The Muse (20 page)

Imogene was spellbound as she watched him put himself inside her.  He did it slowly, with precision and total control, watching right along with her as his hard, hot cock burrowed into her cunny inch by inch.

The carnal sight of their intimacy, combined with the intense feelings of pleasure as he filled her up, quickly reduced her to incoherent.  Nothing more existed in the universe than him and her striving toward the beauty of fulfilment, and that perfect instant in time before it blasted a body to the heavens, and back again.

Imogene put herself into her husband’s capable hands and let him take her there.

Which he did with skillful attention.

Graham’s big hands gripped her hips hard as he sank his cock into her over and over in long, gliding strokes, his hair whipping back and forth from his harsh movements.

“Look at me,” he demanded as he thrust into her harder.  “Look into my eyes, Imogene.  Feel me in you.  Know how beautiful you are to me when you give yourself like this.  Feel how much I love you.”

“I love youuuuu!” she shouted as she crashed over the precipice of a shearing climax, utterly lost to the fiery pleasure, and to the love she felt from Graham.

FACING his beauty in the bed after that explosive love-making, Graham was quiet.  He didn’t really have any words that needed saying at the moment.  No words he could speak out loud in any case.

He’d just indulged in a fantasy fucking with his princess.  He loved his princess with all of his heart, but
had
most definitely fucked her soundly just now.  And the miraculous part was she hadn’t seemed horrified or put out by his demands, either.  She’d taken every bit of it and given back to him passionately.  He did wonder why she’d crawled away from him right before he took her, though.  The small sliver of doubt was replaced with the impression she’d been playing, and not really trying to get away from him at all.  How in the hell could he ask her a question like that?  Impossible.  So, he just admired her beauty instead, and counted his blessings.

She held him in a spell of enchantment.  This was his best explanation of what Imogene was to him.

Eventually she broke the silence.  “Although inspirational, these jewels were never intended to produce comfort while sleeping, I am sure.”

He chuckled at her wry joke.  “I agree.  Though they served their purpose admirably, let me relieve you of them now.”  Carefully opening the choker’s clasp, he lifted it away from her neck before fishing the tiara out of her tumbling locks, setting both pieces onto the bedside table.  He stroked her luxurious hair, removing all the many pins until it flowed out free.  “Thank you for indulging me my vision.  I love you so much…
Je ťaime tellement.
You are a wonderment to me, Imogene.  I shall have to work very hard to come up with new ways to show you how much I do love you.”

“Do not work too hard, my darling, you are in top form already.  Also, your skills as a lady’s maid run to the profound, so you may always fall back on them.”

Pulling her to him possessively, he murmured into her hair, “You are the only lady that shall ever benefit from my…skills.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about just a moment ago, Graham.”

“I am wondering how I managed to live without you for so many years.”  Again she surprised him with her keen sense of perception.  She suspected he was self-doubting.  Imogene could read him like an open book.

When she smiled softly and reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear he gained the courage to ask her.

“Why did you back away from me,
chérie
?”

“I do not know.”  Her lashes fluttered.  “I—I wanted you to capture me.”

I was right
.  “If you only knew how much I loved every minute of capturing you,
chérie
.”

She gave him a naughty wink.  “I cannot wait to see the look upon Hester’s face when she sees the destruction you have wrecked upon my clothing and this room.”

He immediately began to tickle her.  “You are quite the trickster,
chérie
, always thinking of some humorous bedevilment.  Now be a good girl,” he teased, tickling her some more.

Shrieking and laughing, she tried to wriggle away. “I will be good!  I will be a good girl for you,” she shouted before clapping her hands to her mouth, mortified at the noise.  “Oh Lord, the servants.  What will they think of me?  Of us?”

“It does not matter what they think.  Besides, you are so endearing to everybody; nothing would ever cause you to receive their disdain.”

“I’m pleased to see I’ve blinded you to my faults.”

“You have faults?” he teased.  “How is that possible,
chérie
?”

“Mmmm, a great many faults I am afraid.”

“Highly unlikely,” he murmured.

Graham continued to watch his wife for a time.  Not quite believing his great fortune in securing her love and awakening her passionate nature, unable to comprehend how he had found her, but so very grateful nonetheless.

Knock off the chains

Of heart-debasing slavery; give to man,

Of every colour and of every clime,

Freedom, which stamps him image of his God.

James Grainger   ~ The Sugar Cane, 1764

THE
miles of road between London and Gavandon were swallowed up by the coach as Imogene watched Graham dozing in the seat across from her.  They had been married barely a fortnight.  Much of that time spent in the master’s suite of Brentwood.  Emerging from their passionate lair, they had, on occasion, ventured out to the opera, and once to the theatre in the evenings.  They had managed to ingest some of their dinners while staring at one another over their plates.  One Sunday they had even attended church at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and reminisced about their wedding day.  An entire day had even been given up to stroll through The British Museum, arm-in-arm, viewing the recently acquired Elgin Marbles, or Parthenon Marbles as they were also known.  The carved bodies were stunning in execution, but it was also disconcerting to see such beautiful and ancient works of art cut apart and lying on the floors.  Both of them had to wonder as to the correctness of taking the marble masterpieces from their native Greece.

The journey over winter-ravaged roads was definitely no leisure spree.  But last night—last night had been very pleasant.  Imogene smiled, remembering their stay at the inn.

They stopped their travelling for a night of rest at The Lion’s Crown, a fine establishment that Graham said he had used many times.  He’d notified the proprietor in advance to prepare for their arrival, and who greeted them personally at the entrance.

“Lord Rothvale.”  He bowed.  “The Lion welcomes you and your lady.”

“Ah, Jacobson, hello.  Your place is a welcome sight after the inside of a carriage on these blasted roads.”  He turned to Imogene.  “Allow me to introduce Mr. Jacobson, the proprietor of this excellent establishment, and the most devilishly talented of cooks as you shall see.”  He winked at her.  “Jacobson, my bride, Imogene, Lady Rothvale.”

Mr. Jacobson was younger than Imogene expected him to be for a proprietor of such an establishment.

Smiling at her with kind, dark eyes, he bowed again in welcome.  “Lord and Lady Rothvale, congratulations upon the occasion of your marriage, and may I say, you honor us here at The Lion.”

“Thank you for your gracious welcome, Mr. Jacobson.  My husband assures me he wouldn’t consider staying at any other establishment aside from yours while travelling this way.”

Jacobson flashed a quick look toward Graham before tilting his head in acknowledgement.  “We are ever here to serve you, my lady.”

“See there?  In the space of just a few words and a smile, my wife has secured another admirer,” Graham teased good naturedly.  “I am constantly amazed at how easy these things are for her to accomplish.”

Mr. Jacobson laughed in easy conversation as he showed them inside.

Once settled into their room, they gratefully sat down to a lovely dinner of venison and potatoes, and the most delicious bread Imogene had ever tasted.  “Mr. Jacobson is indeed a talented cook.  I should like to have his recipe for this bread.  Do you think you might get it out of him?” Imogene asked.

“I’ll look into it for you,
chérie
.”  His eyes twinkled at her.  “You enchant people without even realizing it.”

“You enchant me, and I am fairly sure you are well aware of it,” she answered.

After the wonderful meal, while readying themselves for bed, Imogene thought Graham looked a trifle mischievous and sneaky standing there in his robe, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“What are you up to, husband?”

“Nothing really.”  He tapped the book he held in his hand, grinning.

“What have you planned?  With you, there is always some sort of concocted plan.”

“I thought I might read to you for an hour or so.”  His answer surprised her.

“How lovely.  And what shall my ears be attending to?”

“Oh, just a volume of verses I stumbled upon.”  He shrugged.  “Let’s see,” he said, making a show of reading the cover, “it is entitled ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ and by a poet, perhaps you’ve heard of him?  He is called Lord Byron.”

“No!  You got a copy of Byron’s latest book?  How on earth?  It sold out immediately and nobody can buy a copy.”

“I did indeed, and it was not easy.  I procured it in Town for the sole purpose of entertaining you upon this trip, that is, if it will not offend.”

“I am sure my sensibilities can handle it.  I like a challenge, remember?”

“I never forget it,
chérie. 
But if the words are anything like the man, you should brace yourself to be in the least, shocked.  He does nothing in half-measures.”

“You know him?” she asked incredulously.  “You know Lord Bryon!”

“Well, yes.  I have had occasion to meet him through the connection of another.  And he was also at Cambridge while I was still at my studies.

“What is he like?  I have wondered if there is a possible connection in our families because we share a surname.”

“Yes.  I’ve speculated the same.  About Byron I can tell you he is a conflicted person, delving into all manner of outrageous behaviours publically, which probably will be his downfall one day.  But, that aside, the man
can
write a poem.”  Graham helped to settle her into bed next to him, fished out his glasses, put them on and began to read…

Adieu, adieu! my native shore

Fades o’er the waters blue.

Imogene loved the sound of Graham’s intonation as he read aloud.  She soaked up the image of him reading to her as the pages turned one by one, the beautiful words falling from his lips.  As he read another part, Graham’s eyes grew wider.  “Incredible!  He is referring to the Elgin Marbles.  Listen to this stanza.”

Dull is the eye that will not weep to see

Thy wall defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed

By British hands, which it had best behoved…

…And snatch’d thy shrinking gods to northern climes abhorred!

“It seems as if Byron did not care for their removal any more than we did.”  Graham continued his melodious reading and Imogene relished it, every word…

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet

To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.

…He stopped reading then, and looked over for her reaction.

She couldn’t help staring at him. “You are quite a contradiction of images right now, my husband,” she said dreamily.

“How so?”

“Well, on the one part you look like an Adonis with your hair loosed and your skin showing with your robe open, just here.”  She touched her own chest evocatively in the place she indicated.  “And on the other part, you have the look of a brilliant professor pouring over your book with your reading glasses and your dark robe.”  She whispered at him naughtily, “Professor Adonis.”

Graham’s pupils dilated and she saw him swallow hard at her teasing.
 
He removed his glasses and gawked at her.

She kept at her merciless teasing, enjoying his reaction immensely.

“Professor Adonis, I beg of you sir to help me.  I have need of your… instruction.  Can you help me with that last stanza you’ve just read?  You know the part about when ‘Youth and Pleasure meet’?
 
What do you imagine the author was trying to convey there?  Could you tutor me on it and help me to see it with clarity, Professor Adonis?  I
know
you can.  You are
so
wise and
so
—”

Graham silenced her with his mouth and the book fell off the bed with a thud.  There were other sounds too.  Gasping, grappling, giggling, and the swishing of garments.

“Professor Adonis, you naughty man!  Ah…your hands…ah…oh my…your hands are
very
wayward.  What
is
that, Professor?  What is that hard thing you have pressed against me?  Do you carry a weapon under your scholars robe, sir?  Oh!  Professor!  I do believe you mean to stab me.  Oh dear me, am I in danger?”

“Great, grave danger,” the Professor replied hoarsely.

GRAHAM awakened from his sleep in the coach to find his wife observing him and grinning like a devil.  “What?”

She giggled.  “I was remembering our tutoring session of last night,
Professor
.”

Graham stared at her with such longing, it pained him.  He would remember her merry little game of professor and student until he drew his last breath.  Imogene had made his life enjoyable again.  She alone had accomplished that remarkable feat.

He slowly shook his head back and forth and wagged a finger at her. “Tsk, tsk, my lady.  You are a most wicked creature, teasing me when I can do nothing about it while we are in the damn coach.  But you know that already, don’t you?  You are very aware of your effect upon me.  My God!  Being married to you is going to be so amusing and diverting.  I hope you keep me in this state of complete bewitchment for the next fifty years or so.”

“But of course, my lord, I intend to take my charge seriously, to keep you so, with the upmost integrity.”  She blew a kiss at him.

“I have just one word for you,
chérie
.”

“What is the word?”

“Repayment.”  He rolled it off his tongue with a salacious drawl.

“Fine,” she purred.  “I’m bored.  How about you read me some more out of Byron’s book?”

“WE are almost there, truly?  I cannot wait to see it—your home.”  Imogene peered out the window of the coach to see if any landmarks were visible she could ask him about.

“It is your home as well.  You are mistress of it even now,” he reminded her.  “I have a surprise for you.  Very soon now. I imagine you will be happy with it, and I can’t wait to see your reaction.  There you go.  Look now,” he told her.

Imogene saw rolling pasture, but just on the edge of the road stood a very large boy of about fifteen, an African with black skin.  He held the reins of two horses, a lovely brown mare and a dark bay with a white splash.