9781618859594HerDeviantLordPimentel Page 2

  Missus Miller waved her arms with impatience as Cordelia climbed down the rickety steps of the carriage and walked the gravel path to the main house. Today was the first time she would witness the grandeur of Stoughton Hall.

  About to use the knocker, the door opened before the iron clasp even touched the door. “Can I help you?” the grey haired, brown-eyed butler asked.

  “I was hoping to speak with the dowager duchess…err…I mean, Lady Thompson. That is, if she will see me.”

  “May I tell her who is calling?”

  “My name is, Mrs. Wey…Cordelia Waite, the Duchess of Downsbury.”

  He glared at her with suspicion. “Just a moment. Please wait here inside—there’s a seat just by the alcove—while I see if she is taking visitors.”

  The marchioness’ voice carried into the foyer as she moved closer, “You must have it wrong, Lewis. Cordelia has been dead for some time now. There must be a mistake…”

  The marchioness stopped talking the moment she saw Cordelia. Her face paled, and she quickly raised her hands to muffle a cry before swooning into the arms of the butler. A maid walking by the front entrance screamed. Suddenly, all of the house appeared.

  When Lord Thompson came to his wife’s aid, he glanced at Cordelia and then back to his wife. About to take the marchioness into his embrace, he looked at her again, only this time, he registered who she was. “Your Grace, what are you doing here?”

  “I have come to clear my—” Boom. The sound of thunder crashed above them. Off behind her, she heard her son wailing as lightening rippled through the sky. She looked back at the wagon as rain pelted it mercilessly. “I have to go now, I cannot stay.”

  “Your Grace, please, come in. Your servants are welcome as well. Just have the driver take the coach over to the stable.”

  Cordelia waved to Missus Miller. The old woman transferred the crying baby to Cordelia’s arms before she ran off to tell Davy where to bring the cart around.

  The marquess ordered the butler and the maid to take his wife to their room, stating he would be along shortly. Then, he addressed Cordelia. “Your Grace, if you will follow me, you can warm up by the fire. Can we provide the baby a dry blanket?”

  “You are most kind, my lord.”

  He waved to another maid, who left, only to reappear with a fresh gown and blanket. “Allow me,” the young woman offered to take the now calm babe.

  “No, just leave the items here, and I will tend to my son. Thank you.”

  The maid curtsied and took her leave.

  As she undressed Matthew and wrapped him in the dry clothing, she looked up at the marquess and frowned. “I truly meant no harm in my stopping here, Lord Thompson. I know not of what horrid gossip has been spread, or what my husband has been told. All I want is to let your wife know that I had no relations with Henry, nor did I have any designs on him.”

  Cordelia rocked her son to sleep while she continued, “The fact of the matter is, I have no intentions of ever returning to Richard, but I am in need of your assistance. I need to see Bastian right away. He is the only reason why I have travelled this distance. The earl and I have much to discuss.”

  Lord Thompson looked at the child and then back to her. “You should know that I do not blame you in any way, however, I am not sure Isabel will say the same. Her life was nearly ruined, and my sisters as well, by your husband. How do you think London will react to learn that you are still alive?”

  “I care not for what they think, because they will never learn of my return. Let me assure you, Lord Thompson, once my business with Bastian is finished, I will happily return to my humble life in the country with my son. The accident was providence’s way of giving me a second chance at life. And while I had hoped it would have ended differently, I have learned much these last few months.”

  The marquess frowned. “Your Grace—”

  “Please do not address me as such. Cordelia Waite no longer exists. Remember that always. To the world, I am a widow by the name of Mrs. Weylen.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Weylen. You are welcome to stay here. Get some rest, and know that you are safe. When you are ready, and my wife is calm enough to talk, we shall discuss your plans.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I am indebted to you.” Though I am sure your lovely wife will not think the same. In fact, I am sure she will turn us out on our arses.

  * * * *

  Bastian scanned the room for where he had tossed his shirt and cravat. There they were, in the middle of the floor, too far out of reach, and more than likely wrinkled from his hastiness. Blast it! I still have an appointment to attend. He tucked his manhood back into his breeches, while a very satisfied Mary Elizabeth lay grinning from satisfaction. “Well, don’t we look like the cat that ate the canary?”

  “Mmm…indeed, my lord. Your masterful skills of pleasure, Bastian, never cease to amaze me. Your wicked tongue, in all its glory, knows how to drive a woman mad. Where ever did you learn all that?”

  The question made him chuckle, and while no one had ever sought out such information before, he would never give up his secrets on where he had learned of how to pleasure women. His parents would turn over in their graves if he ever spoke such tales aloud.

  What would they say of my visits to brothel upon brothel? What would my mother do if she knew that one of her widowed companions had taken me under their wing and educated me on the needs of women who wished for more than a simple fucking? Who knew that I would not be happy until I bound a woman, spanked her, and used implements to ensure her pleasure?

  All this thinking was making his cock thick with need again. And while his companion, Mary Elizabeth, deemed to please him in any way that she could, absolutely no one would whimper, purr, or scream out his name like Cordelia. With a heavy heart, Bastian shook his head to keep thoughts of her out of his mind. Cordelia is gone. Move on, man!

  With his shirt and cravat back on, he walked over to Mary Elizabeth’s bed, planting a heavy hand on her round, creamy arse. “My dear, I need to leave now. Try not to get into any trouble until I come calling again. Am I understood?”

  She grinned back at him, her mischievous green eyes indicating that she was prepared to disregard his order and make trouble at a moment’s notice. Yet her words sang a different tune. “Of course, my love. I would not dare to ignite your ire. Besides, I have some shopping to do. I have my eye on several new gowns, which I think you will approve of very much.”

  “Well, in that case, I look forward to seeing them soon.”

  “Bastian, before you leave, I was wondering if you gave some more thought on—”

  The earl pinched the bridge of his nose. Here we go again. “Mary Elizabeth, how many times must we go through this? I am not sure having a paid mistress is how I would like to proceed. I happen to like our current arrangement, and I wonder why you do not. If you want more money, I can certainly offer it.”

  The courtesan scoffed and bounced from the bed to dress. “How many times must I tell you, Bastian? Martine is hoping to draw a more long-term clientele. The woman is set on seeing her experienced girls settled, so that she may begin training others to prepare them for gentlemen of your league. As I said the other morning, if you do not commit to that sort of arrangement, there will no longer be an agreement for either of us.”

  “Then so be it, my dear. Shall we depart, then, knowing that this was our last moment together?”

  She glared at him with a scowl. “You infuriating man!” Mary Elizabeth grabbed her porcelain water jug and tossed it at him. “You cad! Get out! I’ve had enough of this nonsense…after everything I’ve done…”

  Bastian backed away, watching her fury with increasing fright. He had taken a chance with her, showing her the ways of being submissive to a man’s heavy, but loving touch. She could turn around and blackmail him, report their activities to Martine. He could just imagine all of London learning of their tryst and how he prefers to spank women.

  Christ! How many people would consid
er that assault? He could end up incarcerated, or even worse, locked away in an asylum for his deviant behavior. That would top any scandal brought on by the Marquess of Stoughton and his tryst with marchioness in the pleasure gardens, as well as the Earl of Bridgeton marrying Lady Thompson in Gretna Green moments before she was due to marry the Duke of Downsbury.

  I’m doomed.

  Chapter Two

  Cordelia grimaced as the marchioness joined her in the parlor for tea. She could not imagine how much her ladyship had endured, but knew how vicious London could be and how vindictive her husband was. For what it was worth, she could not have been more pleased when Lord Thompson had divulged that her husband had lost all his holdings and was imprisoned at Newgate.

  “Your Grace, you have my apologies for my swooning the other evening.”

  Cordelia waved off the comment as if it were nothing. “Please, my lady, there is no need to address me with formality any longer. I have renounced any of my associations to Richard and would prefer to be addressed as Mrs. Weylen. However, if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive what I have to say, then I would be happy if you used my name freely.”

  The marchioness nodded in acknowledgement. “Go on. My husband said you had some news to give me.”

  “I do not expect you to understand, nor do I expect your forgiveness. For if I was in your situation, I am not certain that I would be so willing to listen. I can, however, be clear in saying that I never, ever had an affair with your late husband. Nor have I ever entertained the thought. Henry owed my husband a great deal of money…or so he said. The night he was caught in my apartments, he was there delivering a message from my lover, the Earl of Wendelhem.”

  Cordelia stopped to wipe away a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye when the marchioness handed her a square of linen.

  “I am so sorry, Cordelia. While some of us have endured displeasure at the hands of your husband, I suppose no one suffered more than yourself. He is a cruel, cruel man. You were with Wycliffe’s child, then?”

  Cordelia sucked in a sharp breath and nodded then peered to the door at the end of the room.

  “Do not worry. Little Matthew is in good hands, I assure you. To be honest, now that I think of it, he has got the earl’s eyes.”

  The duchess smiled and her belly fluttered, thinking of the precious gift that was her son. “He does, does he not?” Then her expression turned sour. “Richard is a shallow man and will always seek fortune wherever it is easily made. Perhaps before I depart, I will visit him in disguise. I cannot believe he has received his comeuppance with a vengeance.”

  “Agreed. However, I wonder what his reaction would be to see his duchess back from the dead. Can you imagine his horror at seeing his duchess while he is dressed like a pauper?”

  Cordelia couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. To her delight, she would certainly have to pay him a visit. Perhaps if Bastian decided to come away with her, he would join her in making the duke a cuckold. She could see his face now, red with fury and embarrassment. While she was at it, she would tell him how inferior his cock was to Bastian’s. The earl’s prowess in and out of the bedroom superseded anything to which her husband had ever exposed her.

  She had never minded the attention of introducing a second man into their relations. It had surely spiced things up. But not in the way that Richard liked to do things.

  To him, a woman was not to be given any pleasure. She was there to serve—to take him full to the hilt, while taking his friend with her mouth. And were she to complain of not receiving any relief, she would be reprimanded with a slap to the face before a third gentleman would join.

  Cordelia enjoyed taking a man any way she could, but honestly would have desired just a spanking occasionally.

  When Richard had stopped calling upon her, she had been forced to seek other methods of pleasure. At first, she had sought to pleasure herself. It work, but the effects were minimal, never fully satiating her need for aggression. Then she had met Bastian. The Earl of Wendelhem had wooed her on the dance floor, and then seduced her on Lord Broxton’s terrace. Soon, their dalliances became frequent.

  The first time they had coupled, she had willingly gone to her knees and taken him with her mouth. After his explosive release, she had demanded that he take her hard and fast. Bastian complied, taking her several times that same evening. Beginning with caution, he introduced her to new positions and promised her a night of total abandon, but with caution.

  When the date could be arranged for her to spend another night at his townhouse, she had learned with expediency that the earl was a whole new category of man. From that day forward, he had become her deviant lord, and she had loved him for all the wickedness he had prevailed upon her.

  * * * *

  Bastian stared into the empty glass of port he had just downed. He only drank the stuff when there was much on his mind, and as of this very moment, his rejection of Mary Elizabeth’s proposal was a worry.

  In a time when much of London thrived on scandalous information, he had no desire to have his personal life splashed upon the pages of the daily. What I would do to give this all up. He had no desire to live his life based on the expectations of the haute ton. Quite frankly, the thought of taking residence in Scotland, or even on the continent, was sounding more appealing by the day.

  He would have his man of affairs go over the accounts with him. From there, he would be able to decipher which estates he could gladly give up, and then permanently relocate.

  He was wealthy enough to take whatever staff he wanted, or even hire new, if necessary. Though the thought of leaving behind some of the most able-bodied staff London had ever set eyes upon worried him, Bastian knew some of them would never agree to move.

  The hour was growing late, and while his body was physically exhausted, his mind ceased to shift around possible places to live. Pouring himself another dram of the rich and aromatic wine, he walked over to where he stored his maps.

  His travels over the years had been extensive. After university, he had thought it best to learn how other countries maintained agriculture and try to apply the processes to his family’s existing acquisitions. There was nothing wrong with their current systems, but if one wanted to continue to make a profit, one had to be willing to expand ideas.

  He had opened a map of France and was studying the interior, when his fingers swept across the lines of the coast, toward Italy. Now, there is a place that had inspired many things. ’Twas the very place he had learned how to pleasure a woman with his mouth, as well as his first experience with being bound.

  Bastian stopped and closed his eyes, ignoring the thickness in his groin increasing by the second. For a moment, he visualized his first impressions of the room and found himself in a memory.

  Marble floors were laid throughout the manor. A lush green and vibrant garden on the filled the terrace. Signora Donatella, a wealthy widow, summoned him to her expansive quarters on the top floor. When he arrived, he found that she was not alone. Her vibrant red hair cascaded past her shoulders, her silk robe open, while a male servant, wearing nothing, kneeled before her.

  “Come, come,” she said to Bastian.

  He approached to find the tanned young man licking her cunt and another disrobing behind her. She held onto a braided cord, which she had wrapped around the young man’s neck, as if he were an animal.

  “Sit, mi amore. You have much to learn, but first I want you to watch.”

  The other man came up from behind and started caressing her tits. They were large and heavy, yet beautiful. She kissed him and told him she is ready. Then, she dropped her robe and walked over to her bed.

  The young man on the cord knelt before her, and she dropped onto all fours. She wrapped her lips around the boy’s meager cock, while the other one stroked himself before dipping his penis into her juices from behind. This one reached for a silk scarf and first covered her eyes.

  Bastian was aroused, yet did not understand how far she pla
nned to take things. He released his own cock from his breeches and began to stroke, slow but steady.

  From behind, the young man pumped into Donatella hard and fast before withdrawing. This time, he entered her posterior, and she moaned. The boy on the cord now reaches for her hair and wraps it around his hand. He, too, pumps fast and furiously. She takes him all the way.

  Bastian found himself completely in awe of this display and close to release. Slowing his strokes, he rolled and kneaded his balls as he watched the men climax with a roar.

  Not long after, Donatella found her own release with an explosive cry and collapsed onto the bed. The servant removed the scarf from her eyes, and she nodded to the boy whom she had serviced. “You will take care of his needs now. Both of you, in fact. I hope you do not mind, Bastian? In order for you to learn, you have to know how it feels.”

  The boy approached and reached for Bastian’s hands, walking him to the dais. He undressed the earl, who found himself, oddly, even more aroused and curious as to what was going to happen. Bastian’s only experience with widows so far had been nothing out of the ordinary.

  Once the earl’s pants came off, the young man spread his knees apart. Bastian’s cock bobbed in front of him. He lowers his head and begins to suck.

  Ignoring the fact he had a man’s lips around his cock, desire ran hot throughout Bastian’s blood. The earl started pumping into his mouth, when he felt the man’s hand slide beneath his ass. His finger traces up the crease and slightly tickles around the hole. Then, he pulls his hand back and slips a finger into his mouth while the earl’s cock is still in it.

  Bastian is too far gone to even care what the young man is doing. His balls tighten and his legs begin to tense. The moment the earl’s seed flowed, the man continued to milk him dry, sticking a finger in his ass.

  The earl’s nerve endings zinged, making him even more confused about this ordeal. The man pulled out his finger and slowly eased back from Bastian’s cock. His head spun and his breathing returned to a normal pace.