Aphrodite's Necklace Page 2

  Gesturing to the wide-eyed Annie, she alighted from the carriage as Gawaine opened the door. She smiled graciously, feeling her glamour come over her. To the guests, it would look as though she had dusted herself with faintly sparkling gold specks. So far from Mount Olympus and true believers in her cult, she could not summon it often.

  Her personal servant bowed deeply. Clearly he understood this was a special occasion, though he didn’t know why. Aphrodite disliked sharing too much of her private affairs. It was better for the gods to be lonely than thought of as gossips.

  She handed her fur to Annie after they entered and instructed her to take it to the cloakroom, then appraised the foyer full of elegantly dressed guests. There would be about three hundred people here this evening. Who would receive her gift?

  * * * * *

  Emily Rogers, dressed French shepherdess-style as the late Queen Marie Antoinette, finished the polka with Mr. L— and allowed him to escort her to the refreshment room so she could have a glass of cooling lemonade. This many people in one house created more warmth than any fireplace. It had been some time since she’d attended such an affair or even been around a crush of people.

  She was proud of how successful her father’s ball already appeared. They were keeping up appearances successfully, despite her father’s recent financial setbacks with mining stocks. If only her dowry hadn’t been invested in them. He’d quite given up his dream of marrying his only child into the nobility as a result. At twenty-one, her prospects of a wildly successful marriage were diminishing rapidly. She prayed she’d find someone congenial soon, before it was too late, someone she could love and spend her life with in a snug little home.

  Beauty wasn’t perhaps her strong point, though she did have a trim figure that displayed well in the current severe fashions. Her tiny waist looked even smaller with the new designs. She hoped these charms would attract an acceptable suitor to her though tonight’s costume was quite in the fashion of the last century. Thankfully, the yellow-gold satin was a lovely contrast to her dark auburn ringlets.

  Papa had timed this ball for shortly before the opening of Parliament, since many families would be back in town but not overly committed. The ploy had worked. Though the best families were of course not present, many of the middling sort were. She checked her dance card. The Honorable Mr. O—, the fourth son of a Viscount, was her next dance partner and yes, she saw him hovering at the door of the refreshment room.

  As she danced the waltz with him, his short stature gave her plenty of time to survey the room. Surely the most interesting member of the party was the shockingly lushly beautiful lady dressed in red. She didn’t recognize the regal costume or the wearer of it, but the woman’s wealth was significant and evident. The emerald and diamonds set in gold at her throat could have been used to ransom the late French queen. Perhaps she had sons?

  The Honorable Mr. O— twirled Emily at the edge of the dance floor, pulling her so close his nose came in contact with her bosom, only slightly covered by a yellow scarf tied around her neck above the low-cut ruffles of the gown.

  “Sir!” she said, outraged and he immediately backed a foot-length away. Emily had heard this young man was a lecher from a school friend and Mary Poole had been right. She hoped Papa didn’t have him in mind for her husband. Though it was early yet, she had not yet danced with any gentleman she cared to know further.

  As the dance ended, she extracted her hands from the stripling, refusing his offer to fetch lemonade.

  “I see my friend Miss Poole,” she lied, glancing over The Honorable Mr. O—’s shoulder. Her eyes met those of the lady in red, then that worthy turned away, the hint of a smile tilting her full lips.

  “I must congratulate her.” Emily tripped off at a most unladylike pace, the wide hoops of her dress causing a commotion on each side as she brushed past her father’s guests.

  As she dashed out the door, a black-clad arm grabbed her.

  “Miss Rogers, your guests are in the other direction.”

  “My father’s guests,” she corrected, looking into the dark, unreadable eyes of her family’s butler, William Coxe. Coxe, if he weren’t such an insufferably stuffy bore, would be a handsome man, with unruly mahogany hair that flopped on his brow no matter how much Macassar hair oil he applied and only the most delicate of side-whiskers. His jaw was very square and the molded lips above her were tight with disapproval.

  “Are you my jailer, Coxe?” she asked, twisting her arm away.

  “I only know your father wishes his party to be a success,” the butler said, his sharp nose poking the air as he bent his head to her.

  “Where is he?”

  “Closeted with some business associates, I believe.” He straightened the sleeves of his black tailcoat with asperity.

  “And Mother?”

  “A headache.”

  She’d run for the laudanum as soon as the number of guests overwhelmed her, Emily guessed. Her mother was not strong-willed.

  “My cousin?”

  “Mr. Edgar is no doubt on the premises.” Coxe’s icy tone made it clear what he thought of her twenty-four-year-old cousin. A banker like her father, his three years advantage in age over her added nothing to his maturity. When he wasn’t working he was doing unsavory things in the East End. She had heard the servants whispering.

  “I will return then,” she said sourly, knowing she would hear from her father if she deserted the gathering.

  She went back through the door after glancing at Coxe one last time over her shoulder. If only his handsome face was the visage of Mr. G—, a London barrister high on her father’s matrimonial prospect list, she might have been more interested by her next dance partner.

  Mr. G— was a genial young man and pleasant enough despite his unfortunate stammering every time he looked at her. If he spoke while looking over her shoulder, he was fine. He was dressed as a soldier, in a fine red coat that enhanced his broad shoulders but illuminated his spindly legs. Emily did allow him to escort her to the refreshment room after their dance, but felt the rigidity of his arm as she placed her hand there. His gratitude was obvious when she realized he had promised Cousin Edgar’s sister Davina the next dance.

  Emily herself had this dance free, since she thought she ought to spend more time with Mr. G—. She should have planned better, making herself aware of his desires in the matter. After finishing her lemonade and making pleasantries with a few widowed ladies she went back to the drawing room to watch the dancing. How silly it was to make herself a wallflower at her own ball!

  She saw the mysterious woman in red across the room and made her way around the dance floor. A second look was quite necessary, since Emily had observed the woman’s skin seemed to glow with some sort of gold paint and she was curious about the origin of the effect. Emily had never used makeup less subtle than rice powder, which she used on occasion to dampen her pink cheeks. This was useful when she’d taken too much exercise before supper, a habit that irritated her mother, who preferred a more retiring sort of girl, like Davina, for instance.

  Her gown bumped Edgar as she skirted the room. He was dancing a little too close with the wife of one of her father’s partners. Emily raised an eyebrow as he leered at her and pulled the vulgar matron even closer. She didn’t seem to mind.

  Emily caught a glimpse of the mysterious woman in the doorway that opened onto the corridor. She walked forward as quickly as she could without losing all decorum, but the woman had vanished into the hall. Nearly skipping in her eagerness to reach her, Emily didn’t see the obstacle until she stumbled over it.

  A candelabra cast its light to the floor and she saw what had impeded her progress, nearly causing her to fall. She gasped and reached down a hand. It was the woman in red’s necklace.

  How could she have missed her jewels tumbling to the floor? Emily examined the piece. The clasp was undone, though it didn’t appear to be broken. Perhaps it was loose, or hadn’t been fastened properly. Emily saw the winking diamond
s and sparkling emeralds were quite real. If it were hers she could sell it for not only a significant dowry, but also a year’s household expenses.

  Holding such expensive gems made her feel funny, as if her heart and senses wanted to jump out of her skin. What felt almost like a cool breeze lifted her skirt and the air caressed her womanflesh. She shuddered and looked around. Thankfully, no one was paying any attention to her.

  Holding the necklace and feeling quite steamy in her private area, she stepped into the hallway. She pressed her thighs together and when she separated them, they were sticky with some kind of hot fluid that had moistened her inside. She swallowed her shock as her nipples thrust against her corset. What was happening to her?

  Once again, she saw Coxe coming toward her. Clearly she had strayed too far from the party for a second time. This time, instead of embarrassment at shirking her duties, she felt a hot flush of excitement. She folded her arms around herself and leaned against the wall.

  Her face felt feverish and she licked her lips, thirsty despite the lemonade she had so recently finished.

  “Are you well, Miss Rogers?” Coxe asked. She saw genuine emotion in his eyes, an unusual concern for her as she held up the necklace to him.

  “Where did it come from?” he asked, touching the pearl drop at the end of the necklace’s center stones.

  She watched with wonder as his entire body shuddered and when he looked at her again, his eyes were alight with the same kind of fever she was experiencing.

  “The lady in red,” she whispered, “I saw it on her before.”

  “It’s quite a piece,” he said in the same low tone.

  She put a hand out to him. “I would like to sit. I feel a bit unwell.”

  “Of course,” he stammered and in a quite uncharacteristic motion, took her hand, leading her behind a curtain into an alcove.

  “Where is the Roman statue?” Emily asked, perplexed to find a daybed in the small space rather than a towering statue of the god Jupiter with his thunderbolt.

  “Sit,” he urged her, then reached around the curtain to take a candle from its wall sconce. He placed it in a marble stand above a carved daybed that had formerly been in a guest chamber. “Your father sold it, Miss Rogers.”

  “Oh.” She seated herself and placed the necklace on the daybed next to her. Their situation must be even worse than she realized. But she couldn’t think about that now. Her head was buzzing and that secret area between her legs was swollen and aching.

  In the candlelight she couldn’t be sure, but as her eyes were inextricably drawn to Coxe’s own lower torso, she could have sworn she saw a bulge there. Trembling, she brought her hand up, a pale ghostly shadow in the dimness and placed it on his trousers.

  She felt his body nearly leap out of its clothing but underneath he was all heat.

  “Miss?” he whispered.

  She leaned forward and danced her fingers up and down, feeling a long, hard, dangerous shape beneath the thick fabric. She drew in a breath. What was happening to her?

  “Miss?” he protested. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

  She felt the tip of her tongue protrude between her teeth as she stroked the fascinating length again and heard him gasp.

  “Oh god, miss. If you treat my cock like that I, I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Your cock?” The word forced her mouth into an O-shape, a ring that perhaps would fit around him. Fascinating.

  “Yes, miss. When you touch me like that I’m bound to explode.”

  She was shocked by her own thoughts. Explode? What did he mean? Certainly, she felt a sensation of expectancy in herself, a yearning centered between her legs. She pushed her thighs tightly together in an attempt to regain control, but it only increased the unnerving feeling and the stickiness.

  She only knew she must pursue this unusual course of action.

  Running her tongue across hot, parted lips, she touched the buttons on his trousers. “I am compelled,” she told him. “I must. Please do not lower your regard for me.”

  “Never, miss,” he said in a voice barely containing the intense emotion uniting them.

  With trembling fingers, she reached under his waistcoat and undid the buttons of his trousers. Now that the stiff fabric was open, she could see the flannel fabric of his drawers push forward, as if something wanted to escape.

  Suddenly, she wished she had had brothers, so she had some idea of anatomy. Even nude statues usually had fig leaves over that part of their bodies.

  “Your cock?” she asked in a low voice, trembling in excitement. Was that his name for his male part? “It wants out of your drawers, I believe.”

  “Yes, miss,” came the reply. “You are correct.”

  His stilted language made her smile. He was a formal man, perhaps because of his profession, or because he had obtained his position at such a young age. She believed him to be only five years older than herself. “Why?”

  “He is awake.”

  She stroked the jerking length again. “You speak as if it is a separate being. Even I know the phallus is a part of you.”

  “Yes, but he has a mind of his own,” his voice strained.

  He, she thought. As if its actions were separate from those of its master. Desperate to investigate, she undid the buttons of his drawers and pulled down both his trousers and his drawers. He helped her, guiding them down his sides. When the fabric was at his knees, he took her hand in his and guided it back to his warm, pulsing flesh.

  “It’s so smooth,” she said, caressing him. “Oh, it’s better than silk.” She pushed her fingers, curled into a loose fist, to the base of his cock and felt the rustling of hairs. Clearly he had the same private hair she did. A musk came off him and as she ran her fist back to the bulbous tip, she felt a moisture there not unlike that which filled her channel.

  She breathed in deeply and his scent caused a leaping in her pulse. His scents and textures made her head spin.

  “You smell like ambrosia,” she whispered and bent her head closer to his cock, while she massaged the springy end of him.

  The scent was strongest at its base and she moved her fingers along with her nose, only to discover a pendulum of flesh in between his legs. “And this?”

  “Ballocks,” he said, on a keening moan. “Oh, touch them too, miss. Please, touch them too.”

  She cupped them with her hand, feeling two large marbles under the warm sack of flesh. The delicious scent made her breasts achy and full and she wondered if the scent in her secret places would entice him as thoroughly.

  Unable to stand it any more, she knelt in front of him and touched the tip of her tongue to the base of his cock. Coxe didn’t react at first, but as she slid her moistness up him, his cock jerked and he muttered another curse in an imploring voice.

  Normally, she’d be quite harsh with a servant who said such things, but now, the vulgar words excited her and the juices flowed between her legs. When the tip of her tongue reached the tip of his cock, she opened her mouth and took the bulbous tip inside.

  “Please suck it, miss.”

  She did, as if at her wet nurse’s teat. Coxe put her hands gently around her head and moved her back and forth until she learned the motion he most desired. After a dozen strokes, he gently removed her.

  She kissed down his turgid length, circling her arms around so she could stroke his muscular buttocks. His body was rigid with desire. Even to herself, she had never before admitted how much she admired his manly form. The globes were taut and round and filled his trousers like those of no other man she’d seen. She loved it when he would take off his coat to do a chore. Frequently she had caught herself staring inconsiderately when he was bent over doing some task.

  “Remember, miss, the explosion,” he cautioned.

  She kissed his tip. “What do you mean?”

  “My seed, it comes out of my cock, when I have, you know, the thrill.”

  She had heard whispers of this in the schoolroom before she
had been removed from her boarding school due to the cost. It was supposed to be the most delicate of feelings that happened after marriage, but she wasn’t sure what it all meant.

  “There is a thrill and an explosion?”

  “First the thrill, then the explosion.”

  “Then what?”

  “The seed. If you keeping sucking me with your sweet mouth, I will explode.”

  “I think I would like that.” She gripped the base of his cock, now damp from her ministrations and pulled her fist to the tip.

  “My ballocks are ready to explode, miss,” he implored in a ragged voice. “Keep that up and you’ll know what I mean.”

  “Good.” She smiled and bent her head back to her task. Putting her mouth on him, she moved in the way he taught her. She felt his large hand grip her head. From the shifting above her, she guessed he was gripping the daybed or the wall with the other. Clearly she had him in the throes of some intense feeling. She understood, feeling in danger of some kind of explosion herself.

  His cock seemed to grow ever larger in her mouth, the thick vein on the underside thrumming. She tasted a salty liquid as his cock’s juices joined with saliva in her mouth. Circling his tip with her tongue, she heard a low curse and then he gripped her head tightly. His buttocks tensed. He thrust his hips to her mouth and back again. She held on through the intensity of his motions, as he jerked hard three times, then shuddered mightily. A thick, earthy fluid flowed into her mouth. She swallowed and sucked, to see if more would come out. As he shook, more did come out, then he relaxed his grip and gently moved again. She slid her mouth up and down him a last few times until he leaned back against the wall.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered.

  She ran her hands under his shirt and felt his chest heaving with exertion. When she was able to reach no further, she rose from her place and leaned into him. She could feel his heart race and felt a secret womanly pride that she had brought this strong man to such a point.

  Just then, she heard voices in the corridor outside. She leaned forward instinctively, pressing herself as protection against Coxe’s partially nude form. He put his hand on her mouth, urging quietness.