His Countess (Victorian Decadence Book 3) Page 5

  “And what of you, my lord? Do you have family in London?”

  Gideon’s eyes narrowed at her question, but he could see no spite in her smoky gray eyes.

  “I have no immediate family, period. My mother had a younger sister but her marriage took her off to Northern parts and I’ve not seen her since I was in short pants.” He hesitated, and then added. “I only had the one brother, and he died years ago.” And what a bloody relief that had been, he could have added, but did not. Gideon drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, oddly uneasy. And why was that? What was it about this female that was making him restless?

  Perhaps because this is the first time you’ve actually spoken to an attractive woman without shoving your cock in her body?

  Gideon couldn’t help smiling—both at the mental voice, which sounded suspiciously like his judgmental business partner Chatham—and also because the accusation was true.

  Naturally now that the subject of fucking had been brought up, he couldn’t help visualizing the countess naked, bouncing up and down on his pole.

  Her flush, which had just begun to subside, flared with a vengeance at whatever she saw on his face—lust, most likely. For a woman who’d been married eight years she blushed easily. Of course Taunton had likely mounted her under cover of darkness once a month, if not less.

  “Perhaps you might share what you find so amusing, my lord?”

  Gideon studied her pursed lips and wondered what she’d say if he did share his thoughts. In a more playful mood, he might have done exactly that. But the truth was his mood was considerably less than cheerful. It embarrassed and surprised him to admit it, but the business with his mistresses had left him feeling less than his chipper, carefree self.

  That was the last thing he’d ever admit to this superior female.

  Instead he raised a matter of business. “I would be indebted to you, my lady, if you could help make an inventory of what the house lacks—linens, furnishings, and the like.” He waved his hand to encompass everything. “I was quite serious about wishing to invite my business acquaintances. But I’ve not got a clue about household matters.”

  Rather than look annoyed, she smiled. “I would be pleased to assist you. I’m afraid it has been some years—well-before my husband’s time—since the house or its contents have received any, er, improving attention.”

  Gideon could just imagine. “I assumed as much. If you focus your attention first on four guest rooms, the dining room, and a few common rooms, that would be most helpful.”

  “I’m afraid you might find the kitchen is the room that is most in need of repair, my lord.”

  “You can leave that to my chef, who’ll be down sometime within the next week or so.” And who would likely give his notice at whatever gothic monstrosity he found. Gideon cut her a quick look when she didn’t respond. “I suppose there is a cook?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I trust the arrival of my chef will not put his or her nose out of joint?” Not that he cared. He was excessively particular about food and the last bloody thing he’d tolerate was a yokel who thought boiled turnips the height of fine dining.

  “Well, to be honest, Cook is rather past her time. If you like—” she stopped.

  “Yes? If I like?”

  “I was going to offer to speak to her, or to any of the servants you might wish to discharge. I’m ashamed to admit that there are several who should have been pensioned off some time ago but were not, er, for lack of money.”

  He filled in what she left unsaid: Because her spendthrift husband was too busy wasting the ready on horses and at gaming tables to see to his business.

  Gideon scowled. He despised these effete fools who let fine properties fall to rack and ruin and drove their servants to the bloody poorhouse.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, my lord.”

  Gideon realized she’d misread his sour expression. “You didn’t.” It was your idiot of a husband. “I daresay you’re worried I’ll give them the sack.”

  She blinked, her mouth tightening into a pucker.

  “Don’t worry,” Gideon told her with a laugh. “I shan’t leave anyone destitute. But it would be far better for you to deal with the servants, if you don’t dislike it too much,” he added. He studied the nails on his left hand, which Jackson kept in lovely condition. “I have a devil of a time keeping a staff in London,” he admitted, and then cut her a quick grin. “Although I couldn’t say why.” Oh yes he could. If there was anything more prudish than a member of the British servant class, he could not think of it. His people were always leaving in a huff over minor matters like encountering Gideon plowing one of his special chambermaids in the foyer, or—on memorable occasion—in a linen closet. Ah well, good riddance.

  “I should be pleased to manage the servants,” she answered, prudently leaving the second part of his comment unanswered. “Indeed, I will be pleased to offer assistance in any way you need.”

  Gideon somehow doubted she would be pleased to assist him in the way he was currently needing.

  “You are very kind,” he told her, and then stood. “I shall have my man bring tea, if that would be acceptable?”

  “Oh, yes. Lovely.”

  Gideon bowed. “If you will excuse me a moment.”

  He found his silent servant sitting at the back of the carriage reading.

  “Bring Lady Taunton tea, Jackson,” he instructed. Gideon wished he could read on a train, but it made him ill. Frankly, he wished he could read anywhere, but he was simply too restless.

  “In which compartment did you put Lucy and Susan?”

  “They are in the third up on the right, my lord. I did as you bade me and purchased all four seats in the compartment.”

  “Excellent. Tell my lady I shall return in half an hour and not to hold tea for me.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  If his behavior surprised Jackson, the man never showed it by so much as a flicker of an eyelid. He’d been with Gideon for over a decade—the first servant Gideon had engaged when he could finally afford to do so. Although Jackson attended him almost twenty-four hours a day, Gideon knew nothing about him other than he was efficient, obedient, and extremely reserved. He also had no hard and fast lines in the sand about valet duties, which had often proven quite useful—and enjoyable—over time. He was perhaps five or six years older than Gideon, kept remarkably fit, and always did what he was told to do without question. They got on swimmingly.

  Gideon unlocked the door to the private car and stepped over the gap into the first-class cabin. There were not many passengers at this time of the week so he was surprised the company had put on so many cars—bad management. He’d have to tell his partners to reconsider their unwillingness to invest in trains, he sensed there was money to be made.

  Being a nosy bastard, he glanced into each compartment he passed.

  He also thought about what he was doing: breaking off a conversation with a woman in whom he’d genuinely been interested—at least as far as she could assist him when it came to his new property—to go cavort with two whores.

  Gideon felt a bit sheepish at the admission, but that did nothing to bring down his erection, which even the prissy countess would have soon noticed, given his preference for closely cut trousers. The sad truth was that his brain got muzzy when he needed to ejaculate.

  “There’s something wrong with you,” Edward Fanshawe told him with irritating frequency. The last time his oversized business partner had said that was only a month ago. They’d been returning to London after a business trip in Liverpool. Gideon had just suggested they break their journey to investigate a whorehouse in a town along the way.

  Gideon usually ignored his partners’ ribbing, but, for some reason, he’d been arrested by Edward’s assessment that day.

  “Do you really believe something is wrong with me, Edward? Or are you just saying that to be a superior bastard—now that you’ve got a wife at home who is willing to do things mo
st men wouldn’t even dare to suggest to their mistresses?”

  Edward had frowned and Gideon had known he was deciding whether he or not he should thrash Gideon for commenting about his wife’s sexuality. Considering the man had invited Gideon to fuck her, it seemed like a moot point. Still, Edward could be a bit touchy when it came to his wife. Gideon didn’t blame him; a woman like Nora Fanshawe might be enough for Gideon to consider marriage. Almost.

  “I do think you might have a bit of a—” Edward had considered Gideon with a clinical look. “Well, you do seem a bit obsessed with sex.”

  “So what? Aren’t you? Don’t you think of fucking? Of getting sucked off?”

  Edward had sighed. “Of course, I do, but I can restrain myself.”

  “Why the hell would you do that? We are filthily, revoltingly rich—we no longer have to exercise restraint. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want, to whomever we want.”

  Edward had chuckled at that. “Oh, Gideon.”

  “What? Why are you laughing? It’s true—I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t have, either with money or promises of heavenly pleasure.”

  “One day you will—if you are lucky.”

  And that was all the bastard would say on the subject.

  Gideon was so caught up in his thoughts he almost walked right past the girls’ compartment.

  He opened the door and grinned. “Hello ladies, did you miss me?” Both women studied him through narrowed eyes and he laughed. “Sorry to toss you out of the private car, darlings, but family first, and all that.” He pulled the shade down over the window in the door and was going to pull down the one on the other side but decided he might like to watch the scenery while enjoying his pleasure.

  He lowered himself onto the seat opposite the women and surveyed them from beneath his lowered lashes. They were pouting, and he could see they’d talked themselves into being genuinely affronted. He’d clearly given his whores too much latitude in their dealings with him. It was probably time to start over with new ones and train them properly this time.

  But not just now.

  He pulled out his watch, opened the cover, and set it on the armrest before looking up. Whatever they saw on his face made them both sit up straighter.

  “I can see you ladies are displeased with the situation.”

  “Oh, no, my lord, not at all,” Susan hastened to assure him.

  “We’re very comfy here, my lord, quite happy,” Lucy said, speaking over the other woman.

  His lips pulled into a smile his servants hated to see. “Why, that is such a relief, because it occurred to me that if you’re unhappy I might put you on a train back to London at the next stop. I could pay your wages for the next six months, while you sought new employment.”

  Gideon knew he should feel like an ogre for the frenzy of apologies his words set off, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he pointed to the floor between his spread feet, amused by the scuffle that took place as the women fought to occupy it. Good, that was very good. It was time they recalled why they were paid more than his bloody butler for a few hours work every week.

  Lucy won the battle to kneel and Susan pouted across at him. “What about me, my lord?”

  “Lift your skirts and show me what you’ve been keeping warm for me.”

  She grinned as she tugged her dress up over her knees.

  Gideon smiled down at Lucy, who was licking her lips—not an entirely convincing display of desire, but good enough for the moment. “Don’t let me stop you, darling.”

  Her fingers flicked open his trouser buttons and, in mere seconds, he had a hot, skilled mouth sucking the fat bell end of his cock. Gideon grunted with pleasure as she prodded his slit with the pointed tip of her tongue.

  Yes, very nice, indeed.

  Susan, meanwhile, spread her legs, exposing far prettier scenery than that outside the window.

  “That’s lovely, darling.” Gideon shifted his hips to become more comfortable, weaving his hand into Lucy’s thick blond hair and exerting only the slightest pressure. She slid down his shaft until his cock rubbed the back of her throat.

  “Mmm, yes,” he whispered, pulsing his hips, her signal to do that wonderful thing she did with her throat.

  “Touch yourself for me, Susan,” he encouraged, his balls clenching when she skimmed a slender finger around and around her rapidly stiffening bud—her swollen sex proof that not all their actions were a theatrical performance. “Pretend it’s my hands and slip a finger inside. Yes, very good, nice and slow and deep.”

  Gideon gave a lazy smile of approval and released his hold on Lucy’s head. She was too well-trained to move until he finally tapped her jaw, allowing her to swallow and breathe without his erection impaling her—at least for a moment.

  “Make it last, darling,” he instructed.

  Gideon gave himself over to pure pleasure as she began to worship his shaft, sucking him hard enough to hurt, just the way he liked it.

  She was a lovely girl, her blond locks lightened a bit more than nature intended, but the effect enhancing rather than glaring. Her plump lips and clever tongue were skilled and she worked him with abandon.

  He was as thick and hard as a barge pole, but still his juices would not flow.

  He clenched his jaws against the howl of frustration that threatened to tear out of him. Just what did he have to do to come? What?

  He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out everything but sensation, as if he could concentrate himself into having an orgasm.

  Relax, Gideon, relax. Think about how good this feels.

  It wasn’t difficult to think about his rock-hard erection or the soft, wet mouth moving up and down on it.

  Yes.

  And then an image started to form.

  Gideon held his breath as the gray and white squiggles behind his eyelids formed into something—no, someone. Yes—yes—it was . . . the countess. And she was kneeling between his thighs, that lovely mouth of hers stuffed full of him.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his hips beginning to pulse.

  His orgasm, which had been as elusive as a moth hovering just outside the light, began to build. Anxious excitement joined weeks of unsatisfied lust and every muscle in his body tensed. “Yes,” he encouraged softly, treating his impending climax like an easily startled forest creature that needed to be lured closer.

  Imagine the countess, not your orgasm. Her, just imagine her.

  He painstakingly built her full, pouty lips and charming little nose before moving on to her ripe, shapely body, taking his time over the pleasing swell of her breasts.

  He stripped off her hideous black gown and beneath it she was wearing something naughty—stockings held up with pretty suspenders—perhaps even a black corset for mourning. The thought momentarily distracted him; did women wear mourning undergarments?

  Gideon shook his head, discarding the foolish question and scrambling to keep hold of his carefully contrived image. Yes, Lady Taunton kneeling before him, encased in a snug corset of black leather.

  He grunted as a bolt of pure lust shot from his balls to the head of his cock. Yes, black leather—and she’d be laced tight, cruelly so. Perhaps she’d even wear a collar and he would attach a short lead to it. He’d wrap the leather strap around his fist and keep her head pulled low, her willing lips pleading to service him and—

  “Fuck!” he hissed through clenched teeth, throbbing so hard it hurt. He jerked into that stern mouth of hers with sharp thrusts, thrilling at the force building inside his body.

  But not yet; he didn’t want to come yet. No, please, no, he silently begged—or was he praying? Not yet, please.

  Deft fingers—the countess’s fingers, he reminded himself—pulled at the taut skin of his sac as she massaged his aching balls.

  He shuddered, fighting to halt the growing tide, and losing. Her hot sucking mouth was too much—too much—and he fucked into her with brutal thrusts.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  As always, his
savage jerks alerted her to his impending climax—God, she knew his body so well—and she took him in her throat’s embrace and swallowed in a rhythmic massaging motion that tore the orgasm out of his body.

  Gideon embedded himself deeply and held her full of his cock, emptying his balls in violent, hot jets down her throat, coming so hard he hurt.

  God yes!

  A sound—barely audible—plucked at him, pulling him from his climax even as his prick continued to spasm. His heavy eyelids fluttered open in time to see a horrified face in the gap of the open door—just before it shut with a sharp snick.

  He blinked down at the blond head bowed before him, momentarily confused.

  Who the hell—?

  Oh, that’s right: it was Lucy—not Lady Taunton. Gideon swallowed the sharp pang of disappointment and—

  Ah!

  Lucy gave him a soft, sucking stroke, milking the last of his seed, her clever mouth overpowering his addled brain, making Gideon forget everything, including the mysterious face in the doorway. He shuddered and collapsed back against the seat, pushing Lucy’s head off his now painfully sensitive organ.

  He closed his eyes and cupped his loose balls with one hand. Sleep. Just a little sleep.

  But something kept him from sliding into bliss: a face, yes, that face. Where had he seen that bloody face before? Where?

  Gideon absently tugged at his sac while his befogged brain struggled for a match. An older woman—dressed all in black. It was—Thursday! No, that wasn’t right. It was Thursby, or something of that sort. Yes, that’s who it was: Lady Taunton’s maid.

  His lips curved into a lazy post-coital smile and he chuckled weakly. So, just what would Thursby tell her mistress?

  Chapter Four

  “I’ve ordered a carriage to meet us,” Lord Taunton told Alys as he handed her down from the luxurious railcar.