Beloved (14 page)

“Morning,” Pomeroy amended.

His father tried to point at him but succeeded only in stabbing the air in numerous places. “Respect, boy. That’s what I expect
from you. Respect.”

“And I expect what you promised me,” Pomeroy said, tired of pretending submission. “I want that girl. She’s mine.”

“ ’Course she’s yours. We’ll get her—whatever it takes. Any way we can. Tell Boggs t’stop that racket. Tell him he’s a whore’s
arse. Tell him that.”

“My pleasure,” Pomeroy assured him, but before he could rise, the object of his hatred entered.

Muddy of complexion, with a bulbous nose and eyes sunken between beetling brows and fat cheeks, Boggs puffed as he approached
his employer.

“What’s the bloody fuss?” Father demanded, flapping a hand toward the vestibule. “You’re useless, Boggs. Nothing but a whore’s
arse.”

“As you say, my lord,” Boggs intoned, bowing. “There’s a young female to see you. I’ve told her to go away, but she refuses.
Very insistent, she is, my lord. Lord Wokingham will see her, so she says. Says you’d want to see her if you knew what she
wanted to tell you. Whatever that means.”

Boggs never used one word where four or five were a possibility.

Pomeroy sat straighter. “Young female, y’say? Name of?” Ella had come to her senses and decided to throw herself on his mercy.
Her righteous papa had told her they’d better play along.

“Name of Precious,” Precious Able said, giggling as she tripped into the room. At the sight of Lord Wokingham, she stopped
and frowned. “Who’s he? I thought you said this was your house, Pommy.”

“Get out, Boggs!” Father yelled. “Explain yourself, Pom. Who’s this baggage?”

“Baggage?” Precious shrieked as Boggs, still bowing, closed the door behind him. Her red hair was freshly arranged and she
now wore a swansdown-trimmed blue cloak over a paler blue gown. “The old man called me a baggage, Pommy.”

“The old man,” Pomeroy said, smiling at her, “is Lord Wokingham. My father.”

“Oh!” She dipped, and sent a pouting moue in Father’s direction. “I should have looked more carefully. I’d have seen where
you got your handsome face and fine physique, Pommy. Good evening, my lord. I must have forgotten you were in residence. In
fact, I need to speak to both of you. Pommy and I have become friends. I hold him in the highest regard.”

“Do you indeed?” Father’s eyes rested on her breasts where they spilled from the low neckline of her gown. A row of little,
blue-jeweled buttons strained against buttonholes the length of the bodice.

“Pommy and I understand each other, don’t we, Pommy?”

“Do you, Pommy?” Father asked, his teeth bared in a lascivious leer Pomeroy recognized well. A thrill of anticipation raised
his cock against his trousers.

“You were at our house in Lancashire, my lord. You visited my father. He’s the Reverend Able of—”

“My father isn’t interested in such matters,” Pomeroy told her hastily. “I had intended to join you that day, Father, but
I ran into Precious when I was stabling my horse and became, er, diverted?”

Lord Wokingham chuckled, his belly jiggling inside the fine, thin silk of his robe. “What’s a clergyman’s daughter doing in
London for the Season, then? I take it that’s why you’re here?”

Precious undid the frog at the throat of her cloak and took it off. She draped the garment over a chair. “My mama and papa
know I’ve got prospects. I’m their only child, and they decided to make sacrifices to give me a chance of making a— a happy
match.”

“Y’mean they’ve taken a flyer on some fool buying those big tits of yours for enough to keep the family in comfort.”

Pomeroy raised his brows and enjoyed his father’s reaction to Precious’s satisfied nod. “Something like that, my lord. Can’t
blame them, can you?”

“Suppose not,” Father said. “Hardly protectin’ their invest- ment by allowin’ you to chase around London at this hour, are
they?”

“They don’t know. I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands. I’ve seen what I want.” She dimpled at Pomeroy. “We’ll do
very nicely together. And from the looks of this place, there’ll be plenty to spare for a little nest egg for my parents.
Just to keep them quiet. If you make proper use of my possibilities.”

Pomeroy steepled his fingers. The girl was no fool, yet she behaved as if she had something—other than a lush body— that might
give her a hold over him. “Why should we be interested in an arrangement like that?” he asked her.

“We?” she said, walking toward the fireplace, her hips swinging with every step.

“Lord Wokingham and I. We share everything, y’know, Precious.” He met his father’s glittering eyes. Without his powder and
rouge, the old man’s face was a flaccid mask of crazed purple veins.

Precious turned to regard them, one by one. “Nothing would suit me better. I’m more than enough for two, I can tell you.”

Pomeroy had already managed a brief sampling of what Precious was enough for—both in Lancashire and earlier in the evening
in the gardens of the Eagletons’ house. He wiggled a little on the divan. He hadn’t sampled quite enough— and he was bored.

“What do you want?” he asked, suddenly tired of talking to Precious Able. There were other uses to which she could be put—then
quickly discharged. No one would believe any stories she chose to tell later, especially since she’d been foolish enough to
venture out alone.

“I’ve told you what I want.”

“Preposterous,” Pomeroy said. “But I see no reason not to enjoy this visit, do you, Father?”

“None at all,” Father said, his tongue passing over his lips. One of his legs swung away from the other, opening the robe
to show him ready for the enjoyment he anticipated.

“I’m sure you’d like it to be that easy,” Precious said, strolling close enough to stare at Lord Wokingham’s bared crotch.
“Nothing wrong with your wares, my lord,” she said, idly making circles with one forefinger over her left breast.

“Take your clothes off,” Father ordered, his voice thick. Pomeroy never failed to be impressed with his parent’s appetite
for sex—even when he was foxed.

“Now, now,” Precious said. The outline of her large nipples showed through fine muslin, and she applied a massaging thumb
to each one. “I didn’t come here like the addle-pated girl you think I am. Oh, I want some of what you want, all right. Probably
more than the two of you can give me. But there’s other things I want, and I’m going to get them.”

Pomeroy stood and took off his coat. “Come here, Precious.”

“In my own good time. You’ve got yourself in a bad way, haven’t you? Queer bungs, that’s what they say about you. Hardly a
penny between you. Pinched purses. Empty.”

With his hand at the fastening of his trousers, Pomeroy froze. “The devil you say.”

“I do,” Precious agreed, tilting her head. “My papa knows the truth of it, because there’s those who’ve come to him asking
how to get payments from you.”

Lord Wokingham cursed volubly. “And the clergyman violated things spoken of in confidence,” he spat.

“But not in confession, my lord,” Precious said. “Be that as it may. I know. You should be glad, because I’m going to help
you.”

Pom’s cock wilted. “Get out.”

Smiling, Precious sauntered to sit on the divan instead. She leaned back on her elbows. “I want one of you each side of me.
Cozy, that’ll be.”

“She’s dangerous,” Father said.

Precious fingered the buttons on her bodice. “Little me? No such thing. You want Ella Rossmara, because she comes with so
much money you’ll never have to worry again. And I’m going to help you get her.”

Pomeroy swallowed, and swallowed again.

“Lord Hunsingore’s made it plain how much his darling bastard daughter’s worth. We’ll just have to make sure you and your
papa are the recipients of all that lovely money. You, your papa—and me, of course.”

Breathing heavily, Father got to his feet. Scarcely taking his eyes off Precious, he refilled his glass and then poured a
second. This he took to Precious. “Drink it,” he said.

To Pomeroy’s amazement, she promptly drained the glass and handed it back to Father. “Another,” she demanded.

“Why should you be any part of this?” Pomeroy asked her. “If there’s a shred of truth to what you say, which there isn’t.”

“Which there is,” she said. “I’m a part of it because I’m what you really need—not that gypsy of a girl who was probably born
in a gutter. And I do know you’re living on loans. You’ve a pile of notes, notes that are going to come due and cost you everything
you own shortly.”

Lord Wokingham supplied her with more Madeira and said, “Pull up your skirts, girl.”

She ignored him while she drank. “My mama and papa do know where I am. If I don’t return, they’ll call a constable. They’ve
got a letter from me explaining. And if you don’t do what I say and take care of me, I’ll tell all of London that you’re ruined.
And that you’re trying to get your fingers into Lord Hunsingore’s deep pockets.”

Pomeroy trembled with fury. “You can’t assist me with the Rossmara girl.”

“Certainly I can,” she told him. “Come to me. Both of you. We need to test how well we’ll do together. Then I’ll explain exactly
what our plans will be. They’ll work. Trust me.”

Father dropped down beside her on the divan and hauled up her skirt.

Precious behaved as if her private parts had not been revealed to both men in the room. She patted the divan and beckoned
to Pomeroy. “There’s plenty to go round,” she told him.

He longed to rip off her clothes and beat her white skin until she begged to be released, begged to be allowed to forget she’d
ever had the temerity to threaten him. Instead, he did as she asked and sat beside her.

“There,” she said. “That’s better. This bodice is too tight.” Father guffawed and squeezed her breast. “Long time since I
came across dugs like these. Particularly a pair offered so freely. I bet you’ve taught more than one chap a thing or two
he didn’t know.”

She eyed him knowingly. “Only after a few chaps taught me some things I didn’t know.”

“A clever mouth,” Father said, slipping a jeweled button from its hole. “I like that. Now you can teach us, right, Pom?” He
winked at Pomeroy.

Renewed interest sprang between Pomeroy’s legs. “And perhaps we can add to the young lady’s repertoire,” he said, helping
with the buttons.

Precious rested her chin on her chest to watch while her huge breasts were revealed. Their pink centers were the size of little
plates, each one offering a large, pouting berry.

Pomeroy took a nipple between finger and thumb and pinched.

Precious gasped and writhed.

Lord Wokingham played with the other breast.

Pomeroy’s head bumped his father’s when they bent to fasten their teeth and suck.

Never at a loss for means by which to spice the event, Pomeroy’s father dragged Precious’s skirts around her waist and pushed
her flat on her back with her knees bent at the edge of the divan. He emptied the remaining contents of a glass of Madeira
over the girl’s belly and curly, red bush, and grinned up at Pomeroy. “Thirsty?” he asked.

Pomeroy fell to lapping the wine, never releasing his handful of Precious’s breast. She bucked and laughed—and spread her
legs.

Lord Wokingham chose to take his drink from a deeper place. He guzzled noisily between slick folds, discarding his robe as
he did so.

The blue gown joined the robe. Pomeroy needed nothing more than to push his trousers past his knees.

She was tireless. And she did know a thing or two. His father preferred his pleasures in comfort—on his back—which suited
Pomeroy. Wedged between the two of them on the floor, Precious grunted and squealed, tossed and begged—for more and more.

Pomeroy was happy to oblige.

When he finally fell back, wet with his own sweat, and with hers, he rolled to lie on the carpet and listen to his father
thrust upward into her. The old man was game, but he took longer these days. Pomeroy smiled. Fair enough—the girl was welcome
to the extra pleasure she so loudly enjoyed.

At last the groaning and shrieking ceased. They stretched out, side by side, breathing heavily.

Pomeroy turned, unable to waste a moment of fondling Precious’s heavy breasts. “So,” he said, and bent to enjoy a long, slow
suckle that brought fresh cries to her lips. “So, what do you want, Precious? Really want?” As if he didn’t know. She wanted
what every unmarried female in London wanted—to marry him.

“First I want to help ensure our future,” Precious said, holding up her breast to help Pomeroy’s exploration. “I know things.”

“So you’ve shown us.”

“Other things. About all kinds of people. I’ve got a source now. Ella Rossmara—or whatever her name really is—will bring us
what we need. She’ll have to if she wants to save herself.”

Lord Wokingham propped his mussed head on a hand and looked down at the girl. “How will you manage that?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Tell us now.”

Her face hardened. “I’ll tell you when I’ve done what needs to be done. Not before. And not before you give me what I want.
To make sure you don’t think of backing out of the bargain.”

Pomeroy sighed. “Let me guess. You want a husband. You want marriage.”

“Exactly.” She made her blue eyes very round. “I want a respected place in Society. And I must say it appeals to me to have
that wretched Ella at my beck and call. The men look at her as if she’s something special. She won’t feel so special when
she has to do as she’s told—by me.”

Pomeroy could almost pity the creature her delusions. But there was no doubt that she had an idea, and it might be very useful.
“Why don’t you tell us exactly how you expect to accomplish all this. And what you’ll expect from us in return. Then we’ll
just have to see, won’t we?”

“I’d say you’ve already seen,” Precious said, sitting up and pressing her breasts to her knees. “This is how it’ll be. With
my help. Pommy gets to marry Ella, who’ll bring us all the money we’ll ever need.”

Pomeroy narrowed his eyes and thrust a hand between her legs.