Read Online Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy by Cheryl Holt - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cheryl Holt
Tags: Historical
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your dear, departed husband didn't request such base conduct from you."
"Why ... what do you mean?" "I 'mean that I apologize." "For what?"
"You seem like such a worldly creature that I assumed your husband must have taught you to.. . well. . ." He was struggling to be kind. "I shouldn't have pushed you to do something for which you're so thoroughly untrained and unqualified."
"You . . . you ... didn't like it?"
"It was fine," he claimed, but his aversion was so evident that she was mortified.
"You didn't like it!" she repeated, growing angry. "Just say so. I'm not a child. I can bear the truth."
He shifted away and stood, stuffing his privates into his pants and arranging his clothes. "I'm a man. Of course, I liked it."
"Then what are you implying?"
"I merely think you need a bit of practice. That's all." As if she were a pet dog, he patted her on the head. "Perhaps while I'm here, we can work on your skill. I'm always happy to help others improve themselves."
He turned and left, and she flopped onto her back and glared up at the ceiling. She felt as if she'd auditioned to be his countess but had blown her chance. How could she persuade him to let her have another?
She had a vision, of thousands of England's most gorgeous women, lined up to kneel before him, to suck him dry, and she was certain they all knew how to do it better than she ever could.
It was clear that Horatio had failed to impart some facet of instruction that was desperately necessary, and her confidence was shattered. When she recalled how often Horatio had made her please him with her mouth, when she thought of the early years, as she'd hid from him, as she'd begged for a respite, and all that time, she'd been doing it wrong!
She'd never been more humiliated, and she couldn't imagine how she'd show her face around the house while Kettering remained in it.
Silence descended, and with his exit, the sensual ambiance vanished. She couldn't abide the smell or taste of him. Suddenly nauseous, she leapt off the mattress, grabbed for the chamber pot, and vomited for all she was worth.
Penelope peeked out her window to the verandah below, watching for the instant Lord Kettering stepped outside to eat breakfast on the terrace. When he did, the intrepid Mrs. Smythe was absent, so he was alone and fair game.
She sneaked down the rear stairs and into the garden, skirting the verandah, but aware that he could see her from his perch at the table. She ignored him and continued down the path toward the gazebo by the lake.
From the day he'd arrived, she'd sensed his heightened regard. He constantly and furtively observed her, but they hadn't been able to chat privately.
If she couldn't get him off by himself, how was she to permit the elderly oaf to seduce her?
She'd reached the trees, and she paused, glancing over at him with a look that couldn't be misconstrued; then she went on. Men had never been a mystery to her, and Kettering definitely wasn't. He'd appear shortly. She walked to the lake's edge and picked a flower, sniffing it while listening for footsteps. Very soon, she heard him approaching.
She whirled around, feigning surprise at seeing him, but to her amazement, he didn't join in the charade. He marched over to her, not pretending that they were doing anything but engaging in an illicit tryst.
"So, Penelope, you've managed to lure me away. It took you long enough."
His audacious beginning caught her off guard. She'd been positive that she'd be in charge of the encounter, and she hadn't planned on his seizing control. She'd assumed him a thick, slow buffoon who would be easy to coerce and finagle.
"I. .. I... haven't been trying to get you anywhere. How dare you follow me out here! My mother would have a fit if she knew."
"Yes, I'm sure she would. Shall we go speak to her together? We can tell her what a little trollop you are."
"Why ... you despicable ... insulting ..."
She couldn't guess at the words refined people flung at each other
"Why ... what do you mean?" "I 'mean that I apologize." "For what?"
"You seem like such a worldly creature that I assumed your husband must have taught you to.. . well. . ." He was struggling to be kind. "I shouldn't have pushed you to do something for which you're so thoroughly untrained and unqualified."
"You . . . you ... didn't like it?"
"It was fine," he claimed, but his aversion was so evident that she was mortified.
"You didn't like it!" she repeated, growing angry. "Just say so. I'm not a child. I can bear the truth."
He shifted away and stood, stuffing his privates into his pants and arranging his clothes. "I'm a man. Of course, I liked it."
"Then what are you implying?"
"I merely think you need a bit of practice. That's all." As if she were a pet dog, he patted her on the head. "Perhaps while I'm here, we can work on your skill. I'm always happy to help others improve themselves."
He turned and left, and she flopped onto her back and glared up at the ceiling. She felt as if she'd auditioned to be his countess but had blown her chance. How could she persuade him to let her have another?
She had a vision, of thousands of England's most gorgeous women, lined up to kneel before him, to suck him dry, and she was certain they all knew how to do it better than she ever could.
It was clear that Horatio had failed to impart some facet of instruction that was desperately necessary, and her confidence was shattered. When she recalled how often Horatio had made her please him with her mouth, when she thought of the early years, as she'd hid from him, as she'd begged for a respite, and all that time, she'd been doing it wrong!
She'd never been more humiliated, and she couldn't imagine how she'd show her face around the house while Kettering remained in it.
Silence descended, and with his exit, the sensual ambiance vanished. She couldn't abide the smell or taste of him. Suddenly nauseous, she leapt off the mattress, grabbed for the chamber pot, and vomited for all she was worth.
Penelope peeked out her window to the verandah below, watching for the instant Lord Kettering stepped outside to eat breakfast on the terrace. When he did, the intrepid Mrs. Smythe was absent, so he was alone and fair game.
She sneaked down the rear stairs and into the garden, skirting the verandah, but aware that he could see her from his perch at the table. She ignored him and continued down the path toward the gazebo by the lake.
From the day he'd arrived, she'd sensed his heightened regard. He constantly and furtively observed her, but they hadn't been able to chat privately.
If she couldn't get him off by himself, how was she to permit the elderly oaf to seduce her?
She'd reached the trees, and she paused, glancing over at him with a look that couldn't be misconstrued; then she went on. Men had never been a mystery to her, and Kettering definitely wasn't. He'd appear shortly. She walked to the lake's edge and picked a flower, sniffing it while listening for footsteps. Very soon, she heard him approaching.
She whirled around, feigning surprise at seeing him, but to her amazement, he didn't join in the charade. He marched over to her, not pretending that they were doing anything but engaging in an illicit tryst.
"So, Penelope, you've managed to lure me away. It took you long enough."
His audacious beginning caught her off guard. She'd been positive that she'd be in charge of the encounter, and she hadn't planned on his seizing control. She'd assumed him a thick, slow buffoon who would be easy to coerce and finagle.
"I. .. I... haven't been trying to get you anywhere. How dare you follow me out here! My mother would have a fit if she knew."
"Yes, I'm sure she would. Shall we go speak to her together? We can tell her what a little trollop you are."
"Why ... you despicable ... insulting ..."
She couldn't guess at the words refined people flung at each other
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