Pouting, the voluptuous redhead, sat down in the vacant chair. ‘Boring bastard ‘e is. Better when I only ‘ave to see him three times a year. I reckon I was bacon-brained to think we could live together without bloody killin’ each other.’ She leaned forward, her ripe breasts almost spilling into his hands over the top of her dress. ‘You got enough coin fer upstairs,’ she winked. And there was another reason Anthony stayed in the pub on the odd occasion…
‘Alas, my dearest Nancy, our boudoir has been already taken for the night.’ Anthony felt his cock stir. He hadn’t had a prigging since he left for London. It wasn’t due to lack of opportunity, but something in him recoiled at the idea of romancing a young innocent whilst taking his pleasure in the arms of a courtesan. Nancy on the other hand was no innocent and since he last looked, there were no simpering virgins in the vicinity.
‘We could always sneak away into the barn,’ she purred before giving his ear a quick flick of her tongue. Anthony almost groaned out loud.
‘Taken, I’m afraid,’ he managed, nodding towards the additional patrons sitting at a table in the corner. ‘A stagecoach on the Plymouth Road was like to lose a wheel, so the driver sent his passengers here for the night.’ Nancy sat back petulantly, much to Anthony’s amusement.
‘Very well,’ he sighed dramatically at length, ‘if you’re determined to have your way with me, I know a small private place where we won’t be disturbed.’
‘Is it outside?’ Nancy frowned doubtfully.
‘I’ll keep you warm,’ Anthony promised with a wink. He rose to his feet and held out his hand. She considered him silently for a second, then gave a small breathless laugh and took his proffered hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. ‘Oh, how I’ve missed you Anthony Shackleford,’ she murmured as he led her to the door.
∞∞∞
George woke with a start. For a second she remained still, her eyes shut – a habit she’d adopted during her years with the Grimms. Being savaged by a wild beast at the instant of waking was not something she feared. People on the other hand… She’d found by experience that feigning sleep, if only for the first few seconds, generally gained her a slight advantage, allowing her to wake properly and consider the situation without dreams clouding her judgement. She wasn’t sure what had drawn her so rudely from her sleep on this occasion and while she waited, she carefully drew her knife from the inside of her jacket.
Abruptly, she heard a soft giggle, followed by a sigh and a whispered, ‘Yes.’ Cautiously, George raised her head. Not five feet away a couple lay intwined on the moss. She stared incredulously as the man lifted his head and began tugging at his companion’s bodice, then, heart thudding, she abruptly screwed her eyes shut and laid her head back down onto her arm. She didn’t dare move. At the moment, they had no idea they had an audience, and if she remained still, mayhap they would remain oblivious. She needn’t have worried. In truth, she could have stood up and she doubted they’d have noticed.
Desperately she tried to block out the groans and sighs which eventually became more and more urgent. She felt a strange stirring between her legs as the woman suddenly cried out. Impulsively, she opened her eyes and turned her head to watch. The woman had her legs splayed wantonly and the man was positioned between them, his upper body raised above her. The moonlight in between the trees revealed his urgent movements. His face was almost harsh as he gave a sudden low groan.
Heart pounding, George determinedly shut her eyes again and buried her head into the crook of her elbow. For the next ten minutes she endured more whispering and giggling until for one horrifying second, she thought they were going to do the whole thing again, but instead, a rustling sound told her they’d both risen to their feet. Then finally, just when she thought she might scream, she heard them move away, back towards the road. She rolled over onto her back and listened to the sound of their voices fade.
For the next couple of hours, try as she might, Georgiana could not get back to sleep. For some reason, the picture of the man as he reached his peak felt as though it was indelibly carved into her brain. She felt a restlessness that had her tossing and turning on the hard ground until her whole body felt as though she’d spent the day in the saddle. Then, just as she thought she might as well give up, she finally sank into a mercifully dreamless sleep
∞∞∞
‘Anthony darling, you’re home. What the deuce is that … that … object you’re carrying?’
‘It’s a dog, Mother,’ Anthony answered cheerfully. ‘He’s called Nelson. I was just about to give him a bath. What are you doing up and about so early?’
Given that his mother never usually left her bed until well after eleven o’clock, her sudden appearance outside the stable before eight was unusual to say the least.
‘I’m attending early Matins this morning,’ Agnes replied, an artful wobble to her voice, ‘to pray for your upcoming nuptials.’
‘What upcoming nuptials?’ Anthony carefully placed the wriggling dog into the large tin bath.
‘The ones your father and I have waited for since the day you were born,’ she answered increasing the wobble and giving a few pathetic sniffs for good measure.
Engrossed in gently cleaning the wounds on Nelson’s emaciated little body, Anthony didn’t immediately answer.
‘Tell me you have a young lady in mind,’ his mother demanded opting for dramatic since the wobbly tone didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere.
‘Not a one,’ Anthony responded blithely as he carefully picked the dog up and wrapped him in an old blanket.
‘But … but… I understood the Duke held a ball for you … and darling Peter, of course,’ Agnes quizzed, stepping closer in her frustration, only to be liberally covered in dirty bath water as the skinny dog shook himself.
Raising his eyes to the heavens, Anthony jumped to his feet, waiting for the histrionics. His mother didn’t disappoint, tottering backwards with one hand to her forehead muttering, ‘Salts,’ in her best quavering voice.
Sighing, Anthony told Nelson to ‘stay,’ took hold of her arm gently and led her back down the path towards the house. ‘This is far too early for you Mama,’ he soothed, ‘you need to lie down. Let me help you to your chaise longue, then Mrs. Tomlinson will bring you a nice dish of tea and some hot buttered toast.’
‘But what about Matins?’ she whispered brokenly.
‘Matins can wait until tomorrow,’ he answered patiently, helping her onto the couch.
‘But how can I rest knowing you are going to be alone in that … that …hovelwith no wife to take care of you?’ she cried theatrically, laying her hand over her heart in evident anguish.
Anthony sighed as he fished the salts out of her reticule. ‘And where do you suppose I’ll find a wealthy spoiled chit willing to lower herself to take care of me?’ he responded drily, waving the bottle under her nose. ‘Truly, Mama I have a housekeeper who will be quite sufficient to see to my needs.’
