Chapter Text
Sometimes things just fall apart.
Madhav Sharma was dead. Mary had gone to a dark place. Edwina, a child at ten, was swallowed by her grief, adrift without the support of her mother. Eighteen year old Kathani Sharma was the only anchor either of them had left.
Her father had not been a fool with money. Kate, still a child herself, found the account books the day her family returned from the funeral ceremony. In the young part of her heart, the total sum of their accounts seemed like an exciting number. But when she did the math, calculated their expenses, she realized they had perhaps a year to survive on it. They would lose their house in less than 12 months. There were no family members in India to fall to for support.
Kate had two options. The first was to wed, and perhaps she could take Edwina with her to her new husband’s family and beg for a pittance to support her mother. The second was to fall on the mercy of her mother’s wealthy family in England.
The day the Sheffields had shown up in India, Kate wished she had decided to wed.
It was easy for Lord and Lady Sheffield to convince Mary Sharma to return home, to take Edwina with her, to offer her a better life. They had documents, saying that with the death of Madhav Sharma, Mary and Edwina were now under the Sheffield guardianship. They told Kate she was free to stay in India, to forge her own path. With the British and the East India Company holding much control over the country, there was little Kate could do to fight them.
And there was no way Kate would be willing to either abandon her family or allow Edwina into the treacherous arms of Lord and Lady Sheffield alone, not with Mary still in such a state. In Mary’s one moment of lucidity, she refused to entertain the idea of departing Indian shores without her eldest child. So, Kate was given fare to England, in steerage, and promised a room in the Sheffield’s London manor.
Leaving India was heartbreaking. Kate stood on deck and wept as her home disappeared from sight, little Edwina glued to her side. India had been all Edwina had ever known. Kate tried to excite her about life in England, telling her about Gunther’s sweet shop and the wonders to be found at Hyde Park. About how the streets were paved with cobbles, and when the sun set after a rain shower, it made the bricks glow like gold and silver.
“Will appa miss us?” little Edwina asked, worried that his spirit would stay in India.
“No, my little lion cub,” Kate told her softly, brushing her hair from her face. “Appa will always be with us here.”
She placed a hand over Edwina’s heart.
“Is that where your amma is?” Edwina asked, her eyes starting to glisten with tears.
“Yes, bon,” Kate responded, blinking away the tears that always seemed to burn her eyes when she thought of her birth mother. She placed a hand over her own heart. “My amma has always been here.”
—
Kate realized on their journey to England that her years of having things taken from her would not be over any time soon. Edwina was placed in a cabin berth with Mary, the Sheffields in another. They frequently protested Kate placing her affections on the child, and endeavored to keep them apart. Even when Kate tried to continue their lessons, the Sheffields looked on with dissatisfied faces.
It had been difficult, being below deck on a hard straw mattress, amongst many who were immigrating to Europe and England. A few weeks into their journey, several passengers in the lower classes grew ill, from the poorly cooked provisions and the sickness others had brought on board. The coughing and crying made it difficult to get a full night’s sleep and soon Kate fell ill herself.
Her fever swallowed her like a thick gray mist, so she could only see shadows moving in the distance. In her state, Kate thought she was being taken to the island of Avalon by Morgan le Fay herself; she swore she could feel how the little boat below her rocked back and forth and that she could see the black gunnels to either side of her.
Kate felt like she was being lifted on a stretcher, when they raised her from Morgan’s boat, and set her down softly onto a bed of autumn leaves as the mists of Avalon swirled around.
Morgan’s hand was cool and soft on her forehead. “We’ll take you to the lady of the lake,” Morgan had whispered to her, her long black hair drifting over Kate’s hot face.
She was so beautiful. Kate wished she could be Morgan— in some tales Morgan was Arthur’s half sister, but in others she was just a wise woman who acted as an ally.
In Kate’s altered state, she imagined Morgan was Arthur’s first lover, the woman he dreamt of every night after. Even when Arthur wed Guinevere, that it was Morgan he imagined at night.
It was Morgan who bore his child.
“Do you miss your king?” Kate asked her as the shadows danced around her vision. She imagined how heartbroken Arthur must have been to be separated from his son Mordred— the child he’d never been able to bear with Guinevere.
“Hush, child,” Morgan told her softly, placing a soft hand on her cheek. There was a glistening tear gliding down her face. Kate’s heart skipped a beat thinking of their love story, crying for them.
One day the mists cleared and Kate could again see the slats above her bed.
—
By the time Kate finally felt able to ascend the stairs to the main deck, she was horrified to find that Lady Sheffield refused to allow her to see her sister and mother. Lady Sheffield did not want Kate to spread her sickness to the child.
The great wave of illness in steerage cleared, many overcoming it, while still many did not. Kate stood on deck and hugged herself, watching as burlap wrapped body after body was tossed into the sea. She wept for the deceased, as many did not have anyone to weep for them. They all had departed India with such hope, not knowing that they would not complete the journey to England.
After, Kate was not allowed to see her family. She often heard Edwina crying when she sat near the door that led to the private cabins. A sound that broke her heart further.
Kate wondered how many times the pieces of her broken heart could further shatter.
—
When the long journey was finally over, Kate was permitted to exit the ship with the Sheffields and her family. She embraced Edwina and Mary tightly, letting a few tears fall at the familiar feel of them, at the ache that their separation had caused.
“I am so sorry my dear,” Mary whispered to her, stroking her hair, “I am sorry I’m not stronger.”
Kate cried for her mother, for she was also sorry Mary was not stronger. Mary had made a promise to Madhav Sharma that she would protect his daughter, and it was starting to feel like she was failing that vow.
When they arrived at the carriage that would take them to London, Kate was instructed to sit on the back bench with the other servant. She was told the carriage only sat four and there would not be room. Kate clung to the metal rung in the back next to Lady Sheffield’s maid, Samantha, through the rains that fell the entire 8 hour ride from Dover.
Samantha would be her first friend in England.
—
“This will not do,” Lady Sheffield said to Kate the day after they arrived in London. Kate was dressed in a plain cotton dress, a faded light blue with small white flowers, one of only a few that she owned that was not a traditional Indian garment. Her father had called her bonny when she wore it. Kate had loved that dress.
The week of their arrival, Kate was brought to a modiste where the rest of Madhav Sheffield’s meager savings were spent on cotton day dresses, formal dresses in silk and satin, a pair of sturdy boots, slippers, stockings, gloves, and any other manner of ladies items.
It had struck Kate as odd, she’d expected to be forced to be Edwina’s governess, or household maid. She would not have been surprised to become a scullery maid forced to do drudgery throughout the house. Instead, she was outfitted as a debutante, taught to dance, and presented before the queen by Lady Sheffield, her own mother nowhere in sight.
At the first glittering ball, Kate realized her step-grandmother’s plan. Kate would be married off at the earliest possible convenience.
Kate wasn’t a person anymore, she was a bargaining chip.
—
Only allowed to see Edwina in the morning before her lessons, and in the evening before she went to bed, it was easy for Kate to fall into a sort of melancholy.
Their mother, Lady Mary, had laid upon her bed for weeks in her grief, and had barely heard Kate as she opined about the Sheffield’s plans. As hard as it was to see Mary in such a state, Kate was still glad to have her there— that was until she was sent to Bath to recover.
Mary would not return for Kate’s wedding.
—
The last refuge for someone that has had all control of their life taken away is their mind. Kate was often in Avalon or Camelot, in fairy lands, on Atlantis, in El Dorado, on Mt. Olympus, in Shangri-La and many other fantastical places.
When she was locked in her room at night, she imagined she was locked in a tower, where her love would ride by and call up to her from below.
When she was forced to attend salons and stand and listen to poorly played instruments, she would imagine she was being tortured by a wizard and would stand strong and tall, to not succumb to his musical tricks.
When she was brought on promenade through Rotten Row and the other fashionable areas of Hyde Park, Kate imagined she walked beside a prince who was trapped in a curse. She occupied her mind trying to figure out how to break his curse so they could be together.
Then, she told the stories to Edwina at night before bed. How the brilliant daughter of a duke had been locked in a tower, and how a brave footman in the evil uncle’s guard had scaled the tower to save her. About the princess who had withstood a wizard’s evil tricks and found her way through a labyrinth to her trapped family. And the story of a woman walking in the woods one day who came upon a cursed fawn and endeavored for weeks to break the evil spell, only to find when she did, the fawn blossomed into a man, who was the boy she had loved as a child.
Edwina loved her stories and often fell asleep before they were done.
—
Her fantasies were not always fantastical. Some of them were quite domestic. Kate yearned for anything that was not the Sheffield's cruel treatment.
At the frequent balls Kate attended, she allowed her mind to wander, to imagine she was the diamond or any other young miss that was hotly fought over. She imagined a great romance, a man sweeping her off of her feet into the glittering evening after declaring his love. How they would dance the night away, their feet barely touching the floor as they glided across it.
She also enjoyed spying on the gentlemen and other debutantes present and making up stories about them in her mind.
There was one gentleman in particular that she wished to know more of. He was brooding, with dark curly hair, dark eyes, and a dimple that always seemed inset in his forehead. His hands were often locked behind his back in an iron-like grip, forcing his posture to be straight and rigid.
Kate imagined he was a hungry high vampire who preyed on young ladies in order to seduce them and drink their blood. Perhaps he could not go out in the daylight, because the sun would damage his beautiful pale skin.
And then one day the man looked at her and it felt as though his eyes had pierced her with an ice-like intensity. She imagined he’d draw her outside, kiss her slowly, and then lick his way down her neck before biting down and feasting on her. He would take her maidenhead while he drank. Kate imagined it would be amazingly scandalous if he had her against a stone statue nestled in an ethereal hedge maze.
She learned he was Viscount Bridgerton, that he was outside of her social class, and at 21 he was too young to be ready to settle down. It felt a relief to know he was outside of her social sphere and Kate felt free to fantasize about him without the worry of having to then converse with the man.
Kate learned that his father had died three years prior, shattering his family. He had become viscount too soon. She surmised that the darkness in his eyes was unbearable grief. Kate knew all too well the pain of losing one’s father, of having the responsibility of family settled on one’s shoulder too soon.
It sent her further into her fantasy of him. Perhaps his father had been head of their vampire clan, and now the legion of dark vassals was losing its faith in their new king.
“This is Miss Sharma, my lord,” Lady Sheffield remarked, disturbing Kate from her thoughts, forcing her to tear her eyes from the man that stared at her from the other side of the dancefloor. A heavyset elder gentleman stood at her elbow. “Miss Sharma, meet Charles Mostyn, Baron Vaux of Harrowden.”
Kate curtsied to the gentleman as he bowed his head to her. Baron Vaux of Harrowden was a better vampire name than Bridgerton.
“Charmed,” the man said with an aristocratic affectation. He added his name to Kate’s dance card. Twice. The coldness of the introduction and way he signed her card settled something dark in Kate’s heart.
The first thing Kate noticed when they danced was that the baron had awful breath, as if something had died inside his throat. He was not nimble on the dance floor, although Kate was not a natural talent with the dances, the gentleman stepped on her toes more often than not.
He could be an ogre, charmed to look like a man, anxious to find his way in the human world. Kate thought Edwina would like to hear the story of this ogre.
During her second dance with the baron, a mortifying waltz where his hand crept lower than was appropriate, Kate stared across the dancefloor trying to school her features. There was no fantasy that could pull her from a new realization: the deviousness of Lady Sheffield’s plan. Darkness settled over Kate and her hands turned numb on the man’s body.
Like an apparition, Lord Bridgerton was there on the other side of the floor, his dark sad eyes locked on hers.
Kate did not know what his intention was with the staring, but it sparked ire in her belly. If the viscount felt pity for her, then he should play the gentleman and ask her to dance. Even if he thought her ugly and too tall—her blood not to his vampiric liking—his attention may convince Lady Sheffield to urge her husband to not accept the first offer for Kate’s hand that came across his desk.
Anthony Bridgerton did no such thing. He was truly the cruel heartless vampire Kate imagined him to be.
The next morning Baron Vaux of Harrowden appeared to call on Kate. And then to offer for her. Lord Sheffield accepted without bothering to speak with his step-granddaughter.
The wedding was set to take place a month hence and no amount of crying and begging would stop it.
Kate realized she was the young woman locked in the tower, except there was no kind guardsman outside ready to scale a wall to save her. Or a high vampire with devious intent to seduce her away.
—
Kate considered running away to India - she thought she could put the money together, but did not wish to abandon Edwina. When Edwina turned 18 and would be presented to the queen, Kate would need to be there to ensure that she was allowed to marry for love.
As a baroness Kate would have more power. At least, so she hoped.
During that horrible dark month awaiting her wedding, Kate spent as much time with Edwina as she was allowed. She knew, in some dark corner of her heart, that once she was wed she would not likely see her sister or mother for a very long time.
The truth that Kate suspected was that Lord and Lady Sheffield blamed her for stealing Mary away to India. Kate wondered if marrying her off to a cruel man and keeping her from her family was their form of revenge. She would reside in the same city as the people she loved but never be allowed to see them.
To the Sheffields, Kate was not worthy of being their scullery maid because then she would have access to her family.
On May 11th, on Kate’s 19th birthday, she would wed the Baron Vaux of Harrowden. She thought about how much had changed in a single year— on her 18th birthday her father had given her a book on Arthurian legend and told her how proud he was of her.
When the awful day dawned, Lord Sheffield’s steward took Kate to the church while her things were packed and sent to Mostyn House in London. The only other people in attendance were the priest and Baron Vaux. Kate had not been permitted to say goodbye to her sister.
The priest did not make them kiss.
—
Charles Mostyn conducted his right as her husband as soon as they arrived home. Kate tried not to cry, but was helpless when a few tears slipped out.
He left her there on the bed without a word and went to have his luncheon.
Kate wished again that she had wed in India.
Or that a certain vampire had taken her in the garden. She would have preferred that to this embarrassing and uncomfortable act.
—
At first, being the Baroness Vaux of Harrowden felt similar to Kate, as being Kathani Sharma. It was perhaps darker now, with no access to her mother or sister.
Kate struggled with getting out of bed in the morning, with allowing her maid to dress her, eating the morning meal and soon even leaving the house became a burden.
Her husband came to her bed every night that first month. When he was able to complete his husbandly duty, Kate found it best to lay still, squeeze her eyes shut, and think of the day her amma taught her to make pakoras. When the baron was not able to perform his duty, he would leave Kate’s room in a fit of rage, and Kate would sigh in relief.
After a time it became apparent that Kate would not grow large with his child—to Kate’s great relief—as the Baron ceased to be able to perform in bed.
—
On a bright and sunny day in July one Lady Danbury appeared at the door of Mostyn House. Baron Vaux had retreated to the country, and Kate was glad to receive her without her husband’s watchful eye upon them.
“Your mother wrote to me,” Lady Danbury explained. “We were quite close as girls, and I was surprised to hear that she had returned, with her eldest already married off.”
“Please tell me if my mother is well, my lady,” Kate responded, wringing the cotton skirt of her dress between her hands. “I do not think she receives my letters.”
At the mere mention of Lady Mary, Kate’s eyes began to water. She missed Mary and Edwina desperately. She was so alone in Mostyn House, with it being so far outside of the fashionable neighborhoods and her letters going unanswered.
“Your mother is doing better,” Lady Danbury explained in a soothing tone. “She has returned from Bath and walks with me in the park from time to time.”
Closing her eyes, Kate let her head fall forward. If she’d been more mentally sound these past few months and actually left the house, perhaps she’d have seen her mother on promenade in the park.
“She worries for you,” Lady Danbury said softly, “but Lord Sheffield won’t allow her to call. She asked that I check on you. Are you quite well, child?”
Wed at nineteen on her birthday. Married without her say-so and without her family present. Not allowed to see her sister or mother. Forced to lay with a man that despised her. She was not quite well.
“No,” Kate whispered, the word barely audible. “No, I am not.”
—
Lady Danbury was an ally, and a friend. After their first meeting, Kate imagined her as a fairy godmother or a wise woman. She would help Kate defeat her ogre husband, and deliver her to a fantasy land where her family resided, to finally be reunited with them once more.
This new fantasy brought with it the realization that when she wed the Baron, Kate had stopped making up her stories.
That would have to change.
—
Lady Danbury’s den of iniquity is what pulled Kate out of her dark depression. She met many women that were dissatisfied with their lots in life. They were women of worth. They took lovers, they ran their own businesses, some were on the board at Almack’s, some ran charities and events, and much more. A woman of wealth could have real power, Kate realized.
It was an epiphany that saved her life.
“You’re still a virgin, Lady Vaux,” Lady Trowbridge remarked to Kate over a game of whist.
“Excuse me?” Kate responded, raising her eyebrows and blinking a few times. She thought back to the last time her husband had come to her bed and his faculties had been working. She was certainly not a virgin.
“What your oafish husband does to you on occasion, when he presses his large beer filled belly into you at night as he struggles to locate your honeypot with his flaccid member does not count, my dear lady,” Trowbridge explained shuddering, putting a card down on the table, her words slightly slurred from drink.
“And what does count, pray tell?” Kate asked, pondering her next play.
“A lover ,” the woman told her emphatically, “and you have been given a boon. You may choose to whom you will gift your true virginity.”
“Well,” Lady Danbury cut in a moment later, “that is all well and good, once the Lady Vaux has borne an heir.”
“Oh, please,” the Lady Trowbridge responded, “my lord husband has told me of Baron Vaux’s abilities . Or lack thereof. His mistress left him just last month because he could not… rise to the occasion, as they say.”
“Hmm,” Lady Danbury intoned as she looked at Kate.
—
Over that first year, the happiest Kate felt was when she was riding her horse Baiza Bai. The kind chestnut mare had been a wedding gift from her husband, and outside of her pin money, it was the only gift he’d ever given her.
Baiza was named after one of the wives of the ruler of Gwalior in India, who had been renowned for her strength, riding skill, and ability to fight with a sword and spear. Kate thought naming her horse and best friend after such a strong woman would help to give her courage for the trials to come.
Kate had taken to riding out in the morning before her maid would appear to dress her, wearing hastily thrown-on stays and pantalettes under a riding habit, her hair still messily braided from sleep. The gray light of the morning, with the mists that rolled in, was a time of possibilities. Of hope for the day ahead. Even though her days were not as she wished them, Kate still held hope in her heart for something better.
That particular morning took her to a wilder area of Hyde park, where the noble set would not venture, even during the more fashionable hours. The ungroomed areas were beautiful and enchanting, and the mists made it seem ethereal. It reminded her of the Avalon from her fevers, and she wondered if she’d see Morgan le Fay there.
Imagination flying wild, Kate thought perhaps there were gnomes hiding in the shadows, a tree spirit here, a forest elf there. She would barter with a wizard for passage back to her own lands, and bring a potion that would turn the Sheffields from their evil deeds to those of kindness. Or into frogs—she did not quite care which outcome befell them.
A snapped branch broke her from her thoughts. In the distance, through the trees, Kate saw another rider. A man in a top hat wearing a black coat with a half cape, sitting upon a black steed. She’d recognize those dark eyes anywhere. It was Lord Bridgerton.
It made sense that a vampire could traverse to her fantasy world. He could survive in the weak sunlight this early in the morn. Perhaps her task would be to defeat him in order to win the potion and return home.
His horse stopped and the vampire lord stared at her through the swirling mists. Perhaps he wove a spell of his own, to entrap her heart and draw her to him. They could lay together in the mists, and allow the cold tendrils to flow over them. Maybe their coupling would break his curse.
Kate blinked and he was already riding away.
She knew if she could choose a lover to give her true maidenhead to—as Lady Trowbidge had said—she would choose that man.
—
“It has been one year,” Lady Danbury remarked over a steaming cup. She sat in the drawing room of Mostyn House, sharing tea with the young baroness. “The gossips may start now but likely not until you have been wed for two.”
“He cannot give me a child,” Kate told her quietly, grateful that the drawing room doors were closed tightly, but still careful to keep her voice low. “Waiting another year will not change that.”
“Mmm, so I’ve heard,” the older woman responded, setting down her cup, “you must be discreet and choose a man of similar appearance. When he was younger Vaux was brown of hair and eyes.”
Kate immediately thought of Lord Bridgerton, but quickly pushed the thought aside. She would never be able to convince a viscount to father a child that he would have no claim over. Regardless of how often she poured over the scandal sheets for mention of his rakish activities or thought of him when she was alone in bed at night. She did not think him the type to have illegitimate children— she’d listened to what the gossips had said about his mother and late father. She knew that in their house a child was a cherished gift and not a careless thing to be forgotten about.
“Is the baron still at Great Harrowden Hall?”
“He returns every few weeks to… he tries,” Kate explained, trying to lighten her words, but his endeavors never resulted in anything.
“And the brother, Mr. James Mostyn?”
Kate shook her head. “I have not met or seen him. He travels the continent. From what I have heard, he does not get on well with my husband.”
The term husband still sent cold shivers through Kate’s body, but she was trying to become accustomed to it. It was an inescapable fact that he was her husband. Avoiding the word would not change it.
“You must find someone who can be discreet. The brother would be the best option. Perhaps try writing to him.”
Kate looked down at the teacup and saucer she held on her lap. It was ludicrous that the solution was to share her body with a virile man. Any would do, as long as he had brown hair and eyes. The absurdity of it, to lay with another man she did not want, to still be a virgin in the eyes of Lady Trowbridge.
“I know it is not ideal,” Lady Danbury told her softly, “it is senseless, but you must protect yourself. Your husband has the ability to make your life quite bleak if you do not bear him an heir. A child ensures your own future.”
“He will know the child is not his,” Kate whispered, thinking of the man’s soft member.
“And it will bring him great shame, but that is his lot in life, not yours.”
“And the child’s?” Kate asked, feeling a surge of tears burn her eyes.
“Will be a baron or a daughter that would bear a future baron, if the other Mostyn bears no sons. It will not be a bad life for them, especially with you as their mother.”
Kate thought she would wait the year for the gossips to start in earnest, before she’d even consider entertaining Lady Danbury’s advice. She had no wish to share her body with someone she did not love.
—
I have made an arrangement for you , Lady Danbury had explained over tea, a year having passed since their last uncomfortable conversation. I am not sure you will like it, but it may solve your problem.
Kate heard her words as a maid helped Kate remove her dress. Her heart raced and her stomach ached. This was something even her overactive imagination could not have put together. But Kate had agreed to it, and here she was.
The maid untied her stays and pulled it over her head, then reached for the shift. Kate wrapped her arms around the thin garment and pushed the maid away. Would she have to go out in nothing? Her stomach muscles contracted.
“I have a robe for you, my lady,” the maid remarked, the words heavily accented with a French affectation. “You will wear it in the hall.”
Swallowing, Kate relaxed her arms and allowed the girl to draw the garment over her head. The robe was placed over her shoulders and Kate gratefully drew her arms through the sleeves, tying it tight across her waist. As she looked at herself in the mirror, her hair loose around her shoulders, clutching the robe, she realized how thin the garment was, how she could see the gap between her thighs in the candlelight.
“You may step out when you are ready,” the maid told her as she withdrew through the opposite doorway Kate had entered through and locked the door behind her. Kate’s heart pounded in her chest and she wondered if she would have the courage to open the door. She thought she might lose her dinner right there.
Was this what she was willing to do to bear the baron an heir? Kate ran through the alternatives. With no child, the baron would die in perhaps the next ten years and she would be destitute, having no idea if the baron’s brother would provide for her. (He had not responded to her letters.) And she knew the Sheffields would not offer her shelter.
A child would save her. A child was what the baron wanted. It was awful to think such things.
She grabbed a masquerade mask from the wall and tied it on. It was ornate and garish in the shape of a female lion’s visage, covering the upper half of her face from nose to forehead.
Swallowing her bile, Kate opened the door, jumping when the hinge squealed as the door went wide.
She could hear them down the hall. Moans and sighs, slapping noises, laughing, talking. She supposed it was not all awful. No one would touch her without her say-so. She could walk through and refuse all offers and still go home that evening not much worse for wear. She could try again on another night. She assured herself that it would be alright.
With a deep breath, Kate stepped over the threshold into the great hall. The smell hit her first. She had never known what sex smelled like before, but now she was buried in it and breathing it in. The smell was sweet and salty, almost milky and perfumed. If the smell had a color, it would be cream, the color of tea mixed with too much milk.
There was a great padded divan in the middle of the room with writhing bodies upon it, attendees in masks of wolves, cats, and other great animals, all naked and coupling together. Kate tied her robe tighter, knowing she would never be able to wade into a fray such as that.
They were all under a witch’s spell, she thought. Maybe the witch gathered the fluids from lovers and used it in her evil potions. They would be free of it in the morning, perhaps not remembering what they had done the night before, perhaps surprised by the children they would bear nine months hence.
Shaking off the made-up story, Kate made for a nearby staircase and walked up barefooted, past couples kissing and groping each other on either side, all with similar robes half on or gone altogether. There was a woman leaning over the second story railing, her body half in the air, her large breasts falling out of her robe. A gentleman held her securely, one hand massaging between the lady’s legs. The way they both moaned… Kate swallowed, her tongue feeling suddenly too big for her mouth.
They would be illicit lovers, Kate thought, like Arthur and Morgan, forbidden from each other, now finally coupling with a carelessness for their own lives.
She gripped her shaking hands into fists and continued on, pretending that she knew where she was going. Hoping no one would approach her and force her to rebuff them.
Kate came upon an open door, the room lit by many candles. On one side was a low bed with a man and woman making love upon it, the man on his knees as he thrust his member into the woman as she lay on her back, her legs held high by the man. The woman was aroused, Kate could tell from the wet noises that resulted from their coupling, and the way the man’s member glistened as it pulled out and then in.
Then Kate noticed a man sitting upon a bench in a red fox mask, completely naked as he watched them. One leg was lazily splayed out, the other rested upon the bench as the man stroked himself, thrusting his hips up on occasion. He was well muscled and covered in an alluring amount of body hair, tufted from chest to groin, to arms and legs. Kate’s first thought was that it looked soft.
The man was simply beautiful. She thought perhaps his face was ugly, it would be only fair, to have a body such as that. Watching him moaning softly, flexing his abdomen and chest as he worked on himself, sighing as he pulled his hand away for a moment and bobbed his arousal up and down for a second, before continuing his own ministrations.
It made Kate want to touch herself. She squeezed her legs together and snuck a hand under her robe, fingering the sensitive area between her legs lightly. She let out a soft moan as a spark of pleasure shot through her body.
The man turned and finally noticed her, eyes dark under the shadows of his mask. Kate could see his lip quirk up on one side and thought there was no way his face was not handsome as well. In a minute he was up and stalking toward her, his arousal bouncing low with each step.
This man would also be a vampire, Kate thought. No other ethereal being could be so dark and sultry. It made sense that vampires frequented nighttime activities such as these. They would make for easy meals. But then again virgins would be rare here— although Kate wondered what kind of virgin a vampire preferred. Perhaps Lady Trowbidge’s version.
When the man in the fox mask reached her, he stood before her silently and moved his eyes up and down her body. If he was a vampire, he would be glamouring her into his bed, ready to drink her blood.
“May I?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence. He held a hand up near the opening of her robe, long strong fingers making a cup shape as they hovered there.
You may choose to whom you will gift your true virginity . Kate heard Lady Trowbridge’s words as they echoed through her mind. She knew she wanted this man. Perhaps she would never find a true lover, one that completed her heart, but she could have this man here. Now.
Kate nodded.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his fingers under her robe, fingertips dragging lightly along the skin between her breasts, leaving a trail of fire behind. Kate gasped as they met the sensitive skin of one breast while gliding up and hitting her hard nipple before cupping her.
No man had ever touched her there, or like that, and Kate had to swallow as her mouth filled with thirst for him.
He massaged her breast softly and Kate let out a low whimper when he squeezed her nipple with two strong fingers. She leaned back onto the door jamb, not sure how long her legs would hold her there.
The little half smile on the man’s face grew and then disappeared as his mouth fell open and his tongue peaked out to wet his lips. Kate’s own mouth fell open and she wished the masks were not so cumbersome so they could kiss. Perhaps that was the point of the masks— this event was for the joining of body parts, not of lips.
The man parted her robe further and placed his second hand upon her other breast, exposing her skin to the room. He could have pulled the robe tie completely loose and Kate would not have stopped him. She was lost to him already.
His left hand pulled back an inch before he grabbed her nipple tightly with this thumb and forefinger and pulled. Kate gasped and grabbed his arm for support, feeling her knees start to shake. The man laughed quietly, the sound was low and from deep within his throat. He did it again to the other nipple, eliciting a whimper.
He ventured one hand down her skin, over the tie of the robe, and slowly parted the material until his hand was over the soft curls between Kate’s legs. He drew fingertips through the hair there and dragged them up and down, his fingers digging into the skin. The motion tugged on her sensitive cleft, sending small sparks of pleasure through Kate’s body.
“Shall I touch you here?” he whispered, his mouth open wide now, his breaths coming so deeply that his chest fully rose and fell with every one.
Kate swallowed and nodded.
“Say the words,” he instructed softly, running his hand through the curls once more.
“Yes,” Kate hissed, eyes meeting his, “please touch me there.”
She watched as his strong fingers dug into her skin and pushed downward until they traced over her cunny, where he lightened the pressure and only brushed over her with a feathersoft caress. The contact was enough to make Kate cry out and wobble against the wooden jamb behind her.
The masked man placed his other hand on her hip to steady her.
“Touch me,” he hissed at her, thrusting his hips forward so his arousal brushed against her robe. “Please.”
Kate placed a tentative hand on his erection and gasped at how hot it felt, and how soft, like supple kid leather tight over metal. The man moaned deep in his throat and put his hand over hers, pulling her grip down and up to show her how to stroke him. Kate whimpered, continuing the ministrations, as he placed his hand back between her legs.
“So wet,” he said under his breath, parting her intimate lips with his index finger and tracing the seam of her. Kate bumped her head against the wooden jamb and took a restorative breath. With a sudden rush of pleasure, she knew she desperately wanted him to join with her. In truth, it was more need than want.
On exhale, Kate lowered her head and placed the tip of him against the apex of her legs, drawing his member across the most sensitive area. The man groaned and put his other hand on her hip. He thrust forward lightly, with Kate’s guidance, his cock exploring her intimately, not entering but sliding along cunny spreading the moisture, the bumps from the veins on him sending shocks of pleasure through her body as they hit her clitoris.
“Lay with me,” he ground out between thrusts, “please.”
“Yes,” Kate whispered, thinking he would enter her standing like that. But he pulled away and led her into the room, toward a high bed that went to mid thigh. There was a small staircase and the man escorted her up it.
“Lay down,” he said softly, guiding Kate to lay with her bottom just off of the edge. He lifted her legs, so her knees were by her shoulders, and ran a hand down her sensitive cleft. Kate moaned and arched her back.
“Ready?” he asked, holding his erection at her entrance, lazily drawing the tip up and down her with a sigh.
Standing tall before her, Kate splayed out on the tall bed, he entered her slowly, holding one of Kate’s thighs up, his other hand guiding his cock forward.
Kate’s legs shook as she cried out.
“Lioness,” the man hissed when fully inside of her, holding himself there for a moment, his lower abdomen fully pressed to her sensitive cleft.
And then it turned into a frenzy. He drove into her over and over, moaning as he moved, lowering a hand to stroke Kate’s clit as she cried out. The outside world ceased to exist, Kate was so overcome with passion for this man, how he held her leg back with a bruising hand, his cock slamming into her, his other hand teasing her with a flick of his thumb.
“My lord,” Kate cried and whimpered as an orgasm ripped through her, her entire body arching back, her toes curling where they hung in the air.
“Lioness,” he responded, more deeply, only pausing for a moment as her cunny clamped around him. He removed the one hand from her clit and forced Kate’s other leg back until her hips were raised slightly off the bed. It allowed him to get deeper within her and she cried out when the angle touched somewhere deep inside.
As a second orgasm ripped through her, Kate ran her fingernails down the man’s chest while she shouted. His body started to shake under her hands.
“I’m, ah,” he grunted, as he stopped thrusting. In one swift motion he withdrew his cock and stroked it furiously over Kate’s belly.
“Lioness,” he hissed as his seed shot out, his body shaking as he milked the remains of his orgasm over her.