Lydia’s eyes closed of their own accord. Whatever he might say next would only pain her. “Or?”
“Or he thinks the men watching will be unreasonably hot to fuck you after witnessing what happens in this room.”
Lydia looked towards the door in fear. It was a mercy that Carter had reached this room in time and put his junior officers on guard; they stood at the alert, hands ready to seize their swords.
“When these men who have paid to watch come up the stairs and find the door blocked…”
“They’ll be shown to the room next door,” said Carter, steady despite the danger posed to all of them by a marauding bandof voyeurs. There was no saying what such men would do after paying their coin and seeing no show. He was outwardly commanding and cool, but she noticed that his upper lip twitched and his jaw was tight.
“Next door?” Lydia asked, looking around. “What will they do there?”
Carter moved Lydia so her back rested against his solid front. He pointed to the wall. “I’m guessing that somewhere there is a hole for spying.”
Lydia’s knees locked, and she forgot to breathe.
“Steady now,” Carter whispered.
Her head nodded no of its own accord. How could she be calm when she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs at the end of the hall? What would happen when the men who had paid to watch her humiliation and abuse discovered that she was instead being held so tenderly by the major and guarded by two captains?
“You sure about this? The colonel will have our arses,” said Chamberlayne to Denny from his place against the door.
“You like the lash well enough for both of us. Care to take mine?” asked Denny, casting his friend a stern look over his straight nose. Then they chuckled at their private joke.
If there were any justice in the world, George Wickham would…well, Lydia didn’t know a suitable punishment for such a scoundrel. He was more than a scoundrel or cad; did a word even exist for this man?
“What am I to do?” she asked faintly. It was both a question about now and also the future: how was she supposed to live under the control of Wickham?
Asking Carter wasn’t entirely fair; he and his fellow officers had given her an alternative, and she’d refused. Lydia couldn’t picture what that life would be like, having never seen previously respectable ladies from good families living with three men who shared her. What would her mother say!
In the weeks since returning to Wickham, she’d daydreamed about what it would be like to leave the world she had known and become a notorious woman. She might have a maid-of-all-work again, and other servants, but how would she fill her days if the number of people she might call upon was severely restricted by her downfall?
Yet as she heard those heavy stomps and shouts outside, she realized that living under Wickham’s hand might very well mean she had all the loss of status she feared, with no benefits. And a good deal of danger besides, as he became more and more reckless in offering her about. Any man in Meryton could have had her tonight — provided he had the money. Lydia was lucky that her old friends came to her rescue.
“There now,” murmured Carter, bringing his arms about her bare waist. “Steady. I’ve got you.”
“What are we to do?” she whispered. “Crowds turn violent when they don’t see what they paid for!”
That dear man stroked her belly until flutters distracted her from a growing sense of doom. “We’ll give them a show,” he said.
Lydia nodded. Carter was right; it would be best to accede to the demands of the crowd for the safety of all. Fortunately, she was wet and ready from Chamberlayne and Denny pleasuring her.
“We’ll give them a show…while showing them nothing,” concluded Carter.
Lydia’s confusion must have been clear because Carter laughed and turned her just so while angling her body. “An old trick: show the enemy what you wish him to see.”
She glanced at the wall shared with the bedroom next door. And then she realized: her body would be mostly positioned away from their gaze.
“How wet did the men get this little cunny?” asked Carter behind her as he roughly opened the placket of his breeches. “Did they make your sweet honey run down your thighs?”
“Glazed m’ mouth, she did,” said Chamberlayne with a grunt of satisfaction as he adjusted his cock.
From his position next to him at the door, Denny smirked. “I felt a little spray when her cunt shook.”
Lydia gasped. “You did not!” she cried, mortified at the idea of her body behaving in such a manner.
“Only one way to find out,” said Carter. His chest was warm in his scarlet coat against Lydia’s bare back as he took his cock in hand and bent his knees until it could slip between her thighs.
At first, Lydia was confused, waiting for him to slide into her channel. But when he set a quick pace and thrust in and out of her legs without entering her quim, she could only moan.
