Authors: Raven McAllan
A Most Unusual
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Most Unusual Mistress
Copyright© 2012 Raven McAllan
Cover Artist: Victoria Miller
Editor: T. S. Chevrestt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.
For Paul, UCW, Jackie, Tara, and Victoria. Thank you, all. And for Doris who is the best writing buddy ever. Without you, all this would not be here.
She’d recognize those buttocks anywhere even though, prior to that moment, they had either been encased in expensive cloth or espied secretly. Taut, tanned—such an unusual occurrence for a supposed gentleman—and at this moment, trembling with the effort of pushing hard, and by the noises emitting from his companion, into a
body. A body—if her eyes and their destination did not deceive her—belonging to none other than her seamstress.
Had she not just spent the best part of a twelvemonth, bribing and cajoling, to ensure whichever house party they graced, she would be placed in an adjoining room? Preferably in a corridor far distant from other guests. Up to that point, he had been a most punctilious fiancé; polite and distant as befitting a member of the Ton so, until now, any view she had caught of his body, either by accident or design, had only increased her awareness, heightened her desire, and made her wet and willing. But for what? Merely to see him bollocks-deep in another woman? This would not do.
Ariana stepped away from the door, pulling it shut behind her, being careful not to cause a loud click. She doubted the copulating couple would notice if the Household Cavalry were to charge through the room, so intense was their mating.
I called without an appointment; therefore, I cannot moan. However, neither can I condone.
She began to plot instead.
“Did I hear the door? Oh,
, more. You are so filling me, ‘tis so intense. Now I must come. I must.” The woman’s voice, usually seductive to his ears, became shrill the closer she came to obtaining her pinnacle.
He grimaced as he pushed ever harder. “Not yet. I forbid it,” he commanded her between pants. “You will wait. Do
touch yourself. Want me to tie you?” Ashley, Sixth Earl of Addersley, grunted as once more he thrust into his mistress. True, she was to have been his ex-mistress by now, as close as he was to his impending nuptials, but the gleam in her eye, her plea of
once more for old time’s sake
had been his undoing. He cast his mind to her other question, something about the door?
“I heard no door.” He gasped as her clenching cunt threatened to reach and pull his tonsils out. “Now fuck me, Molly, harder. Pull me in, that’s it. Good girl. I am going to
” He ended the sentence on a roar as his cock swelled and pulled out—he was ever the perfect gentleman—to spill all over a conveniently positioned towel. As he did so, he uttered the words he presumed his mistress wished to hear. “You will come now.”
She did...with a sob, a sigh, and a gush, threatening to upset his resolution. Damned if Molly Simpkins wasn’t a bloody fine lay. He knew she didn’t open her legs for just anybody...only him. He had been the first, if not the last. Sadly, as the arrangement was now due to end, he would no longer be sampling her many charms, her athleticism, or her adventurous nature. She would be amply rewarded, but if both had a secret hankering for what had ceased to be, neither would act on it.
He left the bed and walked to the ewer, where a soft cloth had been left for him to cleanse himself. Once done, he wrung the fabric of excess liquid and ministered to the woman still prone on the bed.
“Definitely over?” she asked, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, as he gently wiped away all evidence of their union. “Worry not, Ash, I won’t hassle you. It was good, and a better tutor in the mind and ways of men I could not have asked for. Adriana is a lucky woman.”
He smiled then, as he looked down at the luscious body he ministered to. Ever generous with her compliments, Molly seemed not to have a jealous bone in her body.
“One can but hope she feels that way. I worry my...er...demands and preferences may shock and dismay her. To my knowledge, her life has been sheltered, and I want not to upset her in any way. I will go carefully if and when I initiate her into the delights her body will hopefully desire.”
She looked at him in obvious curiosity. “You think she will not enjoy the hunger of the body? Crave all of you? I think, my dear Ashley, you will be more than a match for any woman, especially one with such an inquisitive and inquiring nature as Adriana.”
He shook his head in amusement as he dressed swiftly, soon to be the ever-immaculate gentleman of the Ton, not the disheveled, panting lover. Adriana? His well-brought-up affianced? Inquiring and inquisitive? Were they discussing the same woman? All he could aspire to was compliance and a modicum of participation, surely?
“You shake your head, Ash, but I think Adriana has hidden depths, ones that if you plumb, you will be pleasantly surprised with.”
Now suspicious as he remembered how much ladies confided in their dressmakers, he glared. “What know you, Molly?”
Molly wagged a finger at him in what he could only assume was disapproval. “Oh no, Ash, what women impart when in a shift or less is known only to the speaker and the recipient. No one else. I do not tattle. Ever. I will say I believe she has seen more of you than you could imagine. Now...” She stood and shook her body, letting her long blonde hair stream over her shoulders and breasts. “Farewell and thank you. For everything.” She lifted her head for one last kiss. He complied—a final brushing of lips—and checked his appearance in the glass before walking out of the room. He sighed for what he had experienced and would no longer.
Ashley walked briskly along the street toward White’s. Time to call in, see who was about, catch the news and perhaps some gossip before meeting his affianced who, according to her dressmaker, may have hidden depths. Thoughts on finding these
occupied his mind as he also mulled over the visit he had received from an unexpected caller earlier. So deep in thought was Ashley, he was surprised to find himself at the portal of his club. The members within were few, but a chance meeting with a peer whose acres adjoined his own made for an agreeable interlude and concluded with a satisfactory transaction regarding the purchase of a hunter he had long coveted.
An hour or so later, Ash made his way along a pleasant, tree-lined street toward one of the many elegant squares for which that area of London was famed. He approached a tall, green door, which, as if by wizardry, opened upon his approach.
“My lord.” Archer, the majordomo, bowed. “My lady asked if you would be so kind as to wait for her in the Amber Salon. She will be with you shortly.” A command couched as a request, Asher surmised, but nonetheless, he nodded.
“It will be my pleasure, Archer.” He followed the stiff back up the wide, curved staircase to be ushered into a charming room overlooking the leafy greenery of the square below.
“Refreshments, my lord?” Archer unbent enough to smile. He had been with his mistress as a footman and now majordomo for more years than Ash could remember. “My lady is somewhat agitated with all the arrangements for your wedding that have a need to be finalized. May I take this opportunity, on behalf of all the staff, to congratulate you on your choice of bride, my lord? A fine woman. We all hold her in the greatest regard. Indeed, when she left her father’s household those some four years ago, there was a rush to join her in her own establishment; such is her charm and empathy. Those of us here, indeed, feel lucky.”
Ashley was thoughtful. Such an impassioned speech from such a taciturn and proper man was high praise, indeed. He rather thought one of the reasons Adriana had succeeded in running her own household without censure—and with no fallout from the Ton—was in no small way due to Archer and the rest of her staff. From the boot boy to the butler, all loved and would do almost anything for her. Even, he suspected, commit murder if necessary. He fervently hoped that would never
“I hope you continue to do so, Archer, for we are, indeed, lucky to have you. I know I always sleep happier knowing my lady is under your care.”
Archer blushed—if a reddish hue on his already florid cheeks could constitute blushing. He bowed once more.
“Ah, my lord, I thank you. I know not of one person employed here who would not hesitate to die for her if necessary.”
Another, lighter voice interrupted what could be construed as getting maudlin.
“Who wishes to die for another? Fustian, no one should do that; ‘tis not true that all is well lost for love. Good afternoon, my lord. I trust you have had a fulfilling morning?” Her eyes sparked with—he thought—temper; her lips were red and spelled out danger. From the corner of his eye, Ash saw Archer bow and beat a swift retreat. Apparently, the butler had also seen the signs and seemed determined to get out of the firing line.
Briefly, Ash wondered what had happened to upset her. It could be nothing he had said or done, surely?
Ah, well, no doubt I’ll find out soon enough.
He watched her closely, and she waited until Archer had closed the door safely behind him before gesturing to the long amber velvet chaise.
“Please be seated, my lord. Unpleasant news is always imbibed better when seated, I feel.”
What the deuce? And why so formal all of a sudden? He had never heard the words “my lord” uttered so many times in such a short space of time. He might be known as a stickler for protocol when it was required, but in situations such as this, he was always Ash, Ashley, or simply Addersley. Not the whole pomp and circumstance
Warily, he did as she bid and watched as she carefully settled beside him, smoothing her day dress over her lap. Or was it a day dress? Well-versed in the etiquette of correct dress for ladies of the Ton, he rather thought this attire more suited to an evening affair. He watched her hands as they settled the flimsy material and recognized the shapes and shadows he could see as the outlines of her legs and the contours of her stomach. He looked upward as she casually patted one dark brunette curl into submission, and with a conclusion that sent a bolt of awareness to his balls, realized he had seen no dark shadow underneath the material. His cock reacted predictably—with interest and awareness as he assimilated his thoughts.
No curls? No muff to dive into?
This marriage could be more interesting than he had previously thought.
Ash, on asking Adriana for her hand in marriage, had not expected to be refused. His intended was no simpering debutante, but a woman of nine and twenty. To all intents and purposes an old maid—on the shelf and destined for a life of spinsterhood. To him, she was a woman with hidden depths, a woman who ran her own household, could converse and hold her own in any circumstance, and would manage his many establishments with aplomb. Without, he thought, bothering him overmuch in the process.