The Dollhouse Society Volume IV: Lucky (Includes Lady Luck, House of Dolls, The Reluctant Bride, A Woman on Top, plus a bonus story!) (16 page)

“
And you’re a fool, Tiberius Sloan. All that poetry for an unworthy bride.”

He looked briefly mortified that I should know his secret, then his military-inspired bearing kicked in again and he blanked his expression professionally. “You are more than worth any effort, my bride.”

“
Such nonsense,” I said and leaned forward to palm his cheek and kiss him ravenously, reveling in the warm familiarity of his lips. As I pulled away, I said, “Fetch a doctor for Stuart. He’s not a bad man, and he certainly deserves better than to die.” A dangerous numbness was overtaking me, the same as when I hunted a wild animal threatening my people. I thought about all the people that Mr. Van Tassel had harmed—all the people he would continue to hard, were he allowed to get away with this. I mounted Gunmetal and turned his head to the doors of the church, but Tiberius snatched at my reins.

“
Where are you going?” he demanded to know.

I pulled the gun from my garter and shook off Tiberius’s hold. I loved him, trusted him, but this I had to do alone. I smiled grimly down upon my lover. “I’m going to have a little talk with Mr. Van Tassel.” And then I rode from the church.

***

My father had taught me to track, just like he had taught me how to shoot and to use a cold compress on a gunshot wound to slow the bleeding. And with the new snowfall, it wasn’t very difficult to figure out what path Mr. Van Tassel had taken. I caught up with him at the edge of town just as he stumbled into the deep woods. I forged ahead, through the snow-laden trees and drifts, hardly feeling the chill as I pursued the source of so much of my family’s misery.

The eastern part of the woods eventually brought one out to the same ravine that bordered my father’s estate. I knew it was only a matter of time, tracking, and patience before I caught up with Mr. Van Tassel as he tromped through the deep woods, knee-deep in snow, disturbing trees, deer, and crackling endless twigs underfoot. In less than half an hour, I caught up to him at the edge of the ravine. By then, I realized my mistake.

As I broke out of the woods atop the barrel-chested Suffolk, I saw my enemy standing by the drop-off, the pistol in his hand. I knew he’d had only one shot with the flintlock, but I had no idea if he’d been able to reload while he was stumbling through the woods, and I was unwilling to find out the hard way. I had no desire to be shot, or to allow harm to Gunmetal, so I approached him carefully. I fingered my own pistol and said, “It’s over. There’s nowhere else to run, Mr. Van Tassel.” My voice was dead but strong, and it echoed across the valley.

He eyed me like some trapped and panicked reptile, the kind that might strike out at any moment. I had to remind myself that he had shot his own brother in cold blood. He could easily kill me, given the opportunity. “What will you do, girl? Take me back to town to stand trial?”

“
I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

He glanced aside at the ravine as if trying to judge whether a fall would kill him or not. The mountain was very steep and rocky on that side, and it eventually led to the muddy banks of the Nissequogue River. Over the years, several people had made the mistake of getting too close to the edge, particularly in the dark of night. No, he wouldn’t survive such a fall. Yes, he still contemplated it.

I waited for him to make his decision. When he did, I felt the little hairs on my arms stand at rigid attention. He swung around with the pistol. He aimed it for my chest. I knew then that it was loaded. But I was my father’s lucky shot, and before he’d squeezed the trigger, I had my grandfather’s gun raised and my single shot had clipped him high up in the shoulder and spun him around so his own shot went wild over the valley. Then he dropped over the edge with a scream, scratching and clawing at the ground with his fingertips.

I listened to his scrambling as he tried to find a foothold. I casually dismounted my horse and approached the edge. I felt numb, but I was shaking all over. I had never shot a man before. I looked down.

Mr. Van Tassel hung on by some rocks and roots sticking out of the frozen ground. I thought how he was so much like the fox I had shot all those months ago, a wild creature of destruction that needed to be put down for the good of all. “You shot your own brother, Mr. Van Tassel, and you destroyed my father,” I said, looking down at him and feeling almost nothing. “Your jealousy threatens the welfare of everyone in the Society. I wonder, do I save you or do I let you fall? You’ve caused so much misery…”

He kicked and struggled. Inch by inch, he slowly lost his grip. “Lucky, please…show mercy…”

Sighing, I dropped down to my haunches and reached for his hand.

He grabbed it. And then he pulled me over the edge.

I screamed too.

***

In the end what saved me were some frozen bushes that managed to snag in my skirts. They slowed my descent long enough for me to scramble up a handhold. Scratching at the frozen ground, gasping and heaving with effort, I was able to find a toehold, but even then, it was mostly the bush keeping me from sliding down the slick, rocky side of the ravine.

I gasped as I clawed at the rocks. “Why?” I managed over the howling of the winter wind.

Mr. Van Tassel made a guttural sound that was almost a laugh. “I won’t let you win, my dear. If I go, you go.”

“
You really are the devil,” I said.

“
Yes, yes,” Mr. Van Tassel agreed. “I really am the devil…!”

And then someone shot Mr. Van Tassel in the face. The blast of the flintlock deafened me for a moment, and the sordid stink of gunpowder burned my nose. I heard a bloody hiccup from my enemy, and then he began sliding down the mountain with increasing speed, leaving a long streak of scarlet blood in the snow.

I looked up and saw Tiberius standing at the edge of the ravine. He reached down, snagged my hand, and easily pulled me up over the edge and into his arms. “Lucky, you really are the most infuriating girl,” he complained, and kissed me.

I reached up and hooked my arms around his neck and kissed him back, sighing and shuddering with relief against him. I started muttering all kinds of excuses for my behavior, but he shushed me and gathered me against his warmth.

I was alive, I realized. And I was with the man I loved.

With a cry, I leaped into his arms and he fell back into a snow bank with a grunt. I didn’t stop there. I held him down and kissed him until he was breathless. Then I kissed him some more. He felt so good against me, beneath me. I ripped at his shirt and waistcoat and buried my face in his chest, breathing in his sweetly familiar male scent until he groaned and clutched the back of my head. I licked at his exposed nipples, then took one in my mouth and began to suck, hard.

“
Lucky,
what
are you doing?” he asked with delight.

“
I’m so happy to see you,” I cried, stopping just long enough to breathe and speak. “Do you want me to stop?”

“
No, of course not.”

I immediately went back to suckling him until he grunted, then moved down his body a little ways and licked along his lower belly. I quickly undid his trousers and licked a path around his swiftly stiffening cock. I licked the underside of his shaft from the bottom to its swollen head. I licked under the head in that little spot that so often made him gasp and tremble for me. I gripped his velvety testes, rolling them delicately in my hand. Tiberius automatically bucked his hips upward. I took the head of him in my mouth and sucked rapaciously until he shivered and convulsed in my mouth. I tasted the familiar stickiness of his heat and flavor. Then I moved up his body, shifted away my undergarments, and impaled myself upon him.

It was all so sudden that we both cried out in delight. I held his eyes as I began to move upon him. He tilted his head back in the snow, all his beautiful, rich dark hair fanned out around him, and gave himself over to me completely. I gripped his shoulders and held him down as I rode him hard. I knew how much he loved this, having a woman on top.

“
Come hard, Lucky,” he told me. “And come soon.”

“
Yes, my love,” I told him as I swiftly worked him up to orgasm. “But only if you’ll put me upon that beautiful horse and ride me back to the church so we can be properly married.”

“
Yes,” he said urgently between the biting, searing kisses I was giving him. “Oh yes. Now hurry, love. Hurry!”

“
Hurry?”

“
Lucky, you’re giving my bum frostbite here.”

“
Oh!”

The End

Bonus Story:

TWO HUNDRED AND SEVEN YEARS LATER

Long Island, New York, 2012

The Masqued Ball was an annual and highly anticipated event at The Dollhouse.

Every year, Malcolm and his small group of board members went out of their way to make it something special, often putting thousands of dollars into decorations and catering. But in an effort to keep the Society as private as possible, no clean-up or maid service was ever employed. That was left up to the board members to do.

Not that they minded, because this, like anything else, was also a part of Jeremiah Hampton’s legacy. They could do what they wanted with his house, but their benefactor, on his deathbed, had made the Society promise they would care for the place, keep it private, and, above all, make use of it.

Sometime after the last canapé was eaten, the last bottle of champagne opened, and the last private play finished, Malcolm Sloan, Ian Sterling, Wolfgang Beck and Alexei Karenina started the process of putting the Dollhouse back to sorts, collecting dishes and glasses, resetting the furnishings, and generally securing the house. “The girls,” as Malcolm liked to call them, were encouraged to wait and relax in the anteroom with a final bottle of champagne between them. The courtesans had given the Dollhouse hours of entertainment, and he didn’t like to see them reduced to maid service.

“
The girls” included Evelyn Sterling, Rachaela Lee, Devon Grayson and Daniel Collins. It was a term of endearment that Devon had been trying, unsuccessfully, to break his gentleman of for years.  Devon enjoyed the girls company immensely. He sat between Evelyn and Rachaela, his two favorite dolls, while they worked on fixing his manicure. Daniel took up the whole sofa opposite them, an ice bag on his head as he waited for his headache to lessen. As it turned out, Daniel wasn’t much of a drinker.

“
How do you manage the vodka in your household?” Devon asked him. “I know Alexei drinks that stuff that’s filtered like a million times through dry ice or whatever. Smirnoff on steroids.”

Daniel grimaced. “I don’t touch that stuff.” He glanced over at the mess of champagne bottles on the table. “And to be honest, after tonight, I think I might become a teetotaler.”

“
You have good sense, then, Daniel,” Rachaela informed him as she used a buffer to polish Devon’s nails to a luster.

“
You’re such a mom,” Devon complained, grinning at her.

“
Yes, I am,” she agreed wholeheartedly, and Evelyn laughed at that.

“
Don’t pick on Rachaela,” Evelyn warned Devon. “I’m learning from her.”

“
Me too,” Daniel piped up from beneath his ice bag. “Without her, I’d be lost.”

“
Honey, you’re a perfect mom already,” Rachaela complimented Evelyn. She waved a nicely manicured hand at Daniel. “And you’ll do fine, Daniel. Stop worrying so much.”

When they met up for mid-week lunch, usually at their usual luncheon spot at Café Luna on Broadway, Evelyn sometimes brought her and Ian’s infant son with her. She propped Hunter up in a highchair so he could munch on a French fry while the girls gossiped about their various gentleman. Rachaela, who had a daughter of her own and was trying for a second child with her gentleman, Wolf, often acted like Hunter’s second mom. But lately, she’d begun encouraging Daniel to hold the baby and take care of him during their lunch date—something of a primer, she explained, since Daniel and Alexei would be adopting an infant very soon and Daniel had little to no experience in parenting, though he had plenty of enthusiasm.

Devon sat between his dolls, listening to them chat, gossip, and bicker, and felt very much at home. They were his girls, his best friends, his family. Before them, he’d never realized how alone he sometimes felt, even among the other courtesans. But he, Evelyn, Rachaela and Daniel were close, more like family than anything he had ever known, even among his own clan, a bunch of East End drunks, criminals and ne’re-do-wells who wouldn’t know family if it bit them on the face.

Soon—much too soon, as far as Devon was concerned—the gentlemen reappeared to collect their respective courtesan or courtier, and it was time to say goodnight to everyone. “You lazy cow,” Malcolm laughed over Devon’s prone form. Devon had taken up residence on the sofa after Daniel had vacated it to walk Alexei back to his car.

Devon laughed and cushioned his head on his arms as he glanced up at his gentleman and life partner. “I’m just one of the dolls, my good sir. I don’t have to do anything but look good tonight. It’s my job.”

Malcolm nodded with approval. “You look very good on that white pleather. I should get my camera.”

“
You’re too drunk to shoot straight, old man.”

Malcolm touched his heart. “I’m never too drunk to appreciate beauty in its natural environment.” And to prove it, he straddled Devon’s hips and leaned forward on his knuckles to tease Devon’s lips apart with his tongue. Devon moaned as Malcolm deepened the kiss and nibbled delicately on his bottom lip.

Malcolm Sloan was middle-aged and of middling height. He leaned toward a heavier girth, a result of years of running one of the bigger publishing conglomerates in the city of New York. His hair was medium brown and his eyes a medium grey. His nondescript banker looks were so average as to make him invisible on the New York streets, and Devon often joked that he would have made an excellent FBI agent, the kind of guy no one would notice, even were he waving a gun around in the middle of Grand Central Station.