as though she was a mere whore in a doxy house.
“You are the most despicable man I have had the misfortune to meet,” she
declared, heart at the gallop wishing someone, anyone, even a servant might
enter the room. “I am not your bride, as yet, and of mind never to be such.”

  
He laughed, cocky in extreme, his piggy
eyes gloating and saliva on beastly lips as he came down to her. She felt a
hand to her crotch, a knee to her left leg and then to right forcing both her
legs to either side of the chaise. She arced her back and instantly realised
her mistake, for her action aided a finger to slip inside of her with ease, his
amusement apparent. “Keen, my lady, to embrace me, eh?”

  
His mouth fell on hers, his tongue willing
her lips to part. Resistance her only hope, she clenched her buttocks tight,
arced her back again and this time her fingers gripped the candelabra with
ease. She lifted the candelabra and brought it over her head. It crashed down
on the earl’s shoulder before his dastardly deed was concluded and her
virginity then lost. The base caught him a passing blow to the side of his
head. As luck would have it, he keeled over and slid off the chaise to floor.

  
Horrified, she gathered her wits, then
upped and ran from the scene of two men on the floor: one drunk and the other
perhaps dead though no blood from the earl’s head upon the rug.
 
She rushed to her bedchamber, where she soon
applied bolt as well as lock and key to door. She would be safe for the time
being.

~

Weary from a sleepless
night and now ten of the clock, the house quiet she ventured from her
bedchamber and down the staircase. Her intention was to slip out of the house:
unseen. The quiet and stillness of the place was abruptly shattered by voices
raised in argument. Already assured her brother was well and Moorby none the
worse for a night of imagined over indulgence of wine, at least his being alive
was some consolation she supposed for she now knew she had not killed him.

  
A maid had found the pair asleep in the
blue room first thing, and luckily the full facts of their behaviour the
previous evening remained a secret. She had without any sense of guilt agreed
with the maid both must have fallen asleep in a drunken stupor.

  
She crept close to the closed library
doors, Ned’s words as clear as if she was standing in the very room with him.
“You cannot be serious,” he said, in the manner she had of late come to dread.
“We agreed terms, did we not?”

  
“We did indeed, your lordship, and had your
sister obliged in my desire for a mere kiss to seal the betrothal, our
agreement would be honoured in full.”

  
“I do not understand this sudden reluctance
on Emerald’s part, for it was her wish to be sure this estate was safe for
future generations of Penhaveans.”

  
“Nor I,” returned the earl, a long drawn
sniff, and then another. She could well imagine snuff on the back of his hairy
hand. A shiver of revulsion rippled down her spine, the memory of his hands
upon her flesh detestable, his voice a reminder of the greater threat: unbidden
attentions yet to come. He chuckled, and a second icy shiver of fear streaked
down her spine. “Wild little filly, to be sure, and although she sought to kill
me with a damnable candlestick, I will see my way to forgiveness on the proviso
she comes to me before noon of her own volition and alone.”

  
“In what manner do you propose this
forgive-ness you talk of?”

  
Had Ned not guessed the earl’s intentions?
Had he no thought for her safety?

  
Silence hung heavy within the library, the
weight of it pressing on her shoulders. Unable to see for herself but ear to
door, she could imagine exchange of glances between her handsome brother and
the boar-featured earl; saliva dripping from his mouth in anticipation of
second close encounter with her.

  
“Come now, your lordship, would you have me
deprived of a bit of a feel of your sister?” The earl drew breath, a sucked
shuddering breath, as though delighting in the prospect of her in the room with
him as happened before. “You know how it is, dear boy. A filly trotted up and
down, a ride to try out its stride, and then exchange of money to conclude the
transaction.”

  
“That’s outrageous?” exclaimed Ned. “You
expect me to
 
. . .”

  
“Go for a walk,” barked the earl. “Do what
ever you must, and on my honour I promise it shall be no more than a look and a
feel of what I am to get for my money.”

  
Silence again befell the room. On his
honour, the beast had no honour and would have had her the night previous had
not the candelabra served her well in sending him to black void and she able to
escape his clutches. What next his plan to deceive and get his way?

  
“That, or I sell her as untried. Put her up
for auction to the highest bidder,” snarled the earl. “Your estate in close
proximity to the sea is not particular to my liking, so what say you we get
this over and done with?”

  
“But she’s my sister, not a filly at a
horse fair,” charged Ned, at last seeming to be on her side.

  
“In a drunken stupor you gambled on your
sister’s hand for marriage, your lordship, and lost. Last night we agreed terms
on a legal document to be drawn as surety of payment of all your debts, on
proviso of my sampling your sister’s charms. Now it is up to you. Either I have
her by noon or I sell her on.”

  
She could not bear their talk of her as
though an animal. She turned and fled the house, and ran to the bridge. She ran
down the steps, ran to the bend in the creek, the waters of the creek at
ebb-tide and sand beneath her feet still damp. Almost out of breath she rounded
the bend, and stark reality of no ship felled her. She sank down, loneliness
and heartache the like she had never thought to feel.

  
Why had her buccaneer deserted in such a
cruel manner; set sail, and not a word? They had agreed to meet again late
afternoon, and if nothing else she would have pleaded to sleep a while in his
arms if not able to sail away with him. Now, now she had to go back and face
Ned and Moorby. She felt barely able to raise herself from the sand, a
sleepless night most certainly taking its toll. She so wanted to sleep safe out
of Moorby’s reach, for although her bedchamber could be locked and bolted
overnight she could not remain there throughout the earl’s visit.

  
She retraced her footsteps, heart leaden.
The bridge reached she sat upon the steps, tears flooding. How had it come to
this? How could Ned be so irresponsible in gambling away the house, the estate,
when already mortgaged beyond their means? What evil influence had possessed
him, driven him to drink and to reckless gambling?

  
Once a loving brother, now a monster, she
neither knew or understood this brother returned from war a hero, when so weak
in other ways. He claimed nightmares drove him mad, that drink helped ease the
pain, and gambling kept his mind occupied. What had happened to cause this
change in him? Two years of Ned back at Penhavean, the estate coffers emptied
and the life they had known now slipping from their grasp.

  
Sound of horses hooves and wheels stole her
attention, for a carriage was on approach to the bridge and coming from the
house. Could noon have passed, and Moorby on his way as threatened? Surely not,
for it could not be more than half eleven and time enough to meet with the
earl’s demands. She had to do something, any thing to save Penhavean and Ned
from ruin. If not, her future would be more uncertain than before. At least as
Moorby’s wife she would retain status that of a lady, and as Ned had said,
provide a son for the earl and take a young lover.

  
She lunged forward skirts hitched in hand,
turned and hurried up the steps, but the carriage was already rumbling over the
bridge. Upon reaching the ride, breathless, she could only stand and stare as
the carriage with pair-in-hand at the canter and speeding along the ride toward
the main gates. It was Moorby’s carriage, but was he aboard or had he sent Ned
on some fanciful errand?

  
To be so in doubt as to who would be
waiting upon her return to the house was quite daunting. If it was Ned she
feared his wrath, but he could not hurt her any more than he already had. If
Moorby, she would have to surrender herself to him. He might think of her as
his, for he would have her body. Her heart, though, would forever remain at
Penhavean with Tobias, and a little of it somewhere at sea. For no matter her
buccaneer’s desertion he had un-knowingly stolen a piece of her heart.

  
The house before her, she stepped up to the
door fearing the worst. It was suddenly flung wide, Ned standing before her.
“Where, where have you been?” She sensed him despairing their fate. “Have you
any idea what has happened?”