When Love Comes Calling: Two Short Stories (7 page)

Sylvie sighed. “I thought I was old, Edmund, and getting older. I know I felt old beyond my years. When you first came I thought my desire for you was sinful, that of a lecherous old woman for a beautiful young man, so full of life and vigor.” She paused and licked her lips and she traced a teasing circle around his nipple, watching it pucker for her. “But before long, I felt young and vital and alive, and so full of passion. In your eyes I saw what you saw, a beautiful woman discovering her passion with you, for you. You made me young and beautiful again, Edmund.” She shook her head. “No, not again—for the first time. I married an old man, too young.” She looked up at him with eyes shining with tears. “I loved Christopher, but not like this. As his companion, I grew old with him. I never had a chance to be young and in love.” She kissed him softly and slowly, a promise of the desire he could see burning in her eyes. “Thank you, my love, for being the young man I was waiting for.”

At her words Edmund couldn’t leave his lady waiting anymore. He showed her again and again how very much this young man loved her in return.

The End

D
ominic
, Viscount Lethbridge, eased out the open door of the ballroom onto a terrace that was almost as crowded as the dance floor. He vowed, again, that this was the last time his mother would talk him into attending one of these god-awful marriage-market affairs. The unattached females and their predatory mamas made this quite possibly the most dangerous place in England for an eligible, titled male. He looked around for Jeremy Benford, his best friend since their school days and a frequent partner in Dom’s sexual misadventures. Knowing Benford, he’d managed to escape out here at least half an hour ago, with a toothsome widow no doubt.

Several young ladies grouped together at one end of the terrace turned in his direction with gleaming eyes and bashful snickers and Dom made a hasty retreat down the stairs into the garden, taking the first path he saw into the shrubbery. Thank God Lord Merwell a forest of trees back here to hide in. He’d look for Benford from there.

Once in the trees Dom searched the visible terrace for his friend to no avail. The trees followed the line of the house, and Dom rounded the corner to the side of the building. There were several lamps burning there, and another door from the ballroom. As Dom watched, a small figure furtively snuck out the door and then leaned back against the wall. It was a woman, a girl actually from the look of her plain white gown, one of the debutantes. Was she meeting someone? A young man, perhaps, for an assignation? Dom smiled in anticipation. He liked watching almost as much as participating.

Suddenly the figure stood away from the wall in alarm, the tense lines of her body telling Dom something was wrong. It was then the voices carried to him. Someone was coming. In the blink of an eye the girl ran from the house into the trees, several yards away from Dom.

He stood perfectly still, not wanting to reveal himself. His reputation was such that a virginal young lady of quality would probably swoon to find herself alone in the woods with him. He could see her more clearly now, and wondered if her white dress would give her away to the small group of young men spilling out the door.

She was pretty in an unconventional way. A little plump with large breasts, not at all the fashion, but Dom liked it on her. She looked as if she’d be a soft, pleasant ride. She’d seemed smaller when she came out the door, but on closer inspection she came to his shoulder at least. Her hair looked dark in the shadows of the trees, absorbing the wan moonlight that filtered through the leaves and reflecting it back as a shimmering gleam. That gleam intrigued him. What color was it? He liked brunettes, liked to see their long dark hair spread across the bed as he fucked hard into them, the contrast of dark hair and white sheets arousing.

He surprised himself with the thought. He never fantasized about these virginal little debutantes. It was an exercise in futility. They were too well guarded, and more often than not too ignorant of men to satisfy his fantasies. So why this one? She had intrigued him the moment she snuck out the door. He could barely discern her features in the dark, and yet he found his cock hard imagining fucking her in a room lit by moonlight, that same gleam in her hair as it streamed across his bed.

The girl quietly turned so her back was against the tree and Dom saw her bite her fist, as if she were holding something back. Words? Tears? He realized it was a reaction to what the young bucks were saying. He turned eyes narrowed with displeasure on the group and began to listen to their inebriated chatter.

“The Welliston chit? Good God, man, that would be like fucking a little piglet!” The comment was followed by raucous laughter all around.

“A fucking piglet stuffed with money,” another voice drawled, eliciting more laughter. “She can squeal for me if it means paying off the duns.”

“Did you see that horrendous dress? So plain.” Disgust laced the comment, and Dom saw the dandified little bastard who’d spoken fluff the overwhelming waterfall of his cravat.

“Again, style means nothing. She may wear whatever she likes in the country as she oversees my estate while I’m in London.” The same voice drawled again, clearly indicating to his fellows his interest in the girl, or her money anyway.

“But to fuck her? Really, Chauncey, could you? I might actually find myself unable to perform for the first time in my life. She tried to talk to me of books! Can you countenance it? And that nose.” Dom could almost see the boy shiver in horror.

The one named Chauncey laughed. “One cunt is as good as another in the dark, gentlemen. And as a wife, she’d expect no more than a poke once a month until she is with child. I daresay the faster I get on with it the happier we shall both be. Then I shall go my way and leave her to go hers.”

Their voices faded as they moved in the door. Dom turned again to watch the girl. He was on the verge of going to her, to comfort her he knew not how, when she straightened from the tree. He watched as she smoothed her hair in its simple chignon, and then smoothed her skirts with the same motion. He could actually see her shoulders move as her back stiffened. It was as if she prepared for battle. When she turned to go back inside he finally saw her face. Finely arched brows, tilted eyes, a long nose curiously flat, and perhaps crooked? She held her lower lip between her teeth, drawing his eyes to her large mouth and full lips. She was exceptional. There was nothing ordinary about her, and as he watched her walk stiff-legged back into the ballroom, her face composed, he wanted her as he had not wanted anyone for a very long time.

T
he next day
in Dom’s study, Jeremy Benford stared at Dom as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you mad? You
must
be mad.”

Before he could answer Ben, the other man spoke again. “Do you know anything else beside the fact that she’s a virgin?”

Dom thought for a moment. “Actually, I don’t know that. I’m assuming she’s a virgin because she was wearing the white uniform of a debutante.” Ben snorted in disgust and rolled his eyes. “But I think her family name is Welliston. That is, if that group of pups was talking about her. And I think they were. So there you are.”

Ben fell back onto a chaise, his head dramatically held in his hands. “Good lord, Dom, a debutante! Are you mad?”

“You’ve already asked me that, Benford. No, I am not mad. She’s going to be good, I’m sure of it.”

Dom watched his best friend open his eyes and look at him incredulously. Ben was beautiful, everyone said so. He was tall, muscular, with hair the color of old guineas and eyes the blue of the sea, or at least that’s what Dom had heard someone say once. It sounded better than blond and blue. What made Ben so attractive to Dom, however, was his appetite for life. Dom tended to be rather dour and cautious when left to his own devices. Ben wouldn’t allow it. Ben also shared women with him on a regular basis. The two men had very similar sexual tastes, and Dom had no intention of giving him up, or the pastimes they enjoyed together. That was why he was determined to enlist Ben’s aid in finding the exceptional Miss Welliston.

“Describe her again.” Ben closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She was about as tall as my shoulder, with dark hair, and she was voluptuous, with lush breasts. She had a fine pair of eyes, tilted up at the corners, and I think her nose has been broken at some point. Also, she had the mouth of a siren, large, with full lips.”

“And her name might be Welliston.” Ben sounded wearily resigned.

“Yes.” Dom got up from where he’d been leaning against the desk and walked over to sit next to Ben. He threw an arm companionably around the other man’s shoulder. “I’m no good at descriptions, Ben, you know that. The sky is blue, the grass is green, music is loud, and sugar is sweet. But when you see her, you’ll understand. She’s no ordinary debutante. I want her, Ben. And I want you to want her too.”

Ben just looked at him dubiously.

A
week
after the Merwell’s ball, Clarissa Welliston sat down next to her mother with an inward sigh. She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to sit here long. Either her mother or her best friend Minda would make her get up and parade around, as if one of the so-called gentlemen here would suddenly see the light and decide she was more interesting than her money or her breasts. She hadn’t had a conversation with a man who looked higher than her chest in over three weeks. The whole affair wearied her. Just last week at the Earl and Countess of Merwell’s she’d stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and overheard several young gentlemen discussing her in less than favorable terms. A piglet stuffed with money they’d called her, the little dandified jackanapes. She’d had to bite her fist in her hiding place to keep from storming up to them and telling them in no uncertain terms that they would never have a chance at either her money or her person.

Not that Clari didn’t want a man. She was desperate for a man. Experimenting by herself was all well and good, but she wanted a fine, strong cock between her legs, the real thing. Too bad marriage had to come with it. Glancing around the ballroom, Clari wasn’t even sure there was a fine, strong cock here this evening. At least at Merwell’s there had been several gentlemen present who were pleasant to look at and who appeared to have the necessary parts and knew what to do with them. Tonight at the Smythe musicale there was a definite lack of male pulchritude.

Lost in her thoughts, it took Clari a moment to realize she was looking down at a pair of highly polished men’s shoes planted directly in front of her. They were attached to a long pair of legs, and Clari’s eyes traveled up every inch of their heavily muscled length, stopping for only one forbidden moment on the promising bulge in the front of his trousers. Her gaze passed over slim hips and broad shoulders until she finally looked into the extremely handsome face of the man standing expectantly before her. He was extraordinary. He looked a little foreign with his olive skin and dark brown eyes, and his black hair was left a little long to sweep over his broad forehead. His nose was long and strong, quite Roman actually, like some of the pieces in the museum. His lips were thin but finely sculpted, with a deep dimple at the bow. She could see a shadow of a beard on his face though it was early in the evening. His overt masculinity made a shiver chase up Clari’s spine. At the subtle movement, his mouth quirked knowingly and Clari’s eyes snapped to his in mortification. The gleam there confirmed her fears—he knew she was attracted to him, and he found it amusing.

A sharp female voice spoke, and Clari started with surprise. She hadn’t even noticed their hostess beside him.

“My dear Miss Welliston, Viscount Lethbridge has requested an introduction. How thrilling for you, I’m sure!” Mrs. Smythe trilled. Clari gritted her teeth. It didn’t take an exceptionally sharp intellect to intuit what Mrs. Smythe wasn’t saying—that Clari should be grateful any man was interested in her enough to ask for an introduction, much less this man. Clari had heard the other girls speak of him, of his looks and his wealth and his eligibility. They had also whispered about his shocking sexual excesses.

“Miss Welliston,” Viscount Lethbridge said, his deep voice causing things low in Clari’s stomach to tighten in excitement.

“My lord,” she responded politely, holding out her hand. He took it, and even through her glove and his she could feel the heat of the embrace. Her hand shook slightly, but he didn’t release it. He slowly bent over and kissed her wrist—kissed it, not just a polite bow, but an actual pressing of his lips against her. The tremors deep within her intensified. As he rose from his bow his eyes caught hers and the look simmered with hunger. Clari was shocked, titillated and bemused. What on earth? Surely he wasn’t interested in her?

“Miss Welliston, would you care to take a turn about the room with me?” the viscount asked, his demeanor pleasant while at the same time quite determined. He looked deferentially at Clari’s mother beside her.

“Oh yes, Clari dear, do go on with the viscount,” her mother quickly urged, a hand on her arm shoving her up. The avaricious delight on her face made Clari inwardly cringe.