Under a Stern Reign (16 page)

‘Come here!' he shouted, his lips glistening wetly as though he'd been gorging on a juicy joint of meat, but Elise cupped his angry face and pulled it to her breasts, where he started lapping and gnawing again. Elise's hands slipped down to his breeches, she unfastened them, and they slipped to his ankles. The count raised his head from her breasts and began kissing her face and throat, his hands clasping her waist.

Genevieve took another hesitant step backwards. The count grabbed Elise and turned her around so that she faced the table, his hands grasping and kneading her buttocks, and then shoved her forward over the table with a heavy thrust that sent bone china plates and silver cutlery scattering, and smashed a crystal wine glass.

Without pausing he clutched her buttocks and thrust his erection into her with one powerful stab of his hips. She stiffened and her mouth opened in a silent scream of mixed joy and shock, the count thrusting so aggressively that Genevieve could hear Elise's middle bumping against the table edge. He grunted and pumped even faster, his face distorted by a fierce snarl of pleasure, beads of sweat trickling from his forehead. Genevieve stepped back further, just as he looked at her.

‘Where do you think you're going?' he hissed breathlessly, his jaw tightly clenched. ‘I think it's high time you had some of this too, dear girl...'

Genevieve shook her head in denial, unable to speak as she backed further away. Elise cried out, her eyes tightly shut.

De Tranville grasped her wrists, folded them behind her back and held them there, all the time staring into Genevieve's eyes as he fucked his stepdaughter, mocking her... challenging her. She returned his stare for as long as she could, then turned and ran out of the room.

 

 

 

Rodolfo took a clean white shirt from his trunk, flapped it once and spread it over the bed. Claudine and Juliette were getting on his nerves. Increasingly his mind had been turning back to the night he had dinner at Count de Tranville's chateau. He removed the shirt he was wearing ponderously, the image of the young blonde sitting across the dinner table from him on his mind. What a remarkably lovely thing she was.

And yet his lustful eye had flitted from her to the other one, Elise. Perhaps the blonde's shyness made her too much like hard work at a place where he would only spend one night. Time had been short, and the brunette was clearly a safer bet, and as usual his judgement had been proved absolutely correct.

But as he recalled the blonde's eyes, he slowly identified what he could trace there. It was not just girlish innocence, the naïve coyness of a sweet virgin. No, there was something in those eyes that was trying to say something to him, and was at the same time painfully ashamed of what they were trying to say. There was longing; a quietly contained desire that was afraid of itself. Her soul was trying to prise its way out through those sapphire eyes, telling him that she wanted something from him, that she wanted him to take something from her.

Elise, meanwhile, had such a completely different message. Her eyes gazed at him with the knowledge of all the beauty she possessed and an arrogant disregard for whether he appreciated it or not. Her eyes had known pleasures, and rather than be afraid of them, she used them to make herself stronger.

There was a power that radiated from Elise. Her eyes betrayed a soul that was dauntless, obsessed by one thing, whatever it be, and that all other things that stood in the way were like playthings, there for her amusement, pleasure, or curiosity.

She had so coolly sucked his cock that night, so casual, so assured of his readiness, his willingness to participate and enjoy her chosen activity. What if she had not come to his room? Might he have spent more time thinking of the other one? Might he have gone to Genevieve, even just to talk with her, to find out what her eyes tried to hide, what she wanted from him?

He looked back at Claudine and Juliette, a deep frown on his face. He could not wait to return to the Count de Tranville's chateau, he realised. He wanted to see that girl again, to look into the mystery of those eyes that seemed to beg something secret from him, and from him alone...

 

Rodolfo needed to remain clear in his mind, alert to pursuers. He jumped up beside the coachman and ordered him to ride like the wind to Count de Tranville's chateau.

His eyes glinted brightly in the moonlight and his jaw was so tensely set that the coachman shifted uncomfortably, cursing under his breath each time Rodolfo shouted at him to go faster. With his whip lashing at the four horses they pounded through the dark streets towards the edge of town and the countryside beyond, Rodolfo only too grateful he'd left the burden of the two whores behind when he stealthily rose from their bed and slipped like a phantom from their lodgings. They would only have slowed him down, putting them all at peril, and he was relieved he'd made the right decision.

He regularly turned to peer anxiously over his shoulder into the darkness they left behind, expecting to see a mob giving chase on horseback. He'd heard tell from his sources that the revolutionaries were preparing to pay an imminent visit to Count de Tranville, and he simply had to get there first. No rabble appeared to be in pursuit, but still he bawled at the coachman to make haste, promising to make it worth his while, threatening him if he delayed.

The dangers of the revolution had always been on his mind, but it had never seemed so real or so close as it did now. He was a wanted man. They would try to hunt him down, and if captured they would seek to have him killed without trial or ado.

But how did they know of him? And did they know more? Did they know he was heading to Count de Tranville to escort the count and his two charges out of the country? How could they?

It had to be betrayal. Someone had betrayed him, and perhaps, betrayed them all. But who, and why? They would need to make haste. The longer they stayed the more dangerous it would be for all of them. He stroked the dagger in his inside pocket. It gave him a little comfort to feel the lethal, loyal blade.

He glanced back again, his eyes squinting into the night as he searched the inky-black road and fields behind them. He could have sworn he heard the beat of hooves behind him, but his own coach was moving so fast it was hard to tell. He saw nothing, in any case.

Who had betrayed them? He gazed at the old coachman beside him. Could it have been him? Had he been in town gossiping, talking of his Portuguese master? The old man twitched beneath Rodolfo's scrutiny. He was a wizened but kindly looking soul. Rodolfo shook his head; escape was the only thing to think about now, it was too late and too dangerous to start planning retribution.

It was just after midnight when Rodolfo's coach swung to a halt in front of Count de Tranville's chateau, the horses snorting and sweating heavily, steam rising from their sleekly muscled bodies. He was exhausted too, and like the courageous animals his back was bathed in sweat despite the chill of the night. He patted the coachman's shoulder and sprang down, telling him to be prepared to leave hastily.

With bleary, brooding eyes he thumped impatiently on the front door with his fist, gazing up at the ivy-clad walls of the chateau front. It seemed alluring in its grandeur, but somehow too dark, distant, cold.

There was no response, but Rodolfo thumped noisily again until finally an elderly maid in an old nightgown opened it and smiled at him timidly.

Rodolfo apologised for waking the old lady as he stepped inside and headed straight for the drawing room, where the maid told him she thought her master was, expecting to find the elegant Frenchman and honourable friend of his father enjoying a quiet cigar and a brandy alone, but he was shocked as he knocked and pushed open the door without awaiting a response.

Elise stood there, her arms behind her back. Behind her, draped on a sofa, was Count de Tranville, and their appearance left him curious and speechless.

Elise's lovely face shone brightly, her cheeks glowing, her throat covered in a hot flush. Her sleek black hair hung to her shoulders, slightly dishevelled. She wore the most alluring dress, red silk that clung to her curves, and from the bodice of which her magnificent breasts threatened to spill at any moment. The top two fastenings of the bodice were not fastened, the material straining to contain those luscious breasts, and he got the distinct impression she had hastily slipped the dress on as he stood outside pounding on the front door.

She smiled at him, a replete, mischievous twinkle in her eye. Not sure what to say or do Rodolfo looked to the count, and gawped. Surely it could not be the same man. His white flowing shirt was hanging open, revealing a pale chest. He was shoeless, ruddy of face, and a glassy stupor filled his eyes, like a man who had all his senses so sated that he'd lost his mind.

‘Dear Rodolfo, it's been so long since we've had the pleasure,' Elise started coolly. ‘You must forgive the appearance of the count and I. We were having a small celebration and were only just getting ready to retire... your visit comes most unexpectedly, Rodolfo. Why, we thought you would not be arriving until tomorrow.'

The young man remained silent for a few moments. How strange a mood the girl seemed to be in. She looked as if she had been caught in a state of intense passion, like one making love, and her tone, why, she sounded more like the man's wife or mistress than his stepdaughter!

‘I must beg your forgiveness, too,' he replied slowly, eyeing them both cautiously. ‘As you correctly say, I had planned to arrive tomorrow, but somehow it seems the revolutionary committee has caught wind of who I am and I had to escape in haste. Hence, the poverty of my appearance.'

‘Rodolfo,' the count mumbled with a slack jaw. ‘Is that you?' Through a haze of alcohol the man had only just recognised the new arrival. He made an effort to stand but staggering, thought better of it, and flopped down again. ‘Why, this is unexpected,' he groaned. ‘Do come and sit down.'

‘Sir,' Rodolfo started impatiently, getting more uneasy with every minute that passed, ‘there is not much time to lose. I fear that the revolutionaries could be coming here very soon - by as early as tomorrow, perhaps. If we are to leave, we must leave quickly.'

The count gazed vacantly at him without a word or reaction in response to the grave news. He seemed to be in a trance, as if not hearing what had just been said, let alone grasping the enormity of it. Rodolfo frowned in frustration.

‘My stepfather is exhausted,' Elise said. ‘He's also a little the worse for drink at the moment.'

Rodolfo gazed at her, stunned by the apparent lack of concern either showed for the graveness of their situation.

‘Why, you also look exhausted,' she went on in a cool, hushed tone.

Rodolfo needed to rouse the count, but the man was clearly in no state for action.

‘I believe it might be best if you get some rest,' Elise suggested, ignoring his agitation. ‘We can assess our predicament in the morning, when we are all feeling refreshed and able to make pertinent decisions. And my stepfather has made some changes to his plans of which he will need to inform you. But it must wait until tomorrow, when we are all rested and ready.'

Rodolfo nodded; perhaps she was right. They had a little time, he assessed, and with the count in such a state, and with his own exhaustion making him edgy and perhaps clouding his judgment it was probably better to take the opportunity to snatch a few hours' rest. Hopefully the count would have sobered up by dawn and they could start out then. He smiled politely to Elise and agreed with her, accepting her offer of a bed for the night.

‘Come,' she beckoned, leading him by the hand, ‘let me show you to your room. I will come back and help my stepfather up to his bedchamber once you are settled.'

He followed the enticing beauty up the stairs and along the dimly lit landing, taking a moment to forget their troubles and instead enjoying the view of her temptingly swaying bottom within the red silk dress. He suddenly thought of Genevieve. Where was she? Asleep in her bed, no doubt. They stopped at a closed door.

‘Your room,' Elise purred, her tone dripping with sultry suggestion. ‘It's the same one you slept in the last time you stayed here... do you remember that...?'

He smiled. ‘Of course, how could I ever forget it?'

Elise pursed her rouged lips and gazed fleetingly down at his groin, the tip of her tongue appearing for a moment, then back up into his dark eyes. Then she smiled and bid him goodnight, taking him aback somewhat, leaving him wishing he'd pulled her into the bedroom with him as he watched her drift elegantly back towards the stairs.

 

Exhausted, Rodolfo did not bother to undress. Instead he threw himself heavily across the bed and closed his tired eyes, exulting in the feel of his tensed and knotted muscles at last finding a little time to relax. Soon he drifted off to sleep...

 

He awoke shortly after. There were noises outside his room. He lay with his eyes open for a while, breathing silently - listening intently.

There were whispered female voices, fading in the direction of the stairs. He rose slowly, not wanting to make any noise that might give away his state of wakefulness. Carefully he moved like a shadow to the door, pulled it ajar, and listened again.

The whispers were heading down the stairs, so he opened the door and slipped out, heading after them.

The hall below was in darkness, just a narrow beam of light from the slightly ajar door of the drawing room piercing the gloom. The voices became louder as he crept down, and were now joined by the deeper tones of the count. He stepped to the door, put a hand flat against it, and peered into the room.

Count de Tranville looked more aware of his surroundings now, and was seated with a little more decorum than before, although the wine was clearly still flowing freely, the red contents of a crystal glass slopping precariously in one hand as he belched and gazed loosely at Elise and another girl, both standing quietly before him, their backs to the door from where Rodolfo lurked in shadow. The count chuckled drunkenly, lewdly.

Elise still wore the red dress that made her so enticing to the eye, and the other girl wore nothing more than a simple white nightdress, her golden hair caressing her shoulders... but what really caught Rodolfo's eye was the curtain cord that bound her wrists behind her back, her dainty hands resting together on the upper slopes of her pert bottom!

It was dear Genevieve, he realised.

The count's head wobbled a little as he slurped more wine, his lips struggling to find the rim of the glass, his tongue protruding and helping them locate it but not before some spilled onto his shirtfront.

‘What sport have we now, Elise?' he asked, slurring slightly, his eyes struggling to stay fully open, one more than the other. With his free hand he lewdly rubbed the evident lump in his lap.

Elise smiled. ‘Well,' she started, ‘you now know fully what Genevieve's tastes are. As your dutiful stepdaughter I've done my best to show you that she feels nothing for men, to save you from making a fool of yourself by persisting with this foolish idea of proposing marriage to her.'