His Countess (Victorian Decadence Book 3) Read online

  It was amazing how fast her cheeks turned fiery. “I didn’t need to go searching for them, my lord. After all, her name was bandied about along with Mr. Fanshawe’s and Lady Catherine’s for months.”

  “That’s true,” he agreed in a tone that said he would not contribute to such gossip.

  “Tell me about the other guests.”

  “Mr. Smith will be coming by himself. By the by,” he said. “Mr. Smith just goes by that: Mr. Smith. Even the rest of us don’t know his Christian name.”

  “Surely you’re joking?”

  “No. That’s all he’ll give us. Of course we like to amuse ourselves imagining names for him.” Gideon snickered as he recalled some of his last guessed names. He always chose the most outlandish names, enjoying the usually unreadable man’s irritation. They went through the alphabet, each taking a turn. His had been A and he’d come up with the name Algernon, which had set even Edward Fanshawe rolling with laughter.

  “Stephen Chatham is the last, but not least, of our number.” He hesitated, trying to think of a way to describe the brilliant but almost pathologically reserved man. “He is no doubt the smartest of the four of us. It is difficult to say what his motivation for making money is. He appears to live fairly humbly.” Gideon shrugged. Stephen was no less a mystery than Smith.

  “And will he be bringing a guest?”

  “I doubt it, but it would be best to have a room ready just in case—preferably one adjacent to his. I suppose the same goes for Smith.” When she made no sound he turned to her, beyond amused by the stiff expression on her face.

  “I know my friends are not what you are accustomed to.”

  She snorted.

  “Very well, it’s likely they’re not what most people are accustomed to, but I didn’t work as hard as I have to pretend I’m somebody else. While my guests may be on the, er, bohemian end of the spectrum, they are not animals and comport themselves decently in front of staff and our neighbors.” He paused for effect. “What they do behind closed doors is their own affair.”

  Gideon let her stew on that, wondering if there were little peep holes in every room in the house. If so, that could be quite entertaining. He wouldn’t have any compunction about spying on his partners and their lovers the way he did about Lady Taunton.

  Yes, he needed to discover all the little hidey-holes. He’d been terribly remiss exploring his house, too busy pouring coin into it.

  “Will the guest chambers be ready by the time they arrive?”

  “I believe so. The draper from Taunton’s is most . . . inspired.”

  Gideon snorted. “He should be for the money I’m offering.”

  “That was clever of you to set him and his seamstresses up in the rooms,” she said.

  Gideon laid a hand over his heart. “Praise from you, my lady?”

  “On another matter, will you speak to those servants I’ve told about their pensions? I daresay you’ll want them around for a few days to help the new servants who arrive from London. They were all, without exception, very grateful for your generosity and—”

  “Good God. Do you mean I have to let them all thank me?”

  “Well, that would be the right thing to do.”

  “Ha! I expect you mean that would be the lordly thing to do.”

  “Yes, that too.” Her lips twitched slightly. “We shall take this path up ahead. It leads into the vale.” Her eyes flickered over him, assessing. “You have a better seat than you indicated.”

  He was annoyed by the pleasure he felt at her words. “I’m adequate to ambling along, but anything over this speed will give you much amusement.”

  She opened her mouth, and then closed it, pursing her lips.

  “What? Go on and say it. Please don’t feel that you need to check yourself in my presence.”

  “I was just going to say that if you like, I could offer you a few words of advice on your position.”

  “I would love anything you could offer on the subject of positions.”

  She frowned and Gideon could almost hear the gears grinding away as she tried to figure out whether he’d said something shocking. She appeared to dismiss it. “Let’s see you trot.”

  Gideon nudged the horse’s flanks.

  “Where is your whip?”

  “Er.”

  “Always have your whip.”

  “I don’t particularly like the thought of using a whip on a dumb animal.” But I’d very much enjoy using it on you, my dear.

  She looked at him as though he were an idiot. “You do not beat a horse with your whip, my lord. You use it for direction. That is what they’ve been trained with—using your heels or knees as a prod is merely confusing to them.” She pursed her lips and then sighed. “Pull up and observe.”

  Gideon stopped his horse and Lady Taunton flicked her crop—a very unusual variety he’d not seen before—a type of horn or antler on one end with a long lash. The end tapped her horse’s arse, sending the beast smoothly into a trot, her own posture flowing—almost rolling along with the beast.

  She rode in a tight circle around him, keeping her mount at a trot. “You’ll notice my posting is different from what you do—that is a matter of saddles. But the action is the same in theory. You are not working against the horse but using the momentum. The upward portion of the post relies on the horse’s motion. You control the downward, using the muscles in the fronts of your thighs, rather than the rear.” She pulled up beside him. “I could show you better if I were riding astride.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Ride astride? Because it is—well, it is unseemly.”

  “Ah. Well, I must say I think riding side saddle looks bloody awkward, begging your pardon.”

  “Riding astride is easier.”

  “You sound as though you speak from experience?”

  She pursed her lips and her mouth pulled up on one side. “Yes, on occasion.”

  “I see. And it would be easier to teach me if you were astride?”

  “Well, yes, but Silber could instruct you better. He is the best rider I know.”

  Ah, Silber again. Gideon smiled. “Perhaps you both might instruct me—I daresay I could use all the assistance I could get. Unless you are unwilling to be unseemly.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t mind riding astride if there are no others around.”

  Gideon could tell by the sudden stiffening of her shoulders that the thought of being seen in breeches titillated her. He wondered if it was the thought of him seeing her, or her strapping servant, that was pleasing her most.

  Well, he’d have a very enjoyable time figuring that out.

  Chapter Nine

  Alys was directing the servants with the rearrangement of one of the guestrooms when Lord Taunton strolled into the room.

  “Here you are,” he said.

  “You needed something?”

  He gave one of his sly smiles—the type that always made her feel as if she should slap his face.

  Liar, you want to do something else to get that look off his face.

  “I wondered why you were not at dinner.”

  She frowned. “I told Thursby to send down a message.”

  “Oh, she did, but all she said was you were detained.” He glanced around at the large study with obvious interest. “This is looking very nice. That carpet will look well with those green drapes. The room seems . . . bigger than I recall.”

  “That is the result of a thorough cleaning. I don’t know why it is, but removing dust always makes a room look larger.”

  “The floors and furniture are positively glowing.”

  “Perhaps you’d like me to send the maids into your chambers?” She gave him an exaggerated look of mock comprehension. “Oh, wait—you have your own chambermaids. You don’t need any assistance.”

  He cocked his head, his slow smile spreading over his face. “I think my room could use a thorough cleaning—you’re correct. Have them do it tonight.” He grinned. “Perhaps you might supervi
se?”

  She snorted.

  “Do you plan to be at this all night?” he asked, gesturing to the general area around them.

  “No, I shall dismiss everyone after this room is done. That will leave only two for tomorrow.” And it shall leave me time to go see what you get up to tonight, my deviant lord. Her face heated at the mere thought, but she couldn’t find it in herself to deny it: she would be glued to that peep hole tonight, there was no point in lying.

  Gideon wore a concerned frown. “Will we be ready for my friends two days hence? Or should we hire some day workers?”

  “No, we’ll be ready.”

  “Excellent. Thank you so much for your efforts.” He hesitated and then said, “I did send Mr. Floyd over to the Dower House and it is next on his list. I’ve told him to bring in more workers and he’s grudgingly agreed to work with two additional roofing companies from Bristol. You might want to take a look at the furnishings and place orders for anything you need while you’re doing so for Foxrun.”

  Alys realized she was gaping. “Why, th-thank you, my lord. That’s very generous—and rather more timely than I’d hoped for.”

  “Yes, well, they’re working far quicker than I’d anticipated.” He stifled a yawn. “I do beg your pardon. But it’s off to bed for me, I’m afraid.”

  Liar.

  “Good night, my lord.” Once he’d gone, she turned to the servants who were positioning the big rug. “Once we finish with this, we can stop for this evening,” she said, fervently hoping to motivate them with that information.

  ☐ ☐ ☐

  Alys was frantic by the time she finally managed to shove Thursby out the door.

  “Somebody,” the old lady said—and Alys knew who that meant—“should speak to him, my lady. These—these women are just—”

  “Thursby,” she said sharply, cutting off the woman’s slurred, wild-eyed speech. “It is his house. You must take hold of yourself and stop your complaining.” Alys yawned. “Now, I’ve had a full day.”

  The old woman’s face twisted. “Oh, aye! I can see what you’re about. No better than you should—”

  “Out.” Alys had to bite down on her lip to keep the flow of anger inside. She’d dealt with the old woman’s vitriol for almost a decade. She could deal with it again tonight. Besides, it wasn’t as if she could afford to pension her off—even if she could, where would she go? Thursby had grown up on the grounds of Foxrun, the daughter of a butler of yore. How could Alys ask for a cottage for the bitter old drunk when so many others, who were more deserving, were living in squalor? No, they were stuck with each other and would likely live out their days together as querulous old crones in the Dower House.

  Thursby tottered around her room fussing and puttering about until Alys wanted to scream, before finally shuffling off and leaving her alone.

  The second the door closed behind her Alys sprang from beneath the covers and shrugged into her heavy, quilted dressing gown. She’d brought two apples tonight and wore her heaviest nightdress—it was cold in the narrow corridor—as well as the ugly but warm slippers her sister-in-law had sent her last Christmas.

  Alys peered out the door, careful to look both ways and listen, feeling like the spy she was. When she was sure it was clear she ran with undignified haste to the panel and felt for the catch, which for a moment she couldn’t feel. Was this the wrong panel? Was it—voices came from the direction of the servant’s staircase and her fingers were frantic.

  She located the catch just as the voices approached the top of the stairwell. She shut the door almost all the way before pulling it closed with painful slowness and scampering down the corridor toward the stool.

  Her heart was pounding so loud she swore she could hear it echoing in the hallway. She climbed up on the stool.

  “Oh my,” she whispered. A huge copper bathing tub had been set in front of his lordship’s fire. And his lordship was in it.

  She swallowed. He was reclining against the sloped back, his eyes closed, while the two women bathed him, like some sort of barbarian emperor.

  All three of them were naked, at least mostly.

  The tub was at such an angle that she could see his face and chest. One woman faced her direction—Lucy—while the other—Susan—knelt with her back facing the peephole. Alys pressed her eye hard against the glass. Susan was wearing some sort of . . . well, she didn’t know what it would be called. A wide black strap ran between her thighs and was pulled tight enough to spread her buttocks. It was fastened to a black belt that as cinched just as tightly around her tiny waist. It looked uncomfortable but . . . unspeakably erotic and Alys swore she could feel the snug straps against her own swollen lips.

  Alys had given up mentally flagellating herself for her body’s reaction. She was here, she knew why she was here—to be titillated—and there was no point in denying it. As to why she found such depraved sights arousing? Well, that was something she could think about later. Likely while praying in church this coming Sunday.

  Not if you turn into a flaming cinder on the front steps.

  She snorted at the dry voice.

  The women soaped and scrubbed his entire body, paying particular attention—it appeared to Alys—to his midsection, which was unfortunately hidden by the side of the tub.

  Jackson came out of the dressing room and went to the door. When he returned, he held two cans of water. Lord Taunton pushed himself up from the tub, like some sort of god rising from the ocean. Alys had to swallow several times—something she felt like she was continually doing to keep from drooling—when she saw his member. Yes, it was as thick, ruddy, and long as she remembered.

  Jackson lifted a can and poured it over his master’s back and shoulders while the women slicked the water over his skin, Susan’s hands brushing against his erection in the process.

  For the first time Alys really looked at the valet. He had a very featureless face, his salt and pepper hair exceedingly close cropped, his black suit as closely fitted to his powerful body as his master’s was. She’d not noticed before, but he was half a head taller than Gideon, with shoulders like an ox. He was, she had to admit, as appealing as his master in his own way: brawny but silent and menacing. And completely expressionless in the midst of the most sensual tableau Alys could imagine.

  What was he thinking of this man he served? Was he aroused, as well? Alys could not see his hips from her vantage point, but how could he not be?

  The women rose and took two bath sheets from a stack by the fire while Jackson poured the second can over Lord Taunton’s hair, washing away the soap. The water ran down his body, sliding over the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen in a way that made her salivate to lick those taut, defined ridges.

  Oh yes, she was entirely lost.

  Once Jackson finished, he picked up the cans and disappeared in the direction of the dressing room. What did he make of Lord Taunton’s activities? Was this type of thing normal? Is this what Sebastian had done in London? Did he employ women to wait upon him like the body slaves of old?

  And why was the thought of Sebastian behaving this way enough to cool her ardor?

  Gideon stepped from the tub and stood with his hands on his hips as the women dried him. Lucy, she saw now, was without clothing. Alys squinted. It looked as if she had less pubic hair than was normal—or certainly less than Alys had. Surely the woman did not groom herself down there?

  Gideon said something to Lucy and the woman turned and bent over, her feet spread wide.

  Jackson reentered the room and handed what looked to be a small bottle to Gideon. He pulled off the top and Lucy reached back and took one buttock in each hand, spreading them.

  Alys had to breathe through her mouth to get enough air and her eye fogged up the peephole and she had to rub it with her finger.

  Gideon dropped into a crouch, his erect organ jutting out in front of him, and he poured a long stream of oil at the top of her crevice and then handed the bottle to Susan, who stood across from hi
m, wearing only the odd strap of a garment, still and servile.

  Gideon slid his fingers between her lips.

  Alys’s body clenched in sympathy—in yearning. Although she couldn’t see his fingers, she could see the corded, powerful muscles of his forearm flexing. And then his arm began to move back and forth, working her with rhythmic thrusts, his body clenching as he pumped her harder and harder. Still she remained in her position, her hands jerking on her spread cheeks and pulling them wider.

  Gideon stopped when she visibly shuddered, her climax apparently strong. He moved his hand to—good God—was he—

  Yes, even from a distance Alys could see what he was doing, his finger massaging her back puckered hole. Yet another part of the human body Alys hadn’t even seen before.

  Nothing in the book she’d found that summer talked about any of this and Alys realized she was pressing her face so hard against the wall that the brick had scored a mark on her forehead.

  She didn’t care.

  He must have spoken to Susan because she poured more oil over the other woman, Gideon’s fingers massaging, lightly probing, their motions mesmerizing.

  And then he paused and she realized what he was about to do: he was going to breach her.

  He used the smallest of his fingers and she could tell by Lucy’s reaction when it entered her body because she tensed. He stroked her thigh in soothing motions with his other hand, but his finger stayed in place. More oil and more probing, he twisted his finger, easing it in joint by joint.

  Warmth slid down Alys’s thigh and she bit her lower lip so hard she could taste blood. Susan poured more oil and he kept gently thrusting. Alys shuddered when she saw him pause and gently insinuate another finger.

  And then he stood, leaning over her, his free hand beneath her body—Alys knew where that second hand was touching her—while he slowly invaded her. Lucy shuddered and stiffened, her pale skin a splotchy red by the time he’d added a third finger.

  He stopped and spoke to Susan, who came to him with a—Alys squinted at whatever it was Susan handed Gideon. It looked like a—well, she didn’t know what to call it. A cork or plug of some kind, with a flanged end.