Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
As the days of January rolled by, Gwen remained steadfast in her refusal, to allow Arthur a place in her bed.
In one fell swoop, she had assumed control of their relationship, and as a result, he was perpetually filled with a mixture of outrage, lust, and genuine bewilderment, in varying proportions.
It would have been easier, had she either given in to him completely, or denied him absolutely. Instead, she had made the situation stupefyingly unclear.
When we both desire it...she had said...as if she didn't know, he always desired it.
If it was a strategy on her part, to make him insane with wanting her and never knowing when he could have her, it was working brilliantly.
But he knew her well enough to be certain, that it wasn't a deliberate manipulation.
And somehow, it made the situation even worse, to know that she was trying to protect herself from him.
Yes, he understood her reasons...he might even agree with them in principle...but nevertheless, it was driving him mad.
He couldn't change his nature, and by God, he didn't want to. And he would never be able to surrender his heart, or his freedom.
However, he hadn't realized until now, that it was almost impossible to have an affair with a woman, who was equally determined to keep her heart, and her freedom.
For her part, Gwen was the same as she had always been...talkative, earnest, amusing, and ready to argue when she disagreed with him.
Arthur was the one who was different.
He had become obsessed with her...fascinated by everything she thought and did, so much so, he couldn't tear his gaze from her.
Half the time, he wanted to do everything possible to fill her with happiness, while the rest of the time, he was tempted to throttle her.
He had never known such agonizing frustration...wanting her and wanting far more than she was willing to give.
And because of that, he was reduced to pursuing her, trying to catch her in corners, like some lecherous lord, playing a game of slap-and-tickle with a housemaid, or fondling and kissing her in the library, or sliding his hand beneath her skirts on the back stairs.
One morning, after having gone out on an early ride with Gwen, Arthur pulled her into a dark corner of the harness room, coaxing and caressing, until he'd finally had his way with her, up against the wall.
And even then, in the disorienting seconds after a magnificent release, he wanted more of her.
Every second of the day.
By now, he was almost sure, the rest of the household had to have noticed, how preoccupied he'd become with her, but so far, no one had dared utter a word.
However, Will eventually asked him, why he had changed his mind, about returning to London in the middle of the month.
"You're supposed to leave with Harcourt tomorrow," Will said. "Why aren't you going with him? You should be in London, preparing for the land lease negotiations. The last I heard, they were set to begin on the first of February."
"The lawyers and accountants can prepare without me," Arthur replied. "I can stay here, where I'm needed, for at least another week."
"Needed for what?" Will asked with a snort.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Between the house renovations, the drainage ditches, hedge planting, and corn threshing, I believe I can find something to do."
They were walking back to the house from an outbuilding near the stables, where a newly arrived mechanical steam thresher, had just been stored.
And although the equipment had been purchased secondhand, it appeared to be in excellent condition.
Will had devised a plan, by which the machine would be used and shared in rotation by several families.
"I can manage the estate," Will argued. "You would be of more use in London, working on our financial problems. We need money, particularly now, that we've agreed to give rent remissions and reductions to the tenants."
Arthur sighed tautly.
"I told you we should have waited before doing that."
"Those families can't wait. And unlike you, I can't pluck crusts of bread from the mouths of hungry children."
"You sound like Guinevere," Arthur muttered. "I'll come to an agreement with Thomas Hill as quickly as possible. It would be easier if he left negotiations to his director, but for some reason, he's decided to handle it himself."
"And we both know, he loves nothing more than to argue with his friends."
"Which explains why he doesn't have more of them."
Pausing, before the entrance of the house, Arthur slid his hands in his pockets and looked up at the second-floor parlor window.
Cassandra was playing the pianoforte, an exquisite melody rippling from the house with such delicacy, that one could almost overlook the fact that, the instrument was out of tune.
Suddenly, he was tired of things that needed to be repaired.
Will followed Arthur's gaze.
"Did you speak to Harcourt about Cassandra?"
"Yes. He wants to court her."
"Good."
Arthur's brows lifted.
"Now you approve of a match between them?"
"In part."
"What do you mean, in part?"
"The part of me that loves money and wants to stay out of prison, thinks it's a splendid idea."
"We wouldn't face prison. Only bankruptcy."
"A fate worse than debt," Will quipped, then shrugged. "I've come to the conclusion, that it wouldn't be a bad match for her. If she doesn't marry him, she'll have to choose from among the dregs of the aristocracy."
Speculatively, Arthur glanced back at the window.
"I've been thinking about bringing the family to London with me."
"The entire family? Good God, why?"
"It will bring Cassandra into proximity with Harcourt."
"And..." Will said pointedly, "...it will keep Gwen in proximity with you."
Meeting his brother's alert gaze, he continued in an ironic tone.
"When I told you not to seduce her, it was out of concern for her well-being. Now, it seems, I should have been equally as concerned for yours."
He deliberately paused, then said,
"You're not yourself these days, Arthur."
"Let it be," Arthur said tersely.
"Very well. But one more bit of advice...if I were you, I wouldn't mention anything to Gwen, about your plans for Cassandra. She's determined to help all three of those girls find happiness." West smiled grimly. "It seems, she hasn't yet realized, that in this life, happiness is optional."
As Gwen entered the morning room, she discovered that Cassandra and the twins were not at breakfast. Will and Arthur sat at the table, reading mail and newspapers, while a footman removed used dishes and flatware.
"Good morning," she said. And both men stood automatically, as she entered the room. "Have the girls finished already?"
Will nodded. "Cassandra is accompanying the twins to the Lutons' farm."
"For what purpose?" Gwen asked, as Arthur helped her into her chair.
"It was my suggestion," Will told her. "The Lutons have offered to take Hamlet, provided we undertake the expense of building a pen and covered enclosure. The twins are willing to give the pig away, if they have Mr. Luton's personal guarantee of his welfare."
Gwen smiled.
"How did that come about?"
The footman brought a tea tray from the sideboard, and held it, while she measured a few spoonfuls of loose leaves into a small pot.
"I told the twins, as tactfully as possible, that Hamlet was never barrowed in infancy, as he should have been. I had no idea the procedure was necessary, or I would have made certain it was done."
"Barrowed?" Gwen asked, obviously perplexed.
And Will made a scissoring gesture with two fingers.
"Oh."
"Remaining, er...intact," Will continued, "Has made Hamlet unfit for future consumption, so there's no reason to fear he'll end up on the dinner table. But he'll become increasingly aggressive, as he goes through pubescence. It seems he'll become malodorous as well. He's now suited for only one purpose."
"Do you mean..." Gwen began.
"Might this wait until after breakfast?" Arthur asked, from behind a newspaper.
Will sent Gwen an apologetic grin.
"I'll explain later."
"If you're going to tell me, about the inconvenience of having an un-castrated male in the house," Gwen said, "I'm already aware of it."
Will choked a little on his toast, but not a sound came from Arthur's direction.
The footman returned with the tea, and Gwen poured a cup for herself.
And after she'd added sugar and took a sip of the steaming beverage, the butler approached.
"Milady," he said, proffering a silver tray, which contained a letter and an ivory-handled letter knife.
Picking up the letter, Gwen saw to her pleasure, that it was from Lord Gemswick.
She slit the envelope open, set the knife back on the tray, and started to read silently.
The letter began innocuously enough, assuring her that all was well with the Gemswick family. Then, Lord Gemswick proceeded to describe a fine thoroughbred colt, he had just bought.
Midway through the letter, however, he said,
I've recently learned of some troubling news, from your father's farm manager, in Glengarrif. However, he did not seem to think it necessary for you to be informed. Nonetheless, I thought you should know and he didn't oppose my wish to tell you, about an injury your father has sustained...
Gwen read on, and as she tried to set her teacup on its saucer, the porcelain rattled. And although the sound was quite ordinary, it attracted the attention of Arthur.
After one glance at her ashen face, he folded the paper and set it aside.
"What is it?" Arthur asked, his intent gaze on her.
"Nothing serious," Gwen replied.
Her cheeks felt stiff and her heart had begun to beat unpleasantly fast and sharp, while her corset seemed to squeeze every breath short.
Glancing back down at the letter, she read the paragraph again, trying to make sense of it.
"The letter is from Lord Gemswick. He relates that my father suffered an injury, but has recovered now."
She wasn't aware that Arthur had moved, until she found him sitting in the chair next to hers, his warm hand enclosing hers.
"Tell me what happened." His tone was very gentle.
But Gwen stared down at the letter in one hand, trying to breathe around the suffocating tightness in her chest.
"I...I don't know long ago it was. It seems, my father was riding into an indoor arena, and the horse flung up its head. The momentum knocked my father's skull against a wooden support beam."
She paused and shook her head helplessly.
"According to the farm manager, he was in pain and disoriented, but the doctor bandaged his head and prescribed rest. He was in bed for three days, and now it appears, he's feeling more himself."
"Why weren't you told immediately?" Arthur asked with a frown.
Gwen shrugged, unable to reply.
"Perhaps, your father didn't want to worry you," came Will's neutral comment.
"I suppose so," she managed to say.
But the truth was, it didn't matter to her father, whether she was worried over him or not. He had never felt any affection for her. He'd never remembered her birthdays, nor had he ever traveled to spend a holiday with her.
After her mother had died, he hadn't sent for her, to come home to live with him. And when she had turned to him for comfort after Liam's passing, he had warned her, not to expect, that there would be a place for her under his roof, should she want to live in Ireland.
He even went as far as to suggest, she return to the Gemswick's, or strike out on her own.
After so many rejections, Gwen would have expected it to stop hurting by now. But the pain sank as deep as ever.
She had always secretly harbored the fantasy, that her father might need her someday, that he would send for her, if he was ever injured or ill.
And she would go to him at once, and care for him tenderly, and they would finally have the relationship, she had always longed for.
But reality, as usual, bore no resemblance to fantasy.
Her father had been injured, and not only had he declined to send for her, he hadn't even wanted her to know about it.
Staring down at the blur of Lord Gemswick's letter, Gwen was unaware of the glance Arthur gave his brother.
All she knew, was that, by the time she took her hand from Arthur's and reached for her tea, Will's place was empty.
She cast a bewildered glance around the room, noting, that not only had Will left surreptitiously, the butler and footman, too, and had closed the door behind them.
"You didn't have to make them leave," Gwen said,, her color rising. "I'm not going to make a scene."
She tried to drink her tea, but the hot liquid sloshed over the rim, and she set down the cup with chagrin.
"You're upset," Arthur said quietly.
"I'm not upset, I'm merely..." She paused and ran a trembling hand across her forehead. "...I am upset," she admitted.
Arthur reached out and lifted her from her chair ,with astonishing ease.
"Sit with me," he murmured, settling her onto his lap.
"I was sitting with you. I don't need to sit on you." She found herself perched sideways with her feet dangling. "Arthur..."
"Hush."
Keeping a supportive arm around her, he reached with his free hand for her teacup and brought it to her lips.
She took a sip of the hot, sweet tea and felt his lips brushed her temple.
"Have some more," he murmured, and held the cup as she drank again.
She felt rather silly, allowing him to comfort her like a child and yet, a sense of relief began to steal over her, as she leaned against his broad chest.
"My father and I have never been close," Gwen eventually said. "I've never understood why. There's something...something about me, I suppose. He only ever loved one person in his life, and that was my mother. And she felt the same about him. Which is romantic, but...it was difficult for a child to understand."
"Where did you acquire such a perverse view of romance?" Arthur asked, now sounding sardonic.
She glanced at him in surprise.
"Loving only one person in the world isn't romantic," he said, "Nor is it love. No matter how your parents felt about each other, they had no excuse for relinquishing all responsibility for their only child. Although, God knows, you were better off living with the Gemswicks."
His hand tightened on hers.
"If it pleases you, I'll telegram the farm manager, to find out more about your father's condition."
"I would like that," Gwen admitted, "But it would probably annoy my father."
"So much the better." Arthur reached up to the ebony cameo at her throat and adjusted it.
Gwen looked at him solemnly.
"I used to wish, I'd been born a boy. I thought he might have taken an interest in me then. Or perhaps, if I were prettier or cleverer."
Arthur cupped the side of her face, compelling her to look at him.
"You're already too pretty and too clever, darling. And it wouldn't have mattered if you were a boy. That was never the problem. Your parents were a pair of selfish lackwits." His thumb caressed her cheek. "And whatever flaws you might have, being unlovable is not one of them."
During that last extraordinary sentence, the quiet volume of his voice fell to a near whisper.
And Gwen stared at him, transfixed.
'He hadn't meant to say it,' she thought. 'He's probably regretted it...'
But their shared gaze remained unbroken.
Looking into Arthur's darkened blue eyes, was like drowning...sinking into unfathomable depths, from which she might never resurface.
Gwen trembled and managed to look away, severing the connection.
"Come to London with me," she heard Arthur say.
"What?" she asked, bewildered.
"Come to London with me," he repeated. "I have to leave within a fortnight. Bring the girls and your maid. It will be good for everyone, including you. At this time of year, there's nothing to do in Hampshire, and London offers no end of amusements."
Gwen looked at him with a frown.
"You know that's impossible."
"You mean, because of mourning."
"Of course, that's what I mean."
She didn't like the sparks of mischief that had appeared in his eyes.
"I've already considered that," he told her. "Not being as familiar with the rules of propriety as yourself, I undertook to consult a paragon of society, about what activities might be permissible, for young women in your situation."
"What paragon? What are you talking about?"
Shifting her weight more comfortably in his lap, Arthur reached across the table, to retrieve a letter by his plate.
"You're not the only one who received correspondence today." He extracted the letter from its envelope with a flourish. "According to a renowned expert on mourning etiquette, even though attending a play or a dance is out of the question, it's permissible to go to a concert, museum exhibition, or private art gallery."
Arthur proceeded to read aloud from the letter.
"This learned lady writes,"
One fears, that the prolonged seclusion of young persons, may encourage a lasting melancholy, in such malleable natures. While the girls must pay appropriate respect to the memory of the late Earl, it would be both wise and kind, to allow them a few innocent recreations. I would recommend the same for Lady Pendragon, whose lively disposition, in my opinion, will not long tolerate a steady diet of monotony and solitude. Therefore, you have my encouragement to..."
"Who wrote that?" Gwen demanded, snatching the letter from his hand. "Who could possibly presume to..."
She gasped, her eyes widening, as she saw the signature at the conclusion of the letter.
"Dear God. You consulted Lady Gemswick?"
Arthur grinned.
"I knew you would accept no one's judgment but hers."
He bounced her a little on his knee and the supple weight of her was anchored, amid the rustling layers of skirts and underskirts...the pretty curves of her body corseted into a narrow column.
With every movement she made, little whiffs of soap and roses floated around them.
She reminded him of one of those miniature sweet-smelling bundles, that women tucked into dressers and wardrobes.
"Come," Arthur said. And then,
"London isn't such an appalling idea, is it? But you've never stayed at Pendragon House...and it's in far better condition than this heap of ruins. You'll have new sights and surroundings." He couldn't resist adding in a mocking tone, "Most importantly, I'll be available to service you whenever you like."
Gwen's brows flew down.
"Don't call it that."
"Forgive me, that was uncouth. But I'm an un-castrated male, after all."
He smiled, when he saw the stricken look had gone from her eyes.
"Consider it for the girls' sake," he coaxed. "They've endured mourning far longer than you have. Don't they deserve a respite? Besides, it would benefit them, to become more familiar with London, before next year's season."
Gwen's brows drew together.
"How long do you propose for us to stay? A fortnight?"
"Perhaps a month."
She played with the ends of his silk necktie as she considered it. "I'll discuss it with Cassandra."
Sensing that she was leaning towards agreeing, Arthur decided to push her a bit.
"You're coming to London," Arthur said flatly. "You've become a habit. If you're not with me, I'm afraid of what I may start doing to replace you."
Gwen twisted in his lap to face him more fully, her hands coming to the shoulders of his morning coat, her smiling gaze locked with his.
"You could take up an instrument," she suggested.
Slowly, Arthur brought her forward and whispered against the sweet, full curves of her mouth,
"But you're the only thing I want to play."
Automatically, her arms went around his neck and his mouth took hers, in a kiss, that seemed to grow in degrees.
But her position was awkward, with her body angled sideways and the stiff corset latched around her torso.
And because the layers of her clothing weren't designed for freedom of movement, in a sense, they were smothered.
On the other hand, Arthur's rigid collar pressed into his neck and his shirt began to bunch beneath his waistcoat, while the elastic of his braces pulled uncomfortably.
But when Gwen's tongue played against his with a kittenish flick, that was all it took, to send him to full-bore arousal.
Still kissing Arthur, Gwen struggled within the heap of her dress.
She reached down to tug at the great mass of her skirts, and to Arthur's amusement, she nearly toppled herself from his lap.
He pulled her body higher against his, while her legs churned amid the heavy skirts, until she managed to straddle him, even with huge swathes of fabric, still trapped between them.
It was ridiculous, the two of them writhing on a chair, but it felt insanely good to hold her.
One of her hands slipped over his front, and she gripped the hard length of him, over the fabric of his trousers, causing him to jolt against her.
And before Arthur could even realize what he was doing, his hands were rummaging beneath her skirts.
Finding the slit of her drawers, he pulled at the fabric, until the seam tore with a satisfying rip, and the soft, moist flesh he craved was exposed.
Gwen moaned, as he sank two of his fingers into her, her hips tilting forward eagerly, her wetness and heat pulsing around him.
At that, all reason fled Arthur.
Nothing mattered, except being inside her.
Withdrawing his fingers, he fumbled roughly for the fastenings of his trousers. Gwen tried to help him, grappling with the obstinate buttons, but her efforts ended up hindering him, in a way that would have made him laugh, if he hadn't been so desperate for her.
Somehow, they ended up on the floor, with Gwen still straddling him, her skirts billowing and ballooning over them, like some gigantic unearthly flower.
Underneath the tumult of fabric, Arthur's naked flesh found hers.
He positioned himself, but before he could even guide her, Gwen had sunk down, her small, wet sex, taking him deeper than ever before.
They both shivered and gasped at the feel of it, the crushed-velvet texture of her closing on him in rich pulses.
Gwen held on to Arthur's shoulders and began to roll to the side, trying to reverse their positions and pull him over her.
Resisting, he caught her hips, keeping her on top.
And while she stared down at him with bewildered eyes, he spread his fingers over her hips and buttocks, relishing the shape of her.
Then, he showed her the movement, thrusting upward, and bringing her down with care.
He delayed her descent for a beat, just enough to let her slide a few inches down his length, and she let out a stuttering breath.
Then, he gave another boost of his hips, followed by a silky erotic plunge. And Gwen began to move hesitantly, her face heating, and glowing.
A while later, she made a bold move and adjusted her position, moving on him with increasing confidence, and finishing each drive with a forward sway, that absorbed his upward thrusts.
'Good God!' Arthur silently exclaimed. He was being ridden hard and very well too. And he didn't want it to end.
Gwen pleasured herself on Arthur, in an aggressive rhythm, moving faster and faster, striking a blaze of lust, that made him sweat beneath his clothes and in his shoes.
Perspiration trickled from his forehead and he closed his eyes, trying to bring himself under control, but it was hellishly difficult...impossible, at the pace she set.
"Slowly, sweetheart," he said hoarsely, reaching beneath her dress, to take her hips between his palms. "I want you too much...and I don't want this to end."
Gwen resisted, her release was imminent, so she started riding him roughly, her body tightening and spasming.
Arthur gripped her hips, anchoring her to him. He could feel his climax barreling towards him and intensifying, no matter how hard he worked to stave it off.
"Guinevere," he said through gritted teeth, "I can't...can't hold back..."
But she was beyond hearing, as she returned to working on him in repeated lunges.
Then it hit, and Arthur felt her reach her peak, evidenced, by the supple quivers and throbs, closing all around him.
In an agony of self-discipline, he held still, every muscle contracted and rock-hard, as he forced himself to wait, and let her take her pleasure, even though his heart threatened to explode from the effort.
He managed to give her all of ten seconds...the most excruciating ten seconds of his life...before his own release began.
Grunting with effort, he tried to haul her off him.
What he hadn't bargained on, however, was the strength of her thighs, the muscles of an experienced horsewoman gripping him with a tenacity, that even a thousand-pound Arabian couldn't have unseated.
As he tried to buck her off, he felt her instinctively using the movements against him, her legs locking tighter with each backlash.
She was too much for him.
A scalding climax overcame him, pouring through him in a pleasure, as absolute as death.
He bucked a few more times while she rode him through it, her body wringing out every drop of sensation without mercy.
Afterwards, Arthur groaned and collapsed onto the floor.
As the dizzying ecstasy faded, Arthur was chilled by the realization, that he had released inside of Gwen.
He'd never done that with any woman before. In fact, he'd always used rubber sheaths to make certain of it.
But he'd arrogantly assumed, that he would have no problem withdrawing from Gwen. And the truth was, he'd wanted to be inside her with no barriers between them.
But the price he might have to pay for that, was unthinkable.
Gwen lay over Arthur, her slender body rising and falling on his wracking breaths.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped, sounding shocked. "I couldn't stop. I just...couldn't."
Arthur was silent, trying to think through the panic.
"What should we do now?" she asked, her voice muffled.
Although he knew of ways to prevent pregnancy, the details and particulars of what to do after the sexual act, were a woman's province.
"I've heard of using champagne," he managed to say.
But he had only the vaguest idea, about how a contraceptive douche was administered, and there was no way in hell, that he would risk harming Gwen by making a mistake.
"Drinking champagne will help?" she asked hopefully.
Arthur smiled grimly above her head.
"Not to drink, my innocent. But it doesn't matter...it would have to be done soon, and there isn't time."
At that, he eased her off his body and stood, restoring his clothes with vicious efficiency. Then, he reached down, took her outstretched hand and helped her up.
As Gwen stood, she saw Arthur's expression, and all the color leaked from her face.
"I'm sorry," she said once more, her voice unsteady. "Please believe, that no matter what happens, I won't hold you responsible."
He turned to her, his eyes suddenly blazing.
And the fear he had, instantly transformed into anger, her words setting off his temper, like a keg of gunpowder.
"Do you think that makes a damned bit of difference?" he asked savagely. "I'm already responsible for a thousand things I never asked for."
"I don't want to be included on that list," she replied, with as much dignity as a woman could, while trying to pull her undergarments back into place.
"For once, it doesn't matter what you want, Guinevere. If there is a baby, neither of us can will it out of existence. And it'll be half mine," he snapped.
He couldn't keep his appalled gaze from sliding low on her body, as if his seed were already taking root inside her.
Gwen took a step backward, the small movement infuriating Arthur.
"When will your monthly flow begin?" he asked, struggling to moderate his tone.
"Two, perhaps three weeks. I'll send a telegram to you in London when it happens."
"If it happens," he said bitterly. "And you won't need to send a bloody telegram...you're still coming with me. Don't bother asking why...I'm weary of having to explain every decision I make, to every person on this godforsaken estate."
He left her before he could say anything else, striding away, as if the devil were at his heels.