Hello and Thank you for your continued support.

Standard disclaimer.

Greetings to Chiharu 13 all the way in the Czech Republic. Thank you for your kind words.

"We're both going to hell," Gwen said, as Arthur kissed along the seam of her clenched thighs.

"I've always assumed I would," he said and didn't sound at all troubled by the prospect.

Gwen squirmed in violated modesty, wondering wildly, how she had come to find herself half naked in a carriage with him.

The air was cold, the velvet upholstery chilled beneath her bare bottom, and his warm hands and mouth, raised goose-flesh all over her body.

His hands gripped her legs, not forcing them apart, only squeezing the locked muscles, and it felt so deliriously good, that she moaned in despair.

Then, his thumbs worked into the top of the soft triangle, kneading gently. And a quivery pleasure awakened, in the pit of her stomach. So she let him tease her legs apart.

Immediately, she was lost and unable to think...all her senses focused on the kisses, that were pressed along her inner thigh, straying where the skin was thin and sensitive.

Her knees jerked, as Arthur reached the tender seam of closed lips and licked upward, parting them with his tongue.

Then he stopped, just before he reached the soft bud at the top.

Panting, she reached for his head and slid her fingers into his hair, uncertain, whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Arthur nibbled the edge of an outer fold, his breath hot and tickling, as he searched slowly, never quite reaching the place that ached the most.

His soft whisper sifted through the darkness.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"No," Gwen replied. And a half second after that, she took a sobbing breath and said, "Yes."

A quiet laugh vibrated against her wet flesh, and she nearly swooned at the feel of it.

"Which is it?" he asked. "Yes or no?"

"Yes. Yes!" she almost screamed.

It was not pleasant to discover, that one's moral resolve, had all the strength of wet cardboard.

"Show me where," he murmured.

Breathing hard with excited misery, she made herself do it, reaching down to expose the tiny peak.

And his mouth covered her slowly and tenderly, the flat of his tongue, resting against the intimate throb.

Her hands fell away and groped for the velvet cushions beneath her, fingertips digging tightly, as his tongue slid over her.

Trembling and half fainting, she let out a plangent moan.

Arthur gave another languid stroke, finishing with a flick.

"Tell me you need me." His breath tickled her softness as he waited.

"I need you," she gasped.

Then, he used his tongue in a wickedly teasing circle.

"Now say that you're mine."

She would have said almost anything, the desire was so consuming. But she'd heard a subtle change in his tone, a note of possessiveness that warned, he was no longer playing.

When Gwen didn't reply, Arthur insinuated a finger into the entrance of her body, then two, nudging passed sensitive tucks and pleats of flesh.

The sense of fullness was uncomfortable but exquisite. And she could feel her inner muscles pulsing, striving to pull his fingers even deeper.

As Arthur searched, he touched something inside her, some acutely tender place, that made her knees draw up and her toes curl.

His voice lowered and darkened.

"Say it," he softly commanded.

"I'm yours," Gwen said brokenly.

And he made a sound of satisfaction, almost a purr.

Gwen's hips arched, begging him to touch that soft inner spot again, and she jerked, just as he found it.

Suddenly, all her limbs went weak.

"Oh...yes there, there..."

Her voice dissolved, as she felt his lips open over her, sucking, and teasing. Then, he rewarded her with a steady rhythm, his free hand sliding beneath her writhing bottom, guiding her more firmly up against his mouth.

With every ascent of her hips, his mouth worked her slick femininity, again and again.

She heard herself breathing in sobs and moaning out words, and there was no controlling anything now, no thought or will, only a terrible need, that raced higher and higher, until the wrenching spasms began.

With a low cry, she jerked against him, her thighs clamping uncontrollably around his head.

And after the last long, helpless shudders had faded, she fell back on the velvet cushions, like a rag doll that someone had tossed aside.

Arthur kept his mouth on her, easing her pleasure into relaxation. And she summoned just enough strength, to reach out and caress his hair.

'That might have been worth going to hell for,' she thought, and didn't realize she had mumbled it aloud, until she felt him smile.

A few guttural words caused Cassandra's steps to slow, as she neared the upstairs parlor.

The sounds of Welsh curses had become quite familiar, during the past week, as Mr. Harcourt grappled with the limitations of his injuries and the heavy leg cast.

Although he never shouted, something about his voice carried farther, than the average man's...it had a deep timbre like bronze bell metal.

His accent fell pleasantly on her ears, with singsong vowels and tapped R's, that carried a hint of a burr, and consonants, as soft as velvet.

Harcourt's presence seemed to fill the household, no matter, that he was still confined to the upstairs rooms.

He was a vigorous man, easily bored, chafing at any restrictions.

He craved activity and noise, having even gone so far as to insist, that the carpenters and plumbers resume their daily cacophony of work, despite the fact that, Arthur had told them to stop, while he recovered.

But apparently, the last thing Harcourt wanted, was peace and quiet.

So far, he had kept her father's old valet running on constant errands, which would have been a cause for concern, except that, Horace seemed to be thriving in his new position, as Harcourt's manservant.

A few days ago, the valet had told the news to her, as he had been on his way to the village, with some telegraph dispatches from Mr. Harcourt.

"I'm so very pleased for you!" she had exclaimed, after the initial surprise had worn off. "Although, I confess, I can't imagine Hampshire Priory without you here."

"Yes, my lady."

The elderly man had regarded her warmly, his gaze conveying an affection, that he would never express in words.

He was a disciplined and buttoned-up man, but he had always treated Cassandra and the twins with unfailing kindness, interrupting his work to help search for a lost doll, or to wrap his own handkerchief around a scraped elbow.

Deep down, she had always known, that of the three sisters, she was hiss favorite, perhaps because, their natures were somewhat similar.

They both liked everything to be peaceful and quiet and in its place.

Upon learning that Horace was leaving the Priory, Cassandra had tried to be happy for him, rather than selfishly wish for him to stay.

"Will you like living in London, Horace?"

"I expect so, my lady. I will view it as an adventure. Perhaps, it will be just the thing, to blow the cobwebs out."

She had given him a tremulous smile.

"I will miss you, Horace."

The valet had remained composed, but his eyes had turned suspiciously bright.

"When you visit London, my lady, I trust you will remember, that I'm always at your service. You have only to send for me."

"I'm glad that you're going to take care of Mr. Harcourt. He needs you."

"Yes," Horace had said feelingly. "He does."

It would take some time, Cassandra thought, for Horace to become familiar with his new employer's habits, preferences, and quirks.

Fortunately, he had spent decades, in the practice of managing volatile temperaments. Mr. Harcourt certainly couldn't be any worse than the Pendragons.

Liam! Liam, don't!

The nightmare was as vivid and intolerable as ever, the ground shifting, so that every step landed askew, as she ran towards the stables.

She could hear Ahmad's maddened whinnying in the distance.

A pair of stablemen held on to the horse's bridle, forcing him to stay still, while her husband's dominating figure, swung up onto his back.

The morning light fell with bright menace onto the horse's golden form, as his hooves churned and stomped.

And her heart thudded, as she saw that her husband was holding a whip. Ahmad would die, rather than submit to it.

Stop! she cried, but the stablemen had released the bridle, and the horse had leaped forward.

Wall-eyed and panicked, Ahmad reared and plunged, swelling his body to break his girth. And Liam's whip arm lifted and descended, again and again.

Then, the Arabian twisted and bucked, and Liam was flung from the saddle.

And his body snapped like a length of toweling, before hitting the ground with sickening force.

Gwen staggered the last few yards, before she reached his still form, already knowing it was too late.

Falling to her knees, she stared into the face of her dying husband.

But it wasn't Liam.

A scream scalded her throat...

Gwen awakened from the dream and fought to sit up, amid the tangle of sheets.

Her breath came, in hard, corroded bursts.

Unsteadily, she wiped her wet face with a clutch of the counterpane, and rested her head on her bent knees.

"It wasn't real," she whispered to herself, waiting for the terror to die down. Then, she eased back to the mattress, but the knotted muscles in her back and legs, wouldn't allow her to lie flat.

Sniffling, she rolled to her side and sat up again.

She let one leg slip over the edge of the mattress, and then the other.

'Stay in bed,' she told herself, but her feet were already lowering.

The moment they touched the floor, there was no turning back.

She swiftly left her room and rushed through the darkness, with ghosts and memories at her heels, and didn't stop, until she had reached the master bedroom.

Even as her knuckles rapped against the door, Gwen regretted the impulse that had driven her there, and yet, she couldn't seem to make herself stop knocking, until the door opened abruptly.

She couldn't see Arthur's face, only his huge, dark shape, but she could hear the familiar baritone of his voice.

"What's wrong?" He pulled her inside the room and closed the door. "What happened?"

His arms closed around her trembling body. And as she pressed against him, she realized, that he was naked, except for the binding around his midriff.

But he was so hard and warm and comforting, that she couldn't make herself pull away.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered, resting her cheek against the silky-coarse hair on his chest.

She heard a soothing, indistinguishable murmur over her head.

"I shouldn't have bothered you," she faltered. "I'm sorry. But it was so real."

"What did you dream about?" he asked gently, smoothing her hair.

"The morning Liam died. I've had the same nightmare so many times. But tonight was different. I ran to him...he was on the ground...and when I looked down at his face, it wasn't him. It was...it was..."

She stopped with a sound of grief, closing her eyes more tightly.

"Me?" Arthur asked calmly, his hand shaping around the back of her head.

Gwen nodded with a staggered breath.

"H-how did you know?"

"Dreams have a way of tangling memories and worries together."

His lips brushed her forehead.

"After all that's happened recently, it's not surprising, that your mind would make connections to your late husband's accident. But it wasn't real."

Tilting her head back, he kissed her wet lashes.

"I'm here. And nothing's going to happen to me."

Gwen let out a wobbly sigh.

And Arthur continued to hold her, until he felt her shaking ease.

"Do you want me to take you back to your room?" he eventually asked.

A long moment passed, before she could respond.

The right answer was yes, but the truthful one was...no.

Damning herself, she settled for a tiny shake of her head.

And Arthur went still.

Then, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. And keeping one arm around her, he guided her to his bed.

Riddled with guilt and pleasure, Gwen climbed onto the mattress and slid beneath the warm weight of the covers.

Arthur lingered at the bedside. Then, a match flared, the brief blue sizzle, followed by the glow of candle flame.

She tensed, as he finally joined her beneath the covers.

There was no doubt where this would lead...one did not share a bed with a naked adult in his robust masculine prime and expect to leave it a virgin.

But she also knew where it would not lead.

She had seen Arthur's face on Christmas Eve, as she had held the tenant's infant daughter. His expression had frozen for a brief, brutal instant of dread.

If she chose to let this go any farther, she would have to accept that, whatever his plans were for the estate, they did not include marrying and siring children.

"This isn't an affair," Gwen said, more to herself than to him. "It's only one night."

Arthur lay on his side, his hair falling over his forehead, as he looked down at her.

"What if you want more than that?" he asked huskily.

"It still won't be an affair."

His hand caressed her over the covers, charting the shape of her hips and stomach.

"Why does the word matter?"

"Because, affairs always end. So calling it that, would make it more difficult, when one of us wants to leave."

Arthur's hand stilled, as he continued to look down at her, his blue eyes as dark as pitch and candlelight flickering over the hard, high planes of his cheeks.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

He took her jaw in his hand, his mouth covering hers in a strong, urgent kiss...a kiss of ownership. And she opened to him, letting him do as he wished, while he searched her with aggressive ardor.

Pulling the covers away from her body, Arthur bent over her chest.

His breath was like steam, as it penetrated the thin cambric of her nightgown, causing her nipples to rise.

He touched one aching point with his fingers, shaping the tightening flesh, just before he covered it with his mouth and suckled it through the fabric.

The cambric turned wet beneath his tongue, cooling against the tight bud, as he drew back and blew gently.

Moaning, Gwen reached for the placket of tiny buttons, that held her bodice together, trying to open them with frantic tugs.

But Arthur took her wrists and pinned them at her side, easily holding her captive, as he continued to suck and nibble over the gown.

His body settled between her spread thighs, the weight of him hard and stimulating. And as she wriggled and strained against his hold, she felt his shaft swelling tighter against her, the luscious friction making them both breathless.

Releasing her wrists, Arthur turned his attention, to the line of buttons at her bodice and began to unfasten them with meticulous care.

The hem of her nightgown had ridden up to her hips, and she could feel the taut, intimate heat of his shaft, brushing her inner thigh.

By the time the last button was freed, Gwen was weak and gasping.

Finally, Arthur pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

Kneeling between her spread legs, he stared intently down at her flame-gilded body.

Modesty burned through Gwen, as she realized, it was the first time he'd seen her completely naked.

Her hands moved reflexively to cover herself, but he caught them and held them wide.

God, the way he stared at her, harsh and tender, his gaze devouring.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Letting go of her hands, he reached down to touch her, with spread fingertips, that slid over her stomach in burning trails, down to the feathery triangle between her legs.

A silent moan stuck in her throat, as he played with her, combing through wispy curls, delving to the private skin beneath.

Her hands fisted and fell to her sides.

The rhythm of his breathing had roughened with lust, but his hands stayed gentle, teasing her softly furled edges, kneading with his thumbs, and stroking her open.

And the sensations slid all through her, until she couldn't keep from writhing and twisting helplessly upward.

Flattening a palm on her stomach, Arthur murmured,

"Relax."

His fingertips slid between her thighs again,and she shivered, her legs closing on either side of his hips.

Then, his thumb swirled at the entrance of her body, gathering wetness, before returning to the swelling peak.

It was utterly wicked, the things he knew.

Closing her eyes, Gwen turned her blazing face away, while Arthur toyed and teased, eliciting more wetness and fullness, until her womanhood was achingly sensitive.

She felt his thumb slide down again, circling and stroking, pressing inside her. And it stung, as he nudged deeper, into the tight-rimmed tenderness.

But he was exquisitely gentle, his fingers splaying over her and massaging in a deliberate rhythm.

She gasped at the sensation, pleasure turning her insides molten, her buttocks tensing and relaxing in shameless craving, her insides molten with pleasure.

Then, his hand pulled away, and she whimpered in protest. And the dark shape of his head and broad shoulders loomed over her, as he gripped her knees and pushed them apart.

Her hips automatically rolled upward, until her womanhood was brazenly displayed. And she heard herself groan, as he bent over her, and dragged his tongue along the soft slit.

Arthur suckled and stroked without mercy, sending bliss racing through every nerve, driving her relentlessly, until her release broke and flooded her.

As the climax eased into quicksilver splashes, she felt him lowering her hips to the mattress. Then, he kissed her mouth, his tongue salted with a subtle erotic savor.

She let her hands wander down, to the tough-banded muscle of his stomach, hesitantly touching the stiff length of his erection.

It was harder than she had thought human flesh could be, the skin silkier than silk. And to her surprise, a distinct pulse beat strongly against her fingers.

With a low sound, Arthur settled more heavily between Gwen's legs, pushing them wider.

Awkwardly, she guided him into place. And he pressed, until her body began to yield, persisting, even as she shrank away from the sharpening ache.

And when he'd finally pushed inside her soft, clenching tightness, she gave a faint open-mouthed cry, going rigid at the burn of it.

And Arthur held still, muttering endearments and reassurances.

Trying to soothe her, he caressed her hips and thighs, while her body closed over his, in knife-like throbs.

Then, he gathered her closer, his belly against hers, the heat of him deep inside her.

Gradually, her inner muscles weakened, as if recognizing the uselessness of resisting.

"There," he whispered, as he felt her relaxing.

Then, he kissed her jaw and throat, and stared down at her, as he began to move in slow, careful lunges.

Pleasure misted his hard features and emblazoned fresh color across the crests of his cheeks. Yet, he continued to move, in slow, long strokes.

Finally, the pain gave way to a dull ache and Gwen started to lift her hips upward, to meet his languid thrusts.

Soon Arthur could feel his release barreling his way, and he fastened his mouth over Gwen's, as his movements sped up.

Holding her in place, he pumped his hips repeatedly, until his body spasmed in vehement shudders, and a low growl emanated from deep inside him.

Withdrawing, he crushed his hard wet length against her stomach and a wash of heat spread between them, while he buried his face in her hair, and groaned.

Gwen held him tightly, savoring the tremors of satisfaction that ran through him.

When he recovered his breath, he kissed her lazily...a sated male enjoying his plunder.

Eventually, Arthur left the bed and returned with a cup of water and a damp cloth.

While Gwen drank thirstily, he wiped away the evidence of their lovemaking.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he murmured, as the cloth stroked over the sore place between her thighs.

She handed him the empty cup.

"Well, I was worried about you," she confessed. "I was afraid you might injure yourself."

He grinned, setting the cup and cloth aside.

"How?" he scoffed. "By falling out of bed?"

"No, with all that vigorous activity."

"That wasn't vigorous, Guinevere. That was restrained."

Joining her on the bed, he pulled her against him, his hands wandering boldly over her.

"Tomorrow night," he said, kissing her shoulder, "I'll show you some vigor."

Circling her arms around his head, she pressed her lips against his hair.

"Arthur," she said warily, "I probably won't want to share a bed tomorrow night."

His head lifted, and he glanced at her with concern.

"If you're too sore, I'll just hold you."

"It's not that." She stroked back the hair, that had fallen over his forehead. "As I told you, I can't have an affair."

Arthur's gaze turned baffled.

"I think we'd better start defining terms," he said slowly. "Now that we've slept together, what difference does it make if we do it again tomorrow night?"

Wondering how to make him understand, Gwen chewed her bottom lip and eventually asked,

"Arthur, what is the pattern of your usual relationships with women?"

He clearly disliked the question, but he answered honestly.

"There's no pattern."

She gave him a skeptical glance.

"I'm sure they all began the same," she said in a neutral tone. "You take an interest in someone, and after some flirtation and pursuit, you eventually seduced her."

His brows lowered.

"They were always willing."

Gazing at the magnificently formed man beside her, Gwen smiled slightly.

"I'm sure they were," she said. "It's certainly no hardship to go to bed with you."

"Then why..."

"Wait," she murmured. "How long did it usually last, after you took up with someone? A few years? A few days?"

"On average," he said curtly, "A matter of months."

"And during that time, you visited the lady's bed whenever it was convenient. Until you eventually grew tired of her." She paused. "I assume you were usually the one to end it?"

Arthur gave her an outright scowl.

"I'm beginning to feel as if I'm at Chancery Court."

"I assume, that means yes."

His arms withdrew, and he sat up.

"Yes. I was always the one to end it. I would bring her a parting gift, tell her I would always treasure the memories, and then I left with all possible haste. What has any of that to do with us?"

Drawing the sheets higher over her breasts, Gwen said frankly,

"That's what I mean, when I say I don't want an affair. I don't want you to assume I'll be available, whenever you wish to satisfy your needs. I don't want either of us to have any claim on the other. I don't want complications or the possibility of scandal, and I don't want a parting gift."

"What the devil do you want?"

Diffidently she began to fold the edge of the sheet into tiny fan-like pleats.

"I suppose...I would like to spend a night with you every now and then, when we both desire it. With no obligations or expectations."

"Define 'every now and then.' Once a week?"

She shrugged and let out a nonplussed laugh.

"I wouldn't want to schedule it. Couldn't we just allow it to happen simply and naturally?"

"No," Arthur said stonily. "Men like schedules. We don't like unanswered questions. We'd rather know what's going to happen and when."

"Even in matters of intimacy?"

"Especially in matters of intimacy. Damn it! Why can't you be like other women?"

Gwen's lips quirked with a wry, regretful smile.

"And give you all the control? Hop into bed whenever you snap your fingers, as often as you wish, until you lose interest in me? And then I suppose, I should stand at the door waiting for my good-bye present?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, while his eyes flashed.

"I wouldn't treat you like that."

Of course he would. That was how he had always treated women.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, but I can't do it your way. We'll have to do it my way...or not at all."

"I'm damned if I even understand what your way is," he grated.

"I've made you angry," Gwen said regretfully, beginning to sit up. "Shall I leave?"

Arthur pushed her back down and leaned over her.

"Not on your life." He stripped away the sheet in an abrupt motion. "Since I have no idea when I'll be allowed to bed you next, I have to make the most of my opportunities."

"But I'm sore," she protested, reflexively covering her breasts and groin with her hands.

His head lowered.

"I won't hurt you," he growled against her belly, and nibbled at the edge of her navel. Then his tongue slipped inside the little hollow, making her gasp.

He repeated it deliberately, and again, until he felt her quiver.

As his mouth worked downward, her heart began to pound and her vision blurred.

Her hands slid away and her thighs loosened, parting easily as he spread them.

With diabolical gentleness, he aroused her with lips, teeth, tongue, bringing her to the edge of fulfillment, but never letting her go over.

He held her between his elbows, the maddening teasing continuing, until she heard herself begging.

Then, his tongue thrust in silky-wet penetrations, deep and steady, stroking her into a series of wrenching spasms.

Reaching down, she clamped her trembling hands around his skull, holding him to her. And he licked at the taste of her, as if he couldn't get enough, making her purr and arch, her nerves dancing in response.

As her pulse quieted, she stretched beneath him with a sigh of exhaustion.

And he began again.

"No," she said with a shaky laugh. "Arthur, please..."

But he was tugging at her sensitive flesh, so relentless and determined, that she could only surrender with a groan.

The candle burned down and shadows reclaimed the room, until there was nothing left but darkness and pleasure.

Stay safe!