Virginia Henley (33 page)

“It is within your power to make me more than happy. You would make me jubilant if you were kind to me, Pussy.”

“Prinny, I have been more than kind to you. I have allowed you privileges I would allow no other man on earth.”

George came around the table to her, the food at last forgotten. “Give me your little paw,” he commanded.

Maria obeyed and he covered it with kisses. Then he drew her from her chair and led her to a substantial couch. Now that he had her captive beside him, his lips touched the rapid pulse in her wrist and trailed up her pleasingly plump arm to her shoulder.

“Pussy, you excite me beyond my endurance. Beneath my princely robes, Puss, I am but a man,” he said meaningfully.

“A prince is greater than other men, Prinny.”

“That is true, Pussykins. Therefore does it not follow that a prince’s needs are also greater? My lovely, it is painful for me to be continually in this condition without hope of release. Surely you do not wish to give me pain, Maria?”

“Your Highness, I cannot give myself to any but a lawful husband,” she said primly.

“We are back to ‘Highness, I see.”

Maria could hear the great hurt in his voice.

“Your arrows have pierced me to the heart, cruel, cruel huntress. Have you no balm for my wound?”

“Prinny, I love you!” she cried. “Do not bring dishonor to me!”

“Pussy, Pussy, with my body I thee honor, not dishonor!”

“Ah, now you mock me with lines from the marriage ceremony.”

“Never that, my lovely. In my heart you are my true wife. I would give anything to be a true husband to you.” He could wait no longer to fondle her breasts.

She allowed him to unfasten her gown and let her crowning glories spring free. Maria knew the power of persuasion that her pair of advocates possessed.

The moment he took her breasts into his hands, George began to swell. Ah, God, what could he not achieve with this woman? He began to kiss her, but her lips did not deter him long from his real goal. His demanding mouth slid down her throat inch by inch until it finally closed hotly over a large fuchsia nipple. He could feel himself throbbing now and he could deny himself no longer. He began to suck, gently at first, then stronger and stronger.

Maria felt as if there were invisible threads of liquid fire connecting her breasts to her belly, and her belly to a much lower, much more intimate, place. “Oh, Geòrgie, don’t!” she begged. She groped toward him, intending to push him away, but somehow her lover’s robe had fallen open and her hands came in contact with his engorged phallus.

“Ooh, Georgie.” She gasped.

If her gown had not fallen about her waist, impeding him, he would have thrust home, dissolving her protests like snow in summer. As it was, there was only one fragrantly soft cleft luring him on where he could bury himself. His mouth came up to hers, taking her cries of half
protest, half delight, into himself as he pressed her back upon the silk-covered couch.

His large shaft slid into the deep cleft between her breasts and the heat from her body almost scalded him. The Prince began to moan and thrust in earnest. There was no stopping him now.

Maria clasped him to her bosom, delighted with his youthful, manly vigor. He had succeeded in arousing her own sleeping sensuality. This combined with the overwhelming sense of power she felt over the highest Prince in the Realm was enticingly irresistible. After this intimacy there was only one step left. She must not allow him to take that step until he had asked her to marry him.

He felt his seed start and sprawled upon her in a state of exhausted ecstasy. The moment had arrived when both must make their move and push for the thing they wanted most.

“Pussy, Pussy, I adore you. Let me spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me!”

“Your Highness, you have ruined my gown,” Maria said softly.

“My dearest, I will buy you a thousand gowns. Let me get a towel … let daddy make it all better.” He hurried to his bathroom and brought a crested Turkish towel. When he returned, Maria was crying softly.

“There, there, Pussykins, don’t cry.” Gently and with great reverence he wiped the lovely globes of her breasts and the valley between. He put his hand beneath her chin and raised it so that he could look into her eyes. “You have made me the happiest man in the world, Maria. Why are you crying?”

She raised tear-drenched eyes to his. “I am covered with shame. How could I have indulged in this forbidden tryst? I can never see you again.”

“Puss, Puss, I shall die without you. I want you to come and live with me. If I cannot have you with me day and night my life is utterly meaningless!”

“George, don’t, please, I beg you! Do not coerce me into a life of degradation.”

“Pussy, I love you! How can you say life with England’s Prince would be degrading?” he demanded.

Maria pulled up her Parma-violet satin with great dignity. “Even if you were a king it would be degrading without marriage.”

They were at an impasse. The Prince of Wales decided in that moment to acquire the magnificent jewels from Indian Savage. They would show Maria how much he valued her.

Maria decided in that moment it would be all or nothing. “I think you had better take me home, Your Highness.”

When Tony returned from the wig wholesalers Rosalind was entertaining Frances Jersey. Tony tried to slip upstairs, but no one ever had succeeded in eluding the elegant Lady Jersey.

“Anthony darling, you weren’t trying to avoid me, were you?”

“Ah, Lady Jersey, how lovely to see you again. I swear you must be a witch. You seem to get younger with each visit.”

Frances simpered up at Tony from her diminutive four foot eleven. “You flatter me vastly!”

“Lady Jersey, I am prodigiously truthful.”

“Anthony, you are one of the nicest boys I know. That is why you won’t say no when I ask that you attend Almack’s
tonight. We have so many young ladies, but not nearly enough dancing partners for them.”

“Ugh,” grimaced Tony, “I don’t mind the young ladies, it’s their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers I have an aversion to. You can’t get away from them. They have evolved a speech pattern that doesn’t require your participation, but it keeps you anchored to the spot for hours while you must politely listen.”

“As a special favor to me, dear boy. Roz has promised to attend as a chaperone, so you may escort her.”

Tony looked at her grandmother. “You’re really going to Almack’s?”

“I’m not quite ready for the chimney corner and a shawl yet, you know, I’m only in my forties.”

“How old?” Frances Jersey asked with disbelief.

“My
late
forties,” Roz amended.

“Mmm,
very
late forties,” Frances murmured cattily.

Tony shot her a dirty look. “Have you not told Lady Jersey about your virile major?” she asked as a parting shot, before she escaped upstairs.

Frances turned to Roz with raised eyebrows. “Virile? Major?” she repeated all agog.

The corners of Roz’s mouth lifted mischievously. “He’s very dashing, in a militant way. At first I wasn’t too attracted because he’s bald, but, Frances, I swear to you, without his clothes he is the most
naked
man I’ve ever seen. It’s extremely stimulating.”

Frances was speechless. Rosalind was satisfied that she had paid her back for the earlier insult.

Tony escorted her grandmother to Almack’s and stayed as long as she could bear it. The thing that appalled her was the innocence of the young girls her own age. Actually
innocence
was a misnomer. The young women had been kept downright ignorant of the reality of the opposite sex and the ways of the world. When she could stomach it no longer, she made her excuses to Roz and decided to walk back to Curzon Street.

Tony hadn’t walked a block when she felt a creepy feeling as if she was being followed. She glanced back, saw nothing, but nonetheless quickened her pace. She chided herself that she was allowing her imagination to run riot. Her ears were pricked for any furtive footfall, but all she heard was her own labored breathing.

She forced herself to calmness and once more glanced behind her. She saw something that looked like the shadow of a man. Though she had been keeping all thoughts of Bernard Lamb at bay, he now sprang full blown into her imagination. She quickly crossed the street, because the other side was better lit. She tried to reason with herself. There was no possible way Bernard could know she had attended Almack’s tonight. Unless of course he’d been following her since her return to London.

She sighed with relief as she saw a group of young bucks ahead of her. As she got closer, however, she saw that they wore the striped pantaloons of the Zebras from Eton. They were drunk and rowdy and actually attempting to smash the gas lamps along the street. To avoid them she cut down Clarges Street, which led into Curzon. As she turned the corner, a wedge of fear filled her throat as a tall figure raised what looked like a swordstick. The scream lodged in her throat as she lurched away from him. Relief washed over her as the gentleman merely touched his hat with his stick in polite greeting and passed on.

Tony picked up her feet and ran the last few hundred yards to the front door of the town house. She didn’t bother finding her key, but hammered loudly upon the door until Mr. Burke opened it. He took one glance at Antonia’s white face. “Shall I fetch the bucket?”

Tony fell into his arms. “No, no, Mr. Burke, but I could use a brandy!”

Before she went to bed Antonia jotted down in her journal how she had allowed her imagination to take control of her. It acted as a purge and she climbed into bed, laughing at her own foolishness!

Two evenings later was the gala entertainment everyone, but everyone, had been looking forward to. It was a rout al fresco to be held at Vauxhall Gardens. It was to have everything—musical entertainment, a banquet, a dance, and a new play at the Vauxhall Theater, where the Prince of Wales’s private box was shaped like a huge, glittering crown. The pièce de rèsistence was to be a fireworks display, telling the story of the descent of Orpheus into Hades.

By dusk the crowds had begun to cross the Thames to get to Vauxhall, which was across from Westminster Abbey. A mist had begun to float in from the river, which only added to the danger of the public gardens. The ton found Vauxhall an adventurous and glamorous place of amusement because it was frequented by pimps and prostitutes.

Between the highest and lowest denizens of society were vast crowds who simply found the place an irresistible gaze. Tony met some of her acquaintances lining up for wherries to get across the river. She attached herself to their party for the sheer security of numbers. Philip Frances, one of Prince George’s younger friends, was probably closest to her own age and they struck up a conversation. It seemed, however, that all he wanted to talk about was dueling and Colonel Dan Mackinnon’s gun collection. Tony repressed a shudder and, when they arrived at the gardens, attached herself to Amoret and Sheridan.

The gossip was all about Prince George and Mrs. Fitzherbert. Amoret confided that George had been asking all his friends if they thought he could defy the King and marry without his consent. Most were dubious that it was possible because of the obnoxious Marriage Act that proclaimed a member of royalty could not wed without the King’s consent before his or her twenty-fifth birthday.

“Why don’t they simply live together for a few short years until he’s twenty-five?” Tony asked Amoret.

“Mrs. Fitzherbert prefers death to dishonor. Respectability
is her god. But between you and me, she won’t let him fuck her until she’s the flaming Princess of Wales!”

“Haven’t they made love yet?” Tony asked in disbelief. “No wonder the Prince is filled with lust.”

“There’s only one cure for lust,” Sherry quipped. “Embalming fluid!”

“Blimey, this place invites lechery,” Amoret laughed, pointing down the walks bounded by high hedges and trees that led to secluded groves and grottoes.

Tony noticed that the mist was turning into fog and it gave the gardens an eerie atmosphere. The hundreds of lamps usually illuminated the whole twelve acres, but tonight the lamplight was dimmed by the patches of fog that floated over the trees and clung low to the gravel paths.

Tony caught a glimpse of a tall dark man with a flamboyantly dressed woman. It might not have been Adam Savage and Angela Brown, but it might just as well have been for the devastating effect it had on her. “It’s damp out here. Let’s cut through the pavilions and rotundas to get to the theater,” Tony suggested.

Some of the buildings were adorned with statues and paintings, while others were decorated by replicas of the sun, the stars, and all the constellations. The number in their party dwindled as many stopped at wine booths and others followed a marching band.

“Don’t you think we should dine before we go into the theater?” Amoret suggested.

Tony shrugged. “There’s such a crowd here, we’ll never get seats.”

“That’s true,” Amoret agreed. “Everyone will want a seat where they can observe the royal box as well as the stage.”

“All George wants is a private box at mons Venus,” Sherry quipped.

It took Tony a few moments before she understood the sexual innuendo. When she did, she delicately blushed.

“Sherry, my belly thinks my throat’s been cut,” Amoret complained.

“Oh, all right. I suppose I’m a bit peckish myself. If you’re not in the market for food, Tony, why don’t you go and save us some theater seats?”

Tony would have preferred they stick together, then chided herself for being ridiculous. Outside the fog was now thicker and the crowd had thinned out, or at least it seemed so because the heavy mist isolated people from each other.

Tony walked along the path, rounded a temple, and went through a portico covered by vines. As she left the portico she became aware of a crunching on the gravel path behind her. She stopped and turned about, but all she saw was pale lamplight through the swirling fog. She hurried her steps in the direction of the theater, but everything looked strangely different in the fog and she began to think she had taken a wrong turn. The music and the noise of the crowds seemed to be growing fainter with every step she took.

Her heart began to hammer because she could still hear footsteps behind her. She kept glancing over her shoulder, probably to reassure herself, because there were no shadowy figures to be seen, no matter how hard she stared along the pathways and into the bushes.

She was breathless now and disoriented and she began to run. Within a few minutes she realized it was the worst possible thing she could have done because she found herself in a remote part of the gardens where there were only lawns and cascading trees.

She knew she must stop running and gather her wits. If there was one thing Tony despised, it was cowardice. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire from running and breathing in the fog. Taking her courage in both hands she stepped onto the lawn and shouted, “Bernard Lamb, come out in the open where I can see you, you sniveling coward!” Silence.

“Come and fight me like a man, you son of a bitch!”

Dead silence.

Tony fingered the knife in her pocket. “I’ll drown you in your own blood!”

Absolute and perfect silence.

Her pulse slowed. She regained her breath. If there was no one following her, how utterly foolish she must sound issuing vile threats into the night. She was going home. Vauxhall Gardens held no more pleasure for her, this night or ever.

Tony began to walk with carefully measured steps, neither too quick nor too slow. Her eyes were keen, her ears were pricked, and every sense was alert for danger as she searched out the right way to the exit.

Tony heaved a great sigh of relief once she had passed through the gates. The road leading to the Thames was busy tonight with people and traffic. Among people once again, her fears dissolved and she felt perfectly safe. Then it happened!

She felt a great, deliberate shove from behind and she let out a terrified scream as she went down before an oncoming carriage. From the road she looked up in horror to see the deadly hooves of two carriage horses hurtling down upon her.

Antonia blacked out momentarily as the horses danced about in their harness to avoid the object that had shot between their legs. She opened her eyes just in time to realize that the coach was passing over her. She knew she would be killed. There wasn’t even time for a prayer. Tony heard a woman screaming. For a moment she thought it was herself, then miraculously she knew it was someone else. Men were shouting and helping her to her feet. She was badly bruised at thigh and shoulder where she had hit the pavement, but she hardly noticed. Her powdered tiewig was gone and her blue satin breeches were slush from knee to crotch, but she was alive. With help she limped to
the sidewalk and leaned against a lamppost. Suddenly she sank to her knees, put her head down, and began to sob.

The crowd stood back to gape. She shook so badly, her teeth chattered. People in the crowd were now drawing their own conclusions. Likely the young lord was reeling drunk when he stepped into the path of the oncoming carriage. They began to disperse before they were called upon to bear witness.

Tony cried her eyes out. At first it was from the trauma of the terrifying experience; then it was from sheer helplessness. Bernard Lamb would never give up. He would hound her to her death. There wouldn’t be a day or night she would be safe from him. She sat slumped there a very long time. Finally she arose and made her way to the river, wondering if he was still stalking her.

The moment she stepped from the wherry, she hailed a carriage to take her right to her door in Curzon Street. She was thankful Roz was not at home. Likely enjoying the spectacle at Vauxhall. Although Tony had let herself in with her own key, the keen eye of Mr. Burke had noted her condition. She was extremely grateful to him that he made no comment.

Tony bathed, grimaced at the dreadful bruises, then pulled up the covers to plan what she should do next. She made up her mind to go home to Lamb Hall, but her imagination made her change her mind. In the isolation of the country her hated cousin would have far more opportunities to dispose of her without witnesses. Perhaps she was safer in London after all. Apprehension made her indecisive. Nothing seemed to solve her dilemma. Dear God, whatever was she going to do? Inexplicably she felt most aggrieved at Adam Savage. Why didn’t he protect her? Why did he look at her with contempt whenever she brought up Bernard Lamb’s perfidy? Why did he whore about with actresses?