Chapter 14

Going Home with the Marquess –

Lord Martin Claymont

Martin would have carried her to the end of the world if he had to. Even as he worried for her safety, he could not deny the sexual urge he had for her. It was so strong. From the moment he saw her, he kept thinking, mine–mine–mine.

He had her in his arms. His Apparition. As he was walking toward the Claymont coach, the coachman spotted him and quickly had the coach beside him. "Is all well, my lord?"

"No, it soon will be. Take us to the townhouse, Walter."

"Yes, my lord." He opened the cabin door. Martin still had her in his arms as he entered the coach.

"I can sit down now, my lord."

"You will stay in my lap until we arrive at my townhouse. The address is No. 40 Park Lane, for future reference." She smelled so good. Like something sweet.

"My address is No. 72 Park Street. That is odd, is it not?" She turned to face him as she spoke.

Watching her lips, designed by the gods for kissing, made him want to grab her and devour them. He put his arm around her waist to hold her near. He noted how small it was. She was perfect. Her hips and bust were soft and round. He could feel her bottom against his cock and only hoped she would have no idea what that hardness was. He thought perhaps he should put her down next to him. His body knew what it wanted and was reacting to those cravings. He could not let her go. He wanted her, with him, around him, under him. He had to stop those thoughts or he would be out of control. He could not be too bold with her. She was an innocent. Ethereal. But he would have her. He would make sure they were married first. He knew that is what she would want. He respected her and wanted everything to be right. So far it had not worked out that way. She had to run into Trenchmouth. Things seemed to get back on an even keel when disaster struck. At this point, he could care less about the ton. He could handle them. He had the title and knew the right people so if there was a scandal brewing, he would be able to squelch it before it got out of hand. She was his first priority. She smelled like heaven. It was a scent he did not recognize; it was so heady. So sensual. So like her.

"You were on the ground when I returned to the terrace and saw that brute. Did he hit you?"

"He slapped me. That made me fall. I was more upset about my gown."

"I will kill the bastard. Let me see." He looked at both sides of her face. No marks, no swelling. "Does it hurt?"

"No, I feel fine, except for my gown."

I guess if you are an angel, you are impervious.

"I appreciate what you did for me; first with Mr. Trenchmouth." She said as she buried her chin hide her glee at the sobriquet. "Then with that man. He is frightening. I think I must go home to ensure my family is safe."

"They are safe. I have seen to it." He looked at her. He took one of the tresses from the nape of her neck and began to twist it around his finger. "I want you to trust me. Know that I would never, never hurt you. I will always do my best to keep you safe and I will do everything in my power to make you happy."

"Your talk is of the future. How can that be?"

"Because we are betrothed. I would marry you tomorrow . Would you want to do that?" He smiled at her and looked so sincere.

"I hardly know you. Actually, I don't know you at all."

"Well, that is not necessarily true. You know I'm a capable dancer."

"I think you are a very good dancer." She gave him a quick nod and a smile.

"Thank you. I can dance, if I wish. I'm a much better fighter."

"When he pulled that knife, I feared he would hurt you. How did you move so quickly?"

"I was watching his eyes. They told me what he was going to do and when he was going to do it."

"That is very clever. I shall remember that." Then she repeated it, to herself, out loud. "Watch the eyes."

"You know I enjoy good company. I enjoy your company. Very much. Probably too much."

"How could that be? You have only known me for one or two hours, which is most bizarre as I'm sitting on your lap."

"Are you uncomfortable?" He hoped not.

"I should be ashamed to admit it." She considered whether to tell him. "I'm very comfortable. Except, well –"

"Except what? I must know."

"Except for my...my bottom."

Oh God, she knows–this will be most awkward.

"It must be because the muscles in your legs are so very strong. Firm."

Thank goodness. Hooray for naivety. "That could be true." Except it is not. "What else would you like to know about me?" He looked at her. He so desperately wanted to kiss her. "Before we get married."

"You are wealthy?"

"Yes, very."

"Do you have a mistress?"

"My. What do you know of that?"

"One of my friend's father has mistresses. I would never accept that." She looked him in the eye. "So? Do you?"

"I have in the past. I don't have one now. "

"For the sake of argument, if, and this is hypothetical, if we were to wed, would you have a mistress?"

"Of course not. Why would I want to do that? I would have what I wanted at home. Right?"

"Yes–yes, you would." She thought a second. "Do you have a favorite color?"

He chuckled. Where did that come from? "Right now, I have to say it is gold."

"That is very smart." Those lovely blue eyes. It felt like they were penetrating his heart.

"Do you gamble?"

"Yes, occasionally I play cards. I bet; I wager. Except, I have not gambled at cards in a couple of months. I do, when I play. Not often enough to be concerned about losing everything. I would never do that. Not to my wife, my family, future generations, or to myself."

"That is a good answer."

"Thank you." God, it is amazing that I have her in my arms.

"What kind of animal would you like to be?"

She noticed that his lip would curl into a smile. He had smiled liked that at the ball. "I never really thought about it. I think an elephant."

She nodded her head and swung her legs back and forth. "Why an elephant?"

"Because they live a long time, they have relationships, and they are not afraid of much. What would you want to be?"

"I would like to be some kind of bird that could fly to all parts of the world and see everything. I would never have to find a house, equipage, or clothes. If the weather was bad, I could fly somewhere else."

"Would you get lonely?"

"Oh, I could be the kind of bird that mated for life. We would go all those places together."

"You would peregrinate for life?"

"I suppose so. Perhaps my bird husband and I would eventually find a haven for our senectitude. I would like to think that he and I would fly together into the sunset. What would happen to you when you were an old elephant?"

"When elephants are ready, for lack of a better word, they have a place where they go to die. If I was that elephant, I would be happy to know that my family – my wife and children would come to visit my grave site."

"That sounds so sweet." She looked in his eyes for validation. He was a fine gentleman. People feared him. That was an asset when it was most needed. But he was kind. He was very kind to Muriel.

"Do you like black people?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Do you?"

"They are like white people. Some I like, some I don't."

"That was a good answer too." She looked like she was studying his face. "Do you have a dog?"

"A dog?" He laughed. "Why ask about a dog?"

"Because I like dogs."

"So, after we return from our honeymoon, we shall get a puppy."

"Oh, goodie." She clapped her hands. "Do you swim?"

"Swim? Yes. I can swim. In fact, there is a large body of water at the manor in Bristol. You will love it."

"I bet I will – or I would." She rubbed her hands together, thinking. "I love this. This is fun."

"I'm happy you are enjoying yourself."

"Do you drink too much?"

"No."

"Why did you intercede with Mr. Trenchmouth." She still laughed at the name. Her laughter alone caused something in his stomach to fall, then come back up and stick in his heart. He had never experienced that sensation before.

"I was watching you. I think you knew that. I saw that you did not seem happy. I saw him touch your wrap. I did not like that at all. So, I came over. I most certainly did not like his looks. I did not like the way he was looking at you."

"You were jealous? When you had not even made my acquaintance?"

"Jealous? Mmm. Perhaps. I would like to think it was more of a protective reaction." He noticed lights getting closer. "We are pulling into the lane toward the mews. Walter will let us out by the side entrance. I will introduce you to my butler, Mr. Rogers. You can ask him anything you like about me. Although, I doubt he will provide much. He is most faithful. I, though, will tell you the truth. There are only a few things I can't answer, they all hinge around one topic. I will just say that I can't tell you now. At some point, I will tell you. That is a promise. And I never break a promise."

"It sounds like a mystery." She pulled the hem of her gown up, enough to be able to step down.

Martin reached for her hand. As she gave it, he pulled her to him, lifted her, and had her in his arms again. Perhaps he had lost his mind. He had done his due diligence in his wish to help her and her family. He had the strongest urge to protect her, even before they had met. He had the feeling that he had known her for...forever . It was strange that she, with very little resistance, came with him. She instantly trusted him. He would have to live up to that trust.

"Lord Claymont, I'm more than capable of walking."

"I'm aware."

"Then, would you please put me down. What will your butler think ?"

"He will probably be too shocked to think anything."

"And why will he be shocked?"

He looked at her as he continued to the door. "Because I have never had a lady in this house before."

"So I should feel honored?"

"No, you asked and I gave you an honest answer." The side door opened, Mr. Rogers stood, frozen. "Mr. Rogers, this is my betrothed, Lady Muriel McDonnell."

Mr. Rogers finally found his voice. "I was not aware, my lord. Congratulations. And to you, Lady Muriel."

"Mr. Rogers, I only met this man tonight...Lord Claymont, that is. And he has this compulsion about carrying me around." Martin still had her in his arms as they walked past Mr. Rogers. "And it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers."

Mr. Rogers was visibly agog. "Likewise ...I'm sure...my lady."

"Mr. Rogers, we need food and champagne. My betrothed loves champagne."

"Yes, my lord. Right away." Mr. Rogers was still bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

"Will you put me down, now? Please." He would be happy to never put her down. She smelled delicious. Like something sweet.

"Are you hurting anywhere? Should I call for the doctor?" She looked like she had a scrape on her most exquisite elbow.

"No, thank you. I'm heartbroken that my gown is ruined. I love this gown. It is most special to me."

"You have a scratch on your elbow. I will have Mr. Rogers bring a damp cloth."

"Lord Claymont, could you kindly put me down."

"Would you prefer the drawing room, library, or music room?" He wanted her to be happy in all things. He had to let her know he was not some dunderhead. He wanted her to know he wanted her here .

"What is in the music room?"

"Well, a piano...two pianos, a harp...hum. I think that is it, except for music sheets. Do you read music?"

"Of course I do." She tucked her head so sweetly on his chest. "I–I'm not as talented as Rosa." She should be here to play the piano."

"Rosa? Who is Rosa?" He knew very well who Rosa was.

"She is my sister. I sing better." He could feel her studying his face. "I think this is highly improper. We will both suffer the wrath of the ton."

"I will take care of it. I don't want you to worry about anything. I only want you to be happy." They entered the music room; Martin saw her eyes light up. She inspires me to do the best I can – she is my muse. Yes, she should always be my muse. She will always be my muse.

"You do have two pianos. They look slightly different. I have to play them." She looked at him. "Please put me down." She had the sweetest face when she asked.

"Alright, remember, I reserve the right to pick you up at will." He set her down and she scurried to the English piano.

"Oh, this is an English piano. The outside is beautiful. English pianos are known for their power." As she began to play, her fingers seemed to disappear; she was playing a piece written for the piano.

"What is the name of the piece you are playing?" He did not recognize it.

"It is Mozart. Piano Sonata No.11 in A major. Is it not the most beautiful? It is perfect for the English piano." She continued to play. He thought about her playing in the nude. He had to get that thought out of his head. He had a cockstand the duration of the coach ride. He had calmed down until she began to play. He thought he should sit down; he so wanted to go stand behind her and caress the nape of her neck. He wanted to kiss it, bite it, and stop it.

Thankfully, Mr. Rogers returned with champagne, strawberries and other fruit, breads, and cheeses. "Thank you." Martin picked up the champagne bottle, as he poured. "I'm expecting someone from Bow Street as well as Lord Windham. Deliver them to this room."

"Yes, my lord. Will that be all?"

"Could you bring a warm damp washing cloth? My betrothed has a scrape on her left elbow."

"She plays beautifully, does she not?" Mr. Rogers seemed to appreciate her already.

"Yes." Martin was awestruck each time he looked at her. "Yes, she does." Mr. Rogers exited the room. Martin walked back to the piano with two flutes of champagne. She stopped playing and looked up at him. "Here." He handed her the flute.

"My lord. The cloth." Mr. Rogers had a damp cloth on a salver.

"Yes, thank you, That will be all...for now." He took her left arm and gently cleansed the scrape. It looked like it had only torn the very top layer of the skin. It was not bleeding. Thank goodness.

"I love champagne. It is a happy drink. It bubbles and sings and makes people happy."

Martin laughed. "Yes, I suppose it does." He took a sip and she followed. He watched as she swallowed the liquid. "How is it? Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes." She was still sitting on the piano seat. Martin leaned against the piano, looking at her. "I feel very small next to you. I have always been called ‘petite,' which is a polite way of saying that I'm small. You should be courting a tall lady. At least one that is normal sized." She took another sip. "You are not courting me, so it matters very little." She looked at him. She raised a curious brow. "Why do you look at me like that? "

"Like what? How am I looking at you?"

"Well, rather predatory, I think." He could see her wheels turning. "No, if you had that kind of look at the ball, I would never have left with you. I'm not sure what kind of look that is...different."

"I look at you as any man would that thought you were beautiful." He attempted to make the statement sound a touch flippant. He feared it did not sound that way at all.

"But, my lord –"

"Martin."

"Martin. I'm not beautiful. Mama is beautiful, so I know what beautiful looks like and it is not me. I can sing and play the piano. I love riding horses and I'm a very good horsewoman. At least I think so. And I love to dance and play chess, and play in the woods, and swim in the water that is behind Willow Bend Manor. Rosa and I think of places we want to go. We find places on the map, then we research them. There are many places I would like to see. Sometimes, after we research a place, we decide we like it less. That happens with people too, you know. Do you think you like me? After you know me, you may not like me at all. I have to go home, anyway. Mama, Rosa, Amina,...oh, my brother is still in Town. He will be furious when he finds out I'm in a single man's home without a chaperon. Oh, this will be bad. I must go home."

Martin had to laugh. She was precious. Spontaneous. Exceptionally witty, yet he felt she had no idea. She started to stand. Martin held her arm, not tightly; enough to let her know he wanted her to stop. She stopped and looked up at him. God, she has the most beautiful blue eyes . "Please, I must insist you stay, at least until the Bow Street Runner arrives. I do fear for your safety."

"That horrible man. Is that what you fear for me?"

"Yes, it is. He has come into your home. He was brazen enough to lay in wait until you walked out onto the terrace. He had no qualms about taking you. I would never forgive myself if I let you leave and something dire happened to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes and no." She walked over to the couch and sat down in front of the low table with the champagne and food. She reached for a strawberry. "Mmm. Strawberries and champagne. Strawberries are a happy food, too. Did you know that?"

"No, you are giving me quite the education on food personalities. I rather like it." Why is she so damn desirable? "I'm learning a bit about you as well."

"Do you still like me?"

"Yes, I like you very much. You are very different than I thought you might be; I like this ‘you' much better."

"What did you think I would be like?"

"Mmm, quiet, reserved, taciturn – well, no, not taciturn, perhaps a lady that was less giving...of herself, I mean."

"I'm reserved in a crowd. I suppose I talk too much when I'm a bit nervous. Silly really. I'm smart. Especially with numbers. I love to read. Do you like to read?"

"I enjoy reading very much. What do you like to read?"

"Everything. I like learning about the world. Biographies of some people, not everyone. I like poetry, novels, thrillers, romances. I will read anything. If ‘tis boring, I put it down and find another. Oh, and I like reading about animals; fauna and flora. I find animals and plants to be fascinating. What of you?"

"I would say, my taste is similar to yours; except for the romance novels. I have never had the pleasure. I have read poetry; I feel that poetry should be read with someone. What say you, Muriel?"

"You are probably right about poetry." She thought he had given his true nature away. "If you want to read it with someone, that would make you a romantic. And don't you say no, because it does."

"How so?" He was curious to hear her explanation.

"Because, you could hold your sweetheart in your arms. She would lay across your chest as you held the book around her; encasing her in your arms as you read beautiful poetry to her." She bounced a bit on the couch. "See. Now, do you agree?"

I more than agree. Your explanation has been able to awaken my cock, once again. My God. I am trying. This is really very difficult. The longer she is here, the more tempted I am – no, no, no, Martin, she is an innocent. I must tell my cock to –hell, I can't tell it to do anything. It has a mind of its own. When she looks at me, when she plays the piano, drinks champagne, eats strawberries, or talks about poetry, all my cock wants to do is pound into her.

"Are you still here? I think you went somewhere; somewhere nice, I hope."

"What?" His mind was busy focused on what he wished to do to her...with her...in his bedchamber...by the fireplace...Oh, hell.

Where did she come up with that? I swear she is seraphic. " Excuse me, I was thinking that the Bow Street Runner should have been here by now." Just a little white lie. "It is the start of the weekend. They might be busier than usual." He picked up the champagne bottle and waved it at her. She held out her flute and he filled her glass, then poured a refill for himself. "I want you to understand that I shan't take you home until I have met with the Bow Street Runner. If he feels that you or you and your family are not safe in your home –" He sat down next to her.

" Summer's Day."

"Excuse me? What is a summer's day?"

"The townhouse. Papa named it after the Shakespearian sonnet, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day. Papa named the townhouse for Mama. The sonnet reminded him of her. I think that Papa was a romantic. You could see it, every day, how they loved each other. That is what I want." She is going to ask me if I believe in love. How would I know. My parents had an abysmal relationship. I can't say that it was any kind of relationship at all. Where is Frank? Where the hell is Fred?

"I'm beginning to worry about the Bow Street Runner. I think they should have been here by now."

"The word ‘love' makes you uncomfortable. You think it as an illusion?"

"I have never seen it. How can one believe in something they have never seen?"

"I would never marry a man that did not love me. Not ever. Not for money, not for physical attraction, not for common interests. No. I could only marry a man that loved me."

I want this woman more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I must have her. I'm determined to have her. I will teach her the wonders of sexual pleasure.

"I imagine there are couples that have loved each other. That was not the case with my parents. My father's first priority was sustaining the Claymont name. My mother was often lonely." Martin could remember her crying when his father would announce that he would be gone for another lengthy trip. I would hate a marriage like that; that was not even a marriage. That was a business negotiation that was agreed upon.

"I'm sorry. It must have been difficult to see your mother so unhappy." Martin looked down at his flute. This was not going as he had hoped.

"Martin, I must go. I understand that you want me to stay until the Bow Street Runner arrives; I can't. You must take me home."

What had started out promising had become abysmal. He could not allow her to leave with the evening turning so...sour.

He walked over to her and sat down beside her. He took her hand. He was trying to think of something to say to her that did not make him sound as if he was insane. If he was honest with himself, he was insane. Over her. In the few hours they had spent together, he only wanted her more. "If I took you home and that maniac broke into your house again, I would never forgive myself." He was looking at those limpid blue pools. "It appears that you must be the object that brute's pursuit. Please, wait until he arrives. If he thinks you are safe to go home, I will, very reluctantly, take you home." He took her arm, wrapped it around his neck, then picked her up and she was on his lap, once more. He took her chin to turn her face to look at him. "If, however, he thinks it ill advisable for you to return home, it would behoove you to stay here."

"I don't know you."

"You know enough. I'm an honorable man. I would never do anything to harm you."

"My family will be most concerned."

"Most balls are not even over until five in the morning. Certainly, they shan't become alarmed until closer to that hour."

"I have no clothes. I shan't sleep in this beautiful gown, even if that oaf ruined it. I must keep it always."

"Why would that be?"

"Someone special bought this for me." She look down at the gown, slid her hand across the silk material, and smiled. Martin knew why she was smiling. He would have to keep that to himself for now. It would put a damper on the gesture. He did not want that. He wanted to tell her when she liked him, trusted him, and wanted him as much as he wanted her. That was not at this moment.

"That was rather nice of them. Who was it?"

"It was my Benefactor . Is that not wonderful. To have someone that looks after you without requiring any recognition. That person must be very special." She looked up at him. "Martin, you are a very handsome man. I'm very grateful that you protected me at the ball tonight."

"I only –"

She put her two fingers to his mouth. "Shhh. Let me finish." He wanted to take her fingers into his mouth.

"I'm flattered that I'm the first –"

"The only woman." He wanted her to know that he already held her in high esteem. She was not another one of those light skirts.

"Yes, the only lady to cross your threshold. I appreciate your concern. I know what will happen if I'm not home. My mother is not emotionally stable. She has been doing much better since we returned to Summer's Day. She still has a long way to go. I think that you could be attracted to me." She stopped and looked at him with those blue pools. "And I'm very attracted to you. I'm." She put her hand to cup his face. "We want different things from a relationship. I want to love someone and be loved by them in return. So...do you not agree that it would be better to end a thing before it really begins?"

He kissed her nose. He knew he should not have; he wanted to do so much more. "Could I say that I strongly disagree? Sometimes love takes time. It is not love at first sight for everyone. I would think that is infatuation. If someone else chooses to look at it love at first sight, fine. I think people have to know each other, do they sleep late, do they like to ride early in the morning, do they prefer coffee or tea, do they go to church every Sunday or sing in the choir, do they want lots of children, do they like to travel, do they want to sleep with their spouse every night or do they want their space, what are their politics? Do they have strong opinions on slavery, women's rights, do they think a woman should have the right to vote? Are they –"

She interrupted. "I do believe that a woman should have the right to vote. Contrary to what many men may think, women are as smart as men. We may not be as strong. We may have different interests, but we are as smart."

"Now, you see. I believe the very same way. Women are very smart. Look at you. You are brilliant. You are articulate, clever, witty, well-read; all those things are signs of intelligence. I definitely think women should vote."

"I have been thinking about what you said –"

"What did I say?" God, I hope it was good.

"That it takes time to...you know...well, to get to know someone. See if they are compatible. They respect and trust the other person. They genuinely like the other person. If all those things are there, they could fall in love. Even having all those things in favor of the couple still does not ensure that love will bloom." She looked at him. "Sorry, trite, I know, that is all I could think of." She tucked her head. Almost shy about what she had said.

"I think you did fine." So she might be rethinking this in my favor. Think of something to say.

"I do believe that the couple should embrace the other's family. I think that is most important. Without that harmony, it would be difficult to make the relationship work."

"Oh, yes. You are correct on that point. I have witnessed that myself. Have you?"

"I went to Eton. I heard a lot of stories, especially that had to do with the holidays. Very sad."

"Martin, may I ask you a question?"

"I think that is what you have been doing for much of the evening. You may ask me anything you like."

"Did you really like me from the minute you saw me? And be honest."

"Yes, yes, yes. I was mesmerized. I could not take my eyes off of you. I danced with you. I have never danced at a ball in my life."

"You should. You are so good at it. That surprises me. How did you know the dance then?"

"First, I'm a very quick learner. Second, I wanted to learn the dances on the off chance I would see a lady that took my breath away. So I could literally sweep her off her feet. I did, too, did I not?"

She giggled that petite giggle that fit her perfectly. "Yes, you did." She still had her arm around his neck so she began to play with his hair. The strangest sensation went through him. "You know, really do like you. I think perhaps we –"

"My lord, the Bow Street Runner gentleman is here."

"Send him in." He looked at her. "I suppose you should sit elsewhere; as much as I hate it. You see, I'm trying to protect your reputation."

"Thank you, Martin." She slid off his lap and sat down next to him.

Frank looked around the room before attending Lord Claymont. "Lady Muriel, I'm surprised to see you here." He looked to Martin curiously, as if asking for an explanation.

"Long story. Trenchmouth was at the Seymour's. I was not happy with his attitude. I told him we would be at his office tomorrow. I know it is Saturday; I told him to be there anyway. I escorted Lady Muriel to the terrace then left her to get drinks. When I returned, the same man that broke into their townhouse was attempting to take her. He pulled a knife on me. I parted him from his knife. The end result was that he ran away. I did not want to take her home. I'm more than concerned about her safety. That leaves the issue of the McDonnell family. From what has occurred, my gut tells me someone is attempting to kidnap Lady Muriel. The oaf has been blatant in his attempts. That is frightening." Martin looked over at Muriel and winked. She blushed.

"I understand your concern. I think we need to do something about moving the McDonnell family to a more secure location. They lack sufficient male staffing.

"We have Jimmy, the coachman, and Carl, the footman. As you know, Mr. Sanders is recovering from injuries he received from that oaf attacking poor Mr. Sanders." She stood to walk over to Mr. Stewart. "Mr. Stewart, where shall we go? Papa only had the townhouse on Park Street. We could return to Willow Bend ; we were isolated there. Papa has two other country estates. Both are currently rented. They have been for many years. I would never ask them to leave. Which reminds me, who is collecting the rent? I have no idea whether the rent is annual or monthly. One thing I know is my family has received nothing. Maybe, I should ride out to the estates and speak with them. Find out how they are paying." She looked at Mr. Stewart. "Why are you not married?"

"Well, that was the last question I was expecting." He cleared his throat. "I work many hours and the type of work I do is not conducive to meeting lovely ladies such as yourself."

"You think I'm lovely? Thank you. Did you see my mother? Lady McDonnell? She is the beauty in the family. How long have you known Lord Claymont?"

"Oh, I – I'm not real sure. A while."

"What is a while? Cook says it will be a while before dinner is ready. Coachman will say it will be a while before we get to Willow Bend . So what kind of ‘a while' are Lord Claymont and you?"

"Lord Claymont, I told you she is ethereal." Martin laughed. Muriel was not so sure. She looked at Frank rather curiously.

"People say that about me from time to time; as far as I know, I'm normal. Although at times I think Mama may be celestial."

Martin stood. She was definitely different. Her unique qualities only intrigued him all the more. "If you think the family is not safe in their townhouse, what would you suggest?"

"As I recall, you do own another townhouse, close by. Am I correct?" Frank was unsure if that bit of information was to be disclosed.

"Yes, although there would still be the problem of needing more muscle. Why move them. We can hire more footmen, more of your men to watch the house, and at least one muscle man with skills in weaponry to travel with anyone from the McDonnell family that needs to travel around the Town. What say you, Lady Muriel?"

"I think it would be best to keep the family in the house that they know. Mama is still fragile since Papa's death. She recently started visiting her Bosom Bows. I would not like to see her regress, back in the state she was in while we were in Willow Bend ." She turned to look at Martin. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say. "Lord Claymont, may I speak with you for a moment," she looked at Frank. "In private?"

"I will go to the drawing room. Marti–Lord Claymont, I will help myself to some of your scotch." "Thank you, Frank. You can bring me one when you return."

"And me, too." Muriel called to Frank.

"You drink scotch?" Martin hardly believe it.

"I might. I want to try it. How do I know if I like it, if I have never tried it?"

"You have a point, my sweet." He patted the seat next to him. "Come, sit with me. Tell me what you felt you needed to speak with me about in private."

She walked over and sat next to him. Her dress was torn and shredded in places and she still looked exquisite. "I must tell you, I don't have the money to hire additional staffing or pay Mr. Stewart for men to guard us and the house. We must come up with another solution."

"You are my betrothed. As such, I will be responsible for the costs incurred by the additional security. I only want you and your family to be safe. "

"We are not betrothed. What I was going to say to you before Mr. Stewart arrived was –" she suddenly seemed tentative. "I would be happy for you to court me, if you wanted to...court me, if you would like to...court me. I would understand if that was not to your liking."

"Muriel, look at me." He reached for her chin and turned her face toward him. God, she is beyond beautiful. Frank's opinion that she is ethereal is so true. God, I want her. I. Will. Have. Her. "Muriel, you need not pay me anything. I wish to do it. I have more money than over three dozen other nobles. It would be nothing for me." He took her hand in his. She did not resist. "Please, I would be honored to help you. I want to help you. In the short amount of time we have spent together, I think you know me better than most. I would not offer if I was not sincere."

She kept her hand in his. He liked that. "I would not want to be obligated. And you did not respond to the courtship." She tucked her head as if embarrassed by her asking.

"Muriel, it would be an honor to court you. I'm not sure how long I would be able to stand it."

"Because I'm too ethereal? I act normal a lot. I have never had anyone tell me they would not be able to stand me for very long. If you think that, perhaps you don't wish to pursue me."

"Muriel, you misunderstand. I'm so extremely attracted to you that I would find it most difficult to continue to be a gentleman. I have been with you for hours and I already want you. Do you understand?

"You have me, Martin. I'm here, although you know I can't stay here."

He swallowed down a laugh. Her naivety was endearing. "Well, that is not exactly what I meant. I meant in the biblical sense." He embarrassed himself with trying to explain his desire for her.

"Oh. Oh! Oh, my. I never thought. I was not aware. Oh, my." She put her hand over her mouth and sat, pensive. That morphed into sudden laughter. She threw her head back and laughed. He was still holding her hand. He let go of her hand, slid one under her knees, put one around her and put her on his lap, again. He so loved her there. It was painful in such a sexually tormenting way. He still loved it.

"Now, yes, I will court you. No, you can't talk me out of paying for your protection. Yes, I want you very much. Now, what was so funny? You think it is funny that I'm sexually attracted to you?"

"No, no. I thought you meant that you would not want to see me for very long. Then you explained. I never thought about me appealing to you like that."

"I told you that we were betrothed, more than several times. Do you think I would marry someone I was not sexually attracted to? You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Lady Apparition. You are ethereal. You are not of this world. If I could have you, I would worship you every day. You are my muse. I would work every day to make you happy. That would be my pleasure. Are you beginning to understand?"

"I suppose, I'm overwhelmed by your declarations. I like it. I simply don't understand how you could be sincere when you met me hours ago. How could that be?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you now. I promise you that I will explain in the future. Now, can we have Frank come back with our scotch?" She nodded. "Frank! Come back and bring us the scotch bottle and two glasses."

"My lord, Lord Windham." Mr. Rogers announced as Fred walked around him and looked at Lady Apparition sitting on Martin's lap.

"Wow, Martin. Moving right along." Fred put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "I guess I could use a drink." He looked over at Frank holding an almost empty bottle of scotch and shrugged. "I will go get a fresh one and another glass for me. Looks like it may be a long night."

"Pay no attention to Fred, Lord Windham. We have been best of friends since we were mere tykes." Fred came back into the room with a new bottle of scotch in his hand. "I'm unsure why I put up with him." Martin gave a bit of a chuckle.

"Probably due to the fact that you need someone to compensate for your lack of manners." Fred opened the scotch, poured a glass full, and took a big sip. "Ah. Smooth." He looked over and noticed Muriel had a glass of scotch in her hand. "Lady Muriel, you imbibe in scotch? I like that."

"I have yet to try it. I may be a scotch drinker. I'm unsure as of now."

"Well, there is only one way to know; tip the glass." Fred raised his hand up, encouraging her to take a sip.

"You must promise me that you won't tell Mama. I think she would be upset with me. Scotch is masculine. She is very conscious of things women can do versus things men can do. I think men get to do everything and ladies are restricted to do only the most boring things."

"Lady Muriel, we would never speak of this outside this house. You have our promise, correct Frank?" Frank nodded. "Correct Fred?" Fred nodded. The three watched as she tipped the glass.

She blew out of her mouth. "Phew!" She coughed a couple of times, then reached for her flute of champagne and drank it down. "Oh, my. That was indescribable. Does it burn going down every time? That would not be very enjoyable." The men chuckled.

"No, my sweet. People say they develop a taste for it. You need to have more than one sip to see if it is to your taste." Martin rubbed her back. He knew it was not acceptable, at this point, he was not worried about propriety with Frank and Fred. "Do you think you want to take another sip?"

"I would not quit after one little sip." She brought the glass to her lips, looked at him over the rim of the glass, gave him the sweetest grin, then took another sip. Again, she blew out. Shook her head. Picked up Martin's flute and drank down the champagne left in his flute. "In all honesty, this sip was tolerable. The third should be better than the second. Is that correct?"

"I have been drinking scotch for so long, I hardly recall. My sweet, you don't have to drink it. I can pour you more champagne." Martin reached over her and poured the last of the champagne into her flute. She decided to move from his lap which disappointed him. He did not particularly like it, even though he understood.

Frank and Fred sat down across from Martin and Muriel and picked up the conversation that was being discussed when Martin asked. "Frank, I want you to find five more men for the house. One of them to act as a footman that can travel with them – armed. Someone that can distinguish between someone nefarious andsomeone that is only curious. You know what I mean about the distinction. I have no doubt that she does create curiosity. Do you think that number will be enough?"

"I think so. You well know, if she," He nodded toward Muriel. "travels out and about, two men might need to be assigned."

"You have an excellent point, Frank." As Fred agreed, all three men cast their eyes to Lady Apparition.

"We still need to address the lack of men inside the house. I do have two men that are capable at the responsibilities of a footman. They work for me. They had been footmen prior to working for me. I think they would be perfect." Frank only used the best of men. That was one of the reasons Martin used him.

"Alright. There will be five men around the house and two more footmen inside the house. No, wait, three more. Count the expert marksman, alias footman that will travel with the family. That numbers eight, if I count right."

"Yes. Hopefully, Mr. Oaf will back away when he realizes the security that surrounds the house." Frank drank down his scotch. "I best take my leave. I have men to contact, orient, and deliver to the McDonnell house on the morrow." He stood, and walked to the door. "I will try to get them there as early as possible. Realistically, it will be closer to ten o'clock. And I will come by after I get everyone placed. And Muriel." Frank was addressing her for one last instruction on the footmen he was providing to the household.

Her head slightly weaved back toward him. "Yeesss, Mr. Stewar–d?"

"The footmen shan't need training. Tell them where you want them. If there is something you want them to do, tell them. They know what to do. Do you understand?" Frank looked to Martin. "Oh, boy. I'm afraid it looks like ethereal beings don't drink." He chuckled.

"Shurtinly. Thank you, Mr. Steword." Muriel picked up the glass of scotch and took another sip.

Put the glass down, then picked up her flute, and took a big sip of her champagne.

"What do you think I should do with her tonight? I fear taking her home. Now, for two reasons." Taking her home now would not make a very good impression. "What are your thoughts?"

"I would worry about her safety until I got my men placed. Where do people think she is?" Frank countered.

"I'm right here." She smiled and took another sip of scotch. "Am I not?" She wrinkled her nose.

"I think she is serious." Frank laughed. "Martin, I told you, she is not of this world. She is much too beautiful and says the strangest things."

"I say the strangest-est things. Why do I?"

"I told Lady Maxwell to send a note to Lady Muriel's mother letting her know that she was staying with her. Lady Margaret suggested the note use Lady Helen as Lady McDonnell is not friendly with Lady Helen's mother. I thought that was most clever. I told her to please not forget. It could be problematic for Lady Muriel. Lady Margaret's only concern was that she remain the same woman returning home as she was when she left her house. I thought that was a rather subtle way to threaten one about Lady Muriel's–um," Fred whispered. "Innocence."

"I her–heard that." She sat up. Martin began to laugh.

"She is absolutely amazing. Beautiful, smart, funny, cute, and is unaware of any of it." Fred wondered how she made it down to Earth.

"She is not of this world. I stand by that." Frank waved. "Good night. I will be here tomorrow after I have the men." He started out. "Oh, damn. Martin, you said something about Trenchmouth. You want Fred and me to go to his office? If so, what time?"

"Oh, sorry. I told him nine o'clock. Can you get what needs to be done at the McDonnell's and be at Trenchmouth's office by nine?"

"No. Hummm – what I can do is go to Trenchmouth's, then finish getting the men needed for the McDonnell's."

Muriel got tickled. She bent forward in laughter. "Trenchlouch. How aprapop, no, that is not right. Appr -acot! I like those. Not Trenchmouse."

"Uh, I guess we had better both make our leave. I have no idea what you are going to do with her." Frank put a hand up. "And please, I don't want to know." He put his glass on the table. "Martin, she is even an adorable," He whispered, "." when she is in her cups."

Fred shot down the rest of his scotch. "I second that opinion. Good luck, ole boy. "

"Where did they go?" She canted her head.

Martin thought the scotch had not been a good idea. He should have known better. She is such a little thing. Well, most of her is little. Those bosoms are luscious. Screaming for hands to touch them. A mouth to suckle them. He had to stop thinking about such things. His cock was continuously wanton for her. Damn!

"Muriel, I think I should get you upstairs and into bed." He held his hand out to help her up. "Are you going to sexually track me tonight? Martin?"

Oh Lord. She is really in her cups . "Muriel, I'm going to carry you upstairs."

"You like to carry me all over. You like me, Martin?" He picked her up and started for the stairs. She put her arm around his neck and was playing with his hair. "I forgot to say, you are going to sexually track me, Maaartin? You know what I would like to do?"

Martin gave a quiet chuckle. "I have no idea – what would you like to do, my beautiful sweet?"

"I would like for you to kiss me – I thin-k I would like it."

Oh Jesus – I would love to – she is in her cups. Where should I draw the line here? God – keep me from ravaging her tonight. "Yes, I will kiss you. I would like very much to kiss you."

"Wond-wonderful. I'm exciting – no – excited."

"I think you said it correctly the first time, my sweet."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the bedchamber adjoining mine. You will be fine."

"I'm fine, yes, thank you – I'm fine. Silk is fine. Some people have fine hair."

Oh dear. He opened the door, carried her inside, then closed the door with his shoulder. "Muriel, my sweet, I need to take this gown off of you. I promise I will be a complete gentleman."

Damnit.

"When will you ki–kiss me, please?"

He put her down, then turned her so he could make quick work of getting the gown unbuttoned. That was easily done. "Turn around and look at me, sweet." She turned to look up at him and he wanted to melt. Those blue pools were gazing up at him. She had a smile on her face. Then she suddenly reached for him. She put her arms around him and laid her head on his chest; although barely on his chest. "Muriel, you can hug me all you want as soon as I get this gown off of you." He pulled the shoulder straps down and the dress instantly fluttered to the floor. Jesus, where is the chemise? Where? holy shite. She...oh, God, help me. She is completely naked. "Muriel, I'm going to get a shirt for you to put on. I will be right back. Even the hair on her mound is beautiful. And her breasts are calling my name. No, Martin, they are not. Leave them alone. Damnit.

"You have to stay here wi' me. If you leave me that oaf will come." She began to walk over to him. He was so worried that she might fall or bump into something, he walked back to her. He put his hands on her shoulders, struggling to keep his eyes focused on her beautiful face. His eyes betrayed him. Her body was perfection. Her breasts were large and designed by the gods. Her tiny waist only succeeded in accentuating them, which was assuredly not necessary. God, he wanted to put his mouth on those smooth, uptilted breasts, slide his hand down those curvy rounded hips; past the blonde, almost snow white curling hair; and find the treasure that was the rarest of all treasures, her pearl. Quickly, he turned her around. He could not continue to fantasize over what was right before him. As soon as he turned her, his eyes were captivated by the most beautiful, perfectly round bum. His hands reached out to get two handfuls, then fought with himself in order to stop his reach. He had to get her to bed, cover her up – to her chin, and go into his own chamber. "You have to kizz me. Where di' you go? "

"I'm here, my sweet. I need to get you to bed so you can sleep the scotch off."

She turned around. "Oh." She gave him the cutest little pout.

He groaned. "Muriel, you are not helping. Please turn back around...please." He begged with a whimper.

"Please take my hair down, Martin. I can – can't sleep with pins in my head."

Martin laughed at her expression. "Your hair looked so lovely tonight." He began removing the pins. Slowly, her hair began to fall; down, down, down. He took the gold lace ribbon and slipped it in his pocket. Martin looked over her shoulder. Her flaxen hair, layered with almost angel white tresses fell almost to the top of her rump. "Muriel, your hair is beautiful." Everywhere. She was beautiful everywhere. He wanted so much to wrap that long mane of hair around him. Wrap it around his hand as he held her in place and kissed her in reckless disregard. He had been fighting his cockstand since he got her into his coach. This was, indeed, exquisite torture.

"I wanna kizz, please. I never been kizzed before. I want you to do it." Martin looked at those perfectly formed curves of her soft-looking, carmine lips and it sparked more sexual desires. What she could do with those lips. He bent down and kissed her forehead. She looked up at him, mischievously. "That was not a kizz." She turned her back to him. "I know. I don, I mean, you don't like me. I guessed." He looked down at that tempting bottom, screaming for him to get his hands on those soft, round –. How ever am I going to do this. Think about bad things – that oaf –Trenchmouth – her mother when she finds out she stayed here through the night.

"I will kiss you if you will get into bed." And cover up to your damn neck. "Come." He took her shoulder, once more, and guided her to the bed. He held on to her with one arm while he pulled the bed clothes back with the other. He turned her around. "Jesus, Muriel, I want you so badly. You are driving me mad. Please sit down." She turned and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Kiss me now?"

"Not yet." He lifted her legs and laid them down, pulled the bed clothes up to her chin, then tucked the top sheet nice and tight. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. "My God, you are beautiful." He moved his right arm to the far side of her head.

"No – it's Mama. She is, not me."

"Now, I will kiss you if you promise me you will go to sleep." And not drive me senseless. "One kiss."

"Hummm. I might promise." He bent over her, looked into those deep blue eyes, then down to that full mouth, and kissed them lightly. He sat back up. I can't believe I was able to do that. Remember she is in her cups and more importantly, she is an innocent. Damnit.

"No, no, no, no. That is not a kiss. My Papa would kiss me like that. I know there is a different kiss. That is what I want." She reached up, grabbed his lapel, and pulled him down to her. "Now, kiss me."

"I think you may be sobering up." He said rather breathlessly, as he looked down at her.

it "Kiss me." He took her lips, at first he was slow, thoughtful, yet thorough. Her lips were warm and inviting. Her moan sparked a fire that was waiting to be ignited. He ran his tongue along her lip line and she opened, surprised at the sensation. His tongue entered and he was lost. She tasted like scotch and something sweet – sugar? Of course, it would be sugar. All angels must taste like sugar. Her tongue warm and searching. He moaned in a need so great; his cock was throbbing and their kissing sent a strange sensation to the pit of his stomach. My God . If this is heaven, take me now. That is when reality struck him. He pulled away from her. "I was no good?" She asked. She continued to hold on to his lapel.

"No, my sweet. You were too good. I can't do this. I want you too badly. You must tell me good night. Please, my sweet." He whined.

"I liked it. I want more." She jerked him down this time. She wanted to ravish him with her mouth. His mouth covered hers with a hunger he expressed with his mouth, lips, and tongue. She opened her mouth easily, awaiting his to accompany hers. His desire for her made him mad with passion. He slid his mouth down to her long, slender neck. He lightly bit her, sucked on her. Then slid his mouth to the softest part of her shoulder, where it joins at that alluring neck. She moaned again and it only stoked the fire. He pulled the sheet down. Took a handful of breast and devoured it. She raised her hips, slightly. He knew she was a passionate woman. With all grace and perfection on the outside, in society. In the bedchamber she was a vixen. No she was a powerful spirit, full of earthly passions. Sent wholly for him. He knew it. "Oh, my God, Martin. Is it always like this?" She was gasping; short of breath.

"No, my sweet. It will only get better. Much better. I can promise you that."

"It can be better than this?" She whispered.

"Oh, yes."

"Show me, Martin. If it can be better than this, I want it."

"No, my sweet. I can't. I won't take you now." He looked down at her. He brushed the hair away from around her face. "You mean too much to me. I want to do it right. Do you understand?"

"No. You say I mean too much to you. I do like that Martin. Since we have done this, do you still want to court me?"

"Of course I do. I want you, all of you. Not only your body, although it is other worldly. I want all of you." He touched her temple. "I want you to know I want all of you."

"I guess you have seen me naked. That is probably not the way courtship works. This should be later. I'm very sure I'm correct about that." She watched his eyes.

"Yes. I think it is alright, though. It has only made me want you more. We will start the courtship today. Well, on the morrow."

"Can I ask something else of you?"

"Yes, my sweet. What is it?"

"Will you sleep with me. I worry about that scruffy oaf man. Please."

"Oh, Jesus, Muriel, you are doing your best to torture me." "Please?" That luscious pouting mouth.

He stood, removed his cravat, unbuttoned his tailcoat and waistcoat and tossed them on to the couch by the bed. He toed off his shoes. Then sat down and removed his stockings. He walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You are lying on top of the bedclothes. You sleep underneath the bedclothes. You look most uncomfortable."

Fuck – what the hell am I doing? "I'm leaving my dress pants on. I will get under the bedsheets." He got up, pulled the bedsheets down, and got in. "Are you happy now?"

"Not yet." She scooted across the bed until she was next to him. "Now, that is much better." She snuggled up to him. She put her arm across his chest and began to play with the sprinkling of raven hair across his chest. "I really like your chest. You are really strong. I know. You carry me around like a Roman rag doll." With her arm around his neck, she began to play with the hair on the back on his neck.

"Muriel, you are supposed to be going to sleep, still you continue to torture me. I can't lie in this bed with you while you are rubbing against my chest. I can feel your breasts up against my ribcage. You have thrown a leg over both of mine and I'm feeling things I'm not supposed to be feeling. Please, Go. To. Sleep."

"Alright, Martin. Thank you for taking care of me. I like that. You do that with everyone though, I can tell that in you." She looked up at him. "Good night."

"Good night, my sweet." God, what I want to do to you. He looked down at his cockstand. You may as well calm down. We are going to be playing solo tonight.